The Betrayal

by Diane Noble

  “We heard from Sister MacDonald, who heard it from Sister Baggins, who heard it from an apostle’s wife, that blood atonement will soon be used as punishment for those who go against the prophet’s edicts.”

  “We heard Brother Foley speak about that in church,” Mary Rose said.

  Sister Martha raised an eyebrow. “Well, so you did. I guess I’m not telling you anything new then, am I?” With a humph, she took Sister Marie Sue’s arm, and with noses in the air, the two marched back to the boarded walkway.

  Mary Rose drove the buggy back to the ranch, Bronwyn sitting beside her lost in thought. They reached the fork in the trail where the road turned toward the river. She thought about Coal wanting her to tell Sarah he was thinking of her. Coal had also said that he and Sarah had talked to each other in town. What if someone had seen them? Had reported it to Brother Hyrum?

  Blood atonement.

  “It’s just as we thought. If it’s announced that God has revealed to the prophet that a man and a woman will marry, anyone going against that announcement is going against God’s will.”

  Mary Rose looked over at Bronwyn. “So it follows that if a young man courts a girl who’s spoken for, he’s an enemy of the Church. He has sinned against God and the prophet.”

  “And now we hear the men who order it done are too cowardly to carry it out themselves. We hear they order the Paintes to do their dirty work.”

  Mary Rose looked as shaken as Bronwyn felt. She halted the horse, and the two women just sat there for a few minutes in silence.

  “It’s as if everything we feared is a reality . . . and it’s bigger, much bigger than we thought,” Bronwyn breathed.

  “And it may be just the beginning,” Mary Rose said.

  “And then we come again to the question: Why this boy? Why our garden?”

  “Mistaken identity?” Mary Rose flicked the reins again, and the horse started forward. The buggy swayed as they hit a deep rut.

  “When I saw Robby’s body, my first thought was to look for proof it wasn’t Coal. All I could think of was his corn-silk hair. It didn’t match, so I dismissed the idea. Robby’s hair had been coarse and brown, but now that we’ve seen Coal . . .”

  “Two boys around the same age,” Mary Rose said, “about the same size, same height.”

  Bronwyn leaned forward. “Sarah had been coming to our ranch quite often. Maybe Brother Hyrum’s suspicions were aroused, and he had her followed.”

  “It still doesn’t make sense. She came out to visit us—we saw her ride onto the ranch and ride off later, heading straight home.” She flicked the reins to keep the mare moving. “She never met anyone there. Coal said he couldn’t come near us—or her—for fear of causing us harm.” She glanced at Bronwyn. “Do you think they spoke to each other only the one time?”

  Bronwyn nodded. “That’s the only time he mentioned. And she sought him out, not the other way around. They’re sweet on each other. So I don’t believe she would have wanted to see or talk to anyone else.”

  They rode along in silence for a few minutes, and then Mary Rose slowed the mare. “What if Robby was sweet on Sarah? Maybe he’d been following her. Maybe she didn’t want his attention, but he kept at it anyway. Or maybe she didn’t even know.”

  “Someone found out and told Hyrum,” Bronwyn said.

  “Even if they didn’t, he would still have wanted the boy out of the way.”

  “What if the Chamberlain sister wives are right? Maybe Sarah told Apostle Hyrum that she wanted out of the marriage? Maybe after Sarah saw Coal, she asked for a divorce.”

  “Too many troubling questions,” Mary Rose said. “And so far, no clear answers.” They were nearing the ranch. Mary Rose flicked the reins urging the mare to a trot.

  “Whoever killed Robby must have left evidence,” Bronwyn said, turning in the seat to face Mary Rose.

  “We’re back to where we started,” Mary Rose said. “Sister Amanda said it likely was the Paiutes acting on someone else’s behalf.”

  “I don’t think the Paiutes had anything to do with this one,” Bronwyn said.

  “Why?”

  “It has to do with the door.” She fell silent as they rode onto the ranch. They’d almost reached the barn when she said, “I keep coming back to it, why it was placed above the body at all . . .”

  Mary Rose halted the mare, and the two women stepped from the buggy. Mary Rose looked troubled. “We put ourselves in grave danger when we gave the journals to Greyson. But we have no proof that Robby was a victim of blood atonement—proof that younger men are being run off or killed.” She shuddered. “If that’s what this is all about—the trouble here, the darkness, goes far beyond the Robby’s death.”

  “We have to find evidence,” Bronwyn said. “Solid evidence to connect blood atonement with his death.”

  “I know, dear friend. I know.”

  As they were leaving the barn, Bronwyn glanced at a piece of wood propped against a wall just inside the door. The dank air smelled of hay and manure, and the cavernous room seemed eerily dim. As she passed by the plank, a series of dark smudges caught her eye.

  It wasn’t until she reached the house, however, that she realized the piece of wood was the same size as the door that covered the boy’s body.

  And the smudges were the color of blood.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  By the time it occurred to Bronwyn that the piece of wood in the barn was not only the same size as that which had been placed over the boy’s body, it was the door—it was too late to run back to examine it. She was already in the house being covered with hugs and kisses from the children. Even so, her thoughts were glued to the image of the bloodstains.

  Were they fresh? Why hadn’t she seen them before?

  She went over in her mind how she and Mary Rose helped Gabe move the heavy door. They lifted it and placed it to one side of the shallow grave. They didn’t turn it over. Just lifted it and set it down, right side up.

  When the police came to have a look, and later the undertaker, they likely did the same. Whoever moved it to the barn hadn’t noticed the smudges. Why not? Had it been too dark in the barn?

  She heard Cordelia bustling around in the kitchen with help from Ruby and Pearl. Gales of laughter exploded from time to time . . . a bittersweet sound. Mary Rose had gone upstairs to clean up for dinner, and Little Grace said that Sister Enid was doing the same after an afternoon of “taking care of everybody’s cows.”

  She headed to the kitchen, gave Cordelia a hug, and was rewarded with a wide smile. Cordelia patted her cheek. “What have you and Mary Rose been up to all day? If you’ve been out on some grand adventure, I’m disappointed you didn’t take me with you.” She winked and then went back to supervising the biscuit making.

  “Trust me,” Bronwyn said, “we’ll have plenty of adventures to come.”

  Ruby and Pearl showed her how they’d learned to roll the dough and cut the biscuits with a tin cup. She asked them about their day, and they told her about starting a new garden on the far side of the barn. “Enid brought us some new seeds from the mercantile,” Ruby said. “Once the soil is ready, we’re going to plant squash.”

  “And corn,” Pearl added. “Except I don’t like the worms that get in the ears.” She shuddered.

  After a time, the girls headed off to find the others, and soon happy chatter drifted through from the great room to the kitchen.

  Bronwyn stepped over to the brick oven where Cordelia stirred a pot over open coals.

  “Do you remember what time of day Brother Foley’s men were here?” she said.

  Cordelia nodded. “Late afternoon. I remember because I was plucking a chicken for dinner and one of ’em made a joke about apostates,” she said. “They said they might need the feathers for some tarrin’ they were hankerin’ to do.”

  “I thought that might have been the case.”

  Cordelia gave her a sharp look. “It sounds like you’re onto something.” Besides being the most lo
ving person Bronwyn had ever known, she was also one of the most intelligent. She wouldn’t be surprised to find out that Cordelia already knew about Hosea and Coal.

  “I noticed blood on the door. Someone moved it to the barn and left it standing on its side—a different side than what we’d seen before.”

  “And you think there’s blood on it?”

  Bronwyn nodded.

  “Don’t you think you ought to get out there, then, and take a look?”

  “Can you make sure the children don’t follow me?”

  “Of course. The lantern’s by the back door.”

  Bronwyn grabbed the lantern and then hurried across the yard to the barn. She knelt beside the piece of wood, first examining the smudges. There was no doubt that it was blood, but how could she know for certain that it was Robby’s?

  She moved the lantern from one end to the other and then back again.

  She sat back, studying the marks. They seemed to form letters or stick figures . . . then she realized they were letters, but upside down.

  With a shudder, she sat back, feeling the blood drain from her face.

  Crudely written, likely using the boy’s own blood, were words and numbers she didn’t understand. COL318. Underneath were several more smudgy letters. She couldn’t make them out.

  She picked up the lantern and ran back into the house, doused the flame, and then headed into the kitchen.

  “It is blood, probably the boy’s,” she said, keeping her voice low so no one else would hear. “But I don’t understand what this could mean—COL318.

  “Someone’s name?” Cordelia checked the oven to see how the biscuits were coming along.

  “Not with numbers.”

  “Maybe COL is supposed to be COLT, as in the pistol.” She shrugged. “But that doesn’t make sense.”

  “The boy’s throat was slit. There wasn’t a firearm involved.”

  Then another thought occurred to Bronwyn that nearly robbed her of breath. “Coal,” she said. “Surely it wasn’t because they thought the boy was Coal. Many people don’t know how to spell his name.”

  A moment of stunned silence followed, and the two women stared at each other. Then Cordelia bowed her head, almost as in prayer. When she raised it, she said, “Can you bring down Mary Rose’s family Bible for me? I have an idea, but it may be farfetched.”

  Bronwyn hurried up the stairs to find Mary Rose. Breathlessly, she told her what she’d discovered, then both women returned to the kitchen with the Bible.

  “Turn to Colossians 3:18,” Cordelia said. “And read to me what it says.”

  Mary Rose rifled through the pages and then, finding the passage, read, “Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as it is fit in the Lord.”

  “It is as we thought,” Mary Rose said. “But was it because of Sarah . . . or was it meant for us? We certainly haven’t submitted ourselves to Gabe.”

  “We just don’t know if the boy was mistaken for Coal,” Bronwyn felt a sting behind her eyes. “We may never know.”

  Cordelia had tears in her eyes as she closed the Bible. “How can God ever forgive us for what we do in his name?”

  The twins helped Cordelia put a large bowl of stew in the center of the table, and then the family gathered round. “Where’s Papa,” Joey asked.

  “We can’t eat wifout him,” Spence said, sticking out his lower lip.

  “He had some business in town,” Enid said, “but he’ll be back soon.”

  Bronwyn and Mary Rose exchanged a glance.

  Hosea.

  What would Enid do when she found out he was alive? What would Gabe do?

  Cordelia said grace, and then asked Enid to ladle stew into their bowls. Ruby gave everyone a proud smile as she passed the biscuits.

  Enid talked about her visits to the outlying farms, the growing numbers of sick cows, and the reported swarms of insects approaching town.

  Mary Rose and Cordelia had fallen quiet, and Bronwyn, still sick at heart over the discovery in the barn, had a difficult time chatting with the children. She met Enid’s gaze with a smile of gratitude for keeping the conversation light and for keeping the children engaged with anything other than the bizarre findings in the garden.

  After supper, Enid took it upon herself to read to the younger children while the twins helped Cordelia clean up the kitchen.

  Mary Rose pulled Bronwyn aside. “I’d like to see what you found on the board in the barn.”

  Bronwyn nodded and led the way, lantern in hand.

  “Is that a B?” Mary Rose asked. “And an L beside it?”

  “It’s so crude it could almost be anything.”

  “No, look at the next letter. I think it’s a U.”

  “BLU . . .” Bronwyn bent lower. “What could that mean?”

  Just then, a distant sound rumbled toward them, so faint at first it didn’t register.

  Then it became apparent. Horse hooves. Thundering. The riders coming fast.

  The raid on the ranch in Nauvoo flashed before Bronwyn’s mind. On full alert, she reached for the lantern.

  “Wait,” Mary Rose said. “Blood atonement.”

  “I know. That’s what I’m afraid they’re after.”

  “No, I mean the words on the door. Someone can’t spell, so it probably reads B-L-U-D, and I can barely make out an A, though it looks a bit like a D.”

  “That’s all the time we have,” Bronwyn said, snuffing the light.

  “That’s got to be it,” Mary Rose whispered. Then as the riders came closer, she said, “Shall we try to get to the house?”

  “It’s too late. They’re almost on us. I want to wait to make sure who it is.”

  Whoops and hollers rose as the riders drew nearer. Bronwyn’s heart threatened to pound out of her chest. Her children were in the house . . . she should never have left them.

  “Lookee here what we found!” someone shouted. “Whoo-eee! Lookee here!”

  Mary Rose reached for Bronwyn’s hand and squeezed it.

  “Come on out, ladies. We know you’re here and we know what you done. Come on out, and we’ll be easier on you. Otherwise, you don’t want know what’s going to happen.”

  Bronwyn stood, but Mary Rose pulled her down. “Don’t,” she mouthed.

  They heard the front door open. Cordelia called out, “What do you thugs want? What are you here for?”

  “Hey, boys,” someone said. “The little lady thinks she can scare us off with a rifle.”

  “You shoot it, ma’am,” said a more reasonable voice, “and we shoot this here newspaperman from New York City. You don’t want innocent blood on yer hands, now, do you?”

  Bronwyn’s heart twisted, and it seemed Mary Rose had forgotten to breathe.

  “All we want are two people, then we’ll go away nice and quiet-like.”

  Someone shouted, “Hey, boys. Listen to this.” And he started to read from one of Mary Rose’s journals in a singsongy nasal voice.

  August 7, 1844

  But the child’s sob curses deeper in the silence

  than the strong man in his wrath.

  —Elizabeth B. B.

  We tried to save a young girl today. Most in this community, the men at the least, would perhaps not consider Sarah a child. They call her a young woman, and they praise her and her family for the great honor that was to be hers this day.

  Her name is Sarah James, fourteen years of age. The prophet and president of the Church ordained that she marry Apostle Hyrum Riordan, a man in his seventies. She is the youngest bride to be chosen for what the prophet calls the greatest privilege bestowed on womanhood. Though I fell ill nearly a week ago and still hovered near heaven’s gate until this morning, Bronwyn and young Coal carried out our plan—devised weeks ago. All went well, but now the community is up in arms and demands they both be returned—Sarah to marry the old apostle, and Coal to be punished. As I write this, I fear Bronwyn will not escape punishment. At the very least, she will be reprimanded. Many convicted of a
postasy are expelled from the Church, the family, the community. I’ve seen it happen before, though not to a woman.

  Mary Rose let out a soft moan.

  Bronwyn felt the sting of tears at the back of her throat.

  “We’re about to have ourselves some fun with this newspaperman. He thinks he’s so high and mighty with them fancy words he’s been writing about us . . . telling the whole country how bad we are with our strange ways. A little hot tar will teach him what blood atonement really means before we carry out the act to save his eternal soul.”

  Cheer and whoops rose.

  “We come to arrest two people who are in cahoots with him,” another speaker said.

  “You send out the two MacKay women, Sister Mary Rose and Sister Bronwyn, and we’ll leave y’all alone. Send ’em out now, little lady, and watch where you point that rifle.”

  “You’ll be sorry when Brother Gabriel finds out about this,” Cordelia said, her voice even. “You’re trespassing on his property. Get off, now.” She fired.

  For a moment, the crowd fell silent.

  Then another voice came from the back of the crowd. “Saying Brother Gabriel will do anything to save his women or his property won’t do you any good, ma’am. Now put that firearm down, or we’ll set the barn on fire right now.”

  Bronwyn gasped.

  The front door of the house opened, and a moment later Enid called to the posse, “They’re not here. We don’t know where they are. You’ll have to take that up with my husband.”

  “I think we ought to have a little look-see for ourselves,” a gruff-voiced man said.

  “You get off this land right now,” Enid said calmly. “Mother Cordelia is a good aim. She’ll take down at least three of you before you can load. Now, get out of here.”

  “You’ll be sorry if you’re hiding fugitives, Sister,” another voice said. “Your sister wives are wanted to appear before Brother Foley. If you see them, you tell them that for us.”

  “You talk to Brother Gabriel,” Enid said again. “I’m sure he’ll straighten you out. You’re looking for the wrong people. I’m sure somebody stole those journals.”