For Time and Eternity (7 page)

Now it was Rachel’s turn to shift in her seat, and for the first time a hint of vulnerability crossed her face.

“Look, Camilla, I’ll tell you, but I want you to promise not to let it frighten you.”

“All right,” I said, fully frightened anyway.

“Nathan and I, we never had any real family growing up. And now, with us getting ready to make this journey—well, it’s scary. He’s a man, of course, and would never admit to being afraid of anything. But I think deep down he knows that plenty have died on this trail, and he doesn’t want to be one of them.”

Her response did nothing to either ease my fears or answer my question. I still saw no connection between what she just told me and myself, and I told her.

“He wants to have a family,” she explained.

“He has you, doesn’t he?” I gestured widely. “And all of these people.”

“He doesn’t have a family of his own. No wife. No children. You don’t understand the way these people—the way
we
—believe. Our marriages continue on after we die. He doesn’t want an eternity alone.”

I tried to scoot away, but my skirt snagged on the rough bark. “You mean he wants to
marry
me?”

“Relax.” She reached out to grasp my arm, and I wasn’t sure if the gesture was meant to soothe or control. “I don’t know if
he
knows exactly what he wants. I only know that he likes you. He spent weeks talking about the quiet, pretty girl who always seemed to be alone. Like she was set apart just for him. If you could have seen him working up the courage to talk to you the first time . . .”

“He’s never struck me as being shy.”

“He’s not, exactly. He simply hates to fail.”

That, I could understand. “Your brother—Nathan—is very handsome.” I hated how I stammered over the words. “I think he could have any girl he wanted. He doesn’t need me.”

“True, but in our little party there aren’t many to choose from.”

“There’s Evangeline.”

“Who would bore him silly. One look and she’d be attached to his hip. You, on the other hand, make him work a little harder.”

I didn’t dare tell her how easily I’d been convinced to join him today, and I wouldn’t have to because just then his very voice rang out, saying, “Soup’s on!”

I turned my head to see him and Evangeline coming toward us. She with a square of flatbread, and he with a stack of four perfectly balanced bowls.

“Don’t believe a word she’s been saying.” He pointed toward his sister with a handful of spoons. “Unless it’s good. Then, trust me, it’s gospel.”

If I thought we were going to have a cozy lunch with just the four of us, I was mistaken; soon the fire pit was surrounded by men, women, and children. About two dozen in all, and as I craned my neck to look around, I saw a similar scene taking place at the cook fires throughout the clearing. Everybody came to a simultaneous hush when an older man rose up, standing on a stump in the middle of the camp.

“Brothers and sisters,” he said, holding his hat over his heart. In one motion, all of the men and boys followed suit. “Heavenly Father has blessed us with this meal we are about to eat. Let us thank him.”

“That’s Brother Thomas,” Rachel whispered in my ear. “He’s in charge of our group.”

All around me heads bowed, and I did likewise.

“Our God,” Brother Thomas intoned, “we thank thee for this food. We ask a blessing on those who prepared it. As the time of our journey draws nigh, we petition thee for the strength we require to follow your plan. May this nourishment grant us the health and vigor we need. And may you bring us all safely to Zion. In the name of Jesus Christ we pray.”

And there was a chorus of amens. I added my voice to it as well, and I opened my eyes to see Nathan staring at me with such intensity, I clasped the hand of Rachel beside me for support.

In the brief silence surrounding the end of the prayer and the commencement of the meal, Nathan pushed past the two of us, handing the bowls and spoons off to Evangeline, and leaped up on the log behind me.

“Excuse me! Attention everybody!” What little murmuring there had been stopped, and all eyes turned to Nathan. Brother Thomas had been about to step down, but he, too, turned his attention to Nathan, watching with an expression of curiosity that soon became one of approval. “I would like to introduce my guest,” Nathan continued. “This is our neighbor Camilla Deardon, who is joining us for our meal today. Her family’s generosity has fed us in the past, and it is truly a blessing to be able to share with her. I hope you will make her feel welcome.”

By the time he finished speaking, I could feel my face burning, and I could not bring myself to lift my gaze beyond by own boot tops.

“Don’t worry,” Rachel said, putting a protective arm around my shoulders. “We don’t bite.”

I sat down again right next to where Nathan was standing, and just like that he hopped down and settled beside me. Evangeline put a bowl in my hands, another in his, and another woman—possibly Evangeline’s mother, given her coloring—ladled hot, steaming soup into the bowl. I lifted it to my nose and inhaled deeply.

“It smells good.” My stomach agreed and nearly flipped out of my body in anticipation. Somebody put a hunk of flatbread in my hand, and I watched as Nathan took his and dunked it into the soup, bringing it up dripping and soft. He slurped the excess broth, then bit off the rest, somehow managing to chew and smile with the same mouth.

“Try it,” he said, adding the act of speech.

“I’m letting it cool,” I replied, giving it another blow for good measure.

“Soup’s best when it’s hot.” He dunked his bread again. “I think the flavor’s in the steam.”

“That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard.” Still, I dunked my bread too, an act that Mama would never have allowed at our own table. Careful not to drip onto my chin, I took a bite, pleased with the gooey, warm, flavorful mass. “It
is
delicious,” I said once I’d swallowed.

“It’s the wild onions, I tell you.” He tipped his bowl and took a great swallow. “And to think, your pa would have thrown them right onto the compost pile.”

Indeed. I balanced my bread on my knee and fished around in my bowl with my spoon until I found a bite of chicken. Lifting it out of the broth, I blew until the steam no longer rose and plopped it into my mouth, chewed, and swallowed. And the rest of our meal was just like that. Warm and silent.

Chapter 6

It seemed for the rest of the afternoon I was handed off from one person to another. I told my family’s story at least a dozen times—that we had a small dairy, that I would be sixteen in September, that I met Nathan on my way to school, that the butter and cheese were my mother’s specialty. In return, I learned very little. True, I asked fewer questions, but those I did all seemed to garner the same curious answer: they were all given over to the will of Heavenly Father. And given the peaceful smiles on their faces, they were happy to be so.

Slowly, I began to make sense of the family groups—who was the husband of which woman. What children belonged to which family. From what I could tell, there seemed to be a dozen families in all, plus Nathan and Rachel. Maybe fifty people. Brother Thomas was the oldest, and his wife, the fragile Sister Ellen, told me their children and grandchildren waited for them in Utah. That seemed to be the story for many of the people here. They had parents, children, brothers, and uncles who had gone on ahead to build the great city in the new Zion, marking the trail for the Saints to follow, so they said. Listening to them, I felt none of the fear I thought I should, given my father’s suspicions. For the most part, I could have been at a picnic with my very own church family, I felt so much a part of their fold.

Still, I took great comfort when Nathan’s now-familiar hand came to rest on my arm, and I turned to look into his welcome eyes.

“Walk with me?”

“Of course,” I said, suddenly eager to get away from the crowd.

He led me to where the clearing opened out to the river’s edge. It was a secluded spot, probably a mile south of the tiny dock our town had set up for its crossing. Here along the shore were six wagons, all lined up. Alongside them were barrels and open trunks, waiting to be filled and packed away, I assumed.

“We have quite a few people at your town’s market today,” Nathan said, anticipating my question. “If they trade well, they’ll come back with flour and cornmeal. We’ve already cured some beef and pork.”

“So you leave in three days?”

“Fewer, actually.” He spoke with his jaw clenched. “I spoke with Brother Thomas a few minutes ago. He’s received word that the rest of our party is waiting for us in Lincoln. We’ll pack tonight, and since tomorrow’s the Sabbath, we’ll spend it in prayer and preparation.”

“And leave Monday?”

He nodded. “We used the lumber we cleared to build a ferry—”

“But we have a ferry! Mr. Moore’s—”

“We want our own. It isn’t much, just enough to take two wagons at a time. But our people have told stories—some ferrymen charging outlandish fees to transport wagons. Or torching them midcrossing.”

“Mr. Moore would never—”

“We’ve seen too much of what good people would
never
do. Homes burned. Children killed. Innocent men tarred and run out of town. Somewhere—” he looked out across the river—“there’s a place where our people can live in peace and worship God with the same freedom allowed to your people. I just wish—”

He stopped as more voices came from the clearing. Men carrying small wooden chests and women with arms full of folded quilts. Even children carried the odd tool or utensil.

“Come here.” He took my hand and led me back into the trees. The bustling activity at the river’s edge disappeared, leaving nothing but forest shadows. I’d never spent time exploring the woods so near our home. Mama had been clear in her warnings about how easily a girl could get lost. No sun, no direction, no wind to carry your voice. She, of course, had in mind the dangers of being in the forest alone, yet she would take little comfort at the thought of me being so isolated with a boy. Any boy. As the leaves and branches closed in around us, I felt my own sense of fear. Inexperienced as I was with both forests and boys, I knew he’d brought me here to kiss me. And there, with the heels of my boots backed up against the mossy base of a cottonwood tree, he did.

To say that I had never been kissed before is a statement so obvious, it barely warrants words. I shied away from his first attempt, holding my hand up between us and saying, “Please, Nathan. Don’t.” Had I walked away, found my path back to the river’s edge, left him in the darkness of the forest, I know he would not have followed. This is but one of the moments I remember, one of the final crossroads where I stood, blind to the obvious path of escape. And I will not say that Nathan forced his kiss upon me, lest God cut me down for lying. It came down to this: Neither of us took a step away from the other. Nor one closer. My hand remained suspended between us, and I remember looking up and seeing nothing but his eyes. Hearing nothing but his breath. Feeling nothing but the beating of my own heart. And then, imperceptibly, my finger moved. It must have, because the tip of it brushed the rough cotton of his shirt. He could not have felt my touch—I barely felt it myself, and it was my own flesh.

Then he spoke. Just one word. My name. When he did, everything he’d ever made me feel, all those whispering tendrils of fear and hope, joy and anticipation found each other, twisting themselves into one strong cord, and anchored someplace deep within, pulled me to him.

It was, at first, nothing more than a sweet, simple kiss. Nathan’s lips did little more than graze across mine before he pulled away, smiling that half-moon smile.

“I love you, Camilla Deardon. Do you believe me?”

I nodded, my heart too full to let him know that I loved him, too. But he soon would because no girl would give herself over to the embrace that followed if she did not truly love. This time, when he bent his mouth to mine, he lingered, cradling my face in his hands to draw me closer. I offered no resistance. In fact, as our kiss grew more ardent, our breath ragged, our bodies entwined, it was he who pulled himself away, leaving me flushed and bewildered. Unsteady on my own feet.

“I’m sorry.” He turned away from me, running both hands through his hair. His voice had the hoarse, haggard quality of a man emerging from some great battle. “I should not have done that.”

“It’s all right,” I said, my hand against my swollen lips. “I—I wanted you to.”

Three steps away, he stopped and turned. “Why?”

I dropped my hand and looked at him, terrified of the answer.

The sound of dried twigs underscored his journey back to me. He grabbed my shoulders and stooped down, his eyes level with mine. “Tell me, Camilla.”

“I suppose I love you.”

His face became a burst of sunshine in the middle of the shadowed forest, and the loud whoop he cried sent some small creature scuttling off in the distance. I felt the ground beneath me disappear as he picked me up, and it swirled beneath me as he danced us around.

“I’ll never forget this day,” I said when the earth was once again firm beneath me.

“You don’t have to. Come with me, Camilla, and every day can be just like this.”

The very thought of it was dizzying, and I could hardly believe he was serious. I laughed and told him so. “I’m only fifteen years old. My parents would never allow—”

“Fifteen?
Only
fifteen? How old was David when he slew Goliath? How old was Jesus when he instructed the rabbis in the Temple?” Nathan had dropped his grip on my arms and now strode about the forest floor, his tone an unsettling mixture of imploring and force. “Who’s to say you can’t begin your life the moment it changes? Do you know how old Joseph Smith was when he had his first visit from Heavenly Father?”

I shook my head, backing away.

“Fourteen. All alone in the woods, asking God, ‘Which church should I join?’ And God could have said, ‘You’re fourteen years old. Go to the church of your parents.’ But no. He told Joseph to begin his own church. He put new prophecy into the mouth of a fourteen-year-old boy. Do you know why?”

I didn’t, of course, but suddenly I longed to. I’d been sitting on one wooden bench every Sunday of my life, had read the entire Bible through, and had never until this moment felt such a stirring at the mention of the voice of God. Nathan must have sensed my need because he drew near to me again, his face mere inches away.

“God understands the power of youth. He didn’t allow his own Son to grow old. And the church? Look at it—nothing but dry, dusty old men who have forgotten the passion of doing the Lord’s work. Come to think of it, I was just fourteen myself . . .” Nathan’s voice trailed off for a moment and he stepped away, looking about him as if accessing a long-ago scene. “Fourteen years old and out on the street—
living
on the street. Because the orphanage—run by the
church
—put me there when I turned twelve. And I heard him speak.”

“The Lord?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine any other voice could bring about the rapturous expression on Nathan’s face. The entire forest around us had disappeared, leaving him back on that street corner.

“No—well, yes. Both in the same. I’ll never forget. The prophet was standing on a crate, right in the middle of the street.” To demonstrate, Nathan leaped onto a stone, towering above me, and struck a dramatic pose, turning the trees into a crowd. “And the way he spoke—it was like nothing I’d ever heard before. There must have been a hundred people gathered in that street, and you know what he did? He looked right through that crowd and found me.” Nathan crouched down on the rock and reached his hand out. “And he said, ‘You, young man. How will you answer the call of Heavenly Father?’ And it was like he cared. No one had ever cared about me before. I followed him then, and I’ve never looked back. I brought my sister with me, and we were brought into a family. I want you to be a part of it too. Now, my love, is the time to change your life.”

I took his outstretched hand and attempted my best coquettish smile. “My goodness, Mr. Fox. I don’t know if you’re trying to seduce me or convert me.”

He smiled and in one smooth motion brought my fingers to his lips and leaped off the rock. “Yes, if I win your soul, I’ll have an eternal reward. And if you’re my wife, you’ll share that eternity with me. Can you imagine—” he drew me closer—“this moment, over and over, through endless time?”

He kissed me again, and time did stop. Or maybe it stretched, wrapping itself around us. I couldn’t think in any manner close to clearly, and every time I tried to pull myself away—just enough to gather my thoughts—Nathan pulled me closer, his embrace more eager with each renewal, and I felt myself on the brink of surrender. Had he taken his mouth from mine and asked me to follow his faith, his family, his future, I would have joined myself to him. Unquestioning. So part of me prayed he wouldn’t, and I welcomed his kiss and his touch, finding safety in the timelessness.

When we did separate, it was only for the briefest of moments—just long enough for him to look into my eyes before wrapping his strong arms around me. The homespun cotton of his shirt scratched against my cheek, and his lips moved against my hair as he said, “I don’t ever want to leave you.”

“Then don’t.” I hugged him tighter, my words muffled. “Stay here. Maybe you can work for my father.”

One step, and there was an inch between us. Then two. He tucked his thumb under my chin and raised my face to look at him. “That’s impossible.”

“Why? There’s more than enough work to be done. Papa might even—”

“Could the Israelites remain in Egypt?”

“What?”

“I’m not just some pioneer looking for a homestead or a fool rushing for the last of California gold. I want to be able to worship God in the way he’s revealed himself to me. I can’t do that here or anywhere but the Zion that Brother Brigham has found for us in Utah. The Gentiles have made that very clear.”

Gentiles.
“That’s what I am, though, isn’t it? That’s what Evangeline called me.”

His smile was back, softer now. “A Gentile is someone who has closed his heart and his mind to the new teachings of Jesus Christ. But you . . . I can tell. You have a seeking spirit. Tell me, sometimes when you read your Bible, don’t you find yourself wondering what it all means?”

I swallowed hard, nodding.

“Gentiles don’t wonder. They know. Or they
think
they know. And rather than look any deeper, they take up their guns and their torches—”

“Not all. You’ve been welcome here.”

“We’ve been
tolerated
here. Because we made it very clear we weren’t staying.”

“Perhaps if I’d met you sooner . . .”

I didn’t finish the thought, having no idea what difference such a change in circumstance would make. Apparently neither did he, as he touched a finger to my lips to stop any such musing. “We shouldn’t question the Lord’s timing. Everything he orchestrates is perfect. I never gave any thought to marrying until we came here. He held that very idea away from me until I saw you.”

I smiled beneath his touch and tried to believe him.

“Come with me, Camilla, and I promise you, if you’re not happy, I’ll bring you home. I mean it. I’ll get the fastest horse I can find—I’ll even steal an Indian pony—and I’ll fly us on its back.”

The image was so beautiful, so romantic, it would be worth the risk of an unhappy day to attain it. No matter what I might try to tell myself later, I was poised at that moment to say yes. My lips were parted, my throat full of agreement, but the only sound was the long, lingering sound of my name as it was shouted by my father just beyond the trees.