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.”
“He says that there’s only one God, and that Jesus Christ is our God, come to earth to die for our sins. He says there’s no other way to obtain salvation except through Jesus Christ.”
He studied her face. “Why should that rate you the name of apostate?”
“Don’t you see what it means? Jesus Christ is God, He is our atonement—the great and only atonement. He is also High Priest forever, giving out that atonement to us. He forgives us every sin we commit if we ask. He says He will be our friend if we obey His commandment to love.” She smiled and lifted her hands, “Andrew, I’m not finding that hard!”
He was frowning. “Go on.”
“You sense that isn’t all?” She clasped her trembling hands together and said, “This atonement delivers us from the wrath of God forever. Now you understand, don’t you? Joseph Smith said we’re damned if we don’t live by the everlasting covenant once we hear about it. Brother Brigham said there are sins that the blood of Christ can never atone. According to what Brother Joseph Smith said first and according to the Bible, that’s not so.”
Moving impatiently, he said, “You’ve forgotten, Rebecca. Brother Brigham has clearly stated that God’s revelation is a changing revelation. We must live by the very last revelation that we have received, and all these things you’ve been saying are replaced by later revelations.”
She was frankly trembling. “Andrew, in the writings of Joseph Smith, it says God is unchangeable. If Jesus Christ is God, the power of His atonement can’t be less than the everlasting covenant of marriage.” He was staring at her, but his eyes seemed to focus beyond her.
“That means,” she continued softly, “that we are free—free from fear of damnation and wrath through Him. We’re free from—” She couldn’t finish the statement. It would break everything that bound her to this man. He was turning away from her, unseeing, unhearing.
In the days that followed, while the trouble swirled about the territory, the word freedom captured Rebecca and claimed her attention. While she sewed and baked and scrubbed, while she attended Sabbath worship and listened to the storm of war talk, the word moved through her being with a cadence of its own.
“Free,” her mind called, while the words from the pulpit reminded the people they were to avenge God of His enemies; Zion must stand against the world.
Now more often there were Indians in the streets of Pinto. Rebecca was hearing them called “the battle-axe of the Lord.” Rumor was that Brother Brigham was saying the Indians would have to help the Mormons or the United States would kill them all. And in the midst of it, Rebecca recalled that Jesus had talked about loving our enemies.
Enemies. Into the turmoil of her thoughts came a new thought: Priscilla.
Shame flooded her as she recalled the words she had flung at Priscilla. As quickly as she stuffed the troublesome thoughts from her, they returned to haunt her.
On one of the days that Rebecca escaped to Cora’s busy household to avoid her own troublesome thoughts, Cora dragged out their bone of contention.
“I’ve been doing lots of thinking about all the things you’ve said. You can’t be right. There’s all the things that prove God’s with us.”
“Like what?”
“God’s proved He’s been helping us right along. There’s the miracles, the healings. Surely that proves we’re right. There’s the seagulls helping when the crickets got the wheat. Now, Rebecca, what’ll you say to that?”
“Those things stopped me for a long time. And then with this churning around inside, I finally had to admit what I was reading. It was like God was drawing His finger under the words.
“Cora, you judge the dress by the whole, not by the fancied-up parts. No matter what, it’s all got to start out right. You have to have something to measure truth by. More than ever I’m convinced it’s Jesus. If you don’t understand about Him—about His being God and being down here for just one reason and that was being the Lamb for our atonement—well, then, nothing else in God’s Word falls into place. It’s nothing, it’s empty, without God’s power.
“I couldn’t get anywhere thinking He was just an elder brother. The Bible doesn’t support that.” Cora was shaking her head, but Rebecca went on, “You can’t see Jesus in heaven, being our High Priest, serving before the altar that’s stained with His own blood? You can’t see Him really loving you and caring about what happens to you and helping you live like He wants? Then I’ll have to do what you did for me.”
“What’s that?”
“Pray that God will help you find the truth.”
The beginning of September saw Rebecca’s harvest doing well. The corn and potatoes and onions were nearly ready. The beans were drying on the vines. She would dig carrots while it was still possible to bend that far.
Her little house was being prepared for winter and its small new occupant. She had the cradle brought from the barn and scrubbed it until it was white. In her chest there was a pile of little clothes. A shelf held folded diapers, old but soft.
Andrew surveyed her preparations without comment, but he brought her a sack of flour, and she sighed with relief. Could this battle be counted as won? Would she be allowed to stay? The lines about his eyes were taut. She thought he looked thin, bowed; she busied herself caring for him.
But when he was gone, she came up against that softly whispered name in her conscience. Finally she threw her hands wide in surrender and asked, “Jesus, what are You wanting me to do about Priscilla?”
There it was out, admitted, and the relief was great. The words welled up in her memory: “If your brother has ought—” These were Jesus’ words. She whispered, “I suppose that means ‘sister’ too?”
It was a fine, clear day when she went to Cora with her request.
“Horse? You want to borrow my horse?” Cora cried, “Rebecca, you are out of your mind for sure. You in nearly your last month and wanting to ride a horse. Where do you want to take her that you can’t just walk?”
“Cedar.”
“Oh, glory be.” She groaned, and Rebecca was feeling like a six-year-old. But explanations wouldn’t do. Then Cora would know most certainly that she was crazy.
In the end, the horse was lent, and after collecting her shawl and a ripe melon from the garden, Rebecca set out.
The horse was old and inclined to take life easy. But then Rebecca was inclined to take life easy, especially today. The brilliance of the early autumn day was just a beginning hint of the month to come. She saw a touch of yellow in the cottonwoods along the creek.
Turning onto the road leading to Cedar City, she murmured, “I’d forgotten the brilliance of the coral hills against the blue sky and dusty cedars. It’s a glory, most certainly. Jesus Christ, You made it.”
Not a cloud marred the sky; not a soul moved on the barren plains. For once she appreciated the wide scope of the desert. Not even an Indian could hide in that barren waste.