Chapter 3
ELIAS
Elder Price didn't speak to me for the rest of the afternoon. We knocked doors in three more buildings—forty-two apartments total, I counted—and got nowhere. Most didn't answer. A few told us they were busy. One man laughed and said, "Still trying to save souls, boys? Good luck."
By four-thirty, we'd retreated to Parc de la Ciutadella.
"We'll spend an hour here doing street contacting," Elder Price announced, surveying the park like a general surveying a battlefield. "You take the northeast quadrant near the fountain. I'll cover the paths near the lake."
"We're companions. We're supposed to stay together."
"We can maintain visual contact. It's more efficient this way."
What he meant was: I can't stand being near you right now.
"Fine."
I watched him stride toward the lake, his white shirt brilliant against the green. A few university students sprawled on the grass, reading or talking. A family fed ducks at the water's edge. No one looked remotely interested in two American missionaries.
I found a bench near the Cascada fountain and sat down. The late afternoon light slanted through the palm trees, turning everything golden. Across the park, Elder Price approached a jogger who waved him off without breaking stride.
I pulled out my sketchbook.
I'd promised myself I wouldn't. That I'd at least try to do the missionary thing, stand up, smile at strangers, offer a Book of Mormon.
But my hand was already moving, pencil scratching across paper.
The fountain first—the baroque excess of it, all those carved figures and cascading water.
Then the trees. Then a woman sitting cross-legged on the grass with a book.
My shoulders unknotted. My breathing slowed.
This was the only thing that made sense anymore. The only thing that felt true.
I glanced up to check on my jailer. Across the park, Price had stopped harassing a jogger. He was standing on the path, perfectly still, staring right at me.
I expected the usual judgment—the narrowed eyes, the aggressive check-the-watch gesture. But he wasn't checking his watch. He was just... watching. His gaze felt heavy, almost physical, tracing the line of my posture on the bench. He looked stuck, like he wanted to look away but couldn't.
When I raised an eyebrow, he flinched like he’d been burned and spun around to march toward a group of teenagers playing football.
I looked back at my drawing, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. Careful, Elder. You stare too hard, you might see something you like.
"That's really good."
A young woman stood a few feet away, head tilted, studying my sketch. Dark hair pulled back in a messy bun. Oversized cardigan over a band t-shirt. Canvas messenger bag covered in pins and patches.
"Thanks."
"Do you mind?" She gestured to the bench.
"Go ahead."
She sat, leaving a respectful amount of space between us. Up close, I could see paint stains on her fingers. "You're one of the Mormon missionaries."
Not a question.
"That obvious?"
"The name tag's a hint." She smiled. "Also, you're the only person in Barcelona wearing a tie in this heat. I'm Maria."
"Eli—Elder Vance."
"Which one? Eli or Elder?"
"Technically Elder. But Eli's fine."
She pulled a sketchbook from her bag—smaller than mine, spiral-bound, covered in stickers. "I saw you drawing and had to investigate. You don't see many missionaries who sketch."
"There's probably a rule against it somewhere."
"Is there?"
"There's a rule against everything."
She laughed. The sound was easy, unguarded. "What program are you using?"
"Program?"
"For art. Are you studying it? Or just—"
"Just. I mean, I was going to. Before..." I gestured vaguely at my name tag.
"Ah." She flipped open her sketchbook. Ink drawings, mostly—street scenes, faces, architectural details. Loose and confident. "ELISAVA. Graphic design, but I take fine arts courses when I can. You're good, though. Really good. Your line work especially."
"You too. These are—yeah. Really nice."
We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, both looking at our respective sketches. Across the park, Elder Price stood alone on a path, watching a group of teenagers play football. His shoulders were set in that rigid way that meant he was praying for courage.
"So," Maria said. "Do you have to do the whole missionary thing now? Try to convert me?"
"Do you want me to?"
"Not particularly."
"Then no."
She raised an eyebrow. "That easy?"
"I'm not very good at it anyway."
"But your companion is?"
I followed her gaze to Elder Price, who had approached the football players. One of them said something that made the others laugh. Elder Price smiled—that rehearsed missionary smile—and kept talking.
"He's better at it than me."
"That's not saying much, based on your enthusiasm."
"Yeah, well." I shaded the fountain's base. "Not all of us are here because we want to be."
Maria didn't respond right away. When I glanced over, she was studying me with an expression I couldn't read. "Your parents made you come?"
"My mom. Sort of. It's complicated."
"Family usually is."
"You close with yours?"
"Close enough. My mother thinks I'm wasting my time with art, but she's stopped trying to make me switch to law." Maria turned a page in her sketchbook. "So if you're not here to convert me, what are you here for?"
"Honestly? I'm here because sitting still for two years seemed better than disappointing the one person who still believes in me."
"Your mom?"
"Yeah."
"And the drawing? That's your real thing?"
The question lodged somewhere in my chest. No one had asked me that in months. Not since I'd told my bishop I'd accept the mission call, and everyone started treating art like a hobby I'd outgrow.
"Yeah," I said. "It's my real thing."
Maria smiled. "Good. Don't lose that."
Across the park, Elder Price had given up on the football players. He was heading our direction, and I could already see the shift in his posture—he'd spotted me talking to someone. His pace quickened.
"Incoming," I muttered.
"Your companion?"
"Yeah. He's going to—"
"Elder Vance." Elder Price arrived slightly breathless, his smile locked in place. "I see you've made a friend."
"Maria, this is Elder Price. Elder Price, Maria."
"It's wonderful to meet you." Elder Price extended his hand. Maria shook it, her expression polite but guarded. "Are you from Barcelona?"
"Born and raised."
"What a beautiful city. We're so grateful to be serving here. Elder Vance and I are missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and we—"
"I gathered."
"—share a message about Jesus Christ and His restored gospel. We'd love to talk with you about how God has a plan for your happiness."
Maria glanced at me. I looked away.
"That's kind of you," she said carefully, "but I'm not really interested in—"
"We're not here to pressure anyone." Elder Price's smile never wavered. "We just want to share what's brought us so much joy. Could we ask you a few questions? Just to understand your perspective?"
This was his technique. I'd watched him use it a dozen times. Make it about them. Get them talking. Find the wound and offer the gospel as a bandage.
"I suppose," Maria said.
"Wonderful. Do you believe in God?"
"Sometimes. Depends on the day."
"That's honest. A lot of people feel that way. What about family? Is family important to you?"
"Of course."
"Our church teaches that families can be together forever. Not just in this life, but in the next. Through sacred ordinances performed in temples, we can be sealed to our loved ones for eternity. Doesn't that sound like something worth exploring?"
Maria's polite expression had cooled. "And what if my family doesn't fit your church's definition?"
"I'm not sure I—"
"What if someone in my family is gay? Or divorced? Or doesn't believe in your god? Can they still be part of this eternal family, or are they excluded?"
Elder Price hesitated. Just for a second, but I saw it.
"God loves all His children," he said. "Everyone is welcome to learn about—"
"That's not what I asked."
"The gospel teaches us that certain covenants and ordinances are necessary for exaltation. But God is merciful, and in the next life—"
"So the answer is no. They're excluded."
"It's more complicated than—"
"It really isn't." Maria closed her sketchbook. "Look, I appreciate that you believe in something. Genuinely. But I'm not interested in a religion that tells people the way they love is wrong, or that their family isn't valid because it doesn't match a specific template."
She stood. Elder Price's smile had finally cracked.
"Wait," I said.
Both of them looked at me.
"Maria's right," I continued. "The church does teach that. You can't really argue with her."
"Elder Vance—"
"But if you actually want to understand what we believe, instead of just hearing the sales pitch, we could meet again. No pressure. Just... conversation. About the actual doctrine, not the sanitized version."
Maria studied me. "Would your church approve of that approach?"
"Probably not."
"Elder Vance is joking," Elder Price said quickly. "Of course the church would approve of honest investigation of—"
"I'm not joking. But he's also right that we'd be happy to meet with you. Answer questions. Let you tell us why we're wrong about everything." I met her eyes. "Fair trade for the drawing lesson?"
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "You drive a hard bargain, Elder Eli."
"Is that a yes?"
"One meeting. But I'm bringing my own questions, and I expect real answers. Not missionary speak."
"Deal."
Elder Price looked like I'd just volunteered us to jump off a cliff. But he pulled out his planner. "How about Saturday? Three o'clock? We could meet here, or—"
"There's a café near campus. Granja M. Viader. Do you know it?"
"We'll find it."
"Saturday, then." Maria shouldered her bag. "It was nice meeting you both. Especially you, Elder Eli. Keep drawing."
She walked away across the park, her cardigan catching the golden light.
Elder Price rounded on me the second she was out of earshot.
"What was that?"
"What was what?"
"You contradicted me. In front of an investigator. You told her she was right to reject—"
"She was right. She asked a direct question and you gave her the runaround."
"I was trying to keep the door open for the Spirit to—"
"You were trying to avoid admitting that yeah, the church does exclude people. Lots of people. And she saw right through it."
Elder Price's jaw worked. "We're supposed to teach with love and clarity, not—"
"Not honesty?"
"That's not what I—" He stopped. Took a breath. "You got her to agree to meet with us."
"Yeah."
"Using your art. Your... worldly talent."
The way he said worldly made it sound like a disease.
"Is that a problem?"
"No. I mean—" Elder Price looked back toward where Maria had disappeared. "President Dalton says we should use our talents to build the kingdom. That we should... I just didn't expect..."
"Didn't expect it would actually work?"
"Didn't expect you to try."
We stood there as the light shifted from gold to amber. Families were packing up their picnics. The fountain's water caught the last of the sun.
"I wasn't trying," I said finally. "I was just drawing. She came to me."
"But you engaged. You made a connection. You used that connection to create an opportunity to teach."
"I used it to have an actual conversation instead of reciting a script."
"It's still a teaching opportunity."
"If you say so."
Elder Price opened his planner, made a note. "We should prepare for Saturday. Review the lessons, anticipate her questions about—"
"About how the church treats queer people?"
His pen stopped moving. "About gospel doctrine, yes."
"You know she's going to ask. Directly. And she's not going to accept vague answers about God's mercy."
"Then we'll teach her the truth. That God loves all His children, but He's also given us commandments. That the law of chastity applies to everyone. That marriage is between a man and a woman, but that doesn't mean—"
"Doesn't mean what? Doesn't mean gay people are broken? Because that's what the doctrine says."
"It says they have a different path. A harder path, maybe, but—"
"A path where they can't fall in love. Can't build a life with someone. Can't have the eternal family you just told Maria was the whole point of existence."
Elder Price's face had gone pale. "Why are you doing this?"
"Doing what?"
"Attacking the gospel. Attacking me. If you don't believe, if you think it's all wrong, why are you even—"
"I'm not attacking you. I'm asking you to think about what you're actually saying when you tell people like Maria that God loves them but their family isn't valid. That their brother or sister or whoever is loved but excluded."
"It's doctrine."
"It's cruel."
"It's doctrine, Elder Vance. You don't have to like it, but you committed to teach it when you accepted your call."
"I committed to serve. Not to lie."
"Teaching the gospel isn't lying!"
"Teaching people that God's love is conditional is."
Elder Price snapped his planner shut. "We're going home. Now."
"It's only five-thirty. We have two more hours—"
"Now."
He strode toward the park exit without checking if I followed.
I looked back at the fountain, at the bench where Maria and I had sat. At my sketchbook, still open to the half-finished drawing.
Then I closed it, stood, and followed Elder Price into the lengthening shadows.