The Wedding Dress (26 page)

The road from Cedar City to Great Salt Lake City was narrow but clearly defined, even the stretch that cut through miles of sage and rabbit bush.

In the spring its length was marked by deep, muddy ruts. This autumn, powdery dust rose in a churning cloud to envelop the light wagon and its two occupants.

Andrew flicked the reins along the backs of his team, urging them up the slope away from the dry creek bed. “There's a pond ahead,” he said. “We'll water the horses and rest.” He headed toward a grove of willows.

Rebecca shook out her shawl. “Whew, dust!”

“From here on north things are pretty dry,” Andrew said soberly. “The crops did so poorly that the most stouthearted Saint is worried this year. Brother Brigham is cautioning us not to waste a grain of wheat.”

“I wish they could have had some of our water this year,” Rebecca said, remembering the torrential rains of the summer.

“You'd have had more call to say that if you'd lived on the Santa Clara,” Andrew replied as he maneuvered the team around a deep rut. “The rain washed out the crops and carried away the good soil.”

“Seems the good Lord is bearing hard on the children of Israel. I'm hearing nothing but tales of suffering and hunger.”

“Brother Brigham says our poor times show we aren't following the Lord as we should.”

“How much more is expected? What new doctrine will he have us into next?”

“If you're wondering, I'll get some books for you to read. Not many women would be of a mind to dig it out for themselves.”

“Oh, would you, Andrew? I've been hearing about the Book of Commandments and the Prophet's writings on doctrine, but I haven't heard enough to understand.”

He smiled at her. “We'll be making a good Latter-day Saint out of you yet.”

“You think I'm lacking?”

His smile disappeared. “Well, you do buck some of the teachings.”

“Sometimes my heart shouts out it's wrong,” she said slowly.

“Rebecca, my dear wife, you don't follow your heart; you listen to President Young. Might be you need those books more than most would.”

“Because I'm rebellious? Andrew, I know we could be so happy if only—”

His jaw tightened. “Don't say it again.”

“I will. I can think of nothing else. I can't believe that God intended for us women to live such lonely, destitute lives. There's nothing on this earth I want more than to keep you close and happy. Andrew, why isn't that enough for you?”

“Rebecca, I refuse to listen to your continual jawing. It's been this since we left Pinto. I wish I'd brought Priscilla; then you'd watch your tongue.”

Rebecca caught her breath and drew away from Andrew. “I'll say no more.”

“And you'll be cold and distant as you were in Harmony. Rebecca, I'll see to it that you'll learn to live your religion and like it.”

“It would be a miracle to change how I feel inside.” Her voice was so low Andrew could hardly hear her.

“Anyone can change how she acts and thinks and feels if the right elements are brought to bear upon her.” Rebecca turned as the cold words hit her, but Andrew was unhitching the horses, and she couldn't see his face.

On the day they were to arrive in Great Salt Lake City, Rebecca spoke out of a long silence. “I've had a letter from Ann. She has my mother's wedding dress.”

“Rather late for a wedding dress now, isn't it?” Andrew asked dryly.

“Yes, but there is this need to have it. Oh, Andrew, leaving it behind was agony.”

“I can't believe only a dress would mean so much,” he said curiously.

“It's more than that. Mother told me to guard the trunk carefully; it was my only hope.”

“You think she meant the dress?” Andrew asked slowly.

“Of course. I wish now that we could have waited to go through the Endowment House after I received the dress.” He was frowning, and she said no more.

Although it was two weeks before the October conferences of the church were to be held at the Tabernacle, the roads spiraling into Great Salt Lake Valley were marked with a dusty banner as the wagons moved into the city.

Every hotel and rooming house was full, and a city of tents was growing beside the creek. Rebecca and Andrew joined them and set up camp.

On the following morning, a quiet group split off from the tents and formed a somber line of shabby Sabbath best as they headed for the Bowery.

In its pungent pine shade, the crowd was packed knee to back and shoulder to shoulder. A heady sense of anticipation seemed to move among them.

“Good morning, Saints of God's own Zion!” The song leader raised his hand, and the chorus of greeting echoed back to him. “You know, this group of people is the prize of the Lord's earth. Don't let your problems keep you from remembering that you are the most holy people on this earth: the fire of affliction has purged you of your sins, the waters of baptism have lifted you sinless. Rejoice!”

There was a children's choir, and Rebecca's eyes burned with tears as she recognized some of her former pupils. There was Henry Fortner from Cedar—how tall and sober he had become. Except for the mass of brilliant red hair, she would never have identified Alice. The years were passing.

She blinked at the figure striding purposefully across the platform. It was Brigham Young, but his jovial smile was missing. His voice rang out across the building. “All you good people who honestly can say that you are desirous of salvation—no, I don't mean half-interested, I mean you who wholeheartedly want it. You, my good people, if you are now willing to admit an interest in salvation stand to your feet!”

The crowd surged to its feet, and in the pack of humanity, Rebecca stretched to study the faces of those around her. There were serious faces, worn and defeated faces. Brigham was speaking again, referring to the font that would soon be built. “I will take you again into the water of baptism,” he said slowly, stressing the words, “when you repent of your sins.”

Suddenly Rebecca seemed to be standing alone. She faced him like a defendant before the judge. The words thundered around her. “When you repent of your sins.”

The spell broke. The people around her were taking their seats. Andrew tugged at her sleeve. She shivered and slid down beside him.

Heber C. Kimball was speaking now. He quoted from the Book of Helaman. She recognized the Book of Mormon illustration as Apostle Kimball thundered, “When God blessed the people they promptly forgot Him.” She darted a glance at Andrew. So he was right. The apostle continued, “You people must repent and be baptized once more.”

Her thoughts drifted back to the time of her baptism. How could she be in need of baptism again when the first time had been such a disappointing experience?

She watched J. M. Grant walk to the pulpit. The crowd stirred restlessly. Grant had a reputation as a forceful speaker. With his first words, sagging heads snapped upright. The words swirled around Rebecca. She mulled them over in her mind. Could she be hearing right? Was he telling these people sitting before him to go to President Young and ask that he appoint a committee and select a place where their sins could be atoned by the shedding of their own blood?

Their blood? The words hit her, and she gasped. Andrew glared at her. “Andrew, does he mean kill, die for what sinning they've done?” The line of backs on the bench pressing against her knees squirmed. “Does he mean there's things God won't forgive? And is he saying this is Bible doctrine?”

Apostle Grant's voice was rising again, and she leaned forward to hear. He was saying that water wouldn't do the cleansing for sins; their sins were too deep. Only the shedding of their own blood would suffice.

Now he was talking about the principle. She was hearing him say that there were women in the valley who were rebelling against the celestial law of God. She took a quick look at her husband and then saw other women giving the same glance to their own men. While the words swirled around her head, she looked about the room. The guilt on the women's faces made her realize how deeply the words were being felt.

Again the speaker was accusing the mothers in Israel of trying to break the ties of the church of God and to break it from their husbands. “Be baptized, cleanse yourselves!” His voice dropped to a deeper note. “Forsake your sins. Those of you who have committed sins which can't be forgiven through baptism, let your blood be shed as an atonement before God. I want the sinners in Zion to be afraid.”

Rebecca watched Apostle Grant take his seat, and with a deep sigh of relief, she saw President Young go to the pulpit. She touched moisture on her neck and noticed others were fanning themselves. Conversation was a wind-soft whisper in the room, but the tide of emotion was a hurricane. Shamefaced women and somber men stared straight ahead. Andrew refused to meet her eyes, and Rebecca's hands trembled as she patted the perspiration on her cheeks.

President Young began to speak in a gentle voice. From her seat Rebecca guessed she saw a half smile on his face. But even in the beginning there was steel in his voice, and within a few minutes, Rebecca's heart sank. He would not let them off easy. He was following through on the theme that the Apostle Grant had started. His voice underlined the words. “There are sins for which there is no forgiveness.” Taking a stance he leaned forward and said softly. “I've had men come to me asking to have their blood shed.”

Rebecca shivered as his words hit her. “The only way forgiveness can be obtained in this world will be for the Saints to beg their brothers to shed their blood. 'Tis true that the Son of God shed His blood for sins, but there are sins that sacrifice won't touch. Shed their blood to save their souls.”

In the warm, dust-laden night, Rebecca lay wide-eyed, staring at the ceiling of canvas over her head. An occasional leaf dropped from the willows and hit the tent with a plop and a swish as it slid to the ground. Moonlight projected patterns of branches and leaves against the canvas. Her weary eyes endlessly pursued the shapes, seeking substance upon which to hang her troubled thoughts. She was recalling the final part of President Young's sermon which had burst in upon her resolve to no longer listen.

He, too, had come down hard on the mothers of Israel who were bucking the principle. Rebecca winced at the memory of the scorn in his voice as he had denounced them for their unwillingness to live by the principle. When he had every woman ready to crawl to her husband and beg him to take another wife, Brother Brigham had let go his final shot. He had told the women that he would give them two weeks in which to make up their minds about the covenant of everlasting marriage. In two weeks, if they didn't agree to accept the principle without a whimper, they would be granted their freedom and allowed to leave.

Rebecca moved restlessly. Beside her Andrew's heavy breathing told of his untroubled sleep. Bitterness frothed up in her even while fairness demanded she not blame him for living up to his religion.

For a moment she toyed with the proposal of freedom. She had no children to brand her as a prostitute. While her heart soared with the thoughts of freedom, shame filled her. She thought of Cora and the others. They would live their religion, proving to themselves and their neighbors that they were cut of a more durable fabric than she. And there was Andrew. A tear dampened her cheeks and she discarded the faithless dream.

In the morning it was possible to address Andrew in a calm voice. Behind the screen of willows, she stirred her fire and boiled her water. The tent flaps were lifted and the bed straightened. He secured a rope and brought more firewood. The dailyness of their life together eased yesterday's memories, and they could talk.

There were the tentative questions, and finally he could meet them without anger, without crushing the mind that challenged his. He could even admit his own questioning, although he acknowledged it was faithlessness and apostasy to question. “Rebecca”—his hands grasped her arms, pulling her close—“these questions are wrong. The spirit tells me so, but I can't shut them from my own mind. How can I silence yours?”

“Andrew, is it wrong to need a sureness inside?”

His fingers traced the shape of her face, and in the shade of their tent he drew her even closer and kissed her. “Then tell me what I can do.”

“You said books. What can I read that will tell me what I need to know?”

“You can't trust me to know for you?”

“Do you want an unsettled wife with only half a mind on what must be?”