The Betrayal

by Diane Noble

  “Me,” Spence yelled.

  “No, me,” Joey yelled louder.

  Gabe hugged them and set them on the ground. “Okay, since we can’t decide, we’ll start with the oldest.”

  “My brudder is the youngest,” Spence said, letting out an exaggerated sigh.

  Joey looked around to see if he had everyone’s attention. “Well,” he said, “last night a boogie man came and left something bad in our garden. Grandmother Cordelia told me so this morning.”

  “A boogie man?” Gabe glanced at Cordelia, who rolled her eyes.

  The children continued with their chattering, Gabe now the center of attention. Bronwyn nodded her thanks to him, and then motioned Mary Rose and Cordelia to follow her outside.

  When they were out of earshot of the family, she told them what she’d discovered the night before.

  “I knew it must be bad,” Cordelia said, “for you to leave all of a sudden like you did.”

  “I stayed until dawn when I heard you moving around upstairs.”

  “I figured as much,” Cordelia said, “but you should have come in to wake me. I would’ve sat watch with you.”

  Bronwyn gave the older woman a hug. “You needed your sleep. Besides, we all are going to need our wits about us. Gabe told me last night—before the gruesome discovery—that I’ve been too outspoken. The word is getting around.”

  “We all have been,” Mary Rose said. “I don’t think you’ve said things more pointed than Cordelia or I.”

  “You weren’t at the quilting bee,” the older woman said, laughing. “I’ve never seen eyebrows raised so high—and on some who are the wives of Brother Brigham.” She shook her head slowly. “Best laugh I’ve had in months.”

  “Enid has studied forensics and physiology,” Bronwyn said. “She’s coming by to see if she can determine what caused the death—if they’re human remains.”

  “I’d say she should determine it even if they aren’t human.” Cordelia gave them an intense look. “If someone’s trying to scare us with a dead pig or deer or something, what it is will tell us a lot. Also, we should do a count of our own livestock. I bet you buttons to biscuits it’s one of our own. I once heard about a rancher who woke up one morning to find that somebody who didn’t like him cut off the head of his prize pig and left it on the porch. The poor thing had been like a family pet. They’d named him Jesse, and it like to broke their hearts.”

  Mary Rose shuddered and held up one hand. “Let hope it’s not as dire as that.”

  In the distance a cloud of dust rose from the horizon . . . a horse heading toward them at a gallop.

  “It’s Enid,” Mary Rose said, shading her eyes. “I’m glad she’s coming.”

  As soon as Enid rode in, Cordelia went back into the house to keep the children away from the windows. Gabe stepped outside, and Mary Rose and Bronwyn exchanged worried glances.

  “This isn’t going to be pretty,” Enid said. “Are you certain you want to stay and watch?”

  “Yes,” Bronwyn said, lifting her chin to look braver than she felt.

  Mary Rose drew a breath and nodded. “I’m ready. Let’s do it.”

  Gabe led the way. He studied the wood for a moment. “It’s an old door. It probably was brought from Nauvoo.”

  “Maybe traceable,” Bronwyn murmured, mostly to herself.

  He put his gloved hands underneath an end of the door. The women each took a side, and moved the heavy wood to one side of a shallow grave.

  Again, an overpowering stench filled the air.

  Bronwyn turned her head away. She noticed Mary Rose had done the same and stepped back, her complexion sallow.

  Bronwyn’s curiosity overcame her revulsion. She stepped closer, and her heart constricted. The shape of the head, the arms, hands, fingers. “It’s human,” she said. Unable to stand the condition of the body, she looked away as Enid bent closer.

  “A young man, maybe five feet tall,” Enid said, “and I believe he’s been dead at least two weeks, judging from the temperature, weather conditions, and the rate of decay.”

  Bronwyn felt bile rise in her throat again and, turning away from the sight, breathed deeply in an attempt to calm her stomach. “Cause of death? Is there any sign?”

  She turned to look back just in time to see Enid and Gabe exchange glances. Enid had gone entirely white.

  For a moment neither of them spoke, then Gabe said, “The boy’s throat was slit.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Bronwyn climbed the stairs, weary from her all-night vigil. Cordelia had retired to her bedroom for an afternoon nap, and Mary Rose had gone to hers to write in her journal. The children were downstairs with Gabe. He read a book of nursery rhymes to Joey and Spence, both sitting on his lap, and the twins giggled over a boy they’d met the Sunday before at the meetinghouse.

  She gave Mary Rose’s door a quick rap, and when bidden to come in, opened it and entered. Mary Rose sat at her desk, her journal open before her. She turned and smiled softly as Bronwyn came over to sit beside her.

  “I’ve been thinking about the boy in the garden,” Bronwyn said, “and a mother someplace who’s missing her son. A father too, and maybe some brothers and sisters. A grandmother or grandfather.”

  “The boy in the garden.” Mary Rose searched Bronwyn’s face. “I haven’t wanted to think about this, or even consider it, but are we certain it’s not Coal?” Her eyes filled and she reached for her handkerchief. “You got a better look at him than I did . . . could you make out his features?”

  The boy’s image flashed before Bronwyn and she closed her eyes briefly to keep the memory of his face, the stench of the rotting flesh, from making her sick again. She didn’t want to tell Mary Rose about the swelling, the condition of the tissue.

  “I wondered the same thing,” she said, “though I didn’t want to say it for fear that might make it real.” She reached into a pocket and pulled out a small cloth packet. She unwrapped it and held it out for Mary Rose to see. Inside were the squares of cloth from the boy’s trousers and shirt and a strand of hair.

  Mary Rose took the cloth from Bronwyn’s hands almost reverently. “It’s the wrong color,” she said. “The hair, I mean. He could have been wearing different clothes—if by some miracle he followed us here. But he couldn’t have changed his hair color.”

  “Coal’s corn-silk hair is as shiny and bright as the rising sun,” Bronwyn said, picturing the boy. “And this is dark brown and curly. I think if we held it in the sun, it might have an amber tint.” She held it to the window, and smiled. “It does. Look at this.” Still turning the small curl, she said, “I wonder what his mother thought the first time she saw those curls in the sun. I bet she tousled those curls the way we used to tousle Coal’s hair.”

  She paused, staring at the piece of hair and thinking about Coal. “I want to find her and talk with her.” She looked up at Mary Rose. “Our escape . . .”

  Mary Rose moved closer and nodded. “It’s more important now than ever. The danger is greater than we thought.”

  “I can’t leave,” Bronwyn said. “But I want you to take the children and meet the wagon train as we’d planned.”

  “You surely know I won’t allow it—allow you to stay here in the midst of danger.”

  “We need to get the children out.” Bronwyn stood and went to the window, pulled the curtain back, and looked out. “This was a young man. A boy, really. Enid said probably no more than fourteen. Possibly as young as thirteen.”

  “Coal’s age.”

  The hot sting of tears threatened, and she swallowed hard. “I know.”

  She turned back to Mary Rose. “Put that together with the teaching of blood atonement, the rise of the Danites, and a ritualistic throat cutting . . . and what do you get?”

  “I get that we must leave, all of us. As soon as we can make arrangements.”

  “I have reason to suspect that Gabe is caught up in this somehow.”

  Mary Rose blanched. “No, no
t Gabe.” She closed her eyes as if praying for strength, and when she opened them, tears brimmed. She shook her head. “No, he can’t be.” She went back to her desk, and Bronwyn pulled up a chair to sit nearer.

  Bronwyn leaned forward and dropped her voice as she told Mary Rose that Gabe tried to get her to move with him to a new settlement in the south. “He said the move had the prophet’s blessing. He so much as said that my outspoken ways cause trouble among the other wives.”

  “If Gabe wants you to go with him,” Mary Rose said, “maybe he’s trying to protect you.”

  “Why not take all of us, then?”

  Mary Rose hesitated, her gaze drifting to the window. “I can’t answer that.”

  “I caught him putting away some papers this morning. He was visibly shaken when I came to the door. It was obvious he didn’t want me to see what he’d been working on.” She pictured the body and shuddered. “You don’t know how much I don’t want Gabe to be mixed up in this. But I think he is. The prophet has adopted him as his spiritual son, which now gives him even more authority over Gabe than before.” She leaned forward. “Don’t you see? Gabe is somehow trapped by those who would do him harm, do us all harm. For that reason, we can’t trust him to protect us.”

  “That doesn’t make him untrustworthy,” Mary Rose said, dropping her head into her hands. “And aren’t we rushing to judgment about the prophet himself?” She looked up. “Do you have any proof that he’s involved with the Danites?”

  “He was when we were in Nauvoo.”

  “That was different. That was after Joseph Smith had been killed. There was good reason to suspect the Gentiles were out to kill us all. The militia was formed to protect us, not to scare us into submission.” Her words were strong, and she stood and paced the room. “Are we getting excited over something we can’t prove? Even worse, are we making false accusations against the prophet and president of our church?”

  Bronwyn sat back, stunned.

  Mary Rose came back over and sat opposite Bronwyn. “I still have as many doubts as ever. But don’t you see? That’s the argument against our way of thinking. How certain can we be that we’re right?”

  Bronwyn bit her lip. “I can’t leave until I find out whose child has been buried in our garden.”

  “Gabe said that as soon as he rides back to town, he’s going straight to the prophet and Brother Foley. He’ll tell them what has happened, and let the police take it from here.”

  Mary Rose’s calm assurance helped Bronwyn relax. “If they can tell us who and why, then I’ll agree to leave.” She glanced at Mary Rose’s journal. “Until then, I think we need to have a provisional plan ready.”

  Mary Rose followed her gaze and blanched. “Oh, no. I hope you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

  “You’ve written everything that’s gone on since we joined the Mormons in Nauvoo. You’ve detailed what’s been done against us, the good and wonderful things within the Mormon Church, the love we have for each other, the way we care for our own, the love we have for our children.”

  She nodded.

  “You’ve written about the good, the bad, and everything in between. Our lives are within the pages of your journals, our heartaches and fears. Even what we’re going through now.” Bronwyn wiped the tears from her eyes. “You have a gift, Mary Rose. You’ve always wanted to write something that would change the world.”

  She picked up the journal on the desk, closed it, and hugged it to her heart. “This is it. This is your opus. Perhaps even more important than getting our family out, is getting this out—getting them all out.”

  Mary Rose swallowed hard and took the journal from Bronwyn, clutching it close, and closing her eyes. “I’ll write about what we’ve found in the garden. I’ll describe our terror. I’ll tell about how we’ve become prisoners, fearing for our lives if we dare to disagree with Church teachings or disobey our leaders, or even our husbands. I’ll tell what it means to be well on the road to apostasy, knowing that by stepping onto that road, we may lose everything we cherish—our children, our own lives.”

  Bronwyn bit her lip and nodded. “Do it quickly. I don’t think we have much time.”

  “How will we get them out?”

  “I don’t know, but we’ll find a way.”

  The sound of heavy footsteps ascending the stairs carried toward them. A moment later, Gabe knocked lightly on the door.

  “Come in,” Mary Rose called, and reached for a handkerchief to dab at her nose.

  He stepped inside. “Did I interrupt something?”

  Mary Rose shook her head. “No, please come in.”

  He stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb, his legs crossed at the ankles. “I’ve made a decision. I can’t let you stay out here all alone, not after what’s happened. For now, I plan to move back to the ranch and bring Enid with me. We’ll have to do some bedroom shifting, but I think it will be better for us all to be together. I have some things to take care of in town this afternoon—and Enid is probably still at the Ellis farm, but we will be back in time for supper tonight.”

  The set of his jaw said there would be no discussion. He gave them each a steady gaze and then turned and headed back down the stairs.

  “How will we manage to work out our plans?” Mary Rose gestured heavenward and then surprised Bronwyn by chuckling. “Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse.”

  Bronwyn noticed her cheeks held a bit more color, her eyes a bit more sparkle, and when she stood to walk over to the window to watch Gabe ride away, her step held a bit more spring.

  “As for me,” Bronwyn said to Mary Rose a moment later, “I’ll also be back by suppertime.”

  Mary Rose didn’t appear surprised. “You’re not giving him much of a head start.”

  “I’m counting on Gabe’s business lasting long enough for me to see what he hid in his desk this morning.”

  “You’re going to break in?”

  “I don’t consider it breaking in.”

  “Don’t forget that Enid could return any time. She could walk in on you rifling through the treasured Chippendale desk.”

  Bronwyn lifted her chin. “Gabe is my husband as much as he is hers. Maybe I’ll exercise my rights and tell her since she’s moving here, I’m moving to the town house. My first act as mistress of the establishment is to clean out the desk.” She folded her arms. “And anything else I fancy to clean.” She grinned. “That’s where I got my start in life as you remember—housekeeper and nanny.”

  Mary Rose laughed. “That’s not a bad idea. Maybe we both should move there with the children and Cordelia and let Gabe and Enid have the ranch.”

  Bronwyn hugged Mary Rose. “I’m glad we can laugh, at least once in a while.”

  “Otherwise, there would be far too many tears.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  A breeze kicked up from the west, bringing with it the scent of blooming sage and wild lavender. Just outside the corral, dust devils spun, touching down here and there and then wandering off again as if in search of where they belonged.

  Bronwyn and Mary Rose looked to Cordelia, whose idea it had been to commemorate the boy’s life and untimely death before the police arrived to take away the body. She stood at the head of the grave with Mary Rose’s family Bible open, and then, looking down, she read:

  Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness . . . For I the Lord thy God will hold thy right hand, saying unto thee, Fear not; I will help thee.

  (Isaiah 41:10, 13)

  Cordelia, in spite of the toll the harsh years had taken on her, held her shoulders back with strength of conviction. Her voice, steady and clear, seemed to ring out across the landscape. Bronwyn imagined it carrying on the wind, causing even the birds to stop their singing to listen.

  As Cordelia continued, Bronwyn clutched the boy’s dark, curly lock in
her hand, thinking about the child’s last moments on earth. She hoped the end had come quickly and that he didn’t suffer. Was he aware that no matter what he faced, God held his hand? Was he aware, somewhere in the depths of his heart, that no matter his darkest fears, God was with him?

  If his death was carried out as part of a blood atonement ritual, could he have known it was by order of man, not God?

  She shivered even in the warmth of the sun.

  A new thought struck her with such clarity she almost stumbled backward. She’d been dwelling on the similarities between Coal and this boy—the age, the fact that both had disappeared—but it hadn’t hit her until now that Coal’s disappearance was a result of trying to save a young bride from being married to an older man, a girl he was sweet on.

  She rubbed the boy’s lock of hair between her fingers, pondering the thought and only half listening to Cordelia’s readings of Scripture.

  Could it be that anyone who took away the right of an apostle to marry as he thought God directed him was considered an enemy of the Church?

  The idea took her breath away.

  Was this what blood atonement was all about? Had she understood Brother Foley correctly when he spoke of enemies of the Church, of saving their eternal souls by killing them on earth? Was this boy considered so vile?

  She stared down at the grave, feeling sick again.

  What if his death was just the beginning?

  Mary Rose sensed her distress and looked over at her.

  Cordelia stopped reading midsentence as Bronwyn fell to her knees. She dropped the boy’s piece of hair and placed her hands on the old wooden door.

  “He got in the way . . .” she whispered, looking up at the other two women. “It’s clear to me now.” Icy fear sliced into her heart. “The same thing may have happened to Coal.” She put her face into her hands, scarcely able to breathe.

  Cordelia knelt and put her arm around Bronwyn. Mary Rose did the same on the opposite side.