The Sister Wife Read online

  “Well, I don’t exactly, but I’ve heard rumors…about, well, you know…”

  Mary Rose frowned and looking puzzled; Bronwyn leaned forward to better see Polly. “We don’t know,” she said.

  “I’m not one to pass along tales, believe me,” Polly said, lifting her brows. “But this one, well, it ultimately has to do with us all.”

  “What do you mean?” Mary Rose whispered as two older women in the row ahead turned around.

  “Plural marriage,” one of the older women said. Her companion looked distressed.

  Polly turned pink. “Certain men, and I won’t mention names, have taken more than one wife.”

  “That can’t be,” Mary Rose said. “I don’t believe such a thing could be true.”

  “Oh, but it’s true, all right,” the older woman said. “I have it on good authority that the Prophet himself has at least three, maybe four other wives besides poor Emma.”

  “It’s just a rumor,” Mary Rose said. “A good and godly man like our Prophet would do no such thing.”

  “I agree,” Bronwyn said, though her voice held a slight tremor.

  “Rumors such as these are meant to discredit the Mormons. We heard them as far away as England before we left.”

  “Brigham Young too,” Polly said. “I heard he’s got more wives than Joseph does.”

  “Untrue,” Mary Rose said, more adamantly than before.

  “That’s what the revelation meeting is about, that’s what the Prophet is revealing to our menfolk this minute,” the older woman said. “Mark my words.” She turned around to face the front of the room as a smiling middle-aged woman came up to stand before them.

  “I’ll clear this up with Gabe the minute the meeting is over,” Mary Rose whispered to Bronwyn.

  “As will I with Griffin,” Bronwyn said.

  “Where there’s smoke there’s fire.” Polly lifted her infant to her shoulder and patted her back. A small burp ended the conversation as several women around them laughed.

  Gabe smiled and waved as the children ran to him after the meeting. He knew without asking that Mary Rose was puzzled about something, and he hoped it had nothing to do with the revelation. There had been rumors all along, but he’d dismissed them. Now, faced with this new reality, what could he say to calm her anxious fear?

  His smile widened as she approached, and his heart beat madly, just as it always did, when he looked into her face.

  “I heard something this morning,” she whispered. “But we’ll talk about it later.”

  The twins pulled on his hands, chattering like magpies, and Coal shouted for him to watch as the boy swung by his knees from the branch of a willow tree.

  “Yes, later,” he said to Mary Rose, and prayed for wisdom. How could he tell her only what she needed to hear without lying? How could he tell her the rumors were false when he now knew as a certainty they weren’t? How could he follow the Prophet’s dictates yet remain true to his vows to love and cherish Mary Rose?

  He had come to a crossroads, and he had to wonder which road he would take.

  TWENTY-TWO

  The day was autumn crisp, the deciduous trees as bright as liquid gold and claret wine, beneath a sky so blue it looked violet. Mary Rose and her family—how she loved the word “family”—and Bronwyn, Griffin, and the baby strolled beneath the canopy of trees from the meetinghouse to Eliza Hale’s large home in town. The twins kicked the piles of dead leaves, skipped and tumbled and twirled; Coal threw himself into them, then turned over and lay there, staring up at the sky as if he was happier than he’d ever known possible.

  Mary Rose walked next to Sister Eliza, a pretty woman of about forty-some years, who had generously opened her three-story house to the immigrants. There they would stay until their own homes were built—beginning straightaway, according to Church leadership.

  The Hale residence was nearly as large as the Prophet’s mansion and just a few houses down on the same street. Sister Eliza’s husband, Liam, was in England on mission work and wouldn’t return for another year.

  On their second day upon arriving in Nauvoo, Gabe and Griffin chose their acreage, and the families celebrated when the husbands revealed that they had purchased adjoining farmland. When the homes were completed, the MacKays and Careys would be neighbors. Grandfather hadn’t yet decided if he would prefer being in town or in the country. He’d taken a liking to Sister Eliza’s town home and said he thought he might like one just like it.

  Mary Rose almost laughed. So much for equality. Already she’d noticed that the poor were still poor and the wealthy still wealthy. And she’d picked up the notion, mostly set forth by Brother Brigham during the trek west, that gaining knowledge and making money were considered virtues. The more one could invest wisely, and reap rewards from that investment, the better. It seemed not simply to be a virtue to be admired, but a godly virtue.

  Bronwyn bustled around the kitchen with Sister Eliza while Griffin and Gabe entertained the children. The kitchen was fragrant with a chicken stew bubbling in an iron pot on a fancy stove larger than that at the manor house.

  Mary Rose never felt more helpless than when watching a competent cook in the kitchen. Or two, as in this case. Was there anything Bronwyn Carey could not do? With a sigh, she watched as, without a bit of instruction, Bronwyn mixed together the ingredients for dumplings—without measuring a single thing—then began to drop them by spoonfuls into the bubbling stew.

  At her second loud sigh, Bronwyn turned and laughed. “If you’d like, m’lady,” she teased, “you could come closer and watch the proceedings.”

  Mary Rose walked closer, and Bronwyn lifted her hand and put a long-handled spoon in it. “There now, put the spoon end in the pot and stir while I show you how to do the rest.”

  Mary Rose watched Bronwyn’s technique until she felt confident to try her hand at dropping dumplings. She dropped the first too high above the pot, splattering gravy, which sizzled and spit on the stove. Mary Rose jumped back in alarm. Bronwyn held both her friend’s hands and giggled as she tried to show Mary Rose exactly the twist of the wrist it took to let the spoonfuls drop at precisely the correct angle and height.

  Eliza stood back laughing with the women. “With an upbringing like yours, Sister Mary Rose, this new life must be quite a shock.”

  Mary Rose laughed. “I’ve never known so much enjoyment could be gotten out of life. A year ago I would never have thought it possible.” She reached for Bronwyn’s hand and lifted it slightly, giving it a gentle squeeze. “And much of it is due to our friendship. I don’t know what I would have done without Bronwyn.”

  She walked to the sink, pumped a handful of water to wash off the gravy, dried her hands on her apron, and then sat down at the small kitchen table opposite their hostess. “And then there’s my Gabe,” she said, getting misty eyed. “Once we fell in love, there was no turning back. I knew life would not only be different, but it would also be difficult—though I had no idea how difficult.” She sobered, thinking of the long dusty, unbearably hot, dirty, cold, rainy days on the road to Nauvoo. “My friend and my husband saw me through.”

  “I beg to differ.” Bronwyn came over to Mary Rose, stooped to give her a hug, and then slid into the chair beside her. “This woman saved my life and the life of my baby the night she was born aboard the Sea Hawk.”

  Mary Rose looked down, embarrassed. “Many things happened that night and many people helped. The biggest miracle of all was Brother Brigham’s prayer.”

  “’Twas you who thought to fetch him, Mary Rose.”

  She smiled. “Actually, it was Griffin who did that. But I would have if I’d thought of it.”

  Bronwyn laughed. “Can I not get you to take credit for anything?” Her face softened. “And ’twas before you believed in the Prophet’s testimony.”

  Mary Rose nodded. “We were running out of choices—even Grace Carolyn was worried.”

  “Sometimes it takes reaching the end of our human resources to cause
us to reach out to God,” Sister Eliza said. “I’ll amend that. Perhaps it always takes reaching the end of our rope, as they say here in America, before we reach out to our Heavenly Father for help.”

  From the parlor came the strains of a song wheezing from a pump organ. “‘God Save the Queen,’” Sister Eliza said, looking at Mary Rose. “Is that your Gabriel?”

  “No, it’s our grandfather,” Gabe said.

  Mary Rose looked up in surprise. Her husband had walked into the kitchen so silently, she hadn’t heard a single footstep. And, as if in on the surprise, Bronwyn had kept her beautiful face completely blank, as if she didn’t know he was there, though she sat facing the door.

  At her look of surprise, Gabe and Bronwyn laughed together. Mary Rose watched their faces and the obvious delight they took in conspiring together, even in a small jape.

  Mary Rose stood, and he pulled her into his arms. “I need to tell you, Mrs. MacKay, that you’ve got a ravenous family on your hands. The twins say they will perish within the minute if not fed some of that scrumptious stew. Coal says it’s the dumplings he craves, and yea, everyone in the parlor has a stomach growling louder than the pump organ.”

  Laughing, Sister Eliza picked up a small glass dinner bell and gave it to Gabe. “If you’ll be so kind as to call the others, we’ll meet you all in the dining room. The Prophet told me of his plans to take you all to the temple site this afternoon, and you will not want to keep him waiting.”

  Precisely at three o’clock, Fenton Webb came to fetch the group at Sister Eliza’s door. The twins were taking a nap in their bedroom on the first floor and Grandfather was playing a game of chess with Coal in the parlor.

  Mary Rose didn’t know why it surprised her that the Prophet’s adopted son had invited Bronwyn and Griffin to ride with him and Porter Rockwell, the Prophet’s bodyguard, in his barouche, drawn by a two-horse team. It had originally been arranged for Gabe and Mary Rose to ride out to the temple site so that Gabe, who was taking over as lead architect, could review it. But now they rode alone in a smaller curricle, drawn by a single horse.

  Gabe shot her that crooked half-smile she adored and flicked the reins over the back of the horse. She saw her husband’s lips move as if praying the gelding wouldn’t embarrass him by standing still as a statue.

  He sighed when the horse pulled into the lane behind the barouche, and then he reached for her hand and gave it a soft squeeze. He smiled into her eyes; she didn’t think she’d ever seen him look so completely content.

  “It’s the temple,” he said, practically reading her mind. “It’s as if all my life, God has been preparing me for this single task.” He looked back to the road. “Think of it. We’re working with the Prophet God has appointed for our day and age. And as Solomon was commanded to build the temple in his day, our Prophet has been commanded to build another in our day.” He shot her another quick grin. “And because I just happened to be an architect on the ship that the Apostle Brigham was traveling on to accompany you and your grandfather, and because I fell in love with you—and only then agreed to open my heart to God’s word in the Book of Mormon—”

  “Though you didn’t read it,” she chided with a light laugh, remembering that night.

  “True enough. But I witnessed the miracle of Little Grace’s birth. The miracle that Brigham wrought by his faithfulness to God’s healing power. I saw it with my own eyes.” He fell quiet for a moment, and the only sounds were those of horse hooves clopping on the pavement, rustling leaves from trees hanging low over the road, and here and there a trill of birdsong.

  The walkways of the town were dotted with families out for Sunday-afternoon strolls, the women plainly dressed, sleeves and hems long, most wearing poke bonnets and knitted shawls. Even their hairstyles were subdued: older women wore their plaited hair wrapped into tight little buns; younger women, even those with bounteous hair, wore it covered or plaited in a single braid that rested on their backs. Snatches of laughter and conversation carried toward Mary Rose. Beauty radiated from their faces like lanterns from within. With awe, she watched as they strolled, talking with attentive husbands or sisters or friends, animated, laughing…happy.

  She turned back to Gabe when he spoke again.

  “God knew I would believe what I saw with my own eyes,” Gabe said. “Like Doubting Thomas who needed to touch the nail prints in the palms of our brother Jesus Christ, I needed the same physical proof.”

  They followed the barouche as the driver turned his team onto another street. They had gone only a quarter mile or so when the incline steepened. Gabe flicked the reins and the horse actually trotted a bit faster. He grinned, looking proud enough to pat himself on the back.

  Mary Rose chuckled. “You’re getting much better at this,” she said.

  He was still grinning as they rounded the next curve, and the temple site came into view.

  Mary Rose gasped and leaned forward. The view was stunning.

  Ahead of them, Fenton Webb’s driver pulled the carriage to a halt, and Gabe did the same with another sigh of relief as the horse actually halted.

  The group toured the building site. The foundation had been laid, but little else had been completed. The Apostle Webb, who, it turned out, had a working knowledge of architecture, mentioned some of the mistakes the previous designer had made. “Possibly on purpose,” he added. “He became an apostate and left us for reasons I won’t go into.”

  He turned to Gabe. “Can you work with what’s been done, or do we need to start over?”

  Gabe smiled. “I’ve thought of little else since we started for Nauvoo. I already have some preliminary drawings if you’d like to see them. And, no, there’s no need to start over.”

  The group walked to the edge of the bank overlooking the Mississippi. The city of Nauvoo lay in the foreground, farmland dotted with cattle and other livestock farther out. “This is God’s kingdom,” Webb said with a sweeping gesture. “The Prophet has a growing conviction that we are a state within a state, that the federal and state governments have no jurisdiction over us. He wanted that for us in Kirtland, and he wants it to come to pass here. And as soon as possible.”

  He turned to Griffin. “You’re a great asset to us. Brigham has high regard for you, and I hear you’ve already pledged to join our militia. The Church leadership wants it to grow to be four thousand, yea, ten thousand strong, so that no army can stand against us. Not from Washington, neither from this state.

  “In the spring a man named Boggs came against us. He’s a candidate for state office, and spread lies about us in his campaign. Got the people in a neighboring town riled up to the point I thought we might be under mob attack again.”

  Mary Rose and Bronwyn exchanged worried looks, but the men seemed mesmerized by his words.

  “Joseph made a prediction then, and I repeat it now: ‘Boggs will die a violent death within the year. And as for Governor Carlin of Missouri, he will also die, and in a ditch, that scoundrel.’”

  Porter Rockwell, who was standing nearby, threw back his head and laughed bitterly. “I also have put a price on his head: five hundred dollars to any Destroying Angel who will kill Boggs.”

  He studied Griffin’s face, and then did the same with Gabe’s.

  Mary Rose blinked in disbelief. Was this the same man who, only this morning, she thought of as delivering a message filled with love?

  Webb stepped toward him almost protectively and, lowering his voice, said, “Porter, you need to take greater care when you say such things, even in jest. Should anything truly happen to either of these men, you could be arrested as an accessory to murder.”

  Porter laughed. “I should worry? It’s you who has the ear of Joseph. I would say you’d be the accessory.” He chuckled as if it all were a joke. “God’s hand is on us all, brother. We have nothing to worry about.”

  Mary Rose and Bronwyn went back to stand near the foundation of the temple and looked out at the brilliant crimson sunset, the silver snaking river, a
nd the town below them, fading in the evening light.

  Mary Rose shivered, and Bronwyn reached for her hand. “’Tis not exactly what I expected,” she whispered.

  “Nor I,” Mary Rose said. “Yet look how mesmerized our husbands seem to be by the words of violence.”

  “I suppose it’s because of the Church’s history, what’s been done to them.”

  “I thought the Prophet was a man of peace,” Mary Rose said as the sun sank deeper into the horizon.

  “Maybe he is,” Bronwyn said, turning to look at Mary Rose. “Maybe it’s just those men around him who seem to want nothing to do with peace.”

  A wind kicked up near midnight, coming from the river, rattling the shutters and ripping leaves and twigs from trees, buffeting and dropping and swirling them until they sounded like dried bones. Mary Rose woke with a start, shivered and moved closer to Gabe. He drew the bedclothes over them, wrapped his arm around her and then kissed her temple. “Scared?”

  “A little,” she admitted. “But it’s not the wind or the sounds outside that frighten me.”

  “What is it, love?”

  “Our safety. We’ve given everything—our all—to the Prophet, to his Church—yet the rumors…”

  “What rumors are those?”

  “Today, in the ladies’ meeting I met a woman named Polly.”

  “And…?”

  “She said that Brigham and Joseph have taken more than one wife.”

  “Does she know this as a fact?”

  Mary Rose shivered again, wondering why the reality of plural marriage seemed more believable now than when Polly had first spoken of it. “No, she said it as if it were a fact, but she’d heard it from someone else.”

  Her husband sighed as if relieved. “There are always going to be rumors,” he said gently, turning toward her. “We’ve talked about that before.”

  “What was your meeting about this morning? The revelation that the Prophet mentioned…”

  For a long moment, Gabe didn’t speak. The wind brushed a branch against the window, and dappled shadows danced eerily across the bedroom walls. “The Prophet said that the revelation must be kept in our hearts until the right time, that we are to tell no one.”