I nodded, my heart too full to let him know that I loved him, too. But he soon would because no girl would give herself over to the embrace that followed if she did not truly love. This time, when he bent his mouth to mine, he lingered, cradling my face in his hands to draw me closer. I offered no resistance. In fact, as our kiss grew more ardent, our breath ragged, our bodies entwined, it was he who pulled himself away, leaving me flushed and bewildered. Unsteady on my own feet.
“I’m sorry.” He turned away from me, running both hands through his hair. His voice had the hoarse, haggard quality of a man emerging from some great battle. “I should not have done that.”
“It’s all right,” I said, my hand against my swollen lips. “I—I wanted you to.”
Three steps away, he stopped and turned. “Why?”
I dropped my hand and looked at him, terrified of the answer.
The sound of dried twigs underscored his journey back to me. He grabbed my shoulders and stooped down, his eyes level with mine. “Tell me, Camilla.”
“I suppose I love you.”
His face became a burst of sunshine in the middle of the shadowed forest, and the loud whoop he cried sent some small creature scuttling off in the distance. I felt the ground beneath me disappear as he picked me up, and it swirled beneath me as he danced us around.
“I’ll never forget this day,” I said when the earth was once again firm beneath me.
“You don’t have to. Come with me, Camilla, and every day can be just like this.”
The very thought of it was dizzying, and I could hardly believe he was serious. I laughed and told him so. “I’m only fifteen years old. My parents would never allow—”
“Fifteen? Only fifteen? How old was David when he slew Goliath? How old was Jesus when he instructed the rabbis in the Temple?” Nathan had dropped his grip on my arms and now strode about the forest floor, his tone an unsettling mixture of imploring and force. “Who’s to say you can’t begin your life the moment it changes? Do you know how old Joseph Smith was when he had his first visit from Heavenly Father?”
I shook my head, backing away.
“Fourteen. All alone in the woods, asking God, ‘Which church should I join?’ And God could have said, ‘You’re fourteen years old. Go to the church of your parents.’ But no. He told Joseph to begin his own church. He put new prophecy into the mouth of a fourteen-year-old boy. Do you know why?”
I didn’t, of course, but suddenly I longed to. I’d been sitting on one wooden bench every Sunday of my life, had read the entire Bible through, and had never until this moment felt such a stirring at the mention of the voice of God. Nathan must have sensed my need because he drew near to me again, his face mere inches away.
“God understands the power of youth. He didn’t allow his own Son to grow old. And the church? Look at it—nothing but dry, dusty old men who have forgotten the passion of doing the Lord’s work. Come to think of it, I was just fourteen myself . . .” Nathan’s voice trailed off for a moment and he stepped away, looking about him as if accessing a long-ago scene. “Fourteen years old and out on the street—living on the street. Because the orphanage—run by the church—put me there when I turned twelve. And I heard him speak.”
“The Lord?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine any other voice could bring about the rapturous expression on Nathan’s face. The entire forest around us had disappeared, leaving him back on that street corner.
“No—well, yes. Both in the same. I’ll never forget. The prophet was standing on a crate, right in the middle of the street.” To demonstrate, Nathan leaped onto a stone, towering above me, and struck a dramatic pose, turning the trees into a crowd. “And the way he spoke—it was like nothing I’d ever heard before. There must have been a hundred people gathered in that street, and you know what he did? He looked right through that crowd and found me.” Nathan crouched down on the rock and reached his hand out. “And he said, ‘You, young man. How will you answer the call of Heavenly Father?’ And it was like he cared. No one had ever cared about me before. I followed him then, and I’ve never looked back. I brought my sister with me, and we were brought into a family. I want you to be a part of it too. Now, my love, is the time to change your life.”
I took his outstretched hand and attempted my best coquettish smile. “My goodness, Mr. Fox. I don’t know if you’re trying to seduce me or convert me.”
He smiled and in one smooth motion brought my fingers to his lips and leaped off the rock. “Yes, if I win your soul, I’ll have an eternal reward. And if you’re my wife, you’ll share that eternity with me. Can you imagine—” he drew me closer—“this moment, over and over, through endless time?”
He kissed me again, and time did stop. Or maybe it stretched, wrapping itself around us. I couldn’t think in any manner close to clearly, and every time I tried to pull myself away—just enough to gather my thoughts—Nathan pulled me closer, his embrace more eager with each renewal, and I felt myself on the brink of surrender. Had he taken his mouth from mine and asked me to follow his faith, his family, his future, I would have joined myself to him. Unquestioning. So part of me prayed he wouldn’t, and I welcomed his kiss and his touch, finding safety in the timelessness.
When we did separate, it was only for the briefest of moments—just long enough for him to look into my eyes before wrapping his strong arms around me. The homespun cotton of his shirt scratched against my cheek, and his lips moved against my hair as he said, “I don’t ever want to leave you.”
“Then don’t.” I hugged him tighter, my words muffled. “Stay here. Maybe you can work for my father.”
One step, and there was an inch between us. Then two. He tucked his thumb under my chin and raised my face to look at him. “That’s impossible.”
“Why? There’s more than enough work to be done. Papa might even—”
“Could the Israelites remain in Egypt?”
“What?”
“I’m not just some pioneer looking for a homestead or a fool rushing for the last of California gold. I want to be able to worship God in the way he’s revealed himself to me. I can’t do that here or anywhere but the Zion that Brother Brigham has found for us in Utah. The Gentiles have made that very clear.”
Gentiles. “That’s what I am, though, isn’t it? That’s what Evangeline called me.”
His smile was back, softer now. “A Gentile is someone who has closed his heart and his mind to the new teachings of Jesus Christ. But you . . . I can tell. You have a seeking spirit. Tell me, sometimes when you read your Bible, don’t you find yourself wondering what it all means?”
I swallowed hard, nodding.
“Gentiles don’t wonder. They know. Or they think they know. And rather than look any deeper, they take up their guns and their torches—”
“Not all. You’ve been welcome here.”
“We’ve been tolerated here. Because we made it very clear we weren’t staying.”
“Perhaps if I’d met you sooner . . .”
I didn’t finish the thought, having no idea what difference such a change in circumstance would make. Apparently neither did he, as he touched a finger to my lips to stop any such musing. “We shouldn’t question the Lord’s timing. Everything he orchestrates is perfect. I never gave any thought to marrying until we came here. He held that very idea away from me until I saw you.”
I smiled beneath his touch and tried to believe him.
“Come with me, Camilla, and I promise you, if you’re not happy, I’ll bring you home. I mean it. I’ll get the fastest horse I can find—I’ll even steal an Indian pony—and I’ll fly us on its back.”
The image was so beautiful, so romantic, it would be worth the risk of an unhappy day to attain it. No matter what I might try to tell myself later, I was poised at that moment to say yes. My lips were parted, my throat full of agreement, but the only sound was the long, lingering sound of my name as it was shouted by my father just beyond the trees.
Chapter 7
> Everything dissolved around me. In those first seconds, I stood frozen, no recollection of where I was or how I came to be there. All of Nathan’s words—his promises and declarations—were wiped clean away with the relentless shouts of my father.
Nathan still held my hand, and though his pulsed with warmth, mine had turned to ice within his grip.
“What do we do?”
“Stay here,” he said, attempting to draw me close again. But I knew Papa, and he would pace and shout until he found me.
“I have to go.” I wrenched myself from Nathan’s grip. “You stay here. Papa’d kill you if he thought—”
“No, Camilla. You don’t need to face him alone.”
“I’ll be fine.” Still my father’s voice raged beyond the trees, and I hesitated, steeling myself for the encounter.
“Stay with me.” Nathan’s words were little more than breath behind my ear.
“I can’t.” Yet my feet seemed rooted to the forest floor.
“Then go with me.”
Now he was just being cruel, because even if I had allowed myself to indulge in the fantasy of a lifetime in his arms, the reality of my world encroached upon us, gaining in volume and clarity. I would return to my father’s home, pick up my life much as I had left it—chores before dawn, long dull days. After tomorrow, our family evenings would return to their oppressive silence when the faint singing of the Mormon people disappeared with their wagons.
“You know I can’t.”
“I’ll talk to your father.”
“No!” I wish I hadn’t turned around because the sight of him standing, looking so slack and hurt, threatened to break my resolve to leave. “My father wouldn’t understand,” I said, reaching out.
“What wouldn’t he understand? That we love each other, or that God has a new plan for his church?”
“None of it.”
I stood helpless as Nathan placed one final, soft kiss on my lips.
“We’re spending tomorrow in prayer for a safe journey, and I’ll be pleading with Heavenly Father to bring you to me. And if he doesn’t, I’ll come to you. At midnight, the night before we leave, I’ll be there. Right where we’ve always met. I’ll sleep there if I have to. I’ll be the last to cross the river with my brothers and sisters. Tell me you’ll be the answer to my prayer, Camilla.”
“Camillaaaaaaa!” So close it rustled the leaves.
I squeezed my eyes shut. “Good-bye, Nathan.”
The shouts of my father led my steps toward the clearing, and soon I emerged from the protective cover of trees to see him. His back faced the trees, giving me enough time to gather a deep breath.
“Here I am, Papa.”
He turned, and I was instantly comforted by the look of relief on his face. The reassurance didn’t last long, though, as his face reddened, and the hands that had been cupped around his mouth, ready to shout my name again, dropped to his side and hung there, clenching into fists. “Where is he?”
I trembled at the control in his voice. “I don’t know who you—”
“Do not lie to me, Camilla Deardon. I’ve not brought you up to be a liar, and you’ve done nothing but lie to me and your mother for days.”
“But I haven’t! I’ve been sick—”
“Struck down is what you’ve been. For lying and dishonoring your parents. Now where is he?”
“Papa, there’s nothing—”
“Enough!” He hadn’t raised his hand to me since I was a very little child, but there it was, suspended against the clear blue sky. Instinctively I cried out, crouching down and covering my face to avoid the blow.
“Stop there!” It was Nathan’s voice—I’d know it anywhere. Still cowering, I turned to look behind me, and there he was, a blanket of forest behind him. He stared past me, looking at my father, and just the sight of him gave me courage to stand and face Papa myself.
From a few yards away where men were still toiling to load the wagons, someone called out, “Do you need any help, brother?”
“I’m fine!” Nathan replied, never taking his eyes off Papa.
“You,” Papa said, his hand now a meaty fist pointing one accusatory finger. “You’re the one I’ve heard about.”
“I believe you have me at a disadvantage,” Nathan said, turning this confrontation into something more like two men meeting on the church lawn. Completely undeterred by my father’s aggressive posturing, he walked forward, his hand inexplicably stretched out in friendship. “I’m Nathan Fox. And you must be Mr. Deardon, Camilla’s father.”
“What is this?” Papa grabbed my arm and yanked, pulling me away from my position between them. “How dare you after what you’ve done? I know everything.” He turned to me, tightening his grip on my arm. “I spoke with Mr. Teague today. He asked me about the young man who’s been squiring my daughter to school every morning.”
“So it’s a crime now to share a road with someone?” Nathan’s hand, once offered in friendship, now nestled in his pocket.
Papa didn’t even look away. “Every morning this week—”
“Actually, just two.”
I craned my neck to look over Papa’s shoulder, imploring Nathan to please, just be quiet. At this, Papa let go his grip, pushing me aside none too gently, and strode toward Nathan, who remained smiling, unblinking, rooted in place.
“You stole from my family. You trespassed on my property. You’ve wormed your way into my daughter’s life, and God alone knows what treacherous, blasphemous lies you’ve filled her head with.” Each accusation brought him closer, his voice rising in volume and anger with each step. “How dare you? I know about your people. Their filthy, whoring—”
“Papa!”
“Hush!” He threw the word over his shoulder. By now the men whose help Nathan earlier refused dropped their wares and headed toward us, striding purposefully along the river’s edge. Still, never once taking his eyes off Papa, he halted them just a few steps away with the simple raising of his hand.
“Mr. Deardon,” he said without the slightest trace of fear, “I must insist that you not use such crude language around a young lady.” He broke his gaze long enough to send me the quickest of winks. “And as you and everybody in your town can attest, our people, as you would say, have caused no problems. We’ve kept peacefully to ourselves. Let’s not sully our last days with anger.”
“Oh no. You’ll not soothe me with your honeyed words. I’m not some wide-eyed, aimless twit you can rope into your lies. Nothing but a batch of false prophets and con men, the lot of you. What? Have you sunk so low as to seduce your converts now?”
“Mr. Deardon, you really shouldn’t say such things in front of your daughter.”
“That’s right! She is my daughter. And she may not be bright enough to recognize the wolf behind such romantic wool, but I am. No true Christian boy would sneak a girl off for such an afternoon. And—” he turned to me then—“no God-fearing girl would let herself be so taken. Look at you. It’s written on your face.”
But I didn’t know how he could claim to see anything written there, as my face was buried deep in my hands. I felt my flesh burning against my palms, too riddled with shame to face either man so embroiled in an argument about me.
“Don’t listen to him, Camilla.”
I parted my fingers enough to see Nathan’s face, and I knew the hurt I saw there was for the ugliness of all Papa said to me. I wanted to run to him, fling my arms around him, and protect him. Instead, my arm was yanked away, nearly crushed in my father’s grip.
“I’m taking you home.”
Silently I followed, not having much of a choice. By now a crowd had gathered, and they all stared at me with sad, wistful eyes. Many bowed their heads in prayer as I passed. Rachel, clutching a bundle of clean linen, reached her hand out and grasped mine, our fingers pressed together until Papa’s gait tore us apart.
An odd thought occurred to me then. Even as I was being marched away like some prisoner, I had a new, odd sense of power foll
owing me. Papa was one man, but here was a band of people standing in my silent defense. No doubt if I decided to rebel—to truly fight my way from his grip and run back to their fold—they would envelop me. Alleviate my fears with warm soup and soft words. I entertained the thought for a moment, just until the point where we reached the road that would lead back to our property. I turned my head and saw nothing but a bend in the river and distant figures. Papa finally stood still and took me in a strong, awkward embrace.
“Your mother was half-sick with worry.” His voice held an unfamiliar hoarseness.
“I’m sorry,” I said, wriggling away.
“We’ll go home. And you’ll tell her everything.”
I nodded and fell into silent step beside him.
* * *
Of course I didn’t tell Mama everything. Yes, Nathan took the cheese and butter, but only because his people were hungry, and I only let him because I thought it might be spoiled. And yes, he and some others dug up the wild onions on our property, but only, again, because of their need. Forgotten were his visit to my window in the dead of night and his calling here to escort me to their camp. Instead, I had been resting in my bed when two girls—Rachel and Evangeline—came to the house to invite me to try their soup.
“And your hair?” Mama had been sitting at the table across from me, silently snapping beans as I spun my tale.
“Th-they pinned it. The girls did.”
“It’s a mess. Flying all around your face.” To prove her point, she reached across and smoothed a strand. “Your father said you were in the woods with that boy. Is that why?”
“Mama, please.”
“Girls have to be careful.” She returned to her beans. “Boys will take liberties.”
“He didn’t take any liberties, Mama.”
“Would you know if he did?”
“He’s very kind, Mama. And sweet. And good.”
“Which is why you might be more inclined to allow him to do things. Take things.” She leaned closer, hiding our conversation from Papa, even though he’d gone out to the barn after depositing me at the front door.
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