Chapter 8
I hefted the large wicker basket of laundry on my hip, trailing a waddling Prudence from the back porch to the crisscross of hanging lines tied between trees and the house.
The garden was even more overgrown back here, like the mountain forest beyond was coming to slowly retake the land.
Only a space directly behind the house was cleared for laundry, the kitchen garden, and chopping wood.
On the outskirts of the yard, one path edged in uninviting brush lead into the wilderness.
I immediately prayed I would never have to take it.
The tension from the kitchen clung to me. Each step away from the house seemed harder, as if we plunged through ever-thickening mud. As I walked away from it, I sensed the home rising up behind us. I shook my head against the ridiculous thought.
Prudence signaled where to drop the basket.
“It’ll be much easier to do this with your help. Bending over isn’t my greatest strength these days.” A whistle of a laugh escaped between her teeth as she handed me a handful of clothespins.
“Certainly, I intend to be useful here.” Once I proved myself in this family, then I could ask those harder questions probing at me. Trust was earned in worthiness and obedience in Mormonism. “Simply instruct me what to do,” I said with perhaps too much forced eagerness.
Again, she laughed softly.
“I would tell you first to relax. We can be friends. Flora often acts as if our situation is a competition, but I think that’s silly.”
“I appreciate your friendship, though you’ll discover that relaxing isn’t one of my great strengths.”
She gestured for me to retrieve a dress from the basket for her. “Then I’ll try my best to teach you how.”
“I’ll happily let you try,” I said.
Perhaps between Jacob’s love—sparked in his passion the night before and solidified in a placed flower this morning—and Prudence’s friendship I could gain some surer footing.
“It’s only nerves from the newness. I’m lucky to have married Jacob after—”
I cut myself off. Elijah wasn’t a topic I could broach ever again. Instead, I bent to retrieve the dress and changed the subject, as if I’d said nothing.
“May I ask when you are expecting?”
“Should be about two more months.” Her face brightened as she stroked her belly.
“Your first?”
“It’ll be my second,” she answered. “My eldest, Edward, is almost four.”
I recalled my strange tour this morning. “Edward? I met him this morning.”
“Oh good, he’s a darling.”
I returned her smile, though I was uncertain of what to say. He was darling—and very odd.
“I’ve found that children are a great comfort in plural marriage, so don’t lose hope if it seems overwhelming right now,” she assured me.
A jolt rushed through me at the thought of bearing Jacob’s child.
But why was the only image I saw of Elijah bouncing a tiny bundle in his arms?
I bent over and retrieved a small pinafore from the basket, determined to throw out the thought.
Becoming a mother in Zion was my calling, what every good Mormon woman was raised to do, so of course it would happen with Jacob. Only Jacob, my husband.
“The house is so quiet. Are there many children?” I dared to asked at last.
“Oh yes. They’re all either at work around the property or in Sister Abby’s school right now.”
Abigail or Abby? It’d sounded as if she preferred Abigail, but all else called her Abby. Perhaps I’d been mistaken.
“I haven’t heard so much as a giggle from them. My own siblings are always making noise whether working or sewing, or simply sitting.”
“Oh, the house is so large I swear it swallows all sound. You won’t hear much of anything, I’m afraid.” Her explanation made some sense, though it didn’t bring me much relief. How could a house muffle all sounds?
I glanced up at the imposing manor as I hung another pinafore. The twisted vines climbing its sides covered almost every inch of the back wall of the house.
“How many children?” I asked, without taking my eyes off the vines for fear they’d wrap themselves tighter around the structure.
Prudence held out her hand for another item.
“Well, I have Edward, and Sister Abby has the eldest, Nephi and Esther. Flora has three, Aaron, Joseph, and Vilate, though I know she wants more.”
Prudence’s words soured some on mentioning Flora, but she quickly brushed past it.
I bent down to retrieve another shirt, Jacob’s guessing by the size of it.
“You’re the youngest wife?” A worm of guilt wriggled in my head at peppering her with questions. “I hope you don’t mind me asking,” I added.
She pulled a clothespin from her mouth.
“Oh, don’t worry. I know the older ladies always tell us to mind our own business, but really, how will we form a true sisterhood that way?”
I recalled Mother reciting that exact reprimand. For the first time in a long time, I wondered if perhaps she wasn’t entirely right about everything.
“To answer your question, though, Jacob and I have been married for nearly five years. Sister Abby is the first wife, as you can probably guess, and Sister Flora the second.”
Prudence must’ve sensed the tension held tight in my shoulders as she looked me over hanging the next garment, and her voice softened into almost a coo.
“I know we’re a bit unconventional, all living far out here together. And with the threats from Congress—but it’s truly rather blissful most of the time. Jacob prefers living the Principle this way, and honestly, so do I.”
“You do?”
To my mind, the burden of plural marriage stained every interaction, every conversation in this house, as evidenced by the simple act of breakfast this morning. It couldn’t be easy to live with.
“Oh yes. It’s easier to work together, rather than apart,” she said. “Sister Hazel, have you ever considered the benefits of plural marriage?”
My hands hung lamely in the air over the line.
“Benefits.” I bit my cheek to keep from releasing a nervous laugh. “Well, I mean, our faithfulness to the kingdom of God is inspiring. And raising up righteous seed to the Lord.” I snapped my fingers back to work. “It’s simply a commandment and our way of life.”
“Well, yes, but truly, plural marriage can be a heaven of its own,” she insisted.
“Women all have different talents and interests, do we not? When many women work together for the good of the family, then each woman can individually find freedom in what she likes. Sister Emmeline Wells taught me that.” There was an uptick of pride swelling in her voice.
“I’m afraid I don’t quite follow.” The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it.
“Sister Flora is an excellent cook, and Sister Abby is a wonderful teacher. I can leave those tasks to them and focus on my own strengths, the things I wish to do. It’s like a kind of harmony. Every woman is free to follow her own pursuits because her sister wives will pick up any leftover pieces.”
Prudence rattled it off as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Gears spun in my head. Mother and Aunt Emma lived apart for most of their marriages, so I hadn’t seen much harmony, but in a permanent single household, it sounded plausible.
Perhaps this explained the state of disarray in the manor; all the wives were too busy pursuing their own goals to scrub it.
My heart skipped over. What if that was why Jacob had married me? To be the permanent housekeeper? It’d been rumored Brother Brigham had done the same to find his family a devoted cook. I shoved the disheartening thought away.
“And what is it you wish to pursue?” I asked.
Her face shined with a smile of excitement. “I want to be a midwife.”
“You’re not worried about taking yourself away from your home and children?” Natural fear crept up my back. Her words teetered into a territory I’d never dared to venture.
“Though it requires training, it’s a very acceptable role for a woman. Someone must deliver all those precious babies from God.”
I matched her smile, her enthusiasm contagious. “I’ve only known you a few hours, but that just seems to suit you. I’m sure you’ll be a wonderful midwife.”
“Isn’t there something you wished to do?” She cocked her head at me as she accepted another item to hang.
I swallowed. I’d never met a woman who openly spoke of her own desires without a flush of shame.
“Well, I do enjoy music,” I said.
“I will have to bring you to our next meeting so you can meet Sister Emmeline then. I’m certain there will be a place for you.”
“Meeting? You mean Relief Society?” I hadn’t imagined the wives traveled into the city much.
“Oh no, our local suffrage meeting. That’s what I’m most passionate about. Utah women may have secured the vote for now, but we must retain it. We need to show the world that we aren’t oppressed or ignorant just because we live plural marriage.”
Now the name from earlier clicked in my mind: Emmeline Wells, one of the wives of the mayor of Salt Lake and notorious for her support of the rights of women.
Even in my most whimsical thoughts, I’d never given much credence to worry about voting rights.
The possibility seemed far away, like a mythical problem for adults—of which I firmly was now one.
I forced back the sudden wave of insecurities.
“I look forward to going with you and meeting her,” I said quickly.
I would gladly attend any meeting—anything at all to get out of this strange house for a few moments. And certainly, I wanted to be closer friends with Prudence.
A light breeze rippled through the line of the freshly cleaned clothes around us, bringing with it a scent of strong pine and harsh dirt.
We worked on in steady silence. As I turned Prudence’s words over in my mind, the wind whipped the sheet I was holding into my face.
I brushed it back with my hand and was straightening it on the line when movement in the top window of the house caught my eye.
A figure hung in the window, the cream curtains tucked around them like a shroud.
An odd light clung to their person as if they lifted a lamp in the broad daylight.
They looked down on me, strangely motionless, but for a moment, I swore their eyes met mine, sending a shock like lightning coursing through me.
Before I could see who it was, the curtains billowed up around them and then they were gone, leaving only the empty window frame.
My spy was back. Perhaps it was Flora waiting to see if she could understand my character or my flaws to bring up in complaint to Jacob. Something hard lodged in my throat.
“What are you watching?” Prudence’s question made me jump.
I tore my gaze from the upper window.
“Oh, nothing. Someone was watching us from above and it surprised me, that’s all.” I tried to sound as nonchalant as possible.
“Oh?” Her eyebrows knit together in confusion as she examined the house.
After a moment’s pause, she set back to work, urging me to join her with a gesturing clothespin. I nodded, unwilling to break the tentative silence. The easy conversation now felt awkward, something unseen dampening the air between us. Without either of us saying a word, we worked quicker.
And still I couldn’t shake the distinct sensation of being watched.