“Heavenly Father needs his people to do his work.”
“That’s true.” I must admit to feeling grateful for Brigham’s edicts to feed the poor; my mouth nearly watered as I uncovered a sack filled with two generous scoops of dried beans and, underneath, an onion. “But if you had faith in him—just him, without the Saints—he wouldn’t let you starve.”
“You cannot separate faith in God from faith in the prophet, Camilla. They speak in one voice. Obedience to one is obedience to the other.”
I bit the inside of my lip to keep myself from contradicting her. After all, this was how God had chosen to meet my immediate needs of shelter and food. There would be other opportunities for conversation. Perhaps we’d both be of a better temperament after filling our stomachs with a hot, steaming bowl of ham-and-bean soup. To lighten the mood, I suggested as much, though we’d have to let the beans soak overnight. She did, however, have five potatoes, and we sliced one thin along with half of an onion, setting it all to sizzle with thin slices of salt pork.
It was the first smell of real cooking I’d experienced since coming to this house. Really, the first since I’d left my own home now fully a month ago, and I almost wept with the anticipation of it. With my careful calculations, we had just enough to give each of us a generous serving—not enough to save any left over. We cleaned our plates and wiped them cleaner still with slices of fresh bread.
“And to think,” Evangeline said, leaning back in her chair and rubbing her plank-flat stomach, “I’ll be eating like this again tomorrow. I ran into Sister Bethany at the market, and she invited me to dinner after meeting. Said she was making a pumpkin pie. Sure you won’t come with me?”
“I’m sure. Thank you for understanding.” The combination of good food eaten near a hot stove gave me such a feeling of weight and warmth, I could have gone to sleep right there at the table, even though it was not quite seven o’clock.
“Well then, I guess it’s up to me to be the obedient one.” Evangeline was in better humor too. She rose, stretching. “Leave the dishes for now. I’m going to heat water for a bath.”
And so we each trekked out to the water pump just behind her house to fill her kettle and pots with water, which we set to boil. One split log after another was added to the fire, until the little kitchen glowed as warm as an August afternoon. I took it upon myself to wipe down the washbasin, just as I always did for my girls, before filling it.
I don’t know why I didn’t leave the room. Evangeline was a grown woman, after all—not a little girl. But something about her seemed so small and frail, I simply stayed. It was I who grazed the back of my knuckles across the water’s surface to make sure the temperature was just right; I who shaved thin slices off the cake of sweet-smelling soap and dropped them into the water; I who fished around until I’d found every last pin in the crimson nest atop her head.
“I could help you wash your hair, if you like,” I said as the stuff sprang to life beneath my hands.
“Oh, could you? I have such a time—it gets so snarled.”
So, fully dressed, Evangeline sat on the floor and I guided her until the back of her neck rested against the edge of the basin. My own sleeves rolled to my elbows, I scooped the water up until her hair was saturated clear to her scalp. I worked the bar of soap into a lather between my hands and ran them through the wet tresses, massaging her scalp, then rinsing it with warm water. Once satisfied, I twisted it into a thick rope and wrung as much of the water out as I could, then wrapped it in a square of toweling.
Rising to my feet, I promised to comb and braid it after she’d finished her bath.
“Wait.” She reached for my arm to help her stand. “Would you mind going upstairs to my room and fetching me a clean set of garments from my top bureau drawer?”
I hesitated for just a split second—almost to the point of asking for clarification—before saying, “Of course.” How could I ever forget?
I took a long match from the box by the stove, touched it to the flame within, and lit a lamp.
“Are you sure you need that?” Evangeline was doubled over, unlacing her boots. “I thought you’d know your way around by now. And they’re right in the top drawer.”
“I won’t let it burn a second longer than I have to.” I’d almost grown used to the dark in this house, but I wasn’t entirely comfortable in it.
The heat from the kitchen dissipated long before hitting the second floor. I set the lamp atop the yellowed doily and opened the top drawer, my eyes immediately landing on the familiar, white cotton fabric. Though it was now folded to hide its sacred symbols, I could clearly picture the stitched images—the square and compasses across each breast, the marks at the navel and the knee. Long-sleeved, extending from its high collar to the ankle, I’d worn such a garment until the night before I left Nathan. So many burdens woven into this fabric, and yet I knew, to Evangeline, to wear it was to wear her very faith.
Garment in one hand, lamp in the other, I used my elbow to close the drawer and made my way back to the kitchen. The fire that had burned so valiantly to heat the bathwater had all but disappeared, and the chill of a near-empty house on a winter’s night was slowly creeping back in.
“We should build the fire back up,” I called out as I rounded the corner. “Or you’ll catch your death—”
The sight stopped me midstep. Evangeline was small enough to fold herself up and bathe right in the galvanized tub, and so she had. She stood now, the water up to her ankles, wet hair heavy down her back. Her garment—identical to the one I held in my hand—clung to her, sopping wet against her skin.
“C-c-can you help me?” Her teeth chattered around the words as her fingers struggled with the tied closure.
“Oh, sister . . .” I set the lamp and garment on the table and ran to her aid. “You can take this off long enough to bathe, you know.”
She kept her lips clamped shut and shook her head.
There was a tie at the top of the shirt and another midway down between the symbols stitched over each breast. This second one was knotted, and the fact that it was wet made it even more difficult to dislodge.
“Come closer to the light.” I gave her my arm to help her over the tub’s edge and led her to the table. The tremors that had made her hands unable to work the knot now took over the whole of her body, sending her into violent spasms. “Hold on to me,” I instructed. “Try to be still.”
She clutched my upper arms, further hindering my efforts, forcing me to work close—so close, I could see her very bones protruding beneath her skin.
“Do you think this might be easier if I had all ten fingers?” I said, attempting to lighten the mood.
“Maybe that’s the m-m-miracle we should pray for. That they’ll g-g-grow back.”
Soon, though, I could see that untying the closure would not happen anytime soon. “I’m going to have to cut it.”
“N-n-no!” No joking here. Her gritted teeth did nothing to lessen her insistence.
“Either that or wait until it’s dry, and you’ll catch a chill if you wear it too much longer.”
“You c-c-can’t—”
“Just here at the tie,” I soothed. “And we can stitch it right back on.”
“You know b-b-better.”
“I know that it’s silly to catch a cold.” I tore myself away from her grip. “I’m going to go get a pair of scissors.”
I left her with the lamplight, knowing my way well around the parlor and the exact place where her sewing basket sat next to her favorite chair. My fingers quickly closed around the cold blade, and I grabbed a wool blanket from the top of the pile of bedding Evangeline kept folded on the end of the sofa, hoping she’d see fit to wrap herself in it and allow her body to warm itself before putting on the new, dry garment.
I returned to find her just where I’d left her, only on her knees, hands folded in prayer. I, too, went to my knees, praying silently beside her.
Father, God. Thank you for freeing me from
this same bondage.
Then I touched her shoulder. “I’ll fix it tomorrow. While you’re at church.”
She nodded, and I pulled at the garment, sliding the scissors between it and her cold, pale flesh. In my mind, freedom for Evangeline would come with one quick slice. Soon enough, though, I found myself in a different scenario as I worked the blades against the wet fabric.
“When did you last sharpen these?”
“Never have.” Her eyes were closed as tight as the knot.
“I don’t want to dull them any more than they are. Or rust them.”
“Get a knife.”
“Are you sure?”
I took her silence as permission and went to the counter, where the same sharp knife we’d used to slice potatoes earlier still sat with the rest of the unwashed dishes. I exchanged the scissors for it and returned to Evangeline, who now had tears streaming down her freckled face. She looked so small, so much like a child, and I wanted nothing more than to wrap her in the blanket, take her in my arms, and rock her until she was once again warm.
“Heavenly Father,” she prayed, warmed at least enough that her teeth no longer chattered, “forgive me. Forgive me for being such a fool, to not think—”
“You’re not a fool.” To my knowledge, I’d never interrupted somebody in prayer. Indeed, I was unsuccessful in doing so here, as she continued without stopping.
“I should have untied it first. I should have known. Forgive our violation of this sacred garment. Forgive Camilla, who sins on my behalf.”
Whatever protective, loving thoughts I’d held before disappeared. This time, I did not go to my knees. Instead, I reached down, looping the two fingers of my left hand under the knotted tie. Evangeline’s eyes flew open as I yanked the fabric away from her skin. In one none-too-gentle motion, I slid the knife’s blade beneath the fabric. One swift slice, and Evangeline was free.
Her gasp was such that I feared I’d misjudged and nicked her as well.
I managed to ask, “Are you all right?” while waiting, breathlessly, for the sight of blood.
She fingered the jagged edge. “You can’t fix this.”
“Yes, I can.” Though now, despite my relief that she was unharmed, I felt less inclined to do so.
“No. It’s ruined.”
“I’m not that useless with a needle. You’ll see tomorrow. Good as new.”
She looked up, imploring. Tiny as she was, I’d never seen my friend looking so vulnerable. Always, since the day we met, she’d had this bearing that made me think there was an iron ribbon running just beneath her skin. Perhaps it was, in fact, strength she felt coming from this that she wore under her clothes. I would not debate the garment’s power just now. Or maybe ever, seeing how desperately she clung to its sacredness.
“Take this off,” I said, gently tugging at the tie I still held. “Drape it on the chair to dry and get some warm clothes on. I’ll put more wood on the fire and comb out your hair.”
Her chin quivered. “B-but we’ve already used so much. . . .”
But I ignored her protest, digging through the wood box by the back door, looking for the smallest split logs I could find. Out of respect for her privacy, I busied myself as long as I could, glancing up every now and again to see the shadow on the wall as it shed once and for all the wet clothing. Evangeline’s silhouette was skeletal, lacking even the most modest of womanly curves. The moment I knew she was once again covered, I turned back.
“Don’t tie it so tightly this time.”
She offered a weak smile, and I knew she had given me a measure of forgiveness, though she would never accept the same forgiveness herself.
Chapter 10
I’d been up late in the night, having offered to press Evangeline’s Sunday meeting dress. The more I labored in her honor, the less critical she was about my refusal to accompany her. This, to her, was familiar. Acceptable. Actions submitted in the name of faith.
She herself was up much earlier than our usual rising time. I could hear her singing to herself downstairs, something she would never do in my presence. I remember our singings during the journey west, when I might be sitting right next to her and hear nary a sound coming out of her mouth, despite her fervent mouthing of the words. No doubt, in just a few hours’ time, she would be sitting on a hard wooden pew, surrounded by her sister Saints, miming the notes of those songs that honored her heroes.
When a final note disappeared like so much sand in a shoe, I heard her soft steps as she ascended the stairs.
“Camilla?”
She’d never ventured upstairs since my arrival. Reluctantly, I wrapped the top quilt around my shoulders and braced my feet to hit the cold floor.
“Good morning, Evangeline.” I stopped at the doorway to the room, and she lingered on the top step. “Your hair looks nice.” And it did, plaited into two thick braids that she’d wrapped around her head.
“Thank you. Now, you need to hurry. We’ll need to leave within the hour if we’re going to be on time.”
She began to walk back down the stairs as if the matter had been settled. She didn’t stop until I called down, “I’m not going this morning.”
Turning to face me, she said, “Are you sick?” Her words held more accusation than concern, and I knew I’d never feign an illness grave enough to convince her.
I clutched the quilt tighter. “No, not really.”
Then that small, tight smile, and a new, slow ascent, her hand on the rough banister, seemingly pulling her up every step. “I understand.”
“Good.” I wanted to retreat to my borrowed bed, but still she approached.
“We all have sin in our lives, but you cannot run away from God in heaven. He sees you. And I can only imagine what you must be harboring in your heart that would make you leave your husband and children. But maybe, if you come with me today, if you confess to your brothers and sisters, you’ll find the courage to return.”
By now she was not only at the top of the stairs but directly beside me, laying her light-as-a-feather hand on my arm. Her fanaticism for the false teachings we’d both once embraced was overwhelming.
“I’ve nothing to confess to the church.”
“It’s very important that we all strive to live in obedience, and here you’ve abandoned your family. Now it seems like you’re set to abandon your church. What’s next? Your faith?”
I didn’t know how long I would be able to live as the serpent taking shelter beneath the rock of Evangeline’s cold, bare home, but I wasn’t about to announce my apostasy to Evangeline Moss this Sunday morning.
“I miss my girls,” I said, relaxing my posture as if greatly comforted by her touch. “I loved Sunday mornings—getting them dressed, fixing their hair. I . . . I can’t imagine going without them.”
She pouted. “Poor Camilla. I understand. Well, not completely, not having children. But I can imagine. Still—”
“No.” Then, softer, “Not this morning.”
She sighed. “Very well, I guess. Next week.”
I nodded. “Perhaps.”
“No ‘perhaps.’” Under any other circumstances, her tone might have come across as motherly, even mockingly so. But she was not my mother; she was my friend, and that relationship felt more tenuous with each passing moment. “I was looking forward to having someone to go to church with me this morning. Someone like a sister.”
“I think what I need most is to be alone. Use this sacred time in prayer.”
“To listen to your spirit?”
I held my smile. “To commune with the Lord. And watch that the beans don’t scorch.”
“Well, all right then. And remember I’m invited to Sister Bethany’s for dinner after the meeting. I’ll try to bring home an extra piece of pie. She makes the best pumpkin pie.”
“That sounds wonderful.” For good measure, and because I felt a genuine affection, I bent to kiss her cheek. “Now, can I do anything to help you get ready?”
“No. I’ll be leaving
now. If I’m early, I might get a seat closer to the stove.”
I remained in the doorway until I no longer heard her steps, then returned to my bed, seeking warmth within the rumpled blankets.
Lord, forgive my lies.
That seemed to be a prayer I would be repeating for days on end. Not a complete lie, of course, because here I was already spending my morning in prayer, and I smiled at my clever excuse.
Be with my little girls this morning. Protect them from the lies spoken from the pulpit of this false church. Send your angels to distract them from the elder’s voice. Let only the truth filter in—that you are God, their Father in heaven, and that you love them. Hold them close, Lord, as I cannot. . . .
It didn’t take long for me to realize that I could not remain in prayer as long as I remained in bed. My head filled with too many memories—countless Sunday mornings with Melissa at my side, Lottie on my lap, their warmth fueling my heart as Elder Justus’s droning voice threatened to stop it outright. Nathan’s voice, raised in song, rang through the recesses of my mind, and I reached my hand across the cold sheet, missing his warmth in an entirely different way.
I lay on my side, hand on my pillow, and when I opened my eyes, the misshapen, scarred flesh loomed large in my sight. Something in me longed to see his face, nestled in feathers, looking into my eyes. And then, our last morning together, the day he took a second wife.
He’d woken up with her this morning.
If not for that marriage, Lord—that woman—I might still be with him. At home. Walking hand in hand with my little girls on our way to church. To sit as a family and listen to the message of the prophet. Knowing in my heart it was false teaching, but putting up the pretense—allowing those lies to hold me and my daughters captive.
Right then my loneliness fled, pushed to the corners of my heart by a flood of gratitude. And praise. And unbelievable peace. I had done the right thing. For my children. I might be adrift, but my daughters were safe. I was still uncertain as to how it would all work out, but my faith was now securely placed in the true God, and I knew he would prevail for all of us.
Forsaking All Others Page 10