The Sister Wife

by Diane Noble

  Her husband looked into her eyes and then, reaching for her, drew her and the baby into his arms, holding them as if he never wanted to let go.

  Bronwyn drew back and looked up into his face. “I love you,” she said, “and I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  He kissed her cheek and then the top of Little Grace’s head. “I’ll be back before you know it.” He mounted again, and with a nod to Gabe, the two started down the road.

  The earl, Coal, Bronwyn, and Mary Rose walked back to the house. Darkness had fallen completely, and only a sliver of a moon was out to light their way.

  Mary Rose let the others enter the house first, then she sat down on a porch chair, squinting into the dark night, feeling as unsettled as Bronwyn did. She thought she heard voices, listened carefully but heard only a symphony of frog song near the river.

  After a few minutes she went into the house and, stepping onto a chair, unlatched Gabe’s new Mississippi percussion rifle from where it hung above the bedroom door. She made sure it was loaded, just as Gabe had once shown her, and then she attempted to hide it in her skirts as she walked toward the front door.

  The girls were drawing pictures of dolls, planning to make paper dolls in the morning, chattering happily about the dresses they planned to make. The baby slept peacefully in a crib in the corner, and Coal sat by Cordelia, looking up at her almost worshipfully. Mary Rose gave him a wink and a quick smile.

  “Go ahead,” she said, “ask her.”

  “Ask me what?” Cordelia turned to the boy and smiled. “About the riverboat?”

  He nodded. “Did it have gamblers?”

  “Oh, yes, a lot of them.”

  “Did they win lots of money?”

  Cordelia laughed. “Not the one I was married to. Oh, they bragged that they did, but most were as poor as church mice.”

  Ruby looked up from her drawing. “I’d like to have a church mouth.”

  “Where are you going, Lady?” Pearl’s eyes grew round as saucers.

  “Watth that you’re hiding?” Ruby said, her eyes equally wide.

  Mary Rose smiled at her family. “Just to be on the safe side, I thought I’d sit outside for a while.” She drew out the long Mississippi rifle from the folds of her skirts to sounds of awe. “I don’t know how to shoot the thing, but I figure it will scare off anyone we don’t want on our property.”

  “Sure would me,” Cordelia said, chuckling. She didn’t sound, or look, as worried as the rest of the family. Mary Rose figured she’d probably seen her share of gunfights in her day.

  “Do you know how to shoot?”

  Cordelia grinned. “I’ve been known to shoot the eyelash off a gnat if I have to. I’d rather not, but if worse comes to worst, I can always help.”

  Bronwyn looked worried, but she turned her attention to the twins and told them to put away their drawings and get on their nightclothes; she would come upstairs to hear their prayers shortly.

  “I’ll sit with you,” the earl said to Mary Rose. He rummaged around in the armoire near the front door and found a pistol. He lifted it toward the lamplight, examining it. “Looks new,” he said.

  Cordelia came over and took the pistol from her husband, sighted down it, and nodded. “Nice piece,” she said. “French. Flintlock converted to percussion. Just be careful of the bite. It’ll throw you across the room.

  “I’ll stay in here with the baby,” she said. Then she grinned. “You two just holler if you need me.”

  Mary Rose went out to the porch, pulled up a chair, and leaned back, the rifle lying crosswise on her lap.

  Her grandfather followed her out and sat down beside her. From the river, the sounds of crickets and frogs raised a ruckus, making it hard for Mary Rose to hear voices or hoofbeats.

  She strained to sort out the sounds: the children upstairs saying their prayers, Coal asking Cordelia how she learned to shoot the eyelash off a gnat, and finally Bronwyn’s clear, sweet voice singing a lullaby to Ruby and Pearl.

  A snap of a twig made her sit up, alert.

  The earl heard it too. He stood, the pistol in his hand.

  The crunch of footsteps followed, the sniggering of two rough voices talking about ridding Illinois of vermin.

  “What about the brats?” one asked the other.

  “Nits make lice, don’t they?” the second said, and let out a coarse laugh.

  Several more voices joined the first and shadowy figures began to gather, their torches lighting up the night.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  The torches blinded Mary Rose and her grandfather, yet kept the bearers in the shadows.

  “Get out of here,” the earl said, walking toward the mob. “We’re peace-loving people and have never hurt anyone.”

  “Whooeee,” someone guffawed as soon as Mary Rose’s grandfather spoke. “Fee-fi-fo-fum! I smell the blood of an Englishman. Be he live, or be he dead, I’ll grind his bones to make my bread.”

  “Upper-crust English, methinks,” mocked someone toward the back of the mob. “Perhaps titled? Or royalty, might it be?”

  “We think English royalty a few steps beneath the so-called Saints,” hollered someone else.

  Mary Rose’s heart pounded.

  “I say, let’s see if he can do the minuet.” Coarse cheers rose. “Come on, old man, put down your gun, and get over here or we shoot the pretty lady by your side.” The distinctive sound of metal on metal told Mary Rose the first gun had been cocked. Others would follow.

  She raised her rife to her shoulder and growled. “Leave him alone or I shoot.”

  Laughter met her threat.

  One of the shadowy figures started toward her. She aimed the rifle, got the man in her sights, pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. Still laughing he climbed the steps and ripped the rifle from her with one strong hand; with the other, he held the torch near her face.

  “A pretty one we got here,” he said.

  She smelled the whiskey on his breath.

  He stepped closer as if to reach for her, and she shoved him. He fell backward, stumbling down the porch steps. She didn’t care what happened to her, she just knew she had to keep the men out of the house.

  Catcalls and whistles rose from the mob. “Ah, we’ve got a spunky one, now. Most Saints do what we want once we let it be known,” Whiskey Breath said. “I’ve got a feeling you’re a fighter.” He laughed as he climbed the porch to get to her again.

  The earl’s pistol went off and the man roared in pain, grabbed his knee, fell backward, and rolled on the ground.

  “Who wants to be next?” her grandfather said. “Next one to step toward this woman gets it between the eyes.”

  “You forgot our bargain, old man,” someone in the front of the mob called out. “We don’t kill your woman if you lay down your gun, nice and easy. You don’t do that for us, we shoot ’er where she stands. You got nothing to bargain with, old man.”

  “Fee-fi-fo-fum,” someone sang out and the others guffawed again.

  “I wanta see ifn he can dance,” a whiny young man’s voice called out. “You let me do it last time. I wanna do it again.”

  “Hector wants to see the old man dance, shall we let ’im?”

  The mob yelled its approval.

  “Maybe if you dance the minuet for us, Redcoat, and dance fast enough, we’ll do nothing more than burn your farm. You’ll get off easy.”

  “Burn it and everyone in it,” the whiner said and let out a high-pitched laugh.

  “Come on down here now, where we all can help you with the minuet.”

  “Don’t go,” Mary Rose said between clenched teeth. “Stay right here.”

  “I’ll dance,” the earl said without looking at her. “Just leave the woman alone. I’ll do whatever you want.”

  As he walked toward the mob, Mary Rose sidled to the door. If she could only reach Cordelia, get her to help. Heart pounding, she reached for the latch.

  “Wait just a minute, missy,” a coarse voice called o
ut. “You gonna miss out on the fun of seeing an old man dance. You move back where you were or we’ll have you dancin’ right alongside ’im.”

  Trembling, Mary Rose moved away from the door.

  The first shot rang out at his feet, and the earl hopped. Another came too soon. Then another, and another, and her grandfather’s arthritic legs moved as fast as they could. The mob laughed, and more joined in. Her grandfather fell, and someone shot his right hand. “The other’ll go ifn you don’t stand up and dance.”

  He stood again, blood dripping from the wound in his hand. Another volley of shots rang out again, and dust rose around his feet. He stumbled, caught himself, then fell.

  Another single shot rang out, this time hitting his left hand. He didn’t utter a word or cry out.

  “Well, shoot, we plumb ran out of hands.” Someone laughed. “We’ll do the knees next. Get ’em both and you’ll never walk again, Redcoat.”

  Her grandfather struggled to his feet once more but couldn’t make it.

  Mary Rose screamed before the next shot was fired. “Stop it, all of you. Stop it. Just let us go. Let us have our lives, and you can take what you want.”

  The mob quieted. “What did you say?” the whiner asked, his voice pitched high with excitement. “We can take what we want?” He laughed as he came up the stairs and leered at her hungrily.

  The sound of shattering glass split the silence. First one window upstairs. Then a second from a different room.

  Downstairs to her left, another sound of breaking glass shattered the air. It took her an instant to realize what was happening. She dropped and snaked her way to her grandfather as the shots from inside the house began. Volley after volley zinged through the air, some hitting their targets, others missing. It didn’t matter—the men who’d been hit screamed and the others retreated. Some crawled; others ran hollering into the night, dragging along the injured. As a parting shot, nearly every one tossed his torch into the barn. Then all was quiet…except for the crackling fire that quickly turned into an inferno.

  The front door opened slightly, and Cordelia looked out. “Pity they had to leave so soon. I was just starting to have fun.”

  Mary Rose was shaking so hard that for a moment she couldn’t speak. She nodded and moistened her lips. “You’re pretty good with that rifle,” she finally said to Cordelia.

  “I had help. Bronwyn and Coal were shooting from upstairs.” She grinned. “Why, I had no idea that little gal Bronwyn could shoot like that.”

  Mary Rose bent over her grandfather, relieved when he gave her a weak smile. “Always did want to learn to dance,” he said. As soon as she knew he was all right, she rushed to the barn. Only one animal was inside, Coal’s pinto.

  Covering her face with her sleeve, she ran inside. The barn’s interior was engulfed in flames, the smoke so thick she couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of her. She heard the pinto screaming from the end stall and made her way to it.

  Coal was in the doorway, crying for the horse. “Go back,” she shouted to him. “Stay out. It’s not safe.”

  “I’ll help,” he cried, ignoring her pleas. “I’ve got to get to him.”

  “I’m almost there. I don’t want to stop and rescue you too. Get back now!”

  She reached the pinto’s stall and glanced back. Barely visible through the smoke, Coal was still making his way toward her.

  “I’ve got him,” she yelled to the boy. “Go back. I’ll bring him to you.”

  A roof timber crashed down, blocking her way to the door and igniting the hayloft. The pinto reared, bucked, and kicked in terror. Mary Rose frantically searched for a way around, or under, or over the timber. There was none.

  She was trapped.

  She tried to pull in breaths, but they came in short, painful spurts, bringing no oxygen to her lungs. She thought of the baby she carried, the twins, and Coal, wondering if he’d made it out alive.

  As she was losing consciousness a voice called to her. Was it Gabe?

  She lifted her head and tried to answer, but no strength remained.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Mary Rose woke outside the barn in Gabe’s arms. He was sitting on the ground, holding her as if she were a child, tears streaming down his face. She coughed, tried to catch her breath, and then coughed again. Her lungs burned more intensely with each cough.

  “We need to get her inside,” he said. “In her condition…” He lifted her and gently carried her to the house. She leaned against his shoulder, willing him to hold her there forever.

  He placed her on their bed. “Don’t try to breathe deeply yet,” he said.

  “Don’t leave me…” She reached for him.

  “I’m here.”

  “Tonight, the mob…” She choked and started to cry.

  Sitting beside her on the bed, he bent low and wrapped his arms around her. “I know what happened,” he said. “We saw them too.”

  “The same ones?”

  “Probably.”

  Her eyes stung from the smoke, but as they watered, the stinging subsided. “Did you come in the barn to save me?”

  He nodded.

  She reached for his hand. “I thought I heard your voice.” She closed her eyes. “What about Coal’s pinto?”

  “You got him out.”

  “And Coal?”

  “He made it too.”

  “How about Grandfather? Will he be all right?”

  The room smelled of smoke, Gabe’s hair smelled of it, her clothing smelled of it. She wondered if the blur of her eyes was caused from the heat, or if the room was filled with smoke.

  He gave her a slight smile. “He’s being well taken care of by Sister Cordelia. She told me how brave you were tonight…I’m so sorry I left you and the family alone. I shouldn’t have.”

  “We made it through alive and with no irreparable harm, Gabe, that’s what matters. God was with us.”

  He didn’t answer.

  She turned to better see him. “Something’s wrong. I can see it in your eyes.” He stood and walked a few feet away from her, turned his back, and dropped his head into his hands.

  When he turned back, he said, “Griffin’s dead.”

  Mary Rose gasped. “Griffin?” She tried to sit up but couldn’t. “Not Griffin. That can’t be.”

  “The mob was after the Prophet.” His voice choked. “Everything happened at once. We saw the fire, which momentarily distracted us, that’s when they attacked. If it hadn’t been for Griffin’s quick actions, it would have been Joseph they killed, not Griffin. He gave his life to save that of our Prophet.”

  She tried to let the words soak in. “Does Bronwyn know?”

  He nodded. “Brigham is talking to her now.”

  “Oh, Gabe…” She wept, thinking of her friend, and the tears burned her aching eyes. “I need to go to her.”

  Gabe shook his head. “You need to think of our baby. You’ve been through a lot tonight and need to rest. I’ll tell Bronwyn you’d like to see her.” He leaned over to kiss her cheek and gave her a gentle smile.

  “Thank you.”

  Mary Rose lay back against her pillow, her heart aching for Bronwyn. Griffin was such a good man, lighthearted, boyish at times, but completely in love with his wife. A fierce warrior, from what she’d been told, though he was never one to speak with pride about his past accomplishments in war.

  Her thoughts turned to Bronwyn. What would she do? Surely she wouldn’t return to Wales. Mary Rose couldn’t bear it if she moved away.

  A light tap sounded at the door.

  “Bronwyn?”

  “’Tis me,” she said, peering around the door. Her eyes were swollen and red, her clothing wrinkled. She too reeked of smoke. “Are you all right?”

  Mary Rose patted the edge of the bed. “I just need a little rest to recover.” She took Bronwyn’s hands in hers. “It’s you I’m worried about.”

  “Gabe told you what happened?”

  She nodded. “I still can’t take i
t in. I’m so sorry. So very sorry.”

  Bronwyn’s eyes filled. “He’s my whole life. What will I do without him?” She buried her head in her hands and sobbed.

  Mary Rose swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat upright. She wrapped an arm around Bronwyn and cried with her. “You’ll get through this. We don’t know the answers yet, but we’ll find them.”

  Bronwyn reached for a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes and nose. “Brigham is a great comfort. He said my Griffin died a hero, a martyr. There will be a proper funeral in just a few days, with much celebration of his life among the Saints, because if it hadn’t been for Griffin’s quick actions the Prophet wouldn’t be alive tonight.”

  She started to weep again. “I’m sorry for saying it, Mary Rose, but I wish it had been the Prophet who died, not my Griffin.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” Mary Rose said softly. “It’s only natural to feel that way.”

  She gave Mary Rose a tremulous smile. “And think about our spirit marriage. How happy I am that the Prophet insisted we go through the second ceremony. His death is almost bearable when I think that I will someday join him in heaven and we will be there together through all eternity.”

  She dabbed at her eyes. “But, oh, how I will miss him until then. I don’t know if I can bear the loneliness.”

  “You have Little Grace,” Mary Rose said. “She will be a great comfort.”

  “And you,” she said to Mary Rose. “My dearest friend, what would I do without you?” She fell into Mary Rose’s arms and sobbed as though her heart might twist in two.

  After the funeral three days later, Brigham pulled Gabe aside and asked him to walk with him to the temple site.

  “You have heard the Prophet’s revelation about taking multiple wives,” he said as they walked.

  “Yes.” Gabe wasn’t surprised. As soon as Griffin died, he suspected that either Brigham or Joseph would come to him.

  “You also know that we take care of our widows and orphans,” Brigham said. “And in this case, because of Griffin’s special status, what he did to save the Prophet’s life, we need to take special care of his widow and child.”