The Wedding Dress (35 page)

“He says that there's only one God, and that Jesus Christ is our God, come to earth to die for our sins. He says there's no other way to obtain salvation except through Jesus Christ.”

He studied her face. “Why should that rate you the name of apostate?”

“Don't you see what it means? Jesus Christ is God, He is our atonement—the great and only atonement. He is also High Priest forever, giving out that atonement to us. He forgives us every sin we commit if we ask. He says He will be our friend if we obey His commandment to love.” She smiled and lifted her hands, “Andrew, I'm not finding that hard!”

He was frowning. “Go on.”

“You sense that isn't all?” She clasped her trembling hands together and said, “This atonement delivers us from the wrath of God forever. Now you understand, don't you? Joseph Smith said we're damned if we don't live by the everlasting covenant once we hear about it. Brother Brigham said there are sins that the blood of Christ can never atone. According to what Brother Joseph Smith said first and according to the Bible, that's not so.”

Moving impatiently, he said, “You've forgotten, Rebecca. Brother Brigham has clearly stated that God's revelation is a changing revelation. We must live by the very last revelation that we have received, and all these things you've been saying are replaced by later revelations.”

She was frankly trembling. “Andrew, in the writings of Joseph Smith, it says God is unchangeable. If Jesus Christ is God, the power of His atonement can't be less than the everlasting covenant of marriage.” He was staring at her, but his eyes seemed to focus beyond her.

“That means,” she continued softly, “that we are free—free from fear of damnation and wrath through Him. We're free from—” She couldn't finish the statement. It would break everything that bound her to this man. He was turning away from her, unseeing, unhearing.

In the days that followed, while the trouble swirled about the territory, the word
freedom
captured Rebecca and claimed her attention. While she sewed and baked and scrubbed, while she attended Sabbath worship and listened to the storm of war talk, the word moved through her being with a cadence of its own.

“Free,” her mind called, while the words from the pulpit reminded the people they were to avenge God of His enemies; Zion must stand against the world.

Now more often there were Indians in the streets of Pinto. Rebecca was hearing them called “the battle-axe of the Lord.” Rumor was that Brother Brigham was saying the Indians would have to help the Mormons or the United States would kill them all. And in the midst of it, Rebecca recalled that Jesus had talked about loving our enemies.

Enemies. Into the turmoil of her thoughts came a new thought: Priscilla.

Shame flooded her as she recalled the words she had flung at Priscilla. As quickly as she stuffed the troublesome thoughts from her, they returned to haunt her.

On one of the days that Rebecca escaped to Cora's busy household to avoid her own troublesome thoughts, Cora dragged out their bone of contention.

“I've been doing lots of thinking about all the things you've said. You can't be right. There's all the things that prove God's with us.”

“Like what?”

“God's proved He's been helping us right along. There's the miracles, the healings. Surely that proves we're right. There's the seagulls helping when the crickets got the wheat. Now, Rebecca, what'll you say to that?”

“Those things stopped me for a long time. And then with this churning around inside, I finally had to admit what I was reading. It was like God was drawing His finger under the words.

“Cora, you judge the dress by the whole, not by the fancied-up parts. No matter what, it's all got to start out right. You have to have something to measure truth by. More than ever I'm convinced it's Jesus. If you don't understand about Him—about His being God and being down here for just one reason and that was being the Lamb for our atonement—well, then, nothing else in God's Word falls into place. It's nothing, it's empty, without God's power.

“I couldn't get anywhere thinking He was just an elder brother. The Bible doesn't support that.” Cora was shaking her head, but Rebecca went on, “You can't see Jesus in heaven, being our High Priest, serving before the altar that's stained with His own blood? You can't see Him really loving you and caring about what happens to you and helping you live like He wants? Then I'll have to do what you did for me.”

“What's that?”

“Pray that God will help you find the truth.”

The beginning of September saw Rebecca's harvest doing well. The corn and potatoes and onions were nearly ready. The beans were drying on the vines. She would dig carrots while it was still possible to bend that far.

Her little house was being prepared for winter and its small new occupant. She had the cradle brought from the barn and scrubbed it until it was white. In her chest there was a pile of little clothes. A shelf held folded diapers, old but soft.

Andrew surveyed her preparations without comment, but he brought her a sack of flour, and she sighed with relief. Could this battle be counted as won? Would she be allowed to stay? The lines about his eyes were taut. She thought he looked thin, bowed; she busied herself caring for him.

But when he was gone, she came up against that softly whispered name in her conscience. Finally she threw her hands wide in surrender and asked, “Jesus, what are You wanting me to do about Priscilla?”

There it was out, admitted, and the relief was great. The words welled up in her memory: “If your brother has ought—” These were Jesus' words. She whispered, “I suppose that means ‘sister' too?”

It was a fine, clear day when she went to Cora with her request.

“Horse? You want to borrow my horse?” Cora cried, “Rebecca, you are out of your mind for sure. You in nearly your last month and wanting to ride a horse. Where do you want to take her that you can't just walk?”

“Cedar.”

“Oh, glory be.” She groaned, and Rebecca was feeling like a six-year-old. But explanations wouldn't do. Then Cora would know most certainly that she was crazy.

In the end, the horse was lent, and after collecting her shawl and a ripe melon from the garden, Rebecca set out.

The horse was old and inclined to take life easy. But then Rebecca was inclined to take life easy, especially today. The brilliance of the early autumn day was just a beginning hint of the month to come. She saw a touch of yellow in the cottonwoods along the creek.

Turning onto the road leading to Cedar City, she murmured, “I'd forgotten the brilliance of the coral hills against the blue sky and dusty cedars. It's a glory, most certainly. Jesus Christ, You made it.”

Not a cloud marred the sky; not a soul moved on the barren plains. For once she appreciated the wide scope of the desert. Not even an Indian could hide in that barren waste.

In the middle of the afternoon, Rebecca's horse reached Cedar City. As if now aware of a need to look smart, he cantered briskly through the streets. As she turned toward the Morgans' new cabin, Rebecca was seeing how the community had grown. It was spilling away from the fort like chicks bent on adventure, not safety.

She was looping the reins over the fence in front of the Morgans' house when Sister Morgan flew out the door. “Rebecca! I'd recognize that hair anywhere, but not the shape you're in.” She hugged her and said, “Come in. You've had a long ride from Pinto. I've some buttermilk chilling and a bit of light bread.”

Rebecca looked around the silent house. “Where's everyone?”

The look Mrs. Morgan gave Rebecca was long and hard. “It's the troubles. Aren't they laying you out with the sermons? Well, the men are in the fields working their heads off to get the crops in. The young'uns are right 'long side.”

“Well, the talk's been pretty strong.”

She nodded and answered, “Brother George Smith's been preaching to scorch us all.”

“The men need to be prepared to protect us. Who knows what Washington—”

“Yes, but he don't need to get them riled up like a band of avenging angels.” She studied Rebecca, “Do you know his other one's living in the fort? I hear you two don't get along.”

“I suppose she's told it all.” Mrs. Morgan was nodding, and Rebecca confessed, “Well, I have to go make it right. I can't live with myself.”

“She's bound to notice that you're worse off than she is,” Sister Morgan said dryly. “These slips of the lip are hard to live with. Child, I don't expect much of a welcome for you. Better come back here for the night. The afternoon's well spent, and 'tisn't safe to be abroad after dark these days.”

She was silent for a moment while she refilled Rebecca's cup. “I recall some stories. You and Priscilla aren't the only scrapping females in Zion.”

The milk was refreshing and Rebecca was loath to move. “What did you hear?”

“Fellow over by Parawan took a second one against the wishes of the first, and did the first wife have a time! She wouldn't have them in the house, so she found a dinky little place and just moved their stuff in while they were gone. They had to come home late at night and set up the bedstead before they could go to bed. She keeps her eyes on them, though. If they don't get up early 'nough in the morning to suit her, she throws rocks at their roof.”

At last Rebecca could no longer delay. She bid Sister Morgan a reluctant farewell and walked toward the fort.

“Sure, we know where Mrs. Jacobson lives.” The trio of little boys marching in the center of the fort were carrying sticks over their shoulders. They halted their maneuvers long enough to point the way, and then they followed her.

“Priscilla, I've come—” Rebecca hesitated and studied the closed face of the woman facing her. She had changed almost beyond recognition, and Rebecca's heart squeezed with pity even as she was wondering if the principle were making a sharp-faced old woman out of her also. Priscilla pushed the disheveled hair away from her face and shifted the toddler to the other hip. Her soiled frock was straining across her middle and Rebecca was guessing five months were gone on her.

“If you've come looking for Andrew, he's not here. He's been back and forth, but he's too busy training these men to have any time for woman problems.”

“No, it's you I've come to see.”

Priscilla looked at the trio of miniature soldiers. Silently she stepped back and allowed Rebecca to enter the house.

Age hadn't improved the poor fort. Fallen chinking admitted the sunlight in bars across the table and the bed. She saw the floor was uneven and splintery. Now Rebecca understood why the child was crying. There was a festering sliver in his leg. “Do you want me to help you?” She pointed to the leg.

Priscilla looked surprised. “I'd be obliged. I tried to get it out yesterday.”

“Needs a good scrub with lye soap.” Rebecca pressed while the child screamed.

“I'd never expected you to be doing this after what you said.”

“Priscilla, I'm sorry. God has guilted me with that scene so many times. Now I see the real me, and I squirm with embarrassment and shame. Please forgive me?”

“Andrew didn't make you come?”

“He doesn't tell me what to do—not much.”

“You're brave risking it all with a few hot words.” She was sober.

“Well, aren't you doing the same?”

She shook her head. “Not no more. Andrew laid it to me and made me see how's otherwise I couldn't expect to have an eternity except as his or somebody's slave. Rebecca, no woman can make it without her husband's say so.” There were dark shadows in her eyes, and impulsively Rebecca took her arm.

“Listen, Priscilla, that isn't so, and I want you to know about it. Please, will you move to Fort Harmony when Andrew finishes the house? I know it won't be pleasant living with the other wives. I know, because I've gone through it. But I want you to know there's a hope that doesn't have anything to do with the principle. I see the fear in your eyes, and it's just like the fear I was feeling until this summer.”

There was a sound behind Rebecca, and she was suddenly conscious that the doorway had been darkened for some time. Andrew stepped across the threshold.

“I never expected to see the two of you together.” He lifted the child while his eyes pierced Rebecca. “What are you doing here?”

“I've come to see Priscilla.”

“She's sorry for calling Andy a bastard. That's good, isn't it?”

Andrew's eyes shifted to Priscilla, and Rebecca watched her shrink away. “I guess you'll be wanting supper, won't you?”

He looked at Rebecca. “That the only reason you've come? Isn't it a risk this late in your time? Where are you staying tonight?”