The Betrayal

by Diane Noble

  No, what struck her as extraordinary went beyond his physical appearance. His expression contained a sense of wonder, as if he looked upon the world with awe, ready to catch its miracles, its goodness, its beauty. His smile was boyishly affectionate, yet it seemed the kind of smile he would give anyone he met, not just her. She trusted him right away.

  “My name’s Bronwyn MacKay,” she said.

  “Good to meet you, Bronwyn MacKay. I’m Andrew Greyson.”

  “I’d hoped so,” she said.

  His laugh was easy, as if it was something he did often. “I must say, that’s one of the most original greetings I’ve had come my way in some time.”

  “We met earlier on the trail.”

  “I remember.”

  She hesitated, thinking of all she had to reveal, and took a deep breath.

  “You look like you could use a place to sit down. I don’t have much in the way of furniture, but you’re welcome to sit a spell if you like.” He led the way back into the brush, his little dog prancing along behind him. Leading the horse, Bronwyn followed him until she was sure the animal was hidden from the trail, and then wrapped the reins around the branch of a nearby tree. She reached into the saddlebag for the papers, and then followed Greyson to a large clearing.

  The campsite consisted of a fire pit, long cold, a couple of logs pulled toward the pit, and farther out, some bedrolls. Sacks of food hung from tree branches. “Bears,” he said when he noticed her quizzical look. “It seems they like our food as much as we do.” He pointed to the logs. “A settee, m’lady, or a wingback?”

  She grinned as she sat on a log opposite where he’d been working. Papers were scattered here and there, covered with neat lines of writing. Packets stuffed with other papers were stacked nearby. His fingers were stained with black ink.

  Greyson looked at her curiously, his head cocked. The little dog sat near him, his tail wags sweeping the soil beneath him.

  “I’ve discovered you’re a newspaperman, a reporter. You’ve come here to learn about the Mormons and write to your newspaper about us.”

  He blinked in surprise. “You’re absolutely correct, but may I ask how you found this out?”

  She handed him the list of Danite names. He blanched as he read through it, and she could hear his breathing. He looked up when he’d gone through the names.

  “Turn it over,” she said.

  He flipped the paper, and turned white. She hadn’t noticed his freckles until his skin turned lighter than their darker pigment. He stared at the indictment for several moments and then looked up.

  “Where did you find this?”

  “In my husband’s desk.”

  He listened quietly. “Thank you for coming to warn me. I’m sure it’s at great risk to you personally.”

  “I have other reasons for seeking you out—though I would have warned you anyway,” she said. “It’s become increasing obvious to my sister wife and I that we need to get word out about what is happening to the wives and children in this community. My sister wife, Mary Rose, has kept detailed records with names and events of Danite offenses through the years. This militia—the Danites—were formed years ago for our protection, but their power has now moved far beyond what was originally intended. We fear for our people and for our families. We fear for the good people who are among us.”

  “I can understand why,” Greyson said. “Your name is at the top of your husband’s list.”

  “And Mary Rose’s is second.” She paused, choosing her words carefully, wanting to be as precise as possible. “A boy was killed, his throat slit, and he was buried in our garden. I need to find out why. I have my suspicions, but I won’t stop until I get to the bottom of this.”

  “You’ve just answered my next question . . .”

  “Which is . . . ?”

  “Do you, your children, and Mary Rose want to leave with me? My friends and I could I get you out, get you to safety. There’s a wagon train approaching. I met the captain. He’s a good man. The company is made up of families from Arkansas. But there are enough men and firearms to protect you and get you to California.”

  “Yes,” she said, “we must leave. Our lives are at stake. But we would only slow you down. You must go without us. I promise we’ll follow as soon as we can.”

  He studied her face for a moment. “You don’t have long—they are due to leave within days, possible hours. And your sister wife Mary Rose . . . you said she’s on the list.”

  “Yes. She won’t leave her children, any of our children.”

  He huffed out an impatient sigh. “Think of your own children. Their lives.”

  “I am. We’ll get them to the wagon train. But you must leave first—go directly to Fort Bridger.”

  “You’ve done some studying of the route.”

  She nodded. “We’ve planned to leave for some time. We just didn’t think it would come at a time of such urgency.” She hesitated, then went on, “It’s not just a matter of discovering who the boy is—though that is important. This may be part of a ritualistic bloodletting called blood atonement. More young men will die, if that’s the case.”

  He visibly blanched. “There’s no time to go into that now, but if you need information—and it appears you do—I have a friend among the people here. I met her at Winter Quarters, and I’ve run into her in town a few times since. She’s helped me with information for my articles. She’s a good woman. A brave woman.”

  “What is her name?”

  “Sister Amanda Riordan. Though when she communicates with me in writing, she uses her maiden name—Beatrice Leverton. As did so many, she came into this ‘new religion’ never expecting what has happened.”

  “I know her. Not well, but I know a young girl who was forced into marrying her husband.”

  He gave her a steady look, and Bronwyn had an eerie feeling he already knew that, somehow.

  “Go to her,” he said. “Find out if she knows anything about young men and blood atonement. Use her maiden name, if need be—she’ll know we’ve talked.”

  “You don’t seem surprised,” Bronwyn said. “About blood atonement.”

  “I’ve heard of the practice in my travels, mostly rumors.”

  “Will you take the journals?”

  “Of course. You must get them here right away. From the looks of this missive, the Danites may strike any time. It’s obvious they know where to find me.” He paused, looking at her with such admiration and kindness, the sweetness of the moment made her want to cry. “I—we, those who are with me—will do anything possible to help you. No matter what happens, don’t forget that.”

  “My guardian angels,” she said, standing. “I remember what your friend said.”

  His eyes crinkled into a smile. “My friend might be one, sometimes I think he’s got hidden wings. But as for me”—he patted the top of his head— “no halo here I’m afraid.” He chuckled as he escorted her back to the mare.

  He started to hand the list to her, but Bronwyn shook her head. “Keep it for evidence. There’s something else you need to have.” She handed him the agreement Gabe signed to give the twins away in marriage. “This is also evidence of giving young girls in marriage to old men in powerful positions.”

  He read the statement that Gabe had signed. When he looked up, his expression was filled with white-lipped anger.

  “You’re certain this is his handwriting . . . his signature?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “This man is your husband?”

  She nodded. “Until now, I thought he loved all our children so much he would give his life in exchange for any one of them.” Her eyes filled with tears and she looked away from him. “I never expected this of Gabe. Ever.”

  “You all should get out now—before anything else can happen.”

  “I’ll bring you the journals tonight. I beg you to get them to the proper authorities. The evil must stop.”

  He sighed. “I’ll be prepared to leave as soon as you arrive
.”

  She gave him a quick nod. “Thank you.”

  Bronwyn mounted and nudged the mare to a walk. Going over Gabe’s list of apostates and enemies made everything acutely real to her. Rereading the promise of marriage Gabe signed appalled and sickened her. She didn’t know if she could look Gabe in the face again without giving away her anger. And he and Enid were moving back into the ranch house this night.

  Maybe Greyson was right. Maybe she and Mary Rose should get out with the children. Now. They had spent months planning their escape. Everything was ready.

  She and Mary Rose had talked about the connection of the boy in the garden to blood atonement. It might seem a stretch to some, but they wondered if the men in high places might use the teaching to be rid of young boys or men who were competition for the young brides they themselves wanted in their bed.

  What if the boy in the garden was just the beginning of such a blood bath. She shivered, thinking of it.

  Could she exchange her desire to root out that evil for the lives of her children? Was she being unreasonable to expect that she and Mary Rose could protect the children, could protect the twins, when they were at the top of the list of apostates?

  Should they pick up everything and run? Or stay and fight?

  She halted the mare just before leaving the trail beside the river. She dismounted and walked along a narrow path to the water. She leaned against a cottonwood trunk and dropped her face into her hands.

  “Oh, Lord. My sorrow is inconsolable,” she whispered. “I’ve come to you before, telling you I don’t believe you’re real. And here I am again, still not knowing if you’re listening, or if you care. Or if you’re real.

  “But I don’t know what else to do, where else to go. My heart is heavy with worry—about my family, about the evil deeds being carried out in your name. I can’t bear the heaviness anymore. I don’t want to stay, neither do I feel I can go.

  “I feel so alone. And scared. Not just for me. But for my family. Little Grace and Joey and Spence. For Ruby and Pearl. Oh, Lord, especially for them.” She paused, letting the sounds of the flowing, bubbling water fill her senses, her soul. “For Coal. And for the family of the boy in the garden.”

  She fell to her knees and scooped up water with her hands, letting the cold liquid flow over her face. “Oh, God,” she whispered. “Help me. Help us all.”

  Part III

  Forgiveness is the fragrance the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.

  ∼Mark Twain

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Bronwyn knelt by the river’s edge for several minutes, letting the sounds of the water bring peace to her troubled soul. A breeze rifled through the leaves above her, cooling her damp face, rattling the leaves. A few twisted loose and floated down beside her; a few others fell on the water and sailed downstream.

  “They look like little boats, don’t they?” a voice said from somewhere in the brush beside her.

  She started, frowning. Then the resonance, the timbre, of a beloved voice filled her senses. She turned and peered into the tangle of undergrowth, but didn’t see anyone.

  “Once we made little boats with walnut shells and candle wax,” the voice said, “a long time ago. You had me pick up pieces of straw and round leaves just big enough for sails. We melted the wax and filled the half-shell . . . then stuck in a piece of straw. ”

  She squeezed her eyes shut as the memory flooded her heart. She remembered every detail, the look of wonder on a boy’s face, the wonder of a mother’s love as she watched him play. She caught her hands to her mouth, afraid to hope that the voice was real.

  She took a breath and held it, waiting to hear the voice again.

  “You told me that as long as I could dream dreams, I could sail anywhere in my mind. No matter where I was or what had happened to me, I could think of the good memories, of those who loved me and would never forget me, and that I would survive.

  “You called me your little lamb . . .” his voice broke “ . . . and though I thought of myself as much too big for such things, that’s the memory I kept with me the whole time I was gone. I thought of those little boats and what you had said, and I didn’t forget. Ever.”

  Coal stepped out of the brush.

  Bronwyn drank in the sight of him. He was taller and something awful had happened to his hair. But his smile, his eyes, everything else about him . . . was just as she remembered. Just more of him and his voice had changed. Now, he sounded like a man.

  He grinned at her.

  “Coal . . .” she whispered, and opened her arms.

  He fell into them, sobbing.

  Chapter Thirty

  Bronwyn rode into the ranch, unsure how she would answer the question of where she’d been all afternoon. She was relieved to find no one outside the house. But as she rode by the garden, she noticed a gaping hole. Obviously, the body had been moved—by the undertaker, she assumed. Probably after someone from the police force had been out to investigate.

  She dismounted, removed the saddle, and then took her time rubbing down the mare. She was still brushing the tangles from the old girl’s mane when she heard the footfall of someone approaching.

  She turned to see Gabe enter the door and willed herself not to recoil. He walked closer and she turned her head to avoid looking at him.

  “You’ve been gone quite a long time.”

  “I—I took a ride . . . out by the river. It took longer than I expected. I needed to clear my mind.”

  She heard him sigh. “The boy was killed by the Paiute.”

  Her laugh was bitter. “I expected a more creative story from the Danites.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She glanced at him. “Why would an Indian slit a boy’s throat and bury his body under a door in our garden.” She shook her head. “Why would anyone, for that matter?”

  “Brother Foley isn’t through with his investigation.”

  She stopped combing the mare’s mane and looked up at him. Her gaze was piercing, accusing. She didn’t care.

  “Where else did you go this afternoon?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Someone said they saw you in town.”

  “It’s time for me to go inside, Gabe. Would you please see to the mare for me?” She handed him the tool and brushed past him. She marched toward the house, still steaming. She did her best to put it aside before she reached the front door. She hesitated, her hand on the doorknob, and thought only about the children and her love for them.

  How she wished she could tell them about Coal. But she couldn’t. Not yet. She had kept Coal in the dark about Gabe’s involvement with the Danites and the list she’d found. Even without knowing, he understood the danger he might bring to the family if it was known he was alive. He suggested before she could utter the sorrowful words that he needed to stay away for now.

  Cordelia always said that love was the light that dispelled darkness. At this moment, she needed their love to dispel the darkness in her heart. As soon as she opened the door, children tumbled from every corner, running to hug her, shouting their joyful greetings, covering her with love and kisses. Joey and Spence grabbed her legs, hanging on as she tried to walk to a chair. She couldn’t help but laugh and sit down on the floor, grabbing them and pulling them into big embraces. Little Grace came over and threw her arms around her shoulders, leaning against her back. “I missed you, Mommy.” She snuggled her cheek against Bronwyn’s neck.

  “And I missed you, little lamb.”

  “Mother Enid has been reading to me all afternoon. She went to the mercantile and bought me a book about horses. It’s beautiful.”

  Bronwyn exchanged a smile with Enid. The small act brought more peace into Bronwyn’s fragile soul. Mary Rose came down the stairs, the twins trailing, chattering like little magpies.

  Grinning, she came over to show Bronwyn a quilt that Ruby and Pearl were teaching her to sew. She never had gotten the knack of sewing, and the girls had taken it upon themse
lves to see that they taught her. Everyone seemed to be talking a mile a minute, and Bronwyn closed her eyes, relishing the sound. She again wished she could tell them all about Coal, and smiled, imagining the day they would see him.

  Cordelia had been busy out in the kitchen and came through the door just then. “I hope you all are hungry. I made chicken and dumplings to celebrate us all being together as one great big family tonight. And Little Grace made cornbread, best I ever tasted.”

  “Hmmm-hmm.” Almost in chorus, the children hummed their hungry approval. The twins went out to help set the table, and Little Grace scampered along behind.

  Bronwyn held Spence and Joey a few minutes longer, loving the puppy-dog smell of them. Then they too scampered off to see what they could get into in the kitchen. Clatters and bangs of heaven knew what soon followed.

  Bronwyn asked Mary Rose if she could speak to her privately, and the two women climbed the stairs. Enid, left alone sitting in Cordelia’s rocker, seemed lost in the horse book she’d bought Little Grace.

  Mary Rose sat on the edge of the bed while Bronwyn washed her face and hands, and then brushed her hair. When she’d finished, she sat down beside her friend and told her about Andrew Greyson, the newspaperman who was on a list of Church enemies, and about riding out to the river to speak with him.

  “I need to take the journals to Greyson before dawn. Are you ready to let them go?” She knew what they meant to Mary Rose, and would have understood had she said no.

  But after a quick intake of breath, Mary Rose said, “Yes, but I would like to go with you.” She smiled. “I suppose I need to give them a little send off—plus meet the man who’s taking them.”

  “He’s a good man,” Bronwyn said. “A very good man. You can see it in his eyes. He laughs a lot, a good hearty laugh, and he’s kind and trustworthy.”