From the Relief Society Magazine, March 1919 –

At the Temple Gates

By Mary Foster Gibbs

It was a sparkling afternoon, the sun picking out countless diamonds on the snowy surface inside the temple gates. At the gate-house we sat watching the endless procession of faithful devotees who went within to receive their promised blessings.

Early Thursday morning, not many months ago, a handsome, dark-eyed soldier, in his trim khaki, opened the gate and ushered within a tall, blond girl whose blue eyes lingered hungrily in their gaze at her soldier escort. Two matronly women accompanied the attractive couple, and one of them — the mother of the soldier — stopped to question me as the others passed along the sunny pathway:

“My son came down from the Fort this morning to get married, and although he had permission of his sergeant, the whole matter was so hurried that he didn’t wait for the permission of some higher officers.”

“So,” I replied, “and what may follow?”

“That is what I am worrying about,” replied the anxious mother. “I dreamed it all out last night, and I have told him this morning that unless he gets full permission from all concerned he will be imprisoned for his act. I saw it all in my dream.”

The mother hurried after the others and I remained lost in thought, yet constantly engaged in the passing of the crowds who daily enter the portals of our .sacred temple. Here an aged couple with whitened hair and bent shoulders go quietly onward, bent upon their holy task of redeeming their dead. Behind them comes a father with his wife and half-grown family of children to receive the long-waited-for blessing denied them because they were wedded in distant lands and only now have reached Zion and may make their vows over the altar of God’s holy house. Young girls, timid and half afraid, cling to the arm of mother or father or elder sister as they hurry past the prospective bridegroom bringing up the rear laden with his valises and bundles which always accompany the workers within these sacred walls. Hundreds of vicarious workers pass my watching eyes, going within to labor for their dead.

It is five minutes to the hour of nine, and the doors of the temple will .soon be closed. Suddenly a small detachment of soldiers file through the gate, and the Captain salutes me as he requests the presence of a deserter from his company.

“Name?” I ask.

“John Morton,” answers my visitant. “Did he pass this way?”

“Perhaps,” I answer, seeking to gain time. “Many pass this way whose names I know not.”

“Then I must go within. In the name of the United States Government I demand entrance to seek John Morton.”

Instantly recalling my fine, up-standing soldier bridegroom, I offered to go at once in search of the required man, and begged the company to await my return, promising that if he was within he should certainly return with me. It required a little time to find my sought-for soldier, and when found he was somewhat rebellious and resentful.

“Do you know that this means court-martial and perhaps imprisonment for a term of years?” I asked.

“I don’t care what it means,” answered my soldier boy, looking me squarely between the eyes. “I got permission of my Sergeant yesterday, but could not reach the Captain himself I told the Sergeant how it was, that I wished to be married to day, for our company leaves tonight — and really leaves I guess — although we have had many feints at departure in the last few weeks. We have marched down to the depot a number of times and then back to the Fort again. Tonight, I dare say, we are really leaving.”

“And couldn’t you find your Captain to get permission for a day in which to get married?” I ventured in surprise.

“No,” answered the soldier shortly. “The Sergeant tried and I tried. The Sergeant suggested that I be married by the law of the land, and said that would be easy to arrange.”

“And then?” I queried.

“Then,” he shrugged and paused, “I told him I would not answer reveille. I put it up to him as man to man. I told him that my sweetheart deserved to be married in the right way, and I proposed to marry her according to the laws of God and not of man.”

“And now,” I assured him, “you will make an unhappy scene, both for your bride and everybody else, in case the Captain objects when he hears of this and if you persist in remaining here ; for if the soldiers are sent, they will demand entrance and carry you off, no matter how just your claim may be, nor how invincible your own courage. Be persuaded, my son. The soldier who accepts his country’s discipline cheerfully makes the best soldier of the Cross. Go quietly back with your Captain. Appeal your case, and beg for clemency and permission to return later in the day. There is still another chance if you are here at noon today.”

Our eyes battled for a moment, and then I added, “The blessing of God will go with you, my boy. Be not doubtful, but trust in Him.”

He turned, and without another word marched straight out of the temple doors, and I followed him and saw that he saluted his officer, and, with but few words exchanged they fell into step and withdrew from the temple grounds.

The sunny hours of that winter’s morning dragged slowly on, not only for the little bride who could neither rest nor sit within the temple, but who stood in the outer vestibule with hanging arms and fingers twining- in nervous clasping and unclasping, while her eyes were anon bright with hope crowded with fear or filled with unavailing tears. Her mother sought occasionally to assuage her grief or strengthen her faith, while the mother of the soldier bridegroom paced restlessly up and down, her mixed emotions chasing in panoramic rapidity over her mobile features. On the steps of the gateway I watched and waited and listened for the clang of the soldiers’ measured tread.

Twelve o’clock struck — half past — and again I went within the temple courts to assure the little bride that if it was right, and God willed to have it so, her groom would get permission and all would yet be well. She said nothing. In all that fateful day I heard but one word pass her lips. Her eyes told her story.

The gate flew open. My soldier bridegroom strode quickly by with one brief salute to me as he passed. I followed him with my eyes and in my sympathetic old heart I saw him meet and greet the little sweetheart he had dared so much to claim as his wife over the sacred altar. And then I visioned them robed in white, passing from court to court, receiving and making their promises and vows as they ascended from glory to glory.

Shortly before three o’clock an auto purred swiftly in front of my gateway, and a middle-aged man flung himself hastily out and asked me as I stood up to receive him :

Is the company through? May I find my son? He is the soldier lad, and his commanding officer gave him permission to come here and receive his bride in marriage, if he would be at the station to go with his troop on the 3:30 train for Los Angeles.”

“Why man,” I replied, “it is nearly three o’clock now. It is next to impossible for him to get out in that time.”

“Well,” replied the father, “it looks like John would surely be subject to court martial and imprisonment yet.”

“Come with me,” I said, for this man was an officer in the army of Christ and bore his priestly credentials always with him.

Within the sacred walls I bade the father tell his story to the Chief Recorder of the temple, and he took the message and passed it on from room to room while we stood in the corridors without breathless and in prayer.

Ten minutes, fifteen minutes, each moment an hour, and yet they flew on lightning-wings. Three o’clock, a quarter past, twenty minutes beyond, and five minutes more. The father paced the halls with guarded swiftness. At last, with floating draperies of white, the girl flew down the winding stairway and behind her came her two mothers. A moment’s change of apparel, a swift word of gratitude, and I took them by the hands, leaving the father to follow with his soldier son. Breathless, the little bride stood beside the auto and watched the soldiers tramp, tramp past the monument, the last one lost to view as they marched below to the station. Deliberately the young soldier arranged his clothing, fastened neatly his puttees, and then with that silent air of determination which makes brave men and dauntless soldiers, he raised his hand in the familiar salute and shutting the door upon the bridal party as he leaped within, I saw them roll swiftly away, and knew that bridegroom had. won out, had won his wife, had won his point, had won the right to live, no matter what battle charge he faces, for he was true to principle, to bride and to his God.