The Wedding Dress (6 page)

She stood looking at the scene before her. The trees were a complex pattern of greens and golds and browns, a carpet in harmony with the blue of the sky and water. In the distance the gleaming dome caught the sun. The day was an echo of that day last year. She thought of the broad-shouldered man. Silly Rebecca. She threw a spoiled apple at the chickens.

“Becka.” She looked into Jamie's wistful eyes. He seemed so little and frail for his nine years. She reached to ruffle his hair. “Becka, you can read, can't you?” She nodded. Looking down at him she thought he was much too old for kissing but she ached to squeeze him close. Now he said, “Ma won't let me go to school, but I sure wish I could read.”

Gently Rebecca said, “It costs money and they don't have it.” Once again that pang, that guilty reminder that Rebecca was keeping the Smyths just one step poorer than they would be without her.

She glanced up the hill to the Olsons' house and tried to imagine caring for those children in the same way she loved Jamie and even the prickly Prue. She was also remembering the birthday cake and that one precious gift.

Cynthia had explained the cake by saying there wouldn't be many other birthdays for Rebecca under that roof. While Rebecca's heart had been heavy with that thought, Cynthia had given her the shiny jewel of a gift: abruptly she had turned to Rebecca and, with a glimmer of moisture in her eyes, had said, “I hope you don't move far away. Seems like I couldn't face never seeing you again.” Rebecca had hugged that unusually warm response from Cynthia like a warm blanket around her heart.

Again Rebecca looked at Lank's house and moved her shoulders uneasily.

She shrugged and turned back to Jamie on the limb beneath her. “Jamie,” she said, “I promise you, if you really want to read, I'll teach you.”

“We don't have no books.”

“I have a book. It's my mother's Bible. It won't be as nice as the primers they have down at the school, but it'll do.”

The snow was piling against the windowpanes, draping its white velvet higher and higher. Jamie crouched before the fireplace. In front of him were a plank and a chunk of charcoal from the fire. Painstakingly he lettered his name. With tongue clenched between his teeth, he wrote, “December 15, 1846.”

His mother had been watching each stroke. Her knitting was forgotten, but her fingers moved as if in anticipation of each stroke of the charcoal. “You're going to be our scholar yet.” Her voice was filled with pride, and Rebecca was glad to see the worry lines around her mouth soften, but then they tightened again as Jamie coughed. The spasm seemed to tear at his slender frame.

Quickly Rebecca reached for the black Book. “I'll read to you tonight, Jamie.”

After Jamie had gone to bed, Tyler came in, stomping and blowing on his hands. “We'll have a good hard freeze tonight. Guess we might as well have winter and get it over with.” He grinned down at Cynthia and glanced about the room. “The young'un in bed?” Rebecca picked up her knitting, and Cynthia moved uneasily.

“I'm of a mind to send Rebecca to the doctor tomorrow if he's not better.”

Tyler nodded. “Good idea. He may have a tonic for the lad.”

“I hope Matthew is keeping warm and dry,” Rebecca said to break the tide of thought. For the past two weeks Matthew had been staying in the valley with the Perkins', since Mr. Perkins had broken his leg.

By morning Jamie's fever had climbed, and he was content to stay in bed.

At midmorning the sun burst through the clouds and turned the countryside into a fairyland of crystals and rainbows. The worried frown hadn't left Cynthia's face, and now she said, “The snow's deep. I wish Matthew were here to go.”

“I'll love getting out in it,” Rebecca insisted, winding herself into shawls.

The mare was glad to be out and she galloped down the road, throwing crystal confetti into the air. By the time Rebecca reached the city, her nose was a fragile thing. She hurried the horse toward the doctor's house.

Dr. Mason was leading his horse out of the barn when Rebecca stopped at his gate. “Jamie again?” he asked. “Cough,” he guessed, leading the way into the house.

Mrs. Mason was already tipping the kettle of hot water. “Have some tea,” she offered.

“Jamie's cough about tears him apart,” Becky explained as her numb fingers curled around her cup, “and there's fever.”

The doctor was lifting a dark bottle. “Maybe I'll just go have a look at him.”

Rebecca caught her breath and lowered her eyes. “I doubt Tyler can pay.”

“There's a bad lung fever going around,” he said slowly. “First, I need to stop down the street; guess you can go with me, young lady.”

She finished her tea and followed the doctor into the crisp air. When they stopped at a log hut, Rebecca said, “I thought these people left last summer.”

“The Campbells did. These are new folks, came in this fall. Wright's the name.”

The door opened and a girl Rebecca's age greeted them. She nodded to Rebecca and took the doctor's wraps. “She's in there,” she said in a low voice. Dr. Mason entered the other room while Rebecca unwound her shawl.

“Would you care for tea?” the girl asked. “I'm afraid it's just herbs, but—”

Rebecca shook her head. “I've just had some. I'm Rebecca Wolstone. You folks haven't been here long.” She wanted to ask, “Mormon or Gentile?” but didn't dare. “Is your mother quite ill?”

The girl looked surprised, but she continued, “I'm Cora Wright. She's very ill.” She hesitated and then asked, “Where do you live?”

“Up the hill. My parents are dead, and I live with the Smyths.”

“We'll be here only until spring, and then we plan to head west.”

Rebecca was guessing her question had been answered. Slowly she said, “There's been a lot of folks head out this past summer.”

She nodded, “I know, and there'll be more—lots.” There was a lilt to her voice, and briefly a happy smile touched her narrow face. “It'll be heaven.”

Dr. Mason came back into the room and closed the door. “The fever has broken. She'll mend. Try to keep her down or the fever will come back.”

“Rebecca Wolstone,” the girl said slowly. “I hope you'll come visit me again.”

Today was Rebecca's sixteenth birthday. In the late afternoon, Cynthia took the hoe from her and said, “You've talked about visiting that little Mormon girl all winter. Your birthday is as good a day as any. After shunning the Mormon tykes all these years, why you should take up with them now is beyond me, but go.”

Rebecca turned her horse down the street that bordered the temple. It was here she and the stranger had galloped after her mare nearly two years ago.

Today the temple door was tightly closed, and there was a quiet dignity about the place. Her excursion into its halls seemed like a distant dream.

The route she was taking past the temple was the long way to the Wrights' cabin, but there was the nagging desire to see the place again.

Old Nell's feet were dragging as she passed clump after clump of tender new grass. In front of the white fence bordering the temple grounds, she gave up all pretense and nuzzled the succulent weeds. Rebecca tilted her head to gaze at the dome.

“Hello.” She turned.

“Cora Wright! I was on my way to see you. What a surprise!”

As Rebecca slid off the horse, Cora said, “I thought you'd forgotten me.”

“No, but there's not been much time for visiting.”

Cora looked at the temple. “Why are you here? I'd guessed you to be a Gentile.”

Rebecca nodded and said, “Just curious. It's, well, such a beautiful place.”

Pulling her shawl around her shoulders, Cora said, “'Tis a holy place and it draws.” Curiously Rebecca studied the towering limestone building. Holy. Was that the answer? “I like to come here,” Cora continued. “It's all quietness.”

Rebecca followed her to the steps. “Two years ago this place was like a hornet's nest. Seems quiet and peaceful now.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Well, I don't rightly know all the details, mostly hearsay.”

“Were you here when the Prophet was killed?”

She nodded. “The whole town was in a turmoil. You know he made them mad, tearing up the newspaper office.”

“There's no call to print such stuff. Apostates, that's what they were.”

“The people who didn't believe like he did? Seems to me a person's got the right to believe like he wants, right or wrong.”

She set her lips firmly, “Not if you believe Mormonism has the only true, restored gospel. See, we are really convinced and we're obliged to help others see the error of their ways.”

“Seems to me like it's mighty risky being so sure everybody else is wrong,” was Becky's spritely comment in spite of her inborn courtesy.

“Come,” Cora patted the steps. “I'll tell you about it.” Rebecca sat down and folded her shawl closer. “When Joseph Smith, the Prophet, was just a little lad, he wanted to know more than anything which church to join. He read in his Bible that God says we're to ask for wisdom and He'll give it to us, so he asked.”

“But that doesn't mean just anybody,” Rebecca said. “Seems to me there ought to be some strings tied to it. I doubt I could get wise just asking.”

“That's your problem. You must believe or there's no way you'll receive.”

“I guess I don't stand a chance.”

“Ah, don't say that. By the time I get through telling you about it, you'll find it just as easy to believe as I did. And I sure didn't think I could. Well, anyway, the Prophet asked, and God told him that none of the churches were right. See, one of the miracles of it all is that God chose a mere boy to reveal the fullness of the gospel to. When He came to Joseph Smith there was no doubt that it was a miracle and that he was the chosen vessel.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was praying in the woods. Then he saw two people. One of them spoke to him and called him by name; then he said something like this: ‘This is my beloved Son, listen to Him.' So you know who that was.

“Well, anyway, then he asked which church he was to join, and they told him not to join any of them. He was persecuted something awful when he told people about his vision. The most wonderful part of it all was that this was the first time that the Father and the Son appeared before mankind.”

She stopped for breath before continuing. “Well, not too many people were able to believe. Mostly just his own family. So he had to keep it to himself. Later he was praying in his room, and an angel appeared—said he had a message. Then he told him God had a task for him to do. Next he explained that God had a book hidden away, all written on gold plates. It was about the people who used to live here in America.”

Rebecca had been watching Cora's face as she talked and the excitement that sparkled through her eyes. “You really believe this, don't you?” she asked.

Cora nodded. “Yes, I do with all my heart.” She clasped her hands. “It's the most thrilling thing that's ever happened to me.”

For a few minutes the girls sat together in silence. Below them they could see people moving about the docks. Dimly they heard the shouts of working men, but up here they were surrounded only by the sound of wind and the call of a bird. When Rebecca sighed and moved, Cora took up her story again. “Anyway, the next day the angel Moroni came again. Joseph went to the place where the book was hidden and saw it. But the angel wouldn't let him have it. It took four years before Joseph was allowed to have the plates of gold.”

“I've never seen a Book of Mormon,” Rebecca said. “What does it say?”

Cora shrugged, “I don't read too well, but I've heard it talked about at meeting. It tells you that you've got to be righteous to go to heaven.”

“Like the Bible?”

“Yes, only God told Joseph Smith that the Bible hasn't been translated right. But we know the Book of Mormon has. Word by word it's been given through the power of God. Joseph Smith himself said it is the most correct book on earth.”

Rebecca said, “Then it doesn't matter too much what it says, if it's correct.”

“That's right. There's just been too many miracles connected with the whole thing to make me ever doubt it. I know it's the restored gospel, the true one.”

With a sigh, Rebecca stood up. “It's getting late. I must go.” She turned to look up at the towering limestone. “It's beautiful. I've never belonged to anything like this. Is it hard to join?”

“No, it's easy, Becky, and you're mighty welcome.” Cora followed Rebecca down the walk. Pulling the mare close to the fence, Rebecca stepped on the top rung, and threw herself across the bare back of the horse.

“Bye, Becky. I hope you come see me again.” The happiness faded as Becky said good-bye, and her face became wistful. As Rebecca turned the horse, she wondered about Cora's expression.