For Time and Eternity

by Allison Pittman

  “Please, Mama!” Melissa whined, still picking over her breakfast. “Please let me go. I want to meet Papa too.”

  “Me too!” Lottie chimed in, more concerned about accompanying her sister, I was sure.

  “I’ve already said, it’s too far for the two of you.” And truly it was, though I knew Melissa would have been quite the trooper. My reason for leaving them home stemmed from a much more selfish root. I wanted to be alone when I finally had the chance to see their father again. Not alone, exactly, as I would have half the population of Salt Lake City plus the dozens of bedraggled new citizens fresh from the trail, but a nagging fear tugged at me, as I didn’t feel in any way like the same woman he’d left in the spring.

  So in those first minutes past sunrise, I kissed each of the girls good-bye and even subjected Kimana to a quick embrace.

  “Take care of them,” I said. “Remember us in your prayers.”

  “We will,” she said. “Every night until you get home.”

  The road into Salt Lake City was well-worn, largely due to the constant pilgrimage of oxen and carts laden with the temple stones mined from the quarry. I passed no fewer than six such carts on my journey, half of them having a day’s worth of travel separating them. Each would spend three days covering the same distance I would in less than one, and it gave me an odd feeling of strength and accomplishment to stride past, leaving them in the wake of my dusty skirts.

  I could not remember when I’d last had so much time to be alone. I spoke to God throughout the entire journey—sometimes aloud, until my breath would give out, and then with a simple, constant prayer repeating itself in my head. Lord, give me strength—for this journey today and the one ahead. I couldn’t articulate in any way what I thought that journey might be, but I knew I’d set myself on a new path, and I had no idea how Nathan and I would travel it together.

  The temple stones and I weren’t the only travelers on the road that day. Three wagons passed me by, driven by people I would have called friends and neighbors just a few months ago. Neighbors they remained, but I don’t see how any true friend could crack a whip and speed the team past another. I’d grown used to having my greetings ignored at the trading post, and the basket of spice muffins I left at Sister Marguerite’s door when she had taken ill was returned, untouched. Still, I was glad not to be wounded and waylaid by the side of the road because there didn’t seem to be a Good Samaritan among them.

  I gauged myself to be at a halfway mark when I spied a little grove of cottonwoods that seemed the perfect place for lunch. Walking in a little ways, I found myself hidden from the road, though I reckoned I would be able to hear a wagon passing by, in case some peril should befall me. My feet were tired—not accustomed to such arduous use—but I resisted the urge to unlace my boots. I knew from experience that I would have a hard time stretching the leather around their swollen mass; it would be relief enough to lean myself against a tree and prop them up on my satchel.

  I opened the jar and drank down the cool water before spilling a dab on my handkerchief and wiping my face and neck. The shade felt cool and a breeze blew through. Given that I was all alone, I rolled up my sleeves and opened the first two buttons of my blouse, dabbing the damp cloth along the inside of my collar. The only intrusion on my comfort was the sharp pain of hunger, so I offered up a quick prayer of thanks before diving into the bucket and pulling out the slices of buttered bread. To my delight, Kimana had also coated each slice with honey, and I smiled at the sweet surprise.

  “Thank you, Kimana,” I said aloud, mindless of the fact that I could barely speak around the mouthful of food.

  She had packed more than I could possibly eat at one sitting—no matter how sharp the hunger—and I debated as to whether I should continue on with the half-empty bucket or simply leave it tucked here in this grove to be retrieved when I journeyed home with Nathan. After a few minutes, though, the answer to that question lost its immediacy as it was replaced with whether or not I would continue on at all. Sated and comfortable, the idea of getting up and walking one more step seemed more like a foreign threat than a necessary action. I yawned and stretched and settled back against the surprisingly comfortable tree trunk.

  “Just a few minutes,” I told myself. “Until my eyes open up again.” Thus settled, I closed them, shutting out all but the sound of a summer afternoon. So much buzzing and calling, the wind underscoring all as it rustled the leaves above.

  And then, something else. Something so familiar, I had to open my eyes fully to know I wasn’t dreaming. The rumble of wagons. One simply cannot spend months walking alongside a train of wagons and ever mistake the noise of a dozen axles. Rising above even that, a sound that brought my heart to fully stop within me.

  Nathan.

  I scrambled to my feet, smoothing my skirt and my hair almost simultaneously. How could it be? They weren’t due to arrive for days. And why didn’t they stop in Salt Lake City? And why . . . ? I turned my eyes to heaven, staring straight up to the blue sky framed by the trees around me.

  “Thank you, Lord.” Although I wasn’t exactly sure what I was thankful for. Nathan’s safe return, of course, but I would have much preferred to meet him wearing my best dress and bonnet, not looking like something that just got dragged off the road. Still, he was here. He was home—or close to it. After a final tucking of loose hair behind my ears, I stepped out of the grove.

  There he was, astride Honey, the horse that had spurred such bitter words between us. It looked none the worse for having journeyed across the known world and back. And he, from what I could tell, hadn’t changed. I stood on the roadside, feeling every bit as though I were fifteen years old again, standing at the edge of the road to my father’s property, wondering if I was going to see him that day, only now, I wondered if he would see me. At the moment, it seemed doubtful, given his attention was so fully focused on an engaging conversation with the older gentleman driving the wagon alongside him. I couldn’t catch their topic, but there was no mistaking the animation on Nathan’s part. He held the horse’s reins with one hand, gesturing wildly with the other, his body turned in the saddle. That’s when I realized why I felt so young—because the Nathan I saw riding that horse wasn’t the same man who rode into the dawn nearly three months ago. This was the man who had taken over my life the first day he walked me to school. It was like he had emerged renewed from the melancholy and frustration that had plagued him for the past year.

  There was a woman on the wagon’s seat too, her bonnet turned toward Nathan, showing nothing of her face. Suddenly she threw her head back in laughter, and I longed to know just what my husband had said to produce such a reaction. So enraptured were the three with each other, I doubted whether my presence would be noticed even if the gentleman ran over me with his wagon, so abandoning any pretense of what a refined lady would do under such circumstances, I flapped my arms as if scaring off a murder of crows and shouted my husband’s name. Twice.

  The woman heard me first, as she turned and looked straight at me. Though her face was mostly lost in the shadows of her bonnet, I could tell she was young. Much younger than the man driving the wagon. Her skin appeared pale and smooth, as did her hands, which I noticed when she brought them up to interrupt Nathan’s speech and point straight at me.

  “Camilla!” He couldn’t have looked more surprised if I’d actually swung out of the tree’s branches and landed on his saddle. He brought the horse to a halt and swung over the side, breaking into a run the moment his feet hit the ground and sweeping me off mine in the next minute. “Darling, what are you doing here?”

  On closer inspection I could see that his skin was darker, both toughened by the sun and glazed with trail dust. New lines formed at the corners of his eyes, making him seem at once peaceful and wise. Nothing had aged in his embrace, though. His arms still felt like steel bands wrapped around me, and my hands spread across his muscular back, instantly loving the feel of him.

  “I—I was planning to meet y
ou in town.” My words sounded so small in the midst of this moment. In fact, I didn’t want to talk at all. It had been so long since we’d simply looked at each other or held each other. What I really wanted to do was kiss him, right there in the bright light of afternoon, and if it weren’t for the couple sitting high on the wagon seat above us, I would have. Thankfully, Nathan felt no need for such decorum. In one motion he tore his hat from his head and drew me to him, his lips on mine briefly, but full of promise.

  “There’s so much to tell you.” His face blurred before me as he touched his forehead to mine. “I don’t know where to start.”

  I heard the squeaking of the springs beneath the wagon’s seat and imagined the occupants squirming in light of our blatant display. This brought me to squirm a bit on my own. I pulled away, feeling suddenly shy, and suggested that Nathan introduce me to these fine people.

  “Of course.” He gave my arm a final squeeze before turning and tucking me to his side. “Camilla, this is Brother Kenneth Dunn, newly arrived from London by way of New Orleans.”

  The gentleman tipped his hat to me and, in that small gesture, revealed himself to be of an entirely different breed from anybody I’d ever met.

  “And this,” Nathan continued, “is his daughter. Miss—Sister—Amanda.”

  I don’t think anybody else would have noticed the hitch in his voice, and if they had, it might have passed as a mere quirk of speech. But I knew my husband’s voice as well as I knew my own. I heard it through my own ears, amplified and magnified. His speech was always flawless and smooth, every word seemingly rehearsed before given utterance. I glanced at Nathan, only to see his eyes steadfastly glued to Miss-Sister-Amanda Dunn. His lips tugged into a smile I knew too well; his throat bobbed as he swallowed, and my own burned at the thought of what he was holding back. Or not holding back, as the case was, for after a few seconds, that same stranger who failed to notice the hitch in his voice would have to be blind not to notice the way he looked at her.

  A small, sweet voice laced with an accent that gave a soft, pinched quality to her words said, “How very nice to meet you.”

  I tore my gaze away from my husband and looked up to see Miss-Sister-Amanda having pushed her sunbonnet off her head, revealing a face prettier than I wanted to see. Her hair dark brown—almost black—and her skin contrastingly fair. How faithfully she must have shielded it from the sun for it to have that porcelain sheen at the end of summer after a journey of two thousand miles. Her eyes were bright blue, the kind people call cornflower, though I’d never actually seen the flower that inspired such a description. Her mouth was wide, but her lips narrow, and her nose could only be accurately described as pointy. The overall effect was one of a perfect English rose, though I’d never before considered what a perfect English rose would look like.

  At my husband’s nudging, I managed to offer a weak hello in response to her greeting. Then I turned to Nathan. “Are they not settling in Salt Lake City?”

  “Brother Kenneth owned several businesses in London. He’s been given the job of overseeing the work at the quarry.”

  “Oh, well . . . how nice.” What else was there to say? Whatever had passed between Nathan and Amanda could not be discussed now, at this roadside, yet the same summer sounds that so recently had given such peace now grated in my ears, underscoring the awkwardness of the moment. “And do they have a home waiting for them?” I turned my attention back to the wagon. “Is there a house waiting for you two? Or will you be staying with some of our neighbors?”

  “I was told there’s a cabin,” Brother Kenneth said.

  “A small one,” Nathan added. “Just one room built on the site. Not really suitable for a lady.”

  “Well—” I sent my brightest smile to Amanda—“we’ve all had to adjust to life on the frontier. It’s a far cry from London, I’m sure, but you and your father will find the place to be a cozy little home in no time.” Nearly exhausted from that last bit of false cheer, I dropped my weight against Nathan and said, “Speaking of home, shall we? I know the girls will be so surprised to see you.”

  “Oh,” Amanda said, clapping her thin white hands, “I can’t wait to meet them. Nathan has said such wonderful things about his daughters.”

  Our daughters. But I spoke no such correction.

  Within the next few minutes I’d tossed my satchel into the back of the wagon with the rest of the Dunns’ worldly possessions, which included great bits of furniture that would never find a home in the overseer’s cabin at the quarry. I myself was handed up to the seat, where I squeezed between father and daughter Dunn. Following Amanda’s example, my bonnet was again on my head, creating a world seen only through a tunnel of calico. This made it nearly impossible to communicate with Nathan, given I’d have to crane my neck around the figure of Brother Kenneth, so I simply sat back on the seat and listened to their easy conversation about the progress of the temple and the perils of the trail. Every now and then, Amanda made a little sound, something between a sigh and a laugh. After the third such noise I turned toward her, and she toward me—our bonnets connecting.

  “I’m just so happy,” she said.

  “About being here?”

  “About . . . everything.”

  Her words rang out like a woman who’d been given a promise.

  * * *

  At Brother Kenneth’s request, we drove straight to the mouth of the quarry. It was, by now, late in the afternoon on a Saturday, and all of the workers had left to prepare for the Sabbath. There were a dozen places where I could have excused myself and hopped off the wagon to make my way to prepare for Nathan’s homecoming, but I felt compelled to stay right by his side to ensure that such a homecoming would take place.

  The accommodations left for Brother Kenneth were, by any definition, modest. I don’t suppose anybody took into consideration that he might arrive with a fashionable young daughter—or any woman, for that matter. The quarry was overrun with bachelor quarters and crude bunkhouses meant to provide the minimal comforts of home for those men tithing their time in their labor for Heavenly Father.

  Pulling up, it seemed the overseer’s cabin was little more than that.

  “Home sweet home,” Nathan said, gesturing grandly. “I know it doesn’t seem like much now, but wait. Soon you’ll find yourself overwhelmed with blessings you could never imagine. Better a cabin in the land of Zion than a castle among the Gentiles, I always say.”

  In fact, I’d never heard him say any such thing, and now he spoke with such forced energy that I doubted he believed his own words. I could only imagine what kind of house a man who owned several businesses in London lived in, though I had some idea after my peek at the furniture in the back of their wagon. My best guess was that none of it would fit through the door.

  Brother Kenneth stepped down from the wagon and turned to offer me his hand. I would have preferred to wait, as Nathan was handing Sister Amanda down from the other side, but it seemed rude to refuse such an offer, so I accepted, giving myself over to his unusually steady grip. Like some odd little family, we walked inside—the door having been left open by the trusting previous tenant. All was neat and tidy in the large room. An enormous desk dominated the space, with a narrow sofa and two other chairs against the far wall; a small woodstove stood watch in one corner near a small shelf that held one pan and one pot.

  “Bed’s behind that curtain, I guess.” Nathan appointed himself guide and walked across the room to poke his head behind the fabric hung over a rope. “Yep,” he confirmed.

  “Did they not think I would have a family?” Brother Kenneth asked.

  “Guess not. But I don’t know much of anything. I just offered to ride in with you.”

  “And we’re so grateful that you did,” Sister Amanda said, laying her hand on my husband’s arm. “I think we might have been lost without you.”

  “There’s a sign on the door,” I said. Given another opportunity, I might have kept my mouth shut lest I appear ungracious, but
I had no reason to regret my words, as it didn’t seem anybody in the room heard me. Brother Kenneth was already steeped in whatever was written in the large ledgers on the desk, and Nathan and Sister Amanda seemed steeped in each other.

  “I realize the house is less than ideal,” Nathan said, not pulling his arm away, “but I’m sure you’ll soon find our society will more than make up for what lacks in creature comforts.”

  There are no words to explain the sickness I felt—the utter lack of air in that room, as the atmosphere was so clogged with the two of them. It wasn’t exactly a surprise. I suppose on some level I knew the day Nathan left that he would come back with another woman. After all, wasn’t that how he’d found me? Our seven years’ marriage hadn’t changed so very much for him; he remained the man looking for an eternal family, while I was nothing the same. Looking at him now was like looking through some magical glass, seeing him as the man he was when we met. The honey in his voice, the promise in his eyes. Only now, I was seeing all of that being poured out on another woman. And she was falling, throwing herself straight into his path, uncaring that I, his wife, stood so close by, could touch the arm not claimed by her grip. I held my breath and held my tongue, determined not to judge the girl. She was young, after all. Older than I had been when I first met him, but somehow I knew that if, even then, he had told me that I would be one of a dozen wives, I would still have followed Nathan Fox. His hold on my heart was that strong.

  As for that, little had changed. Still, it was not the fault of this young girl that she was so clearly in love with my husband.

  “Perhaps . . .” I cleared my voice and repeated the word, louder. “Perhaps we can find someplace else for Sister Amanda to stay until this home can be made more suitable.”

  Nathan turned to me. “Oh, Mil, you don’t know how happy I am to see you take such a kindness to her.”

  “I’ll walk with her to Elder Justus’s house,” I said, easily avoiding what was sure to have been Nathan’s suggestion. “They should have room to put her up. I’ve never known them to turn away a person in need.” Though in her fine dress and bonnet—and whatever else might be in those trunks stacked in the wagon—she hardly qualified as a person in need.