Destroying Angel

by Michael Wallace

  “No,” Lillian said. “I’ve got to go back to the compound. Please.”

  “Oh, so you were lying,” Miriam said.

  “I wasn’t lying, I promise. Taylor Junior was chasing me. I really was running away. But then I felt an earthquake—look, you must have felt it too. I have to go back and tell them to get out.”

  “You’re not making any sense,” Eliza said, exasperated. “What does the earthquake have to do with anything?”

  “There’s a poisonous pond outside the base. Didn’t you see the animal bones? Every few weeks a gas bubble comes out and kills anything around it. About six months ago there was a small earthquake, like the little one a few minutes ago, and later that day everyone in the bunkers got sick. The gas must have spread all the way to the ventilation shafts. We knew about the pond, and I got everyone outside and climbed up the hillside. We stayed out for a couple of days until I figured the ventilation system would have cleaned out the bad air.”

  “So you were going back to warn people about the big earthquake we felt a couple of hours ago?” Eliza said.

  “Exactly. Yes.” Lillian sounded excited, and Eliza began to suspect she was coming clean.

  “Wouldn’t they figure it out on their own?” Miriam asked.

  “Of course they would. But now that Taylor Junior is back, they might be trapped. He means to do something big—I think he’s on his way to attack Blister Creek.”

  “What makes you say that?” Eliza said, her suspicion renewed. If Lillian had been running across the desert on foot, how would she know that?

  “I headed in that direction for a while to throw him off my trail,” she said, pointing west. “But I knew this road was here and would lead out of the desert, so after it got dark I veered north. About an hour ago a truck came down the road from the direction of the compound. I was terrified and jumped off the road just before they went past. I thought they were looking for me. But they weren’t looking—they were driving too fast for that.”

  “What did you see?” Eliza asked.

  “It was that army truck Elmo and Levi kept fooling around with. They’d put a huge gun on top, protected with sheets of metal like a shield. A man was up there.”

  “Who was driving?”

  “I didn’t see. One of the men, that’s all I know for sure. There was at least one other person too. If I had to guess, I’d say they were Taylor Junior, Elmo, Jason, and Levi. Maybe Brother Niels too.”

  “Niels Griggs?” Eliza asked. “He’s an old man.”

  “Maybe he didn’t go,” Lillian said. “He might be back at the compound with Sister Mary Ellen, helping keep the rest in line. Keeping them from getting out in time. Don’t you see?”

  Miriam and Krantz had stayed silent during this last bit, but now Miriam let out a grunt. “You know where they’re going, don’t you? What they’re planning to do?”

  “Attack Blister Creek,” Lillian said. “I was going to warn people. We have TV—I saw what they did last time. All those people at Zarahemla and Blister Creek, dead. It was horrible.”

  “Horrible. That’s one way to put it,” Miriam said. “Why didn’t you do something then? Or do you only care this time because it’s your own head on the chopping block?”

  “It’s not like that. You have to believe me. We didn’t know until it was too late.”

  Miriam snorted. “You didn’t want to know, that’s what I think.”

  “We’ll have plenty of time for blame later,” Eliza said. “So why were you back on the road? You’re going back to the compound?”

  “I have to. I told you, it’s the earthquake.”

  “You think they’re in danger?” Krantz asked.

  “I know they are! Take me back there. Please, we have to get in. There’s still time.”

  He gestured to Eliza and Miriam to follow him back toward the ATVs. “And you stay here,” he told Lillian. “Don’t move.”

  Eliza followed the other two away from Lillian, who waited at the edge of the light left by the headlamps of the ATVs. The young woman chewed her lip. She looked both exhausted and frightened.

  “I believe her,” Krantz said. “What about you guys?”

  “I do too,” Eliza said.

  Miriam looked skeptical. “What’s she been doing the last year? She had plenty of chances to leave before now, assuming Taylor Junior was gone, as she claims. Plenty of chances to warn us before now. If she was in charge, why didn’t she lead the whole cult out of the desert to safety?”

  “It’s not as easy as it sounds,” Eliza said.

  She thought about Caleb Kimball’s handpicked group of followers in the illegal dump outside Las Vegas. They’d put up with all kinds of horrific abuse. They hadn’t left either. In fact, they had voluntarily locked themselves in a trailer and let themselves be burned alive. They must have known, must have guessed at the end, that the whole awful business was the feverish nightmare of their leader’s deranged mind.

  “I don’t see why not,” Miriam said.

  “And I think that’s more than a little ironic,” Krantz said.

  “What do you mean by that?” she demanded.

  “He means,” Eliza said, “that most people see little difference between the Kimball followers and our own church.”

  “That’s ridiculous. We can leave at any time.”

  “Can we?” Eliza said.

  “Look, forget I said anything,” Krantz said. “What about Lillian? Let’s say she’s telling the truth. That doesn’t mean we should trust her.”

  “I don’t know,” Eliza admitted. “She married Aaron Young. But maybe she didn’t have a choice. No, I guess I don’t trust her. But I don’t see that we have a choice either. We have an extra mask and rebreather, right? We can’t get back to Blister Creek in time, but we might get to the base and save all of those people.”

  “We might,” Miriam said. “Or we might get ourselves killed.” She still sounded grudging, but the anger had faded from her voice.

  Krantz raised his voice and looked back toward Lillian. “What about his followers? They going to start shooting the minute we show up?”

  “No, they won’t,” Lillian said. She hurried toward them. “Well, maybe Mary Ellen. She’s Taylor Junior’s wife, and she’s terrified of him. If he gave her a gun, she’ll defend the compound.”

  “And the old guy?”

  “Brother Niels. He would if Taylor Junior told him to. They might get a few others to shoot too.”

  “There’s another risk,” Miriam said. “Remember what Taylor Junior tried to pull in Dark Canyon? There might be booby traps. That’s the sort of thing this guy does. And his followers.” She gave Lillian a hard look. “They set up traps and kill people. I’m sure you know all about that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, the elevator is mined,” Lillian said. “Taylor Junior probably activated them on his way out. But we can’t get in the front door anyway. It’s a huge metal door and it will be locked. But there’s another way in that bypasses the mines—I saw him come in that way himself. Please hurry, there isn’t much time.”

  Eliza looked at her two companions. Krantz clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. Miriam’s lips formed a thin line and she shook her head slowly, as if unable to believe what they were getting themselves into. Eliza felt the same way. The thought of facing a poisonous gas–filled, booby trap–riddled underground compound, defended by brainwashed fanatics, filled her with dread.

  The only thing that scared her more was the vision of dead women and children, suffocated because nobody came to rescue them from their nightmare.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  May 28, 1893

  Our husbands arrived yesterday in Blister Creek.

  We thought they were dead. After so long alone in the wilderness, with no man to guide us, we made Zion for ourselves, broke and built this land by the sweat of our own brows. The desert has blossomed under our stewardship.

  And now the men come.

  What do they want? Why, the
y want to break us and teach us obedience. They see what we’ve made and they want it for themselves. Isn’t that the way of any man? Give him a little authority and he will exercise unrighteous dominion.

  Let them try. I have defeated plagues, venomous snakes, a federal officer, hostile Indians, and an angel of Lucifer—yes, I believe the angel is finally defeated, this time for good—and I’ll be d—ed if we’ll turn over everything we’ve fought for so we can become breeding stock.

  My husband Hyrum’s betrayal cuts deepest of all.

  Last night when he came, he greeted me warmly, sat with me during dinner, and then sent me to sleep in the children’s bedroom while he spent the night with Laura in my bed. Laura told him it was our shared bed, but we hadn’t lived under the same roof for over two years. I built that bed, and the quilt is made from scraps of fabric my mother carried across the plains of Nebraska and Wyoming.

  I was jealous, I’ll freely admit it. Many women feign disinterest. They love their sister wives—why would they be jealous? Most of the time, I think they’re sincere. But last night was the first time we’d seen our husbands in years, and I suspect that several women felt the same way I did. Why not me? Why not me for this one night, and tomorrow you can do whatever you like? But I didn’t voice these thoughts aloud, and neither did any of the other shunned wives.

  Instead, I lay in bed while the children slept and tried not to listen to the soft whispers from the next room. The sighs, the tender voices, the words but not the intent muffled by the plank walls. Would Hyrum still go to her first if he knew her secret, I wondered, if he knew why Laura no longer shared my bed? She didn’t sleep in this house because she spent her nights with Maude Kimball. None of the women cared anymore—except perchance Annabelle, and she stayed tight-lipped on the subject—and it was unspoken that if the men returned, we’d never talk of it.

  But it was an unbearable cruelty to hear them enjoy their lovemaking last night. Laura had her companionship. I have spent thirty-four months in aching loneliness, my heart filled with stones, without even a child to hold at my breast to feel the warmth and love of another human being. Even the other women keep their distance. They treat me now with friendship, even respect as their leader. But not love. I was angry with Hyrum, furious that he’d put me in this position, told me to lead these women and then abandoned me. But last night at least, I could have used him, even for a few minutes. I am dying inside, and nobody sees it.

  Today he asked me to walk with him down Main Street. We walked in silence for several minutes, and then Hyrum cleared his throat as we walked past the cemetery, where I’d laid out a site for the temple. I thought he was going to apologize for being gone so long, or maybe praise me for the neat grid of streets, the sturdy foundations on our houses, the ninety acres of land already cleared and cultivated. Or the irrigation ditches. Maybe the millrace and the ingenious way I channeled the wheel power to both grind flour and power a loom. I am proud of that.

  “The temple won’t go here,” he said.

  “What do you mean? It’s the perfect spot. Flat, but on higher ground, where it will be visible from the entire valley.”

  “Brother Kimball thinks the ground is too soft and the foundation will sink. He suggests a place across the street from the house, near all the sandstone humps. What do you call that place again?”

  “Wait—Kimball thinks the sand next to Witch’s Warts is more solid than my rocky hill?” I laughed at how ludicrous it sounded. “Doesn’t he know the proverb of the wise man and the foolish man?”

  “And we don’t like the temple layout either. It’s too big. Remember, we’re only building an endowment house for now, not a full temple, not until President Woodruff comes to the valley and officially dedicates the site. And that won’t happen until Utah gets statehood and we can stop pretending we’ve given up polygamy.”

  “I was following your orders, Hyrum. You told me to mark a spot and clear the land. We only have two draft horses, and I spent three weeks pulling out stones, grading. Three blasted weeks. And now you tell me I was wasting my time?”

  “Watch your language,” he said, his tone sharp.

  “I’ll say whatever the devil I please.”

  “You will not. You will guard your tongue. My uncle is coming next week, and I won’t have you swearing like a miner.”

  I groaned. “Uncle Griggs is coming? Why?”

  “He’s not the only one. Another Johnson is on the way—Albert, I think. And my cousin George Christianson and his brother Thomas. The marshals are turning up the heat. They need a place to hide. Only for a little while. We should have enough men here shortly to properly organize the kingdom.”

  “Must you?” I said. “Oh, Hyrum, must you?”

  He looked taken aback at my anguished tone. His expression softened. “Rebecca?”

  “Leave me alone.” I quickened my pace.

  He caught up with me, took my arm, and pulled me to a stop. “Are you angry about last night?” He looked down at me with his earnest expression. He was as handsome as ever, with his firm jaw and almost aristocratic bearing. No wonder my mother thought he was such a good catch, even if I’d only be his third wife. “I meant to come to you later, you know. But I was so tired. Seven days on the road since we left Salt Lake City. I fell asleep and—”

  “That’s not it!” I sounded shrill, even to myself, and I forced myself to be calm. It was difficult, this adjustment after so long, and I didn’t yet understand. Things hadn’t yet turned ugly.

  “Then what? It’s not about the temple, is it? You know I’m proud of you, of all of this. Most men couldn’t have done as well as you have.”

  “No, they couldn’t,” I said. “I had seven women and two dozen young children, that’s all. We built this town in three years anyway, through drought and flood and illness. No, I think not. I don’t think one man in twenty could have done what I did.”

  “Are you finished venting your gall?”

  I said nothing.

  He pulled me close, but I stiffened in his arms. “Rebecca. Be gentle, behave like a lady, like the future mother of my children. You don’t have to be defiant. You don’t have to be hard and proud like a man. I’m not your enemy, I’m your husband. I sent you into the wilderness with a difficult task, and you did it wonderfully. But the men are here now. We can take the burden off your shoulders. You and the others can concentrate your energy on the tasks the Lord has set out for you—bearing children, raising righteous young sons. Making your home a welcoming place for your husbands.”

  “You don’t know what we’ve suffered. You have no idea.”

  “Talk to me, share what happened.”

  I thought about Annabelle and the evil spirit. Her child who died of the pox. I thought about Laura and Maude finding comfort in each other’s arms. And I thought about Frederick van Slooten.

  “Did you kill a soldier?” I asked.

  He drew back with a frown. “What do you mean?”

  “Outside Laramie. There were two soldiers. You killed one of them, didn’t you? Left the other one with a big cut across his face, like this.” I drew a finger from my right ear to my chin.

  Hyrum didn’t answer right away. Jedediah Kimball and his son Peter trotted past on horses, hooves clomping on the dry red soil. Jedediah tipped his hat to Hyrum but didn’t acknowledge me. Peter, however, gave me a smirk as he passed. The boy turned fifteen in two weeks and had grown six or eight inches since we arrived in the valley. But I’d never seen that look of defiance before.

  “Who told you about that?” Hyrum asked after the Kimballs had passed.

  “A federal marshal. His name was Frederick van Slooten. You killed a man, didn’t you? And you tried to kill van Slooten.”

  “You know me, Rebecca. I’m not a violent man by nature. I prefer a gentle word, to turn the other cheek.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying there were good reasons to kill that man.”

  “Your good reaso
ns followed us to Blister Creek. The survivor joined the federal marshals and came looking for you here. He would have violated our honor, one by one. I had to kill him—do you understand that? I’m a murderer.”

  He looked taken aback at this, but then he slowly shook his head. “No, not a murderer. I’ll explain to the others, and I’m sure they’ll understand.” He took my hand in his. I couldn’t help but notice that mine was rough and callused, his smooth and soft. “You did the right thing. We have to protect our way of life even if it means taking ruthless measures on occasion.”

  “We? What have you been protecting? You’ve been hiding in your mother’s house in Salt Lake. And I’ve been here, clawing a living from the desert.”

  “It wasn’t my choice, you know that. I tried to get us to Mexico. My cousin Miles Romney offered us land in Sonora. But it’s too far away.”

  “I know what you’re doing,” I said. “You don’t want to go to Mexico. You think your father will get you into the Quorum of the Twelve. You let Brother Kimball convince you it was your birthright. Kimball, Cowley, Young. Future prophet and counselors of the church. If you hide in Mexico, you’ll never get that.”

  “If things…happen, I can’t be trapped in Mexico, unable to cross the border.”

  “I don’t care about that. I don’t care about any of it.”

  “Why are you being so difficult?” he asked.

  “Why don’t you ask yourself that question? You’re the one who put me in charge. You made the decision to take an eighteen-year-old girl and elevate her to leadership. Now, two and a half years later, you come here and you’re surprised that I’ve become a leader.”

  “So what are you saying, you were better off without us?” A smile played at his lips. “You think you can run this valley without us? A passel of women and children?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s lunacy.” The smile vanished. “You can’t really mean that.”

  I stopped in the middle of the street, a few dozen yards short of the house, where Sister Laura stood on the porch watching us. “That is exactly what I mean, Hyrum Cowley. I want you to do one of two things. Either you leave—you and the other men—or you submit to your wives. You do what we say, you follow our rules. In six months, when you see what we’ve done, we will take you into our counsel. And we will run this town together, every man and woman having an equal say in its affairs.”