For Time and Eternity (13 page)

“I am the man God created. Could Jesus Christ love only one person?”

“But you’re not Jesus Christ!”

“No!” He stood up, and this time the horses did startle, lifting their forefeet off the floor and snorting in concert. “According to the Gentiles in this world, I’m nothing more than a worthless orphan. Tossed on the street, left to grow up with the rest of the trash. But Heavenly Father tells me I can be more. I’m made of the same stuff as our savior. And can be what he is. If you love me, how can you not want me to fulfill what my God wants me to do?”

Not caring about the bits of straw that clung to my skirt and back and hair, I stood up slowly, reaching one tentative hand out to touch him, my fingers barely resting on his fist-clenched arm.

“Have you ever thought,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, “that they might be wrong? The prophets. About marriage.”

He recoiled, burned from my touch, and lifted his hand as if to strike me. I didn’t flinch because at the time, the thought that Nathan would hit me was such a foreign idea, my body would suffer no such reaction. I merely held my gaze steady and matched my breath to his until, slowly, he lowered his arm, leaving it dangling harmlessly at his side. “They cannot be wrong.”

“They are not God.”

“Listen to me.” A look came over his face then—one I’d never seen before. His eyes narrowed to mere slits, his mouth somehow managing its full range of motion despite the clenching of his jaw. “Do you know what it means if they’re wrong? It means I have nothing.”

“You have me! You have the girls!”

“For now. And that makes me like every other Gentile out there slaving away through this life, living just to get through to death. But I’ve placed my
soul
in their hands.”

“But that’s impossible. . . .” That’s when I realized he was speaking to me not out of anger, but out of fear. It was one of those moments when I could well imagine him as a little boy, equally full of hope and hurt.

“You made a vow to me, Camilla. To be my wife for all of time and all of eternity.”

“Of course I did.”

“Then go now, with Rachel. And see how Heavenly Father intends for us to live. The power he’s given us in our Zion.”

In light of all that had happened since I walked into the barn, though, the thought of leaving him alone posed a bigger danger than anything we could do to each other if I stayed. My fears must have somehow registered on my face, because to my surprise, he burst into a smile like I hadn’t seen since before the birth of our son, threw his head back, and laughed.

“Don’t worry.” He dragged me into a hug that could only be described as jovial. “You’ll come back to the same household you left. Just me and Kimana and the girls.”

“Actually,” I said, my face smashed against his shirt, “I was going to take the girls with me.”

“Even better.” He held me at arm’s length and kissed the top of my head. “They’re the next generation, growing up in a world that knows the truth. It’ll be good for them to see what we are building.”

Chapter 14

At the time, the four-hour trip zipping across the snow-packed land basin seemed as long as our four-month journey from Iowa. True, we had sleigh bells and songs. Rachel did her utmost to keep the girls excited and entertained as we snuggled close under the pile of bear and buffalo blankets. I could barely bring myself to join in. She had given me a good-enough teasing when I came in from the barn picking straw out of my hair, and made hooded comments about Nathan and me engaging in a proper good-bye. If my protests weren’t enough to convince her she was mistaken, Nathan’s restrained conversation when he came in later certainly painted a more accurate picture of our state of affection. When it was time for us to load up, he embraced each of the girls with a giant, warm hug before lifting them into their seat and tucking the blankets warmly about them. I, on the other hand, was given a kiss every bit as chaste as the one given to his sister, although he did take a moment to hold me close and tell me that he loved me.

Try as I might to hold on to those final words, they paled in the shadow cast by all the others he said. His zealous desire to build our family, even if it meant marriage with another woman. His fear for his very salvation. And somehow, amid the soft clomp of hooves and jingling bells and sweet voices raised in song, I took in that fear too.

“Faster, Aunt Rachel!” Lottie’s sweet voice, muffled by the thick woolen scarf wrapped up to her nose, piped up during the next lull in song.

“Just for a little bit,” Rachel said, laughing. She gave a capable snap of the reins and off we went—flying. The girls squealed in delight, and I even laughed as I wiped away a soft clump of snow sent flying up from one of the horses’ hooves.

“See?” Rachel leaned over the girls’ heads to talk closer to my ear. “This is what you all needed. To get away.”

I tried to ignore the churning in my stomach and nodded.

“What’s the matter?” Rachel asked. “Too fast?”

I breathed deep the biting cold air. “Just promise to bring me back safe.”

* * *

The sky was tinged with purple when we came to a stop in front of the house Rachel shared with Tillman and her sister wives. It was an impressive structure by any measure, but when I thought about our modest home, it loomed even grander. Three stories tall with gables spiraling even higher, its focal point was a double front door with a set of stained-glass windows boasting an intricate beehive design. Warm light glowed from within, and before we could even climb out of the sleigh, the doors flew open and three little boys came tumbling out.

“Aaron! Caleb! Toby!”

Rachel’s chastisement of the boys for running out in just their shirtsleeves blended with my girls’ shouts of joy at seeing their cousins, and soon the front porch was a tangle of little arms and legs that somehow got herded through the front door and into a cozy, warm entryway.

“There you are!” Tillman’s voice boomed from the parlor, and soon there he was among us, holding a newspaper under one arm as he wrapped the other around Rachel, giving her an affectionate kiss on her cheek. He was a man of impressive stature, broad and strong as an ox, with a square, handsome face framed with a perfectly trimmed beard. “I was worried you wouldn’t make it home before dark.”

“We very nearly didn’t,” Rachel said, peeling off her gloves.

“And Nathan didn’t put up a fight to keep you?”

I smiled to match the harmless, jovial tone with which the question had been asked and said, “Just a little.”

“Wouldn’t be anything at all if he had another wife back at the house to take care of him.”

“Tillman.” Rachel laid a quieting hand on his arm. “You need to take the boys out and put away the team.”

“Yes, dear,” he said, though he kept his eyes on me. For the first time I had a feeling there might be more to this impromptu visit than an opportunity for me to come into town. Still, Tillman said nothing, gathering the boys and taking them outside. Meanwhile, Melissa and Lottie and I followed Rachel into the parlor, where we stood by the roaring fire peeling off layers of coats and scarves and hats.

“I’ll take those for you.”

I looked over to see a young woman with raven black hair falling in ringlets down her back. Without a word, Rachel piled our things onto the girl’s outstretched arms. When she’d gone, I whispered, “That’s the new wife?”

“Yes,” Rachel said with a bright, tight smile. Then, after a moment’s thought, she called out, “Sister Tabatha!” bringing the girl back to pop her head around the doorway.

“Yes, Sister Rachel?”

“The little girls will be staying in your room with you for the next few nights.”

“Oh?” Her lips were full and pink and made the most perfect O. “Does Tillman know?”

“I’ll tell him when he comes in.” She turned back to the fire, effectively dismissing young Tabatha, and rubbed her hands vigorously in the fire’s warmth. “That will be more fun for everybody. Perhaps the girls will let Tabatha play with their dolls.”

I stifled a laugh and tried to ignore Melissa’s curious glance. Moments later, when Rachel declared us warm, we followed her into the kitchen, where her two other sister wives were busily clearing away supper dishes. Joanna, Aaron and Caleb’s mother, tried to maneuver from table to sink with a tenacious three-year-old daughter clinging to her skirts, while Marion managed to do twice the work with one baby balanced on her hip. Both women stopped the moment we walked in, though, and came over to greet the girls with warm hugs offered all around.

“I’m sorry we missed supper,” Rachel said, holding her arms out to Marion’s baby. The child held out two chubby arms and gurgled with joy at being handed over.

“It’s venison stew,” Marion said. Now freed from the baby, she smoothed her apron and came over to offer me a tentative embrace. “Joanna’s specialty. It’s delicious.”

I took my arms from around Marion’s girth, thinking that her figure bore testament to the deliciousness of Joanna’s cooking. Indeed, the kitchen smelled wonderful, and I realized that neither I nor the girls had eaten since breakfast.

Joanna staggered back to the stove, clingy toddler in tow. She wore her hair in one thick braid down her back, though at the moment it seemed there was just as much out as in. She stirred the contents of the large iron pot, saying, “There’s bread in the keeper and molasses cookies for after,” before ladling great, steaming portions into white porcelain bowls and carrying them to the enormous butcher-block table.

“Now, Joanna,” Rachel said sweetly, running her hand over the baby’s fine, soft hair, “we have guests. Don’t you think it would be more fitting to serve us in the dining room?”

I detected the slightest slumping of Joanna’s shoulders as she reached the ladle again into the pot.

“I’ll set the table,” Marion said quickly, gathering up the bowl and heading through a second door. “And perhaps you’ll have your cookies later in the parlor?”

“That would be perfect,” Rachel said, practically cooing to the baby. “It’s been a rather difficult day.”

* * *

Later that evening, Rachel and I sat on the edge of her bed while I ran a brush through her hair. It was still as lush as it had been the day I met her, and I could tell that it would curl into little tufts just like Nathan’s if cut short enough to be given the chance. A fire glowed behind an ornate grate, and long-handled bed warmers waited on the hearth. Across the hall, my daughters were nestled in with young Tabatha, who’d seemed eager to pull the covers up to their chins and tell stories into the night. Every now and then, the sound of a giggle seeped under the door, punctuating the rhythm of the boar bristles against my palm.

“They sound like they’re having fun,” I said, dividing Rachel’s hair into three sections to plait.

“Tabatha’s a sweet girl.” Rachel held a small mirror up to her face, and our eyes connected in the glass.

“You treat them like servants, you know.”

“I have a position in the household. The first wife. If I’m not careful, they’ll run right over me. Run me out of my own house.”

“I can’t believe that.”

“It happens all the time. So be careful.”

I took the piece of ribbon Rachel handed over her shoulder and tied it around the end of the braid. Then we both stood, wrapped towels around the handles, and took the bed warmers from the hearth to run them along the length and breadth of the feather mattress before climbing inside.

There was a light rapping on the door and Tillman’s voice came through.

“Good night, Rachel, dear.”

“Good night, darling.”

No such salutation was granted to me, but I did hear him say the same to Tabatha across the way, and then, moments later, down the hall, I heard the sound of a closing door. In the light of the dying fire I lay among the feathers, mentally counting the number of bedrooms in the house. Rachel must have read my mind because she interrupted my calculations and said, “He’ll sleep with Joanna tonight.”

“Oh.”

“For a while he had his own room, and we each shared a room with our children when we weren’t . . . But when Marion came along, we just gave one room over to the boys and, well, it’s easier.”

“I don’t mean to pry.”

“It’s the way of things.”

“I don’t see how you can bear it. The thought of Nathan in another woman’s bed . . .”

“There are worse hardships, you know.”

“I can’t imagine.”

“Watch yourself, and you won’t have to imagine.”

I propped myself up on one elbow and turned to look at her. “What do you mean?”

“You won’t be able to stop him, Camilla. If his spirit is telling him to take another wife, that’s exactly what he’s going to do.”

“How do you even know—?”

“When he was here last fall—before the baby—he talked to Tillman.”

I doubt I would have felt much more betrayed if he’d actually come home with a second wife in tow. Words failed me as I clutched the sheet in my hand. Rachel must have taken my gesture as a precursor to a violent blow, because she sat up and scooted away.

“Now, wait just a minute.” She held up her own hand in defense. “He only talked to Tillman
after
he’d talked with Brigham.”

“Brigham Young?” How strange to hear the revered name of the prophet dropped so casually in conversation.

“Yes. When Nathan met with him about the—”

“The chairs.”

“Right. The chairs. Apparently Brigham asked him about his family.”

“He didn’t tell me any of this. Why would he not tell me?”

“He’s a man,” she said, finally relaxing against the headboard. I followed her lead. “What man wants to admit failure?”

My thoughts went back to that afternoon, the tightness in Nathan’s face and the fight for control in his voice.
“He didn’t like the design for the temple chairs”
he’d said, and I thought he’d carried the burden of rejection.

“Are you saying our family is a failure?”

Rachel reached out a reassuring hand and patted my arm. “Of course I don’t believe that. And neither does Nathan. But he doesn’t have the luxury of seeing life through his own eyes. He’s measuring himself by the words of the prophets.”

We remained silent for a while as the room grew darker and darker. As the final shadows disappeared, I whispered, “Rachel?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you bring me here?”

“To show you.”

“Show me what?”

“That really, darling, it’s not so bad.”

* * *

The next morning I awoke to an empty bed and a full agenda. Downstairs, the kitchen was a bustle of breakfast making with all four women deftly dodging the antics of six rambunctious children.

“Boys! If you’re late for school again, your father will have you cutting a switch when you get home.”

It was Joanna who issued the warning, and the three boys took it to heart, shoveling last bites of biscuit into their mouths before tearing out. To my surprise, Rachel wore a plain day dress covered by a blue apron and stood at the stove, stirring a large skillet of sausage gravy.

“You slept late, Mama!” Melissa and Lottie ran and hugged my legs. I bent to give each a kiss on top of their heads.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” I spoke to Rachel, who was lifting a plate down from the cupboard. “I could have helped.”

“Consider yourself on holiday,” she said, her smile as bright as the morning sun streaming through the window. “We’re certainly able to put breakfast together.”

Sitting at the kitchen table with a heaping plate of eggs, biscuits, and gravy before me, I saw neither the haughtiness nor the subservience of the previous evening. The four women jostled each other good-naturedly, handing both chores and children off to each other with equal ease. Their low laughter added to the warmth from the cookstove, and I wrapped myself in it, pushing away thoughts of long, quiet evenings with only Kimana’s dark-eyed silence for conversation.