Page 62 of His Elder

Sister Moreno’s baptism. The reason President Dalton had pushed me so hard. The statistic that proved I was a faithful missionary.

We sat in their small living room. Kempton led the lesson on the Holy Ghost—the gift she would receive after baptism. The constant companionship that would guide and comfort him.

I watched her face. Eager, trusting, full of hope.

"Do you have anything to add, Elder Price?" Kempton asked.

I opened my mouth. Tried to find the words I'd said a hundred times before. The testimony that had once felt true.

"The Holy Ghost will testify of truth," I said slowly. "But sometimes... sometimes the truth isn't what we expect."

Kempton's eyes narrowed slightly.

"What Elder Price means," he interjected, "is that the Spirit will confirm what we already know from the scriptures and the prophets. It brings peace and assurance."

Sister Moreno smiled. "We've felt that peace. That's how we know this is right."

After the visit, Kempton pulled me aside on the street. "What was that?"

"What?"

"You almost derailed the entire lesson." His face flushed. "If you can't bear testimony without insertingdoubt—"

"I wasn't inserting doubt. I was being honest."

"Honesty without faith is just apostasy, Elder Price." He stepped closer. "I know you're struggling. But you cannot let your personal failings contaminate investigators. They deserve better."

I thought about Sister Moreno. About Maria, who'd asked about gay people and eternal families. About every investigator I'd ever taught the plan of salvation—that beautiful, terrible diagram that left no room for people like me.

People like Eli.

"You're right," I said. "They deserve better."

Kempton nodded, satisfied. "Good. Let's get back to work."

The third week, I stopped sleeping.

I'd lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, replaying every moment with Eli. His hand covering mine at the planning table. His forehead resting on my shoulder. His voice sayingyou're not broken.

The feeling of his mouth on me. His body moving against mine. The way he'd held me afterwards, like I was something precious instead of damned.

I'd pray. Beg God to take the memories away, to restore my testimony, to make me feel something other than this crushing grief.

But the heavens stayed silent.

And slowly—painfully—I began to realize why.

"You need to bear your testimony in district meeting," Kempton said on Sunday morning. "Public declaration is part of the repentance process."

We sat in the chapel basement with Elder Moss, Elder Brown, and two new missionaries I didn't know. Everyone looked at me with a mixture of pity and curiosity.

They knew. Not the details, but enough. That I'd been "led astray" by my previous companion. That I was rebuilding my testimony under Kempton's watchful guidance.

"Elder Price has something to share," Kempton announced.

I stood. Walked to the front of the room.

Looked at their faces—young, faithful, convinced they were doing God's work.