The Wedding Dress (29 page)

It was late December when Andrew came. Rebecca welcomed him with open arms, and then she carefully closed the door on all except the two of them. January thawed and Andrew joined the other men in bringing in wood from the mountains. Later, Rebecca and Andrew took the wagon to Cedar City to purchase flour from the gristmill there.

Returning home with the meager sack of flour, Rebecca knew their idyllic time had passed. The somber mood of the town they had just left opened the door to the harsh facts. Grain was in very short supply. The snowbound Indian villages seethed with hunger and unrest. In addition to the shortage of food, disease crept through both the Mormon towns and Indian villages. Rebecca moved uneasily on the wagon seat and looked at Andrew. His face was a reflection of the trouble she felt.

“I didn't visit a one that had a happy story to tell,” she sighed. “I've never heard of so many people dying in one spot in a winter. The Thompsons' oldest boy tried to get from the house to the barn in the blizzard and froze to death. They didn't find his body for a week. The Martins lost two little girls from consumption. Seems the Lord's not dealing kindly with us.”

He moved impatiently, and she was reminded that he didn't like to hear that kind of talk. She studied his face, remembering the time in Great Salt Lake and the resolutions that she had made. She tightened her lips, determined to say no more. But she was guessing about Priscilla. From the looks of his tired, careworn face, Rebecca guessed that the new marriage wasn't without problems.

At home she washed and mended his clothes. Carefully she sealed her lips against the questions she might have asked and tried to keep from thinking of the future.

Now that he was gone, Rebecca's life settled back into its empty days. She fought to regain a measure of tranquillity and purpose.

With her own cabin pin-neat and silent, she went to Cora's where she knew there would be noise, confusion, and work.

Cora's time was nearly upon her, and Rebecca's heart squeezed with fear as she looked from the woman's drawn face to the crowded, dirty cabin.

With chatter designed to hide her fear, with words poking at the woman like boosting hands, Rebecca set to work attacking the cabin with hot water and lye soap.

As she reached for a pile of tattered clothing, mice scurried for a new home. Giving a startled squeal, she exclaimed, “Oh, Cora! if cleanliness is next to godliness, you'd better start practicing your religion.” Color flushed the thin cheeks, and Cora heaved herself from the bench. Already Rebecca was biting her tongue. Surprisingly, Cora responded with spunk.

“I know this is bad,” she snapped, “but you've no call to complain. I didn't send for you. It's easy to chide when you've no one to do for except yourself. I'd like to see you with four young'uns and a sloppy man.” She stopped as Rebecca turned away. “Oh, Becky, I'm sorry. I know you'd settle for even one little one. It's thoughtless of me.”

“It's all right, Cora,” Rebecca replied, simply grateful for the ginger in her friend's words. When Cora tried to join her at the washtub, Rebecca said, “Now you go find yourself something else to do. I'll tend to the washing. Use that broom, and then we'll see what we can put together for supper. Is my cow still giving milk?”

“Barely a stream, but at least it's a swallow for the littlest one.” Now Cora pressed her hand to her back. “Law, I don't much care about anything. I think I'll sit.” Rebecca straightened and looked at Cora. The two bright spots on her cheeks didn't look right, and Rebecca was suddenly helplessly incompetent.

“Do you want me to run for Granny Haight?”

Cora's smile was almost amused. “No, my dear, just relax. I don't go to it for a while yet. By now I know. Just come and sit by me, and let's talk.”

“I'll hang these clothes up to freeze, and then we'll talk.”

When Rebecca returned to the cabin after stringing clothes on the bushes, Cora was comfortably tilting her bulk back and forth in the rocker. A dreamy expression had softened her face, and she nodded at the stool beside her.

“The little ones are asleep; now we can have our talk. Becky, I miss you something fierce when Andrew's here. Seems our talk's what keeps me going at times.”

“Even when we're arguing?”

Her smile was wistful. “Seems a while since I had enough spunk to argue religion. Wanna set to?”

“Right now I can't think. Last fall I made up my mind to settle to it all and be content. Cora, the way Brother Brigham scorched our ears, I suppose there's not a woman in Utah Territory this winter who'd dare complain a snitch.”

She chuckled, “I believe it, after hearing you deliver his sermon nearly word for word.” She looked at Rebecca. “Does it answer the questions?”

“Well, right now I'm wondering what's really important to believe.”

“What do you mean?”

“During the blizzard I read part of the New Testament and some of the Book of Mormon. Apostle Grant and Brother Brigham said there was enough in the Bible to help us live right.”

“Remember, the Bible wasn't translated by anointed men. Rebecca, you know that Brother Brigham tells us that if we're living by the revelations we have, then there's nothing to worry about.”

“Then nothing's important but what we've been taught. Cora, we don't hear much about Jesus, and there's so much in the Bible about Him. Is this important?”

“You know the principle is the most important.”

“More important than understanding about Jesus?”

Cora looked puzzled. “Rebecca, I can't understand why you're agitated.”

She took a deep breath, and the words came in a rush. “Oh, Cora, you are the only one on God's earth that I dare talk to. Please don't—” She couldn't say it.

Cora whispered, “Becky, I won't.”

“There's all these questions I have. There's so much in me that's fighting against it. Even when I say I do believe, I wonder if I really mean it.”

“You're saying you still question the principle?” She nodded, and Cora said, “Yet you're admitting that you understand from what you read in Great Salt Lake that the principle is more important than believing on Jesus. Becky, tighten up the reins. You've seen there's nothing more important; we've got to accept that. We've got to believe it's the final covenant.”

There was more snow and cold. The Saints were gaunt from short rations; but when the first green peeped through the snow, their elation turned to agony as their stomachs refused the new food.

Cora's baby came, lingered a day and was buried on the hillside that had been wounded with many graves that winter.

With the heavy burden of caring for the ailing Cora, Rebecca was unaware of the tide of life until her stomach refused to harbor her breakfast.

From the burrow of her quilts where she had fled in agony, she cried, “That's all for you, my fickle friend. If you can't tolerate the greens, you'll suffer worse.” Suffer she did until it became a pattern. Then she flew to Cora.

“Tell me,” she whispered her questions, and Cora's face answered her even as she hugged and kissed Becky.

The littlest one tugged at her mother's skirts questioning, “Ma?”

“It's all just fine.” Cora patted the little head; “Aunt Becky is going to be a mama.”

It was like walking into a new world. The trouble around Rebecca's heart dissolved. “God is good after all, isn't He?” she whispered. Knowing that her childlessness had ended unshackled a corner of her heart, freeing her from the fear of unknown sin.

She ached to tell Andrew, and her prayers flew upward, petitioning his return.

On the day she heard the horse at the gate, there was no doubt that her petition had been heard, and she flew to greet him.

The swathed figure was a woman. As she dismounted, Rebecca saw that she was young and very pregnant. “You're Rebecca?” she asked slowly. “Andrew said that if I needed anything I was to go to you.”

“Andrew?”

“I'm Priscilla—Priscilla Jacobson. Andrew's gone south and it's been so long. I wanted to know you.” She touched her swollen body. “He said you'd help.”

“You're due very soon,” Rebecca said dully, realizing this meant the child had been conceived before September. Surely Andrew wouldn't be guilty of adultery. The Saints dealt severely with that. There must have been a wedding, a secret one, earlier than the public November one.

She was nodding, looking past Rebecca to the neat cottage. “You've a lovely place here. I've been living with my folks, and there's no room for another. They've been tolerating us, waiting for Andrew to find us a cabin, Now…” her voice trailed away, and she looked at Rebecca, waiting.

Desperately Rebecca clung to the fence, thinking,
It's because I'm pregnant; she's got no call
. Then the torrent broke. Pressing her hands against her still flat body, trying to hold back the bitterness, her resolve crumbled.

“You've come looking for a home after you've taken my husband, denied me what is mine, to satisfy yourself. Now you want to give your bastard a home in my house!”

“It's not—” Priscilla started to cry, and the tears were streaming down her face. Through Rebecca's astonishment, she felt a thrill of power. Even as she acknowledged the words had been heaped up through the past two years, even as she was seeing Sarah's bitter face, Priscilla's words broke through. “It's not that. We're married.”

She straightened and rushed on, “We are living lawfully under the new covenant. You should be grateful. You've denied your husband children, and now I'm chosen to help you in your posterity. Are you apostate that you can't welcome your husband's wife?”

In the end she left, and Rebecca crept to her bed like a mortally wounded animal.

It was Cora's turn now. It was she who came into the dark, chilled room, bringing light and food. It was she who washed Rebecca's face and helped her to the chair. It was her hard words that broke the spell. “You'll be losing that baby!” she snapped. “After all the praying and hoping I did for you, that's no thanks. Now you be setting yourself up to this table and having your supper. Not for yourself; you don't deserve a thing for that tongue, but take it for that dear little baby. Then you get down on your knees and ask the Father to forgive your rebellion against the principle. No better than any other quarreling second wife, you are, taking it out on those under her. Your husband will switch you good when he hears about this, and he will hear. It's all over Pinto. She crept like a whipped dog only 'til she was out of sight; now she's towering vengeance. I suppose they know about it down on the Santa Clara.”

Rebecca was ashamed. Although her heart hurt like a well-pummeled prizefighter, life surged back. “Oh, Cora, do pregnant women always act so?”

“Don't excuse yourself!” she snapped, then her face softened. “Yes, I suppose we've all the instincts snarling mountain lions have. You're no different.”

Rebecca was laughing and crying. Life broke in upon her fresh and new. But there was a desperate edge. After Cora left, as she prepared for bed, Rebecca dropped to her knees beside the bed. “O God, if You care even a little bit about this little baby inside, help me!” She stopped. She dared not plead for herself.

With April came the breaking of ice, the bursting of spring in Utah. With spring came renewed reformation fires, and the Territory rocked with it. Although one of the primary advocates of reformation, the Apostle J. M. Grant, had died during the winter, his fervor lived on. Now the Saints were going again into the chilly waters, being rebaptized, renewed, recovenanted.

As spring melted the grip of winter, it melted Rebecca's heart. Her anxious fears yielded to the pressure of spring-cleaning and gardening. While sun warmed the soil under her hands, the pleasure of new growing things cheered her heart.

Spring also brought a letter from Joshua. She looked at his signature, read the closing line. With her lips forming the words in the silent cabin, she read, “I keep feeling that I must continue to offer you a chance to escape. The burden of these feelings grows stronger.” Rebecca's smile faded. “Dear, sweet Joshua.” For just a moment she allowed herself to wish she could see him. She went to the beginning of the letter. It was a miracle that there had been a letter at all. She had received it enclosed in a letter from Ann. That letter had informed Rebecca of Ann's reluctance to send it. She had said, “Rebecca, against my better judgment, I've finally told this man that I would send this letter. You know this is the first time he's asked. As I told you, I had such strange feelings when I found there was someone in the city asking about you. When I heard that he was walking the streets, mingling with the crowds looking for you, I nearly had the vapors. Thank God, he has no idea of your married name; otherwise he would have found you without a doubt. Anyway, I finally told him I would send the letter to you, and here it is. I regret it has taken this long to send it to you. Ellen's youngest has been took with the lung fever, and we've all run ourselves poor taking care of them all.”