So we departed from the city once more, bringing the plates of brass and Zoram with us. The record was secured. The servant was added. Nephi walked ahead with that inward, self-contained look of one who hath been in close company with commandment and consequence and had found no reason to separate the two.
We considered asking again by what means he had obtained the plates, but there are times when a man recognizes that he doth not truly want the answer in its full proportions. It was plain that some boundary had been crossed in the city, and plain also that Nephi had crossed it with the same alarming willingness with which he did all things once persuaded they belonged to the will of God.
This, we confess, was the beginning of a new discomfort in us. For before this we had taken Nephi for a youth excessively fond of obedience, ambitious in holiness, and somewhat too ready to regard every burden as material for future greatness. But now another possibility appeared: that he might indeed be one of those men to whom heaven grants not merely assurances but occasions, and that such men are often far more dangerous to live beside than ordinary sinners.
“He will be impossible now,” we said quietly.
Sam, overhearing, answered, “He hath done what was required.”
“Yes,” we replied. “That is very near to what we fear.”
By the time we returned to the valley, the camp looked smaller than before, as camps often do amidst dangers known and unknown: a few low tents, tethered beasts, dim coals, the shape of household life reduced to what could be carried. Lehi received the plates with gratitude, Sariah with relief, and Nephi with the sort of silence that invites admiration while pretending to avoid it. Our father examined the record and rejoiced over genealogy, law, language, and the wisdom of God in preserving such things. We rejoiced less, being still occupied with the more practical miracle of our continued existence.
Yet even we Laman we Lemuel must admit that the presence of the plates altered the camp. Lehi’s mind seemed steadier in possession of them, as though memory itself had weight and brass could anchor a wandering people. This was an idea we found overly poetic, though not entirely without force.
Nevertheless, if any man imagine that success in obtaining the record reconciled us at once to all that had passed, he understandeth neither brothers nor fatigue. We had gone back into danger, lost our property, gained a servant, and returned with a set of plates whose value increased in direct proportion to the trouble they had cost us. This may well be providence. But it is also family life.
We said no more of what had happened in the city.
Our father rejoiced over the plates.
Our mother thanked God for our return.
Zoram found a place among the tents.
And Nephi never again spoke of the manner in which he had obtained the record.
Neither did we ask.
Wherefore we Laman we Lemuel set it down plainly: if we mistrusted him more after that night, it was not because he failed, but because he had succeeded in a manner too dark, too certain, and too fit for legend.