The Fugitive Son (36 page)

“I’ve got to get my things. Stay close behind me so no one can see my skirt,” she quietly ordered. Her friends nodded in agreement and fell in behind her as she hurried toward the schoolhouse.

Mary went straight to the cloak room and grabbed the Mexican poncho Andy had sent her. She tied it around her waist, hoping to hide the ugly stains on her skirt. “I’ve got to go home,” she called to the teacher, Brother Moore, and then ran out the door, with Eliza and Louisa close behind.

“Do you need us to come with you?” Eliza asked.

“No. I’ll be all right. If anyone asks what happened, just tell them I tripped and hurt my leg. Not a word about anything else.” Mary looked at her friends solemnly. “Promise?”

“Promise,” the girls said in unison.

As Mary turned away, Louisa reached for her hand. “Please don’t die. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

Mary tried to look brave. “I’ll be all right.”

Wanting to avoid the curious stares of nosey townsfolk, Mary cut through a few fields until she was clear of Parowan and all the work being done on the new rock church. Then she cut over to the rough road leading to her cabin. She absently kicked a stone, watching it stir up dust as it tumbled down the dirt road in front of her. All sorts of worries wandered through her mind. Was she really dying? And if she wasn’t, then why was she bleeding?

If I don’t die, I’ll certainly die of embarrassment if I have to go back to school!
she thought, giving the stone another good kick down the lane. Why did this have to happen just as she was about to set a new record?

Mary paused for a moment as fear and sobs threatened to engulf her. If she were to die today, who would miss her? Just Ma, her brothers, and a few friends. It wasn’t fair! There was so much she wanted to do. She was too young to die.

She pulled the poncho tighter around her waist, trying to keep it from dragging in the dust. It was the nicest shawl she had ever owned, and she didn’t want to get it dirty. Ever since her half-brother Andy had escaped Deseret after that horrible Mountain Meadows thing, he had secretly sent packages for her and her brothers – the occasional new clothes or shoes for church, school supplies, even food snacks and seed packets. Ma let the townspeople think she ordered the goods from a mercantile in Santa Fe, paid for with money Pa sent while he was away on a mission for the church.

“We can’t let anyone know that Andy is alive or where he’s living,” Ma had insisted, as she cautioned Mary and the boys not to ever speak of their older brother or mention his name, even to their closest friends.

“Fat chance that man would ever send us money,” Mary muttered aloud as she thought about Pa. If she died, he probably wouldn’t shed a tear. She doubted he even remembered her name. She could count on one hand the number of times she had seen him. The last time was about ten years ago – when he had tried to kill Andy the night of the massacre, something she had discovered while eavesdropping on Ma’s conversation with Kanosh, the chief of the Pahvant.

I probably wouldn’t even recognize Pa if I saw him,
she thought, as she tried to imagine his face.
Not that I would want to! Any man who would try to kill his son or leave his wife and children to grub like we’ve had to isn’t fit to be called ‘Pa.’

Hearing distant footsteps, Mary turned to see if the other kids were already out of school and catching up with her. All she saw was an old, gray-haired man, dressed in a natty suit, strolling along behind her. He looked out of place in all the dust and dirt. Most of the men she knew wore dirty trousers, suspenders, and homespun shirts, except on meeting days. No one would wear a suit out here during the week.

The man picked up his pace, as if to catch up to her. “Child,” he called. “Wait up. I need to talk to you.”

She knew better than to talk to strange men, fashionable or otherwise. She’d heard of many a young girl – some even younger than she – being forced to marry an old man after being spotted on the road or in church. Ignoring the stranger’s call, Mary took off at a very fast run, thankful that jumping rope wasn’t the only sport she was good at.

Breathless after running nearly a mile, Mary burst into their cabin and fell panting, face first, onto Ma’s bed.

“Slow down, girl! You look like a ghost is chasing you!” Hettie hurried over to Mary and put her hand on her daughter’s forehead. “Are you sick? Why are you home from school so early? And what’s this blood all over your shoes and skirt?” The questions shot out like buckshot.

In between sobs, Mary managed to blurt out, “I’m dying, Ma. I started bleeding all over the place. Then an old man followed me – he was all dressed up in Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes…”

“Did he say anything to you?”

“He called to me, but I ran away.” Mary hiccupped between sobs. “Forget about him, Ma. You’ve got to stop this bleeding!” She pointed between her legs. The sobs started again. Huge, wracking sobs. “Oh, Mama, I’m so scared! I don’t want to die.”

Hettie hugged her close in her broad, muscular arms. “Sweetie, you’re not dying. You’re changing from a girl into a woman. I should have explained it to you long ago, but I guess it never occurred to me, what with having all those boys. I reckon I forgot you were a girl.” She chuckled softly as she patted Mary’s long hair.

Hettie rolled a rag and brought pins to Mary, who still lay in a heap of sobs and fright across the bed. “Come on. Let’s get rid of these bloody clothes and clean your shoes before they’re stained for good.” She reached for one of the boys’ homespun shirts and a pair of trousers and bound Mary’s breasts tightly against her chest.

“What are you doing? Why do I have to wear John’s old clothes?”

Hettie paused before answering. “I have a hunch that the strange man you saw is Pa, back from his mission. We have to get you looking like a little girl before he gets here and discovers how beautiful and grown up you are!” With that, she grabbed the hairbrush and began braiding Mary’s luxurious black hair into tight pigtails.

“Beautiful? Grown up?” Mary let the words roll around in her mouth. “Do you really think I’m beautiful?”

“Probably one of the most gorgeous creatures God ever created.” Hettie sighed. “But that can be a curse around here. If Pa sees you looking so pretty and grown up, he may try to marry you off to one of the church leaders to spawn more offspring for the kingdom.”

“Marry me off? He can’t do that, can he? I’m only thirteen. I don’t want to be like Sara who had to marry the bishop last year. He was so old. And he already had ten wives!” Mary shuddered, repulsed by the thought of such a marriage.

“Ma,” she continued after catching her breath, “I’m not ready to get married and have a passel of babies,” she continued. “I want to have fun and play with my friends. And when I do get married, I want it to be to someone close to my own age! To someone I love.”

“You know that’s not the way it’s done in Deseret.” Hettie patted her daughter one more time before turning to brush a tear from her own eye.

The cabin door crashed open, startling both mother and daughter. The old man Mary had seen on the lane strode in as if he owned the place.

“Well, Charles Rasmussen! If you ain’t a sight for sore eyes! And ain’t you ever heard of knocking before bursting into a woman’s home?” Hettie stood with her hands on her hips, forming a solid wall between him and Mary.

“Since when does a man have to knock before entering his own home?” Charles’ tone was more tired than confrontational.

But Hettie wasn’t backing down. “I don’t recall that this was ever your home. Seems to me I built it and maintained it without any help from you.” She held up her work-worn hands. “These two hands built this cabin, tilled this ground, and raised five young’uns without a father to send them a dime or a scrap of food!”

Charles looked away from her steady gaze. After catching his breath, he got his swagger back. “Ah, Hettie, what kind of homecoming is this after all these years? Can’t we let bygones be bygones?” He wearily plopped down on a wooden chair. “Besides, from what I hear down at the general store, I’ve done a mighty good job of providing for you and the children. Why, those folks couldn’t say enough about all the money I’ve been sending you so you could get fancy things from some mercantile down in Santa Fe.”

He paused and looked around the rustic room. “It sure does look like your fortunes have risen in the ten years that I’ve been over in Denmark, working for the Lord.” He picked up a dainty doily from the table. “Just where did all this frou-frou come from?”

Hettie snatched the doily from his hand. “Since you didn’t see fit to save your family from starving, I found ways to support us. And, frankly, how I did it is none of your business!”

“None of my business?” he thundered. “This is MY kingdom; these are MY children; you are still MY wife! And I’ll thank you to remember that!”

“Maybe it’s you who should remember that,” Hettie countered, a bit more quietly. “A man’s responsibility is to his family. Doesn’t the Good Book say something about a man who doesn’t care for his children is worse than an infidel?”

Charles tipped back in the chair. “That’s your problem, Hettie. If you spent half as much time studying the Book of Mormon instead of the Bible, you would know that your place is to be an obedient, submissive wife, helping your husband to build up the kingdom…”

“And how exactly am I supposed to help a husband I haven’t heard hide nor hair from in more than ten years? No news. Not even so much as a letter or telegram.”

Mary cleared her throat loudly, reminding her parents they were not alone. She brushed past Hettie and headed out the door without even so much as a glance at her father. She went around back where she settled into a rickety swing Matthew had built for her years ago. It was her refuge. Everyone knew to leave her alone when she was on her swing.

Today, however, it offered little comfort, as she could still hear Ma and Pa arguing in the house.

“Who was that little ruffian?” Pa demanded.

“That is my daughter.”

There was a pause. “Let’s see… Martha must be about thirteen now.”

Mary shrugged off the fact that Pa didn’t know her name. She expected that. But his cold, calculating voice sent shivers up her back.

“Her name is Mary,” Hettie said. “And you call yourself a father.” It was a statement of fact, not an angry accusation.

“You’re right, Hettie.” His voice sounded tired and old again. “Now that the war is over, I need to do better by my children. Actually, that’s why I’m here. I brought a couple of new wives back from Denmark. We have a lovely home in Salt Lake City. I’m going to take the children back with me so they can meet their other brothers and sisters, go to a good school, and get some refinement. They shouldn’t have to stay out here in this godless place.”

Mary stopped swinging. She wanted to hear every word being said in the house.

“This place was good enough for them all these years, and you’ll never find more refined, obedient children in all of Deseret.” Hettie fairly spat the words at him. “What you really mean is that it just dawned on you that these kids are grown up now and able to do all the work for you and your new families!”

“Think about it,” Charles cajoled. “I’ll take full responsibility for them from now on and relieve you of the burden. You’d be free to go wherever you want and do exactly as you please. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”

Mary clutched the rough rope of the swing so tightly that her fingers whitened. Leave Ma alone out here on her own? Who did this man think he was?

“What you’re saying is that since I can no longer bear children for you, I’m not needed anymore and you’re putting me out to pasture!” Again, there was no anger in Hettie’s voice – just a weariness Mary had never heard before.

“Ah, Hettie, you just don’t understand the ways of the kingdom,” Charles said as if he were teaching a class of little children. “You should have been at the last conference. The prophet explained to all the women why the older wives need to step aside for the good of the kingdom. You’ve done your share by producing fine offspring. But to ensure the future of the Saints, we need new, young blood to build up our race.”

Pa paused, as if to let his words sink in. “Brother Brigham also instructed us menfolk not to waste our seed in barren fields. It’s the commandment of the Lord, Hettie, handed down to the prophet and from him to us.”

“You’re free to leave this house and never come back, Charles,” Hettie said. “I don’t expect or want anything from you. But you can’t take my children. They’re my life.”

Charles laughed uncomfortably. “It’s for their own good. They’ll have far more opportunities in Salt Lake City. And Martha, or whatever her name is, will have a better chance at marriage.”

“You can do what you want with me, Charles, but I won’t have you peddling my daughter like some prize brood mare.”

Hearing the desperation in Ma’s voice, Mary looked up at the cabin. Pa was looking out the window at her. He started when he caught her gaze. She began swinging again.

“Even dressed in those old clothes, she’s a beauty. Surely you can see that. She just needs a feminine touch to help her make the most of what the Good Lord gave her.” He turned from the window. “Think of the amazing children she’ll bear. I promise I’ll only make an alliance with someone who is well placed in the church and in life, someone who will provide well for her. She won’t have this hard-scrabble life you’ve endured.”

“This is the great life you want for my precious daughter? To marry her off to one of your old cronies to build up his kingdom? And then have her cast aside when she’s all worn out from child rearin’? Believe me, that’s no life. I want her to find a husband who will love her and care for her – and for her alone!”“

Mary had never heard Ma so upset.

“Love has nothing to do with it!” Charles said. “Enlarging the kingdom is all that matters. Our daughter will only be saved by child bearing. That is her full purpose, her glory. The prophet preached that at the conference. It is my duty to secure the best marriage possible for her.”

Mary winced at the thought of the future Pa was planning for her. But she knew that’s what everyone expected. Everyone but Ma. That’s how life was lived in Deseret. Did she really think she could escape it?