For Time and Eternity (8 page)

Chapter 7

Everything dissolved around me. In those first seconds, I stood frozen, no recollection of where I was or how I came to be there. All of Nathan’s words—his promises and declarations—were wiped clean away with the relentless shouts of my father.

Nathan still held my hand, and though his pulsed with warmth, mine had turned to ice within his grip.

“What do we do?”

“Stay here,” he said, attempting to draw me close again. But I knew Papa, and he would pace and shout until he found me.

“I have to go.” I wrenched myself from Nathan’s grip. “You stay here. Papa’d kill you if he thought—”

“No, Camilla. You don’t need to face him alone.”

“I’ll be fine.” Still my father’s voice raged beyond the trees, and I hesitated, steeling myself for the encounter.

“Stay with me.” Nathan’s words were little more than breath behind my ear.

“I can’t.” Yet my feet seemed rooted to the forest floor.

“Then go with me.”

Now he was just being cruel, because even if I had allowed myself to indulge in the fantasy of a lifetime in his arms, the reality of my world encroached upon us, gaining in volume and clarity. I would return to my father’s home, pick up my life much as I had left it—chores before dawn, long dull days. After tomorrow, our family evenings would return to their oppressive silence when the faint singing of the Mormon people disappeared with their wagons.

“You know I can’t.”

“I’ll talk to your father.”

“No!” I wish I hadn’t turned around because the sight of him standing, looking so slack and hurt, threatened to break my resolve to leave. “My father wouldn’t understand,” I said, reaching out.

“What wouldn’t he understand? That we love each other, or that God has a new plan for his church?”

“None of it.”

I stood helpless as Nathan placed one final, soft kiss on my lips.

“We’re spending tomorrow in prayer for a safe journey, and I’ll be pleading with Heavenly Father to bring you to me. And if he doesn’t, I’ll come to you. At midnight, the night before we leave, I’ll be there. Right where we’ve always met. I’ll sleep there if I have to. I’ll be the last to cross the river with my brothers and sisters. Tell me you’ll be the answer to my prayer, Camilla.”

“Camillaaaaaaa!”
So close it rustled the leaves.

I squeezed my eyes shut. “Good-bye, Nathan.”

The shouts of my father led my steps toward the clearing, and soon I emerged from the protective cover of trees to see him. His back faced the trees, giving me enough time to gather a deep breath.

“Here I am, Papa.”

He turned, and I was instantly comforted by the look of relief on his face. The reassurance didn’t last long, though, as his face reddened, and the hands that had been cupped around his mouth, ready to shout my name again, dropped to his side and hung there, clenching into fists. “Where is he?”

I trembled at the control in his voice. “I don’t know who you—”

“Do not lie to me, Camilla Deardon. I’ve not brought you up to be a liar, and you’ve done nothing but lie to me and your mother for days.”

“But I haven’t! I’ve been sick—”

“Struck down is what you’ve been. For lying and dishonoring your parents. Now where is he?”

“Papa, there’s nothing—”

“Enough!” He hadn’t raised his hand to me since I was a very little child, but there it was, suspended against the clear blue sky. Instinctively I cried out, crouching down and covering my face to avoid the blow.

“Stop there!” It was Nathan’s voice—I’d know it anywhere. Still cowering, I turned to look behind me, and there he was, a blanket of forest behind him. He stared past me, looking at my father, and just the sight of him gave me courage to stand and face Papa myself.

From a few yards away where men were still toiling to load the wagons, someone called out, “Do you need any help, brother?”

“I’m fine!” Nathan replied, never taking his eyes off Papa.

“You,” Papa said, his hand now a meaty fist pointing one accusatory finger. “You’re the one I’ve heard about.”

“I believe you have me at a disadvantage,” Nathan said, turning this confrontation into something more like two men meeting on the church lawn. Completely undeterred by my father’s aggressive posturing, he walked forward, his hand inexplicably stretched out in friendship. “I’m Nathan Fox. And you must be Mr. Deardon, Camilla’s father.”

“What is this?” Papa grabbed my arm and yanked, pulling me away from my position between them. “How dare you after what you’ve done? I know everything.” He turned to me, tightening his grip on my arm. “I spoke with Mr. Teague today. He asked me about the young man who’s been squiring my daughter to school every morning.”

“So it’s a crime now to share a road with someone?” Nathan’s hand, once offered in friendship, now nestled in his pocket.

Papa didn’t even look away. “Every morning this week—”

“Actually, just two.”

I craned my neck to look over Papa’s shoulder, imploring Nathan to please, just be quiet. At this, Papa let go his grip, pushing me aside none too gently, and strode toward Nathan, who remained smiling, unblinking, rooted in place.

“You stole from my family. You trespassed on my property. You’ve wormed your way into my daughter’s life, and God alone knows what treacherous, blasphemous lies you’ve filled her head with.” Each accusation brought him closer, his voice rising in volume and anger with each step. “How dare you? I know about your people. Their filthy, whoring—”

“Papa!”

“Hush!” He threw the word over his shoulder. By now the men whose help Nathan earlier refused dropped their wares and headed toward us, striding purposefully along the river’s edge. Still, never once taking his eyes off Papa, he halted them just a few steps away with the simple raising of his hand.

“Mr. Deardon,” he said without the slightest trace of fear, “I must insist that you not use such crude language around a young lady.” He broke his gaze long enough to send me the quickest of winks. “And as you and everybody in your town can attest, our people, as you would say, have caused no problems. We’ve kept peacefully to ourselves. Let’s not sully our last days with anger.”

“Oh no. You’ll not soothe me with your honeyed words. I’m not some wide-eyed, aimless twit you can rope into your lies. Nothing but a batch of false prophets and con men, the lot of you. What? Have you sunk so low as to seduce your converts now?”

“Mr. Deardon, you really shouldn’t say such things in front of your daughter.”

“That’s right! She is
my
daughter. And she may not be bright enough to recognize the wolf behind such romantic wool, but I am. No true Christian boy would sneak a girl off for such an afternoon. And—” he turned to me then—“no God-fearing girl would let herself be so taken. Look at you. It’s written on your face.”

But I didn’t know how he could claim to see anything written there, as my face was buried deep in my hands. I felt my flesh burning against my palms, too riddled with shame to face either man so embroiled in an argument about me.

“Don’t listen to him, Camilla.”

I parted my fingers enough to see Nathan’s face, and I knew the hurt I saw there was for the ugliness of all Papa said to me. I wanted to run to him, fling my arms around him, and protect him. Instead, my arm was yanked away, nearly crushed in my father’s grip.

“I’m taking you home.”

Silently I followed, not having much of a choice. By now a crowd had gathered, and they all stared at me with sad, wistful eyes. Many bowed their heads in prayer as I passed. Rachel, clutching a bundle of clean linen, reached her hand out and grasped mine, our fingers pressed together until Papa’s gait tore us apart.

An odd thought occurred to me then. Even as I was being marched away like some prisoner, I had a new, odd sense of power following me. Papa was one man, but here was a band of people standing in my silent defense. No doubt if I decided to rebel—to truly fight my way from his grip and run back to their fold—they would envelop me. Alleviate my fears with warm soup and soft words. I entertained the thought for a moment, just until the point where we reached the road that would lead back to our property. I turned my head and saw nothing but a bend in the river and distant figures. Papa finally stood still and took me in a strong, awkward embrace.

“Your mother was half-sick with worry.” His voice held an unfamiliar hoarseness.

“I’m sorry,” I said, wriggling away.

“We’ll go home. And you’ll tell her everything.”

I nodded and fell into silent step beside him.

* * *

Of course I didn’t tell Mama everything. Yes, Nathan took the cheese and butter, but only because his people were hungry, and I only let him because I thought it might be spoiled. And yes, he and some others dug up the wild onions on our property, but only, again, because of their need. Forgotten were his visit to my window in the dead of night and his calling here to escort me to their camp. Instead, I had been resting in my bed when two girls—Rachel and Evangeline—came to the house to invite me to try their soup.

“And your hair?” Mama had been sitting at the table across from me, silently snapping beans as I spun my tale.

“Th-they pinned it. The girls did.”

“It’s a mess. Flying all around your face.” To prove her point, she reached across and smoothed a strand. “Your father said you were in the woods with that boy. Is that why?”

“Mama, please.”

“Girls have to be careful.” She returned to her beans. “Boys will take liberties.”

“He didn’t take any liberties, Mama.”

“Would you know if he did?”

“He’s very kind, Mama. And sweet. And good.”

“Which is why you might be more inclined to allow him to do things. Take things.” She leaned closer, hiding our conversation from Papa, even though he’d gone out to the barn after depositing me at the front door.

“He kissed me.” I took a bean from the bowl and nibbled its sweetness.

“Did he? More than once?”

“He said he loves me.”

“Before or after he kissed you?”

I didn’t know how to answer that because the afternoon was such a blur. A lifetime had passed since then. The way she continued with her industrious snapping led me to believe that she didn’t want an answer at all, her jaw set firm, her brow furrowed. In some ways it seemed Nathan told me he loved me the first time we spoke, when he knew my name. But Mama wasn’t one to be given to such romantic notions, so I gave her a response full of practicality.

“Before. He told me he loved me, then asked if he could kiss me.”

“You can’t trust him.”

“You don’t know him.”

“Neither do you, my dear.” She scooped up her work and dropped it in a pot. “Boys will tell you what they think you want to hear.”

“He’s not just a boy, Mama.”

“I know.” She left me alone at the table, busying herself at the stove and speaking at the window. “Your father says those people are leaving tomorrow.”

“Day after tomorrow.”

She wheeled around. “Not a day too soon. You’re not to leave this house, do you understand me? Not one step through the door until they’re gone.”

“Yes, Mama.”

She came back to me then and smoothed my hair again, her hand damp and cool against my skin. “I’m sure you believe you love him, too.”

“I do.”

“It will pass. There’ll be other boys. Better ones.”

“Better?”

She knelt beside me. “God has a plan for your life. He has a man chosen for you. A good, strong Christian man.”

“Nathan is a Christian.”

“No, Camilla, he’s not.” Her words weren’t exactly stern, but they were serious, and from her position on the floor she had to look up at me to say them. Seeing Mama from this angle made her seem softer, somehow, the lines of worry that so often creased her face smoothed away. She grasped both my hands in hers. “Listen to me very carefully. I admit I don’t know everything those people teach. I’ve only heard rumors. But I know it’s wrong. I know they’ve been run out of town because of the danger they pose to the society around them.”

“You’ve never met them, Mama. They’re kind, wonderful people. They love the Lord just as much as we do.”

“They’ve written their own Bible.”

“Nathan knows the Bible just as well as I do.”

“What has he done to you?”

“Nothing. I’m the same girl I was this morning.”

The fear in Mama’s face made it clear she meant something far deeper than any physical liberties, and her eyes searched mine, trying to retrieve something long lost.

Chapter 8

After sitting in front of a warmed-over supper without touching a bite, I was banished from the table. Papa declared that the mere sight of me made him angy and ordered me to leave. Not only was I to remain in the house, I wasn’t even to leave my room.

“Arlen, be a little softer with her,” Mama chastised. “There’s nothing here that warrants such a harsh tone.”

In truth, though, I was glad to escape. I felt safer the moment my head poked up through my little square door. I’d brought a lantern with me, and I relished the cozy glow of its light, ready to be alone to relive this day.

If I thought my escape from our kitchen table would spare me the severity of a lecture from my father, I was mistaken. His accusations seeped through my floor, though I couldn’t catch every word.

“Stupid, stupid girl—”

“Now, Arlen—”

“When I think of what could have happened. Those people—”

—were kind and generous. They welcomed me in without question.
I tried to imagine Nathan calling me a stupid girl. But I’d only ever heard him tell me I was beautiful. An answer to prayer. But really, I was nothing more than a girl banished to her room for being disobedient. If Nathan could see me now, he’d be embarrassed that he’d ever considered me anything more than some silly schoolgirl he met on a path.

Whatever romantic ideas I had about running away with him—no matter how briefly I’d entertained them—vanished. Silly fantasies, both on my part and on his. In fact, he was probably sitting next to a dying fire right this very minute, wishing he could take all of his declarations back.

And I would help him do that.

I tiptoed across the floor to my bureau and fetched my journal and a pencil to my bed. Turning to the back, I found a blank page. After a few thoughtful licks on the tip of my pencil, I pressed it firmly to the page and wrote.

Dear Nathan,

“Godless! Blasphemous, whoring parasites . . .”

Then, again, something gentle from my mother, but Papa would not be soothed. I’d seen him angry before—I’d provoked such anger before—but this was the voice of a man I didn’t recognize.

“I’ll hunt her down if she steps another foot out of this house.”

“She won’t.”

“Not until we see the last of them—”

“Soon, darling. You said so yourself.”

I could not bring myself to write the words I needed to say with such hateful interruptions. Willing to incur further wrath, I gathered my journal and pencil and crossed over to the window.

“This room was made for escape,”
Nathan had said, and though I had no intentions of running away, I did welcome the chance for a respite from the rousing argument below.

I closed the lamp for my run across the yard, lest one of my parents choose this moment to glance out the window. I myself did not look back because their shouts reassured me I had done nothing to garner their attention. I ran until I reached the rock wall at the edge of our property. Crouching down on the other side, I opened the lamp as much as I deemed safe and turned again to my letter.

Dear Nathan,

You will never understand how much you changed my life.

I looked up to the stars in disgust. My handwriting was laborious; the words, childish and dismissive. He would be nothing more than a sweet memory someday. The boy against whom all future boys would be measured. I poised my pencil, wondering if I wanted him to have that much power over me—now or ever.

Before I could continue on, I heard an explosive shout coming from the house. Quickly closing the lantern, I ventured a peek over the wall, only to see my father burst through the front door, leaving a triangle of light and my pleading mother in his wake.

“Tonight, I tell you!”

“Arlen, it’s the middle of the night.”

“We’ve let it go on too long already. They’ve got the whole town fooled. Well, I’m going to make sure our people know just how vile and predatory they are!”

He stormed into our barn and emerged minutes later astride our riding horse. My heart caught in my throat when I realized he reined the horse with one hand and carried his rifle high in the other.

“You’re going to get yourself killed!”

Whatever Papa replied was lost in the thundering of hooves as he drove the horse across our front yard and through the gate. I tucked myself in, not wanting to know how close I came to being kicked to death. I stayed still and small until I knew he’d reached the place where the path to our property crossed the path into town. Mother had gone back inside, and I knew it was just a matter of seconds before she would discover I had disappeared. And given my father’s temper, not much longer before he would be storming into the Mormon camp.

I had to choose: save myself, or save Nathan. No choice at all, really. I faced the possibility of my parents’ wrath, but he might well be the victim of my father’s murderous intent. I remembered how Jesus said in the Bible that thinking about a sin is the same as doing it in your heart. Papa hated Nathan. He hated the Mormons. It was only a matter of time.

I opened the lantern the tiniest wedge, just enough to give me a sliver of light until I reached the trees bordering our property. This was where he’d taken my hand to lead me through the forest. Feeling safe, I allowed myself the fullest measure of light, and I ran, trusting my feet to remember the path, because my mind had no recollection. The darkness meant nothing; the noises called up no fear. One step after another, my boots pounding the needles and leaves underneath, the light bouncing furiously through the trees, I ran.
Lord, guide me. Lord, guide me.
My silent prayer in rhythm with my steps, I ran. Finally I burst upon the clearing.

And they were gone.

How could it be that, where only hours ago an entire community bustled with life here, now there was nothing but an expanse of hard-packed earth? If it weren’t for the fire pits, now cold and dark, I might have thought my sense of direction was worse than I imagined. But no. There was the log where I sat and sipped soup, giggling with Rachel and Evangeline. There was the stump upon which the old man had led us in prayer. In my mind’s eye, I saw every bit of it. Everything but Nathan.

“Camilla?”

I’d first heard him say my name only days before, but I would recognize his voice in my grave. It came to me now from the darkness, and I lifted my lantern high.

He walked into its glow—light coming into light. Fear and fatigue took its toll, and I felt my legs disappearing beneath me.

“Nathan?” It was a call for help, and I was in his arms just as I came to the point of collapse.

“You came. I can’t believe it. Thank you, Heavenly Father—she came.” He spoke into my hair, peppering me with kisses between words. My lantern had fallen to the ground, but still I clutched my journal, crushing it between our bodies as he held me.

Finally, once he became still, I stepped back and asked, “Where is everybody?”

“I went to Elder Thomas and told him about my conversation with your father, and he got a little uneasy. We gathered some men to pray and seek God’s direction, and we decided it was no coincidence we were already so prepared to leave.”

“So you—”

“Loaded up and crossed the river.”

“Everybody? Everything?”

“Heavenly Father gave us long light and still water.”

And he was here. My heart soared, like it does when God answers a prayer you hadn’t thought to pray. “You stayed?”

He set his hands on my shoulders—clearly a gesture to curtail my joy. “Not for long. I said I’d wait for the last ferry out. I’ve been helping load and helping cross, coming back after every time to see if you were here. I hadn’t dared hope. They’re waiting for me right now, but I begged—let me check one more time. And when I saw you, saw your light . . .”

The more he spoke, the more my heart sank. He might be here now, but he wasn’t staying. And when I thought about my father’s anger, I figured that might be the best thing.

“I—I just came to warn you. All of you.”

“I think I can handle your father, Camilla.”

“But it’s not just him. He was so angry, like I’ve never seen him before. And he rode off—to get some of the other men from town, I think. He had a gun, Nathan.”

His hands still rested on my shoulders, his eyes lifted to heaven. “Heavenly Father, when will your kingdom come?”

“You need to go. Now. Before they get here.”

“Come with me.”

“You know I can’t.”

“I know you can do whatever your heart leads you to do. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”

“There’s a difference between running through the woods and running away.”

“Listen to your heart, Camilla. Desire and faith—they’re all in that first step.”

“Stop,” I said, stepping away from his touch completely. “Stop asking me. It’s not fair.”

“I’m sorry.” He looked hurt, which surprised me because I’d never hurt another person before. “I forget sometimes that not everybody feels things as strongly or deeply as I do.”

“I feel—”

“You are the answer to my prayer, Camilla, whether you want to be or not. The Holy Spirit has said that to me so clearly. I have to obey what it tells me, and it told me to wait for you. To come back to you. I have to obey God; you have to obey your father.”

The way he said it made my protest seem so trivial, but he hadn’t witnessed the fullness of Papa’s fury.

He bent down to pick up my lantern; when he stood, he took my hand. “Will you at least walk with me to the river? let me have as many minutes with you as I can?”

I could not refuse. I needed to see him take his final step away, to know that I’d never again stumble across a clearing in the woods and find him standing there. Without another word, we walked together to the water’s edge. There was the ferry—a simple, flat structure. Hard to believe it had the ability to carry wagons and people and stock, but the faint flickering light on the other side of the river testified to its strength. It butted up against a makeshift dock, and four or five shadowed figures gathered there. A few shouted greetings to Nathan, lighthearted banter about Romeo’s return.

“You have no idea the ribbing I’m going to get if you don’t come with me. You’re all I’ve been talking about for weeks now.”

“Sometimes a sad story is more entertaining than a happy one, you know.”

“I’ve had a lifetime of sad stories,” he said. “I don’t want another one.”

The men had stepped off the ferry now; Nathan and I stood at the edge of the dock.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Come with me.”

“I can’t.”

And he kissed me, right there in front of everybody. In one ear I heard the men’s stifled, self-conscious laughter. In the other, something quite different. Nathan heard it too. He pulled away, and we both looked upriver. Horses and riders—at least a dozen—guided by the light of burning torches.

I pushed Nathan’s chest. “Go.”

He shook his head. “I can’t believe you would choose this.”

“Those men have nothing to do with me.”

“One of them is your
father
.”

“Which is why you’re in danger. Go, before they see me.” I looked over my shoulder. “Or see you. Just go!”

“Listen to her,” one of the men on the ferry said. They’d untied the line and stood, poles ready to begin their journey to the other shore. By now the riders were well in sight, so close that I could clearly make out my father as he rode at the front of the pack. When I heard him shout my name, I knew he could see me, too. Then a terrifying sound—the discharge of a gun. I screamed and started to fall, but Nathan caught me.

“It’s all right,” he said. “They’re not close enough to hit us. Yet.”

“I can’t believe my father would shoot anybody.”

“Hate is strong, Camilla. Promise me you won’t let it take over your heart.”

“I could never hate you, Nathan.”

“I want to believe that.”

I didn’t realize it at the time, but we’d been inching our way down the dock throughout our conversation, and somehow we’d come to the place where a thin ribbon of river ran between us, as Nathan stood on the ferry.

“Camilla!”

My father’s voice was closer now, but I dared not turn around. He shouted it over and over, joined by the angry shouts of his fellow townsmen. Another discharge of a gun, and again I jumped.

“I promise you,” Nathan said, “your first unhappy day, I’ll bring you back. But choose now.”

It was one step—though it seemed so much greater. Like I was walking across his words as much as walking across water. I almost lost my balance, but once again he caught me, and I thought at that moment that I’d take any risk if it meant ending up in his arms.

“Praise the Lord,” he said, drawing me close. Those piloting our ferry echoed his sentiment.

I turned around then and saw the riders had come to a halt yards away from the river’s edge. I could have jumped off and waded to shore; Papa could have ridden his horse out to fetch me. Both of us stared at each other, waiting for repentance and rescue. Instead there was only the soft lapping water and the snorting of horses.