The 19th Wife (50 page)

Just now I have returned from the window. I am certain men have gathered out there, for they are closer, maybe a hundred yards from the Warden’s house. I can see the flash in their horses’ eyes. I hear the hoofs stomping on the snow. I can see the orange embers of burning tobacco which tells me, then, these are not my men. When the mob attacked the jailhouse in Carthage, two hundred men had painted their faces black to mask their identities. The men out there—they are using the black of night as a mask. I respect them less, and fear them less—for a camouflaged enemy is a cowardly enemy. Stand in the daylight and fight for what you believe! I will grant Ann Eliza this—she has taken her shot at me from a stage where I can see her.

Often I think back to my old friend and enemy E. L. T. Harrison and his well-argued words against me in
The Utah Magazine.
Among men’s mental powers, I have always had a special fondness for logic. I remember Harrison’s words of dissent as if they were on a page before me now. “I believe in the right to discuss freely, provided I do it respectfully and moderately, any measure or principle that may be presented. I do not believe I have the right to be rabid in regard to my use of vindictive language, but provided I am temperate—provided I accord to others the same privilege I do myself, I believe that men should be guided entirely by their own light and intelligence. I do not believe in the principle of implicit obedience, unconditional obedience without the judgment being convinced. If it is apostasy to differ with Brigham on some points, I am an apostate because I honestly differ with him. I do protest that I differ in a spirit of love and due regard for him.” How to reconcile his views and mine, when I know mine to be the wisdom of our Father, and his to be the sincere but misguided inclinations of a good man? Liberty, I know, rests nowhere but in Truth. Freedom—always in Truth! Must I, then, for the sake of Liberty, respect Harrison’s thoughtful but defiant judgments? Ignore them? Condemn them? How can I guide others in the principles of Truth if I do not condemn these opinions? Oh! were He to tell me with all certainty my course. Yet I have come to know that wrestling with this question shall be my fate while on Earth. I only pray that when I kneel before Him in the Heavenly Kingdom He shall tell me I have acted wisely.

I have faced such opposition since the Gladdenites, for there is no more ferocious enemy than he who comes from within. Apostasy is inevitable to holding firm to one’s belief. That a few believers will fall away is the by-product of unbending faith. If this were not the case, if I never lost a follower, I would wonder if I had bent, unbeknownst to myself, to popular opinion. My duty, I know, is to lead. I cannot offer an array of options. I must offer a long but narrow path to Salvation, and guide the Saints down it. Were that path wide and varied, it would lead nowhere; and I will then have failed both God and man. I cannot go forth into the next life, with the knowledge I will meet Joseph there, without knowing I have made every effort to promote and preserve his wisdom on all matters, including plural marriage. How have I come here? It is by this.

Outside, beyond the adobe walls, the men are moving in. I see them—the last of the moonlight burns on their muzzles, it illuminates the hatred in their eyes. I see them, crouching, sneaking forward, preparing their siege. And so it has come to this. Is this now my hour? Did Joseph see his enemies in the Illinois brush before they stormed the stone jailhouse? Did he see the blue-white of their seething eyes? How have I come here indeed! If they are to take me, they are to take me while preoccupied with the work of God.

This, then, has been my second mistake, and its effects are more dangerous than my first. I was wrong to let my attorneys persuade me to claim I have only one wife. They convinced me that in declaring Ann Eliza and all my other wives social harlots, the matter would fall away. Their tactics are legal, with no concern for the theological or moral. I am to blame for accepting their counsel. This, I know, has been my gravest error, for in following their advice, I renounced my faith. I know the force of my leadership has come from always standing firm before friend and foe. What did the Saints everywhere think when they heard me, via the legal brief, dismiss our most sacred institution? Calling the good sisters of the Lion House social harlots? I am ashamed to think of the turmoil I have unleashed in their hearts. And what of God? He who has given me wisdom for many years? I turned to lawyers for answers, not Him! Consider it! The loss of faith! Oh, Joseph! Joseph! How great is your capacity to forgive?

Now I must speak to the guard. “Officer O’Conner!” I call, rapping on the door. “Officer O’Conner!” My ear tells me the young man is asleep. The men outside the walls have anticipated this. Ambush relies on the element of surprise. The young guard, Willard’s unknown twin, will awaken to a rifle in his face. He will unlock my door while the assassin presses his gun to his temple. The poor boy—he knew nothing of what it meant to protect me. “Officer O’Conner!” How he sleeps! His mind must be free of worry. For me, I have no resource but prayer.

I do not know how long I have been on my knees now. These words here I write from the floor, putting down the pen between prayers. The candle burns low, the soft wax folding over the candlestick. Just now I have looked out the window. I see the men. The siege is about to begin. In Carthage, Joseph had a six-shooter smuggled in by a friend to defend himself. He fired all his shots before succumbing to the assassin’s ball. I have nothing but my pen and my prayers. With these, I will hold out as long as I can.

But, look—on the horizon! A sliver of light! Not yet pink. Silver and blue. A minute ago all was dark, now a crevice of light, and with each breath of man it expands. In the time it has taken to write those words, the light has grown. Now beyond the black mountains I see a wash of blue. With it I can see the horses and the men. There must be two hundred—no, three hundred out there on the roads. They have blockaded the road to the mill, and the other to the factory. When will they attack? Do they wish to see my face in the clear light of dawn? If so, they are not cowards. They are fearless—the most dangerous enemy. Come! I say. Attack! I shall stand before you and never relent!

I have returned now to my knees to ask our Dear Heavenly Father for forgiveness, for I have turned away from Your wisdom. I am not afraid for my life, but I fear dying by the assassin’s ball while having renounced You. Grant me another day on Earth to return to Your path. Bring me the wisdom to know the course I must take. I believe, as I have always believed, in the doctrine of plural marriage as You revealed it to Joseph, as You have confirmed it to me. Your word is the word of God, and always shall be. I will go forth and affirm its Truth, if only You will grant me another day.

Thus I prayed. I have been on my knees for so long they are sore from the boards. Outside, dawn’s arrival is now irreversible. The colors fill the sky. The mountains are lit, the valley is lit, the river runs in its canyon, carrying chips of morning ice. If the assault is to come, it is to come now. Why do the men wait? What is their hesitation? I will check the window. I will show them my face. I will give them their target. I will let them know I am here.

Dear Heavenly Father! The men on the roads! They are packing up! I can see them rolling blankets, saddling horses, storing guns. I can see them turning the carriages around. Who are they? Why did they not attack? How often does life prove itself unknowable? How many mysteries can the heart bear? I only know this is the mercy of the Lord! I know it, I recognize it, I feel the warmth on my skin. The men are leaving! They are leaving! My enemies have quit.

“Officer O’Conner! Officer O’Conner! Wake up! Tell the Warden I want to return to court! Call the Marshal! Call Judge McKean! I admit to my error!” I shall inform Judge McKean I accept his orders. I will pay Ann Eliza’s fees. I will grant her a rightful divorce. Her demands are just. She has been my wife. For five years she was my wife. How true she is, she has been my wife! The women of the Lion House—God has granted each to me as a full wife!

I will go forth now and declare to the Saints everywhere, and to the world, too, that these are my wives! And that by accepting all my women as my wives, and declaring my conjugal duties to them, as so prescribed by the court of law, I am declaring, and you, Dear Gentiles, are accepting, our right to celestial marriage. My admission of husbandly duty to Ann Eliza, and my monthly check of alimony, will be an early declaration of responsibility to her, and to all my women, as you have demanded it. Americans everywhere, make no mistake: this is our right! Your laws, which are our laws, have declared this so.

Yet I do not expect you to accept the plural wife now, even though your laws have forced me to publicly accept her. I do not expect your leaders in Washington to readily accept my right, and the rights of the Saints, to our beliefs. I do not expect to come to agreement today, or tomorrow, or any time soon, on this matter that is of nuisance to you, but of eternal importance to us. No! This shall be our last battle, for you have made it clear that we can never agree, and I shall make it clear that the Saints of Deseret shall never relent. We will defy the authorities, the army, even the great General, President Grant! If we must, we will take up arms to fight in the name of God. I can only hope my new resolve will inspire the Saints to fight for this principle until the end of time. He who abandons it is not a Saint, as I now understand, for God has spoken. His words are clear.

The desert sun now pours through the window, warm on the writing desk. How I long to be home among my women! The sacred practice of celestial marriage is not my will, or Joseph’s will, but the will of God. And so the Truth has come to pass. It is as clear as the morning outside. Through Revelation, God has spoken, and we must obey. Saints of Zion—be not afraid! We know the wisdom of the Lord! Now go forth and defend it until our Last Day!

ENDING IT ALL

I checked the food court, the gadget store, the men’s room. I spent more than an hour looking for Johnny in the mall. The last place to search was the LDS bookstore. I asked a clerk unloading a carton of books if he’d seen a kid hanging around. The guy didn’t recognize Johnny from my description but said he’d keep an eye out.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “What’s that?”

“What, this?” The clerk looked at the book in his hand. There was a modelly gay-looking guy on the jacket. Its title:
Overcoming Same-Gender Attraction.
The clerk had already unloaded a dozen copies onto a table and there were another dozen in the box.

“Yeah, that. What is it?”

“It’s, uh, I don’t know.” The guy flipped the book over and started reading the copy. “I guess it’s something for parents who think their kid’s gay or something.”

“I know what it is.”

The clerk looked at me like, Huh?

“You sell a lot of these?”

“Excuse me?” We were probably the same age, could’ve been born on the same day, two young men from opposite ends of the state, opposite ends of the world, really.

“Do you sell a lot of these?”

“That’s not really, I mean, I can’t really—” But he pulled his wits together, as if he’d been trained to deal with nut jobs. “Sir, is there something I can help you with?”

I started looking at the book myself. It was written by a couple whose son had noosed up his missionary necktie and let it all hang out because he was gay. And right there on the first page they wrote, “Although bereft, after Josh’s death we were overcome by a certain peace because his anguish had come to an end.”

Don’t. Make. Me. Scream.

“You realize you’re selling total and complete bullshit.”

“Sir?”

“This book. It’s a total lie.”

“Sir, if there’s nothing here you want, maybe you should leave.”

“What? I’m not allowed to browse?”

“I really don’t want to have to call security.”

“Be my guest.” I was bluffing. We both knew it. I threw the book on the table, turned around, and bumped right into Johnny.

“Dude,
what
has crawled up your ass today?” He grabbed my t-shirt and led me out of the store.

Out on the street I said, “You’ve got to stop disappearing like that.”

“You’re the one who dumped me on the curb.”

“I told you I’d be back.”

“That’s what they all say.” He punched me in the shoulder, as if to say he couldn’t hold a grudge. “C’mon, I’m starving. There’s this cool place across the street.”

He led me over to an old gabled house with a stone lion above the door. “Wait a minute. You want to eat here?” I said. I couldn’t believe it. We were standing in front of the Lion House. It was now a museum and catering hall.

“There’s this major buffet down in the basement. All you can eat for four ninety-nine.”

I told him no way. I wasn’t going to eat in Brigham’s harem.

“Why not?”

“Why not? You know what this place represents?”

“Get over yourself. It’s only fucking lunch.”

There was nothing special about the place. A cafeteria in the basement, heaps of carby food in enamel pans. We filled our plates with limp turkey and macaroni with fake cheese and sugary dinner rolls.

“So what was that all about in the bookstore?” said Johnny.

“I don’t know. That book just struck a chord.” I described the book and I didn’t want to, but I let a tirade get the best of me. Off I went, lamenting all the gay Mormon kids who are lied to, the
Ensign
articles warning them to deny who they are, eighteen-year-old Josh hanging from a necktie in his Ogden closet, those parents finding peace—
peace!
—after his death. And then writing a book about it. I went on and on, flailing my hands, banging the table in the corner of the Lion House basement, preaching to a kid who listened with a give-me-a-break face while picking his nose.

When I was done Johnny pushed a slab of turkey into his mouth and went back to the buffet for seconds. He returned to the table, saying, “Isn’t this place awesome? All you can eat for five bucks. You gotta love the Mormons.”

“Johnny, did you hear anything I just said?”

The kid was busy chewing, flashing gray-blue bits of turkey on his tongue. “I heard.”

“Well?”

“When are you going to realize you’re not the only person in the world who’s been fucked? I mean, crap, welcome to the club.”

An hour later we parked in front of the Ann Eliza Young House. The sun was hitting the stained-glass window and the house looked special, like Martha Stewart might live there. “Let’s go in.”

Johnny looked at the house, then me. “Where are we?”

“It’s a home for kids.”

“What kind of home?”

“There’s someone I want you to meet.”

His mouth bit into a hard line. “Are you fucking with me?”

“C’mon, let’s go.”

“Because if you are, at least have the guts to admit it to my face, you lying piece of shit.”

I thought he might take off, run down the sidewalk, and disappear. I could imagine it—his little black-soled sneakers slapping the concrete, taking him around a corner, down an alley, through a lobby, anywhere. I’d go looking for him, but this time he wouldn’t turn up. It seemed like the most obvious outcome to all this. There’d be the days of searching, the panicked calls to Tom, the sorry explanation to Kelly, the police report, the false hope, the dead ends, the giving up. It was as if it had already happened, like I’d already seen this movie and knew the ending line by line.

But Johnny didn’t run. He walked up the path with me to the door, silent and furious, picking a daisy along the way, shredding its petals, and hurling them at me. They hit the back of my head with the impact of a moth. “Who the fuck is Ann Eliza Young, anyway?”

“Some Mormon lady, it doesn’t matter.”

“Now I get it, it’s all coming clear. Earth to Johnny: once again you’re the last one to realize you’ve been screwed.”

Kelly met us at the door. She looked very pretty and very calm. When she talked to Johnny she talked to him like a person, not like a messed-up booted-out kid. “Can I get you something to eat? Maybe an apple or a banana?”

“Next.” His livid eyes were saying,
I’m going to kill you for this.

“The director’s here, she’s looking forward to meeting you.”

“And I’m looking forward to telling her she can suck my—”

“Johnny.”

“Kidding!” The dimples ran up his cheeks like when you hold your finger on the )))))))))) key. He turned to Kelly. “All right, sweetheart. I suppose every outlaw has to eventually come in.” He took her hand and they walked down the hall. The amber light from the old brass sconce silhouetted them, two figures retreating into a celestial glow, like lovers strolling into the sunset on a corndog greeting card. And that was it. Johnny was gone from my life.

Or, almost.

“Johnny, wait!”

He turned around.

“Your knife!”

“What about it?”

“I’ll keep it for you.” I walked to him with my hand out. He hesitated, then pulled it out of his pants. We looked at it, at his mom’s name taped to the handle.

“I’ll be wanting that back,” he said.

“One day,” I said.

“I mean it, it’s all I got from her.” The kid shoved my shoulder and lurched forward for an awkward hug. “Now get out of here before we both start breaking up like a couple of girls.”