The Veil

by Diane Noble

  “You then, become a heavenly father of your own world,” she said. “People will pray to you.”

  “Yes. And you, dear Hannah, will be a heavenly mother.”

  There was a choking sound from Sophronia, which she turned into a coughing fit.

  “And will people pray to me as well?” Hannah asked, suppressing her own smile.

  “Oh no. Only to the heavenly Father.”

  “I see,” said Hannah. “But if I am your queen and priestess …”

  “You aren’t yet, my dear,” he said with a raised brow. “Remember I said you would eventually be my priestess, just as I am a priest.”

  “How do I achieve this … honor?” Hannah asked.

  “It is earned,” he said. “And I am the one to decide when you’re ready.”

  This time, Hannah stood and stoked the fire then watched as the sparks flew into the black sky.

  At sunrise the following day, Hannah and Sophronia walked to the spring to fill their canteens.

  “Sophie, you must be careful with the looks you give John. I still worry that he’ll accuse you of apostasy.”

  Sophronia patted Hannah’s hand and sighed. “Dear child, don’t worry about me. I think he’s accepted me as some old crazy woman. He doesn’t seem to pay much attention.”

  “Still, I worry,” Hannah said.

  “It was good to see you smile last night, child.”

  Hannah grinned. “It’s just that his words about my becoming some kind of heavenly mother—or a priestess, of all things—struck me funny. Can you imagine such an idea?”

  “For you, or for all Mormon women?”

  “Both,” she said, dropping her voice in case they might be overheard. “If you look at it clearly, a woman can’t reach God except through her husband. Doesn’t it seem to you that a man then holds the keys to much more than her salvation?”

  Sophronia nodded slowly. “I’ve thought about that for some time, especially after you told me what went on in the endowment house.”

  Hannah’s countenance fell with its mention.

  “Child, what’s happened?” Sophronia asked. “Though I saw your face light in a smile or two last night, I know your spirit is heavy—more than usual.”

  “Lucas was at morning services yesterday.”

  Sophronia stopped abruptly. “I didn’t see him.”

  “He was at the back of the room—just before we left.”

  “He saw us?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “So he must know … about John, about your marriage.” Sophronia reached for Hannah’s hand and squeezed it.

  “Probably not when he first saw us, but I’m sure someone’s told him by now.” They had reached the spring, and Hannah knelt to fill the first container. “I’m glad I didn’t see his face when he found out.”

  “We will get away,” Sophronia said, standing behind her. “And then …” Her voice faltered.

  “And then … ?” Hannah looked back over her shoulder. “If you’re thinking about Lucas and me being together again, don’t, Aunt Sophie. There’s no longer such a thing, and can never be—whether I’m here or out of the territory completely.”

  Around them the early morning sunlight was now spilling across the rushes, cattails, and clumps of cactus that framed the small pond. It sparkled on the ripples and reflected off the slender stems of the reeds that twisted in the morning breeze.

  Hannah handed Sophronia the full canteen then plunged the second one under the water as her aunt twisted the cap on the first.

  “What’s happened to you couldn’t be avoided,” Sophronia said as Hannah stood. “You mustn’t carry the guilt for what John’s done to you—to us.” She touched Hannah’s cheek affectionately. “I’ll never forget what you’ve sacrificed, because you did it to save me.”

  “I keep thinking there should have been another way, Sophie. If we’d left sooner or covered our trail better …” Her voice dropped, and she shook her head slowly.

  “There was nothing to be done—especially by you.”

  “I love you, Sophie,” Hannah said softly. “I don’t know how I’d make it through this without you.”

  “Speaking of love, Hannah, I’ve been thinking about something during my hours in the wagon.”

  Hannah smiled. “I hope it’s detailed plans for the day we leave, Sophie.”

  “No, this is something different. A long time ago before I joined up with the Saints, I read someplace in the Holy Bible that God doesn’t want our sacrifice, he only wants our hearts.”

  Hannah nodded. “There are parts of the Holy Bible that aren’t properly translated.”

  “That’s what we’ve been told … by the same men who say they are gods in the making and say that our only way into heaven is by their calling our names.

  “But what if we’ve been told wrong?” Sophronia went on. “All this killing has bothered me for a long while. I’ve told you that plenty of times. I used to think it was necessary—back in our early days when folks were persecuting us. But now? The very idea of blood atonement, punishing people for their doubts about the Church or for criticizing the Prophet …” She sighed heavily and shook her head. “I just don’t believe it’s right, Hannah.”

  A thoughtful frown creased Sophronia’s forehead. “Yet God is real. I know he is. And I was thinking that if it’s not sacrifice he wants, then that means there’s no way to earn our way into heaven through pleasing our husbands, as John would have us believe. Or even on our own.

  “If you think about it … if it’s our hearts God wants, they’re filled with everything we’ve ever done in our lives—good and evil all mixed together.”

  “Yet if that’s what he wants,” Hannah mused, “we would have to give him our hearts just as they are. There’s not a way for us to make them acceptable.”

  “Or pure,” Sophronia added, raising a brow.

  Hannah knew her aunt’s meaning. “You’re trying to tell me that it wouldn’t matter to God that I’ve been defiled.”

  “That’s a strong word, honey.” Sophronia must have seen the pain on Hannah’s face, for she wrapped her arms around her grandniece and held her close for a moment. “Oh, child, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for what you’re enduring.”

  “I don’t think God or anyone else can ever take it away or its memory,” Hannah said bitterly. She looked into her aunt’s careworn face. “Aunt Sophie, do you mind if I stay here alone for a few minutes?”

  Sophronia smiled softly. “No, child. You stay. I’ll make an excuse for you to John.”

  “Thank you,” Hannah said, kissing her aunt’s downy cheek. Then she settled onto a sandstone rock beside the spring. A breeze rippled the waters, and they moved in the sunlight, almost as if thousands of tiny diamonds had been tossed across the surface.

  Then an odd calm came over her, as if someone had brought a candle into the pitch black room that made up her soul.

  My child, I have loved you with an everlasting love.

  You are precious in my sight.

  I betroth you to me forever … in lovingkindness … in mercy.

  The small company moved southward for three more days. The August sun beat down with an almost unbearable scorching heat. The mules and horses plodded along, slower now. By the fourth day, a wind kicked up in the late morning, and to the west, great piles of thunderheads began to build.

  John decided to stop early and take shelter on high ground. After camp was made, Hannah approached her husband. She’d increasingly felt the smothering confines of riding near him, being with him day and night, especially in this searing heat. She needed some relief.

  “I’m going to take the sorrel out for a ride,” she told him as the sky was darkening with rain-laden clouds. Sophronia was resting in the wagon, and it was a perfect opportunity for a short ride across the mesa.

  “It’s not a good time to go riding,” he said.

  “It may not be, but I’ve decided to go anyway,” she said, knowing it was indeed foolis
h with the impending storm but feeling she would suffocate if she didn’t get away, at least for a few minutes.

  “I’ll come along, then. Its not safe for you to go out alone,” he said.

  “I intend to go alone,” she countered, turning from him. “Please, don’t try to stop me.”

  He reached for her shoulder, but she shrugged off his hand and hurried to the makeshift corral near the wagon. She let out a sigh of relief when he didn’t follow.

  Moments later, she’d saddled the stallion, mounted, and was galloping across the red-rock country far from camp, away from John’s ever-watchful eyes. The air was cooler now because of the coming storm; now and then she felt a light touch of raindrops on her face. She’d loosened her hair, and it caught in the breeze, lifting off her neck as she rode. Closing her eyes, she tilted her face as the stallion thundered across the mesa, enjoying the rhythm of his pounding hooves, the freedom of release.

  Finally slowing the horse to a walk, she wound through some alders toward an outcropping of black lava that she figured would overlook the road they’d been traveling on. They would soon intersect the Sevier River, and she thought the lookout point might afford her a pleasant view. So she drew to a halt, tied the reins to a nearby shrub, and moved through the slender trees to the outcropping.

  She’d taken only a few steps, however, when she heard the sounds of hoofbeats pounding the earth. John Steele! She was certain. Fighting waves of sickening anger, she walked farther into the forest of trees, searching for a place to hide. The brush was thick—buckeye, spent wild lilac, buckthorn—and she moved quickly into some large clumps and knelt down, out of sight.

  She heard the heavy boots moving through the brush and held her breath.

  “Hannah,” called a voice. It wasn’t John Steele; it was a voice she would have known anywhere, even in her dreams. “Hannah,” it came again, and she felt a flood of tears sting her eyes.

  It was Lucas, but she couldn’t face him.

  “Hannah,” he said again. “I need to talk to you. I won’t force you, but please, let’s at least talk.”

  By now her tears were spilling down her cheeks, and she covered her face with her hands.

  “I’ve been following the wagon,” he called to her, “hoping to catch you alone. This is the first time. I must know what happened. Please, talk to me. I promise to leave you then if you want me to.”

  For a moment, the only sounds Hannah could hear were those of the wind crying through the trees, the distant thunder rolling across the mesa, and the thudding of her heart.

  Finally she stood, her face still wet with tears, to face Lucas, who was still sitting atop Spitfire. Neither of them spoke. Lucas was the first to move, dismounting then taking a step toward her. Hannah was still surrounded by the buckthorn and wild lilacs, so she made her way through the brush to meet him in a small clearing among the alders.

  “Hannah,” he whispered hoarsely. “First, tell me, are you all right?” His gaze was caring, breaking Hannah’s heart all the more. She knew how his expression would change once he heard everything that had happened with John Steele.

  She couldn’t speak. Not yet. As she looked into his beloved face, her eyes filled with tears once more, obscuring his image. She blinked and wiped her eyes with her fingertips. He reached for her hand, but she pulled it away from him.

  “Tell me, Hannah.”

  Hannah bit her lip and turned away, unwilling to see the pain in his eyes as she told the story. Her voice was low, controlled, when at last she spoke. “After you left,” she began, “John came to me and said that you were going to England to fetch yourself a wife.”

  “You believed him?”

  She shook her head. “No. I knew that if it was planned you didn’t know it.”

  “Then why—how did he get you to agree to marry him?”

  “So you know.”

  “Yes, Harriet told me.”

  The skies were grayer now, and large drops of rain had begun to dampen the soil, splashing off the alder leaves and rustling the dry brush. A clap of thunder rolled, crashing closer than before.

  “Let’s take cover,” Lucas said gently and reached for Hannah’s arm to lead her farther into the stand of trees, under the canopy of branches. He went back for the horses and led them to shelter near where Hannah stood waiting.

  “Did you want to marry John, Hannah?” he asked when he returned. “Is that why you agreed?”

  His hair was damp from the rain, and Hannah fought the urge to brush it from his forehead, feel its texture as she combed it with her fingers. “You know me better than that, Lucas. I wouldn’t have done it.”

  “Then why?”

  She told him how they’d tried to flee, about their capture, and how her aunt had shot at John with her Hawken. “He was going to try her for apostasy, Lucas. When he said that I could save her, I agreed to the marriage. He told me we’d be living in the south of the territory, near Mountain Meadows.” She gave him a wry smile. “Probably the best hope for getting out of the territory. That’s what gives me the only glimmer of sanity in this madness.”

  “So you’ve not abandoned plans for leaving.”

  Hannah searched his face. “Are you still riding with the Danites?”

  “You’re afraid I might turn you in?” He let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, Hannah, if you only knew …” He reached for her hand, and this time she didn’t pull away. “I came back for you—and for Sophie. I got as far as Fort Kearney and knew I couldn’t leave you. I heard about the troop movement out of Leavenworth, and it gave me the excuse I needed to return without suspicion.”

  “You were coming back for me?” She bit her lip, feeling the threat of tears again. “Oh, Lucas … no!” Her voice was a ragged whisper.

  “I’d decided to get you and Sophie out to safety. Completely away from here. But I had no idea what had happened. I trusted John.”

  “What will you do now?” Hannah asked, her voice barely a whisper. “Are you still going to leave?”

  “I would never leave you, Hannah. I’ll get you to safety. I swear it. Both you and Sophronia.”

  Hannah moved away from him. Around them now sheets of rain were falling, and the faraway rumble of thunder seemed to cause a steady shaking of the ground. But the canopy of leaves protected them except for when gusts of wind slanted the rain toward them. In the distance, jagged flashes of lightning brightened the dark sky. “I can’t leave with you,” she said.

  “I don’t mean right now,” he said, misunderstanding. “You’re worried about Sophie being able to travel at her age. I’ve thought of little else on my way here. I’ve made plans …”

  “No,” she said firmly. “I’ve heard that women who leave their husbands, or the Church, face dangers. But I’ve also heard that when a man takes another’s wife—especially the wife of a man as powerful as John Steele—it’s death or unspeakable horrors worse than death.” She paused, looking into his eyes. “What I’ve heard is true, isn’t it, Lucas?” His eyes didn’t lie, and she knew without his speaking a word that she was correct. “I won’t let you face that, Lucas.”

  “I’d give my life for you, Hannah. Gladly.”

  “And I for you, Lucas,” she said. “But I can’t leave with you.”

  “There’s something more … another reason … beyond what you’ve told me.” He paused, but when she didn’t comment, he went on as if trying to understand her feelings. “You are the same to me now as you’ve always been—”

  “No!” she interrupted. “I’m not the same. And please, speak no more of rescue or of going away with me. What has happened has changed us both. It can’t be undone, Lucas. Ever.”

  “I’ll do my best to convince you you’re wrong, Hannah. I’m going to return to your camp and travel with you. John is expecting me.” Lucas laughed bitterly. “I had quite a welcome waiting for me when I returned to the valley. First, finding I’d lost you to him, then that he’d arranged for me to take my oath as a Dani
te against my will. John left word that he personally will oversee my first mission alone. I believe my loyalty is being tested.”

  “Oh, Lucas! What will happen if you don’t agree to do it?”

  He didn’t answer, and Hannah met his anguished gaze. She knew Lucas well. If he was forced to kill for the Church, his soul would be just as ravaged as hers had been by John Steele.

  “Leave right now, Lucas. Ride on without us. Get out of the territory before its too late. Please,” she entreated. “John won’t know you’ve been here. Just ride on, quickly. You know the territory better than most. You can make it out.”

  “I won’t leave you, Hannah.”

  “We’ll join up with the next suitable wagon company that nears John’s ranch. We’ve already planned it. We’ll get out.”

  “I won’t leave the territory without you,” he repeated. Then he pulled her into his arms.

  “God help us,” she whispered.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Fort Bridger

  Early August

  Ellie cracked her whip over the oxen’s scrawny backs, heading her wagon into the night circle just outside Fort Bridger. The outpost wasn’t a military fort as she had expected but more of a supply depot surrounded by pines and scrub brush. At least it would provide them a place to buy grain and ammunition.

  She worried now that the company was noticeably smaller. Weeks before, seven families had formed their own company and had taken the Sublette cutoff, or as many called it, the Parting of the Ways, desperately and stubbornly seeking to make up for lost time through a dangerous shortcut to California. They had become vehemently opposed to Alexander’s captaincy and had caused trouble nearly from the first day the train pulled out of Fort Laramie.

  It seemed to Ellie that every time an iron tire rolled off and wobbled in the dust like a coin, Alexander was blamed for not insisting on better-built wheels. Or when they traveled through dust as fine as flour, rising so the wagoners couldn’t see, they blamed the captain for not getting them nearer water. Or when oxen hooves split, the shoes fell off, and there was no hot tar for curing the animals’ feet, her husband was blamed for not telling them to bring a greater supply of whatever was needed.