I sat up, and with shaking hands, I obeyed. If he’d meant to shame me, he’d succeeded. In the gray, predawn light, Evangeline’s room took on the seediness of a fallen Eden, and Nathan’s words swept away any hint of coming grace.
“To you, maybe. Not to me. And I love you, Nathan, but I cannot worship in a church that mistakes the will of one man for the word of God.”
“You can’t just choose which of God’s laws you will obey and which you won’t. Your salvation comes with a price of obedience. To Heavenly Father and to me.”
“My salvation comes from Christ alone. If I sin, it is against him only, and his sacrifice has restored me.”
“But you have sacrificed too.” He dropped to his knee and took my altered left hand in his. “See? You’ve paid in flesh, shed blood. And why would God ask this of you if you had not sinned?”
I looked at the two little lumps of healed-over flesh, the base of my missing fingers twitching under our gaze. “There was no blood,” I said at last, whispering. “I mean, I don’t think there was. I slept through the . . . when he . . . But that was the problem. No blood. It was dead flesh—both of them. Useless and bloodless and black.”
“Like the prophet says, for those who turn their backs on the church. That their flesh will turn black—”
“No. My flesh was black because it was rotten and dead. And that death would have spread to my heart. It would have killed me.” I lifted our joined hands and held them to my cheek. “I’ll die if I go back, Nathan.”
“You’ll die if you don’t.”
Not a threat, not a promise, but a plea. I looked into his eyes and found them brimming with fear—enough to instill the same in me.
“What do you mean?”
“They’ll come for you if I don’t bring you back.”
“Who will?”
“You know who. Brigham’s men. The Danites. His ‘Avenging Angels’ fighting the war against apostasy. ”
“Surely not,” I said, attempting to shrug off such a menace. “I’m just one woman.”
“Who has made her husband and the elder and a bishop each look a fool. What kind of man am I if I cannot keep control of a household as small as ours? What hope do I ever have of eternal glorification? You don’t understand what’s at stake, Mil. They charged me to bring you home.”
“Home?”
“Our home and our faith.”
“No.”
He reached up and gripped my shoulders. “You will be restored, Camilla. By blood or by baptism.”
“And you would give your soul over to a church that would do me this harm?”
“My soul is your soul, and I give them both over to the promise of eternity. And I choose to have my eternity with you—no matter how intent you are on throwing that away.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Fine.” He rose to his feet and hauled me up to join him, taking me in his arms. “Don’t believe. I don’t care. Just come back. Act the part. Sit in church, go to the singings. Save your life now, and Heavenly Father will restore your soul later, as long as you are sealed to me.”
I took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of him. Oh, how tempting his proposal. To live with him and love with him—even if only occasionally, when my flesh was weak enough to risk the pain of transgression. I could wear the mask of a Saint. After all, hadn’t I done so for all of our married life? And if my life was a lie, was that not like any other sin covered by God’s grace? What harm could there be in the small bit of subterfuge that would allow me to live with the man I loved, to make a home with him and our children?
Our children.
Nathan’s proposition meant my daughters would be raised in a web of lies, brought up either to believe in a false god or to feel shame for the true one. And that was just our own girls. I would be spreading such deception to Amanda’s child and others as the years wore on.
I reached up, cupping my hands over his ears, my fingers buried in the soft, curling hair behind them.
“I know you want nothing more than to please God. For once, forget what the spiritual leaders have said. Listen for his voice in your heart. What is he saying?”
He closed his eyes, and I, mine. Slowly, as if not of our own accord, we moved toward each other, our brows resting together, our breath a mingling mist between us. With all my strength I prayed for God to appear. The teachings of Joseph Smith boasted of such appearances—God himself, and Jesus, and angels from on high. Nathan had lost himself to the belief in such manifestations. But the appearance I prayed for was not so grandiose. I wanted only his still, small voice—still enough to calm my husband’s fears, small enough to pierce his heart. Just a sliver of truth.
Oh, Lord Jesus, be real to him. Be truth for him.
I kept my eyes closed until I felt the feather touch of his lips on my skin.
“He brought you to me,” he said.
“I know.”
“You are my life.”
“I know that, too.”
“And I hate that you’re asking me to make this choice.”
Sunlight battered against the curtain, and I burned with hope. “We can go back east,” I said, “in the summer. After Amanda’s baby is born. She’s young and beautiful—any man would be happy to have her. And I’m sure by now Papa is wanting help on the farm. We’ll have a place to go. . . .”
Early on, I’d seen in his eyes that I’d misunderstood his choice, but still I kept rambling, hoping I’d say something to turn back the tide of pity that washed across his face.
“We can have so many nights—every night, if you want—like last night. And who knows—”
“Camilla.”
“—maybe someday, another child. A son, like you’ve always wanted.”
“We have a son in heaven.”
“Of course, yes, I know. I think about him every day.”
“A son who deserves a complete eternal family.”
“Oh, Nathan . . .”
He drew me close one more time and kissed me. When he tried to pull away, I locked myself to him in a final, desperate appeal. We’d been so close—just a prayer away from building a life together. If his soul could not stand the thought of attaching itself to me, perhaps his body would. Not until he braced his hands against my shoulders and pushed would I resign, and then it was with humiliating, stumbling steps.
“I’m going downstairs,” he said, “and waking the girls. I’ll take them to Rachel’s for breakfast, and then we’re heading home. Should be a clear day for traveling.” He brushed past me and went to the door, but I grabbed at his sleeve, stopping him.
“What about those who sent you to find me? To bring me back. What are you going to tell them?”
He turned and placed his hand on my cheek in a final, soft touch.
“I offered you a home. I offered you salvation and atonement. I don’t intend to tell them anything unless they ask specifically.” Then a wavering in his sweet, reassuring smile. “And you’d better pray they don’t ask. I’ve seen what they can do.”
It occurred to me to follow him, to overtake him on the stairs and throw myself over my sleeping daughters. Make him pry them out of my arms. But now—even more than when I felt myself nearly suffocated by snow—I felt my very life in danger. Perhaps that was Nathan’s intent all along, to frighten me away from taking our children. If so, he succeeded for the time. Even more than when I left them back in our cozy home, I knew my daughters would be safer outside of my care.
I did, however, creep down the stairs, stopping just short of rounding the corner. I could hear the girls’ sleepy voices, meek in their protest at the abrupt rousing. At home we always took pains to have a warm fire in the stove before bringing them out of bed to wash up and dress in its glowing light. Evangeline, of course, took no such pains for comfort, and my heart broke to hear their teeth chattering behind their questions. Where was Mama? Shouldn’t she come to breakfast? Couldn’t they say good-bye?
Nathan, true to his natur
e as a warm, loving father, answered them with gentle insistence. Mama wasn’t feeling well. They would see her soon. She sent hugs and kisses.
Everything within me twisted in longing. Both Melissa and Lottie had been cajoled into giggles, lured by promises of sweet rolls and milk. Looking back, I can almost be grateful for what he spared me that morning. My daughters shed no tears, and I told no lies. But oh, the sacrifice.
Somewhere around the edge of activity, I heard Evangeline, gathering coats and scarves and hats, brushing hair and lacing boots. Her voice dripped with maternal affection, as if I were already miles away, or dead and gone, or maybe simply in the next room, accepting of the role she was playing in our life.
At some point, the door opened, then closed, and they were gone. I got up from my perch and ran up the stairs to watch them through the window. Perhaps I should have merely peeked from behind the curtain, but for the life of me I couldn’t think of why I should have to hide from my own children. Nathan must not have anticipated that I would do this—unless he really was capable of such cruelty—because he lifted Lottie up to carry her through the muddied street, and as she gazed over his shoulder, she looked straight up at me. Her little hand went up in a wave, and with a throat burning with unshed tears, so did mine. She said something and Melissa, holding tightly to her father’s hand, turned around, too. Our eyes met; her stare was as cold as the pane of glass between us. Only Nathan continued on without looking back. One step after another, and my little family disappeared around the corner.
God alone knew when I would see them again.
I smoothed the covers on the bed in an effort to hide the memory of my last night in Nathan’s arms, then fell to my knees beside it, burying my face in the faded, worn quilt.
They are still so close, Lord. I could run right now and catch up. Hold my feet if you would keep me here.
I wished for something to drown the doubt that twisted within my mind.
Oh, God, can you not give me a vision? Can your voice not fill this room? I’m just a woman. Just one small, frightened woman. Do you really ask this of me? To make my way in this world alone? To abandon my children? To escape my enemy?
My eyes scanned the room, but I saw nothing that spoke of refuge. Nathan’s warning rang in my ear. The church would have me back.
By blood or by baptism.
And I would not be baptized.
Chapter 14
Evangeline and I circled each other like cats the next day. Unfailingly polite cats, with cordial greetings and well-mannered discourse, but both of us seemed to have one eye trained on the other, except when she finally left the house for one of her endless rounds of church meetings. Wherever Mormon women gathered in a parlor for charitable work and small sandwiches, Evangeline Moss would be there to pick up the crumbs of both.
Today I knew she was telling them all. Sister this and Sister that—women whose names and faces were beyond unknown, but whose innocent gossip could seal my fate. Although she’d protected me until now, I supposed. At least no curious would-be counselors had shown up at the door, hoping to coax me back into my husband’s good graces. For now, I had only Evangeline’s grace to claim, and that I feared would waver in the shadow of her thwarted plan.
Down in the kitchen I built a substantial fire in the stove and set the last shreds of Rachel’s chicken simmering in a broth with an onion and a few carrots. I was just mixing dough for dumplings when she came blustering in.
“Mmm . . . what smells so good?”
“It’s the chicken,” I called out, inviting her in with my voice. “I’m making some dumplings, too.”
“I just came from the most fascinating Ladies’ Aid meeting. Do you know Sister Coraline? What am I saying? Of course you don’t. Living out by the quarry like you do. Or did. Well, she sang for us today, something beautiful. Brother Brigham says that he wants Salt Lake City to have theaters and opera houses just like any other big city, and we got to hear her today, and it was magical.”
By the time she finished her report, she’d shed her wrap and was holding her hands out to warm by the stove.
“Sounds lovely,” I said.
“Sister Coraline might sing at church meeting this week. You could hear her then.”
“I don’t think so.”
“It won’t be a secret much longer that you’re here. All of Brother Tillman’s household knows, and your daughters—they’ll probably tell everyone in the valley. I honestly don’t know what you’re hiding from.”
She spoke with such exaggerated innocence the hair on the back of my neck bristled.
“I was talking to some of the ladies this afternoon. And they—some of them—had the honor of choosing their sister wives.”
“Oh, Evangeline . . .”
“He would do it, Camilla. He would marry me if you asked him to. He loves you that much. He’d do anything—”
“He didn’t love me enough to keep me as his only wife, as much as I pleaded with him.”
“Well, of course not. You can’t expect a man to put the wishes of his wife above the will of Heavenly Father and the prophets.”
“Then I suppose you will have to wait until one of them tells Nathan to marry you. At that, I promise you, I will voice no objection.”
“You don’t think—” and here her voice crackled with tears—“it’s even a little bit possible that he might love me?”
My heart broke. Despite all of this, Evangeline was my friend, had been since the moment I met her, when she’d flashed a mischievous grin and told me to choose a favorite freckle. I wished I could offer her rescue from that hurt—the hurt she’d carried since that same day—but I could only offer the kindness of truth.
“No,” I said as gently as I could. “Not in the way that you love him.”
“But I wouldn’t need him to love me that way. Not the way he loves you. Not like last night—” She clapped her hand to her mouth, but she might as well have used it to slap me for all the color that rushed to my cheeks.
Flustered at both her discomfort and my memories of the previous night, I busied myself getting out bowls and spoons, keeping my face well away from her.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d find the extra bedding,” she continued, stumbling over her words, “so I went to your room and . . . I know I should have turned around and come right back downstairs, but—”
“Stop. This isn’t—You can’t just talk about this.”
But then the silence that followed was worse, because I know we were both focused on what each had heard and felt. Nathan Fox—and all he meant to both of us—was a presence in the room, consuming our senses.
“What is it like?”
“Evangeline, please—”
“I don’t mean—of course it wouldn’t be proper. But to have somebody love you that much. I can’t even imagine.”
My own embarrassment waned, replaced with something akin to pity for this woman who might never know the power of a man’s touch. I should have told her that what she’d heard last night wasn’t love, not exactly. My love for Nathan encompassed so much more than my body. For all of our marriage—the marriage we alone shared—he’d been my very life, sharing my every breath and thought. When I thought about last night, I still felt the glow of his touch. No sense of shame clouded my memories, but I did suffer a slight tug of regret when I considered my weakness in the face of his presence.
“That should not have happened,” I said, carefully setting the wide, shallow bowls on the table. “Not here in your home. Now, don’t you realize? That’s what it’s like, being a sister wife. It’s night after night, listening in the dark, hearing your husband—the man you love—sharing another woman’s bed. You have no idea how that hurts. . . .”
But I could see in her eyes that she did.
The room was quickly turning gray with evening’s shadows. Desperate to get away from the topic, I amassed a load of false cheer and suggested we eat. Evangeline, even less convincing in her cheer than I’m sure I
was in mine, poured us each a glass of water from the blue crock pitcher.
By the time supper was on the table, the room had grown dark enough to warrant lighting the lamp, stretching our shadows until our heads touched along the ceiling. My appetite for the thickened stew had disappeared with the daylight, and not even the perfectly turned dumplings tempted me as Evangeline and I joined hands across the table to bless the meal.
“Your turn,” she said, though I hardly thought to keep track.
I closed my eyes, feeling the warmth coming up from my steaming plate and the touch of her twiglike fingers.
“Most gracious Lord, thank you for your bountiful blessings. For the food on the table and the friendship with which we share it. May our loved ones far and near be so blessed under your caring, watchful eye. Amen.”
“Amen,” Evangeline echoed.
My hunger was restored with the first savory bite, then sated a bit with each one following. The only sound was the clink of our spoons and the practiced, ladylike sips as we touched our lips to the steaming broth.
“So,” I said after a time, “this Sister Cora? Was that her name?”
Evangeline swallowed a sip of water. “Coraline.”
“Sister Coraline. What songs did she sing?”
“Some of the songs were in German, so I couldn’t understand them. But then she sang hymns.”
“Sounds lovely.”
“It was. When she sang about our home with Heavenly Father and all of our children yet to be born, her voice was so clear and so perfect, I could just see it. I would give anything—” she cleared her throat and lifted her glass once again—“to be able to sing like that. Or to sing like anything.”
I smiled. In our younger days, especially during our westward journey, we’d all made light of Evangeline’s voice, the way she’d always mouthed the words in impassioned silence.
“It’s a wonderful gift,” I said.
“Maybe that’s how I’ll sing after I die. That will be Heavenly Father’s reward for my life. I could die a happy death tonight if I knew I’d wake up tomorrow able to sing like Sister Coraline.”
Forsaking All Others Page 14
