Early morning hours, the darkness before dawn. They had purchased a plane ticket the night before and he will head to Corpus Christi later today.
The man is somewhere between wakefulness and deep sleep. He is walking through a nondescript space, no plants or animals or natural light or darkness. His father is walking ahead of him. As they walk, shapes come into focus—shapes of people. The man’s grandmother—his father’s mother—is walking toward his father, the man’s grandfather at his arm. She is smiling.
“There he is, Derby. There’s Bambi.”
They embrace. They start walking together. Another figure approaches. It is Joseph Smith.
“Welcome, Brother Laws. We have so much work for you. I see you have found your family.”
And now, it is not just grandma and grandpa, but hundreds of people—William Hart Laws, who came from England and crossed the plains; the Laws who had lived in Mexico; the Johnsons; the Petersons; and hundreds of others.
“Yes. Or they found me.”
“Yes. All the great Laws patriarchs.”
And now Brigham Young is standing among them.
“And you know Brother Brigham.”
“Yes, yes, I do.”
“Very well. Brethren, we have so much to do and so little time.”
The crowd moves off together.
The man awakens. It is five days before his father will die.