During the days that followed, the gray haze which had settled over Rebecca seemed to lift gradually. Life began to pick a new pattern, but Rebecca found herself thinking only in terms of the before and after days.
Now she knew each moment as a deliberate, self-conscious one. No longer did she move with ease; she jerked, conscious of every muscle, every stray hair, every wasted movement. She was growing thin and silent. Andrew’s worried face slowly assumed an angry frown. Seeing it, she made herself merry and productive. The house became filled with activity, and the stern features of that woman, Sarah, became pleased, relaxed. Andrew expanded into the genial, indulgent head of the household.
Through the numbness of those beginning days, Rebecca had groped her way to acceptance as a way of life. In the quiet of the nights he spent with Sarah, Rebecca had taken to lecturing herself. There would be no call to charge her with being the troublemaker. There were all those stories of plural marriages. Now that the lot was cast, she would settle in and make the best of it.
But in the lonesome nights and quiet times, the sense of destiny crept upon her. How silly of her to have thought all that time she could fight against the order of things.
She grew to accept the dividedness of Andrew, trying to deny her need for his nearness and caresses. Constantly she must remind herself that her honeymoon was over.
Slowly, Rebecca was beginning to know the town and become acquainted with people. In the beginning, while her mind was still wrapped in its gray blanket of shock, she had rejected the friendly people reaching out to her. Now in her loneliness, with approaching winter and Andrew’s absence becoming more frequent, she began searching for friendship.
One day as Rebecca sat on the front porch, trying to card a tangle of wool, a woman stepped through the gate and approached. “You’re not going about that right,” she stated. “I’m Matilda Davis, and I’ll be glad to help you with that.”
“Not Grandma Davis,” teased Rebecca, glancing at her graying hair.
She snorted, “Not everyone is grandma. I married Mr. Davis while he was on his deathbed, and I was old enough to know what I was doing. I married him just to have the endowments and earn my place in glory. I wouldn’t have it any other way. He’d had a flock of young ones with his first two wives and didn’t need more children, just that third marriage.”
“Weren’t you interested in having a family?”
She shook her head. “I just wanted to teach school. But they come along and preach that if a woman wants to get to the highest heaven, she’s gotta let some man take her there by being married to him.” She shrugged. “They say it, I’ll go along.”
“But you haven’t had to live with another wife?” Rebecca asked in a low voice.
Matilda shook her head, “That’s enough to send anyone to glory. You’d better believe the atonement is the only thing that makes a lot of these marriages work.” The woman squinted up at her. “It pays to be a good gossip, but this isn’t gossip, it’s gospel. It’s in the Doctrine and Covenants; that means it’s a revelation given to Joseph Smith by the Lord Almighty himself, and it isn’t ever going to change. For now and until eternity it’s there. Where it tells about the new and everlasting covenant of marriage for eternity, it says all who have the law revealed to them must obey it or be damned. Any man in the priesthood who has a wife who doesn’t believe and minister to him, well, he has a sacred obligation to kill her off just to keep her from being damned. Kill her body to save her soul. I tell you, there’s some men who think any little old thing is enough to damn a woman, and they’re ready to go great lengths to save her soul.”
Rebecca stared at the woman. Not believing her, she skirted the topic by asking, “Is it commanded that men have plural wives?”
“Well, depends on who’s talking about it. It says in the same place that we’re to go do the works of Abraham, which means taking more than one wife. Sounds like a command. There’s no other way to get to the highest heaven and be gods.”
“Seems so unfair.”
“Why you complaining? Seems an easy way to earn the highest order of heaven.”
“I’m thinking of those who’ve never married.”
“They’ve had the right.”
“Sometimes they die before they’ve had the chance.” She was thinking again of David.
“Well, there’s plenty of unanswered questions. You could get so caught up in asking questions that you could just talk yourself right out of your faith. Brother Brigham comes down pretty hard on this. Calls them apostates.”
“He doesn’t have much patience with them, does he?”
“No. In a sermon I heard him say rather than allow apostates to flourish here, he’d unsheath his bowie knife and conquer or die. My, what a commotion that caused! People were hollering and shouting, ‘Go it, go it!’ He said we should call upon the Lord to assist in this and every good work.”
A year had passed since her marriage, and as Rebecca prepared dinner, she tried to keep her thoughts from wandering back over that year. She stirred the braised quail in the iron kettle while she gave instructions to Margaret. “You can cut the bread, just watch your fingers. Angie, carry the knives and forks to the table.” She watched Angie pull a chair to the cupboard and climb onto it.
The door flew open, and Andrew came in. With a happy grin, he made his rounds kissing each child and then his wives. His eyes caught and held Rebecca’s for a moment before he turned. She felt her heart leap. He went to hang his coat on a peg.
“Aunt Becky!” Rebecca turned and caught Angie as the chair tipped.
“Aunt Becky, dinner’s burning.” She dashed to the fire.
Andrew was drying his hands. “Sarah, why don’t you give Rebecca a hand?”
“I think I’m in the family way.” Sarah stood slowly and moved to her place at the table. “I’ve been feeling poorly for a week or so.
A grin split Andrew’s face. “That’s wonderful!” He patted her shoulder and gave her a quick hug. Rebecca turned to hide her disappointment.
During the coming weeks, Rebecca discovered that Sarah’s delicate condition changed her disposition even more—she retreated from all responsibility for her children. Rebecca was reminded of Bessie Wright as she watched Sarah continue to rock and knit.
On the first warm day of February, Rebecca moved the laundry outside and built a fire to boil the linens. Then she worked in the fresh air, scrubbing the clothing and stretching it to dry across clotheslines and bushes. The sun was as warm as a friendly hand on her back, and when she finished her task, she noted with glad surprise how her mood had lifted. She hummed a little tune as she sloshed soapy water across the porch and scrubbed at the mud with her broom.
Filled with gladness to be alive, she paused to look at the town. Sister Lucas was shaking rugs out her door. There was a cluster of tiny folk frolicking in the middle of the street. Smoke curled from chimneys in the lazy manner of spring.
As she eyed the dark house, a thought was born, and Rebecca voiced it. “It seems to me a body deserves a joy once in a while. Couldn’t it make the rest of life a little easier?”
That distant line of hills had beckoned her for months. With Indian problems cooling, wouldn’t it be a joy to walk there?
Quickly, before she became timid, she hurried into the house. Removing her apron and smoothing her hair, she said, “I’m going to walk for a bit.”
“You’ll be mud all over.”
“’Tisn’t muddy. You should look for yourself; the fresh air would be good.”
Nodding briskly at her neighbors, Rebecca headed for the line of trees. Once in the midst of the piney perfume, her pace slackened. A dreamy calm crept over her as she wandered, listening to the birds, pausing to chew a pine needle.
It was a glory, a kind of glory. Joshua had talked about a glory and about some people who lived that way, the Whitmans. They had been murdered by the Indians. What kind of glory could end in tragedy?
While she snuggled in her shawl and mused on the word glory, the sun dipped behind the trees, and the streets of Fort Harmony became shadowed.
Tonight was fast and testimony meeting. Sarah and Andrew would be going, and she would be expected to feed the children and then trail along behind when the meeting was nearly over.
She left the trees and quickened her steps on the slope. New resolutions were forming in her mind. They made her uneasy, but they also shone like a ray of bright sun in a dark day. “I think,” she said slowly, “it wouldn’t hurt to prove I’m still my own self. There must be enough room in Mormonism for me to think one different thought and walk one lonely mile.”
She was breathless as she burst through the door. Andrew was already there and Sarah, wearing her bonnet, was dishing up the porridge for the children.
“I’ll do it!” she exclaimed breathlessly. “You go ahead, I’ll not be going.”
Andrew frowned at her. “Where’ve you been?”
She smoothed her hair. “Walking in the trees. I’ve had a heart to do it since I first came. I’m not going tonight,” she repeated.
Andrew’s glance slid off her face, and he turned, “Come along, Sarah. She can take over now.” Without looking at her, Sarah adjusted her shawl and followed him.
When the door closed, John spoke around his mouthful. “Pa’s mad at you. Ma told him about all your gallivanting when there’s work to be done.”
“But I did the laundry and scrubbed the steps!” Rebecca exclaimed. “I—” Suddenly she realized she was trying to justify her actions. She smiled down at them. “I needed a joy, and I’ve supplied it for myself.”
Angie raised her face, and the cornmeal dripped from her chin. “I wish I had a joy,” she said wistfully. “With raisins in it and oatmeal instead of corn mush.”
“You baby pumpkin.” Rebecca circled the table and pushed a kiss down into the child’s tangled curls. “I’ll give you a joy. Shall I make you a pancake with molasses or shall we read a book together?”
“Book, book, read to us!”
Rebecca shoved aside the dishes, and Margaret ran to the shelf of books. She selected the red one and returned to the table. “Oh, good!” Rebecca exclaimed, “the stories and poems. This book was given to me by a dear lady just before I left Great Salt Lake City.” She settled herself to read.
The fire burned low, and she interrupted herself to say, “John, please put on another log.” She was still reading when Andrew and Sarah returned. With a start, Rebecca realized the laundry was still unfolded, and the dirty dishes waited.
She jumped to her feet and handed the book to Margaret. “Let’s get at the dishes. Surely we’ve all had enough joy to last us for a time.”
Later, when the children had climbed the stairs and Sarah’s door had been closed, Andrew demanded, “Why?” She studied his face, and only then saw the trouble her willfulness had caused. His face was tight and his lips cold.
“Andrew.” She tried to move close and found she dared not. “I’m not trying to cause trouble; it’s just that—” she stopped. Her thoughts flew back to Cora and she remembered her saying, They don’t listen to anything against the first wife. You waste your time talking; they don’t see it. I guess it’s because there’s a romance, a kind of love in the first marriage that isn’t in the others. One word of complaint and they get the wrong idea. I hear him saying I’m trouble, so I keep it all to myself.
She turned away from him. “It seems life runs better when there’s a little joy. I’ve had mine because I snatched it. They needed theirs.”
He moved impatiently, “I want you to be more careful of Sarah. She isn’t as young as she was and this birthing could be hard on her. I’d say another two months and she’ll be on the bed.” He hesitated, and his face melted. She flew at him.
“Oh, Andrew, please,” she begged, “let’s not quarrel. I need you so badly.”
“Rebecca”—he studied her face—“you’ve got to realize there’s a difference in this kind of marriage. It can’t be all honeymoon; there’s too many feelings to be considered. I make a pet of you and there’s no living with Sarah.”
She closed her lips tightly to stop the torrent, but the words burst through. “Andrew, it wasn’t that way in the beginning. We were as close as it was possible. I did think you were a lover in love. You acted the part. Now this. Why? Why didn’t you tell me this was to be a plural marriage?”
“Because you would never have married me.”
Quietly she said, “That is true. I had refused better positions than this. True, I didn’t love the man, but I love his family and that, I do believe, is where the real marriage is anyway.”
He stepped close and wrapped his arms around her, forcing her face upward. “But you are mine. That ceremony at the Endowment House sealed it for time and eternity. You are mine.” He bent to kiss her. When he lifted her in his arms, Rebecca couldn’t dwell on the love. She knew he was thinking of the child that must be.
Rebecca was part of the group around the quilt frame. It hadn’t taken her long to discover the Relief Society meeting was the best place in Fort Harmony to get acquainted with the women of the community.
“Sister Jacobson, I do believe that you’ve not heard a word I’ve said to you. You’re doing that section all wrong. See, there are the lines you’re to be following. I declare, you must be in the family way to be so absentminded. Never you mind. After six or seven, it ceases to be a wonder and becomes a way of life.”
Rebecca was shaking her head, and Sister Wilkes said, “That’s the problem with these plural marriages; sometimes there isn’t enough husband to go around.” Over the titters she continued. “Never you mind, you’ll get that way soon enough, and then there’ll be no rest.”
“But after a year and a half.”
“Yes, even then. Don’t give up.”
“You could trade off favors,” saucy little Cindy exclaimed. “There was a woman in Cedar who did that. It was whispered around that the first wife didn’t care all that much for the nighttime activity, and so between the two of them they managed the mister just fine. The second wife had a passel of young’uns.”
Rebecca’s trembling fingers tried to manage the needle as she listened. “There’s advantages to not living in the same house.”
“I don’t know about that,” came a voice from the far end of the quilt. “I wear myself to the bone just trying to keep up with the first wife. Sometimes I wish we did live in the same house; then the difference wouldn’t be so noticeable. She changes the sheets every time he steps in the house. I believe in making him feel like a king in his own home, but there’s limits, especially when she’s got only one half-grown son, and I’ve five little ones.”
“Sadie, quit your worrying. Surely he knows how busy the little ones keep you. I’ll bet she just scrubs to make up for not having children to keep her busy.”
Cindy continued, “I hear tell that Miz Duncan’s oldest gal ran her pa out to the barn the last time he came to visit. The little snip told her pa to go sleep in the barn because they had too many mouths to feed already, and every time he visited they got another.”
Rebecca awakened during the night. The day’s events moved through her mind, and she tossed restlessly. Beside her Andrew stirred. “Rebecca, are you having another bad dream?” His arms drew her close, and his beard tickled her face. “Seems you’ve been a restless sleeper lately; I’m guessing you have something on your mind. Is it about not being in the family way?”
Rebecca fastened her arms around him and relaxed against the warm hardness of his body. “No, my dear husband, I was not thinking about babies. Do you suppose God uses nighttime quiet to make us think?”
“About what?”
“About Him and living like He wants. Andrew, do you sometimes feel that no matter how hard you try you just aren’t really getting better—progressing?”
“Well, I’ve noticed you’ve been a little hellion lately. Both Sarah and I know once you get your own little one it’ll be different.”
“But it hadn’t ought to be,” Rebecca murmured, still troubled with the guilty feelings that had awakened her. “You can both be patient with me, but that doesn’t do anything about changing me inside.”
“You’ve got to live your religion, lady.” He bent over and tweaked her nose.
“I guess my problem is that I don’t really want to live it except in the middle of the night when I see how terrible I’ve been, and I don’t like the guilt. Why don’t I want to change when I’m screaming at the children?”
His lips moved across her chin and found her lips. After a moment he murmured, “You’re going about this all wrong. I know you need to love and get along with people; but, Rebecca, concentrate on producing your kingdom instead of perfecting it. You’re not doing the big sins, so don’t be such a fuss.”
“It isn’t the sins so much as the ugly way I am inside.” He slid his arms around her, and she sighed heavily. Now was the time to start practicing her religion. She tried to shut out Sarah’s face as Andrew bent over her.
Even though it was late March, it had begun to snow heavily while Rebecca was at Relief Society. As she walked home, she bowed her head to the storm and pulled her shawl close, but it was impossible to hurry her feet. She was thinking about the lesson Sister Lee had brought. It was about Hannah, the mother of Samuel.
Recalling Hannah’s prayer, she muttered, “If I had a prayer to pray, it wouldn’t be for a child, but I’d pray to be away from here and for these last six years to disappear.” She thought of the turmoil that was home. Daily it was becoming more unbearable. She must acknowledge it was her fault. For a second she closed her eyes and saw herself warped into an ugly creature of darkness. The picture pressed upon her, and she knew that one of these days, her spirit would refuse to be lifted.
She shivered at the thought, feeling her powerlessness. There were the sleepless nights when the slightest whisper from Sarah’s baby, or even Andrew’s snoring drifting to her through that adjoining wall, would be enough to send the tears cascading down her cheeks. To say she despised the trembling mass of emotion she was becoming was to accept one more defeat.
Sister Lee had painted a word picture of Hannah as a beautiful, childless, plural wife with never a complaint. Rebecca rejected the picture, and anger burned through her rebellion. She stormed down the path, kicking puffs of snow.
At the door, her anger vanished. Andrew was home. She crushed her impulse to fly into his arms as she glanced quickly at Sarah.
Andrew’s face was gray and lined with fatigue. He moved restlessly about the room while Sarah held her baby and rocked.
His nod was curt, and he went on with what he was saying. “It isn’t good. There’s a bad feeling brewing across the territory. I’m certain God is leading us, but nothing seems to be going right.” He wheeled and paced to Sarah’s chair. “It’s like Zion is about to be snatched from our hands. The government won’t grant statehood—they don’t want us to be self-governing. These territorial officers will continue to be a thorn in our flesh.”
Sarah sighed and shifted the sleeping baby to her lap. “I don’t understand why they won’t give us the right to practice our religion the way God tells us to.”
“If this is God’s will for us,” Andrew said slowly, “then God will permit it.”
“If—” Rebecca cried. “How can you question? Don’t the revelations Joseph Smith received instruct us to live that way? If God isn’t fickle, then we’re stuck with it forever. I can’t believe God would change His mind.”
Andrew thoughtfully studied her face. He turned to Sarah. “I’m leaving now. I’ll ride as far as Hyde’s place and spend the night. He’s going with me.”
“You’re leaving.” Rebecca’s voice was flat, and Andrew looked at her. For just a moment she caught a glimpse of the old tenderness, and her heart responded. “In the worst of weather you must go; doesn’t that man have a heart?”
“There’s work to be done and a kingdom to be kept in order. It’s my job, and there’s no sense in fussing.” He moved past her, and on impulse she reached out.
“Andrew, you spend so much time on the road. It would make sense for you to have a home up the way. Least you’d spend more nights under your own roof.”
He studied her closely. “You’re right. No matter the reason, you’re right.” He took his bundle and pulled on the heavy coat. With a brief wave he was gone. Again Rebecca’s heart sank to its slow dismal beat, and with a sigh she turned away.
Sarah lifted the baby and got to her feet. Her steps were heavy as she carried the child into the other room. As Rebecca watched her go, she was wondering if Sarah could be feeling as she felt, missing the closeness and love.