Chapter 15
Over the next weeks in the house, I slowly became accustomed to the rhythm of its days.
Each week, I wrote a letter to my parents’ home describing the small pieces of my new life.
Writing it down made me feel a sense of control, as if writing down the mundane tasks would make the unexplainable of no consequence.
I clung to the hope of those letters—both the falsehood that my new world was orderly and that words from my family would bolster me through it.
Although Jacob had yet to return with a letter for me, I knew one would come. Eventually.
But despite what I wrote in my letters, the subtle worries, the strange movements just out of my eyesight, and the unexpected sounds moaning through empty rooms never became more familiar.
There’s no such thing as only in this house.
Abby’s words from weeks ago echoed in my ears as I reached up to take the dried linens from the clothesline. Picking up the basket, I bounded to the kitchen door, pushing it open with my hip as I stepped inside. Flora clicked her tongue from the table, where she sat peeling potatoes with Prudence.
“About time, Sister Hazel. I hope you weren’t imagining things again.”
Years of childhood accusations about my overactive imaginations and worries rose in her words.
“Forgive me. There were many items to bring in.”
“There’s no need to be upset, Sister Flora,” Prudence said. “Be grateful the Lord has allowed us to live in such a way that we can share all our duties.”
“Of course, I’m grateful,” said Flora. “And need I remind you that I taught you all these duties?”
“Sister Emmeline says—”
“Don’t spout your suffragist nonsense in my kitchen, Prudence.”
The door slammed shut behind me, rattling the line of plates on the top shelf. It must’ve been caught by the wind. But that didn’t stop my heart from pounding.
“Never mind,” Flora continued. “We must not have contention in our home, Prudence. You know it’s important to have a pure heart while you’re with child, or the babe may be afflicted with a wicked spirit when they are born.”
“Yes, we wouldn’t want that.” Prudence motioned me farther inside.
“And it’d do you good to take note of that as well, Hazel. It’s my job to instruct you in these things, after all. Heaven knows Abby won’t do it, so you should thank me. Your eternal soul is at stake.”
Flora flicked her potato peels with extra vigor.
Prudence gave me an eye roll and I bit my tongue to keep from laughing.
“Thank you, Sister Flora,” I repeated, as if I were a child in Sunday school again. I rested my basket on the back of a chair beside them.
“I’m surprised you’re not with child yet,” she continued. “Are you certain you’re counting properly?”
My stomach instantly turned.
“I bled only last week,” I confessed, warmth rolling up my spine.
“It’s your duty to be fruitful, and multiply and replenish the earth.”
“Yes, I’m aware.” Could I do nothing right here?
The door rattled in its jamb, as if it too sensed the tension blooming.
“I’m sure it’s not for lack of trying,” Prudence said, mortifying me further. “I’m certain Jacob loves you very much.”
“Love has nothing to do with it.” Peels flew right and left across the table as Flora went on.
“You young wives are all so obsessed with your husband loving you. Why, I don’t care one bit if Jacob loves me.
I shout hallelujah that I’ve got a man from the Lord at all!
I’m a mother and I do my duty to God’s kingdom. That’s all that matters, not love.”
It felt as if I sat across from Elder Crowther once more, being told my calling mattered more than my feelings—as if Elijah and his affections were only trivialities, a kind of counterfeit happiness compared to the Principle’s true joy.
Good Mormon women didn’t need love for contentment—they needed obedience and sacrifice.
“I should finish this laundry,” I said, not daring to meet either of their gazes. I knew Prudence’s held quiet sympathy and Flora’s unwavering faith. Neither would be a balm at this moment. “I’ll return shortly to help with dinner.”
I left the kitchen quickly. More than ever, I wished for my piano and a place to find some solace.
But I hadn’t dared to reexplore the attic.
My fingers twitched on the edges of the basket.
Perhaps it was time to bring the matter up with Jacob again.
He’d been so busy of late that I’d hardly seen him outside of the two dedicated nights each week he spent in my bed.
Some nights we spoke at length, others he took carnal pleasure without pretense.
Some he simply slipped into bed and nodded off quietly, probably too exhausted from his duties to even notice me.
I tried not to think about what he did the nights I slept alone.
The sound of hushed voices slowed my feet. Around the corner of the parlor, Jacob and Abby leaned together in rapt conversation. I stopped, uncertain of what to do. They blocked the only path to the stairs.
“… Hazel …”
I heard my name and froze. Staying out of sight, I leaned against the doorway. The wood paneling shook against my back. I held my breath as I listened in to the conversation.
“Abby, you must calm down,” Jacob hissed.
I couldn’t see them, but I could imagine well his furrowed brow.
“Calm down?” Abby replied, her tone laced with ice. “It’s only getting worse and you tell me to calm down?”
“You’re having one of your hysterical episodes. You shouldn’t be around others. I’m concerned for you.”
Her laugh was biting.
“You weren’t so concerned last night when my mouth was on you.”
I clenched my teeth to keep from gagging. The squeak of the shifting floorboards suggested Jacob didn’t find it amusing either.
“Get back to your room, Abby.”
“Not until you admit that it’s worse, ever since you brought home your latest pet.”
Me. I’d made whatever was troubling Abby worse. I gripped the basket tighter.
“I won’t engage with this nonsense. The problem isn’t me, Abby, it’s you. You need to help yourself—What? What are you staring at?”
“You know perfectly well what it is,” she responded, her tone deadened.
“I don’t. Your episode is overtaking you. Let’s get you back to bed.”
A cry rasped in Abby’s throat.
“Would that I could gouge out your eyes, husband.”
Jacob’s reply was muffled, though I just made out the words, “Even in my blindness, you’d still be mine.”
Their steps echoed away. How could Abby speak in such a way to her husband?
Our husband. But if Abby dared to say such things to him, could there be a reason for her sickness?
A loose edge of the wicker basket pressed painfully into my skin and cut off the terrible thought before it took further root.