For Time and Eternity

by Allison Pittman

  “Evangeline!” Rachel sang the name, and as a result the girl turned, her face initially one of hopeful curiosity. But one glance at me and her countenance fell.

  “Who’s this?” she asked, attempting congeniality.

  “You know very well who this is,” Rachel said with gentle chastisement. “This is Camilla of the cheese and butter. And, Camilla, this is Evangeline. Madly in love with my brother, and therefore not likely to be anything more than terrible to you.”

  I had no idea how to react to such an introduction, but Evangeline’s sincere, raspy laughter gave me license to do the same.

  “Don’t listen to a word she says.” Evangeline popped up from her seat, reaching out to grab my hands. “I haven’t been in love with Nathan since, oh, about an hour ago. No hard feelings?”

  “None at all,” I said, echoing her humor. In an instant I’d learned there would be no way to harbor any harsh feelings toward Evangeline Moss. She had thin, green, catlike eyes that nearly disappeared when she smiled. Which was often. Her easy smile revealed small, even teeth, but it was her face that gave her a most distinct appearance. Her eyelids, her earlobes, from her hairline to her sharp little jaw—all were covered with masses of freckles. More freckle than face, as Mama would say. I truly didn’t mean to stare, but I’ve never been able to disguise my reactions. My amusement at her appearance must have been obvious to Evangeline, because she batted her pale eyelashes and brought her face even closer.

  “Go ahead. Pick a favorite. Mine’s this one.” She rested her finger on her cheek. “Or maybe this one.” She moved it to the middle of her forehead. “Or maybe—bother! There’s just so many to choose. Rachel? Which one’s yours?”

  Her voice had the same quality mine had the day before when it hurt too much to speak, and I wondered if she were suffering from a cold. The sound of it combined with the ridiculousness of the conversation made me laugh even harder, and in an instant I felt we’d been friends forever.

  “Oh, my,” Rachel said, taking a deep breath. “You know I could never choose a favorite. I love them all so dearly.”

  “Well, then, it falls to Camilla. Come on, girl. You can’t really be a part of us until you pick a favorite freckle.”

  I wanted to tell her that I wasn’t a part of them—and had no idea if I wanted to be. But friendship had never been so easily and openly offered. I found my hand shaking a bit as I lifted it, pointing squarely at Evangeline’s ear.

  “That one,” I said. “I’ve never seen a freckle on an ear before.”

  Evangeline clapped her hands together, her face beaming with mock pride. “Wonderful choice, Camilla. Really. I like a girl who knows her freckles.”

  “My mother says they are angels’ kisses.”

  “Then our little Evangeline must be downright divine,” Rachel said, offering a one-armed hug to her friend.

  “And if that doesn’t make me good enough to marry the prophet, I don’t know what will.”

  I didn’t join in on the next bit of laughter, having no idea what the joke could possibly be, and at the passing of one sharp-eyed woman, both Rachel and Evangeline hushed themselves, looking straight at the ground until their smirks abated.

  “Are you hungry?” Rachel asked when all were composed.

  “A little. Nathan said something about a chicken stew?”

  “Flavored with—the onions.” Both girls chimed in on the last two words and looked to the sky. “Honestly,” Rachel continued alone, “you would think those old wild onions were precious cargo from the Far East.”

  “Between the butter and the cheese and the onions, you’re our own personal grocer,” Evangeline said.

  “But, like a miracle grocer.”

  “A manna grocer!”

  And the two girls collapsed into each other’s arms, laughing again. The brief window of camaraderie appeared to have closed, and I began to take one step back.

  “Oh, now—” Rachel reached out for me—“don’t look so frightened. If you could just hear how my brother speaks of you—”

  “Like you’re some kind of vision—”

  “This apparition of hope in his lonely world—”

  “Wait a minute!” I surprised myself with my own volume. “How could his world possibly be lonely?”

  At this Evangeline and Rachel hunkered together, assuming a conspiratorial pose. Holding their arms akimbo, they spoke in unison again, their words fitting the rhythm of a familiar children’s rhyme: “‘For want of a woman a kingdom was lost!’”

  And there they were, giggling again, only this spell was short-lived and snuffed out with Rachel’s apology.

  “Poor Camilla. You have no idea what we’re talking about.” Then she turned to Evangeline. “If the stew’s done, why don’t you go see if you can scare us up some bowls and spoons.”

  “But it isn’t quite lunchtime.”

  Rachel gave her a nudge. “Give us a minute.”

  Evangeline acquiesced with a little bow and backed away, leaving Rachel and me relatively alone.

  “Let’s sit.” She moved around to sit on a fallen log and patted the seat beside her. I joined her, shifting my weight until I found the perfect level of comfort. I also used this shifting time to look over my shoulder, wondering just where Nathan had gone to.

  “Relax,” Rachel said, scooting companionably closer. “He actually wanted me to talk to you.”

  “Really?” I shifted again. “Why?”

  “Because he really likes you. I’d go so far as to say he’s smitten.”

  “What did you mean a minute ago when you said ‘For want of a woman—’”

  “‘—A kingdom was lost’? It’s just a silly little—”

  “But what does it mean?”

  Now it was Rachel’s turn to shift in her seat, and for the first time a hint of vulnerability crossed her face.

  “Look, Camilla, I’ll tell you, but I want you to promise not to let it frighten you.”

  “All right,” I said, fully frightened anyway.

  “Nathan and I, we never had any real family growing up. And now, with us getting ready to make this journey—well, it’s scary. He’s a man, of course, and would never admit to being afraid of anything. But I think deep down he knows that plenty have died on this trail, and he doesn’t want to be one of them.”

  Her response did nothing to either ease my fears or answer my question. I still saw no connection between what she just told me and myself, and I told her.

  “He wants to have a family,” she explained.

  “He has you, doesn’t he?” I gestured widely. “And all of these people.”

  “He doesn’t have a family of his own. No wife. No children. You don’t understand the way these people—the way we—believe. Our marriages continue on after we die. He doesn’t want an eternity alone.”

  I tried to scoot away, but my skirt snagged on the rough bark. “You mean he wants to marry me?”

  “Relax.” She reached out to grasp my arm, and I wasn’t sure if the gesture was meant to soothe or control. “I don’t know if he knows exactly what he wants. I only know that he likes you. He spent weeks talking about the quiet, pretty girl who always seemed to be alone. Like she was set apart just for him. If you could have seen him working up the courage to talk to you the first time . . .”

  “He’s never struck me as being shy.”

  “He’s not, exactly. He simply hates to fail.”

  That, I could understand. “Your brother—Nathan—is very handsome.” I hated how I stammered over the words. “I think he could have any girl he wanted. He doesn’t need me.”

  “True, but in our little party there aren’t many to choose from.”

  “There’s Evangeline.”

  “Who would bore him silly. One look and she’d be attached to his hip. You, on the other hand, make him work a little harder.”

  I didn’t dare tell her how easily I’d been convinced to join him today, and I wouldn’t have to because just then his very
voice rang out, saying, “Soup’s on!”

  I turned my head to see him and Evangeline coming toward us. She with a square of flatbread, and he with a stack of four perfectly balanced bowls.

  “Don’t believe a word she’s been saying.” He pointed toward his sister with a handful of spoons. “Unless it’s good. Then, trust me, it’s gospel.”

  If I thought we were going to have a cozy lunch with just the four of us, I was mistaken; soon the fire pit was surrounded by men, women, and children. About two dozen in all, and as I craned my neck to look around, I saw a similar scene taking place at the cook fires throughout the clearing. Everybody came to a simultaneous hush when an older man rose up, standing on a stump in the middle of the camp.

  “Brothers and sisters,” he said, holding his hat over his heart. In one motion, all of the men and boys followed suit. “Heavenly Father has blessed us with this meal we are about to eat. Let us thank him.”

  “That’s Brother Thomas,” Rachel whispered in my ear. “He’s in charge of our group.”

  All around me heads bowed, and I did likewise.

  “Our God,” Brother Thomas intoned, “we thank thee for this food. We ask a blessing on those who prepared it. As the time of our journey draws nigh, we petition thee for the strength we require to follow your plan. May this nourishment grant us the health and vigor we need. And may you bring us all safely to Zion. In the name of Jesus Christ we pray.”

  And there was a chorus of amens. I added my voice to it as well, and I opened my eyes to see Nathan staring at me with such intensity, I clasped the hand of Rachel beside me for support.

  In the brief silence surrounding the end of the prayer and the commencement of the meal, Nathan pushed past the two of us, handing the bowls and spoons off to Evangeline, and leaped up on the log behind me.

  “Excuse me! Attention everybody!” What little murmuring there had been stopped, and all eyes turned to Nathan. Brother Thomas had been about to step down, but he, too, turned his attention to Nathan, watching with an expression of curiosity that soon became one of approval. “I would like to introduce my guest,” Nathan continued. “This is our neighbor Camilla Deardon, who is joining us for our meal today. Her family’s generosity has fed us in the past, and it is truly a blessing to be able to share with her. I hope you will make her feel welcome.”

  By the time he finished speaking, I could feel my face burning, and I could not bring myself to lift my gaze beyond by own boot tops.

  “Don’t worry,” Rachel said, putting a protective arm around my shoulders. “We don’t bite.”

  I sat down again right next to where Nathan was standing, and just like that he hopped down and settled beside me. Evangeline put a bowl in my hands, another in his, and another woman—possibly Evangeline’s mother, given her coloring—ladled hot, steaming soup into the bowl. I lifted it to my nose and inhaled deeply.

  “It smells good.” My stomach agreed and nearly flipped out of my body in anticipation. Somebody put a hunk of flatbread in my hand, and I watched as Nathan took his and dunked it into the soup, bringing it up dripping and soft. He slurped the excess broth, then bit off the rest, somehow managing to chew and smile with the same mouth.

  “Try it,” he said, adding the act of speech.

  “I’m letting it cool,” I replied, giving it another blow for good measure.

  “Soup’s best when it’s hot.” He dunked his bread again. “I think the flavor’s in the steam.”

  “That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard.” Still, I dunked my bread too, an act that Mama would never have allowed at our own table. Careful not to drip onto my chin, I took a bite, pleased with the gooey, warm, flavorful mass. “It is delicious,” I said once I’d swallowed.

  “It’s the wild onions, I tell you.” He tipped his bowl and took a great swallow. “And to think, your pa would have thrown them right onto the compost pile.”

  Indeed. I balanced my bread on my knee and fished around in my bowl with my spoon until I found a bite of chicken. Lifting it out of the broth, I blew until the steam no longer rose and plopped it into my mouth, chewed, and swallowed. And the rest of our meal was just like that. Warm and silent.

  Chapter 6

  It seemed for the rest of the afternoon I was handed off from one person to another. I told my family’s story at least a dozen times—that we had a small dairy, that I would be sixteen in September, that I met Nathan on my way to school, that the butter and cheese were my mother’s specialty. In return, I learned very little. True, I asked fewer questions, but those I did all seemed to garner the same curious answer: they were all given over to the will of Heavenly Father. And given the peaceful smiles on their faces, they were happy to be so.

  Slowly, I began to make sense of the family groups—who was the husband of which woman. What children belonged to which family. From what I could tell, there seemed to be a dozen families in all, plus Nathan and Rachel. Maybe fifty people. Brother Thomas was the oldest, and his wife, the fragile Sister Ellen, told me their children and grandchildren waited for them in Utah. That seemed to be the story for many of the people here. They had parents, children, brothers, and uncles who had gone on ahead to build the great city in the new Zion, marking the trail for the Saints to follow, so they said. Listening to them, I felt none of the fear I thought I should, given my father’s suspicions. For the most part, I could have been at a picnic with my very own church family, I felt so much a part of their fold.

  Still, I took great comfort when Nathan’s now-familiar hand came to rest on my arm, and I turned to look into his welcome eyes.

  “Walk with me?”

  “Of course,” I said, suddenly eager to get away from the crowd.

  He led me to where the clearing opened out to the river’s edge. It was a secluded spot, probably a mile south of the tiny dock our town had set up for its crossing. Here along the shore were six wagons, all lined up. Alongside them were barrels and open trunks, waiting to be filled and packed away, I assumed.

  “We have quite a few people at your town’s market today,” Nathan said, anticipating my question. “If they trade well, they’ll come back with flour and cornmeal. We’ve already cured some beef and pork.”

  “So you leave in three days?”

  “Fewer, actually.” He spoke with his jaw clenched. “I spoke with Brother Thomas a few minutes ago. He’s received word that the rest of our party is waiting for us in Lincoln. We’ll pack tonight, and since tomorrow’s the Sabbath, we’ll spend it in prayer and preparation.”

  “And leave Monday?”

  He nodded. “We used the lumber we cleared to build a ferry—”

  “But we have a ferry! Mr. Moore’s—”

  “We want our own. It isn’t much, just enough to take two wagons at a time. But our people have told stories—some ferrymen charging outlandish fees to transport wagons. Or torching them midcrossing.”

  “Mr. Moore would never—”

  “We’ve seen too much of what good people would never do. Homes burned. Children killed. Innocent men tarred and run out of town. Somewhere—” he looked out across the river—“there’s a place where our people can live in peace and worship God with the same freedom allowed to your people. I just wish—”

  He stopped as more voices came from the clearing. Men carrying small wooden chests and women with arms full of folded quilts. Even children carried the odd tool or utensil.

  “Come here.” He took my hand and led me back into the trees. The bustling activity at the river’s edge disappeared, leaving nothing but forest shadows. I’d never spent time exploring the woods so near our home. Mama had been clear in her warnings about how easily a girl could get lost. No sun, no direction, no wind to carry your voice. She, of course, had in mind the dangers of being in the forest alone, yet she would take little comfort at the thought of me being so isolated with a boy. Any boy. As the leaves and branches closed in around us, I felt my own sense of fear. Inexperienced as I was with both forests and boy
s, I knew he’d brought me here to kiss me. And there, with the heels of my boots backed up against the mossy base of a cottonwood tree, he did.

  To say that I had never been kissed before is a statement so obvious, it barely warrants words. I shied away from his first attempt, holding my hand up between us and saying, “Please, Nathan. Don’t.” Had I walked away, found my path back to the river’s edge, left him in the darkness of the forest, I know he would not have followed. This is but one of the moments I remember, one of the final crossroads where I stood, blind to the obvious path of escape. And I will not say that Nathan forced his kiss upon me, lest God cut me down for lying. It came down to this: Neither of us took a step away from the other. Nor one closer. My hand remained suspended between us, and I remember looking up and seeing nothing but his eyes. Hearing nothing but his breath. Feeling nothing but the beating of my own heart. And then, imperceptibly, my finger moved. It must have, because the tip of it brushed the rough cotton of his shirt. He could not have felt my touch—I barely felt it myself, and it was my own flesh.

  Then he spoke. Just one word. My name. When he did, everything he’d ever made me feel, all those whispering tendrils of fear and hope, joy and anticipation found each other, twisting themselves into one strong cord, and anchored someplace deep within, pulled me to him.

  It was, at first, nothing more than a sweet, simple kiss. Nathan’s lips did little more than graze across mine before he pulled away, smiling that half-moon smile.

  “I love you, Camilla Deardon. Do you believe me?”