For Time and Eternity (23 page)

* * *

Rachel and Tillman hosted a wedding luncheon in their home, and I could only imagine the amount of barking Rachel must have done before we left in order to have everything laid out by the time we returned. Nonetheless, we returned from the Endowment House to find the Cranes’ house transformed. Guests—strangers to me—milled about the front parlor and sitting room. Conspicuously absent was Evangeline.

“I invited her,” Rachel told me in the midst of the guests’ arrivals, “but she wouldn’t come. Weddings make her a little sad, I guess.”

Thin white paper, cut into strips and looped into chains (probably by the hands of the children), hung about the room. Vases of flowers sat atop every available space, including a prominent arrangement on the mantel. Just where Rachel found flowers in October in Utah remained a mystery that bore testimony to the power that came with being in favor with the prophet.

Being somewhat an honored guest, I was not allowed into the kitchen, but Melissa and Lottie snuck in and came back reporting trays upon trays of food: platters of shaved meat, tiny sandwiches, cookies, cakes, and all manner of treats.

“And a wonderful red punch in a big glass bowl,” Melissa concluded, her eyes as big as the dipper, I supposed.

“Your aunt Rachel certainly knows how to host a celebration.”

I blended into the crowd—or out of the crowd—as much as possible. Nobody seemed to notice; they weren’t here to see me. Most were friends of Tillman’s, but there were quite a few men whom Nathan had met on his forays into Salt Lake City when he delivered temple blocks. Elder Justus and his wife were the only guests who made the drive in from Cottonwood, but I overheard Sister June tell Amanda that she had organized a small reception to follow the next day’s church meeting.

“Oh, how lovely!” Amanda’s enthusiasm heralded a much larger affair than would be offered. I’d attended dozens of our ward’s receptions. We were not, by nature, a festive people. Their mood would be much better suited to my state of mind, but this was one reception I would not attend. I could tolerate humiliation among strangers I would never see again, but not among those with whom I had to share my day-to-day life.

I sought Rachel out in the kitchen, where she supervised the carving of an enormous turkey. “Smaller slices, Marion. See if we can’t set back enough for our own supper tonight.” She caught my eye and crossed the room to wrap her arms around me. “This’ll be over soon. And then you’ll just go home and see that it’s not nearly as awful as you think it’s going to be.”

Marion huffed at the statement. “Not easy being the one coming in, either.”

“Well, that’s one reason to hold out and wait to be somebody’s first wife, isn’t it?” Rachel’s words sliced as sharp as the knife Marion wielded.

“Why do you think Brother Nathan locked her down the minute she stepped off the boat? If she’d come into this place an unclaimed woman, she could have had her pick.”

“Stop being such a gossip, Marion,” Rachel said, placing herself between the two of us. “Have a little bit of respect.”

“It’s all right,” I said. “I’m fine. But I did want to talk to you.”

Rachel shot one more scathing look at Marion before looping her arm through mine and leading me out the kitchen door and into the backyard. I filled myself with the blast of cool, crisp air and smiled at the myriad of children who had escaped the stuffiness of adults to build and destroy mountains of leaves. Melissa and Lottie were among them, playing with an enviable sense of abandon.

I folded my arms close against me. “What is she like?”

“Sister Amanda?”

“I’ve barely had a chance to meet her. She’s been here for the past few weeks; you know her so much better than I do. What do you know?”

There was a wood-slat bench on the back porch. Rachel backed her way to it, sat down, and patted the seat next to her. I followed.

“She’s nice.”

“That much I hoped.”

“She’s a strong believer. Much more so than her father, according to her. I think he’s immune to all that fire that comes with a new convert.”

“Nathan’s never lost that fire.”

“No, no, he hasn’t. I guess in that way . . .”

“She’s a perfect mate?”

She gave me a sidelong glance and a smile to match. “Well, aren’t you singing a different tune?”

“Somewhat.” Though I wasn’t sure exactly what that tune was, nor how I could ever explain my heart to her. I picked at my skirt, focusing on the deep blues and grays of its fabric, keeping my eyes engaged there so she couldn’t see the depth of my request. “I was wondering, Rachel, if I—if the girls and I, actually—could stay here with you for a little while.”

“You mean, while Nathan and Amanda settle in?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, I’d have to talk with Tillman, but I’m sure it would be all right. Was this Nathan’s idea?”

I shook my head. “He doesn’t even know I’m asking you.”

The pause before her next question took on greater meaning when I heard the tinge of suspicion in her voice. “For how long? A week? two?”

“Maybe longer.” I dared not look at her. Words came to my tongue as they came to my head, announcing the very formation of ideas. “Maybe until the spring.”

She made a small sound, like
“Hm.”
I looked straight ahead, watching the children as they filled their arms with leaves and, laughing, tossed them into the air, creating great crispy showers of brown, red, and orange. Lottie tried valiantly to start a game of tag, but the older children refused to chase her, leaving her to simply run from one to another proclaiming, “You’re it! You’re it!”

“What happens in the spring, Camilla?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you going to leave him?”

“I don’t know.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper—unnecessary, seeing as the children were so involved in their play. “Are you thinking you’ll
divorce
him?”

I turned to find her placid face looking straight at me. “No. I would never seek a divorce. I married him in good faith. I think, in some way, we will always be married in God’s eyes—”

“In
some
way?”

“—and in the eyes of the law, of course. But, Rachel, I just can’t—”

“I’ve warned you about this, Sister. This is our life. This is Heavenly Father’s plan.” She held a hand up to stop my protest. “You cannot let your jealousy interfere with what your husband, what the prophet, what God
himself
bids you to do.” She leaned closer. “And even if you did, do you honestly think I would shelter an apostate in my home? an apostate who betrayed my brother?”

“Didn’t he betray me?”

“No. He complied with the teachings of his church. Your church too, I might add. Say what you will now, but I was there at your baptism. And your wedding. And your sealing.” Her voice softened. “I know it’s hard, and maybe it is best that you stay here for a couple of weeks. But then you need to go home, Camilla. I’ll drive you there myself. You’ll see.” Smiling now, she reached over and squeezed my knee. “She’s a sweet girl, really. Simple, but sweet. You’ll enjoy having another woman to talk to during those long winter days. Let her tell you all about London. Make it a history lesson for the girls.”

Though hardly convinced, she did manage to coax a weak smile from me.

Just then the back door burst open, and Marion flew out.

“He’s here!”

Rachel twisted in her seat. “Who?”

“Brother Brigham.” Marion clasped her hands in glee. “The prophet himself!”

“Relax, girl,” Rachel said, standing. “This isn’t the first time the man has been to the house.”

“I know, but it’s always so exciting.” She pointed at me. “And he says he wants to see you.”

“Me?” I couldn’t imagine.

“Brother Nathan said his first wife was every bit as lovely as his new bride, and Brother Brigham said, ‘Now,
that
I’d like to see.’”

She laughed, and I gave her the benefit of my doubt that she knew just how malicious she sounded, but Rachel extended no such grace.

“You know, Marion, you really are an idiot sometimes. I’d call you cruel, but I don’t know that you’re bright enough to deserve it.” She added, behind her hand, “Prophet he may be, but the man loves a free lunch.”

By now the children had caught on about our special visitor, and they rushed past us into the house. Our efforts to get them to move quietly and slowly went unheeded. Whatever else I might think of him, however, he was known to be a kind man who loved children, and by the time I found my way to the front parlor, he was surrounded by them. He sat in the leather wingback chair by the window, welcoming them with extended arms. Only my Lottie hung back, looking on with her wide, green eyes, thumb firmly planted in her mouth.

He was a large man by any standards, Brigham Young, and imposing in his own way. Were he just an ordinary man in a room full of other ordinary people, he might have gone unnoticed. But even I have to admit that he was no ordinary man. The moment he stood, a hush fell over the room as his followers waited for a new pearl of wisdom to drop from his thin, dry lips.

“Mrs. Fox?”

It was the first time I ever heard his voice, this man whose words dictated the circumstances of my very life. I stood in stunned silence in front of him until I finally noticed the large extended hand and placed my own in his.

“I commend you, Brother Nathan,” he said, speaking just over my shoulder. “Two lovely wives indeed. How pleased Heavenly Father must be with you.”

I tried to take my hand away, but the strength of his grip intensified and I found his steel gray eyes staring into mine.

“It is a great, unselfish act you have committed today, Sister . . .” He searched for the word.

“Camilla,” I supplied.

“A great, unselfish act, Sister Camilla. You have done a great thing not only for your family, but for our church.” He let go of my hand and held his own high, turning our little gathering into a congregation. “We are under siege, you know. Our church and our ways. Our government, the government of the very nation founded on religious freedom, seems intent on denying us our constitutional rights. And you women, like our Sister Camilla here, are soldiers in our fight. You may never pick up a gun, but when you embrace the role of womanhood revealed by God himself to our prophet, you stand shoulder to shoulder with us.”

There was a collective sense of hearts beating faster as he spoke, united in a single, rhythmic pulse. I felt like David facing Goliath, but I remained small, powerless. Whatever stones I might have thrown stayed lodged in their sling. I didn’t speak. I didn’t move. Nathan stepped up to put a comforting, protective arm around me, and Amanda followed, close at his side. Lottie backed into my skirts while Melissa broke away from the group of admiring children and came to stand between her father and me. There we were, our family on display, a living example of the prophet’s vision. That’s when I knew.

They’ll never let me go.

Chapter 21

The first night was the worst, or at least I imagine it would have been. Late in the evening, still full from the bounty of Aunt Rachel’s buffet and exhausted from arguing about not being able to stay there for one more night, Melissa and Lottie fell asleep in the back of the wagon on the ride home. Amanda sat between Nathan and me, her own head bobbing for the last mile or so, not that there had been much talk to keep her awake.

When we pulled up in front of our house, Kimana came out to meet us, wrapping her bright, nubby shawl around her shoulders. A more welcome sight I couldn’t imagine, and I leaped down from the wagon almost before Nathan brought the team to a complete stop. I stayed in her embrace, listening to Nathan help Amanda down from the wagon’s seat.

“Come help me with the girls,” he told her.

“No,” I said, pulling away from Kimana’s warmth. “I’m sure she has other things to put away. I’ll help you.”

Most of Amanda’s clothes had actually arrived before we left for the wedding, and they consumed every available bureau drawer, hook, and empty trunk in what used to be my bedroom. But she did have one small bag, which Nathan handed to her.

“Good evening,” she said shyly to Kimana, who appeared at her side, taking both my satchel and the girls’ from the wagon.

“Good evening,” Kimana returned, marking the end of their conversation.

Nathan climbed into the wagon’s bed and lifted a sleeping Melissa as if she were a feather, a fact remarkable considering how I staggered a bit under her weight when he handed her down. I couldn’t remember the last time I carried my older daughter, and as I adjusted my grip under her weight, it occurred to me that I wouldn’t be able to do so for much longer. She was becoming a big girl—six years old. Next year seven. She’d be baptized when she turned eight, and then I’d never get her away. . . .

“Are you all right?” he asked. “Is she too heavy?”

“Not yet,” I said, holding her close, trapping her doll between us.

Nathan managed to jump down from the wagon while holding Lottie, jostling her no more than did the bumpy ride. Together we walked into our home, passing Kimana, who left us a plate of corn bread and a pitcher of milk in the light of a warm, glowing lamp. I could hear Amanda in the next room, humming to herself. I didn’t allow myself even the smallest glimpse into the room. Melissa made a contented sound against my neck, and I took step after stoic step until I stooped to lay her on the bed she shared with her sister. Nathan deposited Lottie on the opposite side.

“Nightgowns?”

“No.” I moved to the foot of the bed. “Let’s just take off their shoes and dresses.”

Working together, we prepared our girls for bed as if they were the dolls that rested in their listless arms. We tucked the blanket up around their chins and leaned down to kiss warm, soft cheeks. It was a familiar routine. I leaned across Melissa to kiss Lottie’s cheek, and Nathan to kiss Melissa. Any other night we would have exchanged a quick kiss with each other above the both of them, but not tonight.

“I saw Kimana left out a snack.” The words caught in his throat. “Are you hungry?”

I tried to imagine sitting in the lamplight with him and his wife knowing full well . . .

“No. I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

“Mil . . .”

Luckily there was a bed with two sleeping girls between us, and I’ll never know exactly what he intended to say to me in that moment. I took two brisk steps into my new room and closed the door between us. It was dark, and I wasn’t familiar enough with the room’s setup to immediately find my way around, but before long my eyes adjusted to the moonlight streaming through the window, revealing the familiar form of my bed. I sat upon it—perched on the edge, my hands nervous in my lap. Somewhere outside, Nathan was unhitching the team, tending to the rest of the stock. And if I were Amanda, I’d be undressing, quickly shedding my clothes, and donning my nightgown lest Nathan find me in a moment of immodesty. Were it just he and I, we would meet at the table, enjoy a late-night meal, talking in whispers, concerned less about waking the girls than having a few cherished moments alone.

I don’t know how long I sat on the edge of my bed. Long enough to hear Nathan come inside. Long enough to hear the two of them talking at the table. This was what prisoners must feel as they await their execution. The darkness in my room drew closer like a hood, my breath constricted like the rope. My muscles grew stiff, and I began to think I might never move again. That I might be sitting right there come the dawn, watching the sunrise through my new windows.

Then I heard the scraping of two chairs across the front room floor. After that, the unmistakable sound of a closing bedroom door.

Quickly, I grabbed the quilt from my bed and folded it over my arm. I tiptoed silently through the girls’ room, lest I wake them, and through the front room, lest I attract Nathan and Amanda’s attention. The front door latch lifted noiselessly, and I wedged my toe underneath to lift the door so there’d be no scraping sound as it opened. And closed.

A crystal-clear night sky greeted me, lit by a three-quarter moon. Kimana’s small cabin was well within sight, and I knew she’d surely still be awake. But I longed to be alone. After living one day and night amid the chaos of Rachel’s household, not to mention a stifling afternoon among her sainted friends, I drank in the still, calm coolness of this night. I looked up and could well imagine Jesus in heaven, more infinite than the sky, looking down on his creation. More than that, I knew God himself dwelt within me, no less vast.

“My God.” Breath streamed from me, a mist of prayer. “Watch over me while I wait.”

I made my way across the yard and used my shoulder to open the heavy barn door. I picked my way through gingerly, in case Nathan had left a pitchfork or spade out of place. One of the horses gave an indignant snort as I passed its stall, but the cow gave no complaint. We’d all grown quite used to each other during the time that Nathan was away, though I admit to being relieved that he was back to take over the barn chores.

Soon I found what I sought—the pile of sweet-smelling hay in the back of the barn. He’d brought in a fresh supply since his arrival home, and I knew it stacked up nearly to the ceiling. There was, however, enough of it tapered along the floor to serve my purpose. With one snapping motion, my quilt was spread upon it. I lay down, grabbed one corner of the quilt, and wrapped myself cocoonlike within.

And God granted me sleep.

* * *

Of course Nathan knew I’d spent the first night out in the barn—and the nine that followed—but he had the good grace not to remark upon it. Each morning I awoke nearly an hour before dawn and would creep back into our house, back into my bed, where I fell immediately into a deep slumber until sunlight woke me again. A splash of water on my face, a fresh dress, and a quick pat of my hair nearly readied me for the day, but some days, as I busied myself with the breakfast dishes, he would sidle up behind me and silently present a piece of straw I’d somehow missed. He’d say not a word, merely raise one quizzical brow, and I offered no explanation. We entered a new season of silence.

My night lodging did not escape the watchful eye of Kimana, either, but unlike Nathan, she did not spare me her disdain.

“It is not right for the woman of the family to live like an animal,” she said. It was a Monday morning, and we knelt beside the creek, our hands numb from the cold water as we did the washing. “Mr. Fox should not allow it.”

“I’ve not consulted Mr. Fox.”

“Why do you not come sleep in my home?”

I couldn’t tell by her voice if she found my choice illogical or hurtful, so I strove for the same neutrality in my reply. “I’m just not sure where my place is right now. And if I were to sleep in your cabin, it would be too easy to stay there. With this, I know some night it’s going to be too cold, or—” I sat up from my washing and rubbed my back—“I’ll wake up too sore to face another night out there. But until then, I need to be alone. I need to search my heart and pray.”

“You cannot do that in your room?” She took one of the girls’ dresses and plunged it into the water.

“Not yet.”

“You know they will be man and wife after it turns cold.”

“I know. That’s why every night I pray that God will show me what to do.”

“And what has he told you so far?”

I laughed. “To keep sleeping in the barn.”

Kimana offered the rare hint of a smile. “I think, maybe, you are confusing his voice with your fear. What good is an answer if it can change at any time?”

I took the dress from her and began to wring it out while she washed another. The fabric, cold and wet in my hands, chafed my skin and chilled me to the point of pain. Still, it served as a welcome relief from the numbness I’d felt since the wedding.

“It’s not that easy to discern God’s will, Kimana.”

“Maybe not, if you are looking for new answers. Maybe you should look for old answers.”

“Old answers?”

“In the book. The Bible. I remember last summer you teaching that it is the words of God himself. Answers are made of words. And true answers never change.” She looked up. “What color is the sky?”

I indulged her. “Blue.”

“Aha. And if I ask you that question tomorrow or a year from now. Or if I asked it last summer. Or the day Lottie was born. Would the answer not be the same?”

“No,” I said triumphantly. “Sometimes the sky is gray. Or even black.”

“It may seem so, when it is covered by clouds. But behind the clouds, the sky is the same. And it may seem so when the world turns away for the night and the sun is hidden. But the answer is the same, always, just waiting for the dawn.”

I sighed. “Kimana, when did you get to be so wise?”

She took the dress from me and wrung additional water drops out of it. “My people are wise because we speak little so we can listen to the voice of creation. Now I have the Creator inside of me. My eyes cannot hear him from the pages in your book, but my heart can listen.”

“But I
have
been listening.”

For the first time in my memory, Kimana’s voice was stern. “You have been listening to yourself out there alone in the dark. God has given you a home; sleep in it. He has written you a Word; read it. I have not seen you open it since Mr. Fox came home.”

“You know he wouldn’t approve.”

“Maybe not in his home, but you have your own home now.”

She handed the little dress back to me. Silently, I untwisted the wet mass, folded it, and laid it atop the other newly clean garments. When I looked at her again, she was looking quizzically at a pale green blouse dotted with tiny purple flowers.

“It’s hers,” I said, wondering what she was doing right now back in my warm, dry home.

“It is pretty,” Kimana said before plunging it into the creek to wash.

That night we gathered together for supper, plagued by the usual awkward silence that had marked every meal taken at this table. Melissa shared a story about a scuffle two boys got into in the school yard, and Nathan described in detail a new shelving system he would be building in our trading post.

“Clear to the ceiling.” He waved his fork in demonstration. “And a new service counter with shelves underneath. Place is going to shut down for two solid weeks while I work. Going to look just like the city stores.”

His beaming pride was contagious, and we echoed Lottie’s enthusiastic “Hooray, Papa!”

It was an unguarded moment of joy, and within it came an answer I would never have heard surrounded by nothing but darkness, self-pity, and a quilt out in our barn. I loved my husband, still, and I loved my daughters. In the midst of that laughter I realized I had to love Amanda, too. For reasons I would later understand, God allowed her to come into our lives, and I tried to see her through the eyes of my Savior. Grudgingly, I had to agree with what Rachel had told me. She was a sweet girl. I found it hard to imagine her having a single thought or saying a single word outside the confines of our home. Those she’d said inside our home were confined to the most polite of conversation. So when our laughter died down and we were once again engrossed in our food, I looked across the table.

“Amanda, why don’t you tell us a little something about your life in England?”

Nathan caught my eye and smiled at the gift I’d extended. Amanda nearly choked on whatever morsel she’d just taken off her fork. “What’d you say?”

“Yes! Tell us!” Lottie and Melissa begged in chorus.

“Well, to start,” she said, her accent stronger than I ever remember hearing it, “we don’t have great, vast plains to drive our wagons across like you do here. And we don’t have Indians, and we don’t have great big mountains. . . .”

She launched into tales of dark cobbled streets with a castle and a river right in the middle of them.

“Bigger than Salt Lake City?” Lottie asked.

“Oh, much,” Amanda said. “And many, many more people.”

“Is there a temple?” Melissa asked.

“No,” Nathan said. “That is why so many converts come here to live and worship.”

“Thank God,” Amanda said, “or I would never have met your father.”