by Diane Noble
Her heart caught at the look of Gabe in the starlight.
Chapter Nine
Even in the pale starlight Bronwyn could see concern in Gabe’s expression. “Has there been any news of Coal?”
“Nothing,” she said.
He held her gaze, his brow furrowed with worry. “Can you stay with me and talk a while?”
She tried to say no, and hesitated for a heartbeat, but the look of him, standing there in the moonlight, his gaze riveted on hers, grabbed at her heart. When she nodded, he reached up to help her from the horse. He kept his arm around her as they both looked up at the starlit sky.
“I know you’re as worried about Coal as I am,” he said. “I’ve just been out searching for him again.”
“You were?”
“Yes, Enid rode with me. I saw you here and told her that I needed some time alone with you. She encouraged me to talk with you.”
“So this was her idea—”
He chuckled. “Do I detect a note of sister-wife rivalry?”
She gave him a sharp look. “This is not a laughing matter. You act as though sharing a husband is a normal state that we should embrace. We’re taught that it’s God-ordained. But if it is, why does it hurt so much?”
“God’s ways are not always easy.”
“Those words sound like they’re from the prophet’s mouth, not yours. Not from the man you used to be.”
“The prophet . . .”
“Don’t say it.”
A breeze floated over the prairie grasses, its fragrance so sweet, it made Bronwyn want to weep.
“When are you marrying her?” she whispered, wishing it didn’t matter so much.
“Tomorrow.”
“You were childhood sweethearts.”
“Yes.”
“You fathered her child . . .”
“That has nothing to do with our marriage now. Enid and I . . . let our emotions . . .” He drew in a deep breath as he stared into her eyes. “I’d just found out that my parents died at sea. The comfort I found in her arms turned into something neither of us expected . . . or wanted.” He sighed deeply. “I didn’t know about the child, his birth or his death.”
“She was in love with you,” Bronwyn said.
Gabe studied Bronwyn for a moment before answering. “When she married Hosea, she loved him with all her heart. She followed us to Nauvoo after he was lost at sea and she was certain he wasn’t coming back to her.”
The breeze kicked up again, lifting strands of Bronwyn’s hair from her forehead. She didn’t realize her tears had spilled until her eyes stung in the wind. Her emotions whirled, unsettled as ever. Again she thought of the God of her childhood. What was it she longed for? And why did it always seem just out of reach?
Gabe misunderstood her tears and gathered her into an embrace, rested his cheek on the top of her head and tightened his arms around her. After a moment he pulled back to look her in the eyes again. She waited for him to kiss her, her thoughts doing battle. Wanting him to kiss her. Hoping he wouldn’t, for if he did, she was afraid there would be no turning back.
He touched her lips with his fingertips, outlining them gently. He stooped to kiss her. For an instant she remembered the velvet soft feel of his lips on hers that night in Nauvoo . . . Then taking a deep breath, she pushed away from him. “Don’t,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.
Gabe moved closer, moved his hands to the sides of her face, now lightly caressing her lips with his thumbs. Butterfly-wing light. She shivered as she saw the heat of passion in his eyes.
His voice was husky with desire when he spoke. “You are my wife,” he said, “bound to me for this life and through the next. Why do you push me away when our coming together as man and wife is ordained by the prophet? Ordained by God?” The entire time he spoke, she was aware of the rough warmth of his hands on her skin, the gentle touch of his thumbs on her lips.
He bent and covered her mouth with his. Gently he kissed her and then pulled away, his gaze never leaving hers. He kissed her again, this time his lips lingering on hers. She circled her arms around his neck and strained to melt into his embrace.
Then she stepped back, her heart pounding. What had she done?
He reached for her again, but she simply stared into his eyes. With every fiber in her being, she wanted to melt into his embrace. To again feel his lips on hers.
“No,” she said, pushing him away. “I can’t . . . I can’t do this.”
Gabe stepped back, breathing hard. “I care about you, Bronwyn. You are my wife. How can you do this to me?”
She drew in a deep breath, willing her heart to stop its wild beating, her knees to quit their trembling. She blinked, took a second breath, and nodded. Her voice shook when she spoke. “You must not do that again.”
With a half-smile, Gabe assessed her words. For several long moments he didn’t speak, then he said, “Somehow I don’t think you mean that. If you weren’t my wife, I might abide by your request. If I didn’t see a desire in your eyes as strong as my own, that too might deter me. But my dear . . .” He stepped closer again, and tilting her face upward with his fingertips, he stared into her eyes. “My dearest Bronwyn, the truth is, you are my wife in the eyes of God and the Church. And I see a desire in you that makes your words meaningless.” He traced her lips again with his thumb, and then stepped away from her.
“Tomorrow at dawn,” he said, “I want you to gather the family to tell them my news. Have them come to your quarters. I’ll give each of you a blessing, and pray for Mary Rose’s healing, as is my priestly duty. We will celebrate tomorrow’s wedding, and pray for safe journey. Will you call everyone together at daybreak?”
“Safe journey? Whose?” Was he taking Enid on a wedding trip? That was unheard of among the Saints. And why would he leave now, after what had happened with Coal?
“If we don’t leave by week’s end, we’ll be caught in winter’s snows. We have a long journey ahead.”
“We?”
“Brigham and a few men he’s chosen to accompany him west.”
“I knew Brigham and some of the others were going, but you’ve said nothing about it.” She folded her arms and lifted her chin. “I, for one, am glad you’re going.”
He laughed lightly. “After that kiss, I thought you might implore me to stay.”
Her tone was biting when she spoke. “We face a winter without enough food supplies. Many of our men joined the U.S. Army battalion to march west, so we’ll have little protection. Does that matter to you?”
She considered the suffering their friends and neighbors might face with so many of the leaders away. Who would hunt for food for the hundreds encamped at Winter Quarters? Who would protect them from Indian attacks?
She gave him a bitter laugh. “We don’t need you, Gabe. Go with Brigham. Find our promised land. Do what you need to do for the Church. We’ll keep watch over the Saints here, those ill, those who may be starving.”
“You speak with much audacity, my dear. It’s not like you, not at all like the Bronwyn of old.”
“The Bronwyn of old was Mary Rose’s servant and nanny to her wards as we sailed to America. Is that how I should remain, sir?” She gave him a curtsy. “I thought I was part of this family.”
“Perhaps if you were a proper wife to me, you would be.”
They stared at each other for a moment, then he shook his head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. But you must admit, you’ve taken on more spunk or, as Cordelia would say, more spit and vinegar.”
Her mind flew back to what he’d told her about traveling west. “The marriage tomorrow, a wedding night or two, and then the journey.” She did a quick calculation. “And then you’ll return in time for your baby’s birth—nine months or so, I would guess?”
He rolled his eyes to the starlit heavens. “Yes,” he said. “As always, it seems you know me better than I know myself.” He fell quiet, and after a moment said, “That’s why this moment, this night, there is nowhe
re else on earth I’d rather be than here with you.”
“Here with me . . .” she whispered, wanting to believe him. “Then don’t marry Enid,” she said, “don’t leave us. If that’s truly the way you feel, don’t go.”
“Say yes to me tonight,” he breathed. “I’ll do anything in the world for you, if you’ll come to me now”—he reached out to her—“if you’ll be my wife in every sense of the word.”
“And in the morning, will the wedding bells still toll for you and Enid? Will you still love Mary Rose?”
He stared at her without answering.
“Do you love me, Gabe?”
“There are many emotions I feel. You have to understand the complexities of plural marriage . . .”
“What about love?” A hot sting of tears burned the top of her throat as she awaited his response. “Can you ever love me as if I’m the only one in the world to love?”
“That’s not our way,” he finally said. “You know that, and still you reach for something you cannot have.” He glanced up at the thin bowl of a moon, ready to spill its sorrows on the earth.
“You said you’d do anything in the world for me,” she said softly. “But that must not mean love.” Perhaps the only one in the world you can love is yourself.
He mounted the tall stallion, and rode back down the hill.
Part II
Earth’s crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God:
But only he who sees takes off his shoes.
—Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Chapter Ten
One Year Later
Oregon Trail outside Winter Quarters
I don’t know any gal worth her salt who’d want an old vagabond like me,” Greyson said as he stoked the campfire. “I can’t stay in one place long enough to set down roots. Don’t know that it’s in my makeup. Or ever will be. That’s why the newspaper business suits me fine.”
Hosea laughed. “For one thing, you’re not old. You’ve got a long life ahead of you if you don’t get eaten by a griz.”
“You sound more like a mountain man every day.” Greyson left the fire and settled against his saddle with a heavy sigh, looking up at the night sky.
“There’s something about being around the folks in these wagon companies,” Hosea said. “They seem to have a particular way of speaking. Colorful and hard not to pick up.”
“I’d call it a peculiar way of speaking,” Greyson said, “not particular. Most sound like they’re from the mountain country or the deep South—even if they hail from outside the country.”
“With the exception of the French Canadian trappers.”
“Can’t understand a word they say either,” Greyson said with another laugh. “But they do make good pemmican. Anyway, love’s not in the cards for me.”
Hosea sobered, thinking of Enid . . . just as he did a hundred times a day. “You might be surprised what God’s got planned for you. One thing I’ve learned in my lifetime is to expect the unexpected.”
Greyson threw back his head and laughed. Hosea didn’t think he’d ever met anyone who laughed as easily and heartily as this man. Made him pleasant to be around. “I believe you, my friend. Get washed off a ship and end up in the belly of a whale.”
“Not quite. Washed up on shore. A very rocky shore.”
“You told me you don’t remember much after the wave took you. Only that you thought you were a goner.”
“True.”
He gave Hosea a sly glance. “So who’s to say you weren’t in the belly of a giant fish?”
“True again.”
They fell silent for a moment, and then Greyson said, “You’re a born storyteller. First time you told me what happened, I could see every detail in my mind’s eye. I felt I’d been right beside you as you learned to walk again and learned what life was all about—especially the simplicity of loving God and being loved by him—from Giovanni and Cara. And your Enid . . . you’ve described her with such detail, I think I’d know her if I saw her.”
He turned to Hosea again. “I could have used hearing your story once a long time ago. I could easily have been a man who let himself be taken by the wave.”
Hosea studied his friend for a minute, letting the information settle. “I’m not a writer. I can picture things in my mind, feel the emotions, but I’ve never been one to write that sort of thing on paper, not even in a letter. Never good at expressing myself in person either, especially to Enid. I don’t know if she ever knew how much I loved her.”
“Love her,” Greyson corrected.
“What?”
“You say you once loved her, but for weeks now all I’ve heard is you talking about her, telling me every detail with what’s an obviously loving and tender heart. You still love the woman. You may finally get the change to tell her when we get to Winter Quarters.”
The thought both terrified and excited Hosea. “Sometimes I wonder about the change of heart I had when I was with Giovanni. I remember the anger and betrayal I felt, and I wonder how that bitter heart could have changed to one filled with love.” He stared up at the sky, the moonrise behind the pine branches, the silhouette of the needles against its glow. “I also wonder if the love will still be there when I see her again.” That was the thought that terrified him.
The prairie wind kicked up, a low hum coming from some nearby hills, and grew louder as it approached—a sound that never failed to sooth Hosea’s soul. It was the very breath of God. He smiled to himself. This was a good place to be. Near the warmth of the fire, stomach full of pan-fried trout, in the company of a good friend.
The pain of his injuries never left him, but he found them easier to bear when he thought of the good things in his life. He had no riches, only enough to get by—a good horse, a wagon, some good boots, and a walking stick. He found the condition more freeing than any he’d ever experienced.
“You said you could have easily been the man who let the wave take him,” he said. “You’ve felt that kind of desolation?”
His laugh lines disappeared. “Lost love. Truth be told, it was probably unrequited love. I was young and foolish, let a good thing—a good woman—get away.”
“If you could have let a wave take you, that’s serious love, lost or not.” He reached for his walking stick and then rolled to one side to lessen the pain when he stood. With great effort, he pulled himself up and made his way to the fire to stoke it. Embers shot into the night air like hundreds of orange fireflies. A small moment of beauty, a ritual he enjoyed. At first Greyson tried to take over the physical labor at their campsites, but soon learned it was Hosea’s desire to do as much as he could muster without help.
“We met when she stopped into the newspaper office,” Greyson said. “She was a fiery one, straight from Ireland. Her name was Shannon O’Hara. Had the greenest eyes I’d ever seen.” Hosea could almost hear the smile in Greyson’s voice. “She wanted a job, said she wanted to be a writer. I’m not proud of the way I treated her. I said she could clean our offices, help me set the type, that sort of thing. The whole time I was being a dirty, rotten fool, I was falling in love with her. Teased her about her way of speaking, the comical turns of phrases she used. She gave it back at me, matching my wit with her own—though, in that glorious brogue, calling me an ‘eejit,’ and tossing that mane of curls over her shoulder. What I didn’t know was, the girl could write.” He shook his head slowly. “She had talent, but by the time I’d discovered it, by the time I discovered I loved her, she’d been hired by the competition on the other side of town and was being courted by her boss.”
“Did you go after her?”
“I tried to talk to her once, but it didn’t go well. Ended up making a fool of myself. Told her that the only reason she was hired was because her boss had his eyes on her. As you can imagine, she became indignant, even when I tried to apologize. So I wrote her a letter, declaring my love. She tore it up into tiny pieces and had it delivered to my office. She’d written on
e word across the envelope.”
“Let me guess,” Hosea said. “Eejit.”
“That’s it,” Greyson sighed. “I heard she married the editor of the newspaper not long after.”
The fire died to a steady lick of flames, and the conversation stopped, each man lost in his own thoughts.
“Tomorrow, we’ll be in Winter Quarters, if we travel the miles we plan,” Hosea said. “They say thousands of Saints are in the campground, resting before continuing their journey west. Should be plenty of material for your stories.”
“What I’ve sent my editor so far is hearsay,” Greyson said. “I’m champing at the bit to get some firsthand accounts. From what he says, folks can’t get enough of what I’m writing. They’re fascinated to read that these folks who call themselves Saints have set up their religion so it’s actually an edict from God to take more than one wife.”
“Polygamy piques one’s curiosity,” Hosea said. Bile rose in his throat as he thought of Enid with Gabriel . . . could she have married him? He was already married to Mary Rose.
And Gabe. What about the man, his friend, the one he’d sailed with, made the world’s clipper ship speed record with, the one whose wedding he officiated?
What would he feel when he encountered Gabe?
“And perhaps we’ll find your Enid,” Greyson said.
Hosea’s chest tightened at the thought. “Maybe,” he said. He looked up at the spangle of stars, drew in a deep breath, and prayed that God would help him through whatever he might find tomorrow.
Especially, if he found Enid.
He stared into the heavens, remembering the night they wed. Their lovemaking had been passionate and tender, wild and satisfying, and lasted well into the dawn. Afterward, she’d touched his face, cuddling close, and whispered words so loving they made his heart ache with joy.
“I pledge you my love from now until forever. I will love no one but you.” She’d traced her fingertips along his jaw as if trying to memorize the shape of his face, and then she met his eyes and seemed to almost drink in the love she saw in his soul.
