by Diane Noble
Again, Roe’s piercing eyes met his. “Do you suppose for one minute, Lucas, that they will stop at deposing Brigham and taking over all we have worked for a decade to build? This land is ours. If the troops do happen to make it over Big Mountain, we already plan to burn everything in their path rather than to hand it over to the United States government.”
Lucas said nothing. Through the doors of the meetinghouse he could heard the Saints singing what sounded like the final hymn before the sermon. He started to say something about going inside, when Roe spoke again.
“Gentiles are our enemies, Lucas; don’t ever forget that. They march against us, God’s chosen people, and it is our duty to kill them. The manna is simply God’s thank you for carrying out His will.”
“Blood atonement,” murmured Lucas.
“Yes, son,” agreed Porter Roe. “Blood atonement. Our enemies are marching toward salvation—they just don’t know it.” He chuckled. “We’ll be doing them a favor by saving their eternal lives.” With that, he draped his arm around Lucas’s shoulders as the two men walked inside the meetinghouse.
Brigham Young was just standing and moving to the podium to introduce the first speaker, Heber Kimball, a member of the First Presidency, when Lucas and Roe took the two remaining seats in the back row. Lucas scanned the congregation for Hannah and Sophronia. He spotted them on a front bench on the women’s side of the room, curiously seated between Harriet Steele and one of John’s other wives. John Steele sat in the opposite bench on the men’s side.
But Heber Kimball’s fiery opening statement drew Lucas’s attention away from Hannah. “The president of the United States be cursed!” Brother Kimball shouted, pounding his fist on the wooden podium. “In the name of Israel’s God, curse them all! For the United States has sworn to destroy every Mormon man … to take every woman and child into captivity!” He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. “It is even rumored that our women are to be used by the troops for their pleasure. And, my brothers and sisters, we will not—I repeat—will not let that happen.”
Gasps, followed by murmurs of alarm, rose from the congregation. Lucas glanced around to see if anyone else doubted the truth of what Kimball said. But everyone appeared to be hanging on his words, alarmed and frightened. Lucas wanted to stand and calm the frenzy. Everything he’d heard about the coming troops had to do with occupation, not killing and pillaging and taking anyone captive. But if he dared oppose the speaker, or the general mood of the moment, he wouldn’t make it to the back door without being taken captive himself—probably by Porter Roe. He settled back in his bench to listen.
Now Heber Kimball had finished; he turned to nod to Brigham Young as the leader took center stage. The man looked out over the congregation in silence for a moment. “During the past two weeks you have heard about the coming war. And as Brother Kimball has said, our people are in grave danger if we don’t prepare for the coming invasion,” he said, his voice rising in anger. “I say to each and every one of you, repair your firearms. Turn your scythes into bayonets. Burnish and sharpen your sabers. It is our duty to defend Zion against the Gentiles! Ready your swords, my brothers and sisters. March with me into battle!”
He paused, his impassioned gaze moving across the congregation. “God has given His chosen people this land, and let no man dare come against us. Let no government dare attempt to take away our valley! We will fight to the death to defend it.”
His voice dropped to a whisper, and there was not a sound from the congregation as he continued. “Now, my beloved Saints,” he began, “there is something else on my heart of which I must speak. Something far more troubling than the enemy from outside our gates. And that is the enemy within.
“I have knowledge of someone in our congregation who is that enemy!” He paused, his eyes searching the faces of the men and women before him. Lucas wondered if it was his imagination that the man’s gaze seemed to hesitate briefly when it reached him. “This person has knowledge about being saved in the kingdom of our God and Father, and of being exalted. He has the beauty and excellency of the eternities before them—compared to the vain and foolish things of the world.
“Yet this young man has committed a sin that he knows will deprive him of that exaltation he desires.” He paused, again dropping his voice. “But he cannot attain what he wants without the shedding of his blood to atone for that sin … to be saved and exalted with the gods!
“Is there anyone in this house, man or woman, who would not say, ‘Shed my blood that I may be saved and exalted with the gods’?”
There were murmurs of agreement from across the congregation. Lucas could feel the sweat dripping down his back and an odd, tightening sensation of his collar. He swallowed and kept his eyes on the speaker.
“If you love yourselves, brothers and sisters, you should be glad to have your blood shed. In this way, you would be loving yourselves unto an eternal exaltation.
“And I ask you, will you love your brothers and sisters likewise when they have committed a sin that cannot be atoned for without the shedding of their blood?
“Will you love that man or woman well enough to shed his blood, her blood?”
The room was heavy with heat and silence, and Lucas felt he couldn’t breathe. He glanced at Hannah in the front row, where she sat as still as death. He sensed the movement of her arm as if she were taking Sophronia’s hand in hers.
“There are many instances where men have been righteously slain to atone for their sins. I have seen hundreds more for whom there would have been a chance for them to rise in the first resurrection if their lives had been taken, if their blood had been spilled on the ground … a smoking incense to the Almighty.
“But these are now angels of the devil. I have known a great many men who left this Church for whom there is no chance whatever for exaltation with the gods. But if their blood had been spilled, it would have been better for them.
“This, dear brothers and sisters, is loving our neighbor as ourselves. If he needs help, help him. If he desires exaltation and it is necessary to spill his blood on the earth in order that he may be saved, spill it.
“Any of you who understand the principles of eternity, if you have sinned a sin requiring the shedding of blood, you should not be satisfied until your blood is spilled, that you might gain exaltation.” Again, Lucas thought the Prophet was looking straight at him.
“That, my brothers and sisters,” concluded Brigham Young, “that is the way to love mankind! If we love our enemies as much as we love ourselves … we will shed their blood gladly! For through their shed blood shall they find life.”
Another voice rose up in Lucas’s mind, a quiet, gentle voice filled with compassion:
It was I who was led like a lamb to the slaughter, my son.
It was I who bore your iniquities, your pain, your sorrow.
It was my blood that was shed for you
So that you might enter through the gates of eternity.
Lucas kept his face straight forward and tried to breathe normally. He suspected that someone must surely know—how, he couldn’t begin to guess—of his heart’s turning. He fought the urge to run from this meetinghouse, this territory, and to keep running until he was free of his guilt and the iron bands that held him prisoner within his own soul.
He focused his gaze on Hannah, her curls the color of sunlight that poked out from beneath her frilly Sunday bonnet, the beautiful angle of her cheek, the long sweep of eyelashes he could see even from here. In just a few moments he would look into her eyes, and he would be ready to face anything.
By now Brigham Young had ended his discourse and had invited the congregation to stand for the final prayer. Shoes scuffled on the wood-plank floor, and the benches creaked as people got to their feet. A few minutes later, the congregation was dismissed, and Lucas moved to the aisle, letting people pass as he searched the crowd for a glimpse of Hannah.
Finally he saw her and smiled.
But Hannah, after meeting his
gaze for a moment that seemed to hold all of eternity, turned away.
John Steele suddenly moved toward her, speaking briefly to Sophronia then to Hannah. She nodded, keeping her head down. Then Steele encircled her with his arm and ushered both Hannah and her aunt out the side exit.
By the time Lucas made his way through the crowd to the same exit and raced down the stairs to the street, the three had stepped into a carriage. Hannah faced straight ahead as Steele cracked his whip above the backs of the perfectly matched grays, and the carriage lurched forward.
“Son,” a voice said behind him, “John wed your Hannah while you were away.” He turned to see Harriet Steele standing, gazing up at him tenderly, her tired eyes full of sadness. She touched his arm as if to soften the blow.
“It cant be,” Lucas finally managed, shaking his head in disbelief. “We were to become betrothed.”
“It seems young Hannah changed her mind,” Harriet said simply. “John didn’t tell me how he convinced her. They’ve been wed some weeks now, and he’s moved her to his ranch near Mountain Meadows. Sophronia Shannon lives with them.”
“I know the place. He’s taken me there.” Lucas’s voice was low, angry. “John said he was saving it for a wife who might not get along with the rest.”
“Or for a pearl of great price,” Harriet said quietly.
Lucas’s simmering rage threatened to erupt. He struggled to contain it for Harriet’s sake. It wasn’t the poor woman’s fault. “Was it against her will?” Harriet didn’t answer. “Tell me, Harriet. What did he do to make her change her mind?” Hannah had been at the center of Lucas’s world since he met her. And now that world had been destroyed, all in a matter of minutes. All that remained was a whirling, white-hot rage. “Tell me how it happened,” he said one last time. “Please.”
But Harriet Steele, the woman who’d raised him as her own, couldn’t, or wouldn’t, answer his question. Obedience to her husband was primary in her thinking. She stared into his eyes for one long moment then turned away as if she could no longer bear to acknowledge what she saw there.
Porter Roe suddenly stepped to his side, grasped his elbow gently, and pulled him a step away from the others. “I see John Steele’s taken himself another bride,” he said, watching the departing carriage.
Lucas stared at him, unseeing, for a moment. Finally, he nodded. “Yes, I just heard about it,” he said.
“You’re being summoned inside, Lucas,” Roe said, changing the subject as if it held no significance to Lucas.
“Now?” Lucas asked.
“Yes, now. Our brother Phineas Potts was murdered in Arkansas—just a few months back. Shot down in cold blood. We’re meeting today to discuss what’s to be done.”
“To avenge his blood?”
“Yes. And there’s something else.”
“What is it?”
Roe smiled. “We decided that upon your return you would take the oath. John Steele can’t be here—he’s heading to Cedar City today—but as captain of the Danites and as your patriarch, he’s left this for you with his order to sign it.” He handed the oath to Lucas.
Lucas unfolded it and began to read:
In the name of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, I now promise and swear, truly, faithfully, and without reserve, that I will serve the Lord with a perfect heart and a willing mind, dedicating myself, wholly and unreservedly, in my person and effects, to the upbuilding of his kingdom on earth, according to his revealed will. I furthermore promise and swear that I will regard the First President of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as the supreme head of the Church on earth and will obey him the same as the supreme God in all written revelations under the solemnities of a “Thus saith the Lord,” and that I will always uphold the Presidency. I furthermore promise and swear that I will assist the Danites, the Avenging Angels, in the utter destruction of apostates, and that I will assist in setting up the kingdom of Daniel in these last days, by the power of the Highest and the sword of his might. I furthermore promise and swear that I will never communicate the secrets of this decree to any person in the known world, except it be to a true and lawful brother, binding myself under no less a penalty than that of having my blood shed. So help me God and keep me faithful.
Lucas glanced up at Porter Roe after he had finished reading the oath. “My name has already been written at the bottom,” he said. “With the year and day.”
“Yes,” said Roe. “You are to place your signature beneath it.” He smiled again.
“And if I don’t?”
“This directive is from God himself, son,” he said. “You can’t disobey your heavenly Father, now, can you?”
TWENTY-ONE
Sitting straight in the saddle, Hannah nudged the big sorrel stallion in the flanks. John Steele rode beside her, and Sophronia rested inside the canvas-covered wagon rolling along slightly behind the horses and being driven by a friendly young Saint who had been assigned to a post near Cedar City. The small company had left immediately after the morning services, stopping only to trade the carriage for the already-packed wagon, and now they headed out of Salt Lake City under a sweltering sun hanging in a pale and hazy sky.
They’d been in the valley for two weeks during the Saints’ Independence Day celebration, and now it was time for John to get back to his assignment as Indian agent to the Utes in the south of the territory.
As usual, Hannah did her best to ignore her husband, keeping her back as straight as a picket, holding the reins in one hand and keeping her eyes on the trail. In the daylight hours her behavior toward him was civil, but nothing more. At night she endured his advances only by keeping her mind focused on her eventual escape. Already, since their marriage, John had been gone from home more often than he was there. His travels as Brigham’s Indian agent and his captaincy of the Danites kept him on the road to all ends of the Mormon kingdom, and of course, his wives in the posts along the way needed overseeing.
Hannah prayed for the day that a new young virgin would capture his fancy and he would tire of coming home to their ranch in the mountains. But her very indifference seemed to provide an irresistible challenge to him, so that day hadn’t come.
Wanting to be alone, she kicked the tall sorrel stallion to a trot and rode off the trail as soon as they were clear of the city. John had often complimented her on her excellent horsemanship and, as during their previous treks up and down the trail, didn’t try to stop her.
Her thoughts turned to Lucas and the shock of seeing him after the morning service. Confusion and pain had squeezed her heart in that moment of recognition, almost as if her very life had been wrung out of it. She was actually glad when John—who’d also noticed Lucas’s presence—whisked her immediately away. It was good Lucas hadn’t come any closer, for she couldn’t have borne the hurt and rage in his face when he discovered what had happened.
What could she say to him? How could she explain? There were no words. No matter the reason for the sham of the marriage, the girl Hannah once was—spirited, innocent, and so filled with love for her young man—no longer existed. All that was pure had been defiled. Body, soul, and spirit.
She no longer had any claim to Lucas, nor he to her. Their love, their plans for the future, had been destroyed. Hot tears stung her eyes, and she swallowed hard as she looked out over the heat-shimmering terrain. She had made two promises to herself, however, for both her sake and Sophronia’s. The first was her ironclad commitment to get them out of the territory on the first California-bound train that neared the ranch. And the second? She would never succumb to feeling sorry for herself. Never. Her tears dried, the feel of them tight and salty on her sun-warmed face.
She reined the sorrel sharply to the left to miss a jackrabbit then headed the stallion toward a nearby creek and rode alongside it for a half mile or so. It was bone dry from the August heat, and even the leaves of some dusty cottonwoods at its banks were turning brittle and yellow. The sorrel kicked up puffs of red-colored dust as she rode.<
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After a few minutes, Hannah noticed Sophronia peering through the front of the canvas wagon cover, so she turned the horse back to the wagon to keep her aunt company. The white-hot hours passed slowly as they rode. Other groups in wagons and on horseback passed by, calling out greetings. A band of Utes rode by on an adjacent trail, kicking up a fine dust that carried for miles. The shadows had grown long in the late-afternoon sun by the time John reined his horse to a halt.
He pointed out a campsite near a natural spring and, with the help of the young Saint, pitched tents and started a cook fire. As soon as supper was over, as had become his habit while they sat around the campfire, John spoke long and eloquently of God’s will for them all—particularly as it related to the sacrifices they must all make to bring about God’s kingdom.
Tonight as his bright, pale eyes watched Hannah, he spoke of the honor of Mormon women. “You, my dear,” he said with a fervent tone, “will eventually become a queen and priestess to me, your husband, just as I am working to become a king and a priest to God. I am directly linked to him, just as you are directly linked to me.”
Hannah tried to keep her lips from curving into a smile when Sophronia rolled her eyes heavenward.
John didn’t notice and continued. “And our kingdom is more than this temporal kingdom on earth. In heaven, where our spirits were born, there are many gods, each having his own numerous wives.” He drew in a deep breath and rose to stoke the fire. “You see, Hannah,” he went on, “your obedience is a necessary step toward your own progression to godhood.”
“My obedience to you, or to God?” Hannah asked, already knowing what he would say.
He nodded. “To me, of course. That was explained in our marriage ceremony. I know you find the idea of plural marriage distasteful, but if you consider the logic of it, you can see why God has ordained it. It is necessary to people other worlds.” He frowned. “And you see, dear, the more wives I take, the greater the population that will follow and the sooner we will have our own world to rule.”
