by Diane Noble
Bronwyn heard the crunch of boots on rocky soil and looked up to see Coal creeping through the willows. Just as fat drops of rain began to fall, he ducked under a large leafy branch.
“How long do we wait?” he whispered loudly.
She put a finger over her lips. “Just until everyone is inside.”
“The wagon’s ready over yonder.” Still grinning, he swept his hair back with his hand. “You think it will work?”
She smiled back at him. “How can it fail with a team like us?” A jagged streak of lightning shot through the sky. A loud clap of thunder hit immediately, almost shaking the ground. Horses shied and bucked and empty wagons tilted precariously.
A few more jagged strikes. Another rumble boomed. Bronwyn caught her breath, and then laughed.
Grinning, Coal turned to Bronwyn. “You scared?”
Bronwyn winked. “Not a bit. You?”
“Not a bit,” he said, his voice shaking. He swallowed hard. “Is it time?”
She gave him a confident smile, though she wasn’t feeling so confident on the inside. Determined to disrupt the wedding, she again tried to push aside her doubts. Before she fell ill, Mary Rose had accepted the idea of Gabriel taking a third wife. She’d given her permission back in Nauvoo, telling Bronwyn it was for her own good: she would know only heartache and sorrow if she fell in love with Gabe.
No matter Mary Rose’s desires, Bronwyn planned it anyway. Perhaps she could fool herself into believing her plan was only altruistic, but in her heart of hearts she knew it wasn’t true. As desperate as she was to save little Sarah, she was equally desperate to stop Gabe’s marriage to Enid.
“It’s time,” she said to Coal.
In a small side room just off the meetinghouse vestibule, Enid dismissed Brigham’s wife Fanny. As soon as she was alone with her thoughts, she ran her fingers through her hair, shook it out, and then tossed her head back, letting her long red hair flow wild and free. She touched the necklace above the lace at her bodice, a pearl choker with a cameo pendant at its center, its image of the goddess Diana mounted on gold filigree, a tiny diamond on either side. She smiled. Gabriel had chosen it, he’d said, because the likeness was so close to hers; even the carnelian shell gemstone matched the lighter hues in her sun-streaked hair. She wondered if he’d stopped to consider that the goddess Diana would be considered pagan. If not, she didn’t plan to tell him.
A fitting wedding gift for a cherished bride. He’d not given his other wives such a fine gift. When he’d presented it to her that morning, his eyes held the promise that her long sought-after standing would be honored. She’d never liked having anyone give her orders, and she wasn’t about to start liking it now. The first wife ruled the roost, so she’d observed.
Though he’d taken two brides before her, they would be required to move aside after the ceremony as she stepped into position of first wife in the MacKay household and in the community of Saints. She’d also made certain Gabe understood that when the family moved to their new Zion, she expected him to build her a home in town.
Gabe was set on another ranch and had even allowed Mary Rose to choose the name—the Blue Sage. Enid had determined the first time she heard the name, she would live there no longer than necessary. “All things in good time,” he’d told her.
She briefly considered Mary Rose’s illness and how she would take the news, once she’d recovered, that the planned wedding had at last taken place. She quickly dismissed the thought. She wanted to keep her sympathies for Mary Rose and her illness at a distance. Besides, dealing with Bronwyn’s obvious affections for Gabe—and the doe eyes she constantly made at him—brought her enough trouble.
This was her wedding day, and she would allow no dark thoughts to enter her heart. She’d claimed Gabriel MacKay with jealous ownership since they were children together in Nova Scotia. Perhaps not with true love, a romantic love, but a deep affection almost as if they were family.
She had her doubts about the teachings of the prophet and his successor, Brigham Young. But for now the teachings of polygamy worked in her favor. She had one goal in mind: to make Gabriel MacKay hers.
She sensed his hunger for power and suspected Mary Rose and Bronwyn had yet to become aware of that part of him. She smiled and fluffed her hair again. She would help him climb to the highest rank on earth and that in heaven—if it existed—as well.
She touched her cameo and lifted her chin. Oh, yes, she would make him proud. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped into the vestibule.
More than a dozen brides waited in line along one side of the unadorned pale green wall. Some wore white, others wore calico; some wore broadcloth dresses adorned with flour-dusted aprons. Many of the brides were young, some too young, but Enid didn’t want to think about what that meant. Some were old enough to be her grandmother. Their hushed voices hinted at feelings of fear, of boredom, of excitement and in some cases, of relief.
Enid had chosen a pale creamy green for her wedding dress, well aware that the color brought out the emerald flecks in her eyes. She took her place at the front of the line and then turned to seek out the one who she was certain already dominated the room: Gabriel MacKay.
He turned to her, his eyes warm as he assessed her head to toe. She gave him a slight nod, her lips curving into a wider smile.
It seemed they were the only two people in the room as he walked toward her and took her hand, kissed her fingertips, and leaned toward her ear. “Are you certain you want to do this?” Then he pulled back, and she imagined longing and hope in his eyes. “I’ve never been so certain of anything in my life,” she said.
Gabe squeezed her hand gently once more. “It won’t be easy, coming into a household that isn’t yet ready to accept you. It will take love and patience.”
Enid drew in a deep breath. “I never thought it would be. Easy, I mean.” She again touched the cameo pendant at her throat. “It never has been for us.”
A shadow seemed to cross his face before he smiled and lifted her chin with his fingertips. “We do have a history,” he said, looking deep into her eyes. Again, as if searching.
“That we do.”
“And a lot of time to make up for.” This time she thought she detected a hint of sadness.
“Indeed, we do.”
Out of nowhere, Hosea’s image pushed its way into her heart: his rugged face, his sea- and sun-bronzed hair, wild in the wind and spray of the ocean, the look of him standing in his sea captain’s uniform atop the quarter deck. She blinked back tears and swallowed hard. It seemed Hosea was telling her something, or she was remembering something he’d said long ago. Just as quickly the image washed away. She shivered, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. “Are you all right?” Gabe whispered. “You’ve gone pale.”
She drew in a deep breath. Pushing aside Hosea’s memory, she met Gabe’s worried gaze and smiled. She was doing the right thing. Of course she was. Gabe was hers and had been since they were children. She lifted her chin. “Yes, Gabe, I’m quite fine. Truly.”
Brigham stepped to the double doors that led to the main room of the meetinghouse.
Gabe cocked an eyebrow. “Are you ready?”
She nodded. “I am,” she said, and with an affectionate look, he stepped back in line with the grooms—at the head of the queue, just as it should be.
Bronwyn and Coal sloshed through the pouring rain and took cover just outside the entrance to the vestibule. Coal’s jitters had lessened visibly and now his grin spread ear to ear. She resisted the urge to ruffle his hair. For one thing, he’d almost grown too tall; for the other, he’d made it clear that he was getting too old for such gestures of endearment.
Lightning lit up the sky, and a loud clap of thunder rumbled from a ways upriver.
“The sound will cover our entrance,” he said. “Make our plan easier to carry out.”
“You’re much too wise for your age, young man,” she said. This time she couldn’t resist and reached to ruffle
his damp hair just as she had aboard the Sea Hawk when she’d been hired as his nanny. He ducked away, and ran his fingers through the mop to straighten it. The gesture, so like Gabe’s, made her want to cry.
“Okay, then. Ready?”
He nodded. “I would do anything in the world for Sarah James.”
“Yes, Sarah James,” she said. “Especially for her.”
“Aye,” he said, his voice softening into the dialect they once spoke. “Aye, ’tis for her, especially.”
Bronwyn heard the strains of a hymn floating through gaps in the rough-hewn board of the meetinghouse. “They’ve begun.”
“We’ll take ’em by surprise, that’s for sure,” Coal said. They smiled at each other.
“Aye, that we will. I daresay there will be no wedding for the Saints this day.” Bronwyn lifted her weapon. Gabe’s image danced before her, and the memory of their first night together filled her heart, quickly followed by an image of another night of lovemaking . . . only this time Enid was the wife sharing Gabe’s bed.
Bronwyn shook the thoughts away, gave Coal a brisk nod, and led the way to the door.
Chapter Two
Gabriel held Enid’s hand as they stood with the other brides and grooms, lined up in front of Brother Brigham. The prophet’s voice reverberated throughout the room, even above the racket of the hard rain on the roof, as he spoke eloquently of the virtues of celestial marriage, the joys of being united in eternity forever, families together without separation for all time.
“This commitment is from this day forward, not just for your days on earth but throughout eternity,” he said. “This holy union cannot be put asunder by anyone here on earth or by all the powers in heaven.” He paused and chuckled. “At this point in a Gentile ceremony, a minister would ask if anyone has reason that these brides and grooms should not marry.” He laughed heartily, and the congregation tittered.
Just then, the vestibule doors flew open at the back of the room. Gabe spun and gaped.
Bronwyn stood in the open doorway, looking wild and beautiful, Coal at her side. Her usually well-coifed dark hair had sprung loose from its braid. She wore men’s boots—his, he would swear—and a man’s leather duster that draped to her ankles. Also his.
Everyone in the congregation turned to stare. Bronwyn lifted her rifle. Gabe couldn’t be sure, but she seemed to be aiming right at his heart.
“I’m here for Sarah James,” Bronwyn said. “She needs to come with me. Now.”
From the corner of his eye, Gabe saw Brigham nod to the girl’s soon-to-be husband, apostle Hyrum Riordan. Sounds of shifting along the creaking floorboards told him the brides and grooms might be trying to hide the girl.
“Now!” Bronwyn’s expression said she meant business. Gabe knew, and the rest of the Saints did too, that she was an excellent shot. As good or better than most men. Her father had been a gamekeeper on a large Welsh estate, and, as his only child, she’d learned everything he might have taught a son.
No one made a move toward her, but at his side, Enid muttered. “If I had a weapon . . .”
Bronwyn waved the barrel toward Enid. “I’m sorry, you were saying . . . ?” She smiled.
Enid had the wisdom to keep silent.
“I’ve come for Sarah James,” she said again.
The skinny young girl finally moved out from behind the blockade of brides and grooms. A wide smile overtook her freckled face. “Sister MacKay,” she said, happily. “And Coal MacKay.”
“It is indeed,” Bronwyn said. “We’ve come for you if you’d like to go with us.”
Coal nodded vigorously, grinning ear to ear. It came to Gabe in a flash as bright as the lightning outside: the boy was infatuated with Sarah James. That’s why he’d allowed Bronwyn to influence him to take part in this ridiculous travesty.
Brigham stood behind him, expecting Gabe to do something. Just what, was the question. He had about as much a chance of controlling Bronwyn, or Mary Rose, for that matter, as jumping over the moon.
He drew in a deep breath, gathering his thoughts, and then stepped forward. “Bronwyn, I order you to put down the rifle this minute. You are interrupting a sacred ceremony. You’re in grave danger of going too far—”
“She already has,” Brigham growled behind him.
A loud thunderclap caused Gabe to start, as did most of the congregation. Except Bronwyn, who stood as still and composed as a wild Briton woman warrior from centuries earlier. Her smile never wavered. He had a hard time equating the winsome Bronwyn, nanny and maid aboard the clipper, with this striking image before him. He wanted to rush to her, gather her into his arms, lead her away from danger, but the prophet watched his every move. He willed his feet to stay put.
“I want you to walk down the aisle toward me,” Bronwyn said to Sarah James. “Unless, of course, you truly want to marry a man who’s old enough to be your great-grandfather.”
Sarah James ran down the aisle toward Bronwyn, neither looking to the right, where her mother sat, nor to the left, where her father, half-standing, glowered. Coal reached for her hand, and the two disappeared through the double doors and out into the rain.
Bronwyn kept the rifle trained on a place just above Brigham’s forehead and imagined what it would be like to actually shoot a man. She knew she could never pull a trigger—this one or any other. The last time she’d aimed at a human being—if she could call even one of them that—had been that night in Nauvoo. The same night those thugs shot Griffin. She’d shot over their heads to frighten them. She wondered what she’d have done if she’d known the folly they planned once they finished taunting Mary Rose’s grandfather and burning the family barn.
As soon as she heard Coal’s signal, she backed slowly out of the meetinghouse, moving the rifle barrel from one shocked groom’s face to the next. She couldn’t help smiling at the brides’ expressions. They appeared ready to leap to her defense should anyone try to stop her.
She winked at Gabe, gave him a quick curtsy, and then she stepped into the vestibule, letting the doors close behind her. Heart pounding, she pushed open the outer door and nearly catapulted into the farm wagon Coal had driven to the front of the building. Coal shouted to the team, popping the whip above their heads. They lurched forward in the mud. Gradually, the horses found their footing and the wagon wheels creaked to a faster pace. It seemed to take forever to reach the curve at the end of the street.
Bronwyn looked back just before they rounded the corner.
Gabe, Brigham, and some of the other men were slogging through the mud in utter confusion, staring at their horseless rigs. The women, most of them brides, were giggling off to one side. Bronwyn glanced at Coal, whose shoulders shook with laughter.
“You didn’t . . .”
He grinned at her. “I know it wasn’t in our plan, but it seemed like a good idea.”
“Where did you hide them?”
“I didn’t have time for that. Just unhitched a few, slapped their rears, and told them to trot on home.”
“Which ones?”
“The important ones, of course. Brigham’s, some of the other apostles.”
“And your father’s.”
“I admit my folly. I have sinned greatly and pray I will be forgiven.” His eyes sparkled. “Yes, Father’s too.”
Bronwyn didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Something tells me there won’t be a wedding today after all.”
The two young people laughed, but Bronwyn didn’t join them. Worry churned her stomach as she considered what lay ahead, the madness of their actions.
Billowing clouds were all that remained of the summer storm. Across the wet and glistening prairie grasses bars of sunlight shone through the shadows of the clouds. Shading her eyes, she stared up a thunderhead towering in the distance, backlit by the sun.
“For you, Mary Rose,” she whispered. “I’m doing this is for you.” Even as she breathed the words, she knew they were a lie. Of course, she’d done it for her and for Sarah James. Bu
t she’d also done it for herself. Coal popped the whip over the back of the team, and her heart trembled as she thought about the anger in Brother Brigham’s eyes. No one she’d known had dared to go against him.
Until now.
What had she brought down upon their heads? Not just upon hers, Coal’s, and Sarah’s. But upon all she loved so dearly: Little Grace, her five-year-old daughter born that miraculous night aboard the Sea Hawk; Joey, her toddler son born of her one-time union with Gabe; Spence, Mary Rose’s and Gabe’s toddler son; Pearl and Ruby, the nine-year-old twins, Coal’s sisters, and beloved as much as if they were born into the family.
What had her actions wrought for them all? She shuddered to imagine it.
As soon as they reached a prearranged hiding place in a canyon a few miles from Winter Quarters, Bronwyn saddled one of the horses. She warned Sarah and Coal to stay in the hideout and await her return. Her intention, and she hoped for good success, was to talk some sense into Sarah’s mother and father, and hope of all hopes, get other mothers to join her in protest against older men taking young brides.
She looked back only once. Coal and Sarah sat on a large boulder, swinging their feet and talking. She could hear their laughter ring out across the prairie. Above her, wide patches of blue sky showed between a froth of clouds, turning the prairie into a mottled patchwork of sunlight and shadows.
It took her less than a half hour to reach the outskirts of Winter Quarters, which seemed unusually quiet. Curious, she slipped from the saddle and led the horse past the meetinghouse to the MacKay campground. The silence sent a chill up her spine. No sounds of children playing and singing, not even the murmur of Cordelia fussing over Mary Rose.
Her heart froze. Mary Rose.
What if her condition had worsened since morning?
When she entered the doorway of the MacKay women’s tent cabin, even in the dim light, she could see Mary Rose lying on the cot, her eyes closed, with the ever-vigilant Cordelia at her side. The children sat, silent and wide-eyed, around her bed, as if waiting for Mother Mary Rose to sit up, arms open wide, and gather them into her arms.
