Chapter 28
The windows rattled in warning. The back door screeched open, dousing us in cold night wind. Elijah jumped to his feet.
Prudence stood in the darkened doorway.
“Oh, forgive me for startling you!”
Her voice was hoarse, as if she’d been shouting. Or sobbing.
Though being interrupted by Prudence was surely better than by Flora, my heart still jumped. “There’s nothing to startle. It’s only dinner.”
“Sister Hazel has been keeping me company, making sure I returned her plate,” Elijah said. Scooping up the empty dinner plate, he walked to the sink.
“I can do that, Brother Crowther.”
I nearly ran to take the plate before he could wash it himself. Glancing over my shoulder, I watched Prudence sit stiffly down at the table, her back to us.
She hadn’t seen anything—not that there was anything to see. Elijah and I would never—we weren’t …
I bit the inside of my cheek to awaken my senses. To feel the pain I deserved.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
Elijah’s tone remained cool, unlike mine, though quiet so as not to be overheard. “Cleaning my dish. And we shouldn’t part on such terms.”
“Please, no, Elijah.” I couldn’t rip myself open for him after the burden of all that’d just transpired.
“You have to let me explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain.”
“But there are concerns you must know,” he pleaded.
“I don’t want to hear it, it’s too late. Please, just stop.”
He bit his lip and stepped back from the sink. “Very well, Sister Manwaring. Good night.”
I finished scrubbing the dish as he retreated with a soft farewell to Prudence. Once I knew he was gone, I turned back to the table.
“What were you doing outside in the dark, Prudence?” I asked.
“Only wandering near where we b-buried her.”
“Wandering? In the darkness? Prudence, that isn’t safe.”
“It matters little,” she said.
My hands stilled in the sink. “Why wouldn’t it matter?”
“I don’t matter.”
Her chilling words were only a whisper, so quiet I wasn’t sure they were meant for me.
“You missed dinner. Why don’t you eat? I’m sure that will help calm your … wandering.” I took a piece of bread from beneath the cloth on the shelf.
She stared back at me but made no response. The fire crackled in the hearth but did little to chase out the coldness of the room.
“Please, you must eat something, Prudence.” I tried again with a smile. “For Edward.”
The mention of her son was the only thing that seemed to pull her from these spells lately. Her eyes refocused and a hint of shock lit her expression, as if she had only just realized where she was and that I was beside her offering food.
“Of course, Sister Hazel. How silly of me.” She took the piece of bread and after an excruciatingly long minute, began to eat it.
“Perhaps you can tell me now why you feel the need to wander.”
“No, no,” she protested. “I don’t want to bother you with such a trivial thing.”
“It isn’t trivial at all to mourn for those we’ve lost.”
“But I’ve sinned, Sister Hazel. I’ve loved my baby more than I’ve loved God.
Every moment I should be joyfully serving and continuing on, I think of her loss and I’m pulled down into such despair.
If I was a good woman, I wouldn’t let the past consume me so.
I would praise God and be happy. I need to stop these feelings and simply be content. ”
Prudence’s head drooped in shame.
Her words hurt. I knew that burn of shame well.
We were commanded by the Brethren to not love the things of this life more than God’s will.
Sometimes that meant our fine possessions, others it meant the bodies of our children.
The faithful pioneers who first came to the Salt Lake Valley wept, then dried their tears and left their loved ones buried on the trail behind.
Everything, everything, needed to go onto the altar of sacrifice.
And then we needed to be joyful in our obedience.
Like scales dropped from my eyes, I took in Prudence and her suffering.
What if it wasn’t supposed to be like this?
What if we deserved more as women—as humans—to feel the depths of life and not call it a sin?
What if we were allowed to explore the multitudes of ourselves and not hide away the most jagged pieces?
Was all this sorrow and struggle truly worth it? It terrified me to even allow the question within my own mind, but I didn’t silence it.
I reached across the table and took her hand. “Just focus on getting better. Edward will need you. I need you.”
For the first time in a long time, she smiled.
“And how have you been, Hazel?” she asked.
A hum started in my chest; one I’d been burying for days. Inexplicable tears burst in my eyes and I fought to blink them back. The panic was sudden and overwhelming.
“I—” My voice cracked. I was unable to go on.
“Oh dear, I’ve been so caught up in myself I haven’t been helping you at all.” Prudence reached back across the table to grab my hand. “What’s wrong?”
I simply shook my head, uncertain where to begin or what to confess.
“You’ve been holding us together, Hazel. Ever since Jacob left.” Her tone was thoughtful, as if she’d only just realized her own meaning as she spoke.
“I have to. I have to keep us here. Together.” My words came out so strangled, I wasn’t certain she heard them.
Prudence studied my face as if contemplating something.
“And you need help with that. We need help.”
My shoulders shook, but perhaps it seemed I nodded, for Prudence whispered, “Yes,” in agreement. She squeezed my hands. “Breathe, Hazel, breathe.”
She made a pantomime of drawing air into her lungs, encouraging me to mimic her. Minutes ticked by and eventually, my breathing returned to almost normal and my tears ceased.
I pulled my hands back across the table to my lap. “Thank you.”
“Of course. Let’s go up to bed. I’m certain you need your rest.” The bench scraped across the floor as she stood.
“I need a moment. I’ll follow you up shortly.”
“Very well. Good night.”
“Good night,” I called after her as she left.
The silence of the kitchen fluttered around me.
The wicked panic had subsided, but I couldn’t shake the revolting taste coating my tongue.
Something was still not settled. A question played in the reaches of my mind, but I could not grasp it.
As if it agreed with me, the chair nearest me shook against the floorboards.
“It’s fine,” I scolded. “There’s no reason to be worried.”
A wail splintered through the chimney with a gust of wind.
“Stop it,” I said. “Nothing is wrong.”
But the sickening reaction in my stomach belied my words.
I needed to finish my duties and leave this suffocating kitchen. I grabbed the fireplace stoker with whitened knuckles. As I bent to separate the final coals of the fire for the night, Elijah’s words came back to me.
My heart is just as much yours as it is mine.
It didn’t add up. If he cared for me, why did he tell his father he didn’t want me? Dropping the stoker back onto the hearth with a clang, I turned on my heel and ran out of the kitchen. All I wanted was escape—from Elijah, from Jacob’s looming threat, from everything.