by Diane Noble
I have loved you with an everlasting love… She thought she heard spoken words. But no one was there.
“I can’t abide this, I cannot!” she wept. “How can I be the one who has the power to break up families in heaven? How can a mere human being—a man—whether he is part of the priesthood or not, have the power to call me into heaven to be with him through eternity?”
I have called you by name, you are mine…
Drifting from the window came the lilt of Bronwyn’s delighted giggles followed by the resonance of Gabe’s voice, both sounds she had loved until now.
She stood, holding her hands over her ears. “I must leave this place. I cannot bear it a moment longer. But where can I go? What can I do?”
Come unto me, child, and I will give you rest…
“Which God is true…the God of my childhood…or the one who has restored his true Church through the Prophet? The one who says all men can become like him, become gods of their own worlds, their blessings increasing with each new wife he takes? Or the one who remains so shadowy from my mother’s teachings that I can’t remember him?”
I am the First and I am the Last; besides Me there is no God.
Mary Rose moved as if through a dreamscape toward the back door, thinking about the iron strength that encased her backbone. It had seen her through before, and she trusted it to do so again.
She hurried up the stairs and moved down the hallway to her bedroom. Just as she passed Gabe’s room, the door opened. Bronwyn, looking ravishingly beautiful in a new silk chemise that emphasized her shapely body, stepped into the hallway, saw Mary Rose, and stopped.
For a long moment they stared at each other.
Mary Rose imagined she could smell Gabe’s scent on Bronwyn’s skin. Her mouth looked swollen and almost bruised with the passion of his kisses, and her long, thick eyelashes emphasized her dreamy, half-closed eyes.
Bronwyn reached out to touch Mary Rose’s hand, but Mary Rose stepped away from her and shook her head.
“I’m sorry,” Bronwyn whispered as Mary Rose rushed by. This time there was no mistaking the scent.
She rushed to her bedroom, closed the door, locked it, and threw herself on the bed, this time her pain too great for tears.
THIRTY-THREE
After a fitful few hours of sleep, Mary Rose welcomed the coming dawn. She poured cool water over a cloth from a pitcher at her dressing table, held it against her swollen eyes, and then as clumsily as ever, braided her flyaway curls into a long plait. After slipping into a plain gingham morning dress and white apron, she stepped into the hallway, her heart still heavy. She drew in a deep breath, determined to be finished with her weeping.
She hesitated in front of the twins’ door, her heart overtaken by a sudden need to wrap her arms around the children. She stepped into the room and opened the shade. The sun was still well below the horizon, but the scattering of clouds that dotted the sky had already begun their transformation from pearl gray to pink.
The twins, in a trundle, rubbed their eyes and yawned when they saw her. Mary Rose gave them each a good-morning kiss, and then sat on the edge of the lower trundle next to Ruby. “Lady,” Ruby said, “Pearl and me dethided thomething.”
“Pearl and I,” Mary Rose corrected, ruffling her hair, though she hated to draw attention to anything additional now that Ruby was working so hard to correct her lisp.
Ruby crawled from beneath her bedclothes and snuggled close to Mary Rose. “What did you decide?” Mary Rose wrapped her arm around the little girl.
“We want to call you Mommy.” Pearl slid from the upper part of the trundle to cuddle on Mary Rose’s other side.
Mary Rose smiled for the first time in days. “Mommy? I like that, but your real mommy might not be so glad to hear it when she gets here.”
“She’ll never come for us,” Pearl said. “If she was, she’d be here by now. We don’t think she likes us very much.”
“Papa too,” Ruby said. “Bethideth…be-sides, we don’t ever want to leave. We like it here this much.” She held out her arms as far as they could stretch.
“How would you like to go back to England with me?” Mary Rose ventured. “Coal too, of course.”
“On the big thailing thip?” She let out an exasperated sigh. “Sailing th…ship.”
Mary Rose could see by their expressions that her idea wasn’t going over well. “Aye, yes, the big ship. The same way we came over, only in reverse.”
“Auntie Bronwyn and Little Grace and Papa?” Pearl asked. “Will they come too?”
It didn’t take Mary Rose much thought to realize Gabe had now become Papa. “I thought it might be a nice holiday for just the four of us to go—just you girls, Coal, and me.”
“What about Grandpa Earl and Grandma Cordelia?” Ruby’s bottom lip trembled and her eyes filled.
Mary Rose bit her lip. She hadn’t expected the children to hold such fierce love for their family. “Just us.”
Pearl looked up at her. “Don’t you love Papa anymore?”
“Yes, I do,” Mary Rose said. “And he loves me.” She pushed from her mind the images and sounds of the night before.
“How come you don’t ever look like you love him?” Pearl said.
“Sometimes you just thit…sit and stare without thmiling…smiling…or talking or laughing,” Ruby added.
“I’ve had many things on my mind,” she said quietly.
“The baby that went up to heaven. That made me very sad.” Pearl flopped back on the bed. “I cried and cried ’cause I loved that baby.”
“Me too,” Ruby said. “I was tho thad.” She sighed again. “So th…sad.”
Coal tumbled through the doorway and jumped up onto the upper trundle. Mary Rose gave him a warning look and he sat, grinning and swinging his legs over the side.
“Mommy wants us to go to England,” Pearl said.
He tossed his sisters a look of superiority. “Mommy’s in the Sandwich Islands. How could she want us to go to England?”
“Thith mommy, thilly,” Ruby said and gave his bare foot a poke.
“What’s going on in here?” Gabe stuck his head in the door, smiled at Mary Rose, and strode across the room. He ruffled the twins’ hair and gave Coal a quick hug.
He bent to kiss Mary Rose’s cheek and whispered, “I love you.” But when she raised her eyes to look deep into his, a new emotion seemed to have crowded in. A glow? A spark that hadn’t been there before last night? She had no doubt that it had to do with love. But it wasn’t love for her.
“Mommy wants uth to go to England,” Ruby announced.
Gabe didn’t miss a beat; he went on as if Ruby had mentioned they were having potatoes for dinner. “It’s pretty this time of year,” he said. “Not so cold and foggy.”
“I don’t wanna go,” Pearl said. “I like it here better.”
“Me too. Papa, don’t make us go, pleathe…please.”
Gabe quirked a brow and grinned at them. “Papa? What’s this Papa business all about?”
They explained, and Gabe gave them a big grin and gathered them into a hug. Bronwyn came to the door and peeked in, smiling as though nothing unusual had happened the night before. She held Little Grace, who smiled and patty-caked her hands when she saw Mary Rose and then reached for her.
Mary Rose took the baby into her arms, unable to keep her heart from lifting when she gazed into the baby’s sweet face. It was for the children, she reminded herself, that she had made her decision. Not just the babe who lay in the ground by the garden but for Little Grace too.
She kissed the baby’s fingers, vowing that she would allow nothing to break the celestial bond: not jealousy, or pride, or her strong inclination toward having her own way.
She’d determined sometime in the early predawn hours that she didn’t need to stay in the same home, or even the same country, to remain true to those vows.
“I’m hungry,” Coal announced, leaping from the top trundle and landing with a thud on the w
ooden floor.
Mary Rose laughed. “’Tis no wonder. You are a growing boy and need your sustenance.” The child stuck out his chest. “But not one mouth in our growing family can have even the smallest taste of my fresh blueberry pancakes until that person is fully washed, dressed, has combed their hair, and set the table for us all.”
“Blueberry pancaketh?” Ruby’s eyes grew big. “Did they get ripe?”
Gabe exchanged a smile with Mary Rose, though deep inside his eyes she could see his puzzlement. He looked back to the children. “Indeed they did, and I know as a fact that the mockingbirds will eat every one if we don’t get outside to pick them.”
Still holding Little Grace, Mary Rose stepped toward the doorway where Bronwyn leaned against the doorjamb. As she gently handed Little Grace back to her friend, their eyes met.
Mary Rose couldn’t imagine a more difficult act to carry out at this moment, but she smiled into Bronwyn’s eyes and gave her a nod as if the nightmare of the previous night never happened. Then she circled her arm around Bronwyn’s waist and led her out to the hall.
“Would you like to help with the pancakes?” she whispered.
Bronwyn looked confused for a moment, and then laughed. “Have you never made them before?”
Mary Rose shook her head. “Have you?”
“Aye, and ’twill be my honor and pleasure to show you how.” Her eyes filled, and grabbing Mary Rose’s hand, she held it tight. “I’m so very sorry…about last…”
Mary Rose stepped back and forced her smile to stay in place. “We will never speak of it again.”
Early that afternoon, Mary Rose hitched one of their horses, a white mare she’d secretly named Angel Moroni, to the buckboard. She’d told no one where she was headed; she merely asked Bronwyn to watch the children.
The sun was high, so she opened her parasol for shade as Angel Moroni trotted toward Nauvoo. Soon, she could see the temple up on the hillside, and though Gabe had ridden there earlier to meet with the carpenters, she bypassed the road leading to the site and continued her journey to the center of town.
The Prophet’s newly completed home, which he and Emma called the Mansion House, stood taller than the other homes around it.
Mary Rose halted Angel Moroni in front of the mansion and furled her parasol, then secured the mare to a hitching post. She gazed up at the two-story house with its gleaming white exterior, deep green shutters, and twin brick chimneys, one at each end. A wide elegant doorway seemed designed to welcome visitors.
Even if it hadn’t given that impression, Mary Rose would have made her visit anyway.
The gate opened with a squeak, and as she walked to the front door, Mary Rose noticed that in at least half of the four upstairs windows, hands pulled back the lace curtains just enough for someone to peer out without being seen.
Undeterred, she marched up the steps to the front door and gave it a sharp rap with the brass knocker.
It took only a moment or two for the door to open. A pretty girl of about seventeen stood in front of Mary Rose and gave her a gracious smile.
“I would like to speak with Sister Emma,” Mary Rose said.
The girl blinked. “I’m certain she’s not accepting callers right now.”
Mary Rose had come prepared for that eventuality. She pulled out a calling card, left over from her days in English society, and handed it to the girl. “If you will kindly inform her that Lady Mary Rose Ashley has come to call, I would be grateful.”
The girl read the card and raised her eyebrows. When she spoke again, her voice held greater respect. “Please, do come in. You may wait in the parlor for her answer.” The girl stood back to let Mary Rose pass, then hurried up the stairs. As Mary Rose seated herself on a burgundy velvet settee in the parlor, she heard the low murmur of voices. After a moment, she heard light footsteps on the stairs and Emma Smith appeared in the doorway, the girl who’d fetched her standing at her elbow.
Mary Rose stood to greet the Prophet’s wife.
Emma waved a hand. “Please, sit down. Would you care for tea?”
Mary Rose glanced at the mantel clock and smiled at her hostess. “’Tis that time.”
Emma instructed the girl to bring them tea and scones, cream, and preserves. Sitting back, she settled her gaze on Mary Rose. “I’ve been expecting you.”
Mary Rose tilted her head in surprise.
“Our community is still small enough for word to get around. I knew of your background in England, the great cost you paid emotionally and physically to join us, and lately, how that cost has increased.”
“Are you speaking of my husband’s second wife?”
She nodded. “And your deep loss. I’ve lost two babies, and with each I felt I had no reason to go on living. If it hadn’t been for my other children…for Joseph…I don’t know what I would have done.”
The girl brought a tray and set it on a low Chippendale table between them. She recognized the elegant hand-painted Rockingham English bone china tea set, ivory in color with gold trim.
“Thank you, Melissa, that will be all,” Emma said and then poured tea for Mary Rose. “Sugar and cream?”
Mary Rose couldn’t help smiling. It was the first time an elegant tea, with exquisite service, had been offered her since leaving the manor house. “Both, thank you.”
She handed Mary Rose her teacup and saucer, and as Mary Rose stirred her tea with a silver teaspoon, the Prophet’s wife sat back, studying her guest over the rim of her teacup.
“Thank you for seeing me today—and with such gracious warmth.” Mary Rose took in the tea service, the elegant surroundings, the woman herself who gave her an encouraging smile.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said. “I never expected to be drawn into this world…I never expected my husband…” She hesitated as her pent-up emotions from the night before bubbled to the surface.
Emma leaned forward and when she spoke, her voice was gentle. “I know what you’re trying to say. I know, and I understand.”
“Because you’ve lived it?”
Emma gave her an almost imperceptible nod. She reached for the silver basket of scones and handed it to Mary Rose.
“How do you do it? Do you still love your husband?” She spread sweet butter on a scone and bit into it, relishing the taste of home.
“Oh, yes. And I believe in him, I always have.” Emma prepared a scone, and then set it on a small plate beside her saucer and teacup.
“But this revelation about taking plural wives…” Sounds of women conversing drifted from an upstairs room. The young girl who’d greeted Mary Rose and served tea passed by the parlor doorway with another woman who appeared to be in her forties. Neither paid much notice to Emma or to Mary Rose.
“It’s been a practice since before we left Kirtland,” Emma said. “I denied it for a long time, not believing it possible.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ve also tried to deny that the revelation came years after the practice began. But it’s now common knowledge, at least among the leaders of the Church. Some say, because I’m mentioned by name in the revelation God gave to my husband, that he meant to finally settle my mind about it.”
“Why did you agree to it?”
“I didn’t, not with the first. Or the second, for that matter. Those are the first two I know of, but there may have been others.”
“And Joseph took these wives without your permission?”
“Yes. He believed it was God’s will. He believes the first part of the Bible proves it’s honorable in God’s sight—think of David, Solomon, and the many others who thought nothing of taking as many wives and concubines as they liked. Joseph says that God counted these men as righteous. He also asks why God should change his mind about things.”
“Is that your belief?”
Emma poured Mary Rose more tea. “My acceptance of the practice comes from my belief in family.”
Mary Rose’s eyes widened. “That was my conclusion last night. It was the only
reason I would agree. I believe with all my heart that we will forever be sealed in heaven. I couldn’t bear the thought of being the one to break up our family.”
“Or to forgo holding your own child in your arms again.” Her eyes grew moist and she reached for a dainty handkerchief.
“Yes,” Mary Rose said softly. “I made that final decision because of my baby.”
Emma stood and walked to the empty fireplace, touched the mantel clock almost absently, then turned back to Mary Rose. “I am assuming you came here today for advice, not just to talk about the plural marriage, good or bad.”
“Yes.” She leaned forward earnestly. “What do I do now?”
Emma came over and sat beside Mary Rose on the settee. She reached for her hand and squeezed it for emphasis as she spoke. “Don’t ever forget that you are the first wife. Hold on to that position no matter what, no matter the strength of personality exhibited by the other wives to come—and you can be assured, they will come. As sure as the sun rises in the east, your husband will take as many as you allow.”
“You said that Joseph took wives without your permission…”
“That was before I understood what I needed to do. That was before I turned the tables.” The corner of her mouth twitched as if she wanted to laugh, but she didn’t. “From now on, you will choose his wives for him.”
Mary Rose sat back, astounded. “I’ve been thinking the only thing I could do was to leave. To return to England.”
“Has it occurred to you that should you leave, you could be tried as an apostate?”
“I wouldn’t leave my church. Only my husband.”
“Then we come back to the issue of eternity. Even if you weren’t tried for apostasy and excommunicated—by leaving Gabriel, you risk displeasing him. If you displease him, he will not call you by your holy name into the highest heaven, that place where your family will be—with you, or without you.”
“So we come back to the sacrifice for the family, for our babies.”
Emma nodded. “Do you love your husband, even after what he’s done?”
“Yes, ’tis a miracle, but yes, I love him. I feel betrayed by him, by my dearest friend—but, yes, I love him with all my heart.”
