For Time and Eternity (25 page)

“No, darling. He knows that the stories in the Bible are true.”

“Are the stories in our
Book of Mormon
true?”

I pulled her to me and closed my eyes against the small square of light, praying for God to give me the right words—those that would allow me to preserve the love she had for her father. I considered one phrasing after another, but in the end there was only one answer. Slowly I opened my eyes and shook my head. “No, Melissa. They are not.”

“But Papa thinks they are.” She sounded afraid. “We all do. If Papa can believe in both, why can’t you?”

“I did for a while. For a long time. And then I asked Jesus to come into my heart. And when he did, there just wasn’t room for both.”

She didn’t say anything, but I could imagine the serious, contemplative expression on her little face.

“You are a very smart little girl. Keep listening for God’s voice, and he will tell you what you should believe. Ask him every night before you go to sleep. Ask him to show you the truth, and he will.”

“All right,” she said, then cuddled closer.

I pulled the blanket down and breathed in the fresh, cool air.
Oh, Jesus, please make yourself plain.

* * *

Nights grew cold, but it wasn’t until the first week of December that we had our first snowfall. No matter that it heralded such a dangerous season, there is always something magical about that first dense, white blanket. Amanda transformed into a child right before our eyes. She tilted her head up and opened her mouth wide to catch falling flakes on her tongue. “Oh, isn’t it marvelous!” I watched from the front door, happy to experience the fun vicariously while behind me, Kimana stirred a pot of soup to warm everybody up when they came inside.

“You do not want to play, Mrs. Fox?”

I pulled my shawl closer about me. “No.” A strange, passive peace had invaded my spirit. “It’s just as much fun to watch, and your fingers don’t get numb.”

“You know, I always have a vision before the first snow.”

“Careful, Kimana.” I walked over to the stove and sipped a dipper of soup, then added a pinch of salt. “Such talk of visions will get you in trouble with Sister Amanda.”

“I talk about a dream I have at night, as the snow is falling for the first time. I think God knows how much I am going to miss seeing the flowers and hearing the birds, so he gives me a look into the future so I can be comforted that spring will return.”

“Well, then. What did you see?”

“I cannot tell you now. But I will someday, and when I do, remember that I told you on this day I had a vision from God. Will you remember?”

I nodded. “When will you tell me?”

“When it is time.”

* * *

A thick blanket of snow surrounded our little cabin as January’s bitter cold tried to creep through every crack, but Lottie and Melissa remained undaunted. Amanda romped with them, red-nosed, steamy puffs of laughter floating around her face, flinging herself down to make snow angels and pelting Nathan and the girls with snowballs.

I turned from the window and tended the fire, knowing my girls would need a warm hearth to come home to, but I was soon distracted by a new sound coming from outside. Silence. Curious, I went to take a quick peek outside and was surprised to see Elder Justus in what looked like deep, serious conversation outside. Amanda was on her way inside, ushering the girls.

“Over by the fire,” I said, setting in to unwrap Lottie’s muffler as she pulled off her mittens. Clumps of snow clung to the wool, hissing when they fell to the hearth.

“There’s to be a special-called meeting tonight,” Amanda said, obviously pleased to have some inside information. “Brother Brigham was to be here, but for the snow.”

“Well, well.” I held Lottie’s coat as she walked out of it, then took Amanda’s and looped it over my arm. “I suppose that means an early supper.” I grabbed Melissa’s coat and hung each one on its peg before poking my head out the door and calling an invitation to Elder Justus to join us.

“No thank you, Sister Camilla.” He tipped his hat. “Many more neighbors to inform.”

It was obvious from the way they looked at me that I was now free to go back inside.

It would be an hour before Nathan came in. Little chores around the house brought me to the window again and again to see that they talked for another ten minutes at least, after which Nathan took himself to the barn to settle the stock in early for the night. What possible bit of business would call for all of us to trudge through deep snow for a gathering?

If Nathan knew the nature of the meeting, he said nothing. In fact, he was unusually quiet throughout our meal, the kind of silence that didn’t invite any questions. I directed my conversation instead toward Amanda.

“You can wear my coat, if you like, in case yours isn’t dry.”

Nathan’s spoon clattered to the table. “What does that mean?”

The force behind his comment surprised all of us.

“I—I just thought that she would want to go with you.”

“We’re all going.”

“Surely not the girls. Not out in the snow. All their things are wet.”

He considered that for a moment. “Fine. The girls can stay home.”

“And I—”

“Kimana can stay with the girls.”

“But—”

“I’ll get her.” Without taking another bite, he was gone.

Chapter 23

Amanda and I followed in Nathan’s footsteps, creating a fresh path between our home and the meetinghouse. Nathan had continued being vague—not giving any clue as to why we were meeting or how long the meeting would last or even what time it was supposed to begin. So rushed were we to get out the door, I worried we might be the first ones there, burdened with laying a fire in the stove in preparation for the others. I should have felt a twinge of relief when I saw light coming from the windows and smoke spiraling into the silver sky, but something in me wanted to plant my feet in Nathan’s steps and stay there until the spring.

Once inside, gathered with the others, it seemed very clear who knew the purpose of our gathering and who didn’t. Faces varied from dour, to curious, to frightened, with few other representations. Amanda and Nathan and I took our normal bench, squeezing in to share it with an older gentleman and his wife. Few people spoke, and those who did kept their voices to a whisper.

My back was to the door, but I sensed Elder Justus’s arrival with the wave of silence that swept across the room. I heard two sets of heavy footsteps making their way to the front of the room, and when I looked up, I saw another man, one I’d never seen before. Unimpressive—average height, average age, and average fringe of hair framing a bald dome. Elder Justus introduced him as Elvin Childress, a bishop from a prominent Salt Lake City ward. After opening our meeting with a brief prayer, he turned us over to the bishop.

“Brothers and sisters of Cottonwood.” The words sounded like they were scraped from the depths of an iron kettle. “I see by your hale and hearty faces that you fared well despite our season of drought. I only pray that you spent a fair amount of time weeping for your brothers and sisters who live in hunger, while you feast upon the blessings Heavenly Father has bestowed upon you. Amen?”

“Amen,” they chorused. I longed to be home.

“You lead your comfortable lives here, self-appointed guardians of the temple quarry, for which the church thanks you, but which also grants you shelter from the hardships of our people. You did not see your harvest disappear beneath the relentless beating of the locusts’ wings. You do not lie in bed at night, fearful of the gunfire from the soldiers sent by the ungodly president to which we are bound by law. You do not see the pain in our prophet’s eyes as he hands over his governorship—the very office afforded to him by the powers of heaven—to a Gentile appointed from Washington. I ask you again. Do you weep?”

“Yes.” In sincere chorus.

“Do you weep?”

“Yes!” With greater conviction.

“Our brothers and sisters have armed themselves against the advancing army. Men study the Word of Wisdom, then go to sleep with a rifle in their hands. Women kiss their children good night, then take on the task of melting down the very silver they brought from the homes they were chased away from to make bullets to defend their home in Zion. Are you prepared to follow?”

“We are!” Beside me, Nathan’s voice seemed to rise above all others.

Bishop Childress tapped his very ordinary-looking fingertips together and allowed the room to become silent once again. “Dare I ask you, are you worthy?”

To this, nobody seemed eager to reply.

“This war we fight will not be won with bullets. There is no militia strong enough to defeat the forces of the United States Army.” He stepped out from behind the pulpit and strode up and down the center aisle. All around me people twisted and craned their necks to keep him in their sight. In front of me, Brother Thomas wore a buffalo-skin coat, and I kept my eyes focused on one solid square of fur.

“We are farmers, craftsmen, and shopkeepers,” Bishop Childress continued. “If we win, it will be through the mighty power of God, who will set up his kingdom here in Zion as we build our temple to his eternal worship. We will win through our solidarity, our commitment to the one true church, the only people who live the truth of the final words of Jesus Christ. The Lord protects his own. Your strength is in your baptism. I ask you—” he was back at the front—“is there any among you who has not been baptized?”

Shuffling then, and muttering. Oh, how glad I was that the girls were home with Kimana, safe in their warm bed.

“Any at all? For it takes only one weak link in the chain of God’s glory to give Satan victory over all. Will you let your ungodliness bring about the ruin of Zion? I ask again, is there one among you who is not baptized?”

Slowly—and so slowly at first I thought she must simply have been preparing herself to look about the room for an unbaptized neighbor—Amanda stood beside me. Nathan looked to be just as surprised as I, but I’m sure he did not harbor the fear I did, that my sister wife was about to expose me as a rogue apostate in the midst of this fledgling ward.

“My . . . my father,” she said, her voice so small even I, right next to her, barely heard. “My father has not been baptized. Not for this—nor any other—church.”

A gasp went up through the crowd; Bishop Childress silenced it with one raised finger.

“And your father is a part of this community?”

“Yes.”

Nathan took Amanda’s hand, bidding her to sit down, but she would have none of it.

“You are her husband? Stand.” Nathan complied. “And were you aware of the spiritual state of your wife’s father?”

“I was not,” Nathan said. Not even I knew if he was speaking the truth.

“And where is he tonight?” Bishop Childress directed his question to Elder Justus. “Were not all members of the community told to come to this assembly?”

“He doesn’t come to meetings,” Amanda offered, her voice choked with tears. “When I went to the meetings back home, and converted, and told him I wanted to come here—to Zion. And I showed him all the . . . the pamphlets and writings and whatnot, he said he’d bring me. Sold our businesses, we did, because he said this was a . . . a
gold mine
he called it. And, no—no other reason . . .”

She broke down, sobbing into her hands. Nathan, to his credit, looked visibly shocked at her confession, though no amount of prodding on his part could interrupt her.

I stood now and put my arm around her shoulder, more to support my own shaking self than to lend her support. “You’ll have to forgive her. She’s still such a new convert, and it can be difficult when your loved ones don’t share your zeal.” I leaned over and hissed in her ear, “Hush, now, and sit down.”

By now Elder Justus stood beside Bishop Childress, and everybody else in the room seemed to disappear. “I recall, Sister Camilla, a time when you yourself lacked a true dedication to your faith. I believe it was three or four months that you did not go to meeting?”

“She was in mourning,” Nathan said before helping Amanda to sit, leaving me standing alone.

“Ah, yes,” Elder Justus said, tapping his chin. “For the child that died in your arms.” His voice held such a tone of accusation, I could feel the change in the way each person in the room perceived me. “But I recall a span of time this summer, when your husband was away, that you were less than faithful to the assembling of your brothers and sisters. Were you in mourning then, too?”

“Of a sort,” I said. “It was difficult without my husband.”

“And I recall, the night I came to question your sister wife, a distinct uncooperative spirit about you.”

“It is difficult, sir, to see your husband take another wife. But I’ve not missed a single meeting since then.”

“If I may . . .” Bishop Childress dismissed Elder Justus, escorting him to his seat before taking the pulpit once again. I moved to sit down, but he bade me remain standing. I looked at Nathan, silently pleading with him to stand with me, and to my relief, he did. “You there are an example of the reinvigoration of the Holy Spirit within you. You, Sister, having found yourself in complete compliance with the teaching of our prophet were once again drawn to worship with his people. You and your husband and your sister wife represent all that we are striving to keep sacred and safe from a Gentile government who would rob us of both our religious freedoms and our ability to live in obedience to the commands of Heavenly Father. Tell me, Sister, how long is it since you’ve been baptized?”

I swallowed, thinking. “Seven years.”

“And you, Brother?”

“Twelve years.” No hesitation. “In Nauvoo.”

“Ah, yes.” Bishop Childress lifted his eyes in reverence to the name of their holy city. “Perhaps, as a show of your rededication, you will be rebaptized? I’ll have you know that, in the great city of Salt Lake, scores of brothers and sisters are coming to the waters again, as testament to their faith. Tell me, will you? Even she—” he waggled his fingers at Amanda, bidding her to stand with us; Nathan grabbed her elbow and pulled her to her feet—“newly converted as she is, could be rebaptized, symbolizing your place as an eternal family. What say you?”

His final question was not directed at us, but to all assembled, who thought it a fine idea, as expressed in their enthusiastic cheers. When they died down, Bishop Childress looked once again to us and, with a piercing gaze that gave him an appearance far less harmless than was his ordinary countenance, said, “State here, before your fellow Saints. Will you be rebaptized?”

“We will,” Nathan said, clearly intending to speak for all of us. Amanda nodded enthusiastically at his shoulder.

My head filled with prayer.
Lord, I would never . . .
But I said not a word. There would be time enough to protest. Time enough to escape such a display. We might have quietly taken our seats if Elder Justus hadn’t risen from his, like a specter rising from its tomb, and pointed a finger so long and bony, I imagined the feel of his hard, white nail on the tip of my nose.

“Sister Camilla, I sense again an uncooperative spirit.”

Strength like I’d never experienced before infused me. Even as I felt my mouth open, I had no idea what words would follow, only that they would be true and right. “My spirit is with the Lord,” I answered. “Perhaps he is uncooperative.”

Again, a collective gasp. Bishop Childress looked like I’d hit him in the face with a snowball. Amanda trembled beside me, and I dared not look at Nathan.

“Do you speak such blasphemy against our Lord?”

“I do not seek to blaspheme my Lord.”

“I ask you plain and simple. Will you consent, with your family, to be rebaptized?”

“I will not.”

As vociferous as they were to Nathan’s reply, the congregation was doubly so to mine, though with an opposite fervor. Amanda collapsed to the bench again with rejuvenated tears, and the couple who had been sharing the seat with us stood and walked to the back of the room. Voices amplified to the volume of a mob twice the size of that gathered here. Both Bishop Childress and Elder Justus pounded their fists on the pulpit, shouting for order. Only Nathan and I remained silent in the midst of it, our eyes fixed on each other.

Once the commands for
“Quiet!”
gained compliance, Elder Justus came to us, standing in the aisle, seeking privacy to his commission. “Mr. Fox, it seems you do not have all of your house in order.” Nathan said nothing, but I noticed his clenched fist and clenched jaw and considered Elder Justus very lucky that my husband chose not to unleash either one. “Go home now, and make it so. I will visit you in the morning.”

Without another word we left, finding our trail intact, despite the light falling of snow. The walk home was equally silent as the walk to the meeting, without even the slightest attempt at conversation. We arrived home to find the room full of soft lamplight. Kimana sat at the table, her hands folded and her head bowed. I knew then what had given me the strength to speak. The minute we were all inside, she rose and wished us good night, wrapping her shawl around her as she stepped out.

“Go to your room, Amanda,” Nathan said with the authority of one directing a child. She, like a child, pouted, then took the lamp from the table and went into the room she shared with my husband and shut the door.

“Good night,” I said to Nathan and attempted to walk to my room, but he caught my elbow. Rather than struggle, I stopped.

“This is my fault.” He drew me back, and the warmth of his body seeped through the heaviness of my coat. “I haven’t been the husband I should have been. I’ve neglected you, Mil.”

His words were so perfect, I felt I was imagining them there on the spot. But his breath on my neck was real and warm; I softened my weight against him and lifted my hand to touch his face.

“I forget sometimes—” his lips brushed my ear as he spoke—“how fragile you are.”

I turned in his embrace. Even this close to him, I could barely make out his features in the darkness of the room. But I didn’t need to, so perfectly were they etched in my memory. I didn’t need to see him; feeling him was enough. I ran my fingers along his features, and to my thrill, he returned the touch, softly outlining the planes of my face. I knew I was not as beautiful as Amanda, but here in the darkness, I knew his hands touched the girl I once was. He drew me close and kissed me.

Oh, the Lord knows how I prayed to take away the feelings that stirred within me. Ever since I first set eyes on Amanda, I’d been laying stones to build up the wall that would shield my heart from the intense physical desire I’d felt for Nathan Fox from the moment I saw him. I’d barely begun to find peace alone in my bed, without mourning the emptiness beside me. That night, though, his kiss knocked one stone away. Then another and another, until all scattered between us, and I prepared to give myself to him without boundary.