The Sister Wife (21 page)

Several more voices joined the first and shadowy figures began to gather, their torches lighting up the night.

T
he torches blinded Mary Rose and her grandfather, yet kept the bearers in the shadows.

“Get out of here,” the earl said, walking toward the mob. “We're peace-loving people and have never hurt anyone.”

“Whooeee,” someone guffawed as soon as Mary Rose's grandfather spoke. “Fee-fi-fo-fum! I smell the blood of an Englishman. Be he live, or be he dead, I'll grind his bones to make my bread.”

“Upper-crust English, methinks,” mocked someone toward the back of the mob. “Perhaps titled? Or royalty, might it be?”

“We think English royalty a few steps beneath the so-called Saints,” hollered someone else.

Mary Rose's heart pounded.

“I say, let's see if he can do the minuet.” Coarse cheers rose. “Come on, old man, put down your gun, and get over here or we shoot the pretty lady by your side.” The distinctive sound of metal on metal told Mary Rose the first gun had been cocked. Others would follow.

She raised her rife to her shoulder and growled. “Leave him alone or I shoot.”

Laughter met her threat.

One of the shadowy figures started toward her. She aimed the rifle, got the man in her sights, pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. Still laughing he climbed the steps and ripped the rifle from her with one strong hand; with the other, he held the torch near her face.

“A pretty one we got here,” he said.

She smelled the whiskey on his breath.

He stepped closer as if to reach for her, and she shoved him. He fell backward, stumbling down the porch steps. She didn't care what happened to her, she just knew she had to keep the men out of the house.

Catcalls and whistles rose from the mob. “Ah, we've got a spunky one, now. Most Saints do what we want once we let it be known,” Whiskey Breath said. “I've got a feeling you're a fighter.” He laughed as he climbed the porch to get to her again.

The earl's pistol went off and the man roared in pain, grabbed his knee, fell backward, and rolled on the ground.

“Who wants to be next?” her grandfather said. “Next one to step toward this woman gets it between the eyes.”

“You forgot our bargain, old man,” someone in the front of the mob called out. “We don't kill your woman if you lay down your gun, nice and easy. You don't do that for us, we shoot 'er where she stands. You got nothing to bargain with, old man.”

“Fee-fi-fo-fum,” someone sang out and the others guffawed again.

“I wanta see ifn he can dance,” a whiny young man's voice called out. “You let me do it last time. I wanna do it again.”

“Hector wants to see the old man dance, shall we let 'im?”

The mob yelled its approval.

“Maybe if you dance the minuet for us, Redcoat, and dance
fast enough, we'll do nothing more than burn your farm. You'll get off easy.”

“Burn it and everyone in it,” the whiner said and let out a high-pitched laugh.

“Come on down here now, where we all can help you with the minuet.”

“Don't go,” Mary Rose said between clenched teeth. “Stay right here.”

“I'll dance,” the earl said without looking at her. “Just leave the woman alone. I'll do whatever you want.”

As he walked toward the mob, Mary Rose sidled to the door. If she could only reach Cordelia, get her to help. Heart pounding, she reached for the latch.

“Wait just a minute, missy,” a coarse voice called out. “You gonna miss out on the fun of seeing an old man dance. You move back where you were or we'll have you dancin' right alongside 'im.”

Trembling, Mary Rose moved away from the door.

The first shot rang out at his feet, and the earl hopped. Another came too soon. Then another, and another, and her grandfather's arthritic legs moved as fast as they could. The mob laughed, and more joined in. Her grandfather fell, and someone shot his right hand. “The other'll go ifn you don't stand up and dance.”

He stood again, blood dripping from the wound in his hand. Another volley of shots rang out again, and dust rose around his feet. He stumbled, caught himself, then fell.

Another single shot rang out, this time hitting his left hand. He didn't utter a word or cry out.

“Well, shoot, we plumb ran out of hands.” Someone laughed. “We'll do the knees next. Get 'em both and you'll never walk again, Redcoat.”

Her grandfather struggled to his feet once more but couldn't make it.

Mary Rose screamed before the next shot was fired. “Stop it,
all of you. Stop it. Just let us go. Let us have our lives, and you can take what you want.”

The mob quieted. “What did you say?” the whiner asked, his voice pitched high with excitement. “We can take what we want?” He laughed as he came up the stairs and leered at her hungrily.

The sound of shattering glass split the silence. First one window upstairs. Then a second from a different room.

Downstairs to her left, another sound of breaking glass shattered the air. It took her an instant to realize what was happening. She dropped and snaked her way to her grandfather as the shots from inside the house began. Volley after volley zinged through the air, some hitting their targets, others missing. It didn't matter—the men who'd been hit screamed and the others retreated. Some crawled; others ran hollering into the night, dragging along the injured. As a parting shot, nearly every one tossed his torch into the barn. Then all was quiet…except for the crackling fire that quickly turned into an inferno.

The front door opened slightly, and Cordelia looked out. “Pity they had to leave so soon. I was just starting to have fun.”

Mary Rose was shaking so hard that for a moment she couldn't speak. She nodded and moistened her lips. “You're pretty good with that rifle,” she finally said to Cordelia.

“I had help. Bronwyn and Coal were shooting from upstairs.” She grinned. “Why, I had no idea that little gal Bronwyn could shoot like that.”

Mary Rose bent over her grandfather, relieved when he gave her a weak smile. “Always did want to learn to dance,” he said. As soon as she knew he was all right, she rushed to the barn. Only one animal was inside, Coal's pinto.

Covering her face with her sleeve, she ran inside. The barn's interior was engulfed in flames, the smoke so thick she couldn't see more than a few feet in front of her. She heard the pinto screaming from the end stall and made her way to it.

Coal was in the doorway, crying for the horse. “Go back,” she shouted to him. “Stay out. It's not safe.”

“I'll help,” he cried, ignoring her pleas. “I've got to get to him.”

“I'm almost there. I don't want to stop and rescue you too. Get back now!”

She reached the pinto's stall and glanced back. Barely visible through the smoke, Coal was still making his way toward her.

“I've got him,” she yelled to the boy. “Go back. I'll bring him to you.”

A roof timber crashed down, blocking her way to the door and igniting the hayloft. The pinto reared, bucked, and kicked in terror. Mary Rose frantically searched for a way around, or under, or over the timber. There was none.

She was trapped.

She tried to pull in breaths, but they came in short, painful spurts, bringing no oxygen to her lungs. She thought of the baby she carried, the twins, and Coal, wondering if he'd made it out alive.

As she was losing consciousness a voice called to her. Was it Gabe?

She lifted her head and tried to answer, but no strength remained.

M
ary Rose woke outside the barn in Gabe's arms. He was sitting on the ground, holding her as if she were a child, tears streaming down his face. She coughed, tried to catch her breath, and then coughed again. Her lungs burned more intensely with each cough.

“We need to get her inside,” he said. “In her condition…” He lifted her and gently carried her to the house. She leaned against his shoulder, willing him to hold her there forever.

He placed her on their bed. “Don't try to breathe deeply yet,” he said.

“Don't leave me…” She reached for him.

“I'm here.”

“Tonight, the mob…” She choked and started to cry.

Sitting beside her on the bed, he bent low and wrapped his arms around her. “I know what happened,” he said. “We saw them too.”

“The same ones?”

“Probably.”

Her eyes stung from the smoke, but as they watered, the stinging subsided. “Did you come in the barn to save me?”

He nodded.

She reached for his hand. “I thought I heard your voice.” She closed her eyes. “What about Coal's pinto?”

“You got him out.”

“And Coal?”

“He made it too.”

“How about Grandfather? Will he be all right?”

The room smelled of smoke, Gabe's hair smelled of it, her clothing smelled of it. She wondered if the blur of her eyes was caused from the heat, or if the room was filled with smoke.

He gave her a slight smile. “He's being well taken care of by Sister Cordelia. She told me how brave you were tonight…I'm so sorry I left you and the family alone. I shouldn't have.”

“We made it through alive and with no irreparable harm, Gabe, that's what matters. God was with us.”

He didn't answer.

She turned to better see him. “Something's wrong. I can see it in your eyes.” He stood and walked a few feet away from her, turned his back, and dropped his head into his hands.

When he turned back, he said, “Griffin's dead.”

Mary Rose gasped. “Griffin?” She tried to sit up but couldn't. “Not Griffin. That can't be.”

“The mob was after the Prophet.” His voice choked. “Everything happened at once. We saw the fire, which momentarily distracted us, that's when they attacked. If it hadn't been for Griffin's quick actions, it would have been Joseph they killed, not Griffin. He gave his life to save that of our Prophet.”

She tried to let the words soak in. “Does Bronwyn know?”

He nodded. “Brigham is talking to her now.”

“Oh, Gabe…” She wept, thinking of her friend, and the tears burned her aching eyes. “I need to go to her.”

Gabe shook his head. “You need to think of our baby. You've been through a lot tonight and need to rest. I'll tell Bronwyn you'd like to see her.” He leaned over to kiss her cheek and gave her a gentle smile.

“Thank you.”

Mary Rose lay back against her pillow, her heart aching for Bronwyn. Griffin was such a good man, lighthearted, boyish at times, but completely in love with his wife. A fierce warrior, from what she'd been told, though he was never one to speak with pride about his past accomplishments in war.

Her thoughts turned to Bronwyn. What would she do? Surely she wouldn't return to Wales. Mary Rose couldn't bear it if she moved away.

A light tap sounded at the door.

“Bronwyn?”

“'Tis me,” she said, peering around the door. Her eyes were swollen and red, her clothing wrinkled. She too reeked of smoke. “Are you all right?”

Mary Rose patted the edge of the bed. “I just need a little rest to recover.” She took Bronwyn's hands in hers. “It's you I'm worried about.”

“Gabe told you what happened?”

She nodded. “I still can't take it in. I'm so sorry. So very sorry.”

Bronwyn's eyes filled. “He's my whole life. What will I do without him?” She buried her head in her hands and sobbed.

Mary Rose swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat upright. She wrapped an arm around Bronwyn and cried with her. “You'll get through this. We don't know the answers yet, but we'll find them.”

Bronwyn reached for a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes
and nose. “Brigham is a great comfort. He said my Griffin died a hero, a martyr. There will be a proper funeral in just a few days, with much celebration of his life among the Saints, because if it hadn't been for Griffin's quick actions the Prophet wouldn't be alive tonight.”

She started to weep again. “I'm sorry for saying it, Mary Rose, but I wish it had been the Prophet who died, not my Griffin.”

“Don't be sorry,” Mary Rose said softly. “It's only natural to feel that way.”

She gave Mary Rose a tremulous smile. “And think about our spirit marriage. How happy I am that the Prophet insisted we go through the second ceremony. His death is almost bearable when I think that I will someday join him in heaven and we will be there together through all eternity.”

She dabbed at her eyes. “But, oh, how I will miss him until then. I don't know if I can bear the loneliness.”

“You have Little Grace,” Mary Rose said. “She will be a great comfort.”

“And you,” she said to Mary Rose. “My dearest friend, what would I do without you?” She fell into Mary Rose's arms and sobbed as though her heart might twist in two.

 

After the funeral three days later, Brigham pulled Gabe aside and asked him to walk with him to the temple site.

“You have heard the Prophet's revelation about taking multiple wives,” he said as they walked.

“Yes.” Gabe wasn't surprised. As soon as Griffin died, he suspected that either Brigham or Joseph would come to him.

“You also know that we take care of our widows and orphans,” Brigham said. “And in this case, because of Griffin's special status, what he did to save the Prophet's life, we need to take special care of his widow and child.”

“I thought that would be the case,” Gabe said. His heart felt like the lifeblood was being squeezed out of it.

“She is a beautiful woman, one that any man would love to take as his wife.”

They reached the temple, now partially built, and looked down on Nauvoo, the river, the hills beyond. “You have been a good and faithful servant. You are like a son to me, and I believe you know that we are grooming you for leadership.”

Gabe nodded.

“Leadership has to do with adhering to the Prophet's revelations. Celestial marriage is necessary for your salvation.” He looked down at the silver snake of a river, watched it for a while, then moved his gaze back to Gabe. “You do remember the revelation?”

Gabe nodded but could only think of Mary Rose, her love, her trust, her utter faith in him. All that could be destroyed. “Yes.”

Brigham walked closer again. “I probably shouldn't be telling you all this today, of all days. But I wanted to prepare you.”

“Prepare me for what?”

“For taking Bronwyn as your second wife. I know of your friendship with Griffin, and the friendship that your wife and Bronwyn enjoy. Believe me when I tell you that your union with Bronwyn Carey is God-ordained. I daresay, looking back on how you met aboard the
Sea Hawk
, how you've become closer than blood relatives, God's intent from the beginning is now clear. You need to talk to your wife and Bronwyn Carey as soon as possible.”

He smiled as Gabe stood before him, speechless. “Of course, I'm sure you realize that you really have no choice in the decision, and that by speaking to your wife, I'm not indicating that you're asking her permission. This directive comes from the Prophet.”

“I have no choice.” Gabe drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling he might suffocate.

“Not if you want to proceed into celestial godhood—if you're thinking of the union's eternal value. And if you're thinking of its temporal value, I remind you again that you're being groomed for leadership—perhaps as an apostle. If you disobey, there will be consequences on both fronts.”

Gabe looked out over the terrain. His heart pounded, in dismay for what the news would do to Mary Rose, and surprisingly in anticipation of taking the beautiful Bronwyn as his own.

Brigham turned and walked away from Gabe, the sounds of his footsteps heavy on the gravel path, followed by snapping limbs as he cut through the brush.

 

The following week, Mary Rose drove the buckboard up to the temple site, the children laughing and chattering in the back.

“We're going on a picnic,” Ruby sang out as they rounded the corner to the temple.

“I'm gonna find the best fishing hole ever and bring fishes home for us all to have for supper,” Coal said, wielding his fishing pole. “Sister Cordelia said if I catch a catfish, she'd fix it a special way. She says it's the Cajun way, spicy and hot.” He rubbed his stomach.

“Catfith? Thath the thillieth thing I ever heard.” Ruby giggled. “Doth it purr?”

“No, but it has whiskers,” Coal said. “Sister Cordelia told me so.”

“Does it meow?” Pearl said, dissolving in gales of laughter.

“I mith Othcar the Lobthter.”

“Me too,” Pearl chimed in.

“And Little Grathe.”

“Auntie Bronwyn needs time for her heart to heal,” Mary Rose said. “She loved her husband very much.”

“But he'th in heaven now,” Ruby said.

“But not the high heaven,” Coal said, sticking out his chin in a posture of superiority. “Because he had only one wife.”

Mary Rose frowned and halted the mare at the top of the hill. She turned in the seat to look back at Coal. “Where did you hear that?”

“Cornelius and Elroy told me they heard it at the meetinghouse.”

She gave him a stern look. “Don't ever repeat that again, do you understand me?”

His eyes grew wide and he blinked. “Why not?”

“I don't believe it's true.”

“The Prophet says it's true,” Coal said. “My friend at the meetinghouse says he knows lots of our friends who have more than one mother.”

“I would like to have more than one mama,” Pearl said. “That way Lady could be our mama and our real mama could also be our mama.”

Mary Rose had to smile at the logic. “And I would like to be your mama,” she said. She turned back to Coal. “Come to Mr. MacKay or me first whenever you hear such rumors. We'll talk them over and decide what's true and what isn't.”

She slipped off the wagon, retrieved the picnic basket from the back of the buckboard, and gave it to Coal to carry. Spotting Gabe, she waved and helped the twins down so they could rush to him.

He saw them coming and waved back. Reaching for the twins and picking them up together, he spun them in circles. They squealed and giggled. “I brought my fishing pole,” Coal said. “To catch us some catfish.”

“I know where to find them,” Gabe said, ruffling the boy's hair. “I also know a special place to have a picnic—by the river. Turns out the catfish hole isn't far.”

Ruby went to the edge of the ridge and looked down. “Ith far down there.”

Gabe grinned. “I have a secret path I take to the river.”

The children were wide-eyed as they followed Gabe along a path that wound through willows and cattails.

Mary Rose relished the warmth of the sun on her shoulders, and drew in a deep breath. Her grief for Bronwyn's loss was still acute, but the sound of the rolling river, the birdsong, the children's voices did much to assuage it. She felt the baby move, a little foot or elbow rippling across her stomach, and laughed at the joy of life within her.

They came into an opening in the foliage. Gabe stepped through and held some willow branches so the others could enter. A few feet away, a brook cascaded down some stones, clumps of fern on either side. Beside the brook stood a flat piece of granite, the perfect height for a table.

Mary Rose clasped her hands together in delight. “It's beautiful, Gabe. How did you find it?”

“It's where I come daily to read the Book of Mormon.”

“It would be perfect for that.”

Gabe laughed. “I thought you'd ask me why I'm suddenly interested in the Book of Mormon.” The children ran off to catch frogs and pollywogs, so they could speak plainly.

“I've had a lot to think through,” he said, moving his gaze to the river. The sun caught a scattering of ripples, turning them to a thousand sparkling diamonds. He turned back to Mary Rose. “I'm hoping to find the answers to my many questions.”

She raised a questioning brow. “And?”

“So far, I haven't found them. I just end up with more questions than before.” He gave her that half-smile she loved.

“You still believe? In the Prophet and his revelations?”

“Oh, yes. I have no doubts that his testimony is true.”

She unfolded the quilt, shook it out, and then laid it on the ground next to the slab of granite. Gabe put the basket in its center. “Hmm, smells good,” he said, rubbing his hands together.

“Fried chicken.” Mary Rose hesitated for a moment and then added, “I've sensed that you're pondering something that is so important it's almost taken you away from me.”

“Taken me away?”

“'Tis true, though I haven't said much about it. Sometimes your body is there, but your mind is absent.”

“You speak in riddles.”

She laughed. “It does sound like a riddle.” She looked out over the river, focusing on the other side. “Sometimes I wonder if you don't want to be near me anymore,” she said quietly. “Your thoughts travel far away. I can see it in your eyes.”

“I'm trying to be the best husband I can be.”

“I'm not denying that you are. I think back to those days when we fell in love aboard the
Sea Hawk
. Your spirit seemed lighter somehow; now it seems as though you carry a heavy weight on your shoulders. You can't lay it down, but it's too heavy to continue on. Gabe, something's wrong between us. I've felt it for some time. Can you not trust me with it?”