The Betrayal

by Diane Noble

  Hosea touched her tears with his fingertips. “I love you,” he repeated, and then he fell from the cliff backward, down . . . down . . . down . . . until he was swallowed by the ocean.

  His eyes held hers even from beneath the ocean’s surface. Their color, so like that of the sea with flecks of sunlight dancing on its surface, aquamarine with a scattering of jewels. How could she ever forget those eyes, so full of love they made her want to weep?

  “Hosea!” she cried. “Wait for me . . .”

  She jumped. . .

  Slowly, she became aware of a hand touching her shoulder, and a voice . . . “Enid . . .” Shaking herself out of the dream, she opened her eyes. It was Gabe.

  “You were dreaming,” he said.

  She reached for his hand. “I know. Thank you for waking me. It was . . .” She tried to grab snatches of it before it disappeared like smoke into thin air. “Hosea. You and Hosea were in the dream. You ran away, and Hosea jumped into the sea. He was drowning again, Gabe.” She started to cry.

  Gabe sat beside her on the bed, and then reached down to gather her into his arms. He gently cuddled her closer.

  “You called his name,” he said. “You said you wanted him to wait for you.”

  She nodded, taking comfort in the warmth of Gabe’s shirt against her cheek. “You ran from us, though you shouted out a warning that we were in danger. You said a storm was brewing and moving fast toward us. I could see it coming, Gabe. It was dark and terrible. I knew it had something to do with losing both of you.”

  He tightened his arms around her. “You’re safe now,” he said. “You’ll never lose me again.”

  She pulled back and tried to study his face, but the room was too dark. Even so, she remembered him in the dream and considered the child he once was, the man he’d become.

  “How did we end up here?” she whispered. “You filled my dream as a child, then suddenly you were half boy and half man, and now you are fully the man you were destined to become.”

  She reached up and traced the side of his face, moving her fingers along his jaw. “What happened to the laughter, the innocence, the friendship between us? Between you and Hosea?” Her eyes filled. “This is a place of competition. Men competing to climb the ladder of Church hierarchy, women competing for the love of one man married to many wives.

  “And the doctrine,” she said. “I’ve tried to understand. I know there are times when I’m just being plain stubborn, but then there are those other times when I truly want to believe. But when a man—a man I consider fallible—speaks for God, tells everyone under his power that God says the more wives you take, the greater your place in heaven . . .”

  “You knew about our doctrine when you said—”

  She covered his lips with her fingertips. “I don’t want to hear that again. Or how the Old Testament prophets, even King David himself, had harems full of wives. It can’t be God’s best for us. I wonder if it wasn’t his best for the prophets of old either.” She fell silent as the owl hooted softly again in the distance. “There’s so much we’re missing . . . I can’t pinpoint it, but what we’re doing, how we’re living . . . doesn’t feel right for many reasons.”

  “This is a harsh place,” Gabe said. “The rules are different out here—for everyone, not just the Mormons.”

  “As Cordelia would say, ‘hogwash!’ ” She fell silent. Downstairs the mantel clock chimed two in the morning.

  “I need to go,” he said after a few minutes. “I—I have a meeting . . .”

  “This late?”

  He stood. “Yes, it’s Church business. I’m sorry.” He turned abruptly, and headed through the doorway.

  “Gabe,” she called after him. “Wait . . .” She swung her legs out of bed and ran to the top of the stairs. “Where are you going?”

  The door closed with a thud. Minutes later, she heard the low murmur of men’s voices in the street below her bedroom window. She ran to look, pulled back the curtain, and watched as a posse of men on horseback thundered down the road leading from town.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  At first light, Bronwyn pulled a sheet of paper from a small desk by the front window, dipped a pen in the inkwell, and wrote. . .

  Dear Mary Rose,

  I made an upsetting discovery last night in the garden and believe our family is in danger. I will explain later. You, Cordelia, and the children must remain inside with the doors and windows locked. Give the Hawken to Cordelia—I know she’s still a crack shot and will protect you, should anyone threaten your safety.

  I will bring help.

  B.

  She folded the paper and left it on the bottom step of the staircase, where Mary Rose was certain to see it. Heart pounding and anxious to be on her way, she waited until she was certain Mary Rose or Cordelia was stirring upstairs.

  Then she grabbed Gabe’s pistol, dropped it into her satchel, and ran for the door. She didn’t bother to saddle the roan, and once mounted, rode like the wind toward town. She passed no living soul, and shuddered at her vulnerability should she meet up with those who might cause her harm.

  The sun rose just as she arrived in town, and people began to mill about, crossing the road in front of her, chatting as they cleaned horse dung from the streets or swept walkways. A buggy rumbled by, and then a few men on horseback, looking at her curiously, bareback and without a male escort this early in the morning.

  She slowed the horse.

  Gabe’s town house, directly across from Brigham’s imposing home, loomed in front of her. The jitters started again, and by the time she slid from the horse to secure the roan to a hitching post near the picket gate, her knees had turned to liquid and she was trembling like a sycamore leaf in a windstorm.

  Though the sun had risen, the front of the handsome two-story house was shaded by two tall trees that flanked the walkway. A single light still glowed in a downstairs window.

  She opened the gate, gathered her courage, and headed toward the front door. With each step, her mind whirled with all that had happened the evening before: Gabe’s warnings and advances, the discovery in her garden, and now, standing outside the house where Gabe lived with Enid.

  She knocked, and heard footsteps approach from the other side. A moment later, Gabe stood there, staring at her, his surprise obvious.

  Her mouth went dry. The horror of the corpse she’d seen in that split second, the stench, the sense of danger, threatened to overwhelm her.

  “Gabe . . .” The word came out as a shaky cry. She brought her hand to her mouth as her stomach roiled again, and her eyes filled with tears.

  She blinked rapidly, and willed her knees to stop trembling. “I need your help. It’s serious. Please . . .”

  He opened his arms to her, and she fell into them. No matter what had transpired between them the night before, she needed to feel their strength. “Tell me what happened,” he said, resting his cheek on the top of her head.

  “I-I found a corpse . . . in the garden.” She pictured the sight and her stomach roiled again. “Last night . . . after you left.”

  “I’ll go back with you. Come in while I get my things.”

  She stepped inside and waited in the foyer, the parlor on one side, the dining room opposite. Even in her panic, she couldn’t help noticing the fine furnishings, the Chippendale furniture, the Persian rugs. The fine desk with a cut-glass lamp burning near where Gabe had obviously been working.

  Gabe returned in a heartbeat, clomping down the stairs in his hurry. He went to the desk, whisked away the papers he’d been writing, placed them in a side drawer, locked it, and dropped the key in his vest pocket.

  “Tell me about the children,” he said, when he’d finished. “And Mary Rose?”

  “When I left, the children . . . everyone . . . was fine.” She stepped toward him. “I think it was human remains, but once the stench hit me, I dropped the cover. I didn’t see much. But the smell . . .” She stepped closer to him, swiping at her tears. “Something is
wrong. I can feel it. You told me last night that I’m being watched, that I’ve put our family in a dangerous position because I’m outspoken. Is this the next step for those who are watching?”

  His eyes again took on the warmth and affection she was used to seeing in them. “I should have stayed last night. I—I knew, from talk around, that our family, you especially, might be in danger.” He shook his head. “I had to take care of some other serious business during the night. I’ll ride back with you . . . we’ll get to the bottom of this, find out what it is and who did it.” He fell silent for a moment, staring through the window toward Brigham Young’s house, now bathed in the light of the early morning sun.

  “Shouldn’t we call the police, the proper authorities?”

  For a moment he didn’t speak. Then he said, “Of course, we will. But I want to have a look first. You said you weren’t even sure the remains are human.”

  “Gabe, I’m scared, especially after what you told me last night. You tried to get me to leave with you. Now I understand why . . .”

  He came back to her and pulled her into his arms again. “You’re trembling.”

  “Of course she is, Gabe.”

  Bronwyn stepped back from Gabe’s embrace as Enid descended the stairs. She was still in nightclothes, a rather immodest gauzy gown covered with a lacy duster. Her hair was pulled back and tied with a matching satin ribbon. All, a pale green that brought out the color of her eyes and set off her red hair. She looked lovely in the morning light.

  She heard Gabe’s quick intake of breath, but could not tell if it was from the ravishing beauty of his third bride or from the fact that she’d caught them in a tender embrace.

  “I couldn’t help overhearing,” she said, “and I agree with Gabe. Let’s not let the authorities know anything about this until we investigate it ourselves.”

  Bronwyn tilted her head. Investigate it ourselves?

  She frowned as Enid walked toward her, her filmy nightclothes billowing as she walked. “Part of my training in veterinary medicine included physiology and forensics. I want to have a look before we turn the police loose to investigate.”

  Bronwyn glanced from Enid to Gabe then back to Enid. This all seemed too easy, too pat. Her heart raced just a bit. Could she trust them?

  Enid didn’t seem the least bit perturbed to find Bronwyn in Gabe’s arms, his head resting on hers.

  The horror of her discovery washed over her again, and Bronwyn felt her knees threaten to give way beneath her. Gabe came to her side in an instant, caught her, and in another instant, Enid stepped to her other side.

  They helped her to a wingchair, and eased her down. Enid instructed her to put her head between her knees. Bronwyn did as bade, felt blood return to her head and her strength return, and looked up, still shaking but wary.

  Enid peered into her face. “Poor dear, you probably haven’t had a thing to eat this morning. Let me fix something for you—hot cocoa? Tea?”

  “My family . . . I—I can’t be away any longer. They need me. Thank you, but I must go.” She looked at Gabe, wondering if she’d made the right decision to come for him. In her fear, in her panic, had she run to the wrong person for help?

  “You can stay here, if you’d like to rest,” Enid said. “You’re pale as a ghost.”

  “No, really. I’m all right. Please do come by this afternoon. I’m curious about what you might find.”

  A few minutes later, Gabe helped Bronwyn onto the wagon bench, climbed up to sit next to her, and then chirked to the horse. They had traveled only a short way, when Bronwyn touched Gabe’s hand. “Can you tell me what’s going on? You both know something . . . you’ve found out something you’re keeping from me. Does Enid have anything to do with this?”

  He kept his eyes forward.

  Her heart pounded. “Gabe, what is it?”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The flat, arid landscape shone white in the morning sun, except where long shadows of trees crossed the trail. The wavelets on the lake sparkled like a thousand jewels, almost blinding in their intensity. The sun was at an angle that struck Gabe and Bronwyn in the face. Gabe pulled his hat low to shade his forehead, but Bronwyn had left the ranch so early she hadn’t thought to bring even a poke bonnet. She shaded her eyes with her hand. Without a word, Gabe glanced over, removed his hat, and handed it to her. She smiled to herself. It took a lot for Gabe to give up his hat.

  They rode along in silence for several minutes. Finally, Gabe turned to her. “There are things I know but can’t speak of,” he said. “Please don’t ask me to tell you what they are. Trust me that they have nothing to do with your discovery.”

  “Trust you?” She almost laughed. “After what you attempted last night?”

  “I spoke from my heart . . . about wanting to complete our marriage, wanting some time with you. Alone.” He glanced at her, and she felt her cheeks warm. “You can choose to believe me or not.”

  “We settled that last night,” she said.

  “Yes, we did.”

  “What I found in the garden,” she said, “was placed there on purpose.”

  “I fear you may be right.” He flicked the reins over the back of the horse.

  “So you can tell me that much.”

  “It’s obvious. We don’t need a crystal ball.” He glanced at her again, but this time shot her a half-grin. “Bodies don’t bury themselves, especially under a couple of pieces of wood.”

  “Think how it looks to me, Gabe. First you attempt every way possible to put me in an isolated place where I can’t be near family.”

  “That’s not at all what I proposed to you.” He gave her an incredulous look as he swept his hand through his hair. “I wanted to give us some time to be alone and build a life together. You make it sound like I wanted to throw you in jail.”

  She turned on the wagon bench so that she partially faced him. “You can’t deny that someone wants me to leave this place even if they have to scare me away. Is it Enid?”

  He blinked and gave her a sharp look. “Enid?”

  “She’s made it clear that she would like you all to herself.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “No, I can tell you, it’s not Enid.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  His voice softened. “I know her.”

  “Someone wants me to leave.”

  He drew the horse to a halt and reached for the brake. The wagon rumbled to a stop, and a cloud of dust rose behind them.

  “Look, if someone wanted to scare you into leaving with me, why didn’t he—or she”—he rolled his eyes—“just throw the body, human or animal, at the front door? Or leave it on top of the cabbages in the garden?” He raked his hair with his fingers again.

  “No,” he said. “No one is trying to frighten you into going with me to an outlying settlement, if that’s what you think. What I offered you last night—a home of our own, first to occupy as husband and wife—was to make up for all the time lost when we should have been together. Then, to bring our children and create a new family unit, perhaps to become leaders south of here. We might have had that chance.”

  He reached for her hand. “The place is growing. Thousands of Saints are arriving each week from the east. You know that is true. Brigham has a dream, a dream that our people will settle the entire territory—from here all the way into California.

  “He wanted me to be his representative, a leader with his mandate to make decisions on his behalf.”

  “You said ‘wanted’ instead of ‘wants.’ ”

  “I met with the prophet last night and told him I couldn’t do it.” He kissed her fingertips. “And you needn’t worry. I told him it was my decision, not yours. I could have taken Enid, and made up a logical reason for it, but I don’t want to leave you or the children.”

  “What about Mary Rose?”

  He turned to look out over the horizon, and she followed his gaze to the lake in the distance, the mountains behind, the azure cloudless sky.


  “Ah yes, Mary Rose,” he said, his voice husky. “She’s another story . . .” Without another word, he flicked the reins, and they started on their way again.

  As they rumbled along, Bronwyn couldn’t help noticing the way he worked his jaw as they rode. He’d made his proposal and the aftermath sound so reasonable. Trust him, he’d said, and then he’d looked at her with that way he had, as if straight through to her heart. But, could she?

  He said there were things he couldn’t tell her. What were they? And why not?

  Little Grace raced to Bronwyn as soon as she stepped through the door. She was getting too big to lift these days, but Bronwyn swept her daughter into her arms anyway, hugging her close. Joey raced around the corner and grabbed her legs. “Mommy, Mommy!” he said, looking up at her. “Something bad’s in our garden. Mother Mary Rose didn’t let us go out to play.” He stuck his lower lip out.

  Bronwyn stooped and gathered him close. “Father will take care of it. And Mother Enid will be here shortly too.”

  The twins tromped down the stairs, and it seemed the entire house shook with the noise.

  Gabe came in from the barn and, stooping down, opened his arms. The little ones reached him first, Joey looking up at him with adoration, Spence nuzzling under his arm. Little Grace was next and gave him a tight hug around the neck. The twins came around the corner, smiles lighting their faces as soon as they saw him.

  They all started talking at once, and Gabe threw back his head and laughed. “One at a time. We’ll start with the youngest.”

  Bronwyn kept looking toward the window, waiting for Enid to arrive so they could get through the dreadful task ahead. But she was grateful for Gabe keeping the children happy and occupied while they waited.

  The look of him playing with the children made her heart ache, made it seem that what she and Gabe felt for each other was natural and right, and that she could trust him—just as the children did.

  Then she noticed Mary Rose standing back, away from the others. The smiling mask that Mary Rose most often kept in place lifted for a heartbeat. In the second, Bronwyn saw clearly her deep pain . . . and longing. Not a passionate longing. But a patient and enduring longing. Just as quickly as it appeared, it faded.