“Never!” He released me then, and I staggered. “Don’t you see what a failure I’ll be in the eyes of God?”
“Are you worried about what God will think? or your fellow Saints?” I could not contain my sarcasm. “Marry somebody else, Nathan. They’ll forget about me. You nearly did, and I’ve been living under the same roof.”
“And just how, my wife, would we forget about you?”
I took a deep breath, preparing to voice for the first time what had been lingering in the back of my mind for so long. “We’ll leave.”
“We?”
“The girls and I. We’ll go back to Iowa. Back home.”
“To your loving father?” His words dripped bitterness. “To the man who stood on the bank of a river and let you go? To the man who would have killed me if he’d had a decent shot?”
“When he sees his grandchildren—”
“He doesn’t know he has grandchildren because he won’t even open your letters. What makes you think he’d take you back? And for that, what plan do you have to get there?”
“You promised you’d—”
“Oh no.” He paced the room, went to the window, and pulled the curtain aside to look at the snow that was now a solid blanket of white on the other side. “Why should I keep my promises if you won’t keep yours?”
I stood beside him, laying my palm on the cool glass next to his. “Because you haven’t changed. I have.”
“I can change you back.”
“You can’t, Nathan. I’ll never be the woman you need me to be.”
Now tears slid unbidden down my face. I knew I wept for him, for he would never understand his own powerlessness. Suddenly he took me in his arms and kissed me with what can only be described as violence, his mouth bruising against mine, his grip agonizing, yet I did not fight. How could I, when we both waged such different battles? Knowing I had but one weapon to strike the final blow, I surrendered, and his advances took on a hunger as if he’d been denied a woman just as I’d been denied a husband. His hands roamed my body with all the purpose of the man he’d been when he touched it for the first time, his breath haggard.
“Still so beautiful.” His words stopped against my throat. His hands tore clumsily at the row of buttons down the front of my dress. Gently, I took over the task, unfastening them one after another. With each button he stepped back, until he could take in the whole image of me.
Perhaps I should have felt shame, not being prone to immodesty, but I sensed nothing but power as I pulled my arms out of my sleeves, baring them to him for the first time since before our son was born. I stepped away from the fire and let my dress fall to the floor, and when I did so, Nathan reached for me again, but I granted him only the smallest kiss and gently nudged him toward our bed. He backed away, never taking his eyes off me, and sat on its edge.
I sat on the chair next to the fire and unlaced one boot, then another, setting them carefully by the fire to dry. I rolled down my stockings, leaving them as wet balls of wool on the floor, and when I stood again, my petticoats were piled on top of them. There was a touch of self-conscious laughter when I stood before him in my wool union suit, but it disappeared as I nimbly unfastened its hooks and dropped it to the floor. Nothing remained but my chemise, which I lifted over my head, and my corset, which I untied, breathing deeply at its release.
I wore nothing now save the garments given to me when I’d gone through my Endowment ceremony. Sacred garments, as they were claimed to be, infused with God’s protection. Woe to me, I’d been told, should I die without their protection. They would follow me in death. Identify me as one set apart. Nathan had never seen my body without them since that first visit to the lake. I’d been a new convert, a new wife, ignorant and bold. How was it that the same boldness came to me this night in my room, once again facing my husband? Naked in his eyes, but clothed in chains in mine.
“Come here.” He held out his arms.
“Not yet.”
The garment had two parts—a shirt and short pants. In a swift gesture, I untied the drawstring to the pants and stepped out of them as I lifted the shirt over my head. This would be the last time I would wear their pagan symbols upon my breast, and I felt more freedom here than even the moment I unlaced my corset.
“Camilla, don’t—”
He must have somehow preconceived my intentions, for Nathan leaped from the bed. But too late. Holding the shirt, I scooped the pants from the floor and, in an instant, tossed them on the flames.
I think he would have pulled the garments from the fire, laid them burning against my flesh had he been given the chance. But even as he reached in, a flame rose up, and a single burst of power consumed them. As Nathan knelt, staring in disbelief at such sacred destruction, I stood behind him, slowly pulling the pins from my hair, then running my fingers through its braids, until it fell loose about my shoulders.
“Look at me.”
“I can’t.”
“Then know this. I have no shame. You cannot judge or condemn me, nor can any of your faith. I am a child of God.”
He grabbed the quilt off my bed and, keeping his eyes averted, said, “Cover yourself.”
I clutched the blanket to me. “I am covered by his grace. Do you understand? My soul washed clean by his blood.”
“How can you speak of our Lord when you are standing there, like a—a whore?”
“That,” I said, pointing to the fire, “is what made me a whore. And you—the minute you took another woman—you turned every minute we ever had together into something illegitimate. Now, look at me.” He did, slowly taking in every exposed inch. “This is what I am, Nathan. What you’ve brought me to. You and your prophet.”
Everything broke. I could see it in his face—his hope, his love, his desire gone. I needed him to know that he could not save me, that I would never return to his fold.
His shoulders dropped, hands listless at his sides, and he turned to leave, then stopped. I heard it too. Relentless pounding on our front door.
I looked at the clock on my mantel. Half past ten. “What in the world . . . ?”
Nathan was gone in an instant and back just as I finished buttoning my dress.
“Get out here,” he said, no softness to his voice. “They’ve come to talk to you.”
Chapter 24
“We did not feel it was right to let the sun set on this matter,” Elder Justus said, warming his hands at the newly built fire.
“The sun set on our walk home,” I said, fearless. I’d spent the last hour destroying the life I’d built with the man I love. What harm could these men do?
Bishop Childress pulled a small black notebook from a pocket within his suit jacket. “Mr. Fox, I suggest you explain to your wife the gravity of the situation.”
Nathan placed himself between them and me and leaned close. “This is my home, and these men are guests in it. Show them respect.” He pulled out a chair and I sat down in it, pulling my shawl more tightly around me.
Amanda had poked her head out the bedroom door just moments before only to be dismissed brusquely by Nathan.
“Gentlemen,” Nathan said, assuming the air of a negotiator, “I hope you will overlook my wife’s behavior. It’s late, and it’s been a stressful evening for all of us. You’re sure this can’t wait until morning?”
The two older men looked at each other, then at Nathan. “It was a grievous display at the meeting earlier,” Elder Justus said. “Our strength is in our unity. Sister Camilla, will you consent to an interview?”
“That depends on its purpose.”
“Let us be mindful of the purpose,” Bishop Childress said. “Now, will you answer our questions?”
“She will,” Nathan said, and he sat in the chair beside me.
Elder Justus stayed near the fireplace, staring into the flames, but Bishop Childress sat across from us at the table, thumbing through the pages of his notebook. “Mrs. Fox, do you believe in God, the Eternal Father, in his Son, Jesus Christ, and
in the Holy Ghost; and do you have a firm testimony of the restored gospel?”
“I am already in possession of a temple recommend, Bishop Childress.”
Elder Justus spun on his heel. “Answer his question!”
“Mind how you speak to my wife,” Nathan cautioned.
Elder Justus relaxed his posture, and Nathan inclined his head toward me.
I locked eyes with Bishop Childress. “I do believe in God and his Son, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost. I believe they are a holy Trinity. I believe the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John to be true and complete and in no need of restoration.”
Elder Justus paced in short, tight steps, and Nathan ran his hand over his face, but Bishop Childress merely jotted a few notes into his notebook, unfazed.
“Do you sustain the president of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as the prophet, seer, and revelator; and do you recognize him as the only person on the earth authorized to exercise all priesthood keys?”
“He is no prophet.”
Elder Justus slammed a fist against the wall. “Bishop! Will you allow this?”
The bishop ignored him. “Do you sustain the other general authorities and the local authorities of the church?”
“I do not.”
“Do you live the law of chastity?”
My gaze never wavered. “I do.”
“Is there anything in your conduct relating to members of your family that is not in harmony with the teachings of the church?”
Everything. But I swallowed, looked to Nathan, who sat, elbows on the table, head buried in his hands.
“Yes,” I said.
For the first time since we began our interview, Bishop Childress looked up. “Would you care to explain?”
“I—I would seek a divorce from my husband.”
Again, the calm notation. “Because your husband took a second wife?”
“Yes.”
“The woman consented.” Elder Justus planted his hands on the table between us. “I sat in this very room, at this very table, and heard her give her consent.”
Bishop Childress raised an eyebrow. “Is this true?”
“Yes.”
“Yet you still seek a divorce?”
“For my husband’s sake as much as my own. I know I could never be the wife he needs me to be.”
“You realize, Mrs. Fox, that what you have stated here tonight brands you as an apostate, in complete rebellion with the teachings of our faith?”
“Yes, Bishop Childress. I do.”
Nathan drew a sharp breath, and I instinctively put my hand to his shoulder, offering what comfort I could. How ashamed he must feel, shame for both himself as a failed husband and me as a failed Saint.
“And you do realize, Sister Camilla, that you will forever bear the mark of your sin? that your skin will turn as dark as that Indian woman you keep?”
It took all the strength I had not to respond to his question with laughter, but a change had taken place in our last few exchanges, and suddenly the mood seemed very dark.
“You realize of course, Mrs. Fox, that were you to be granted a divorce, you would be asked to leave the community.”
“With nothing but the clothes on her back!” Elder Justus contributed. “Tell me, Brother Nathan, what more did she bring into the marriage?”
“Nothing,” Nathan said, lifting his head at last.
“And,” the almost-soothing calm of Bishop Childress prevailed, “are you prepared to leave your children behind?”
“Of course not.”
“You will not take our daughters.”
“You have another wife. You can have other children.”
“Have the children reached the age of accountability?” Bishop Childress was once again in his notebook.
“The oldest is only six,” Nathan said with a proud smile, “but if she had her way, she’d be baptized tomorrow.”
“No.” I spoke softly, garnering no response.
“Tell me, Mrs. Fox, if our president were to grant you your divorce, how do you plan to support yourself?”
“I—”
“Don’t tell me you expect to find support from your brothers and sisters—excuse me, your former brothers and sisters. Do you think they will feel inclined to offer you shelter or employment?”
I thought back to my conversation with Rachel. My sister in the truest sense. “No.”
“And do you think it’s best to take your daughters out of their warm, comfortable home, to face an uncertain and dangerous future simply because you have chosen to abandon your faith?”
I swallowed my retort and sat silently next to the man to whom I had pledged my life. Both of us had been crushed under the scrutiny of my interrogator.
“No,” Nathan answered for me. “She will not.” He turned to me, twisting his body and leaning in to block my view of Bishop Childress. “I am your husband. I am your authority—in this house and in the eyes of God. You will not bring this into my home, and you will not interfere with the instruction of my children.”
“Our children.”
“My children. They will be sealed to me in the temple—”
“No.”
He stood, looming over me. Whatever power Bishop Childress represented disappeared in that moment. In fact, everything disappeared as I felt myself being lifted from my seat, held up by Nathan’s powerful grip. His face—twisted into something new, something I created—filled my vision.
“Will you be rebaptized?”
“No.”
“Then you must leave. I won’t have it, Camilla.” His voice broke, and I knew he’d taken the final step from anger into pain, because he took me with him.
“But where will I go?”
“That, Sister Camilla, is something you should have thought about before you gave yourself over to this evil spirit of doubt.”
Nathan had the grace to ignore Elder Justus’s outburst, and I felt his grip soften to something close to an embrace.
“Go to Rachel.”
I shook my head. “She won’t have me.” I didn’t explain more.
“Go to Evangeline.” And as he said it, the picture formed in my mind. The two of us, nattering around her cold, gray home. Sitting in her kitchen with cups of tepid water, her reading her Book of Mormon, me my Bible, until we grew old and withered from the lost love of Nathan Fox.
“And the girls?”
“I’m afraid you forfeit the right to your children if you abandon your husband,” Bishop Childress said from somewhere behind Nathan’s elbow. “And I speak there from a legal standpoint, not just a spiritual one.”
“What will we tell them?”
“I will tell them the truth,” Nathan said. “It’s only a matter of time before they would hear it from somebody else.”
“And what a powerful lesson to teach them: the lonely road of those who choose to live outside of God’s kingdom.”
“Justus, please,” Nathan said, finally losing his composure. “This is a private matter.”
“It is not a private matter when it affects the spiritual health of the church,” Bishop Childress said. “And this is a matter of grave importance to this community. The seed of apostasy must not take root. As our Lord said, ‘Beware the leaven of Herod.’”
“I will escort you myself,” Elder Justus said, sounding less than inviting. “I’ll be here to collect you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Nathan sounded on the verge of protest.
“That doesn’t give me any time to collect my things or explain to the girls.” My words failed as Nathan held me against him.
“You have no things to collect,” Elder Justus said. “Mark me, young man. She is to leave with nothing that she did not bring to you.”
I spoke against Nathan’s shirt. “May I take my coat? After all, we were married in the summer and I didn’t have one then.”
“Hold your tongue, Sister Camilla. You have asked to be released from your marriage, and against the ordina
nces of the faith and the will of God, your request will be entertained. You will not be given leave to determine the particulars.”
“Take her to my sister’s.” Nathan spoke over my head, then stepped back from me. “Tell her everything; she’ll take care of you.”
I didn’t argue further.
Bishop Childress snapped his little notebook closed and dropped it back into his pocket. Our late-night visitors put on their coats and hats as Nathan pulled on gloves and lifted a stick of kindling from the fire to light their lantern.
“Until tomorrow.” Elder Justus had the nerve to tip his hat. And then they were gone.
It was like the aftermath of some great battle. We stood as two survivors, unsure whether we were blessed with life or cursed at having to look upon so much death.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, not sure if I was apologizing for the past few moments or the years he’d wasted on me.
“Take all that you need. I don’t have much money in the house.”
“I don’t need—”
“You will.”
“Nathan, you realize this isn’t just another visit to your sister’s.”
“You’ll be back.”
“Not as your wife.” I paused. “Not as a first wife. You have to believe that.”
“Then you won’t see the girls, Camilla. You have to believe that.”
Oddly enough, he smiled, and he’d gone back to the place where I couldn’t reach him. This was the Nathan who wouldn’t leave me on the riverbank. This was the Nathan who came close to tears with the rejection of his handiwork. This was the Nathan determined to leave his wife and daughters to escort a wagon train.
“Oh, darling,” I said, my heart infinitely softer than his, “I wish you could see. You don’t have to work so hard. Love God, love me. Accept that Jesus Christ is exactly who the Bible says he is. And then just trust him.”
His laugh was sharp. “Is that what you plan to do, Camilla?”
“What choice do I have?”
For Time and Eternity Page 27
