“Brother Gilbert, consider yourself warned.” Brigham climbed into his carriage and it tipped with his weight. He shouted to his driver and the team bucked and lunged forward and the carriage swung around and drove up the dirt road to Salt Lake.
“He’s not the same,” said my ma. She was white with anger. “He used to be another man.” I told her not to worry, but we both knew there was plenty to worry over.
Two days later the letter arrived.
Sir—
Let it be known that in consideration of your recent actions, and your refusal to acknowledge outstanding debts and false claims of slander and libel, your challenges against fellow Saints and honest men stand, from this day forward, as challenges to the Church itself and therefore as apostasy. A board, chaired by myself, shall gather to determine your future participation in our beloved Church, both today and in the Everafter. Any appeal should be made to me directly; otherwise you shall receive notice of the date and time of your trial.
I am still most solemnly &c. your Prophet—
BRIGHAM YOUNG
I rode up to Salt Lake. By now the rains were mostly gone and on both sides of the road the grasses were high. Most of the time I go along, doing what comes up next, but this time I knew I had to go a particular way. At the Beehive House I told the secretary my name. He was a thin old man with a long blue nose and old yellow hair. If you threw him on a scale I bet he didn’t weigh a hundred pounds. There was a long list of men waiting to see the Prophet but the old man told me to wait in the hall, Brigham would see me right away.
The hall was decorated with a red and blue runner and a glass lamp hanging from the ceiling on three little chains. How many times had I been there in the last year? Six or eight or more. Most men don’t have any business with the Prophet except listening to him on Sundays and reading the proclamations and every now and then making an appeal for a plural wife. I thought of that dream I once had: the house in the meadow, the smoke in the chimney, the wife, and the child. It all felt far away.
When I met Brigham he said, “I haven’t yet set your trial date.”
“What do I need to do?”
Brigham perched on the corner of his desk. He wasn’t going to say any more until I broke down. He wanted me in a puddle on his carpet, and there I went: “I don’t want to leave. I’ve got my family, my wives, my children. Where will I go?”
I’m ashamed to say I wept in his office. He stood by, letting me crack up like a woman. When my face was streaked and bent up, he passed me a handkerchief with his monogram in gold. “What do you want?” he said.
“I want to be a good man.”
“I can help you.”
A few minutes passed with Brigham pacing and going to his window and looking out at the front garden and returning to his desk to review the paper at the top of the pile. The whole time I sat in a heap in his visitor’s chair, wiping up my face.
“Ever since your sister was a child,” he began, “I’ve seen her as my own. I’ve protected her, watched out for her, made sure your family was tended to. I invited her to live next door to be near me. I asked her to join my theater so I could look at her every night. All of your troubles will be gone if you can convince her to marry me. I’m sure it’s impossible for her brother to see her beauty as I do: but she’s the most splendid woman who’s ever set foot in Deseret. Her eyes, her throat, her skin.”
There’s something to see a grown man gushing like a boy. If I hadn’t been in so much trouble myself, I’d have been disgusted by it and told him so.
“Go to your sister, tell her of my qualities, convince her that she will never want for anything. I’ll give her a house, I’ll care for her children, she’ll have an allowance and freedom. Anything she wants will be hers, but she must be mine.”
“She doesn’t listen to anyone.”
“Make her.” He shook his mouth out like a twitching horse. “You know women: they can be brought home and tamed.”
“I’m not sure that’s true.”
“No, not always, but with Ann Eliza I sense that this is what she wants.”
“And my debts?”
“Forgiven. Your position in the Church: restored. Your name: exalted. Your financial situation: vastly improved. I’ll pay you an allowance to help you meet your family needs. What do you need? A thousand a year? Two? I’ll give it to you. You tell me what you need, but bring me your sister.”
“I can’t force her.”
“That’s not what I want. I want her to see for herself what I can give. I think she fears marriage will somehow restrict her. In fact, it will be just the opposite. Make her see this. That’s all I ask.”
He stood in his window. His beard appeared pink in the sunlight and his cheeks were full and red. “Gilbert, have you thought about taking another wife?”
“Not much.”
“In this scenario, you can if you like. If you find a woman to join your household, you’ll be able to invite her in.” He was so overcome by anticipation, I thought he might kiss me. “You’ll speak to her?”
“I’ll try.”
“Go now.” He led me to the door. He didn’t open it until he’d made his final plea. “Go now, and when you’ve succeeded come to me.”
“And if I can’t?”
“You will. I know you, and I know her.”
He showed me into the waiting hall and thanked me. Outside I stood on the steps of Brigham’s house for some time. I could see into the window of his office. He was behind his desk, conducting business and negotiating something or other with his next visitor. Might’ve been a railroad deal or a building contract or might’ve been a bargain concerning a man’s soul. It was always from one to the next with Brigham Young.
I went to Ann Eliza’s house. I found her in the kitchen, feeding the boys. They were fussing over the food and throwing peas about, and my sister looked harried. “What is it?” she said. I told her I’d come back later. I went to the barn and lay down in the hay loft and lay there for some time thinking. The barn cat came over and curled up on my chest and went to sleep.
In the evening I went back to Ann Eliza. “You look upset about something,” she said. I told her I’d come from the Beehive House. I described my conversation with Brigham, and as she came to understand it she became very still and sad.
“I’m leaving tonight,” I said.
“Leaving?”
“Before he can kick me out.”
“What about Kate and Almira? What about the children?”
“They’ll get on. Pa will look after them. I can’t stay. Brigham’s made that clear.”
“What will happen to you after?”
“I don’t know.” My sister wasn’t asking about after I left the Utah Territory and the Church. She meant after death in the beyond. We understood eternity to be a welcoming place only for the Saints. This is what we believed. It’s all we knew to believe to be true.
“You can’t,” she said.
“I don’t have a choice.”
“I do,” she said.
“I won’t let you.”
“I’ve made up my mind.”
“Ann Eliza, please—” I pleaded with my sister for an hour or more but she had made her decision. I didn’t want her to, I never wanted her to, but I’m an honest man and I will admit here down in the deepest crevice of my heart I felt a throb of relief. I dislike myself for feeling it, but it’s true.
The next day Ann Eliza accepted Brigham’s proposal and soon they married and that’s how my sister became the 19th wife. If it weren’t for me it would never have been so, and this is the truth as far as I know it and I swear by it, and for this I’ve never felt more ashamed.
XIV
WIFE #19:
OFF THE STRIP
AND I SHOULD HELP YOU BECAUSE—?
So Johnny was gone and Elektra and I were on our own. No big deal, we were used to it. In the morning we drove out to Kanab. It was nice enough—the hot wind and the am radio singing redneck wom
an and the quiet that comes when you’re alone.
The Mega Bite wasn’t open yet but 5 was behind the counter laying out the cold cuts. The ceiling light cast a sickly green on everything: she was pale and green and the slices of ham and turkey looked green too. Eventually she saw me in the window and came to unlock the door. I told her I wanted a turkey club but she said, “You didn’t drive all the way out here for a fucking sandwich.”
“Maybe not.”
“How’s the sleuthing going? Find your killer?”
I told her not yet but in a way that didn’t reveal much.
“Got it,” she said. “You don’t want to share any clues with a girl who’s got a fishy story.”
“Maybe.”
“Save yourself the time, I had nothing to do with it.” She stopped. “You know what they say: follow the pussy.”
“Isn’t it follow the money?”
“Same thing.” She finished making the sandwich and pulled a long knife to slice it in half. “You talk to my mom yet?”
“Yes,” I said. “Did you talk to her?”
“Not in a while. How is she?”
“Shaken up.”
“I know, it’s crazy. I think she actually loved the guy.” After a moment 5 set her elbow on the counter and planted her chin into the heel of her palm. “While you’re out nosing around, I wish you could answer the real mystery.”
“What’s that?”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do they keep on believing all that crap? Where’s the skepticism? Why don’t they ask themselves—just once, that’s all it would take—why none of it makes sense?”
“If it’s the only thing you know—”
“No, that’s not it. I mean, sure, yeah, if it’s all you know it’s hard to imagine anything else. But I’m talking about something different. I’m talking about why they never once have any suspicion that something’s not right. You don’t need to know anything to have a doubt. You just need to listen. To yourself. Why are so many people so lousy at listening to themselves?”
“Maybe they’re scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of death. Of what comes after.”
“And I’m not?” The more we talked, the less certain I was of where 5 fit into all this. “That reminds me, there’s this website you might want to check out: 19thwife.com. It’s some antipolygamy group. I guess they help women escape and do legal work and stuff like that. Maybe they can help your mom. But for all I know it could be a trap. Anyway, check it out. Oops, time to open up. Morning rush.” She unlocked the door to let in a man and his college-age son. The boy was all arm and leg, with an Adam’s apple the size of a rock. He inhaled his muffin the way you or I would eat a nut. When they were gone, 5 said, “You liked him.”
“He was cute, so what?”
“You need to get laid.”
“Tell me about it. But first I need to get my mom out of jail.”
“I wish I could help you.”
“Then tell me what you know about that night.”
“I already told you: nothing. I wasn’t there.” I know I blush bad, but 5 went as red as the peppers in the prep tray. “I can’t help you,” she said. “I don’t know anything about what happened to your dad.”
“He was your dad too.”
“Stepdad. Look, I got to get to work. See you around.” She shouldered her way through the swinging doors, into the kitchen with the canned tomatoes and a fresh delivery of presliced ham.
On my way back to St. George, a cop pulled me over. I was going eight, maybe ten miles above the limit, but that’s not what this was about. We both knew it, each of us sitting behind our wheels at the side of the road. The cop stayed in his cruiser for a long time doing paperwork. His lightbars were spinning blue and red, and they got Elektra jumping around barking at the rear window and the fur on her back was up like a brush.
The brim of the cop’s hat hid his face and the late morning sun made it hard to see anything. When he stepped out of the cruiser the sun was behind him and all I could see was a black cutout coming toward me. Elektra lost it, showing her teeth and howling like she was ready to sacrifice herself in my defense. I tried to calm her but she sensed I was scared. “It’s all right,” I said, but you can’t lie to dogs.
“I’m sure you know why I’m pulling you over.”
“Why don’t you tell me.”
Elektra shoved her snout out the window and began licking the cop’s hand. “Hello, puppy.” I handed him my license. He cupped it in his hand almost like it was something delicate that might blow away, then handed it back. “Here you go, Jordan.”
“My registration’s in here somewhere,” I said.
“That’s all right. Why don’t you step out of the van.”
“Why?”
“Just step out of the van.”
“OK.”
“Now let’s go back to the station.”
“Why? ”
“C’mon, leash up the dog and let’s go.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Jordan.” The guy touched my arm. He looked familiar, but almost everyone in Mesadale looks familiar. He was about thirty, a regular guy in decent shape, like a JCPenney underwear model. “I think it’s time you and I had a talk.”
When I got out of the van, I saw who I was dealing with. Shield number 714, Mesadale Police Department, Alton. Well, there you go.
“Is something wrong with Queenie?”
“She’s fine. Everything’s fine. You and I just need to have a little chat.”
“Can’t we talk right here?”
“C’mon, let’s go.” I got Elektra on her leash and we followed Alton back to the cruiser. The lightbars were still spinning and Elektra was tugging at the leash. She didn’t like any of this and she didn’t want to get in the car. The highway was empty and it was eleven in the morning and I’d bet a buck it was already 110 out on the asphalt. The poor girl, her paws must’ve been burning up.
Elektra and I rode in back, watching the road through the grill. This was my first time in the back of a police cruiser, and you know what—it sucks. There’s something about looking out at the world through a steel grill. Even if you haven’t done anything, you feel guilty. A voice came across the police radio and Alton spoke into his mike, saying something about home.
“Am I under arrest?” I asked.
Officer Alton laughed. “You’re not under arrest.”
“I know, silly mistake, crazy me. It’s just that I’m in the back of a cruiser talking to you through a fucking cage.”
He didn’t say anything else until we pulled into the police station lot. “Just follow me.”
“What about Elektra?”
“Bring her in.”
I walked with her close at my side while Alton kept me close to his. His hand was at my elbow, but it was a weird proximity. It wasn’t like I was being apprehended, but it wasn’t like I was free.
“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” I said.
“In a minute.”
In the station we passed a desk manned by a cop who looked like Alton, only redder in the face. “I’m going into three,” Alton said.
“What do you got?”
“POI.”
“I’ll tell the captain.”
Officer Alton shook his head. “Not yet. Let me figure out what he is.”
“Want me to take the dog?”
Alton shook his head. “We’ll keep her.” He led me down a hall into a small room with a table and two plastic chairs. “Have a seat.”
“I get it,” I said. “Interrogation room number three.”
“This isn’t an interrogation.”
“What’s that—a two-way mirror?”
“It is.”
“Who’s on the other side? The whole police force?”
“No.”
“Maybe the Prophet himself?”
Alton dragged a chair around so it was next to the othe
r and sat down. He set his hat on the table and his forehead was dented with a red band. “Fine, don’t sit. But I thought it would be more comfortable for you. Jordan, would you stop looking at the mirror. No one’s on the other side.”
“I’m not quite ready to believe you.”
“Maybe you should.”
“Why don’t you first tell me what this is all about.”
“I know you’ve been to see my wife.”
I once saw a movie about this guy accused of killing his girlfriend. When they hauled him in he kept saying to himself, Don’t say anything, don’t say anything. He thought it so hard that those words appeared on the two-way mirror and for the rest of the interrogation he kept looking at those words. In the end, the cops got nothing and they had to let him go. The thing was, the guy actually killed his girlfriend, strangled her with her sweater, and that’s how it ended, the guy being released into the world.
“Jordan?”
“Yeah.”
“Queenie told me you wanted to know why the investigation’s still open.”
“You checked the no box.”
“Can I talk to you not as a member of law enforcement, but as a”—he searched for the word—“as a friend. The Prophet, he wanted me to talk to you.”
“Me?”
“He thinks you’re right.”
“Right about what?”
“He thinks someone else killed your dad.”
This was either going really well or I was totally fucked. “Why does he think that?”
“Because it doesn’t make sense to him either. Your mom, she never liked making a fuss. Why would she start now? The Prophet knows you’ve been snooping around. Turns out he’s got the same questions as you.”
The 19th Wife Page 30