The Sister Wife

by Diane Noble

  “I thought that would be the case,” Gabe said. His heart felt like the lifeblood was being squeezed out of it.

  “She is a beautiful woman, one that any man would love to take as his wife.”

  They reached the temple, now partially built, and looked down on Nauvoo, the river, the hills beyond. “You have been a good and faithful servant. You are like a son to me, and I believe you know that we are grooming you for leadership.”

  Gabe nodded.

  “Leadership has to do with adhering to the Prophet’s revelations. Celestial marriage is necessary for your salvation.” He looked down at the silver snake of a river, watched it for a while, then moved his gaze back to Gabe. “You do remember the revelation?”

  Gabe nodded but could only think of Mary Rose, her love, her trust, her utter faith in him. All that could be destroyed. “Yes.”

  Brigham walked closer again. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you all this today, of all days. But I wanted to prepare you.”

  “Prepare me for what?”

  “For taking Bronwyn as your second wife. I know of your friendship with Griffin, and the friendship that your wife and Bronwyn enjoy. Believe me when I tell you that your union with Bronwyn Carey is God-ordained. I daresay, looking back on how you met aboard the Sea Hawk, how you’ve become closer than blood relatives, God’s intent from the beginning is now clear. You need to talk to your wife and Bronwyn Carey as soon as possible.”

  He smiled as Gabe stood before him, speechless. “Of course, I’m sure you realize that you really have no choice in the decision, and that by speaking to your wife, I’m not indicating that you’re asking her permission. This directive comes from the Prophet.”

  “I have no choice.” Gabe drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling he might suffocate.

  “Not if you want to proceed into celestial godhood—if you’re thinking of the union’s eternal value. And if you’re thinking of its temporal value, I remind you again that you’re being groomed for leadership—perhaps as an apostle. If you disobey, there will be consequences on both fronts.”

  Gabe looked out over the terrain. His heart pounded, in dismay for what the news would do to Mary Rose, and surprisingly in anticipation of taking the beautiful Bronwyn as his own.

  Brigham turned and walked away from Gabe, the sounds of his footsteps heavy on the gravel path, followed by snapping limbs as he cut through the brush.

  The following week, Mary Rose drove the buckboard up to the temple site, the children laughing and chattering in the back.

  “We’re going on a picnic,” Ruby sang out as they rounded the corner to the temple.

  “I’m gonna find the best fishing hole ever and bring fishes home for us all to have for supper,” Coal said, wielding his fishing pole. “Sister Cordelia said if I catch a catfish, she’d fix it a special way. She says it’s the Cajun way, spicy and hot.” He rubbed his stomach.

  “Catfith? Thath the thillieth thing I ever heard.” Ruby giggled. “Doth it purr?”

  “No, but it has whiskers,” Coal said. “Sister Cordelia told me so.”

  “Does it meow?” Pearl said, dissolving in gales of laughter.

  “I mith Othcar the Lobthter.”

  “Me too,” Pearl chimed in.

  “And Little Grathe.”

  “Auntie Bronwyn needs time for her heart to heal,” Mary Rose said. “She loved her husband very much.”

  “But he’th in heaven now,” Ruby said.

  “But not the high heaven,” Coal said, sticking out his chin in a posture of superiority. “Because he had only one wife.”

  Mary Rose frowned and halted the mare at the top of the hill. She turned in the seat to look back at Coal. “Where did you hear that?”

  “Cornelius and Elroy told me they heard it at the meetinghouse.”

  She gave him a stern look. “Don’t ever repeat that again, do you understand me?”

  His eyes grew wide and he blinked. “Why not?”

  “I don’t believe it’s true.”

  “The Prophet says it’s true,” Coal said. “My friend at the meetinghouse says he knows lots of our friends who have more than one mother.”

  “I would like to have more than one mama,” Pearl said. “That way Lady could be our mama and our real mama could also be our mama.”

  Mary Rose had to smile at the logic. “And I would like to be your mama,” she said. She turned back to Coal. “Come to Mr. MacKay or me first whenever you hear such rumors. We’ll talk them over and decide what’s true and what isn’t.”

  She slipped off the wagon, retrieved the picnic basket from the back of the buckboard, and gave it to Coal to carry. Spotting Gabe, she waved and helped the twins down so they could rush to him.

  He saw them coming and waved back. Reaching for the twins and picking them up together, he spun them in circles. They squealed and giggled. “I brought my fishing pole,” Coal said. “To catch us some catfish.”

  “I know where to find them,” Gabe said, ruffling the boy’s hair. “I also know a special place to have a picnic—by the river. Turns out the catfish hole isn’t far.”

  Ruby went to the edge of the ridge and looked down. “Ith far down there.”

  Gabe grinned. “I have a secret path I take to the river.”

  The children were wide-eyed as they followed Gabe along a path that wound through willows and cattails.

  Mary Rose relished the warmth of the sun on her shoulders, and drew in a deep breath. Her grief for Bronwyn’s loss was still acute, but the sound of the rolling river, the birdsong, the children’s voices did much to assuage it. She felt the baby move, a little foot or elbow rippling across her stomach, and laughed at the joy of life within her.

  They came into an opening in the foliage. Gabe stepped through and held some willow branches so the others could enter. A few feet away, a brook cascaded down some stones, clumps of fern on either side. Beside the brook stood a flat piece of granite, the perfect height for a table.

  Mary Rose clasped her hands together in delight. “It’s beautiful, Gabe. How did you find it?”

  “It’s where I come daily to read the Book of Mormon.”

  “It would be perfect for that.”

  Gabe laughed. “I thought you’d ask me why I’m suddenly interested in the Book of Mormon.” The children ran off to catch frogs and pollywogs, so they could speak plainly.

  “I’ve had a lot to think through,” he said, moving his gaze to the river. The sun caught a scattering of ripples, turning them to a thousand sparkling diamonds. He turned back to Mary Rose. “I’m hoping to find the answers to my many questions.”

  She raised a questioning brow. “And?”

  “So far, I haven’t found them. I just end up with more questions than before.” He gave her that half-smile she loved.

  “You still believe? In the Prophet and his revelations?”

  “Oh, yes. I have no doubts that his testimony is true.”

  She unfolded the quilt, shook it out, and then laid it on the ground next to the slab of granite. Gabe put the basket in its center. “Hmm, smells good,” he said, rubbing his hands together.

  “Fried chicken.” Mary Rose hesitated for a moment and then added, “I’ve sensed that you’re pondering something that is so important it’s almost taken you away from me.”

  “Taken me away?”

  “’Tis true, though I haven’t said much about it. Sometimes your body is there, but your mind is absent.”

  “You speak in riddles.”

  She laughed. “It does sound like a riddle.” She looked out over the river, focusing on the other side. “Sometimes I wonder if you don’t want to be near me anymore,” she said quietly. “Your thoughts travel far away. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “I’m trying to be the best husband I can be.”

  “I’m not denying that you are. I think back to those days when we fell in love aboard the Sea Hawk. Your spirit seemed lighter somehow; now it seems as though you
carry a heavy weight on your shoulders. You can’t lay it down, but it’s too heavy to continue on. Gabe, something’s wrong between us. I’ve felt it for some time. Can you not trust me with it?”

  Silence settled between them for a moment as Gabe traced a finger idly along the lid of the picnic basket, apparently gathering his thoughts—and perhaps his courage—to speak.

  “Brigham approached me the day of Griffin’s funeral. It’s been eating away at me.” He sighed deeply, looking away from her. “I haven’t known what to say or how to say it, so I just kept busy doing other things.”

  Mary Rose leaned back, her arms straight, supporting her weight. She sensed what he had to tell her was not good news. “Tell me, please, Gabe, so I can help you.”

  “Brigham wants me to marry Bronwyn.”

  Mary Rose gasped, too startled for several moments to say anything. “Bronwyn? A second wife?”

  He stood and walked closer to her, kneeling almost as if in supplication before her. His eyes were filled with an emotion she couldn’t read.

  “You disagreed, of course.” Her words were a statement, not a question. “You told him no, that we would not live that way under any circumstances. That’s what you said, wasn’t it?”

  “We aren’t being given a choice, Mary Rose.”

  Mary Rose reached up and held his face between her hands. “Gabe, you can’t…we can’t.” Her heart ached just knowing he considered it.

  Her heart was beating so hard she was certain Gabe could hear it. “We’ve already taken her in, Gabe. She and Griffin have been practically living with us from the day we sailed out of Liverpool a year ago.” As she continued, her words contained more bitterness than she intended. “Leave things the way they are. You don’t need to marry Bronwyn to care for her.”

  “According to the Prophet’s revelation, I must.” He looked at her steadily, searching her eyes. “I beg of you to calm yourself. Think this through.”

  “You said we have no choice. I disagree. We can say no.” She stood. “There’s nothing else to think about; I’ve made my decision.” She turned her back to him.

  Mary Rose was breathing hard, her heart still pounding. “We should take the children and leave,” she said. “Just get out of here. None of this is right. The Prophet makes up his rules as he goes and calls them revelations. Can’t you see it, Gabe? Until now, it didn’t seem important. Now it’s more important than life itself. He is a charlatan.”

  “That’s blasphemous,” he said, slapping his forehead in disbelief.

  She stared at Gabe, wondering if she knew him at all.

  His tone held the utmost patience when he next spoke. “Speak to Bronwyn, ask what she would prefer to do. If I don’t marry her, someone else will. It’s better that she be with us, a family who loves her.”

  Mary Rose shook her head. “I can’t do that. It would be a slap in the face after all she’s been through. She will not agree to a plural marriage no matter who the groom is.”

  She looked around for the twins and Coal, suddenly aware they might have overheard the argument. But moments later, when the children raced back into the picnic area, they apparently hadn’t heard a word of disagreement. Pearl had three frogs in her pocket, and Ruby had captured two pollywogs because she liked their “tailth.”

  Coal grabbed the fried chicken from the basket and passed it around. The children’s tales filled the space between them.

  Then Ruby looked from Gabe to Mary Rose and back again. “Lady, are you mad at Mithter MacKay? Whatth wrong?”

  Mary Rose reached for the child and hugged her close. Gabe did the same with the other two. “We’re just talking about something serious that will affect us all,” Gabe said.

  Coal’s eyes grew big. “You’re not sending us to Cousin Hermione’s, are you?”

  “Or the Thandwich Islandth,” Ruby said. “I don’t want to go there anymore. I like it here with you.”

  “We want you to stay with us forever,” Mary Rose said. She looked across the picnic blanket at Gabe, hoping for a wink or a smile. He let his gaze drift over her shoulder.

  The following day, Bronwyn wept when Mary Rose told her what the Prophet, Brigham, and even Gabe had planned for her.

  “Am I mere chattel?” she cried, and then buried her head in her hands. Tears were streaming down her cheeks when she looked up. “Am I to have no voice in the matter? My husband’s body is not even cold, my grief still too terrible to bear, yet Brigham and Joseph are already deciding my future.” They were sitting on a quilt near the garden while the twins played by the creek and Little Grace napped nearby. Mary Rose moved closer to her friend and circled her arm around her shoulders.

  Mary Rose was surprised that she found herself defending the Church leaders. “They have your best interests at heart,” she said gently. “You are not chattel. Don’t consider yourself as such, no matter what happens.”

  “I can’t,” Bronwyn wept. “I—I—I can’t even think of being with another m-m-man. Not now. Not ever. I—I just want Griffin…”

  “What will you do to take care of yourself and Little Grace?”

  Wiping her tears, Bronwyn looked up. “I—I d-don’t kn-know. I have the farm. Maybe I can sell vegetables or eggs or something.” She blew her nose. “I can grow enough food for the two of us. I can make it.”

  “Did Griffin take out a loan from Joseph to build it?”

  Fresh tears filled her eyes. “Yes. I’d forgotten. But, yes, he did. It will have to be paid back.”

  Silence fell between them. They both knew without saying that Bronwyn had no means, no way, of repaying such a loan. The farm would have to be sold.

  Mary Rose swallowed hard. “I’ve thought about this a lot…about our choices. I’ve tried to convince Gabe that you and Little Grace can stay here. That we could keep our household just as it is now. You would be cared for. We’re already as close as sisters and you and the baby are part of the family.”

  Bronwyn gave her a trembling smile. “We wouldn’t have to change anything. I would pull my weight, do what I could to contribute to the household…”

  Mary Rose patted her hand. “You always have. You don’t need to worry about such a thing. Your being here is a blessing.”

  “What if…” Bronwyn began, fear clouding her eyes once again. “What if Gabe and the others insist it be official, insist I become the second wife? What if we truly have no choice?”

  “I’ll keep trying to convince my husband that he must say no.” Mary Rose sighed, feeling her own tears well. “Otherwise, we have two choices.”

  Bronwyn looked up at her quizzically.

  “Leave with the children. Go anywhere away from Nauvoo…”

  Her friend looked skeptical. “With all the children?”

  Mary Rose bit her lip. “And the other choice—”

  Bronwyn interrupted, lifting her chin. “—is one that we can control.” She smiled slightly. “If you’re thinking what I’m thinking, we might just be able to see this thing through, keep our dignity and chastity.”

  Mary Rose stood as Bronwyn did the same. The friends embraced as Gabe came out of the barn.

  “It will remain our solemn vow to each other…” Mary Rose said.

  Before Bronwyn could answer, Gabe joined them, stooped to pick up Little Grace, and gave her a hug and a kiss.

  When he looked up, Mary Rose was surprised that instead of meeting her eyes, he had fixed his gaze on Bronwyn.

  Down by the creek a mockingbird’s trill joined the laughter of the twins and Coal, and closer in a breeze rattled the maple leaves and lifted an errant tendril from Mary Rose’s flushed forehead. Still, her husband’s gaze did not move from her friend’s face.

  TWENTY-NINE

  June 28, 1842

  Mary Rose refused to let the sting at the back of her throat turn to tears. Instead, she drew in a deep breath and reached over her swollen stomach to pluck weeds from between the rows of cabbage seedlings.

  Distant wedding bells to
lled, calling the Saints to the meetinghouse for the ceremony sealing seven brides to fewer than half as many grooms.

  As her knees sank into the loamy soil she gave little thought to the peau de soie gown she wore, one of the few stylish frocks that had survived the voyage and wagon journey to Nauvoo, and the only one with an Empire waist that could accommodate the child growing beneath her heart.

  She plunged her hands into the wet soil and breathed in its soft fragrance, thinking of fertility, life, and growth. She would miss her garden; it had been a source of wonder since Bronwyn had helped her turn the first spade of soil. Throughout the winter and early spring they had talked about their plantings: radishes, beans, winter squash, corn, and herbs for cooking; and then they had convinced Gabe and Griffin of their need for an arbor, and amid laughter and loving conversation, all had worked together to build it. Neighbors had supplied them with healthy cuttings of grapevines and berries. With a sense of wonder, she had watched her early garden thrive and felt an almost motherly pride at the tender new growth.

  Little more than a year earlier, back in England, the thought had never entered her pampered head that she might take such pleasure in the sun’s warmth on her shoulders, or the burial of a seemingly dry and dead seed that days later pushed its tiny sprout-self through the soil, reaching for the same sunlight that gladdened her heart.

  From the henhouse, several yards beyond the garden, the low clucks of hens and higher-pitched peeps of the fresh-hatched chicks brought another wave of sorrow. How could she leave this place she’d grown to love in such a short time? How could she leave the man she loved with every ounce of her being? Especially now that she carried his child?

  The gentle breeze cooled her warm cheeks, and she drew in a deep breath, concentrating on the rhythmic music of the farm: the breeze rattling the oak leaves by the creek out back, the low murmurs of hens and chicks, the nickering of a newborn colt, and the answering neigh of his mother in the pasture.

  Her eyes filled, and her heart ached with longing as if she’d already hitched the carriage and driven off.