The Wedding Dress (30 page)

Joshua's strange letter began with a note of chiding mixed in with news of the family. So now all except Jamie were spread thither and yon. She read: “Mother and Father are settled with me in Oregon. The land is fair and kinder to us than we deserve. I would be content if I could see you and satisfy myself that all is well with you. I was taken aback when I heard you wouldn't see me. Rebecca, I come as a friend, almost a brother to you. Surely that is a tie to be honored. I bear your welfare heavily upon my heart. Will you be so good as to write? Settle our hearts with news of you.”

Now came the final part. Again she must mull over the puzzling sentence that seemed to poke cold fingers at her. “…a chance to escape.” Escape what? Slowly the frown on her face relaxed. She slid her hand across the tiny growing mound, and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Ah, Joshua, all is well.” There was a noise at the door. Rebecca got to her feet as it opened. “Andrew!” She dropped the letter and ran to him. From the faintly horsey scent to the rough buffing of his beard, it was Andrew. She pulled him into the room and helped him out of his coat. As she chattered and fussed, his serious face lightened, and finally he smiled. “My girl,” he gathered her close now, and only then did she realize the lack of warmth in his initial greeting. “It's good to be here.”

Finally she dodged his kisses and held him off. “Andrew, I've something—”

“Yes, I know,” he said quickly; “that's why I've come.” The frown was back. He folded his arms and moved away from her. “No doubt you're ready to ask forgiveness. If I weren't confident of that—” He paused and paced the room. “Calling Priscilla's child a bastard is just about the most unforgivable thing a good Mormon wife can do. No doubt jealousy—”

“Jealousy! Oh, Andrew, I'm going to have our baby!” The emotion was fleeting as it touched his face and left. “Don't you see,” she pleaded, “it was woman nerves. Here I was, wanting attention, and she was expecting me to wait on her.”

The anger was disappearing, and an indulgent grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You women, you silly little children. No wonder the priesthood can't be trusted to womankind. You'd spend so much time scrapping with each other the kingdom business would be neglected.” He scooped her up and went to the rocking chair. “Now,” he instructed, “tell me all about it.”

Much later he murmured against her hair, “I've got to be going.”

Her head jerked, “Not staying? Oh, Andrew, it's been so long.”

“I've been to Cedar and am headed south. There's no time to spare.” His mouth tightened, and the shadowed expression was back. “There's turmoil across the territory, and it seems I'm kept busy flying from one end to the other.”

“But why you?”

His smile was bitter. “When Brother Brigham says go, a smart man goes.”

She followed him to the gate. “Things aren't going well, are they?”

He untied his horse, saying, “There's a strong feeling things will be worse.”

“What is it? We haven't done anything wrong.”

“There's a great deal that Washington thinks we haven't done right.”

“Plural marriage? Is that why they won't grant statehood to us?”

“That's a big part. Brother Brigham isn't given to being the diplomat. Now there's his hot words flying across Washington. Already they're talking about a fight. That means we've got to be prepared.”

“There's been rumblings ever since we came here.”

“There were rumblings before,” Andrew said bitterly. “The Saints have been oppressed from the beginnings.”

She saw the dark shadows in his eyes and whispered, “It's the teachings. We know what's expected of us. We must be ready to avenge the deaths of the Prophet and his brother. We must conquer and bring all to accept this restored gospel.”

“Or send them to hell. We know we'll be opposed. We'll fight for our doctrine, our territory, and our lives.” He wheeled his horse and then said, “By the way, you didn't ask, but Priscilla has a little boy. She's named him Andrew.”

Rebecca was pushing her needle in and out of the scrap of linen. It was a Relief Society meeting. She and her neighbors were clustered around the long table in front of Bishop Gardner's fireplace. The large room was pleasant with sunshine. The heap of quilt blocks on the table reflected every color to be found under the heavens, although most were only the better parts of used clothing. From the chatter, Rebecca decided it sounded as if these women had erupted full voice from firesides as lonely as hers.

But that was not the case. Some of the women were plural wives sharing the same house. Curiously, Rebecca watched Annabell and Iris Cox trading thimbles and needles as cozily as sisters.

Rebecca's thoughts flew to Priscilla and Sarah. She knew, with a sharp stab of guilt, how far she was from living the principle. Andrew had done well to chide.

The door flew open and Lettie Harris came into the room, “Why, Lettie!” Rose Huntington exclaimed, “You're white as can be. Are you ailing?”

She snorted, “I'm sick to death of this whole thing. I suppose you've all taken it apart and put it back together. Well, that's what I get for being late.”

“The quilt?” Ann exclaimed. “Why, we're still cutting.”

“No, no, I'm meaning the Johnson affair—”

“The Johnsons,” Mrs. Gardner muttered. “I hadn't said—”

Granny Haight nodded briskly, “Law, the things we get ourselves into just trying to do right.” Her voice cracked, and the chatter ebbed away. Rebecca was thinking it must be the Johnsons over by Cedar. The story had been circulating all winter. Granny had the floor now. “That man was doing his best to live by the principle.” She was still relishing her story. “I don't know I approve of a man marrying his wife's daughter; doesn't seem biblical.”

“Tell me what's going on,” Cora cried. “I've not heard a word.”

Iris was the spokesperson. “Brother Johnson was wanting to take his wife's daughter for his second wife. They say both women were willing, but his bishop objected. He'd been casting his eyes that way too.”

“She's pretty as a picture.”

Another voice chimed in, “The council told him he couldn't have her; it wouldn't be fittin'. But law, we all know it's happening all over. What's good—”

“Well,” Lettie said, her voice demanding attention, “if he'd just left well enough alone—”

She paused and Rose said, “Then tell us; you're dying to.”

“He let it out to the bishop that they'd been keeping house already and after all the sermons—well, you can guess the rest.”

Mrs. Gardner said slowly, “Adultery then—what I heard was right.”

“What did you hear?”

“There was a bunch through here yesterday. They let it drop that they'd been dispatching a fellow over by Cedar. Made him dig his own grave, and then they just tumbled him into it after they cut his throat.”

“Blood atonement.”

In the silence that swept the room, Rebecca's thoughts were swirling. Mrs. Gardner said “a bunch through here yesterday.” Yesterday Andrew had been home. Unwillingly the thought pushed into the center. Could it be possible that Andrew had been one of the group? Rebecca's hands were trembling against the quilt.

The sunshine had dimmed before Granny spoke, “Seems like a hard lot to live, but if the Lord says we're to do it—well…”

“Law,” Rose said with a sigh, “seems like things are sure getting tight around the Territory. If it isn't the reformation fever, it's the Legion being stirred up. Heard tell the Indians are being riled up against the Americans. One of the bishops has been calling the Indians the battle-axe of the Lord.”

While the conversation moved on to cozy woman chatter, Rebecca sat back and watched the faces around her. There was still a stony lump in her throat.

Cora got to her feet. “I've got to get home to my young'uns before dark.”

“I'll go with you, Cora.” Rebecca gathered her sewing.

Dusk was bringing out the sweet spring scents and the creek tumbled full from runoff. Rebecca breathed deeply of it all. “It's a right pretty day,” Cora said slowly. “Kinda reminds you that at least there's something going on that's good.”

“Cora, what's wrong? Seems like everything's out of control like a runaway team on a slope.” Her shrug left Rebecca wondering until she saw the fear in her eyes. “You're thinking about that story, aren't you?” Cora nodded, and they walked in silence as Rebecca recalled the other tale that was being whispered about.

One of the missionaries had returned to find that his wife had been unfaithful to him. They were saying that rather than risk losing her place in heaven and her children for eternity, she had allowed her husband to slit her throat. Rebecca shivered, visualizing that young mother sitting on her husband's lap, kissing him while her blood was spilled over the two of them.

The wind was rising. Through the treetops its keening voice seemed like a dirge. For a moment she was sickened. “Blood atonement, how horribly unbelievable.”

“I wish it were,” Cora murmured, “but it's too real.”

Inside her silent cabin, Rebecca moved quickly to stir up the fire, to light the lamp and chase the shadows.

There was one part of Rebecca's mind that wouldn't be still. That part was busy with the afternoon's conversation. That part continued to thrust before her the open grave. From out of the past, words surfaced in her thoughts. It was Jedediah Grant speaking at the Bowery in Great Salt Lake City last September. His words swirled around her, “…repent and let your blood be shed—rising up to God an atonement for your sins.”

She shuddered. Escape. If only there was an escape from the horror. That word, it was the word Joshua had used in his letter. What had become of the letter? She searched, looking on the table beside her Bible, even shaking it. She poked under the bed and finally settled back in the rocking chair.

The loss of the letter meant only one thing. “Joshua asked me to write, and I've no longer got the information as to where to send it.”

Perhaps Andrew…. Each remembered word of the letter dropped into her heart. Would Andrew see a pattern of conspiracy, of unfaithfulness in those innocent words? The Apostle Grant's words swirled around her. Repent, confess your sins, be rebaptized. The sins must be routed out of Zion. Joseph Smith's death must be avenged. Rebecca's hand crept to her throat. “I'm even doubting my own husband.” She jumped to her feet and paced the room. “We're all being twisted into cruel, fearful people.”

Rebecca snuggled her shawl close as she stepped into the road. The rain was falling, dismally drizzling its coldness and misery into everyone. Even the chickens and cows had pulled into themselves in misery.

At Cora's she unwound her soggy shawl in front of the fire. The house smelled of dampness, but the fire snapped and crackled, sending smoke and heat toward the chill.

“Here are the scraps of cloth,” Rebecca explained. “I figured you'd want to get them cut before next week.” Cora set her toddler aside and held out her hands.

“You'll need to stay awhile to dry out. The Mister's gone into Cedar and won't be back 'til late. Might as well visit until evening,” Cora added. Rebecca was thinking of her own silent, cold cabin as she nodded.

The women smoothed the scraps against the tabletop and began cutting. “Cora,” Rebecca straightened to ease the strain on her back “who was Jesus?” Cora sat down and looked at Rebecca, “Why law, girl, you know as well as I. He was the firstborn. He's God's Son and our elder brother.”

“Then He's just one of us. Why was there all this fuss when He was born?”

“What've you been reading?”

“I started looking for the second covenant and didn't know where it was, so I began reading the stories about Jesus. Seems there's something special about Him.”

“Well, there's the dying. God told the spirits someone needed to go die for people so's they could be resurrected to eternal life. The way I understand it, the only ones who volunteered to die were Jesus and Satan so God chose Jesus. I'd guess that made Him special.”

They cut and worked in silence until Cora said, “Also, He's the only one whose body was fathered by God. The rest of us have earthly fathers.”

“Oh, yes,” Rebecca murmured. “I've heard that sermon. Brother Brigham worked pretty hard to make us understand it wasn't the Holy Ghost who did it. That seems different than the Bible.”

“I'd guess you'd better believe Brother Brigham, and quit fussing,” Cora advised. “It's sure to keep you from having problems. Why spend your time hunting for trouble?”

“Cora,” Rebecca touched her shoulder, “I'm not looking for trouble. I only feel obliged to read for myself. Seems there's this nagging in me since I was teaching the young'uns about the covenant. I keep wanting to sit down and read for myself and find out what the Bible really says about the second covenant.”