The Betrayal

by Diane Noble

  “He felt an obligation, perhaps, to her because of their past, and because she’d come so far to find him. And then there’s the prophet’s unrelenting admonition about the hereafter. He practically walked Gabe down the aisle himself to marry Sister Enid.”

  For a moment, the only sound in the room was the crackling fire and the slow, steady ticking of pendulum on the mantel.

  “The other thing is this,” Cordelia said, her gaze on Mary Rose. “He’s never quite gotten over his love for you.”

  Mary Rose turned to the older woman, her eyes brimming. “It’s too late,” she whispered. “Whether he has or hasn’t, it’s too late for us.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Gabe sat with Enid on a settee in front of the fire in the town house they’d moved into only weeks before. Her conversation was lively, but as happened so often, his mind drifted to other topics. Some nights it was the building of the temple, ideas for the layout of the city, his growing friendship with Brother Brigham, or most often, how much he missed his family, especially the children. Truth be told, sometimes he ached for a loving word from Mary Rose. Or the coquettish way Bronwyn glanced at him from beneath her long lashes. He missed their laughter and chatter when talking with Cordelia. The ranch home was full of light it seemed, light and laughter and song.

  But those weren’t the thoughts whirling through his mind tonight. No, tonight his thoughts had zeroed in on another disturbing conversation he’d had with Brother Foley. As Enid talked about her plans for the clinic, he remembered another of the lists that Foley handed him from time to time. He’d tucked the latest one in his new desk, without reading it. He wondered about the names that might be included.

  Now the folded paper drew his mind like a magnet. But he said nothing to Enid. He considered the premonition he had about this one. There had been something dark in Brother Foley’s eyes when he handed it to Gabe. Though eager to get to it, he decided to wait until he was alone. Even that was strange. Did he not trust Enid?

  He turned to her, pretending to give her his full attention as she went into detail about the clinic. He’d known her since they were children. They’d made love when they were teenagers. She’d borne his child . . . and then kept it a secret from him. And from her husband, the best friend he’d ever had. That secret had destroyed their friendship. Perhaps, it had also caused her husband’s death.

  Secrets. It seemed she was good at keeping them. Still, he decided to wait.

  “Are you all right?” Enid touched his cheek with gentle and loving fingers. “You look pale, my darling.”

  He caught her hand in his, drew her palm to his lips, and kissed it. “I just have a lot on my mind.”

  She gave him a sweet smile. “I know something that will turn your thoughts in an entirely different direction.” She blushed and laughed lightly. “Though maybe my words are too bold for a proper lady to speak.”

  He laughed with her. “You’ve always been a lady,” he said, “even when riding along the ocean’s edge barefoot with your hair streaming wild and free. Even then you were a lady.”

  She looked pleased that he remembered. “We always did love each other, didn’t we?” she said, almost childlike.

  He kissed her hand again. “We did. And no one can take that away from us.”

  “Why should they try?” She frowned. “Do you know something I don’t?”

  He pulled her into an embrace. “It was a figure of speech, that’s all.” He stroked her lovely hair, and said, “Go on up to bed. I’ll be there soon. I have some business to attend to first.”

  She went to the stairs, turned and looked back at him. “Sometimes it seems . . .” She halted, frowning. “It seems as though I don’t have all of you. I don’t have all your heart, even though I was your first love.”

  You don’t have all of my heart, he wanted to say. You can’t have all of my heart. You knew that when we married. You are my third wife, even though you try to be first. You will never be. It is our way. When you married me, you agreed to our way of living.

  But he said none of what he felt. Instead, he smiled. “You were indeed my first love. You have my love now. That will have to be enough.”

  She read between the lines. He could see it in her face. With her lips pressed together, Enid turned with a slight toss of the head, and made her way up the dark stairs, holding the kerosene oil lamp in front of her.

  As soon as Enid had gone, Gabe went to the mahogany Chippendale-style desk that Brother Chamberlain had delivered the previous day. The matching chair was exquisite and more comfortable than it looked. Enid had struck up a friendship with the cabinetmaker on the trek from Winter Quarters and insisted that he make the desk and chair as a wedding gift to Gabe once his cabinet shop was completed. It was to be followed by six more chairs and a dining table. She said all this would enhance his standing in the community, especially within the hierarchy of the Church.

  He hadn’t realized until now how much he missed the ranch house, its plain furnishings and, most of all, its occupants.

  He unlocked the side drawer and drew out the paper. He unfolded it, and held it close to the candlelight. His gaze landed on the first name, and his stomach lurched as though he’d been struck.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I know those two are up to something, Gabe. They hush their voices when I enter the room—on those rare occasions that I’m actually invited to be in the same house, that is.” Enid gave a bitter laugh. “Which is very seldom. Not that I mind.” But of course Gabe knew she did.

  Working at his desk, Gabe returned his pen to the inkwell and settled back in his chair. “I’m sure it’s nothing nefarious, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He turned back to his plans for Temple Square, dipped his pen in the inkwell, and continued writing. The list weighed on his mind, but Brigham was expecting the latest addition to his plans by this afternoon. He would think about the disturbing implications later. It was difficult enough to try to concentrate with Enid vying for his attention.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to go with me?” She stood and went to the window, pulled the floor-length lace curtain back, and peered out at Brigham’s house across the street. “It’s a beautiful day. I can pack a lunch, and we can stop on the way back from the Websters’. My time there shouldn’t take long. I just need to check on the purple calf that was born with two heads.”

  Gabe grunted something unintelligible as he went back to the plans for the temple. “You go ahead, dear. I need to finish this.”

  “You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?”

  He chuckled and glanced up again. “About the purple calf? Or the two heads the poor thing must stumble around with for the rest of its life?”

  Her lower lip protruded. It was an expression he never thought he’d see on Enid’s face. Strength, yes. Stubbornness, yes. Sorrow, maybe. But petulance? Never.

  “I’m being nettlesome, aren’t I?”

  “I have been busy lately. I know you may feel ignored.”

  “I miss you.” She walked over to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been spending a lot of time at the other house.”

  “They need me too.” He pulled her down to his lap and circled his arm around her waist. “You knew what you were getting into when you agreed to marry me.” He lifted her hand and kissed it tenderly. “Besides, I shouldn’t be away from the children too long. I don’t want them growing up thinking they don’t have a father.”

  The word “children” fell like a stone between them. Enid stood and went to the window again, turning her back to Gabe. “Do you blame me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Because there are no children here. I know you expected me to be with child by now. Truly, I thought I would be too. I so hoped that . . .” Images of the baby she lost so many years ago came back to her. The pain, the blood, the shame, the hope that it would bring Gabe back to her . . . it had been his baby too. Only he hadn’t known.

  He stood and cam
e over to her. Pulling her close, he said, “I know what you’re thinking, but we can’t allow our sin to make us feel that God is punishing us for what happened.”

  She pulled back and stared up at him. “Sin? Punishment? I wasn’t thinking that at all. I’m concerned I might not be able to have children because of what it did to my body.” She blushed, talking about such things, but it didn’t stop her from barreling on. “Hosea and I tried, as you know”—her cheeks flamed again— “and something prevented me from conceiving. I always thought it was because of . . . our baby.”

  Tears stung her eyes, but she didn’t want to weep in front of Gabe. His other wives might cry, but she was the strong one, the one he could depend on. She pushed the pain back, the memories of the tiny, perfectly formed baby that died. “Don’t ever mention sin and guilt to me again,” she said, her voice steely.

  “I didn’t mention guilt.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  He shook his head.

  She thought about it for a moment, and then said, “Maybe you didn’t, but it’s what you meant.” Her tone grew louder. “ ‘Guilt’ is right up there with ‘sin’ and ‘punishment’ in your religious lexicon. And they all point to me.”

  He turned pale but said nothing, and he didn’t try to stop her when she ran for the door, pushed her way out, and headed to the stable at the rear of the house. Within minutes, she mounted Empress, the big roan she favored, and took off like the wind.

  Gabe agonized over the edict he had received from Brother Foley. He wondered if Brigham knew of it. He dropped his head into his hands, thinking of the document he was about to sign.

  Did he have a choice?

  Would he be run out of the priesthood if he refused?

  He read the edict again, staring hard at the twins’ names and the name of the man he would pledge them to in marriage. Together, the day they turned fourteen, they would go to him, one of the eldest apostles in the Church, a man who seemed to be gathering brides, present and future, the youngest and prettiest, like pearls on a string.

  His eyes blurred, and he drew out his handkerchief and rubbed them dry. Then he lifted his pen from the inkwell.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sitting at her desk in her upstairs bedroom, Mary Rose reached for her journal and leafed through the pages, stopping at an entry made just days after the wagon company left Nauvoo.

  On the trail out of Nauvoo

  February 18, 1846

  God answers sharp and sudden on some prayers,

  And thrusts the thing we have prayed for in our face,

  A gauntlet with a gift in it.

  —Elizabeth B. B.

  She smiled, remembering the night she penned the quotation. It had been an exceptionally trying day, physically and emotionally. Enid shouted commands to Mary Rose and Bronwyn as though she, not Gabe, were captain of the wagon train. That night Mary Rose had prayed for patience, hoping that God would somehow muzzle the woman’s mouth. But instead, it seemed the very thing she prayed for had been thrust in her face—in the form of Enid Livingstone, who let it be known to neighbors, friends, and anyone else who would listen that she was to become Gabe’s third wife. Not only that, but move up to the position of first wife. Mary Rose sighed, remembering her reaction. Seething was too kind a word.

  Maybe God had answered her prayer. Maybe she was mellowing. Whatever it was, she was actually beginning to warm toward Enid, and to understand her better.

  She bent closer to the journal and began to read. . .

  We made only two miles today, walking miles, not riding miles, through drifts of knee-deep snow. The youngest rode in the wagon with Cordelia. Coal and the twins climbed in and jumped out making snow angels and snowmen until Enid, who seems not to have the patience she needs with children, got after them and said she didn’t want to hear a peep out of them for the rest of the day. That’s like telling the sun not to shine. We are all too weary to sit her down and tell her how she might be better accepted by us all.

  Love. Respect. Humor. Acceptance. If she would but act on those four little words and extend some good will to all, she might find life easier. But with her airs and ways, I don’t think we’ll see much change. She’s set her cap for Gabe, and that’s all that matters.

  In spite of her rigid ways, the children are taking to her quite well. Little Grace loves her most of all. I think it’s because she has a way with horses that seems almost magical. Bronwyn says nothing about her daughter’s attachment to Enid, but I can tell she is bothered by it.

  Tomorrow, Gabe tells us, we will drop in elevation. It will be difficult for the wagons and wagoneers, but we will see milder weather soon.

  We are hungry and cold, but I worry more about the children than I do about the adults in the family.

  Mary Rose stood and walked to the window, gazed out at the wide sweep of desert, the red, sandy soil, the forested mountains in the background. The ranch was near a seasonal stream, so she and Bronwyn had already planted a vegetable garden. One crop had been harvested, and just two weeks ago they’d planted a second. The seedlings popped through the soil days earlier. For a few minutes, she watched as Bronwyn kneeled in front of a row of beets, plucking weeds.

  The rumble of an approaching carriage carried on the wind, and Mary Rose looked toward the sound. Gabe, riding in a fancy carriage—no doubt the one Enid spoke of earlier—halted his team in front of the house.

  Bronwyn stood when she saw him, and Mary Rose saw her blush. Gabe said a few words and they laughed together, and then he touched her arm as if sharing an intimate thought, turned, and headed up the side-porch steps and into the house.

  Bronwyn again knelt in the garden, and it seemed to Mary Rose her cheeks still held high color. Although, it might have been the play of sunset that turned her golden.

  Downstairs, Gabe’s laughter mixed with that of the children. As the sun began to make its descent, she sat down at the writing desk and lit the kerosene lamp. She dipped her pen in the inkwell and began to write.

  Purple Sage Ranch, The Great Salt Lake

  April 17, 1848

  Girls blush, sometimes, because they are alive,

  half wishing they were dead to save the shame.

  The sudden blush devours them, neck and brow;

  They have drawn too near the fire of life, like gnats,

  and flare up bodily, wings and all.

  What then? Who’s sorry for a gnat or girl?

  —Elizabeth B. B.

  Bronwyn and Gabe occupy my thoughts far too often. Is it because I love them both? Is it because I see beyond the shell of Gabe’s heart and know a great and lonely abyss resides there? I fear that Bronwyn, though still holding herself back from him, will ultimately give in. I warned her once—and she didn’t heed my words—that I hoped I could save her from falling in love with him, and he with her, by giving my permission for him to take a third wife, Enid.

  Love? Is that what Bronwyn feels? I cannot know for certain. Perhaps my dearest friend, drawn as she is to him, convinced of his desire for her, cannot tell the difference. She has drawn too near the fire, and I fear that she too might flare up bodily, wings and all.

  But what will happen once she gives in . . . the same that’s happened to me? Love lost. A soul bereft.

  I can’t help that I still love him. I will tell no one, not even Cordelia, though sometimes I think she knows my heart better than I do. If my dearest friend were anyone else but Bronwyn, I would tell her. I would ask her advice about winning his heart again.

  But that is fantasy built on listening to too many fairy tales when I was a child.

  As for Gabe, he seems driven by desires for power, for love—or perhaps adoration—from all his wives. But which of us does he truly love? Or is he driven to reach still further and further for things he cannot have because he can’t live with himself? Because he can’t admit that what he’d led us all into is a sham?

  And because he’s in too deep to get us safely out.

&nbs
p; Or is he aware of the danger we face, every last one of us? And that, like the warning of distant thunder before a storm, the power of those who rule us with God-given authority grows stronger. They bind us with fear, real and imagined.

  Whispers of blood atonement echo across this bleak valley and soon will become shouts.

  Am I alone in this fear of those who say they want to protect us, who say they want to see us into the highest reaches of heaven, happy on earth, and happier in heaven?

  My heart breaks at the thought of harm coming to any, but the greater danger will come if we stay. We make our plans, Cordelia, Bronwyn, and I. We will bide our time, and when it is right we will take with us our beloved Little Grace, Ruby, Pearl, Joey, and Spence.

  It’s time to flee . . . but will we have the courage?

  One thought haunts me . . . can Bronwyn leave Gabe?

  Can I?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Bronwyn knelt in the vegetable garden just behind the farmhouse, plucking weeds and breathing in the scent of the damp soil. It was dusk, and the children were inside the house with Gabe and Mary Rose. Lamplight glowed through the windows, and the music of their laughter floated toward her. Ruby and Pearl had their fiddles out, showing off a song Sister Sarah Riordan taught them the week before: “Three Blind Mice.” They had squawked it out at least a dozen times in the last hour, and now Little Grace was begging for them to teach her.

  Sister Sarah, who rode out to visit the MacKay farm nearly every day, learned to play the fiddle from Brother Hyrum’s newest bride, a pretty young woman with dark ringlets and large violet eyes named Naomi, who’d told everyone she’d played professionally in Boston. Sarah whispered to Bronwyn on one of her visits that Naomi spent much time crying in her bedroom and playing the violin at the same time, just like Sarah did the first year she was married to the elderly apostle—only Sarah didn’t have a fiddle.