An Instrument in His Hands

Part 1 Chapter 1

Part 1

93 BC

Chapter 1

The moon was a mere sliver as I glided through the shadows of the government buildings, skittered across the empty marketplace square, and padded onto the garbage dump hidden behind the row of permanent booths. Once safe, I lowered my cloak and set down my basket.

I was late. When father too had taken to his bed with worry over our uncertain future, Mother had fussed and fretted so long that I despaired of coming here to find food for them. Now I looked about and saw nothing obvious that was edible, so I took a deep breath and said another prayer:

'Heavenly Father, I am in trouble. Please help me to find food.' Then my stomach growled. 'I am so hungry! I am so frightened. How can I feed my family? Help me, please. Send me a miracle.'

It was a simple prayer. There had to be food somewhere that I could take home!

But there was none. I pawed and poked a stick through rotten cantaloupes covered with fuzz, dried up banana peels, and maggot covered beans. The stench was overwhelming. Could we possibly eat these things?

We had been rich, and father was still employed as the official treasurer of the Kingdom of Zarahemla. But all of his earnings, and many of our possessions, went to pay off Andrew's debts. Andrew was my younger brother. Already he was a gambler, a womanizer, and drunkard who did not care what became of us. He was past feeling. We were the ones paying for his sins.

It was all the fault of those terrible Sons of Mosiah who had purposely corrupted him!

Father held a high and trusted position, but he was terrified that news of our debts would become public and he would lose his position and our home. What would we do then? Would we become indentured servants? Or would Father be thrown into debtors prison? Or, worse, be tempted to embezzle? I was frightened, really frightened. I could be given as a servant with no pay for seven years or become a street beggar.

I shuddered. What were we to do?

I wanted to go to the Priests and Teachers for help, but Father would not allow me to. So, I had sold Grandmother's carved chest, Grandfather's sword, my father's arrow collection, our rugs, and the carved chair Father brought home from his journey to the port near Bountiful. Our lovely home was rapidly becoming barren.

There were still those fancy robes we could sell.

What would happen when we ran out of things to sell? How would we pay our debts?

I started walking again, around the piles, not daring to dig too far into them lest what was deeper would smell worse. Perhaps someone had cast off a wrapped loaf of bread. I prayed that I would find such a treasure. Last night I found ripe bananas and the night before, twelve ears of corn that only had a few worms in them.

But tonight I was late. Others had already carried off the good food. What was I to do? How would I feed my parents?

And then I stopped short. On the back wall of one of the market stalls was a new grafitti depicting the sons of Mosiah with heads that looked like cabbages. Now, that was funny! I knew that it was probably unkind of me to side with those who persecuted them for repenting, but in my case, they deserved such censure!

Perhaps I should add to the art. Maybe I could paint big fangs on the mouth of the eldest son’s cabbage. Ha! That's they way I remembered Aaron! Or, I could add green slime to Ammon's, or jackel markings to Omner's. Could I use rotten food to paint it? Ugh! Too stinky! But then they would be stinky too. Hadn't I made them that way once before?

I laughed remembering them covered in vomit! Laughing at their images made me feel so much braver.

Then I heard a scurrying noise in the stalls. What if there were rats?

'Drat those awful boys!' I whispered, to scare away the rats, remembering how the sons of Mosiah had not listened to me long ago when I protected my brother from them. 'This is their fault!' My stomach growled in accompaniment.

That last time I spoke to them, I should also have told them, 'You are two tonged mongrels!' Saying it to the picture  made me feel braver.

I pushed over a rotten head of cabbage. It looked even worse than the graffiti. Probably one of their old followers had painted the picture to make fun of them. They often did, now that Aaron, Ammon, Omner and Himni had repented - or so they said. I didn't care!

I turned back to the image and added, 'You would look better strung upside down in a monkey trap!'  Oooh, I could picture them in that trap, Aaron with his jaguar head dangling upside down. That's how I remembered him - scary and ugly.

Then I looked about for inspiration, and told it, 'You are as stinky as these three day stale beans I am smelling.'

When I passed over an old, gnawed loaf of bread, I said, 'You are rat food.' Now that was good!  I was starting to feel much braver. I kept walking and looking for inspiration, until I reached the last pile and looked about again in vain.

There was no food tonight. Not a scrap. I couldn't pretend to be angry anymore. I was terrified. I sat my basket down and dropped to my knees, heedless of my cloak falling into the mire, my whole self shaking. 'Help me, O God,' I begged. 'How can I go home hungry? What will I feed my parents? What can I do? I have never been hungry before.'

Then I began to sob. 'I'm sorry for being so bitter. But I am so frightened, oh Lord. What can I do? Where can I go for food?'

I thought that things could not get worse. But then I heard my name called.

'Abigail? Is that you?'

It was the actual voice of Aaron, the oldest son of king Mosiah!!! Could pictures talk?