The Betrayal

by Diane Noble

  “Blood atonement,” Brother Foley thundered. “It is important that you understand this new teaching. Already, we have enemies who would harm us. The Mexican-American war is over, and we are once again living under control of the United States government. President James Polk has not said he will protect us; neither has he said he will not. His spies are among us. Pretending to be Saints. When in truth they are vipers spouting poisonous words about our life, spouting lies that are carried across the country only to be enhanced with still more lies and innuendos.”

  Bronwyn heard Mary Rose’s sharp intake breath as the head of Brother Brigham’s private police force stepped to one side of the podium and, with piercing eyes, scanned the families sitting before him. He had a fierce look to him: bald on top with a fringe of hair that hung below his shoulders, a well trimmed beard, and small eyes that disappeared into his eyebrows.

  The room was full—women on one side, men on the other—perhaps a hundred altogether. He had no difficulty commanding the attention of all, even the children. Perhaps that’s why Brother Brigham often chose him to deliver dire news.

  A Franklin stove radiated a glowing warmth in the back of the room. Even so, the Saints huddled close together, blankets on their laps and coats around their shoulders. As they breathed, white puffs appeared before their faces in the frosty air.

  The winter had been harsh, and while the days were lengthening into spring, a foot of fresh snow covered the ground. Though Brigham had put each new wave of immigrants to work immediately, building houses and businesses and irrigation canals, work had ground to a halt during the stormy winter. More houses were needed, and quickly.

  “Blood atonement,” he thundered again. “My friends, it’s time we get used to the idea that though we are a peaceable people and wish others no harm, we must go beyond an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.” He let his gaze move across the congregation, and it seemed he lingered too long on Bronwyn’s face. She felt her cheeks redden with embarrassment. Could he guess her feelings? Know her heart was even now turning against the teachings of the prophet?

  Bronwyn wanted to grab her children and run. She fought a war within herself to keep still, to keep herself poised with an agreeable comportment. No one must guess her inner thoughts. It was dangerous before the pronouncement of blood atonement; now, it was far more so. For herself. For her children. For them all.

  She calmed herself, trying to find something good in his words. Everyone knew that Brother Foley liked to thunder on about persecution, both real and imagined. Wouldn’t it be wiser to focus on the good things God’s chosen people were accomplishing? And on the building of the city that lay ahead?

  Those thoughts were wiser than any plans she dreamed of for escape. She swallowed hard, sat back in her chair, and willed her heart to slow to a natural rhythm.

  Besides, they were thousands of miles away from those who wished them harm, weren’t they? Her heart started to race again as she looked up and down the row of MacKays.

  They took up an entire row, except for Gabe who sat with the men, and Cordelia who sat in the front row so she could better hear. Bronwyn held Joey on her lap, snuggling him close to keep him warm, and Mary Rose held Spence, who slept on her shoulder. Enid had her arm around Little Grace, who at seven thought the sun rose and set on Mother Enid, who she was sure talked to horses—and even better, sure they talked back. She said at least a dozen times each day that she wanted to be just like Mother Enid when she grew up and pestered her constantly about accompanying Enid when she visited the outlying farms to care for sick and injured animals.

  The twins, Pearl and Ruby, now almost twelve, sat on the other side of Mary Rose. They were as lively as ever, but their hearts always seemed to hold a deep sadness, especially when they recounted memories of the past.

  First their parents disappeared, now Coal was gone too. It had been so many years since they’d seen them, the twins didn’t remember much about their mother and father, missionaries in the Sandwich Islands; but they loved their brother, and though he’d been gone for over a year, they talked about him constantly.

  Not knowing what happened to him was the hardest to bear. Every day, Bronwyn wondered if he was dead or alive, if he had run for his life once he discovered what happened to Sarah, or if he had been captured by the Dakota.

  After Coal’s disappearance, Gabe and the other men spent three days combing sand hills and tall prairie grasses for miles in every direction out of Winter Quarters, even visiting the Dakota village with gifts to trade for him. The Dakota, through an interpreter, said they knew nothing about such a boy. They took the gifts anyway.

  Gabe left with Brother Brigham a few days later, as planned, and when he returned with the news that they’d found the new Zion, it seemed that spending time with Enid, his third wife, was his only concern. Not searching for his son.

  Bronwyn leaned back to listen to Brother Foley’s rants about the coming end of the world and the persecution of God’s chosen ones in the days to come. He predicted that the United States government would rise up against the Saints and attempt to run them out of their new land.

  “We will fight back!” He raised his fist in the air. “No one will ever come up against us again!” He stepped back up to the platform. “Blood atonement,” he said, his voice no more than a hoarse whisper. “Remember the words, for you will hear them again in the months and years to come.

  “Brother Brigham has received a revelation from the Lord about the practice and has gone to him again and again, pleading on his knees to make certain he understood without error.

  “You may ask what blood atonement means . . .”

  Several members of the congregation looked at each other in fear. Worried whispers rose from several, though not loud enough for Brother Foley to hear. Others nodded in support, even vigorous support.

  “Blood atonement means that our enemies must be killed if they are to receive eternal life.”

  Bronwyn’s breath caught in her throat. She glanced at Mary Rose who had turned even paler. Enid frowned and put her arm around Little Grace, scooting her closer as if trying to protect her from Brother Foley’s words.

  “You see, sisters and brothers, anyone who comes against us, any apostate who turns away from God’s only true church, must have his—or her—blood spilled.” He paused dramatically. “It is the way of the Lord. We may not understand it in full now, but as the revelation becomes clear to the prophet, he will make it known to us.” He raised his fist. “Let no man come against us. Retribution will be swift and sure. This is our land. God gave it to us as surely as he gave the Garden of Eden to Adam and Eve. We will never be driven from the land God has given us . . . never again.”

  “Now let us have a reading of the Psalms, followed by hymn number eighteen.”

  The Psalms were read and then the congregation stood to sing,

  Ere long the vail will rend in twain,

  The King descend with all his train;

  The earth shall shake with awful fright,

  And all creation feel his might.

  Bronwyn shivered as she sang the mournful words. Awful fright? Brother Joseph once spoke of them as a joyous people. How long ago that seemed. She scanned the congregation, taking in the fearful faces around her. She and Mary Rose still talked of escape. They didn’t know how or when, but still they spoke of being ready when the time was right.

  An emotion that had simmered somewhere deep inside for a long time now bubbled fiercely to the surface. Blood atonement? It was an excuse to kill. She sat back, willing her breath to even out, her heart to stop its racing.

  Even little Joey looked up at her with a frown. She hoped it was because of her noisy, quick intakes of air, not from wonder or, worse, from this teaching.

  Children were present. Old women and men. Good, honest, hardworking people who loved their God and their families. What had they to do with such an edict? Did the church leaders want to frighten them into submission, make sure they didn’t
go against the teachings of Joseph and Brigham?

  She felt her face go red and bit her lips together to keep from speaking out.

  Blood atonement? How could such a thing be of God?

  Murmurs rose around her. Several people whispered to each other behind gloved hands. She glanced across the aisle to see if Gabe looked disturbed. But he sat still and staid, looking unperturbed.

  If she were a good Saint, she supposed she would ask herself completely rational questions based on the belief that the prophet’s messages from God were infallible. She would wonder, as she was certain other truly good Saints did, how seriously and how soon such punishment would be carried out. If it were truly of God, and for the eternal salvation of their enemies, shouldn’t one be inclined to go along with it? It was for the greater good.

  But she felt anything but rational.

  Gabe had just stepped into the aisle when Brother Foley strode over and pulled him away from the other men around him. “Could I have a word with you?”

  Gabe nodded. “Of course.”

  “You have been a nominal member of the Danites for some months now.”

  “That’s true.”

  “But I’ve noticed that you’ve missed many of our meetings.”

  “Brother Brigham has me busy with the building plans for the new temple.” He smiled. “It’s not been intentional, believe me. It’s just that there are only so many hours in the day. We’re trying to prepare the field for planting—at least we were before the storm hit.”

  “I understand. But you also have your duty to God and to the church. You need to be with us, brother, especially now.”

  “Brother Brigham told me his thoughts about this some time ago—and his need for prayer before telling his people. I was surprised that you told all to the congregation. Perhaps this should have been well rehearsed with the priesthood first.”

  Brother Foley narrowed his small eyes. “Are you criticizing me?”

  Gabe hesitated before answering. Of course he was, but did he want to get into it with this fiery-tempered man? “I doubt that you would speak of such a serious matter without discretion—or direction from the prophet. But, surely you realize the terror it might strike in the hearts of our families, our wives and children. I daresay, I would have spoken to the men privately first.”

  Foley regarded him for a moment. “You are required to become a more active member of the Danites. Brigham has ordained that as well.”

  “He understands my dilemma. He wants the temple design completed so work can begin as soon as the weather permits. Design is my gift, and he believes I’m using my gift well. I doubt that he would require such a sacrifice of my time.”

  “The announcement today was not simply a general announcement,” Brother Foley said.

  “What do you mean?”

  He lowered his voice. “I am putting together a list of suspicious people. Hundreds of people have joined us, with thousands more expected to arrive during the summer. We must root out those who aren’t with us. We must act quickly.” He handed Gabe a folded piece of paper. “Put this in a safe place. It is a list of those you will be responsible for watching. Each member will be given a similar list. It’s the first of those to come. Keep them in a safe place.”

  Not bothering to unfold the paper, Gabe stared at the man, dumbfounded. “I’m sorry. I don’t believe I heard you correctly. ”

  Foley smiled and slapped Gabe on the back. “You heard me, Brother. Loud and clear. All of us must do what’s necessary to protect our way of life.” He dropped his voice. “This is not an easy thing for any of us. But we must remember what has been done to us, done to our wives and innocent little children in the past. Look at this new teaching as a means of protection, and it will be easier to understand.”

  Staring after him, Gabe absently tucked the paper in his pocket and headed for the door to find his family.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Bronwyn and Mary Rose waited until the children had fallen asleep and then, with Cordelia, sat down near the fireplace to discuss Brother Foley’s words about blood atonement. Cordelia’s chair creaked as she rocked, and her eyes snapped even before the tale was finished. “I wish I’d been braver,” she said. “I would’ve stood right up and told him what I thought then and there. They can come after me to slit my throat if they want.” She glanced at the rifle hanging above the door. “I’d show them a thing or two.”

  Mary Rose leaned forward. “I don’t think they’re talking about us. He said something about there being spies among us. I heard a rumor that someone is sending reports to a newspaper in the east about our ways, especially about our practice of plural marriage.”

  Cordelia laughed. “Well, that should keep folks in the States yapping about us for quite some time.” Her look said she rather enjoyed the prospect.

  Mary Rose sat forward and lowered her voice “What do you think about leaving, now?”

  Bronwyn’s heart raced. They had talked about it before, but never had she seen the other two women look so serious. Or so scared.

  “I think we need to go before this blood atonement business is actually carried out,” Mary Rose said. “And if by some miracle Coal does follow us here, we need to somehow leave word for him. I can’t imagine how it would be for him to travel across the country in the dangerous conditions we know all too well only to find us gone without a trace.” She leaned forward. “Even at the risk of someone else getting hold of the information, we must leave word with a person we trust.”

  “That’s of utmost importance,” Bronwyn said. “Leaving is one thing. Seeing to the safety of us all—including Coal—is quite another.”

  Cordelia frowned,. “But who can we trust?” She folded her hands and sat back in her rocker. “Perhaps one of us should stay, just in case.”

  “We won’t leave anyone behind,” Bronwyn said. “Not for a minute. We’ll find a way to leave word. We’ll just need to ponder the question while we make our plans.”

  “And pray,” Cordelia said. “Especially that.”

  “You’ll have to be in charge of that part of our plan,” Bronwyn said with a laugh. “My prayers never seem to get past the top of my head.”

  “They don’t need to, child,” Cordelia said, quietly. “God reads them in your heart—just like he reads them in Mary Rose’s journal.”

  Both women looked at Cordelia with surprise. She often spoke of her communion with God, One who seemed different than that spoken of in the meetinghouse or by Gabe when he intoned blessings for them all. Hers was a friend, someone who knew her every thought, good and bad, and loved her anyway. But this was the first time Bronwyn could remember Cordelia speaking of Mary Rose’s poetry and writings being something that God might pay attention to, might consider prayers.

  “Groaning of the heart that can’t even be put into words,” Cordelia said as if reading Bronwyn’s thoughts. “That’s what the Good Book says, that’s what he sees in us. Those are the best kind of prayers, the most honest and deep. The Book also says he keeps our tears in a bottle. That tells me he knows our trials, our heartaches and sorrows, better than even we do. Don’t ever say your prayers aren’t heard. They are. Every last one.”

  For a few minutes no one said anything. Cordelia’s words settled like a comforter, soft and warm upon them. The fire crackled and popped, and Mary Rose stood to stoke it. She put on another piece of wood and sparks flew up the chimney. Then she turned and stood with her back to the fireplace as the conversation continued.

  “One thing for certain, we have much planning to do, and that may take some time,” Bronwyn said. “ We’re closer to California than to the east coast. There’s the southern route, the Old Spanish Trail that would take us into the southern part of California. Wagon companies often travel that way, but we’ll be in Mormon country all the way to Mountain Meadows. We run the risk of being found out, caught, tried for apostasy.” She drew a deep breath.

  “Let’s make a plan, tell no one, then we’ll wat
ch for a wagon company to join,” Mary Rose said. “We’ll blend in, plus if we need help along the way, broken axels or wheels, we’ll have the men in the train to help out.”

  “Pshaw,” Cordelia said. “We’re three strong women and five feisty girls. Ruby and Pearl are almost grown. They’ll be women soon with strong constitutions. We don’t need menfolk. We can make it on our own.”

  “I hear you have to hoist your wagon up treacherous passes with rope pulleys,” Mary Rose said.

  “What about Enid?” Bronwyn searched Mary Rose’s face and then Cornelia’s. “Should she be in on this?”

  “Can we trust her, that’s the question?” Cordelia sat back and rocked, her brow furrowed. “I would like to think so, but . . .”

  “She saved my life with that cayenne concoction,” Mary Rose said. “Her heart is good when you get past the blustery surface.”

  “She may never trust us again, especially to season her chicken,” Cordelia said with a grin.

  “She loves Gabe,” Bronwyn said. “Because of her devotion to him, she might tell him our plans.”

  “She doesn’t love him,” Cordelia said. “I would stake my life on that.” She shrugged at their expressions. “I thought you two knew that. I think she had fairytale dreams of him being her first love, and then when her husband died, she needed someone to love her and hightailed it across the country to find him. She’s filled with guilt from the secrets she kept from them both— What was her husband’s name?”

  “Hosea,” Mary Rose said.

  “The captain of our ship,” Bronwyn added, “and a good, good man. His death was such a tragedy . . .”

  Mary Rose and Bronwyn exchanged glances, and then Bronwyn said, “Do you think Gabe loves her?” Mary Rose turned to stare into the flickering flames in the fireplace. Even her profile showed a lingering sadness. She couldn’t help the twist of her own heart. Too often Gabe occupied her thoughts, bringing a mix of guilt and shame. . .