by Diane Noble
She pinched her cheeks until they were the hue of wild roses, thinking about the plan she and Mary Rose had devised to please the Church leaders, keep Gabe in good standing, and allow her to remain part of the family—just as she and Griffin and Little Grace always had been.
It would work, she told herself, drawing in a deep breath. It had to. For Mary Rose’s sake, especially. It worried her that Mary Rose hadn’t seemed well earlier that morning, and she planned to pull her aside and reassure her that never would she try to supplant her in Gabe’s affections.
She only hoped that Mary Rose would arrive with Gabriel well before the ceremony started so they could spend those few moments alone.
She backed away from the mirror as other brides arrived to ready themselves for the ceremony. As the door opened and closed, the jangle and rattle of horse-drawn carriages and the low bursts of chatter carried toward her.
As the women joined her, it became apparent that the excited voices that had drifted in from outside came from the grooms, not the brides. Most of the women appeared subdued, some of the younger ones even frightened.
As the time neared for all to have arrived, Bronwyn went to the door of the meetinghouse and peered out at the street. Carriages and horses were lined up, empty of their passengers, but there was no sign of Gabe and Mary Rose.
One of the brides, a sad-looking young woman with red-rimmed eyes and trembling hands, spotted Bronwyn and slipped away from a group of three brides.
“I heard you’re marrying Brother MacKay,” she said.
Bronwyn couldn’t help the little smile of pride that tugged the corner of her lips upward. She nodded.
“I’ve noticed him before. He’s a fine-looking man.”
“’Tis true.” Still standing at the door, Bronwyn let her gaze drift away from the woman’s probing scrutiny back to the street, thinking about Gabe, how she’d admired him from the first moment she saw him, long before he and Mary Rose fell in love.
That first moment…the day they boarded the Sea Hawk in Liverpool and Coal climbed the topmast. He’d perched there, frightening the wits out of every passenger and seaman on deck. Gabe had climbed up after him as if he’d been born with the strength and humor needed to rescue errant boys.
She could never have imagined how their lives would intertwine. Griffin, the man she would love forever, had been at her side, and they were expecting their first child. She didn’t imagine then the loss that would soon break her heart. Neither could she have foreseen that one day—this day—she would become Gabriel MacKay’s bride, his second. And that his first wife, Mary Rose, would have become the dearest friend she’d ever known. Oh, Mary Rose, hurry…! She couldn’t walk down the aisle without her. She hadn’t asked, but she wanted Mary Rose to walk with her to Gabriel, their hands clasped in a silent agreement of sisterhood and faithfulness to their plan.
“Where is he?” The woman interrupted Bronwyn’s thoughts. “Your Gabriel, I mean,” she added, noticing Bronwyn’s confused expression. “Shouldn’t he be here by now?”
She snapped back to the present. Her Gabriel? “He…he should have been here by now. He felt things were getting awkward with Mary Ro—with his first wife and that it might be easier if…” Taking a deep breath, she began again. “Brigham came for Little Grace and me, and his wife Mary Ann helped me dress for the wedding at their home. She’s keeping Little Grace for me while I—” She stopped to listen as she heard another carriage round the corner.
She flew to the door and stepped outside, just in time to see it rattle by without stopping.
She turned when Brigham came up behind her, his forehead furrowed in a deep frown. He had no need to ask the obvious question. Bronwyn shook her head. “I don’t know what’s keeping Brother Gabriel.”
Brigham pulled out a pocket watch. “It’s not like him to be late.” He gave Bronwyn a piercing look. “I suggest you return to the brides’ room and await your groom. We’ll start as soon as Brother Gabriel and Sister Mary Rose arrive.”
“I’ll need a few minutes to talk to Sister Mary Rose before we begin.”
“Unless they arrive soon, there won’t be time.” He smiled. “There will be plenty of time afterward for sister-wife talk, believe me, Sister Bronwyn.”
He took her elbow to guide her back into the meetinghouse, reached for the door, and opened it so she could enter.
Bronwyn stopped just short of entering.
Mary Rose.
It took only a half heartbeat for Bronwyn’s mind to whirl with the possibilities. The pregnancy. The swollen, distraught look of Mary Rose that morning. The sounds of weeping in the night.
What if…? She didn’t complete the thought, remembering the weariness like unto death itself the morning before Little Grace was born.
Bronwyn took a step backward, almost knocking Brigham off balance; then she turned, gathered her full skirts, and hurried toward the street. “I’m going to find them,” she called over her shoulder. “You can start without us.”
She didn’t bother to stop to ask for approval—or even to see what was surely a look of stunned disapproval on Brigham’s face. Instead, she turned her attention to the unattended carriages and wagons lined up in front of the meetinghouse.
She made a beeline toward a lone horse tethered to a hitching post just beyond the last carriage—a gleaming black beast with an arched neck, sleek head, and intelligent eyes. As she placed a foot in the stirrup and swung her leg over the hand-tooled leather and silver saddle, her dress bunching up to her knees, she swallowed a smile. She would have laughed if she hadn’t been so worried about Mary Rose. In the old days, she and Mary Rose would have giggled together over such a sight.
She heard a familiar voice shouting from the front of the meeting house. Without a glance toward the man, she leaned close to the horse’s neck. “Go, boy,” she cried, pressing her heels into his flanks. She hoped the beast would respond to the voice of someone other than his master—especially since it was his master doing the shouting, commanding him to halt.
But the horse—the pride of Brigham’s stables—appeared to be quite content with Bronwyn on his back. He took off like a fox after prey, and as soon as they were on the open road, she let him take the lead. He seemed to sense the urgency and galloped with hurricane force toward the MacKay farm.
As they raced along, Bronwyn leaning low over the horse’s neck, she watched the road ahead, hoping to see the telltale dust of a carriage coming toward her. She had no desire to return to the meetinghouse to go through with the marriage, but she wanted to know her friend was well. Right now, that was all that mattered.
They reached the top of a small knoll, and in the distance lay the farm. She slowed the horse and took in the scene, searching for anything that seemed amiss. The scene was bathed in sunlight, just as it had been earlier that morning. Even with the warmth of the sun on her shoulders, a shiver traveled up her spine.
Something was wrong. The house was too quiet. Where were the children? And Cordelia, who’d offered to watch them during the marriage festivities?
Her mouth went dry, and her heart thudded with fear for her friend as she urged the horse to a gallop once more.
Gabe must have heard the thundering hoofbeats. He ran from the house, and even before she reached him, she could see his pale, disheveled appearance. And the blood on his shirt.
Bile rose in her throat as she drew back hard on the reins. The beast halted and reared. She patted his neck to calm him and then dismounted. Gabe ran to her and grasped her hands. His expression told her more than words ever could.
“Mary Rose?” she whispered.
His voice choked. “How—” His gaze shot to the horse, then back to her. “How did you know to come? She needs you…. We need you.”
“Is she upstairs?” She didn’t want to cry, so she kept her focus on his eyes instead of his blood-stained shirt. “How bad is it?”
“Go to her. Quickly.” He squeezed her hands before letting go. When she
glanced at the panting horse, he added, “I’ll take care of him. Just go to her, please.”
Lifting her skirts, Bronwyn raced up the front steps.
Mary Rose’s face was the same shade of white as the pillow slip beneath her head. Her closed eyelids didn’t flicker, and her soft breathing was almost inaudible.
Bronwyn bent over the bed and gently took Mary Rose’s face between both hands. “Dearest one,” she whispered, “can you hear me?” There was no response. She embraced her friend, kissed her cheek, and whispered again, “Mary Rose, it’s Bronwyn. I’m here for you.”
“She fell,” Gabe said from the doorway. “She’s been unconscious since. I don’t think she even knows about the…” His voice choked, and he walked across the room. “I did the best I could…but the infant was so small, so delicate. He couldn’t even take his first breath. I tried…I even tried to clear his throat with my fingers. Breathe air into him.” He had reached the bed and came around to kneel beside it opposite Bronwyn. He reached for Mary Rose’s hand, kissed it, and, still holding it, dropped his head.
His voice was ragged as he whispered, “Forgive me, my love. I brought this on you…on us. Our baby…Too much to forgive…Oh, Mary Rose…”
Behind him, in the cradle he’d spent weeks working on in the barn, lay the baby’s body, wrapped in a soft patchwork quilt that Bronwyn had sewn to celebrate the child’s birth.
Bronwyn left Mary Rose’s side and moved toward the cradle. She sat down beside it, her soiled and wrinkled skirt billowing around her. She gathered the baby into her arms, bringing its still-warm body close to her heart. For a moment, she just knelt there, at first rocking and humming a lullaby from her childhood, and then covering the baby’s face with kisses, just as she knew Mary Rose would do.
The sting of tears rose in the back of her throat. Mary Rose had been there for her to help save the life of Little Grace, but while Mary Rose lay suffering, while her baby tried to make its way into the world, Bronwyn was primping in front of the mirror in the brides’ room. She dropped her head and wept silently.
She opened the blanket and, holding the wee child in her lap, she touched each finger and toe, gently smoothed the baby’s head, and examined his tiny seashell ears.
“I’ll need a pan of warm water,” she said to Gabe after a few minutes. “And some clean rags. It’s time to prepare him.”
Still on his knees, Gabe turned to her, his expression raw with grief. “I was so busy, first trying to save him, then so afraid I would lose Mary Rose,” he said, “that I didn’t get a good look at him.”
She swallowed hard. “Would you like…to hold him?”
She found the answer in his eyes and laid the child in his arms. Gabe drew in a shuddering breath and drew the child close. He bowed his head, touching his forehead to his son’s. His sobs seemed to come from someplace deep within his being, a sound almost unbearable to hear.
Bronwyn moved closer and wrapped her arms around him, her embrace encompassing both father and son. She laid her head against Gabe’s heaving chest and found unexpected comfort as he leaned into her arms.
February 1846
Bronwyn laughed with the children when they made their confessions and briefly wondered what Gabe would say when he found out.
Her laughter was short-lived.
Enid rode up just as Mary Rose flicked the reins over the oxen to urge them through the snow.
“I overheard the children,” she said, “and I’m surprised that you allowed them to disobey their father.”
Mary Rose ignored her, as usual, and popped the whip over the backs of the oxen. They plodded forward, and Enid easily kept pace—and kept talking.
“It’s occurred to me lately that some of the same techniques that I use with horses might also work with children.”
There was a burst of laughter from the back of the wagon. Cordelia rolled her eyes, and Mary Rose pressed her lips together.
“It’s hardly the same thing,” Bronwyn said with a sigh. “And as I recall, you have no children of your own and thus no experience with such things.”
Enid winced and looked down, obviously hurt by the words. Bronwyn immediately wished she could take them back. But for months, Enid had made no secret of the fact that she wanted Gabe to marry her and that when he did, she planned to take over the household as first wife.
The giggles continued in the back of the wagon, which lessened the seriousness of the moment—and also pointed out the truth of Enid’s comment: the children did need a firmer hand. Bronwyn had caught Mary Grace imitating Enid more than once, had corrected her at least a dozen times for that and other offences. Yet from the sound of it, her daughter was at it again, entertaining the others with her newfound ability to mimic everyone from Brigham to Cordelia. It didn’t help that Cordelia was delighted and actually gave her pointers.
She sighed and gave Enid a small smile. “Now isn’t the time to speak of such things. The Saints have a lot to deal with aside from the errant behavior of children and training them as if they were…” A smile tugged at her lips, and she couldn’t finish.
The reflection of the spangle of stars on the new-fallen snow gave just enough light for Bronwyn to see Enid’s wide smile and the gleam of her wild silver-red mane. She was glad to see the woman wasn’t offended until she spoke again…
“Have you told the others?” Enid’s gaze was fixed on Mary Rose.
Mary Rose glanced at her but didn’t answer.
“I suppose it falls to me, then, as many things in the household will in the future.” Enid laughed, and the sound wasn’t unkind. Rather, it seemed to hold a tone of authority.
Bronwyn leaned forward, tilting her head toward Enid so she wouldn’t miss a word.
“We’re getting married!” Enid’s smile was joyful and triumphant. “Gabe and I are getting married as soon as we reach winter quarters. Mary Rose has finally agreed that it will be the best for us all.”
Bronwyn’s stomach clenched tight, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. She stared at Mary Rose. “You didn’t…you couldn’t have.”
Enid’s laughter rang out, and the thud of her high-stepping horse’s hooves drummed as if in rhythm with the sound. “She did, bless her, she did.” She looked as if nothing could quench her joy.
“Dearest,” she said as Gabe rode toward her. “I’ve just let everyone know our good news.”
Gabe’s eyes went to Bronwyn first, and then to Mary Rose, who kept her gaze on the backs of the oxen. She popped the whip harder than she had before, frightening the beasts even though the leather tip didn’t touch them.
The children had fallen silent as mice in the back of the wagon.
Gabe rode closer, his gaze now on Bronwyn again, searching her face as if looking to her for permission to love another. The look was so fleeting, she thought she had imagined it, but before he could speak, Enid rode up beside him.
“We’ll discuss this later,” she said to the three women, “and what it will mean to the running of our household.” She flashed them another smile before riding off with Gabe.
“The running of our household?” Cordelia laughed heartily. “Methinks if she tries, she’ll have quite a time of it, considering the likes of us.” The older woman had come to live with them right after Grandfather’s death. Though not a wife, she had become the matriarch of their family, full of love and laughter and spunk.
Bronwyn paid little attention to Cordelia’s words or even to the rollicking laughter from the back of the wagon as Mary Grace perfectly mimicked Enid’s parting words.
She was too busy thinking about Gabe, too filled with wonder at his expression when his eyes met hers, too surprised at the strange stirring of her heart. The look was different than any he’d given her before. It was almost as if he was falling in love with her.
Why now? She fell back against the wagon seat, trying to take in the jumbled emotions.
She’d accepted that he loved Mary Rose and didn’t love her—at least not wi
th the same kind of love. The relationship that they’d developed after they married had been based on physical attraction on his part and need on hers.
She craned to look back at Enid and Gabe riding toward the back of the wagon train, silhouetted against the orange sky of the burning city of Nauvoo.
Never once, during all the times they’d come together, had he said he loved her. She had accepted it as a fact, because in truth, her heart had still belonged to Griffin. And she knew his belonged to Mary Rose.
Now, in that one lingering look, his eyes said he loved her. She was sure of it. She wanted to laugh and cry and have a hissy fit, as Cordelia would say, all at the same time.
Mary Rose looked over at her. “Are you all right?”
“I think so,” she said.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you,” she said.
“Why now? You said you would never give permission for him to marry her.”
Mary Rose swallowed hard, and her expression softened. “It had to be now.” She handed the reins to Cordelia and turned sideways on the seat. “I couldn’t wait.”
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
The wagon wheels creaked in the snow, the oxen snorted, and behind them, the voices of the other travelers could be heard. Finally Mary Rose spoke. “It’s because of you.”
“Me?”
“Because you are falling in love with Gabe. And he with you.” Mary Rose gave her a small smile. “I’ve seen it in his face long before tonight.”
They fell silent again, and then Mary Rose circled her arm around Bronwyn’s shoulders. “I gave my permission for him to marry Enid to save you from the heartache of loving Gabriel MacKay.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I owe a debt of gratitude to the following:
Cynthia DiTiberio, my editor at HarperOne, for catching and holding onto the dream that became Brides of Gabriel and remaining passionate about it from our first conversation through the day I turned in Book One in the series. Thank you, Cindy!
Joel Kneedler, my agent, for your expert direction, astute career guidance, and calm spirit that keep me focused (and sane!). This book wouldn’t have happened without you. You’re the best, my friend!
