The Gates of Babylon (9 page)

Fernie and Miriam were riding up on horseback from Yellow Flats as Jacob returned to the house on foot from the temple. For a moment, watching his wife move smoothly in the saddle, Jacob forgot that Fernie was almost completely paralyzed from the waist down, but then he caught a glimpse of the saddle he’d modified for her use, with leg braces connected to the stirrups. Miriam carried Jacob and Fernie’s baby in a sling on her back.

Jacob helped his wife out of the saddle, shifted her weight in his arms, and carried her up toward the house.

“You can set me down on the sidewalk and get me the chair, if you want.”

“What would I do that for?” he said through puffing breaths.

“Because I’m heavy and you’re an old man.”

“I’m only thirty-three, that’s barely out of my twenties.”

“I notice you didn’t argue with the heavy part.”

“Oh, come on. You haven’t gained an ounce since I fell in love with you as a teenager.”

“You’re such a liar,” Fernie said in a good-natured tone.

“Except maybe your breasts. They’ve grown a bit.”

She slapped his shoulders, but she looked pleased. Fernie may not complain about her condition, but Jacob saw the way she eyed herself in the mirror or looked sorrowfully at her once shapely legs, now atrophied and discolored.

None of that mattered to Jacob. Her true beauty had always been in her face anyway, and in her voice, which was as smooth and creamy as crème brûlée to his ears. True, their lovemaking required more creativity than it had a year ago, but he still couldn’t get enough of her warmth, her lips on his, the flutter of her pulse when she was aroused. The truth was, in a valley where men married new wives with the same calculation they might apply to acquiring prize heifers, Jacob had given his heart to one woman and done so out of love and desire.

He opened the screen door, hooked it with his foot, and carried her into the parlor to her wheelchair.

“Okay, you proved your point, muscle man,” she said. “Now put me down and rescue Miriam from our baby. I’ve got to nurse, then get dinner going. The whole gang is here tonight. Plus company.”

“You just got home—aren’t you tired? Make the ‘whole gang’ do the cooking tonight. Those kids aren’t earning their keep.”

She shooed him with her hand. “Get.”

Oh, she’d direct Jacob’s younger brothers and sisters. Even give orders to his father’s widows when necessary. But Fernie was mistress of the Christianson house, on top of her work at Yellow Flats and her role in the Women’s Council. It would have been easy to sit back after the accident and let people take care of her, but that wasn’t her style.

Jacob returned to the front yard and reclaimed Jake from his sister-in-law. As she set off to take care of the horses, more riders arrived. The first were their other kids—Daniel and Leah on separate horses, riding with confidence even though they were only eleven and nine years old. Nephi, even younger, sat casually on the saddle in front of his sister. Their cousin Diego brought up the rear. Miriam and David’s adopted child, Diego was the same age as Daniel, but with his slight figure looked younger.

Two adults followed the children on their own horses. Sister Lillian rode in the lead. She was living with the Christiansons, sharing Eliza’s bedroom while she decided whether or not to move back home to the Smoot compound. Officer Trost followed several paces back, his hat low over his eyes.

Trost dismounted, let Lillian and the kids lead away his horse, then approached Jacob. One hand nervously rubbed at the gray stubble on his chin. “I would have returned earlier, if I’d known you were here.”

“Your timing is perfect,” Jacob said. “I got home minutes ago.”

“And? What did your quorum say?”

“I didn’t ask for permission.”

“But you hadn’t decided yet. So…?”

Hadn’t he? He’d certainly claimed indecision after Trost’s initial request and offer. But maybe he only needed to consult with Fernie first. Explain why.

“I’ve decided now. We’ll do it.” Jacob clapped Trost on the back with his free hand. “Come on in. We’ll get you fed, and then we’ll gather the troops and plan our attack.”

“You’re a good man, Christianson.”

“It’s not altruism. It’s the silver coins and the medical equipment, not rescuing your daughter.”

“Could be. But I’m willing to bet you’d have done it anyway. Thanks for that.”

Was that true? Maybe. He’d have
wanted
to, at least.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Jacob said. “Not until we get your daughter back.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Eliza wasn’t happy when she learned her brothers were leaving her in Blister Creek, but there wasn’t much she could do about it. And so she listened without comment to Jacob’s advice about how to deal with the men of the quorum until he got to the part about Elder Smoot.

“You can’t stage manage a grizzly,” Jacob said. “You can only muzzle him and make sure you’re not in reach of his claws.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere near Smoot while you’re gone.”

“You may not have a choice.”

It was after dinner, and the two of them sat alone on the porch, watching insects buzz around the light overhead. It was still warm, but a cool breeze blew from the south, warning of another change in the weather.

Fernie wheeled herself onto the porch with a tray balanced on her lap, holding bowls with fresh peach pie and homemade ice cream. Eliza took a bowl and dug in eagerly.

A year ago Eliza might have groaned and patted her stomach after the huge meal of roast chicken, corn on the cob, fresh rolls, potatoes with butter, cream, and garlic, and followed with sweet watermelon on the porch. A second dessert felt like a sinful indulgence.

But all this work had cranked up her metabolism until she felt like a starved mountain lion. There was riding, hunting, hauling wood, dragging old cast-iron stoves out of sheds, collecting scrap metal, expeditions for salvage outside the valley, plus late-night meetings with the council when she was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open. No wonder nobody in those old black-and-white photos looked fat—living the frontier lifestyle burned a zillion calories.

Eliza watched Fernie with a twinge of guilt as the woman rolled back inside. It felt like a lazy indulgence, knowing Fernie would be inside, directing the cleanup. Eliza had no more claim to sit on the porch resting her aching muscles than anyone else.

She turned back to her brother. “Why do you say that? You don’t think Smoot is going to stir up trouble while you’re gone, do you?”

“Probably not. Elder Johnson should keep him in check.”

“He’s on your side?”

“For now. Johnson respects the hierarchy, like a crusty version of Stephen Paul. But he’s sexist to the core. Not so sure if he’ll listen to you.”

“He doesn’t have to, he just has to stay out of our way.”

“Actually, he does have to listen to you. So do the rest of the men.” Jacob casually scooped out some of the runny ice cream melting into the corners of his bowl and spoke around the spoon in his mouth as if this was just chitchat. “I’m leaving you in charge.”

“What? No, you didn’t—I’m not.”

Jacob nodded.

“I don’t even want to lead the women,” she said. “I didn’t ask for it, and I certainly didn’t ask to be your backup when you go questing across the desert.”

“Maybe the Lord chose you,” he said.

“Give me a break.
You
chose me, because you didn’t want to give it to Rebecca or Miriam, and they’re the only other ones who would have done it.”

“The women chose their own council. That was the deal.”

“They may
think
they did. I’m not a child anymore—I know what you’re doing and how you’re manipulating these things to your own ends.”

He smiled. “I won’t tell if you don’t tell.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. Follow your own path. I’m not going to tell you what to think.”

“You told Smoot I was in charge and he bought it?”

“Grumbled a bit, but yes.”

“I don’t get it,” Eliza said. “Seems he’s the type to say no. Or keep arguing until you back down. Why didn’t he do that?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t. It was easier than I thought.”

“That’s because he didn’t mean it.”

Jacob smiled. “Maybe not. But I mean it, and so do you. Take charge, grab that bull by the horns. Turn him into a steer if you need to.”

“Oh, so now you want me to cut off his testicles? Nice.”

They weren’t really arguing, only jousting, because they both already knew she would do it. Not that she wanted to. Jacob said two days. But these expeditions always took longer than expected. Traveling out of the county was like an international trip these days, with fuel checks, daylight runs to avoid bandits, and the constant risk of road closures.

But why would she agree? That was the question running through her mind these days. After Charity Kimball, Lillian Young, and the other survivors of the Kimball cult joined them in Blister Creek, Eliza had spent time talking to them, trying to figure out why they hadn’t left the Kimballs when they had the chance. And it occurred to her that she’d faced the same choice.

You were out.

That’s right, she was. Not mentally free—nobody who’d grown up in a high-demand, restrictive environment like Blister Creek could ever truly break free of the tendency to see the hand of the Lord in every event, every coincidence, to suffer through self-doubt that maybe she was walking a sinful path by leaving the church. But physically, Eliza had escaped to Salt Lake City, had enrolled in college and found a job, had even entertained the thought of marrying Steve Krantz, a gentile. Instead, here she was, back living in her father’s old house. He was dead, but she heard his voice around every corner.

How about Elder Johnson? He has a strong testimony. No? Peter
Miller, then? He’s only thirty and you’d be his second wife. Bright, too. Think of the smart boys you’d give him.

Marriage, marriage, marriage. When it came to his daughters, that’s what Abraham Christianson cared about. She loved her brother for opening a pathway to doubt and disobedience, and for putting his foot down whenever someone tried to force the issue.

Once, when Father sat her in the parlor to launch into another lecture about how she needed to get married to some church elder or other who already had experience with wives and children, Jacob made his face into a pompous approximation of the Christianson patriarch and shook his finger and bobbed his head whenever Father wasn’t looking. She’d been twenty-two at the time, already resisting this sort of thing for years, but had a hard time not giggling like a teenager.

“You come from good breeding,” Father had continued, oblivious to Jacob’s teasing. “We can’t waste that.”

“Like a fine milking cow,” Jacob said. “You want to pass that to the next generation, so you’ll increase yields across the herd. That’s how you run a good dairy operation.”

“Exactly,” Father said. “The same principles work in human populations as with breeding stock.”

“But we need to be sure,” Jacob told him. “What if we take Liz out to the barn and hook her up to the milking machine?”

Father had closed his eyes and sighed, by then as used to his son’s irreverence—and disobedience—as he’d ever be.

Jacob was like that, dismissive of nonsense. He even tried to talk Eliza into leaving the church and Blister Creek behind whenever he thought she was amenable.

“So what are we doing now?” she said out loud.

Jacob peered into the bottom of his bowl as if he wanted to lick out the sticky slurry of pie and ice cream still clinging to the bottom. “Sorry, what?”

“Why don’t we leave? Move to Salt Lake?”

“Maybe a year ago,” Jacob said. “Now, I’d rather avoid the cities.”

“So Montana, or Alberta. One of the abandoned church towns. Or Zarahemla. Steve and I will go. You, Fernie, the kids. David, Miriam, their boy, their new baby when it comes. We’ll enjoy the community without any of the polygamy.”

“And if the world is ending?” he asked. “And God wants us with our people?”

Eliza looked at him in silence for a long moment before voicing the question she’d been wanting to ask him for some time. “Do you believe this is the Second Coming?”

“Mostly, no. Sometimes, a little. How about you?”

Another silence, and then a shrug. “If it is the end,” Eliza said, “I’m glad you’re the prophet and not Father.”

“I never wanted it.”

“That’s why I trust you.”

Jacob looked down at his hands and she thought she saw a hint of sadness there, regret and longing. Years of medical school, internships and residency, and as soon as he finishes, Father dies and there’s no one else to take charge.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said all that.”

“It’s okay, Liz. I always want to know what you really think. Even if I don’t like to hear it.”

Nevertheless, he looked so worried that she searched for something else to say. Something more comforting. Or maybe he just
needed a hug. But then David and Miriam stepped onto the porch, followed by Trost. The police officer carried himself stiffly, almost like he had a pulled muscle in his back. No, she decided as she caught his hesitation in picking out a chair. He didn’t know the rules. Didn’t want to be here. Had perhaps just now realized he was throwing in with fundamentalists, who straddled the law through their very existence.

“Where’s Steve?” Jacob asked.

“Some of the kids dragged him out back to play,” David said. “Want me to get him?”

“I’ll do it,” Eliza said quickly.

David and Jacob exchanged smiles.

“Oh, stop it.”

Steve wasn’t playing with the kids, so much as serving as their personal jungle gym. Two jumped from the porch at a time to land on his broad shoulders and back, and then he went stomping around, blowing and snorting and mock chasing half a dozen other children who squealed and ducked away from his arms.

He looked up, smiling and red-faced, when Eliza arrived. He swung the two kids off his back—Eliza’s niece and nephew, Leah and Daniel—and came over to give her a peck. The children groaned.

“But it was my turn!” Nephi complained.