by Diane Noble
For a moment the only sound was that of the rushing river and a few songbirds.
“I do,” the mountain man said. “But it was long ago.”
“ ’Tis a difficult thing indeed.”
“ ’Tis,” he said, smiling again. His eyes seemed to brighten as they bored into Mary Rose’s.
“You seem familiar somehow,” she said. “It’s as if we’ve met before.” She hesitated. “It’s your voice.”
A hush seemed to fall around them. Even Coal caught his breath.
Mary Rose’s gaze was locked on the man’s eyes, and his on hers.
“Aye,” he said, “we have.”
Chapter Thirty-two
Hosea looked from Mary Rose to Bronwyn, and then back again. His heart ached when he thought of the love he’d witnessed between Mary Rose and Gabe during the ceremony on board the Sea Hawk. They hadn’t been able to keep their eyes off each other, so taken they were with the magic of their shipboard romance, the magic of their love, the magic of knowing that they would spend the rest of their lives together.
By following Enid’s trail, he’d also followed Gabe and Mary Rose’s. He knew what happened in Nauvoo, how Griffin died, and that Gabe took Bronwyn as his second wife. He knew about the friction caused by Enid when she arrived, how neither Mary Rose nor Bronwyn wanted Gabe to marry again.
Hope remained in their expressions, but it seemed fragile. Would it strengthen that hope if he told them his story? Told them why he’d come?
He’d followed the leading of his heart. Finding Enid had become his quest. His obsession. Now, here he was, so close, yet separated by the inherent danger in this wild place.
He had determined long ago that he wanted to meet Enid on his own terms; he didn’t want her to hear the news second hand that her husband did not die in that storm.
Should he tell the women his identity? Coal knew the truth, and he’d proved to be trustworthy.
His inclination was to keep quiet, at least for now. After all, he was the one who’d traveled from one end of the continent nearly to the other, endured challenges beyond all he’d thought possible, given his limitations. He deserved to take charge of this one thing—the time and place when Enid would find out his identity.
He chided himself for thinking of his revelation in such a way.
He studied their faces, their eyes. Mary Rose, once so pert and energetic, now appeared bone weary, as if she carried the cares of the world upon her shoulders. And Bronwyn, beautiful Bronwyn, looked as though her heart might fly into a million tiny pieces any minute.
Would it give them hope to know what happened to him? Hope that sees beyond the immediate into a future that knows God’s loving and tender care?
Perhaps it was time. Maybe not his timing, but maybe it was God’s timing.
Hosea hobbled to a stump and with a heavy sigh, sat, keeping his balance by leaning on his walking stick. Chuck jumped from Coal’s arms, trotted over, and hopped in his lap.
Hosea smiled at Mary Rose and then at Bronwyn. “Since my accident,” he said, “I don’t have quite the stamina I once did. Someday I’ll tell you my story.” He gave them a gentle smile. “What I will tell you now, however, is who I am. Before I do, I only ask that you abide by my wishes to say nothing to anyone else until I’m ready.”
Bronwyn tilted her head, quizzically, in that way she had; Mary Rose watched him with an intensity, a knowing, that touched his soul and almost took his breath away. He knew before he spoke the words, that she had already guessed . . . and that without being told, she understood everything. His crippled body told one story; his close proximity to Enid told another.
Mary Rose had known deep heartache, and she recognized the same in him. She had looked into his eyes that day aboard the Sea Hawk just before she said her vows to Gabe. Her joy had known no bounds. Love and promise shone in her eyes, a promise that gave every bit of her soul to her beloved.
To have and to hold, she said, looking into her beloved’s eyes, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do us part. . .
Hosea saw something reflected in Mary Rose’s eyes that told him, without a word being spoken, she understood a love that would bring him across the continent to find Enid.
That intense moment passed between them, and then Mary Rose gave him a slight smile. “Captain,” she whispered, “I’m so happy to see you again.”
Chapter Thirty-three
Bronwyn and Mary Rose borrowed Enid’s buggy to ride out to the Riordan ranch to ask questions of Sister Amanda. Enid seemed happy to switch to horseback. She was headed to some outlying ranches, which required crossing some rugged terrain. Seeming unusually concerned about the new reports of stillborn calves, she asked if they would check with Sister Amanda about any new cases at their ranch. She also mentioned the reports from the north, now seeming more than just rumor, about the exploding populations of grasshopper and crickets.
The Riordan ranch was a much larger spread compared to the MacKays’ and encompassed several outbuildings to accommodate the apostle’s thirty-six wives and dozens of children.
To Bronwyn, the ranch looked more like a small town. The apostle had been more industrious than most Saints since arriving in the Valley. Acres of healthy corn, potatoes, and wheat extended as far as the eye could see. Several hundred head of cattle grazed peacefully in verdant pastures near the mountains.
The women parked the buggy and walked up to the front door of the main house. A young woman that Bronwyn remembered as one of the apostle’s wives opened the door. She was quite pregnant but seemed happy about her condition. “We’ve come to call on Sister Amanda,” Bronwyn said.
The girl smiled and invited them in. “I’ll see if I can find her.” She waddled off, leaving them standing in a large hallway with a view into two other large rooms.
Children seemed to occupy every free space in those rooms, and from the bounces and thuds it seemed, they trampled around on the second floor as well. It was a surprisingly happy place, filled with singing and laughing and the pounding of feet as children chased each other. Bronwyn spotted two little boys sliding down the banister, whooping and hollering. Three others stood on the landing, impatiently waiting their turn.
It appeared the apostle’s first wife believed in letting children be children. Bronwyn grinned at Mary Rose and whispered behind her hand, “The more I find out about Sister Amanda, the more I like her.”
Mary Rose whispered back, “Maybe Apostle Hyrum believes in a large family with a multitude of wives because he loves the happy chaos.”
Bronwyn laughed. “I wonder how long it takes to tuck each of them in at night.”
“They’ve got a multitude of mothers,” Mary Rose said. “They probably take turns.”
“Think of the meals . . .”
Just then Sister Amanda bustled around the corner, wiping her hands on her apron. Her face, smudged with flour, was red from the exertion of trotting from the kitchen.
“Hello, hello,” she said. “Sister Mary Rose, Sister Bronwyn, please come in and sit down—if you can find an empty spot.” She laughed. “What brings you out to the Riordans today?”
“Do you have a minute to talk?” Mary Rose said. Then she laughed and glanced around the house. “Do you ever have a minute to talk?”
Sister Amanda smiled. “Not often. That’s why I’m happy to take a breather. And I’ve always got a minute for you two.” She led them into what was likely once a parlor. But the furniture was covered with wooden blocks, homemade dolls, and an array of tiny tin dishes from a child’s tea set.
Sister Amanda swept some toys off a couple of chairs and indicated that the women take their seats. She did the same for herself, sitting across from them.
“It’s not so happy business that we’ve come about,” Bronwyn said.
Sister Amanda stood and closed the doors to keep the children from entering the room. �
��Go on.” She acted as if hearing such an announcement was commonplace.
“You may have heard by now that we found a young man’s body in our garden.”
“Yes, I did. Hyrum told me about it. He said the Paiutes are to blame.”
“I’ve never heard of any Indian group burying someone under a door,” Bronwyn said.
Mary Rose leaned forward. “And why would the Paiutes kill any of us, door or not? They’ve been friendly and helpful since we came here. And say they did, why bury the body in our garden?”
Sister Amanda sat back and studied their faces. “It happens.”
Bronwyn shook her head, frowning. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
Sister Amanda continued to stare at the two women as if trying to make up her mind about something.
Bronwyn and Mary Rose exchanged a glance. Finally, Bronwyn said, “A friend said that a brave woman named Beatrice Leverton might help us with some answers.”
Sister Amanda brightened, and then she nodded. “There are those who don’t want innocent blood on their hands, so they get the Paiutes to do the unpleasant work for them.”
Bronwyn frowned. “Do you think that’s what happened this time?”
“I do.”
“Do you know who the boy is?”
“I know of a missing boy. His mother is beside herself with worry. I’ve recently begun to wonder if the boy in your garden might be him.”
“What is his name?”
“Robby Teagarten. His father works in the livery, and his mother and sisters run the cloth and yarn shop. Their names are Ruth and Zacharias Teagarten.” She moved her gaze to an open window, looking terribly worried.
“Is Sister Ruth in her shop most of the time?”
Sister Amanda nodded. “Yes, with her daughters, Iris and Rose. Last week at the Relief Society meeting Sister Ruth asked us to pray for the return of her son. She said he’d been missing for several days.”
She stood. “I really must get back to my bread making. I’m teaching some of the younger sister wives how to do it. It seems they were never properly taught.” She shook her head and smiled. “Can I do anything else for you young ladies?”
“It’s nice to be called that,” Mary Rose said. “I feel anything but young these days.”
“Life on the frontier isn’t easy,” Sister Amanda said, her eyes full of understanding.
They walked with her to the front door. “There’s one more thing,” Bronwyn said. “About Sister Sarah?”
“Yes?”
“She was coming out to the ranch several times a week, teaching our twins how to play the fiddle . . .”
“Oh, yes. She learned it from Naomi,” she said. “And I remember her saying just recently how she enjoys those visits.”
“We haven’t seen Sarah for several days. Is she ill?” Bronwyn hoped she wasn’t pregnant again.
“That girl . . .” Sister Amanda sighed and rolled her eyes. “She comes and goes, though I know Hyrum isn’t exactly pleased with her actions and would rather have her stay here with the rest of the family. She’s had trouble adjusting to our life here.” Then Sister Amanda hesitated, her hand on the door handle. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen her for quite some time. I’ll ask Hyrum if he knows.”
She walked with them for a ways outside. “How are you getting along with Enid?” she asked, quite suddenly.
Bronwyn and Mary Rose exchanged glances. Bronwyn said, “Quite nicely, thank you.”
Mary Rose murmured much the same.
Sister Amanda seemed to study their faces for a moment, and then smiled. “Back in Winter Quarters, I thought perhaps that was a wedding that might not happen . . . for a lot of different reasons.”
“In the end, we do what all good Saints do,” Mary Rose said. “What our good husband’s direct us to do.”
Sister Amanda winked. “That’s all any of us can do,” she said, and the three women laughed together.
Bronwyn and Mary Rose climbed up into the buggy, and Sister Amanda waved them off, still chuckling.
An hour later, Bronwyn and Mary Rose parked the rig outside the livery. Bronwyn gave the interior a quick look, and Mary Rose headed round back, both hoping to see Brother Zacharias.
Mary Rose shook her head when she saw Bronwyn. “No one here.”
They walked across the street to the cloth and yarn shop. Bronwyn spotted the closed sign in the window when they were still several feet away.
When they reached the shop, Bronwyn knocked on the door, hoping someone in the family might be inside, even though the shop was closed. She waited a few minutes and knocked again.
Finally, she shook her head.
Two women approached them, lost in a whispered conversation behind gloved hands. As they drew closer, Bronwyn recognized them as two sister wives—Marie Sue and Martha Chamberlain—who’d traveled with them in the MacKay wagon company.
The women nodded as they neared Mary Rose and Bronwyn. They started to pass, their demeanor curt, but Bronwyn stepped in front of them.
She greeted them with a smile. “Marie Sue, it’s a pleasure to see you this morning.”
Mary Rose gave her a puzzled look, and Bronwyn shot her a “trust me” look in return. Neither Bronwyn nor Mary Rose had much use for the Chamberlain wives. All seven were known to be gossips, Marie Sue and Martha the most vicious of all. During the wagon travel out of Winter Quarters, Bronwyn and Mary Rose did their best to keep their distance.
Once, on a lark, however, they’d started a juicy rumor about a fictional member of the wagon train just to see how far it would travel. They told Martha first, asking her to promise she wouldn’t tell a living soul. The rumor returned two days later, the poor fictional character’s reputation ruined by innuendo and exaggeration.
When the Chamberlain sister wives discovered they’d been tricked, they’d turned icy cold shoulders whenever they crossed Mary Rose and Bronwyn’s paths.
“Hello, Martha,” Mary Rose said, who obviously understood Bronwyn’s tactics. “How are you this fine day?”
The ladies gave them a sniff and tried to pass again.
“What a shame to see the shop closed,” Bronwyn said, sighing. “I’m so disappointed.”
“I didn’t know you could sew,” Martha said.
“It’s Mary Rose who couldn’t make a straight stitch if her life depended on it,” Marie Sue said. “She grew up in the lap of luxury, household servants, on a large estate—don’t you remember?”
She spoke as though Mary Rose wasn’t standing next to her. Bronwyn felt her cheeks start to burn with anger, but she couldn’t let the women get her goat.
She forced another smile. “We’re both just learning.” She laughed easily and waved a hand. “In fact, the twins are teaching us both how to quilt. They’re quite the little seamstresses.” She looked at the closed sign again. “Pity. I’d so hoped to see Sister Teagarten and her girls this morning.”
“It is a pity,” Mary Rose said with a tsk-tsk. “And so unusual. I can’t remember the last time I noticed a closed sign on this establishment . . .”
“I suppose everyone needs a day off from time to time,” Bronwyn said. “I know I could, even from the humdrum of everyday life, raising children and the such. Nice seeing you ladies. We really must be on our way . . .” She took Mary Rose’s arm and the two women stepped into the street.
“Well, apparently, you haven’t heard the news,” Marie Sue said, following them and dropping her voice.
“What news is that?” Bronwyn feigned indifference, while Mary Rose feigned impatience . . . which made the ladies all the more anxious to halt their progress across the street.
Martha raised both eyebrows. “About their boy.”
“I knew they had daughters—Iris and Rose . . .”
Martha stepped closer and, behind her gloved hand, whispered into Bronwyn’s ear, “They are in mourning.”
The reality of why they had come here in the first place hit Bronwyn again, and though
she had no more tears to cry, moisture filled her eyes once more. “What happened? Do you know?”
Martha shook her head. “Apparently, he was on his way to meet someone—a girl—a ways out from town. The Indians wanted his horse, and he didn’t want to give it to them. At least that’s what we heard. They slit his throat and left him for the buzzards.”
Sister Marie Sue dropped her voice and stepped closer. “It was that young wife of Apostle Riordan’s. The one that he married in Winter Quarters.”
Bronwyn’s heart dropped. “Sarah . . . ?”
The sister wives nodded. “One and the same. Sister Quigley told me they were meeting regularly, but no one could figure out where.”
“But Sarah’s already married,” Bronwyn said. “I don’t think she’d do such a thing . . .” But she was thinking about Coal and the fact that if the young woman was sweet on anyone, it would be her son.
The sister wives exchanged a glance, their brows lifted high, noses in the air. “Well, we heard she asked Brother Riordan for a divorce. Can you imagine such a thing?”
“We also heard that her father—who’s a wife-beater, you know—threatened to kill her mother if she so much as thought about leaving her husband, that nice apostle.” She shook her head, her lips puckered. Something in her eyes, despite her gossipy nature, told Bronwyn she understood the heartache and horror that Sarah’s mother faced. And even that of Sarah herself.
Marie Sue elbowed her way closer to Bronwyn. “Do you know what I think?”
Bronwyn didn’t know if she could take anymore news of this nature—it hurt to know about others’ suffering—but she said she wanted to know.
“This all has to do with all those other disappearing boys . . . you’ve heard about them, right?” Marie Sue’s expression had turned serious, her eyes full of sadness and confusion.
“We’ve heard rumors, but nothing concrete,” Sister Martha said, her demeanor changing as well.
“We hear that young men, sometimes boys, have been run off because they’re a threat to the old men who want to take the comeliest young brides for themselves. If they see a young man taking a fancy to a younger woman, they run that poor young man out of town.”