How to offer the greatest sacrifice—how to do the greatest service—these had become his problems. He concerned himself no longer with his own exaltation either in this world or the world to come.
He resolved to stay south, fearing vaguely that in the North he would be in conflict with the priesthood. He knew not how; he felt that he was still sound in his faith, but he felt, too, some undefined antagonism between himself and those who preached in the tabernacle. For his home he chose the settlement of Amalon, set in a rich little valley between the shoulders of the Pine Mountains.
Late in October there was finished for him on the outer edge of the town, near the bank of a little hill-born stream, a roomy log-house, mud-chinked, with a water-tight roof of spruce shakes and a floor of whipsawed plank,—a residence fit for one of the foremost teachers in the Church, an Elder after the Order of Melchisedek, an eloquent preacher and one true to the blessed Gods. At one end of the cabin, a small room was partitioned off and a bunk built in it. A chair and a water-basin on a block comprised its furniture. This room he reserved for himself.
As to the rest of the house, his ideas were at first cloudy. He knew only that he wished to serve. Gradually, however, as his mind worked over the problem, the answer came with considerable clearness. He thought about it much on his way north, for he was obliged to make the trip to Salt Lake City to secure supplies for the winter, some needed articles of furniture for the house, and his wagons and stock.
He was helped in his thinking on a day early in the journey. Near a squalid hut on the outskirts of Cedar City he noticed a woman staggering under an armful of wood. She was bareheaded, with hair disordered, her cheeks hollowed, and her skin yellow and bloodless. He remembered the tale he had heard when he came down. He thought she must be that wife of Bishop Snow who had been put away. He rode up to the cabin as the woman threw her wood inside. She was weak and wretched-looking in the extreme.
“I am Elder Rae. I want to know if you would care to go to Amalon with me when I come back. If you do, you can have a home there as long as you like. It would be easier for you than here.”
She had looked up quickly at him in much embarrassment. She smiled a little when he had finished.
“I’m not much good to work, but I think I’d get stronger if I had plenty to eat. I used to be right strong and well.”
“I shall be along with my wagons in two weeks or a little more. If you will go with me then I would like to have you. Here, here is money to buy you food until I come.”
“You’ve heard about me, have you—that I’m a divorced woman?”
“Yes, I know.”
She looked down at the ground a moment, pondering, then up at him with sudden resolution.
“I can’t work hard and—I’m not—pretty any longer—why do you want to marry me?”
Her question made him the more embarrassed of the two, and she saw as much, but she could not tell why it was.
“Why,” he stammered, “why,—you see—but never mind. I must hurry on now. In about two weeks—“ And he put the spurs so viciously to his horse that he was nearly unseated by the startled animal’s leap.
Off on the open road again he thought it out. Marriage had not been in his mind when he spoke to the woman. He had meant only to give her a home. But to her the idea had come naturally from his words, and he began to see that it was, indeed, not an unnatural thing to do. He dwelt long on this new idea, picturing at intervals the woman’s lack of any charm or beauty, her painful emaciation, her weakness.
Passing through another village later in the day, he saw the youth who had been so unfortunate as to love this girl in defiance of his Bishop. Unmolested for the time, the imbecile would go briskly a few steps and then pause with an important air of the deepest concern, as if he were engaged on an errand of grave moment. He was thinly clad and shivering in the chill of the late October afternoon.
Again, still later in the day, he overtook and passed the gaunt, gray woman who forever sought her husband. She was smiling as he passed her. Then his mind was made up.
As he entered Brigham’s office in Salt Lake City some days later, there passed out by the same door a woman whom he seemed dimly to remember. The left half of her face was disfigured by a huge flaming scar, and he saw that she had but one hand.
“Who was that woman?” he asked Brigham, after they had chatted a little of other matters.
“That’s poor Christina Lund. You ought to remember her. She was in your hand-cart party. She’s having a pretty hard time of it. You see, she froze off one hand, so now she can’t work much, and then she froze her face, so she ain’t much for looks any longer—in fact, I wouldn’t say Christina was much to start with, judging from the half of her face that’s still good—and so, of course, she hasn’t been able to marry. The Church helps her a little now and then, but what troubles her most is that she’ll lose her glory if she ain’t married. You see, she ain’t a worker and she ain’t handsome, so who’s going to have her sealed to him?”
“I remember her now. She pushed the cart with her father in it from the Platte crossing, at Fort Laramie, clear over to Echo Cañon, when all the fingers of one hand came off on the bar of the cart one afternoon; and then her hand had to be amputated. Brother Brigham, she shouldn’t be cheated of her place in the Kingdom.”
“Well, she ain’t capable, and she ain’t a pretty person, so what can she do?”
“I believe if the Lord is willing I will have her sealed to me.”
“It will be your own doings, Brother Rae. I wouldn’t take it on myself to counsel that woman to anybody.”
“I feel I must do it, Brother Brigham.”
“Well, so be it if you say. She can be sealed to you and be a star in your crown forever. But I hope, now that you’ve begun to build up your kingdom, you’ll do a little better, next time. There’s a lot of pretty good-looking young women came in with a party yesterday—”
“All in good time, Brother Brigham! If you’re willing, I’ll pick up my second on the way south.”
“Well, well, now that’s good!” and the broad face of Brigham glowed with friendly enthusiasm. “You know I’d suspicioned more than once that you wasn’t overly strong on the doctrinal point of celestial marriage. I hope your second, Brother Joel, is a little fancier than this one.”
“She’ll be a better worker,” he replied.
“Well, they’re the most satisfactory in the long run. I’ve found that out myself. At any rate, it’s best to lay the foundations of your kingdom with workers, the plainer the better. After that, a man can afford something in the ornamental line now and then. Now, I’ll send for Christina and tell her what luck she’s in. She hasn’t had her endowments yet, so you might as well go through those with her. Be at the endowment-house at five in the morning.”
And so it befell that Joel Rae, Elder after the Order of Melchisedek, and Christina Lund, spinster, native of Denmark, were on the following day, after the endowment-rites had been administered, married for time and eternity.
At the door of the endowment-house they were separated and taken to rooms, where each was bathed and anointed with oil poured from a horn. A priest then ordained them to be king and queen in time and eternity. After this, they were conducted to a large apartment, and left in silence for some moments. Then voices were heard, the voice of Elohim in converse with Jehovah. They were heard to declare their intention of visiting the earth, and this they did, pronouncing it good, but deciding that one of a higher order was needed to govern the brutes. Michael, the Archangel, was then called and placed on earth under the name of Adam, receiving power over the beasts, and being made free to eat of the fruit of every tree but one. This tree was a small evergreen, with bunches of raisins tied to its branches.
Discovering that it was not good for man to be alone, Brigham, as God, then caused a sleep to fall upon Adam, and fashioned Eve from one of his ribs. Then the Devil entered, in black silk knee-breeches, approaching with many blandishments the woman who was enacting the rôle of Eve. The sin followed, and the expulsion from the garden.
After this impressive spectacle, Joel and the rapturous Christina were taught many signs, grips, and passwords, without which one may not pass by the gatekeepers of heaven. They were sworn also to avenge the murder of Joseph Smith upon the Gentiles who had done it, and to teach their children to do the same; to obey without questioning or murmur the commands of the priesthood; and never to reveal these secret rites under penalty of having their throats cut from ear to ear and their hearts and tongues cut out.
When this oath had been taken, they passed into a room containing a long, low altar covered with red velvet. At one end, in an armchair, sat Brigham, no longer in the rôle of God, but in his proper person of Prophet, Seer, and Revelator. They knelt on either side of this altar, and, with hands clasped above it in the secret grip last given to them, they were sealed for time and eternity.
From the altar they went to the wagons and began their journey south. Christina came out of the endowment-house, glowing, as to one side of her face. She was, also, in a state of daze that left her able to say but little. Proud and happy and silent, her sole remark, the first day of the trip, was: “Brigham—now—he make such a lovely, bee-yoo-tiful God in heaven!”
Nor, it soon appeared, was she ever talkative. The second day, too, she spoke but once, which was when a sudden heavy shower swept down from the hills and caught her some distance from the wagons, helping to drive the cattle. Then, although she was drenched, she only said: “It make down somet’ing, I t’ink!”
For this taciturnity her husband was devoutly thankful. He had married her to secure her place in the Kingdom and a temporal home, and not otherwise did he wish to be concerned about her. He was glad to note, however, that she seemed to be of a happy disposition; which he did at certain times when her eyes beamed upon him from a face radiant with gratitude.
But his work of service had only begun. As they went farther south he began to make inquiries for the wandering wife of Elder Tench. He came upon her at length as she was starting north from Beaver at dusk. He prevailed upon her to stop with his party.
“I don’t mind to-night, sir, but I must be off betimes in the morning.”
But in the morning he persuaded her to stay with them.
“Your husband is out of the country now, but he’s coming back soon, and he will stop first at my house when he does come. So stay with me there and wait for him.”
She was troubled by this at first, but at last agreed.
“If you’re sure he will come there first—”
She refused to ride in the wagon, however, preferring to walk, and strode briskly all day in the wake of the cattle.
At Parowan he made inquiries for Tom Potwin, that other derelict, and was told that he had gone south. Him, too, they overtook on the road next day, and persuaded to go with them to a home.
When they reached Cedar City a halt was made while he went for the other woman—not without some misgiving, for he remembered that she was still young. But his second view of her reassured him—the sallow, anemic face, the skin drawn tightly over the cheek-bones, the drooping shoulders, the thin, forlorn figure. Even the certainty that her life of hardship was ended, that she was at least sure not to die of privation, had failed to call out any radiance upon her. They were married by a local Bishop, Joel’s first wife placing the hand of the second in his own, as the ceremony required. Then with his wives, his charges, his wagons, and his cattle he continued on to the home he had made at the edge of Amalon.
Among the women there was no awkwardness or inharmony; they had all suffered; and the two wives tactfully humoured the whims of the insane woman. On the day they reached home, the husband took them to the door of his own little room.
“All that out there is yours,” he said. “Make the best arrangements you can. This is my place; neither of you must ever come in here.”
They busied themselves in unpacking the supplies that had been brought, and making the house home-like. The big gray woman had already gone down the road toward the settlement to watch for her husband, promising, however, to return at nightfall. The other derelict helped the women in their work, doing with a childish pleasure the things they told him to do. The second wife occasionally paused in her tasks to look at him from eyes that were lighted to strange depths; but he had for her only the unconcerned, unknowing look that he had for the others.
At night the master of the house, when they had assembled, instructed them briefly in the threefold character of the Godhead. Then, when he had made a short prayer, he bade them good night and went to his room. Here he permitted himself a long look at the fair young face set in the little gilt oval of the rubber case. Then, as if he had forgotten himself, he fell contritely to his knees beside the bunk and prayed that this face might never remind him of aught but his sin; that he might have cross after cross added to his burden until the weight should crush him; and that this might atone, not for his own sins, which must be punished everlastingly, but in some measure for the sins of his misguided people.
In the outer room his wives, sitting together before the big fireplace, were agreeing that he was a good man.