The Sister Wife

by Diane Noble

  “Mary Rose, please. Can we talk?” Bronwyn’s hoarse and broken voice did not move her. She heard her friend move toward her and kneel beside her chair. “Mary Rose,” she whispered. “Please, we must talk.”

  Mary Rose turned then, and when she looked into Bronwyn’s eyes, red-rimmed and swollen with tears, she remained unmoved. “What is it you want?” Her voice was cold, but it didn’t begin to compare to her frozen heart.

  Bronwyn touched her arm. “Remember what we talked about…before…?” She blushed. “About the marriage bed?”

  Mary Rose stared at her. “Has he bedded you, then?”

  Bronwyn’s face flamed. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. I have kept my promise. He has not asked me to sleep with him, and I cannot fathom that he ever would, Mary Rose. ’Tis you he loves, not me. He—we—only did what we had to do.”

  “You didn’t have to do anything, either one of you,” Mary Rose said. “He knows, and so do you, how I feel about plural marriage.” She stood and went to the window that overlooked the river. “I was going to leave the day you married.”

  “Gabe told me what you said.”

  “And I would have, had I not”—she looked down at her stomach, feeling an almost sickening stab of loneliness and emptiness—“lost the baby. If you and Gabe went through with it, I felt I had no other choice.”

  Bronwyn came to stand beside her, facing the river with her own thoughts. She slipped her arm around Mary Rose’s waist and laid her head gently on her shoulder. “It’s in name only.”

  Mary Rose’s feelings battled within her. “I didn’t know if he could resist you,” she said. “I knew that you would try to keep your promise. I trusted you to try. But when I woke and found I’d lost the baby, you both were in my room. I heard the way he said your name, and I feared my marriage to Gabe was over.”

  Bronwyn’s eyes filled. “Oh, my dear, nothing has changed between us. We are friends, just like when Griffin was alive. I promise you I will do everything I can to protect your marriage.”

  “What about the vows you took?”

  Outside the children played. The sounds of giggles and chatter, punctuated by Ruby’s lisp, floated upward. The ordinary sounds brought comfort.

  “Gabe has details to discuss with you, but he hasn’t made me privy to them.” She rushed on, smiling down at the children. “But he assures me things will go on the same as always. Except for those we lost and grieve for.”

  Fresh tears stung Mary Rose’s throat. “I’ve been so caught up in my own grief, I almost forgot yours.” She reached for Bronwyn’s hands. “You’re still grieving.”

  “And you must too,” she said. She led Mary Rose back to her chair at the desk, and then pulled up another for herself. After they were seated, she leaned forward. “If you’d like I’ll tell you about the baby. I’ll tell you everything that happened that day.”

  Mary Rose nodded. “I want to know about the baby. Only my baby. I don’t want to hear about your…marriage…to my husband.”

  “The baby came too early, but he could have survived if there hadn’t been complications. He was perfectly formed and beautiful. When you fell in the garden…” Bronwyn looked down as if ashamed. “The wee babe’s umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck.” She started to cry. “I was waiting for you at the meetinghouse. By the time I realized something was wrong, it was too late. I got here as fast as I could…but still”—she blinked back her tears—“it was too late.” Her voice dropped. “Gabe didn’t know what to do. I should have been here.” She dropped her head into her hands.

  Mary Rose didn’t think her heart could beat with such pain. Her arms even ached with the loss. “A little boy,” she whispered. “I wish I could have seen him.”

  Bronwyn pulled her chair closer and reached for Mary Rose’s hands. “He had a dimpled chin, just like yours, the tiniest bit of curly hair, and little pink ears that looked like seashells.” She pulled out a dainty handkerchief. “I kissed him for you,” she whispered. “And I made the sign of the cross on his forehead, just like Grace Carolyn did for Little Grace.”

  Mary Rose buried her head in her hands and sobbed.

  Bronwyn squeezed her hands. “You slept for days, waking for sips of water or broth, and then sleeping again. We couldn’t wait any longer to bury him.”

  She looked up. “Where is he buried?”

  “Near the garden. There is a headstone, if you’d like to see it.”

  “Did you name him?”

  “Not I,” Bronwyn said. “Gabe did. His name is Ashley MacKay.” She squeezed Mary Rose’s hand. “I read from your Psalter, Psalm 139, the same that Grace Carolyn used in her blessing.”

  “Thank you. ’Tis what I would have done.”

  “You should rest now. Later, Gabe wants to talk with you.” She stood and started for the door. “He suffered a terrible loss that day too,” she said. “Nearly every day, I find him kneeling at the gravesite. He weeps when he thinks no one is looking, so hard that his shoulders tremble.”

  “I can’t see him. Not now. Perhaps not for a long time.”

  “One more thing…” Bronwyn drew in a deep breath. “About the celestial marriage ceremony…?”

  Mary Rose held up a hand to stop Bronwyn’s words.

  “You must hear me,” Bronwyn said. “You need to know that we did not marry on the day your baby died. We would not have done that. Gabe called it off altogether. He told Brigham things would go on just as they always had. That I could stay here and be part of the family without a ceremony.”

  Mary Rose’s heart lifted. “Gabe said that?”

  Bronwyn’s smile lit up her face. “Aye, ’tis true. That he did.” Then her expression changed. “The other brides and grooms were married that day, as planned. We did not attend.” She lifted the corner of her apron to dust the edge of a chest of drawers by the door. “But two days later, a Sunday, Brigham surprised us by announcing a special ceremony after the meetings and a grand party to follow, prepared by the ladies of the church. He said the Prophet himself would officiate…” She looked away from Mary Rose.

  “At your wedding.”

  “Aye,” she whispered, “at our wedding.” Silence fell again between them, a silence so empty that Mary Rose could hear the ticking of the mantel clock downstairs. “We felt we had no choice but to go through with it.”

  It wasn’t until Bronwyn closed the door behind her that Mary Rose wept.

  THIRTY-TWO

  As the days passed, Mary Rose spent hours in her garden, tending to the seedlings as though they were her children, letting the sun’s heat seep through her flesh until it reached her bones. As she thinned the rows and plucked weeds, her heart began to thaw—toward Bronwyn and finally toward Gabe.

  Even so, she could not give up her vigilance. She watched for any sign of a new intimacy between them: shared smiles, gazes held too long, a new lightness of step. But the only shared emotion seemed to be a genuine, mutual concern for her.

  One night Mary Rose woke, the light from a full moon streaming through her window to bathe her bedroom in a silvery glow. An ache deep inside, too strong to ignore, drew her to her baby’s gravesite. Wildflower seeds, a gift from Cordelia, who’d gathered most of them herself, lay in a small container near the cross that marked the infant’s resting place.

  In the light of the moon, with her bare hands, she dug into the soil, breathing in its heavy, earthy scent. With quick, determined movements, she scooped out small holes and dropped the dried seeds into each space. She pictured bachelor’s buttons, dandelions, lupines, and black-eyed Susans popping up in a few weeks’ time. And sweet alyssum, which she hoped would cover the grave in frothy abundance, as pure and delicate as a baby’s breath. Though the latter wasn’t native to Illinois, Cordelia told Mary Rose she had been given the seeds while on board the riverboat by a gentleman from Europe.

  It wasn’t the season for wildflowers to bloom, but she prayed God would make special compensation for just the tiny gravesite,
letting the blossoms cover her child’s body and bring peace to her tortured soul.

  Hot tears came then, followed by wracking sobs, almost violent in their silence. She covered her face, not caring that tears streamed down her face and dripped from her chin into the soil above the grave.

  She caught a shaky breath when she felt a warm hand on each of her shoulders.

  “Dearest, dearest Mary Rose,” Gabe whispered behind her. “Oh, my darling…” His voice broke off as he choked on his own tears. “Our little one…”

  She turned to him, and in the moonlight studied his face, a portrait of grief. Behind them, frog song rose from the creek behind the newly rebuilt barn, and from the pasture beyond drifted the lowing of their few head of cattle.

  “I need you, Mary Rose,” Gabe said. “I can’t live without you…I can’t go on this way…”

  She let him gather her in his arms. But she was too empty inside to force her arms to wrap around him. After a moment, he pulled back. “Will you ever love me again?”

  “’Tis not a matter of love,” she whispered. “I love you still. I love you with my whole being.”

  “The marriage to Bronwyn is on paper only. I swear to you with all my heart’s blood that we both intend for it to remain that way unless…”

  “Unless…?”

  “Unless you give your permission.”

  “Permission?” She laughed as she stood, walked a few feet away from the garden, and, keeping her back to him, stared up into what should have been starry skies. But a mist had risen off the river, laced among the trees, and crept up the low hills. Now the moon seemed more shadowed than bright, and the stars slowly disappeared. “We’ve been over this before,” she said. “You know how I feel.”

  “How long,” Gabe said, walking toward her. “How long will you let this go on? Even the children have noticed that you barely speak to me.”

  She spun to face him. “How long?” She let another bitter laugh fall from her lips. “I suppose what I’m waiting for is another revelation from God that will turn our lives upside down again.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She stared at him. “Tell me again about celestial marriage and why it is important to the priesthood.”

  “Priests in good standing must take multiple wives. Not all Mormons, only a chosen few.”

  “And you’re one of the chosen?”

  He nodded. “I am a priest, just as all good Mormon men are, but I’m also a man working to become more godlike here on earth, and preparing for my own godhood in eternity. The more wives a man takes, the greater his place in eternity, the greater his blessings here on earth.”

  “Because you are working to become like God?” She’d tried to understand the Prophet’s teaching on this, but the sense of it still escaped her. Yes, she believed that Joseph Smith was God’s modern Prophet sent to restore the only rightful Church, the only way to salvation. He taught that those who called themselves Christians had corrupted Christ’s teachings. Even the original disciples and apostles had gotten it wrong.

  But to become like God? She didn’t remember much of what she’d learned at her mother’s knee, but something deep in her memory brought up an image of the serpent in the Garden who taunted Eve. “Just eat of this fruit, and you shall become like God…” She couldn’t remember the exact words, only that it was the serpent, not God, who invited Eve to become divine.

  Or was this one of the Bible stories the Prophet claimed was full of errors?

  Gabe seemed to study her with more interest than before. Had he guessed her blasphemous thoughts? “Not just me, Mary Rose. The Prophet’s teachings have to do with women’s roles. You will be a goddess.” He took her face between his hands and looked lovingly into her eyes. “One of the most beautiful revelations of our faith has to do with family.” His eyes were bright with passion, shining even in the moonlight. “Can you imagine, Mary Rose, that we are sealed throughout all eternity—not only the two of us and our children, but our children’s children and all of those to come?”

  He blinked back his tears. “Mary Rose,” he said softly. “Even our baby is sealed to us in heaven. He is not lost to us. When we die, he will be there waiting for his family to join him. He is alive. We will recognize him.” Silence fell again, and the frogs kicked up their singing and somewhere a mockingbird sang, answered by another farther away.

  “Don’t you see? Spiritual marriage has to do with family. Keeping us all together. Forever.”

  “And if a man has many wives, is he sealed to them all?”

  He nodded, his expression utterly sincere. “And to the children of that union,” he said, keeping his gaze on her.

  “And if a first wife disagrees?”

  He turned toward the river. “She can be tried as an apostate and excommunicated—which means she’s lost to us through all eternity. She’s lost to her family.” He stared into her eyes. “Should that happen to you, Mary Rose, you will never see our child. He will go to another mother.”

  Her heart throbbed at the thought. “Another of your wives.”

  “If you want to put it that way. Yes.”

  “Besides Bronwyn, then, you plan to take another?”

  “We don’t need to think about that now. We only need to consider our family as it is right now, including Bronwyn and Little Grace.”

  Mary Rose couldn’t get the image of her infant out of her mind. Her empty arms ached for him. When she weighed spending an eternity with or without him, she had to agree that her family meant everything to her, enough to make choices she might not otherwise consider.

  “You said that you and Bronwyn had agreed not to physically consummate the marriage.”

  “Unless you agree.”

  He walked over to her again and pulled her into his arms. “All I know is that I love you with all my heart, and the last thing I want to do is to hurt you. But so much is at stake here—not just for me, but for our whole family, the children under our care now, and those to come. And Bronwyn has now been sealed to us for eternity, as has been her daughter, Little Grace. We are all part of the same family.

  “So if you say no to our consummating our union, you are saying no to eternity—you are in essence breaking up the celestial family.” He placed his hands on either side of her face and lifted it so that she was forced to look into his eyes, now pale in the moonlight. “I love you more than you can ever know. But it is your decision. And whatever you decide, I will abide by it.”

  She swallowed hard as hot tears stung her eyes. How could she say yes to such a thing? How could this God she thought she knew require it of her? Could he be so cruel? Was it really his way to bring such heartache? She dropped her head into her hands and felt Gabe come up to stand behind her. Gently, he pulled her into his embrace and turned her so she faced him. His voice was gruff with emotion when he spoke.

  “I will not love you less if you agree to this,” he said. “I will love you more.”

  “How can that be, if it is Bronwyn who lies in your arms?” Her voice trembled and again the tears flowed. “How can you make love to her and still say you love me?”

  “Only by God’s strength am I able to do this. Think of the children that will come from my union with Bronwyn. They will be as much yours as hers. Sister wives share everything, including their husband’s love, the children they bear, and the home they create for their loved ones. Your blessings will increase, dearest, not decrease, if you say yes to my request…to our request.”

  “You are certain that Bronwyn wants this too?”

  “We have spoken of it, and yes, she agrees.”

  Mary Rose moved out of his arms and turned her back. How could she utter the words? Even her lips seemed unable to move to tell Gabe what he wanted to hear.

  Drawing in a deep, shuddering breath, she finally spoke: “If this truly is the Prophet’s revelation—and though I don’t like it, I trust that it is a true revelation from God…” She thought of her baby. Her sacrifice now on earth
would allow her to spend eternity with him. That was truly all that mattered.

  When she spoke again her voice was soft and ragged. “I give my permission.”

  Her eyes watered again and she turned away from Gabe, almost gasping for breath. This was too hard, the sacrifice too great.

  But it was for her child. An eternity spent with her baby.

  He gathered her close once again. “You don’t know how happy this makes me, Mary Rose,” he whispered into her hair. “We’ll all be together throughout eternity. We’ll know greater happiness here…and there…than we can possibly imagine.”

  He left her then and strode across the yard to the back door of the house.

  Minutes later, Bronwyn came to stand by her side beneath the starlit sky. “Are you sure, Mary Rose?”

  Mary Rose couldn’t look at her friend. She nodded and whispered, “Yes.”

  Bronwyn reached for her hand, but Mary Rose withdrew it. After a moment, she turned to look at Bronwyn.

  Her face was more beautiful than ever in the starlight. She wore a sweeping duster, delicate and feminine, apparently new, but Mary Rose didn’t want to ask how she came by it.

  She wept as she tried to give Mary Rose a quick embrace. But Mary Rose dropped her head and turned away. She heard the padding of soft footsteps move toward the back door.

  After the door closed, she turned and imagined Bronwyn climbing the stairs, imagined how fast Gabe’s heart beat as he waited for her. It didn’t surprise her when a lamp went on in his bedroom.

  Long minutes later, soft sounds of their lovemaking drifted downward from the still-open window to the garden.

  Tears streamed down Mary Rose’s face and she turned once more to the baby’s grave and bowed her head. “God of my childhood,” she wept. “I don’t know what to do with my heartache. I don’t even know how to pray. I don’t know what is right and what is wrong. How can this be love? How can this be your will when it hurts so deeply?”