The Betrayal

by Diane Noble

  She held the nail file to the lock, lifted a paperweight, prepared to tap the file.

  That’s when she heard the distinct sound of hooves by the side of the house. The shadow of horse and rider passed by the window, and fear knotted her stomach. Gabe! She heard him ride into the barn, followed by the jangle of tack as he removed the saddle. She stood, trying to decide whether to run from the front door before he came in the back. Or to take a chance that he might come around to the front—which meant she should run for the back.

  Gabe’s shadow passed by the window again. Now there was no time for escape. She looked around wildly for a hiding place. Nothing. Just as the front door lock clicked, she ran for the dining room and stepped behind the long lace curtain.

  If he so much as glanced her direction, he would see her through the lace. She tried to console herself with the fact that the dining room was likely the last place he’d enter this time of day.

  The front door opened, and he went immediately to the desk. He reached into his vest pocket, pulled out the key, and opened the drawer. He reached for the papers inside, then he frowned. Setting down the papers, he picked up Bronwyn’s nail file.

  He turned it over. Once. Twice. Still frowning, he stood.

  Bronwyn held her breath.

  Studying the nail file, he walked across the room, coming straight for her. She closed her eyes, waiting for the awful moment of discovery.

  Then she heard his footsteps on the stairs. “Enid,” he called. “Are you home? I didn’t see your horse . . .”

  Bronwyn ran for the desk, grabbed the papers, and slipped through the door, not bothering to close it.

  She lifted up her skirts and ran until she reached the end of the street, then clutching the papers close, she raised her chin as any lady about town might do and adopted a leisurely stroll, nodding her greetings to the other women she met along the way.

  Once she reached the mare, she let out a deep pent-up breath, and put her forehead against the saddle for a moment to let her heart stop its racing. She then tucked the papers into the saddlebag, mounted, and with a few more friendly nods to passersby, nudged the horse back onto the road leading out of town.

  As soon as she was clear of town, Bronwyn turned the mare toward the river. The papers in her saddlebag were too important to go unread until she reached the ranch.

  She spotted a clearing, shaded by a stand of small cottonwoods and protected from sight by a mix of desert plants and succulents along the trail. She slid from the saddle, her fingers trembling as she pulled out Gabe’s papers. The river was unexpectedly shallow in this spot. She stopped for a moment to listen to its burbling rush, breathing in the scent of moist soil and damp. It calmed her spirit somewhat, and after she led the mare to the edge of the river to drink, she spotted a decaying log nearby. She went over to it and sat.

  She’d never stolen anything in her life, and what she’d done at Gabe’s town house nagged at her soul as if she’d stolen gold from a bank. She dropped her head, and Gabe’s image filled her mind. Would he ever forgive her once he found out what she’d done?

  What if the papers were merely some innocent drawings of the temple? Perhaps even the secret places deep inside the temple, places where ordinary Saints weren’t even allowed to go? She looked down at the papers in her hands. If they were innocent of all wrongdoing, she would have to confess what she’d done, and Gabe would consider her untrustworthy . . . just as he’d told her the others thought. And he had defended her.

  She unfolded the first paper. It was a list of some kind. She spotted her name at the top, then Mary Rose’s. She expected to see Enid’s next as Gabe’s third wife. A list of marriages, perhaps, though she couldn’t imagine why they’d need to be written in such a way.

  Then she noted that the names that followed were men’s names. And boys. Sons of some of their friends.

  Puzzled, she flipped the paper over. Her breath caught in her throat. The opposite side, it seemed had been written by someone other than Gabe, and it gave the reason for the list that “followed.” It had just happened that she’d read the list first.

  Possible Apostates, it read at the top of the page.

  This was not a plan detailing the holy of holies. Far from it.

  This was a list of people who needed watching. She turned the paper over again to be sure she’d read it correctly. Her gaze fell on the first name: Bronwyn MacKay. And then the second: Mary Rose MacKay.

  She sat there, shaken and distressed, trying to take in what it meant. Gabe had told her that she was being watched, so that wasn’t new. But Mary Rose? What had she done?

  Bronwyn forced her breathing to slow, to calm herself so she could think clearly. She looked out over the river, watching the swirls of water rapidly move by, taking in the cruel and abhorrent meaning. And then went back to the list. Many of the names were familiar. Hers and Mary Rose’s were the only two women’s names.

  Curiously, an entire paragraph had been written about one of the “possible apostates.” She frowned at the implications as she read:

  Andrew Greyson, eastern newspaper reporter, last known to be living outside the city. He stops by town to ask questions of innocent Saints, befriends them, wheedles information out of them. A report to New York Chronicle was intercepted by a Brother on the trail outside St. Louis. It is now in our possession. He condemns our prophet, asking the U.S. Government to intercede, to keep him from becoming Territorial Governor. This enemy of our people, of our prophet, of our Church must be stopped at all costs. “Blood atonement” is our cry!

  Below the description of Andrew Greyson, someone had drawn a crude map of the city, the lake, and the river leading to it. An X with a circle around it had been marked near a sweeping bend in the river. She stared at it.

  The place was not far from where she sat. Not far from where she met the three men on the trail.

  Two thoughts hit her at once: Could one of the men have been Greyson? If so, he had to be warned. And if she was right—her heart raced at the thought—he might the one who could carry Mary Rose’s journals out of the territory.

  She folded the paper and opened the second.

  At first she didn’t understand it, then she read it again, catching her hand to her mouth.

  I, the undersigned, as legal guardian and parent of Ruby MacKay and Pearl MacKay, do promise them in marriage to one, Apostle Erastus Gibbons, on the day they reach their fourteenth year.

  Erastus Gibbons, one of the Forum of Twelve, a powerful man within the Church. Powerful, old, and the husband of some twenty-seven wives.

  And then she read the signature.

  Gabriel MacKay

  She stared at the name, too stunned for tears, too sickened to move.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Hosea sat by the river a ways upstream from camp, trying to catch another rainbow trout or two for supper. He was lost in thought when Coal made his way almost silently through the willows, sat beside him, and handed him some wadded up balls of bread to use for bait.

  He looked up at the boy and nodded. “Even though you turned your back today, I knew you wanted to talk to Bronwyn. Why didn’t you tell her?”

  Coal grinned. “Why didn’t you—about who you are, I mean?”

  Hosea laughed lightly. “My revelation has to wait until I tell Enid myself. I don’t want her to find out about me from Bronwyn or anyone else.”

  Coal picked up a small, flat stone and skipped it across the water. “Did you see that? Seven.”

  “You’re getting better. Trouble is, you’re scaring off the fish.”

  “I got one to skip eight times last night.” Coal grinned and sat down to bait his hook.

  The sun slipped toward the western horizon. “You still didn’t answer my question. Why aren’t you anxious to go to your family?”

  Coal stared at the water, his hands dangling over his bent knees. “I worry about putting them in danger. If it gets out that I’m back, Brother Riordan will come after me—a
nd them too, especially Mother Bronwyn.” He picked up his pole and tossed the line into the river. The bread bobbed along with the wavelets for a few moments then disappeared beneath the surface.

  “What you did to stop his marriage to Sarah happened a long time ago.”

  “Some people have long memories.” He kept his eyes on his line.

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me everything.”

  Coal sighed, and then faced him, a half-smile turning up the corner of his mouth. “Probably because I’m not.”

  Hosea looked at the boy’s flushed cheeks and the way his gaze drifted nonchalantly off over the river. He and Greyson had both learned to read Coal like an open book.

  “Is it Sarah?”

  Coal nodded. “She saw me walking down the street while you were in the assayer’s office last week. She ran after me, insisting that we talk. I was afraid for her safety. I told her she shouldn’t be seen with me, but she just laughed and said no one would know who I was. Of course, I pointed out that she had figured it out. She said that was different. Then she got a funny look on her face, turned bright red, and didn’t say any more about that.”

  He swallowed hard. “She led me to a place behind the livery, told me about something called blood atonement, a new teaching. She said that it means anyone who goes against the Church and the prophet’s teachings is an enemy. They will be punished. She even made the sign of someone slitting her throat. She was crying when she told me. And she’s scared. She said she’d do anything to get out, but she’s afraid—not just for herself. Her pa said he’d kill her ma if she ever left the apostle.”

  Hosea’s heart caught. He’d tried hard not to judge this group and their teachings. Much of it was biblical, and he saw no quarrel. They loved their families. They were hardworking and industrious. And he knew that men beating up on their wives could happen anywhere, not just among the Mormons.

  But to teach something like what Coal was talking about . . . ? Surely, the girl had it wrong.

  “Blood atonement?” He studied Coal’s flushed face. “Are you certain that the teaching isn’t about Christ’s atonement? He bled and died for our sins. Maybe people didn’t understand the teaching.”

  Coal shook his head. “That’s what she said. She said I need to be careful, that her husband, the apostle, is still angry about what Mother Bronwyn and I did the day of their wedding.” He fell silent for a moment.

  “If I contact my family, they’ll all be in danger.” He sat down again. “I came all this way to find them. Today when I saw Mother Bronwyn, it was all I could do to keep from running up to that old mare of hers and pulling her down into the biggest hug you ever saw.”

  He sniffled. “All this time I’ve been trying to figure out what to do, how to get a message to Mother Bronwyn or Mother Mary Rose, but when it comes right down to it, it’s them I worry about, not me. If I’m seen with them, if it gets out that I’ve contacted them . . .” He sniffled again. “And poor Sarah. I’d like to save her, give her a chance for a real life. It’s a crime what’s happened to her.”

  Hosea gave him a rough hug. “I don’t believe in coincidences. I believe all that happened to you with the Dakota Sioux, how they happened upon my campsite—which brought us together—was no accident. Same thing about Bronwyn crossing our path today. It was also no accident you talked to Sarah and that she told you what she did.” He fell quiet for a time, and they both just watched the river go by. “There’s a Scripture verse in the second book of Chronicles that brings me solace when I think of the darkness around us, when I think of all that needs doing, and I know I can’t do it alone, or perhaps at all.

  “I don’t remember the exact words, but it reads something like this:

  ‘You will not have to fight this battle. Take up your positions; stand firm and see the deliverance the Lord will give you . . . Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged. Go out to face them tomorrow, and the Lord will be with you.’ ”

  “Like officers and crew on a ship,” Coal said with a grin. “We stand ready, waiting for the captain’s orders.”

  Hosea laughed. “Something like that, yes.”

  “You think there’s a chance Mother Bronwyn might’ve recognized us today?”

  “Not you,” Hosea said. “You had your back to her the whole time.” He thought about the way she’d studied his face. There seemed to be something there that sparked interest in him. “But maybe she knew me.”

  Coal grinned. “Your whole face is different. Besides, you had on that kerchief to keep from breathing that dust.” He shook his head. “That dust sure beats all. I’ve never seen anything like it. Did you hear them saying in town today that some of the farmers are having trouble with crickets and grasshoppers? Up north, apparently. There are thousands. Everybody’s hoping and praying they don’t come our direction. We’ll need more’n kerchiefs to keep ’em off our faces.”

  “No, I didn’t hear that. Might just be talk. Somebody exaggerating.” Hosea thought he felt a nibble at the end of his pole and pulled up his hook to see that it was empty. He rolled another wad of bread, set the hook in it, and then tossed the line out again.

  “I just want to go home,” Coal said. “I want everything to be the way it used to be.” He gazed at Hosea. “I know folks on the outside say that polygamy is of the devil himself, but we had a happy family—at least until En—” He turned red. “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s all right,” Hosea said. “I can’t imagine that any two women can get along as the wives of the same man. And when you add a third to the mix, especially a fiery soul like Enid, there’s bound to be fireworks.”

  “What about you? How long are you going to wait to tell Enid you’re here?”

  “That’s the question of my heart,” he said. He watched the river roll by for a moment. “Just about the time I think I’m ready, I either get cold feet or decide it might cause her too much distress to find out the husband she thought dead is alive.”

  “But you told me this is your Nineveh,” Coal said, sounding wiser than his years. “That’s what Greyson’s always calling it.”

  “That’s when we’ve got to think about the verse I just told you about.”

  “How can you be so patient? I’m about ready to jump out of my skin I want so much so badly. I want my family.” He swiped at the tears that filled his eyes. “I don’t like all this danger and secret stuff. I just want to be safe with the ones I love.” His voice softened. “Do you remember Ruby from the Sea Hawk? How she used to lisp? It was the sweetest thing you ever heard. None of us wanted her to lose that ol’ lisp. And that Pearl. She has a mole the shape of a heart just under her right ear. She used to cry if Mother Mary Rose didn’t plait her hair just right so it showed. She was afraid it was the only way people could tell her apart from Ruby.”

  “I remember the twins quite well,” Hosea said. “They were little ring-tail tooters aboard the Sea Hawk.” He chuckled. “It was the talk at officers’ mess when Lady Mary Rose decided to let them keep a pet lobster in her bathtub and the cabin boy had to bring fresh water every morning just for the lobster.”

  “Oscar the Lobster, or as Ruby would say, Othcar the Lobther.” Coal’s eyes filled again. “Mother Bronwyn—though she wasn’t Mother Bronwyn then—called us her little lambs. No one had ever called us that before. I acted like I didn’t like it ’cause I was too big for such a thing. But I’d think about it at night in bed, remembering way back to when my ma and pa used to tell us Bible stories. They talked about Jesus Christ being the Good Shepherd. And I’d think about Mother Bronwyn and how she called us lambs, her face so beautiful and full of love, like we really mattered, and decided that if Jesus Christ the Good Shepherd was like her, I’d like him just fine.”

  He looked up at Hosea. “I wish we were back there, that you were our captain, and Mary Rose and Gabe were there just starting to like each other, and you and Gabe were laughing and talking up on the bridge when you thought nobody was listening. And ever
ybody was talking about the miracle of Little Grace, and Bronwyn and Griffin were happy as clams . . .” He turned away, embarrassed by his outburst.

  His pole suddenly dipped. “You’ve got a bite,” Hosea said. “Looks like a big one.”

  “Whoo-ee,” Coal said. “She’s a good’un, all right.”

  Hosea watched him fight the fish, set the hook, and pull the gleaming, silvery trout out of the water.

  Coal held up a hand. “I hear voices,” he said. “Coming from the campsite.”

  Hosea stood, now at full alert. “It’s Greyson and someone else.”

  “A woman,” Coal whispered, his face turning white. “I think it’s Mother Bronwyn.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Bronwyn remounted and headed upriver, searching the thick brush and undergrowth for signs of a campsite.

  Of course, anyone writing about the prophet with recommendations such as Greyson’s knew enough to keep well hidden.

  She kept the mare at an even walk. The sun had begun its descent, and she didn’t have much time before she needed to head back to the ranch.

  She’d gone only a half-mile or so when she heard the yipping of a coyote. She halted the mare and then realized the sound seemed more like that of a domestic dog than a wild animal. She urged the mare forward again, this time slower, scanning the brush on both sides of the trail.

  The mare started and whinnied when a small black and white mutt came barreling out of the brush, yipping and wagging his tail so hard his entire rear end waggled with it.

  Bronwyn couldn’t help smiling. She dismounted and walked over to the little guy and patted him on the head. “I assume you belong to someone nearby,” she said, and stooped to rub the soft fur under his chin.

  “You assumed correctly,” a voice said behind her.

  Bronwyn turned and couldn’t help smiling despite her low spirits and desperate mission.

  The man who had suddenly materialized was of average height. She’d seen his face before, earlier on the trail, but now that she could get a closer look, she was quite astonished by it. It wasn’t that he was extraordinarily handsome. His face was quite ordinary except for his gentle, intelligent hazel eyes and the laugh lines around them. He had sandy hair and sported a day or two’s growth of mustache and beard that matched.