Forsaking All Others (17 page)

“But soon she’ll have your child. And then maybe another. Your early days with her are almost gone. Then what, Nathan? Another wife? More early days? You knew Evangeline before you knew me. Maybe you’d like to have a life where you can reminisce with her, too.”

He did not so much as flinch at the sharpness of my words, though I felt them slicing as they left my tongue. He did, however, bridge the distance between us with one easy step and reached behind me to pinch out the remaining flame between his calloused fingers and pull the curtains closed.

The immediate memory of his face remained like a phantom in the darkness, and his body seemed to be everywhere at once. I felt him standing along the length of me, his forehead pressed to mine. His fingers were wrapped loosely around my neck, his thumbs restless against my jaw. I knew my pulse pounded against him, and I knew he had the strength to stop it cold. Fear crystallized me to utter stillness within his touch—a fear I knew well. Not any kind of pure terror, but some enticing mating of trepidation and excitement. I’d felt the same the first time he loved me. And the last. And now.

What I remember next is the struggle. Not between his body and mine. He held me in such a way that I dared not move. No, the war waged between my own mind and my flesh, my heart holding me captive as surely as his embrace. Perhaps it was the flush brought on by those memories of our early loving or the strange, unbidden jealousy knowing that he had grown so accustomed to another woman’s bed. So when he chose to respond to my shrewish words with a kiss, all my accusations went unanswered as he trailed his lips, his hands, across my face, my throat. Even as he coaxed me into wrapping my arms around him, I had the distinct impression of having emerged from the battle victorious.

It is an underestimated and elusive power a woman can hold over a man—a power seductive in its own right. My mismatched, wounded hands roamed victoriously across the expanse of his muscled back, my mouth sought refuge in the hollow of his throat. We spoke in short, gasping command, and though my defenses fell around me, I stood tall in his arms. Brave and consumed. The room must have been cold—it always was—but I felt only the invigorating heat of conflict.

Those who would judge me have never loved. I know now that I should have asked God to release me from this love, to quell the passion that I felt whenever this man was near. But our vows pardoned my sin; I was still his wife. He’d used just such persuasion to entice me to his faith. Perhaps I felt that, in some way, I could use the same to draw him to the truth. Or perhaps I was just lonely. Or cold. I’d been too close to death without him, and with him—for at least one winter’s night—I lived again.

Chapter 13

“Do you know what they wanted me to do when we realized you’d left?”

These were the first words he spoke to me in the morning, before even the first strip of sunlight threaded its way past the curtain. I lay curled against his side, where I’d slept in the crook of his arm, just as we had every night of our married life except when my body’s swelling with each of our children made such sleep impossible. He spoke as if we were in midconversation, like we’d been sitting in a comfortable silence for quite some time waiting for the next idea deemed worthy to break the silence. I was certain he’d been awake long before my first stirring, waiting for me to join him, so I cleared my head of the last vestiges of shadowy dreams and asked, “Who?”

“The bishop. And Elder Justus. They told me I should have you hunted down.”

I burrowed my cheek closer to his chest, savoring the warmth of his skin. For one night, at least, his sacred garment had been cast to the floor.

“Isn’t that what you did? Why you’re here?”

“They didn’t want me to go myself. Said your womanly wiles might keep me from following through on the work for the kingdom.”

“Oh. And what would that work be?” I did not draw away, but I held my body brick-still against him.

“To bring you back into the church.” He brought his hand to my chin and tilted my face to look at him. “Tell me I haven’t failed.”

My heart raced, and there was nothing between us to hide my fear. “I love you, Nathan. As much as I ever have. As much as any wife ever could.”

“So you’ll come back with me today?”

I shook my head—a small movement, for he still held me fast.

“It is your place, Camilla. As my wife—a wife who loves me. You should be there, beside me.”

“You have another wife beside you now, Nathan.”

Perhaps if I’d spoken with any degree of softness, made any attempt at sweet pleading, he might have been more gentle in his own right. In one swift motion the covers we’d burrowed under were swept aside and I was alone.

“I acted in obedience to God.” He dressed as he spoke, reaching first for his sacred garment, though his frustration afforded it no reverence.

“You acted in obedience to the prophet.”

“They speak with the same voice.” He fished around on the floor, gathering my clothing, and—without turning around—tossed it onto the bed. “Get dressed.”

I sat up, and with shaking hands, I obeyed. If he’d meant to shame me, he’d succeeded. In the gray, predawn light, Evangeline’s room took on the seediness of a fallen Eden, and Nathan’s words swept away any hint of coming grace.

“To you, maybe. Not to me. And I love you, Nathan, but I cannot worship in a church that mistakes the will of one man for the word of God.”

“You can’t just choose which of God’s laws you will obey and which you won’t. Your salvation comes with a price of obedience. To Heavenly Father and to me.”

“My salvation comes from Christ alone. If I sin, it is against him only, and his sacrifice has restored me.”

“But you have sacrificed too.” He dropped to his knee and took my altered left hand in his. “See? You’ve paid in flesh, shed blood. And why would God ask this of you if you had not sinned?”

I looked at the two little lumps of healed-over flesh, the base of my missing fingers twitching under our gaze. “There was no blood,” I said at last, whispering. “I mean, I don’t think there was. I slept through the . . . when he . . . But that was the problem. No blood. It was dead flesh—both of them. Useless and bloodless and black.”

“Like the prophet says, for those who turn their backs on the church. That their flesh will turn black—”

“No. My flesh was black because it was rotten and dead. And that death would have spread to my heart. It would have killed me.” I lifted our joined hands and held them to my cheek. “I’ll die if I go back, Nathan.”

“You’ll die if you don’t.”

Not a threat, not a promise, but a plea. I looked into his eyes and found them brimming with fear—enough to instill the same in me.

“What do you mean?”

“They’ll come for you if I don’t bring you back.”

“Who will?”

“You know who. Brigham’s men. The Danites. His ‘Avenging Angels’ fighting the war against apostasy. ”

“Surely not,” I said, attempting to shrug off such a menace. “I’m just one woman.”

“Who has made her husband and the elder and a bishop each look a fool. What kind of man am I if I cannot keep control of a household as small as ours? What hope do I ever have of eternal glorification? You don’t understand what’s at stake, Mil. They charged me to bring you home.”

“Home?”

“Our home and our faith.”

“No.”

He reached up and gripped my shoulders. “You will be restored, Camilla. By blood or by baptism.”

“And you would give your soul over to a church that would do me this harm?”

“My soul is your soul, and I give them both over to the promise of eternity. And I choose to have my eternity with you—no matter how intent you are on throwing that away.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Fine.” He rose to his feet and hauled me up to join him, taking me in his arms. “Don’t believe. I don’t care. Just come back. Act the part. Sit in church, go to the singings. Save your life now, and Heavenly Father will restore your soul later, as long as you are sealed to me.”

I took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of him. Oh, how tempting his proposal. To live with him and love with him—even if only occasionally, when my flesh was weak enough to risk the pain of transgression. I could wear the mask of a Saint. After all, hadn’t I done so for all of our married life? And if my life was a lie, was that not like any other sin covered by God’s grace? What harm could there be in the small bit of subterfuge that would allow me to live with the man I loved, to make a home with him and our children?

Our children.

Nathan’s proposition meant my daughters would be raised in a web of lies, brought up either to believe in a false god or to feel shame for the true one. And that was just our own girls. I would be spreading such deception to Amanda’s child and others as the years wore on.

I reached up, cupping my hands over his ears, my fingers buried in the soft, curling hair behind them.

“I know you want nothing more than to please God. For once, forget what the spiritual leaders have said. Listen for
his
voice in your heart. What is he saying?”

He closed his eyes, and I, mine. Slowly, as if not of our own accord, we moved toward each other, our brows resting together, our breath a mingling mist between us. With all my strength I prayed for God to appear. The teachings of Joseph Smith boasted of such appearances—God himself, and Jesus, and angels from on high. Nathan had lost himself to the belief in such manifestations. But the appearance I prayed for was not so grandiose. I wanted only his still, small voice—still enough to calm my husband’s fears, small enough to pierce his heart. Just a sliver of truth.

Oh, Lord Jesus, be real to him. Be truth for him.

I kept my eyes closed until I felt the feather touch of his lips on my skin.

“He brought you to me,” he said.

“I know.”

“You are my life.”

“I know that, too.”

“And I hate that you’re asking me to make this choice.”

Sunlight battered against the curtain, and I burned with hope. “We can go back east,” I said, “in the summer. After Amanda’s baby is born. She’s young and beautiful—any man would be happy to have her. And I’m sure by now Papa is wanting help on the farm. We’ll have a place to go. . . .”

Early on, I’d seen in his eyes that I’d misunderstood his choice, but still I kept rambling, hoping I’d say something to turn back the tide of pity that washed across his face.

“We can have so many nights—every night, if you want—like last night. And who knows—”

“Camilla.”

“—maybe someday, another child. A son, like you’ve always wanted.”

“We have a son in heaven.”

“Of course, yes, I know. I think about him every day.”

“A son who deserves a complete eternal family.”

“Oh, Nathan . . .”

He drew me close one more time and kissed me. When he tried to pull away, I locked myself to him in a final, desperate appeal. We’d been so close—just a prayer away from building a life together. If his soul could not stand the thought of attaching itself to me, perhaps his body would. Not until he braced his hands against my shoulders and pushed would I resign, and then it was with humiliating, stumbling steps.

“I’m going downstairs,” he said, “and waking the girls. I’ll take them to Rachel’s for breakfast, and then we’re heading home. Should be a clear day for traveling.” He brushed past me and went to the door, but I grabbed at his sleeve, stopping him.

“What about those who sent you to find me? To bring me back. What are you going to tell them?”

He turned and placed his hand on my cheek in a final, soft touch.

“I offered you a home. I offered you salvation and atonement. I don’t intend to tell them anything unless they ask specifically.” Then a wavering in his sweet, reassuring smile. “And you’d better pray they don’t ask. I’ve seen what they can do.”

It occurred to me to follow him, to overtake him on the stairs and throw myself over my sleeping daughters. Make him pry them out of my arms. But now—even more than when I felt myself nearly suffocated by snow—I felt my very life in danger. Perhaps that was Nathan’s intent all along, to frighten me away from taking our children. If so, he succeeded for the time. Even more than when I left them back in our cozy home, I knew my daughters would be safer outside of my care.

I did, however, creep down the stairs, stopping just short of rounding the corner. I could hear the girls’ sleepy voices, meek in their protest at the abrupt rousing. At home we always took pains to have a warm fire in the stove before bringing them out of bed to wash up and dress in its glowing light. Evangeline, of course, took no such pains for comfort, and my heart broke to hear their teeth chattering behind their questions. Where was Mama? Shouldn’t she come to breakfast? Couldn’t they say good-bye?

Nathan, true to his nature as a warm, loving father, answered them with gentle insistence. Mama wasn’t feeling well. They would see her soon. She sent hugs and kisses.

Everything within me twisted in longing. Both Melissa and Lottie had been cajoled into giggles, lured by promises of sweet rolls and milk. Looking back, I can almost be grateful for what he spared me that morning. My daughters shed no tears, and I told no lies. But oh, the sacrifice.

Somewhere around the edge of activity, I heard Evangeline, gathering coats and scarves and hats, brushing hair and lacing boots. Her voice dripped with maternal affection, as if I were already miles away, or dead and gone, or maybe simply in the next room, accepting of the role she was playing in our life.

At some point, the door opened, then closed, and they were gone. I got up from my perch and ran up the stairs to watch them through the window. Perhaps I should have merely peeked from behind the curtain, but for the life of me I couldn’t think of why I should have to hide from my own children. Nathan must not have anticipated that I would do this—unless he really was capable of such cruelty—because he lifted Lottie up to carry her through the muddied street, and as she gazed over his shoulder, she looked straight up at me. Her little hand went up in a wave, and with a throat burning with unshed tears, so did mine. She said something and Melissa, holding tightly to her father’s hand, turned around, too. Our eyes met; her stare was as cold as the pane of glass between us. Only Nathan continued on without looking back. One step after another, and my little family disappeared around the corner.