For Time and Eternity (6 page)

For weeks I’d been listening to the sounds coming from these people at night, their songs rising on the night air. Perhaps it was the thin quality of darkness that carried the music. The thickness of the midmorning muted everything. I held my breath as I watched them—so ordinary-looking. Just men and women and children. They milled about the clearing with a unique sense of purpose. Every sound they made blended to a single pleasant hum. No outbursts of laughter or anger. No harshness at all. Just a peaceful dignity. Oh, how very full their lives looked, even in that first moment.

Perhaps I can’t be trusted to give a faithful account from this point. It could be that all of my remembrances of the time before I left are seen through a justifying lens. Maybe my father wasn’t as harsh and boorish as I render him, nor my mother as weak. My own loneliness and longing certainly exaggerates the instant admiration of the Mormon families in the clearing. Only my portrayal of Nathan Fox can be trusted. As we stood together, hand in hand, our feet still planted in the forest, we gazed on the scene before us with a single heart. I don’t know if he loved me yet, but I loved him, and I knew he wasn’t just showing me his family; he wanted to give it to me as well. He’d sought me out, somehow. And my only answer was that the Lord himself had brought him to me. Answered my prayer the way he answered Hannah’s. Not with a son, but with a companion, somebody to walk along the road with. So much more than that, as I discovered the night before.

Now as we stood at the edge of the clearing, he squeezed my fingers and turned me to face him. He took my other hand and brought them both up to his lips and pressed them there—not exactly a kiss, but a claim. There was none of the breathless thrill like had come with the moonlight. Our eyes met over our joined hands, and that simple gaze carried a promise. I would step into that clearing with him. And somehow, I would stay.

The shouts of children interrupted our reverie.

“Nate! It’s Nate!” Suddenly we were surrounded, hemmed in with boys and girls on every side, all surprisingly neat and clean given their living conditions. They peppered him with excited questions: Did he know they finished building the last wagon? Did he see the new team of oxen? Did he hear about the new letter from the prophet? A steady chorus of “Who is she? Who is she? Who is she?” underscored everything.

Nathan had dropped my hand at their arrival, and he crouched down now, taking each question in turn and answering with such loving patience, he could have been each one’s own father. No waving hand was ignored, no question repeated too frequently to warrant a harsh, impatient response. As to the question of who I was, that was left to the very end when he once again took my hand and said, “Children, this is my very good friend Camilla Deardon.” Then, to me, he introduced each child by name, no small feat given that there were nearly fourteen coming from ten different families. He also managed to mention the infant siblings too young to attend this little gathering.

I greeted each one with a smile, knowing full well I’d never remember any of their names. I shook one little hand after another, saying “Thank you” to the girls who thought my hair looked pretty.

“This is the young lady who gave us the cheese and butter,” Nathan said, and this revelation started a new round of excited chatter. How humbling to see all those little faces alight with sincere joy and gratitude, and in the midst of it, their names came clear: Josiah, Rebecca, Daniel, Sarah. Whatever grudge I might have held at Nathan’s theft disappeared as I graciously accepted credit for the act of charity.

We walked together into the camp, though he’d long since dropped my hand, and the children hovered behind and around us making me feel like I was leading a sort of swarm. Soon, more interesting pursuits presented themselves, and the children peeled away to recommence their games of tag and chase. Or they were summoned to finish whatever chore they’d abandoned. I tried not to bristle at the unabashed suspicion in the women’s eyes as they drew their children close to them. Not entirely unfriendly, but definitely guarded, although their mouths greeted me with broad smiles and words of welcome.

“So, this is the one, is she?”

The voice came from behind, and its slicing honey sweetness chilled my spine. I stayed still and would have remained so if Nathan hadn’t put his hand on my shoulder and physically urged me to turn around.

“Hey there, Rachel. Yes, this is Camilla.”

She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. Easily as tall as Nathan, her thick blonde hair was pulled away from her face, but without giving that pinched, taut look that plagued so many women. Instead, her hair seemed to have floated back of its own accord, leaving soft, wavy furrows in its wake. My first thought was to reach out and touch it, to see whether it was real or some molded plaster of perfection. I squelched this impulse, of course, but I did hold out my hand.

“Nice to meet you.” I was the first to extend the greeting. She said nothing, but gave me such a perusal I felt I’d been turned inside out on the spot. Her pretty mouth twisted into a quirky smile, and when she finished her inspection with the second appraisal of my pinned-up braids, she looked not at me but at Nathan.

“She’s nothing like what I expected, Nate.”

“Few things in life ever are, Rache.” His smile matched hers.

I looked from one to the other. There couldn’t have been a stronger bond between them if they’d been chained together at the neck. “This must be your sister.”

He left my side then and wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders. “It is indeed. The lovely Mrs. . . . What’s the name again?”

She made a face. “Crane.”

“Ah, yes. How could I forget. Married to Tillman Crane, Esquire.”

“You could forget because you’re just too hateful to remember, even if you did practically bribe the man to marry me.”

Their tone was easy, teasing, and playful. She seemed far too young to be anybody’s wife. Caught up in the spirit of banter, I said so out loud.

“Nonsense,” Rachel said, her expression not quite drawing me into their game. “I’m nineteen. Some would say I’m nearly an old maid.”

“I’d never say that, Sis.”

“Brother, you’d shout it from the mountaintop.” She leaned closer to me and cupped her hand around her mouth, prepared to convey a secret. “Wouldn’t want me to miss out on my chance at eternity, now would he?”

But there was no whispering to her words. Behind her, Nathan swallowed, and his eyes took on a serious glint.

“It’s because I love you, Rachel. I want you to have a better future than what we came from. And I want you to have that forever.”

Rachel dropped her hand and turned, giving Nathan a hug and a kiss on his cheek. “I know, Nate. And I love you, too. Now, let’s go break Evangeline’s heart.”

As she led me away, I glanced back to see Nathan putting up a weak protest before turning his back and walking in the opposite direction.

“Where’s he going?”

“We’re leaving in three days. Lots of work to do.” I had no choice but to allow this to suffice as an answer. She walked me across the clearing to a cook fire being tended by a girl who, from the back at least, appeared to be about my age. Few people can claim to have a striking feature from the back, but this girl defied any sort of anonymity. Straight down her back, barely submitted into one thick braid, was the brightest, reddest hair I’d ever seen. Red, in fact, might not be the best color to name it, as further inspection revealed it to be almost orange. Where Rachel’s hair lay thick and smooth around her head, this hair sprung out in curling wires in every direction, dancing in the breeze like coppery unattached spiderwebbing.

“Evangeline!” Rachel sang the name, and as a result the girl turned, her face initially one of hopeful curiosity. But one glance at me and her countenance fell.

“Who’s this?” she asked, attempting congeniality.

“You know very well who this is,” Rachel said with gentle chastisement. “This is Camilla of the cheese and butter. And, Camilla, this is Evangeline. Madly in love with my brother, and therefore not likely to be anything more than terrible to you.”

I had no idea how to react to such an introduction, but Evangeline’s sincere, raspy laughter gave me license to do the same.

“Don’t listen to a word she says.” Evangeline popped up from her seat, reaching out to grab my hands. “I haven’t been in love with Nathan since, oh, about an hour ago. No hard feelings?”

“None at all,” I said, echoing her humor. In an instant I’d learned there would be no way to harbor any harsh feelings toward Evangeline Moss. She had thin, green, catlike eyes that nearly disappeared when she smiled. Which was often. Her easy smile revealed small, even teeth, but it was her face that gave her a most distinct appearance. Her eyelids, her earlobes, from her hairline to her sharp little jaw—all were covered with masses of freckles. More freckle than face, as Mama would say. I truly didn’t mean to stare, but I’ve never been able to disguise my reactions. My amusement at her appearance must have been obvious to Evangeline, because she batted her pale eyelashes and brought her face even closer.

“Go ahead. Pick a favorite. Mine’s this one.” She rested her finger on her cheek. “Or maybe this one.” She moved it to the middle of her forehead. “Or maybe—bother! There’s just so many to choose. Rachel? Which one’s yours?”

Her voice had the same quality mine had the day before when it hurt too much to speak, and I wondered if she were suffering from a cold. The sound of it combined with the ridiculousness of the conversation made me laugh even harder, and in an instant I felt we’d been friends forever.

“Oh, my,” Rachel said, taking a deep breath. “You know I could never choose a favorite. I love them all so dearly.”

“Well, then, it falls to Camilla. Come on, girl. You can’t really be a part of us until you pick a favorite freckle.”

I wanted to tell her that I
wasn’t
a part of them—and had no idea if I wanted to be. But friendship had never been so easily and openly offered. I found my hand shaking a bit as I lifted it, pointing squarely at Evangeline’s ear.

“That one,” I said. “I’ve never seen a freckle on an ear before.”

Evangeline clapped her hands together, her face beaming with mock pride. “Wonderful choice, Camilla. Really. I like a girl who knows her freckles.”

“My mother says they are angels’ kisses.”

“Then our little Evangeline must be downright divine,” Rachel said, offering a one-armed hug to her friend.

“And if that doesn’t make me good enough to marry the prophet, I don’t know what will.”

I didn’t join in on the next bit of laughter, having no idea what the joke could possibly be, and at the passing of one sharp-eyed woman, both Rachel and Evangeline hushed themselves, looking straight at the ground until their smirks abated.

“Are you hungry?” Rachel asked when all were composed.

“A little. Nathan said something about a chicken stew?”

“Flavored with—
the onions
.” Both girls chimed in on the last two words and looked to the sky. “Honestly,” Rachel continued alone, “you would think those old wild onions were precious cargo from the Far East.”

“Between the butter and the cheese and the onions, you’re our own personal grocer,” Evangeline said.

“But, like a miracle grocer.”

“A manna grocer!”

And the two girls collapsed into each other’s arms, laughing again. The brief window of camaraderie appeared to have closed, and I began to take one step back.

“Oh, now—” Rachel reached out for me—“don’t look so frightened. If you could just hear how my brother speaks of you—”

“Like you’re some kind of vision—”

“This apparition of hope in his lonely world—”

“Wait a minute!” I surprised myself with my own volume. “How could his world possibly be lonely?”

At this Evangeline and Rachel hunkered together, assuming a conspiratorial pose. Holding their arms akimbo, they spoke in unison again, their words fitting the rhythm of a familiar children’s rhyme: “‘For want of a woman a kingdom was lost!’”

And there they were, giggling again, only this spell was short-lived and snuffed out with Rachel’s apology.

“Poor Camilla. You have no idea what we’re talking about.” Then she turned to Evangeline. “If the stew’s done, why don’t you go see if you can scare us up some bowls and spoons.”

“But it isn’t quite lunchtime.”

Rachel gave her a nudge. “Give us a minute.”

Evangeline acquiesced with a little bow and backed away, leaving Rachel and me relatively alone.

“Let’s sit.” She moved around to sit on a fallen log and patted the seat beside her. I joined her, shifting my weight until I found the perfect level of comfort. I also used this shifting time to look over my shoulder, wondering just where Nathan had gone to.

“Relax,” Rachel said, scooting companionably closer. “He actually wanted me to talk to you.”

“Really?” I shifted again. “Why?”

“Because he really likes you. I’d go so far as to say he’s smitten.”

“What did you mean a minute ago when you said ‘For want of a woman—’”

“‘—A kingdom was lost’? It’s just a silly little—”

“But what does it mean?”