Hell's Fortress (29 page)

“You can make the case that they don’t need to remarry, and in some circumstances you would be right,” Fernie said. “But civilization has collapsed. We need to keep our wagons circled. A home isn’t just a way to support a family, it’s also for mutual protection. And a man is needed for priesthood authority.”

“So you say.”

“So we all say. The Second Coming is at hand, and those women want the power of the priesthood in their houses.” She held up her hand. “No, don’t interrupt. I know how you feel—we all do, really. And we still decided this is for the best.”

“Be that as it may, you can’t just give away the widows. At the very least you need to—”

“To ask them? We did.”

“Already? Their husbands died
yesterday.
And except for Bill, they’re not even in the ground.”

“No man—or woman—knows the day or hour of the Lord’s coming. Nobody wanted to wait. But I promise, we gave the women a choice. Every one of them is free to remarry or to live as a widow. Two of the twenty-one women have chosen to move in with Sister Rebecca and Sister Charity at Yellow Flats instead of remarrying.”

“It’s a dying institution,” Jacob said. “I’m going to rid this community of polygamy. We no longer kick out the excess boys, and there’s no more underage marriage or swapping of daughters. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Yes, I know. Your goals are transparent to one and all. But it’s not going to happen overnight. In the meantime, this is what the widows want.”

He sighed. “You’re telling me this is what the women want? To be traded like cattle?”

“It isn’t like that. The nineteen who will remarry have chosen their husbands, not the other way around.”

Jacob was taken aback. “Well, that’s something. My quorum agreed to that?”

“More or less. That is, some more, some less. Again, they’re awaiting your judgment.”

“And you can promise me that the women are making this choice freely? That there’s no coercion of any kind? Other than the usual religious kind, of course.”

“Don’t be so cynical. But yes, all of them. Of course we didn’t just let any woman choose any man. There was a lot of back and forth with existing sister wives. In the end, we gave each of the widows three options, based on the deliberations of the council and in consultation with the quorum. David will be marrying a third wife. Your brother Joshua will be marrying Bill’s youngest widow. She doesn’t have any children yet, so it seemed a good pick for Joshua’s first.”

“Joshua is not ready for marriage.”

“He’s twenty-five. Time to get ready. Stephen Paul is taking two new wives. Elder Smoot is marrying Elder Potts’s two oldest. One of Smoot’s sons is taking one of his brother’s widows.”

“Okay, I don’t need all of it right now. First, I want to speak with the quorum and the council and chat with a few of these widows. I’m not convinced.”

“You’ll want to start with Jessie Lyn,” Fernie said.

“Yes?” He shrugged. “Okay.”

“What do you think of her?”

“Think of Jessie Lyn?” Another shrug. “Nice young woman. Seems to be a good mother. She was a big help in the clinic. Oh, she’s one of Potts’s widows. I didn’t even think of that. She didn’t say a word.”

“You almost married her once, remember? When your father was trying to maneuver Eliza into an alliance with the Kimballs, they offered you Jessie Lyn Kimball in trade.”

“Yes, I remember. Thank goodness I—” He stopped. “Wait. No.”

“Jacob, listen to me.”

“I have a wife. I don’t want another. We settled that a long time ago.”

She held his gaze. “And how is that fair? Do you think David wants another wife, when he’s already struggling to incorporate Lillian into his family? Do you think any of these women and children want to make this change? Wouldn’t they all choose to be with their own husbands and fathers?”

“I can’t do it.”

“Jessie Lyn is a Kimball. They are still a vital part of the church. This would finally end the conflict between the Christiansons and the Kimballs.”

“It wouldn’t be fair to Jessie Lyn.”

“You would grow to love her.”

“I promise you I would not. I’m not wired that way. I can only love one woman and that’s you.”

“You would, because you would try. And because you’re a good man and sincere, you would succeed. Maybe it would be different. I don’t know. Of course I want to be special in your heart, but it’s a big heart and I can share it.”

“Fernie, please.” Jacob shot a desperate glance at the temple. “Eliza and Steve are waiting.”

“It was Jessie Lyn’s idea, not mine. None of the other widows asked, though I know that several were thinking it. They know what kind of man you are.”

“Jessie Lyn came to you specifically?”

“She said she’d had a dream that she would be your wife.”

“I dreamed once that I was a Roman emperor,” Jacob said. “When I woke up, I was not wearing a toga.”

“You made the call, Jacob. You sent those men into battle. Hundreds of people died and some of them were your own followers. They trusted you, and their wives and children trusted you too. Jessie Lyn put her husband’s life in your hands. Now Elder Potts is dead and she has asked if you will marry her. If you will be a father to her daughter, and give her more children, so that she can raise a righteous seed as her patriarchal blessing has promised. Are you going to tell her no?”

Jacob didn’t have an answer. Only a sick memory of the dead, either by his hand or by his orders. Twenty-one widows and ninety-two orphans. One of those widows was Jessie Lyn; one of the orphans was her daughter.

The temple doors swung open. A tall, skinny stranger in white appeared and started down the stairs. Only when the man had reached the bottom and was greeting them with a familiar deep voice did Jacob recognize him.

“Steve, what the devil happened to you?”

“Crash diet,” Steve said. “But don’t worry, I’ve been doing nothing but eating and sleeping since I got home. I’ll be in fighting trim before long. Now, are you going to come marry us or do I have to send a posse to drag you in?”

Jacob’s troubles momentarily forgotten, he pushed Fernie up the side ramp, then had Steve help ease her chair over the threshold and into the lobby of the temple. More guests lingered there—siblings, cousins, uncles, and aunts. Only a few would fit into the sealing room itself. While Fernie rolled up to Eliza, who was chatting nervously with Miriam and Lillian, Jacob looked through the crowd, searching for someone.

“You believe all this stuff?” Steve whispered.

“I take it you did the endowment?”

“Yes. Handshakes and moving robes and sashes around and all that. It was all I could do not to run screaming for the door.”

“It helps if you think of it as symbolic,” Jacob said. “And to remember that if you don’t do it, Eliza won’t marry you.”

“In that case, lay it on me. What other crazy stuff do I have to do?”

“Nah, you’re through the worst of it.”

Where is she?
Jacob wondered as he picked his way through the crowd toward the sealing rooms down the hall. Several others pulled in behind him.

It was then that he realized who he’d been searching for. Jessie Lyn Potts, née Kimball. The young woman who would be his second wife. Subconsciously, he’d been expecting to see her, not because she was family, but because he’d been worrying that the marriage was a fait accompli. That she was already here with her temple robes, ready to marry him.

She was not present. He was grateful for that much, at least.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Eliza knelt at the altar with Steve by her side. They wore their temple robes. Jacob stood above them. Her family crowded the room, which was no more than a dozen feet square. Jacob was speaking words of advice, as was customary for the officiator. No doubt he had put some thought into them, was pouring out his deepest philosophies on marriage. They were a buzz in her ears.

Seven years. That’s how long it had been since Gideon Kimball had tried to forcibly marry her. She had been a teenager still, young and afraid. Father had been willing to trade her to the Kimballs in order to elevate his favorite son into the quorum. Only Jacob’s courage had stood between Eliza and a life of servitude and misery.

No, I did it too. I stood up to them. I stood up for myself.

Jacob instructed the couple to take each other by the hand in the patriarchal grip. They did so.

So many struggles since those days. Eliza had tried to leave the church, had joined the mainstream LDS and even served for a time as a missionary at Temple Square in Salt Lake. She’d returned home to aid Jacob in rescuing David from his drug addiction in Las Vegas. Had defied her father again, then seen him buried next to Grandma Cowley. Had fought off the Kimballs again. Had defended the valley as the country collapsed into chaos. And finally, Eliza had set out across the blasted landscape to rescue her beloved and bring him home.

I am no longer a child. I am a woman and an adult.

Eliza didn’t kneel next to Steve as chattel, but as an equal.

She squeezed his hand. He returned a thin smile. The marriage ceremony may have been bewildering for him, but if he harbored any thoughts of backing out, he’d better think again. She wasn’t going to let go of him now.

He must have caught her grin, because he met her gaze and mouthed, “What?”

She gave a tiny shake of the head and her smile broadened.

And then it was time.

“Brother Steve,” Jacob said, “do you take Sister Eliza by the right hand and receive her unto yourself to be your lawful and wedded wife for time and all eternity, with a covenant and promise that you will observe and keep all the laws, rites, and ordinances pertaining to this Holy Order of Matrimony in the New and Everlasting Covenant, and this you do in the presence of God, angels, and these witnesses of your own free will and choice?”

“I do.”

Nervous laughter passed around the room. Jacob raised his eyebrows and gave Eliza a wink.

“You’re supposed to say ‘yes,
’ 
” Eliza whispered.

Steve blushed. “Oh, um, yes.”

“Sister Eliza, do you take Brother Steve by the right hand and give yourself to him to be his lawful and wedded wife, and for him to be your lawful and wedded husband, for time and all eternity, with a covenant and promise that you will observe and keep all the laws, rites, and ordinances pertaining to this Holy Order of Matrimony in the New and Everlasting Covenant, and this you do in the presence of God, angels, and these witnesses of your own free will and choice?”

Eliza’s heart pounded. “Yes.”

And then Jacob was buzzing again, something about marriage for time and all eternity, multiplying and replenishing the earth and all that, blah, blah, blah. He seemed to be milking it.

Get on with it!

And then he pronounced them married and Eliza floated to her feet. Steve was grinning like an idiot and so were Jacob and Fernie and Miriam and David. It was all Eliza could do not to swoon.

They made their way out of the sealing room and fought through the crush of people in the front rooms of the temple. Everyone seemed to have a reason for delaying the new couple. It was all rather transparent.

Fernie caught up with Eliza and tugged on her sleeve. “Hey, hold up.”

“I see what you’re doing,” Eliza said with a raised eyebrow. “I was there when we trashed David’s car. I know the wagon—or whatever is waiting—is going to be decorated like a clown car.”

“No, it’s not that. I mean yes, of course. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

Fernie handed over a small leather bag with a drawstring, then gestured for Eliza to lean down so she could whisper in her ear.

“You’re commanded to multiply and replenish the earth,” Fernie whispered in her ear, “but you don’t need to do it on your honeymoon, if you know what I mean.”

Eliza’s face felt hot. She took the bag. Some sort of natural birth control. A folk remedy? No, Fernie was married to a doctor. Whatever it was would offer some efficacy.

“For after you’re done,” Fernie added. “To prevent fertilization. Read the instructions.”

Steve had been vigorously pumping hands with all manner of well-wishers and his eyes widened when the doors of the temple swung open to cheers from an even greater throng on the stairs and sidewalk outside. And there it was, their wagon and team of horses, decorated with strips of colored cloth, tin cans on strings, and ribbons. The horses wore bonnets decorated with wildflowers.

Jacob stood at the doorway and beckoned theatrically. “Off you go! Happy honeymooning.”

Even before the collapse, honeymoons in Blister Creek had not been celebrated by jaunts to Disney World or the Bahamas. If the husband was the type to consider a new wife as a piece of his eternal inheritance, the woman would be lucky if he took her hunting in the mountains for the weekend. The more romantic had honeymooned in the beautiful, otherworldly national parks of the southwest: the Grand Canyon, Zion, Arches, Bryce Canyon. But even these locations were off-limits at the moment, and might be for years to come.

Instead, Eliza’s family had cleaned out a little brick farmhouse at the far northeast corner of the valley, in the green foothills two miles north of Stephen Paul Young’s compound. With a little extra elevation, it was a cold place in winter, but in summer it was beautiful, with green meadows and wildflowers, and a bubbling spring that ran to join the creek on the valley floor. Aspens stretched up the mountainside behind the home.

One of Stephen Paul’s brothers had lived out here until last year, before relocating to the safety of the central valley. Because of its exposed location, Grover and Henry Smoot rode ahead of the wagon as a precaution, and were already patrolling the perimeter when the couple arrived. They stayed at a discreet distance.

Eliza paused in front of the door and glanced back at Steve, who was coming up behind with a suitcase. “You still look pretty feeble,” she said. “Maybe I should be the one doing the carrying over the threshold.”

“No way. I feel great. Ready to run a marathon, in fact.”

“Oh yeah? We’ll see about that.”

He swept her up and carried her across, then acted like he’d hurt his back when he got her inside. The act stopped when he looked around. Vases with cut flowers sat around the room and a bowl of strawberries waited in the middle of the table. The curtains were fresh and clean and the floors swept. The room smelled of rose water.

“Did you do all this?”

“It sure wasn’t the Smoot boys.”

“It’s wonderful. What time did you get up this morning?”

“Early. I had to scout it out. Make sure it was suitable for my man. I can’t always be bashing skulls, you know. Sometimes I have to show my gentle side.” She shrugged. “I had some help.”

Steve pulled her in and kissed her long and hard. A flood of warmth washed through her body. This time she didn’t fight it. She was married now. Such a simple observation, but it filled her with a thrill.

At last she pulled away. “You’re stubbly again. Why don’t you shave while I get ready? There’s no running water, so you’ll have to go out to the pump.”

“And leave you?” He sighed.

“Go on. I’ll be waiting in the bedroom when you come back.”

Eliza went into the bedroom and closed the door. In the drawers she found a green silk nightie wrapped in paper. A gift from Fernie. She undressed and put her clothes in the closet, slipped into the nightie, pulled her braids out to spread her hair, then lay back and waited. She didn’t feel embarrassed or underdressed. She was too aroused.

When Steve came in he gaped. “Oh, my G—” He stopped himself. “My
goodness.
” He shook his head. “That doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

“Go ahead and say it. Just this once.”

“Oh, my God. You are hot.”

“Am I?”

She sat up and leaned forward, coquettishly, she hoped, but since she didn’t have much experience, was worried that it looked silly. From his heavy breathing and flushed look, maybe not. Eliza grabbed his shirt and pulled him forward. He fell down on top of her.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” she asked.

“Of course.” His voice was husky. “You were a missionary at Temple Square. So young and chaste and virtuous.”

“I saw you looking.”

“Good thing you couldn’t read my thoughts.”

“No, I couldn’t,” she said. “You’d better tell me.”

“I was thinking how luscious your breasts looked. They begged to be liberated from all those clothes.”

“You’re a patient man. You waited four years to find out. So? Now is your chance.”

He slid his hand up the side of her body, fingers gliding over the silky fabric. His first touch against her breast was electric, and when his thumb brushed her nipple she gasped. His hand pulled away.

“No, don’t stop,” she begged.

He ignored her and drew the spaghetti strap down over her shoulder to expose her white breast and her pink nipple, now standing rock-hard. Steve lowered his mouth, kissing first at her neck and then moving to her breast. When his lips touched her nipple she arched her back and moaned. He pulled at it slightly. Her body ached all over.

She kissed him hungrily. His body pressed down on her and his leg was between hers. He moved to one side and slid his hand along the inside of her thigh. His fingers traced higher and higher until they touched the warm dampness between her legs. She thought she would hyperventilate.

“Can you—” she began.

“Tell me.”

“Take your clothes off. I want to touch you too.”

“Are you ready?”

“I have been ready for so long.” Her voice trembled. “But slowly, please. I’m a little nervous.”

“Of course.”

Steve was gentle and patient. They kissed for a while and he touched her everywhere. She touched him too, tentatively at first, anxious. Not knowing what she was doing. He guided her hand and showed her.

And then it was time. He lay above her with his body pressed slightly against hers. Their faces were inches apart. His breath was hot against her face. Perspiration beaded his brow.

“Thank you for rescuing me, Eliza Christianson.”

She looked into his beautiful brown eyes. “I would have torn down the gates of hell to bring you back.”

“I know. I love you for it.”

He closed his eyes and leaned forward. She clenched him tight and surrendered her body. And then he was inside her.

It hurt a little, but it also felt good.

Several hours later, in the evening, after they cooked dinner and ate by candlelight, Eliza put on her nightie and stepped onto the porch. Steve pulled on his underwear and followed her outside. It was the first time either of them had been dressed since that morning.

Crickets chirped their nightly chorus. The breeze shook the leaves in the quaking aspen on the hillside behind them. Shivering, she took Steve’s arm and wrapped it around her. To the west and below them, the candles and lanterns of Blister Creek shimmered from windows. The occasional electric light lit the main entrances into town.

“We could stay out here,” Steve said. “Bring the land back into production.”

“We’re police officers now,” she said. “And valley security. Who has time to farm?”

“A garden, then. And some chickens. Maybe a couple of goats.”

“I’d like that. But there’s a reason the Smoot brothers are camped down by the creek with loaded guns.” She spotted something up in the Ghost Cliffs to their right. “Look.”

A flashlight moved along the edge of the cliff, maybe a mile away and several hundred feet above the valley floor. Scouts from the refugee camp. Watching. Waiting.

“Why can’t they leave us alone?” Steve said.