Eden
Eden had grown up as Irish Catholic Patsy Ryan in Quincy, about an hour south of Nauvoo. Porter had swept into town on her seventeenth birthday. One look at her—blonde, green eyes, slim, and beautiful—and he’d romanced her hard. Back then, he was charming and considerate, not at all the man he became. Eden fell hard for him, too. Thick dark hair and beard, a sinewy build. Most of all, the fire in his brown eyes ignited a passion and longing that was missing in her life. Six months later, she was pregnant, and heading north to the remnants of a town that had once been a major settlement for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.
There was a quick marriage to Porter, scion of one of the only families who’d stayed when Brigham Young had herded the others out to Utah. It wasn’t until their wedding night that Eden learned she was Porter’s second wife. His first, Ada, who was barely twenty-five, had given him four children, but Porter had grown bored with her when he met Eden. He’d even given Eden a new name, in line with Mormon customs. Patsy Ryan was now Sister Eden Christensen. At the time, she accepted the new name; she was still in love, and Porter could do no wrong. She might be his second wife, but with God’s grace, she would be his last.
The three children had come lickety-split. Each baby was precious to her, but Porter came to consider them merely possessions. Mouths to feed. More upsetting was that he gradually became bored with her. And when he was bored, he struck out, verbally first, then physically. The only blessing was that he hadn’t brought the children into it. Yet. She’d kill him if he did.
But Patsy Ryan from Quincy wouldn’t permit herself to be a female cuckold. Her parents had never approved of Porter in the first place, although they’d never said anything. But when she saw her mother’s pursed lips any time she brought up Porter, or how her father would abruptly leave the room, she knew they would welcome her back. Maybe they would care for them temporarily while she was settling somewhere else.
No. That would never work. Mormons were obligated to reunite their family. According to one of the famous elders, none of the family could be lost, and if any of their children left the fold, “divine tentacles” would pull them back in, with or without her. Family was the bedrock of Mormonism, to be sealed forever in the Book of Mormon. And she had happily sworn to convert to Mormonism, a rare but not unheard-of practice, while in the throes of their mutual passion.
Porter would come looking for them, no matter how far she went. She couldn’t leave the children in Quincy. That would be one of the first places he’d look. He’d have a plan to get the kids back to Nauvoo. He might even kidnap them. As much as she hated the thought, they would need to stay in Nauvoo until she could take them herself. Who knew? Maybe she would kidnap them back.
The next morning Eden told Porter what she’d overheard two nights earlier, the night he’d sent her to bed after clipping the side of her head. She’d hid in the upstairs hall as three or four Mormon Fundamentalist “brothers” met downstairs, discussing their plans to launch a profitable business selling black-market weapons, drugs, and other products no good Mormon should use, much less sell.
“I couldn’t help overhearing. Porter, this is a huge mistake. What happens if you’re caught?”
“We won’t be. And if we are, I have powerful friends. Someone will talk to someone else, and we’ll slide out of it.”
“But it’s against the law,” Eden went on. “You say you’re a pious Mormon. This is no way to earn a living. What happened to your talk about opening a hotel? You could get a loan; my parents would vouch for you. And you know I can help; I’m good with budgets and numbers.”
“I don’t need a damn hotel,” Porter scoffed. “I have the Nauvoo motel.”
“The motel?” Eden frowned. “What does that mean? What are you doing there?”
“Nothing you need to concern yourself with. You don’t come near my business, you hear?”
Eden didn’t reply.
“Do you hear me, woman? If anyone ever finds out what we’re doing, I’ll know it was you who told them. And believe me, you will regret it for the rest of your life.”
“I don’t understand, Porter. Why? Why now?”
“Because I’ve got five children to raise. Two wives. Maybe a third, soon.”
Eden jerked her head up. A third wife? Ada and she weren’t enough? She’d seen him flirting with a young girl at church who couldn’t be more than sixteen. How the girl blushed prettily and kept glancing at him after he passed her in the hall. Was she going to be joining the “family”? Not on your life, she told herself. Ada might tolerate it, but Eden wouldn’t. Couldn’t. She’d be long gone.
Porter didn’t seem to notice her reaction. “There’s no work because of this damn virus. Even if there was, it wouldn’t be enough to pay for everything. What the hell do you expect me to do?”
“What if I get a job? Maybe a bookkeeper someplace?”
“Right. Your wages wouldn’t be a spit in the bucket. The church won’t let you work, anyway.”
“But if someone finds out about your scheme, you could end up in prison. Be excommunicated from the church. At the very least, shunned. What good would that do? Please, Porter, don’t do this.” She turned away from him and headed toward the kitchen.
But Porter went after her and grabbed her by the arm. He squeezed it so hard she cried out. “Stop! That hurts.”
“You bet it hurts. It’s just a reminder to keep your mouth shut.” She opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her off. “Not another word.” He advanced toward her. “And if word gets out, lemme show you what I’m gonna do.”
He pulled out his hunting knife, the knife he brought out when he was telling a tall tale about taking down a bear with it. He twisted her arm so sharply she sank to the floor. He let go of her arm and pinned her to the floor with his hand. With the other, he worked his fingers up her skirt, pushed it up to her waist, and stabbed her in her thigh.
A searing pain shot through her, and blood gushed out of her leg, staining the wood floor and the legs of the surrounding furniture. She cried out and tried to stanch the flow with her skirt. The blood kept coming.
“Porter, please take me to the ER. You may have nicked an artery.”
“No fucking way. You’re lying.”
Eden pleaded again, but he wouldn’t take her. She clumsily and painfully stitched the wound with a curved needle from her sewing kit. But it was slow to heal, and she knew she would limp for weeks, not to mention the nasty scar that would form on her leg. She had to flee. The next time the blade of his knife would land in her heart.
She tried to comfort herself, dreaming of a new home for her and the children. Perhaps a tiny bungalow in Chicago, Milwaukee, or Minneapolis. Then again, she wasn’t eager for the deep cold and snow. Nauvoo, on the border between Illinois and Iowa, was cold enough. Perhaps they could go south to St. Louis, or in a pinch, Nashville, where the weather was warmer.
She would get a job; she’d finished her college degree online before she got the news Tony was dead, but her laptop was too dated now to run the new operating systems and apps. She’d buy a new one as soon as she could, and eventually, she would get an accounting degree and a good paying job. Numbers were precise. They didn’t lie.
It was time to go.