The Wedding Dress (34 page)

Cora looked up and her face was troubled, “But that's not what they're teaching. Rebecca, you've got to be willing to accept the new revelation.”

“But that's a different way to God; that's not through Christ.”

Cora was slowly shaking her head, “Rebecca, don't say more. I won't listen.”

“Why are you afraid? Cora, this is the missing link. I've always felt there was something lacking. I knew there was no way I could overcome my sins. I've tried desperately to reach God; and now, all of a sudden, He's reaching me. I see such a clear picture of Jesus on the cross—it's like He's closing the gap between me and God.”

“Rebecca, you scare me. You're getting mighty close to being an apostate.”

“But how can you call me an apostate if I'm following what the Book of Mormon and the Bible have in common and only rejecting the things that conflict?”

Rebecca was subdued as she walked home. She was exhausted by the turmoil that was going on inside of her. Now nothing else seemed important. She dragged herself into the house, ate bread and milk and fell heavily into bed.

Darkness was settling across the mountain valley. A fresh breeze chased dust from the air. She could hear the creek tumbling across rocks in its rush downhill, away from Pinto.

A phrase moved into her thoughts as she listened to the creek churning on its way. She quoted the words, “Consider the kindness of God—it leads to repentance.”

She was still feeling the curious flattening of her emotions, the unexpected reaction to Cora's indifference. Had she expected Cora to agree with her?

In recalling the conversation of the afternoon, Rebecca was struck by the brash statements that she had made. Jesus Christ is God. Would that knowledge be enough to sustain her in her next move? She had said she would consider throwing everything out and believing only the Bible. Where would that lead her? What would Andrew think? They wouldn't understand; they would label it apostasy.

“I'm not an apostate,” she whispered into the darkness. “I don't want to leave, but this new understanding is important. It's like Sister Ellis said, I have a knowledge and it's important. I want desperately to tell the others about it.”

She sighed and turned. There was a nagging feeling of something left undone. Suddenly she realized how seldom she prayed. Wasn't this something to pray about?

She sat up and watched the moon disappear behind the trees, and then she tried to pray. “Our Father in heaven.” She stopped and sighed. Approaching God seemed impossible. Would He understand all she had been thinking and feeling?

As she listened to the crickets chirping on her steps, she was remembering that Jesus talked about calling His disciples friends. He said they were friends if they did as He commanded them. What would it be like to be a friend of Jesus?

Could she get His attention? If He was God….”Jesus Christ—God.” She paused. There was that picture which had been growing in her mind since she had read the crucifixion story. Those steady eyes watched her.

“Please, I want to thank You for being willing to become a man and then for dying for my sins. I believe the things in the Bible, and I want You to know I don't believe the other about having to keep rules and work for salvation. I don't understand much about You, but I'm sure clinging to the knowledge that You died on the cross so that we can be free from all our sins.” She gulped and took a deep breath. “All our sins. I don't have to do anything about them.”

She tilted her head and thought: There was that verse, “‘If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive'—that He is You, Jesus Christ. Please forgive my sins and let me have Your atonement.”

The sobs burst from Rebecca, and the years of fear and aching separation slipped away from her. Much later she wiped her eyes and whispered, “There really is a glory. Joshua, you were right about the Whitmans. The glory's a down-inside thing that can't be known except by the one who has it.”

There was another verse nudging at her thoughts. She went to light a candle and open her mother's Bible. In the seventeenth chapter of John she read, “‘…the glory which thou gavest me I have given them.'”

Again she knelt beside the bed. “Jesus Christ, I adore You. You are Truth. I feel like I've been rejecting so much, and now all that's left is You. I'm making up my mind to no longer believe anything that leaves You out. Finally I can rest easy inside, believing You really are God and Your powerful sacrifice for sin takes care of everything. I'm knowing down inside that I don't need anything else.”

When she went to Cora the next day she announced, “I'll never be fearful again. I was so afraid when I started telling Him all about my sins, even though I knew it wasn't anything new to Him. Cora, I felt like He moved right through me, forgiving it all. It was the most exciting thing that's ever happened to me.”

“Because you feel so good?” She was shaking her head. “I feel good every time I go to meeting and sing those blessed songs. If it's a good feeling you want, why didn't you say so? I could have helped you long ago.”

“No, not feeling. It's knowing I'm no longer fighting what's in the Bible. See, I've been knowing God's talking in this Book and He's talking to me.” She paused, “Cora, you don't understand, do you? I guess you've got to be so hungry for Jesus you'll do your own searching. Then you'll discover who He really is.”

“They'll call you apostate.”

“I'm not aiming to be a troublemaker. I want to stay here and help others see this better way to live.” Rebecca put her hand on Cora's shoulder, “Remember, you said you'd pray for me to know the truth.”

“But I didn't mean this. I meant the way we understand truth.”

“Two truths in conflict means that one of them isn't truth.”

Rebecca tapped on the doorpost of Cora's cabin. “Cora, stir yourself. Relief Society will take up in another fifteen minutes.”

“Come in.” Cora's voice was dispirited. As Rebecca entered the house, she rose slowly from her chair.

“Ah, Cora, you're feeling poorly, aren't you?”

“Just seems like the world's a-setting on my shoulders today.”

“The Mister? The young'uns look fine. Is it Jessie again?”

“No. We haven't heard another thing since she hightailed it to Great Salt Lake. There'll be plenty of talk at Relief Society.” As they stepped out into the bright July sunshine, Cora glanced sharply at Rebecca.

“What's the matter?” Rebecca asked, patting her hair.

“'Tisn't your hair. I was just wondering…” her voice trailed into silence.

“You're looking to see if I still mean all those things I said. Cora, I do. The rightness of it all is growing on me.”

“You'd better be quiet about this. If they don't think you're apostate, they'll think you're crazy.”

Rebecca turned and squeezed Cora. “Oh, Cora, I wish I could help you see it. Like today. Somehow these worries don't touch me the same.”

“Well, they'd better. They'll touch when you have to tuck that little baby under your arm and run before Buchanan's troops.”

“It's getting worse.”

She sighed, “Sometimes I just wish Brother Brigham would use a little more discretion and not do so much talking, especially to Washington.”

“What's he said now?”

“Oh, he's riled because of all these reports that've been hitting Washington. Now he's saying if Washington sends troops in here, we'll slay them.”

“But we're still only a territory and under Washington's control.”

“You go remind Brother Brigham of that! And to cap it all, I hear that Brother Kimball's promised to fight until he doesn't have a drop of blood left.”

“'Tis a pity these federal men had to spread gossip.” Rebecca searched her friend's face, noting the lines that deepened day by day. The pity welled up in Rebecca, and she wanted to bundle up her new joy and dump it on Cora. Instead she said, “I don't think you should fret. You know there's been a heap of talk all winter, and it's come to naught.”

They reached the Gardners and Cora said, “Just the same, I can feel something in the air.”

The quilt frame was set up, and the women clustered around it. The quilting was moving toward the outer edges, and those like Rebecca and Granny with mounding waistlines or arthritic backs could sit comfortably.

It was a poor quilt Rebecca admitted. Its worn fabric and uneven filling had been salvaged from bits and pieces the women contributed. She could also admit the value of the quilt lay not in the promise of warmth, but instead in the stitching together of the lives of the women in the room.

Margaret moved down the bench to make room for Rebecca. “You're looking mighty fine for it being the end of July and you carrying that load. You just wait, come the seventh or eighth young'un, you won't be so proud of it all.”

“My, as hard as I had to work to get this one, I doubt there'll be that many.”

“Could be. There won't be enough of that man to go around the way he's marryin'.”

“Now, Margaret,” Cora chided hastily, “he hasn't taken any since Alma.”

“No, but he's casting sheep's eyes at Linda Seelands.”

“So's every man in the territory. Never you mind what she says, Becky.”

Wondering what gossip had escaped her, Rebecca said, “Well, if he's planning on taking more, he'll have to work harder on that house he's building. Seems the building isn't keeping up with the marrying.”

“You'll be moving to Harmony?”

Rebecca sighed, “I'm afraid so. But not if I'm allowed to have my say.”

“Law, girl, I'll have to teach you how to give a man a scotch blessing. There's ways to get them to wantin' what you want.”

“Well, with this new trouble with the army, I suppose all the men'll have more pressing things to do 'sides marrying.”

“Oh, Sister Gardner, you have news?”

“Well”—she settled herself back in the chair and folded her hands—“seems most of Great Salt Lake City as well as people clear down to the Utah Lake were up in the mountains, camping out and having a big time celebrating.”

“Why in the mountains?”

“Heat. Been terrible there this summer. No wonder people's tempers are short.”

“What they celebrating?”

“Oh, law, how could you forget? It's the tenth anniversary since Brigham Young came into the valley and said, ‘This is the place.'”

“I wish he'd slept through that part of the trip 'til they hit California.”

“Now don't you say that,” Granny chided. “'Twas the place the Lord showed.”

“Well, you never mind,” Mrs. Gardner said impatiently, “That's water under the bridge. You're ruining my story. Well, they just got set into having a good time when a bunch rode up from the city, coming like their coattails were afire. In no time Brother Brigham announced President Buchanan had dispatched troops from Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. Well, that ended the celebrating. Brother Brigham took action in a hurry. He's sent the Legion across the mountains to raid the army. Those fellows are taking this mighty serious, thanks to Brother Brigham.”

“And then—” She was prompted from the far side of the quilt.

“The Saints went back to Great Salt Lake City and got busy.”

“Oh, law!” came the anguished wail from the other end of the quilt. “We can't fight them, that's—”

“Treason?”

“Then you'd better believe the Legion'll come up with an idea in a hurry.”

“Well,” Mrs. Gardner continued, “right now they're busy. They've moved all the important documents south. All the women, children, and the livestock have gone, too. The men took straw and stuffed the houses full of it. When Buchanan's troops move in to take over, they're going to see the whole city go up in smoke.”

During the weeks that followed, the indignation and anger shared at the Relief Society meeting became the growing mood of the whole community.

In August, Apostle Richards sent word to the men serving under him in the Nauvoo Legion that they were to report without delay any person found to be either wasting grain or allowing it to pass into the hands of Gentiles passing through the territory. By mid August every able-bodied man in the militia was taking part in daily drills.

Rebecca was seeing Andrew more often now, although his visits were quick stops as he moved between his farm in Fort Harmony and Cedar City where most of his men lived. Most often he arrived late at night, tired and short-tempered, wanting only rest and food. His answers to her questions were short and terse.

One morning he faced her across the table and said, “Look, Rebecca, this is getting to be very serious. You are in no condition to be alone. Either you settle things between you and Priscilla and have her here, or I'll hog-tie the two of you and take you to Fort Harmony. You can stay in the barn if you can't tolerate living with the others.”

“Andrew,” she swallowed, “you wouldn't—”

“There's whispers also,” he continued, forcing her to look at him. “I've heard mention your name and the word apostate. What's the link?”

“Apostate.” Her thoughts flew to Cora. She had said that word. She had warned Rebecca to be careful. Those women at Relief Society? “Andrew,” she faced him squarely, “Cora warned that people would think me strange, but, honestly, I'm not rebelling. I'm simply living my religion to the fullest”—her voice deepened as she stressed the word—“just the way Joseph Smith explained it.”

“What are you saying?”

She took a deep breath. “Shall I show you the passages in the Book of Mormon?”

“No, only tell me what you mean. I trust you'll not distort his words.”