The Veil Page 9

  “Sophie’s never paid much attention to the chastisement she gets for being outspoken. I’ve always thought she rather glories in it.” Lucas chuckled, enjoying memories of Sophronia’s sharp mind and tongue. “Everyone knows she means no harm.”

  “This was different. He was vicious and minced no words. You weren’t there and didn’t hear. But others, friends of hers, were. They heard how he spoke—they turned away as if she had some malady they might catch.” Hannah met his gaze earnestly. “Elder Webb was downright disrespectful. Meanspirited. He called her a crazy old woman who was touched in the head.”

  “Did she say anything afterward?” Lucas asked, sitting forward slightly.

  “She wouldn’t speak of it at all. Said the remembrance of Elder Webb’s face as he spoke made her feel she couldn’t breathe properly.” Hannah pushed the swing to get it rocking again, and a breeze lifted a few strands of her hair.

  For a long time Lucas didn’t answer. He stared across the fields at farmhouses and cattle, barely noticing the greening of the valley of the Saints in the warm spring air. He fixed his gaze on a rocky point on the distant mountains and considered how much he should tell Hannah.

  Through the years she and Sophronia had become closer than blood kin. While he was in the safe haven their home provided, he put aside the stance he usually adopted for John Steele, the man who’d raised him. Even so, there was a line Lucas had drawn because of the danger his disclosures could bring to Sophronia and Hannah.

  “The Prophet’s received word from God about the need for a great reformation,” he finally said, looking back to Hannah. “He’s talked to his elders and some of the apostles about it.”

  “Reformation?” Hannah looked at him with a frown. “What has that got to do with how Brother Webb treated Aunt Sophie?”

  “It has everything to do with it, Hannah. Everything. Especially when it comes to speaking out against the Church or against God’s Prophet the way Sophie does.”

  “Sophronia’s always had a sharp tongue. For years you yourself have warned her to no avail.” Around them the scent of fresh-cut grass and newly blooming roses drifted toward them on a slight breeze. Hannah and Lucas waved to a young man driving a team as the farm wagon rattled down the road.

  “The Prophet’s worried about disobedience. He wants us purified, our sins atoned for.” Lucas hesitated. “The chaff burned away from us all, no matter the cost.”

  Hannah stood and moved to the porch rail then turned and leaned against it as she studied Lucas, her expression thoughtful. “There’s no purer soul among us, I dare say, than Aunt Sophie. She’s filled with love for the Church, the Prophet, for this valley.”

  “I know she is,” Lucas said softly. “But it seems that love doesn’t matter. It’s actions that count, acts of obedience.”

  “Blind obedience, Lucas?” She swallowed hard and dropped her voice in her earnestness. “Sometimes I wonder about our life here.” She studied his face. “We’re expected to do as we are told, no matter the consequences. We can’t disagree, or we’ll be punished. It’s a wonderful life—as long as we obey all the rules.”

  “Any civilized society has laws that must be obeyed, Hannah. You know that as well as I do.” Even as he uttered the words, Lucas knew they sounded hollow.

  “But Lucas, I worry about our freedom.” Her gaze held his, refusing to let go, holding him close with the emotion of her wide, blue eyes. “What if we wanted to leave? The valley, I mean. You and Sophronia and me. What would happen?”

  “We’d be welcome to go, just as any Saint is, Hannah.”

  “Tell me who has left—”

  He interrupted, giving her names and dates.

  “But none of us have ever heard from them again.” Now there was a challenge in those eyes. “How do we know they ever made it farther than the border?”

  Lucas didn’t answer.

  “Tell me the truth, Lucas. Not just what you’ve been told to say.”

  “I’ve told you all I can.” A heavy silence fell between them, then Lucas spoke again. “Look around, Hannah. Look at the valley, alive with an abundance of food and grain. And this beautiful city we’ve built. It’s been raised by the toil of us all, by our hard work and discipline.

  “Our calling isn’t easy. Jesus Christ himself said the way is narrow and few will make it.” He sighed and reached for her hand, drawing her closer, and she again sat down beside him on the swing. “I have questions, too, about our faith. But Hannah, I know what life is like on the other side—outside our kingdom here in Utah. I know what the Gentiles did to my family back at Haun’s Mill. There is no life for me—for us—anywhere else but here.”

  Still holding her small hand in his, Lucas went on. “We are preparing for Christ’s kingdom on earth, Hannah. Don’t forget that. Life in Deseret may seem unfair, narrow, and harsh, but it’s for a purpose. We—all of us—are part of God’s glorious army. We need to be fit for the job. Discipline and obedience are necessary to make this army great.” He smiled gently. “Besides, we’re being tested, perfected, for that glorious day to join him in ruling the world.”

  Hannah pulled her hand away. “But, dear Lucas, you’ve again hit upon a sore point, something Sophronia noticed long ago.”

  He frowned. “What is that?”

  “This kingdom will be ruled only by men.”

  He grinned. “Ah, yes. I think you’ve mentioned that before.”

  “And I don’t like it any better now, Lucas Knight. For instance, I have it on good authority that when we marry, we’ll be given secret names.”

  “Wait a minute. Are you saying we,’ as in you and me?” His grin widened.

  “You know we’re meant for each other, Lucas. You might as well admit it.” She brightened, giving him a sisterly poke in the ribs. “Now listen to what I’m saying. When we—you and I—say our vows, we will be given secret names.”

  “You’re not supposed to know that, Hannah.”

  She raised a sly eyebrow and smiled. “The names, I’ve heard,” she continued, “are so that we can be called into heaven when we die.”

  “You’re not supposed to know that either.”

  She ignored his admonition. “But Lucas, what I don’t understand—and Sophronia agrees—is why you as my husband will be the only one who can call me into heaven. You’ll be the only one to know my name.”

  He chuckled. “Don’t you trust me?”

  But this time Hannah didn’t smile. “I trust you, Lucas. I always have, and I always will.” She frowned. “But what if I married someone I don’t trust?”

  The thought sliced through his heart like a knife.

  “It seems to me that my husband would have the upper hand. I would have to do as he says, or he wouldn’t call me into heaven.” She gazed at him evenly, her voice husky as she continued, “That’s true, isn’t it, Lucas?”

  “Yes,” he said softly and reached for her hand again. “But, Hannah, you just asked me to marry you. That’s the third time now since you were ten years old. It seems to me that there’s not much chance I’ll get away.”

  He thought about that first time. Hannah had been sitting on the wood-slat wagon seat, popping a whip above the oxen’s backs as they crossed the Plains. Lucas rode beside the wagon on Black Star, and Sophronia rested under the canvas cover of the wagon. The prairie winds had stung Hannah’s cheeks red and ruffled her flaxen hair. She’d looked up at him, nodded her head very seriously, then announced, “I’m going to marry you someday, Lucas Knight.”

  The second time had been when she was sixteen. They’d been riding Foxfire and Black Star across the fields. Foxfire reared at the sight of a jackrabbit, throwing Hannah. When her horse raced wildly away from them, Lucas had swooped Hannah up and into the saddle in front of him. She’d nestled in his arms as he kicked Black Star into a full gallop, chasing after the runaway mare. When Foxfire finally halted, Hannah looked up at Lucas, telling him not to stop. “I like being here,” she said. “I want to stay in yo
ur arms forever, Lucas Knight.”

  “You’ll change your mind,” he’d said, though he felt the same way. “You’re only sixteen. You’ll soon have a passel of boys standing in line, waiting to court you.”

  But Hannah had shaken her head vigorously. “We’re meant for each other, Lucas. Don’t try to fight it. We will marry someday, you know.”

  Now Lucas smiled warmly at Hannah, more lovely than ever at twenty years old. “This is the third time you’ve asked, you know,” he reminded her again.

  She smiled back. “They say the third time’s a charm.”

  “They also say the man should do the asking.”

  “Then you’d better hurry, Lucas.”

  “I have some …” He hesitated. “… things to take care of first, Hannah. So don’t yet start sewing your wedding dress.” He forced his voice to be light.

  “You must ask permission from John Steele?”

  “It’s only proper. He is my father and my friend.”

  “He also has the authority to say no on behalf of the Church.” She frowned. “This takes us back to obedience, Lucas. What if John Steele says no? Do we blindly obey?”

  Lucas drew in a deep breath. He had already struggled with that very question. He nodded. “If the answer is no, there will be good reason.”

  Hannah stood angrily. “You would just accept that, Lucas? You would let me marry another?”

  He stared at her face, realizing what it was he’d noticed that was different about her expression. It was fear he saw there. Hannah was afraid. He stood and moved closer to her. Tenderly, he touched her face and turned it toward his. “Hannah,” he said, “what is it? There’s something you haven’t told me. Something that prompted this whole discussion.”

  She nodded, and tears welled up in her eyes. “You haven’t asked what it was that riled Aunt Sophie so—what caused Elder Webb to rebuke her.”

  “No, I haven’t. What was it?”

  “She was spouting off about the practice of plural marriages.”

  “It’s no secret how she feels. She’s done that before.”

  “This time it was different. She was aiming her remarks at one particular Saint.”

  “Who?”

  For a moment, she didn’t speak. She looked down at her hands, folded on the porch rail. “John Steele,” she finally murmured. But Lucas wasn’t surprised. John already had nine wives and, it was said, was looking for another.

  “Why did she pick on John? Nearly all of the apostles and elders have more than one wife.”

  “Because John Steele had come calling here the day before.”

  “Surely, he’s not thinking of taking Sophronia as his tenth wife!” Lucas almost laughed at the thought.

  “No, Lucas, he’s not.”

  Lucas felt his heart drop into his stomach. He thought he might be sick. He knew what Hannah was going to say next, even before she uttered a word.

  “It’s me he wants, Lucas,” she whispered. “He’s asked Sophronia for my hand in marriage.”

  SIX

  Lucas strode purposefully up the walk and to the front door of John Steele’s large, two-story brick house, one of several homes the man maintained. Not all his wives were content to share the same household, and because of the constant bickering, he’d moved the primary troublemakers to a ranch near the ironworks in the south. His town house, however, remained his favorite residence, and because of his position within the Church, he could usually be found in residence with his first wife, Harriet, the woman who’d helped him raise Lucas, and three of his most comely wives.

  Harriet answered the door, her round face brightening when she saw Lucas. “Dear boy,” she said softly, wiping her hands on her apron before giving him a gentle embrace.

  Lucas kissed her plump cheek. “Harriet,” he said. “You look well.” She smiled timidly and glanced down at her soiled apron. “Why, thank you, Luke. That’s quite a compliment for an old lady like me. Half the time I feel so worn out I figure I look pretty haggard.”

  Lucas took her hands, turned them over, and rubbed his thumb across her calluses. “With the work you do for the ladies of the Church plus running this house with its small army of wives and children, it’s no wonder you’re worn out.” His voice softened. “You deserve a rest.”

  A shadow crossed Harriet’s face, and she withdrew her hands. “I’m fit as a fiddle, Luke. Don’t you be worrying about me.” She circled her arm around him as they moved down the long entry hall to the parlor. “Now, what brings you to this part of town? Church business?” She nodded to one of two high-backed chairs that flanked a sturdy settee. “Sit down, son.” She settled heavily onto the settee.

  Lucas did as he was bidden, glancing around the room, again marveling at the beautiful furnishings. Made by local artisans, they were stylish and functional but not fussy. John Steele liked the finer things in life, and his houses reflected his taste. Lucas looked back to Harriet. “I’ve come to see John about a personal matter. Is he here?”

  “He’s out back, showing Sara the right way to weed the corn.” She chuckled. “Last week she nearly pulled up every new sprout. Said she thought they were all weeds.”

  “Maybe she’s never seen corn,” Lucas said. “Does it grow in Wales?”

  Harriet shrugged. “Maybe if John would pick his wives more carefully, he wouldn’t have to worry about whether or not they’ve ever tended corn or cows or cauliflower. All that would be settled ahead of time.” Then she narrowed her eyes in thought and said no more.

  “Shall I go out back to see John?” Lucas asked gently. “Or wait till he comes in?”

  “Oh, law, no. I’ll go fetch him.” She smiled. “I nearly forgot my manners in my excitement to see you, son. It’s been too long.”

  “I know. And I plan to remedy that. I’ll be coming to see you more often. You can count on it.”

  Harriet looked confused. “That might be a far piece for you to come a-calling, Luke. John said you’d be going to England on a mission by the end of the month.”

  “He hasn’t said anything to me about it.”

  “Hmm. I thought you were all but packed and ready to go.”

  Lucas shook his head uncertainly. “He must have meant someone else.”

  She gazed at him evenly as she pushed herself to standing, her expression telling him there was no doubt who John meant. “I’ll go fetch him, Luke,” she said finally. “You can ask him yourself.”

  Lucas nodded and stood politely—just as she’d taught him years ago—as Harriet left the parlor.

  He walked to the room’s double French doors, opened one, and stepped onto a wide porch. He surveyed the garden below. Finger-sized plants were poking through rich soil in what would soon be a patchwork garden of vegetables and flowers. Brigham Young had ordered the Saints to begin building a complex irrigation system the first year they arrived. Completed several years ago, it now brought an abundance of fresh water rushing from the mountains for crops, cattle, gardens, and people. John Steele had been instrumental in the project, and as the Prophets Indian agent, he had enlisted the local Utes to do most of the hard labor.

  “Luke, my boy!” John Steele, breaking into Lucas’s thoughts, strode through the French doors to where Lucas stood. He shook the younger man’s hand vigorously. “It’s about time you paid your mother and me a visit.”

  Lucas considered the man who’d raised him. Whether showing his latest wife how to weed a corn patch or leading the Avenging Angels on a mission, he always looked the same: immaculately dressed with every strand of his chin-length silver hair neatly in place, his emotions masked behind piercing blue eyes.

  “John,” Lucas said pleasantly as he released John’s hand. “It’s good to see you.”

  “We’ve missed you at the meetings. Where’ve you been?”

  Lucas leaned his back against the porch railing, crossing one ankle over the other, considering the Danites. It was true. He avoided meeting with the other Angels as often as possible. “My fe
elings aren’t a secret,” he finally said.

  John settled into a white iron chair in front of Lucas. “You know, don’t you, son, that you really have no choice but to attend? You are a chosen man. Chosen by God to be a priest of the Melchizedek order.

  “And as a priest, your obedience is required. You must keep God’s commandments as revealed through the Prophet.”

  “I know that, John. You’ve taught me well.”

  “Not well enough, it appears.” John Steele’s voice had taken on a hard edge. “You are no longer a child.”

  “I was never a child,” Lucas added grimly.

  But John Steele ignored his comment. “You know my meaning. You became a priest of the Aaronic order at age twelve. That holy act was an acceptance of your priestly responsibilities. You will suffer the consequences if you shirk your responsibilities.”

  John had always claimed that Lucas meant more to him than did his own flesh-and-blood children. How many times had they had this conversation? And it always ended the same.

  “I’ve told you before, I’ve seen too much killing,” Lucas said. “I don’t care what the reason, whether it be for holiness’ sake, atonement’s sake, or even the coming Great Reformation.”

  Lucas fixed his gaze on John Steele’s ice blue eyes. “I want to serve the Church. I want to serve God.” He walked to the corner of the porch, looking out over the garden. Then he turned back to Steele. “But isn’t there another way?”

  “God’s called you to obedience, son.”

  “Why does that obedience require killing?”

  “It’s the obedience that counts, son, whether it’s carrying out blood atonement or some other act.”

  Lucas didn’t answer.

  “Is that what you came to see me about?”

  “No.” Lucas shook his head slowly. “No, actually it isn’t.” He walked back to where John was seated and settled into a chair beside him. “I’m very disturbed about something I just heard. I’m sure there must be some mistake—that it can’t possibly be true—but I wanted to find out the truth from you.”