Chapter XXIV

Billy was not the boy to obtain a license to do mischief without availing himself of its privileges. Like most of the Bishop’s children he regarded his father with a distant awe not altogether unmixed with dislike, and though he had once been convicted of putting a toad in the pocket of the prelate’s overcoat, for which he was severely punished, and on another occasion implicated with an older brother in mixing some coarse grains of gun-powder among the old gentleman’s smoking tobacco, from which charge he escaped with a scolding, he was always ready for a lark, especially if his mother put him up to it, and torture could not have induced him to inculpate that parent.

In a Mormon family the boys of each wife frequently regard her as their especial charge, whom they are to defend from the other women and from the liege lord of all. The children are bound to hear and to notice the complaints and griefs of their mother no matter how quietly or resignedly they are borne, and Hulda had a candid way of telling her children what she thought, which had the effect of stripping the Bishop of much of his majesty in their sight. Beyond their shy “yes sir,” and “no sir,” when he spoke to them, there was nothing they could say to him, for he showed them no fatherly affection that would draw them to him and make them feel they had a place in his heart. So long as they had plain food and clothes and a place to sleep, he thought he fulfilled his duty towards them; and for the rest, they were as strangers.

Billy slipped down the stairs as stealthily as a cat, and after listening a moment at Eliza’s door, and satisfying himself the Bishop was engaged in conversation, he stood looking at his coat, hat, and boots, thinking what most troublesome sport he could indulge in. As if waiting for a better idea he took one of the boots and set it to catch a stream of water that was trickling down from the snow on the coat. He watched it drip for a few seconds, and then, placing the other boot over a small puddle that had formed on the floor, suddenly began to shake with laughter, and made a most hideous grimace in his endeavor to keep from laughing aloud.

He knew that his father must return to the theatre with the sleigh to bring Amelia home, and it had occurred to him that he might render that enterprise extremely troublesome, by simply hiding the key of the barn- yard gate. He no sooner thought of it than he gave an amused look towards the boots congratulating himself that they would keep the floor from getting wet, and went up the stairs almost bursting with merriment. Quickly putting on his shoes he hurried out by a back door, assured himself that the heavy gates were locked, and then took the key from the peg on which it was kept in the stable and hid it near by. He soon after crept upstairs to bed without saying a word to his mother, though he found a piece of bread and molasses lying on the table as the reward of his ingenuity.

Though the Bishop could hardly be accused of over-sensibility, it was some little time before he could bring himself to speak to Hagar on the subject that was troubling him. Sister Eliza sat by the fire, knitting, and apparently oblivious of Edwin’s purpose, though she was as fully aware of it as himself. Hagar was sewing, but for some unknown reason felt rather uneasy. She noted that the Bishop spoke in a lower voice than usual, and that he seemed to have come to spend the evening, a thing he had not previously done since she came to his house.

When she had answered his queries about the school, she got up with the intention of withdrawing to her own chamber; but he told her plainly he had come to talk with her and begged her to remain. She resumed her seat with the unpleasant consciousness that she was his only auditor for Eliza’s “deefness” prevented her from hearing a word he said.

“It’s something more important than schools, Sister Miles, that’s brought me here this evening,” he began, with considerably more embarrassment than usually characterized his matter-of-fact speech. Hagar was slightly discomposed by this, but went on with her work, hoping it might not lead to the subject foreshadowed by her fears. He continued after a pause:

“It’s nothing short of the eternal welfare of your soul as well as my own. I’m in solemn earnest, and I hope you’ll give me a fair hearing.” There was a slight tremor in his voice, and he moved nervously on his chair.

“I hope,” said Hagar, “that I have always listened attentively when you spoke to me about religion.”

“Passably, Sister, only passably. You have not embraced the full meaning of the everlasting covenant—you have not tasted of the sweet mysteries of the Endowment House. You cannot know the Celestial state until you enter the Celestial life, and you not only keep aloof yourself, but I am sorry to say that you sort with others whose fidelity is not above suspicion.”

Hagar felt her face grow pale; but the Bishop did not look at her. Keeping his eyes turned towards the hearth, he went on:

“I know nothing about this young Spencer except that he is a pauper, and the slight standing he has obtained in the priesthood will not avail to make the house of Israel a pleasant place for him if he persists in his present course. He is criticising things here in Zion, and giving too loud a vent to what he thinks. It may cost him dear.”

“You know that it was he who saved our train from the Indians?” said Hagar, taking advantage of a pause.

“I heard the tale—but it’s nothing more:—the explosion that saved the train was a thunderbolt. Many of the saints saw it fall from the clouds upon the stockade. Surely he has not made you believe that yarn about the bake-kettle?” said Langley, with a sneer.

“Yes, I believe it, because he came to me in the darkness that night, and said he was going to blow up the savages. I know also that he exposed his own life to great peril when he approached that fort, and he told me the details of how he threw the improvised bombshell among them.”

“And you like him, then, because you think he is a great hero? And do you want to marry a man on that account without asking whether he can keep you or not?”

“No, Bishop Langley, I do not mean to marry at all,” she replied firmly. “But I thought you came to talk to me about the eternal welfare of my soul?”

“So I have. There is no welfare for a woman’s soul unless she marries—marries in the everlasting covenant. You must fully realize this fact before I can tell you all I have to say. Woman’s soul must be saved by her husband through the holy covenant of celestial marriage; there’s no other way, as you must know if you have learned the alphabet of the gospel of the last days. I can save and exalt you. By your sharing my kingdom in the heavens, I can obtain for you a bright immortal crown, and you will become a queen of the highest glory and exaltation, the dazzling star of my celestial bliss—”

“Do you believe all that, Bishop Langley?” The Bishop was reiterating with a more or less genuine enthusiasm, some of the pyrotechnical imagery of the “Prophet Joseph” whom he had often heard dilating in a similar style for hours at a time. But Hagar was already fully acquainted with that portion of the Mormon doctrine, the elder Mrs. Spencer having especially pointed out its beauties to her. Her question rather staggered him, coming as it did during a momentary pause in his most effective speech; but he replied after a slight hesitation:

“Maybe that’s the trouble—I believe it and you don’t? Is that so? You don’t believe that Celestial marriage is a true doctrine?” The Bishop spoke in a tone which seemed to indicate a suspicion that he had been taking too much for granted.

“So far as I have seen,” said Hagar, quietly, “marriages seem about as much of a terrestrial affair among the saints as anywhere else. Your wives work for you and stay at home to attend the house and the children. I may appear narrow, but I can discern nothing celestial in the lot of woman here among the saints—they are mere drudges like other women but unlike their poor sisters in other communities, have not the undivided love and devotion of a husband to comfort them in the midst of their hardships—”

Hagar knew that while she had made her meaning but partially clear, she had made what was rather a venturesome speech in the ears of a Mormon bishop. But she was determined to venture so much if only to see what would come of it.

“The celestial life,” replied the Mormon, deliberately, “is as the word implies, to begin in the celestial world. We are only preparing for it here. Every true latter-day saint will be the King over a separate world, and the family of his offspring here will form the groundwork of his Kingdom there. The spirit world is full of spirits that are waiting for earthly tabernacles; but the select of these can only be accommodated by bodies that are formed under the celestial covenant. The mystery of this great doctrine requires more time than I have at my disposal now, for proper explanation. But you have listened to the discourses of the prophets and apostles of these latter-days, and you, Sister, surely have not come to Zion with the deliberate purpose of shunning all the blessings and privileges they have promised you?”

Hagar was uncertain how to reply and hesitated so long that the Bishop was beginning to think she could not answer him. She had seen a good deal of her host, and had formed a clear judgment as to his character, to the effect that he was not a man of high principle even according to his own code. That was why she brought forward the question of belief. And now she was thinking of two other points in the same connection, the first was his promise to Amelia that he would marry no more wives, and the other, the new law of Congress prohibiting polygamy. She had no desire either to displease him or to render him her enemy, for she knew he was venomous towards those he disliked, and she wished to ask him some day to assist her to get away from Zion.

“Surely,” he continued, with a certain satisfaction that she did not reply at once, “it ought to be our highest pleasure to seize the benefits extended to us by the Gospel.”

“That is doubtless true, Bishop Langley,” said Hagar, dropping her work in her lap and raising her pensive eyes towards him, “but there are two difficulties in connection with what you have been saying, which I would thank you to explain. I have heard a great deal about the law that Congress recently passed forbidding any further practice of plural marriage—”

“Yes,” he said, interrupting her impatiently. “But that’s an unconstitutional law; Congress has no right to interfere with our religious practices. That’s what has caused the great war that is now ruining the country and that has divided it into two nations. Congress wanted to interfere with the constitutional rights of the South, to deny them the rights of property guaranteed to them by the founders of the Government; but you see the South is powerful, and will not submit to the wrong. It is true that we cannot now resist by force; but we can go on practicing celestial marriage in spite of their unjust laws. Our law is from God, and we shall not ask human law-makers if we may follow it.

“When the South establishes its independence, we shall become a member of that confederacy which is now shaking the corrupt Union to its center. The South will recognize that the Bible which shows slavery to be a divine institution, also shows plural marriage in the same light, and we shall triumph when the Union which seeks to oppress, and has so long persecuted us, is shattered all to pieces!”

The Bishop spoke with vehemence towards the last, and sawed the air with his arms as if he were addressing a ward meeting.

“You think, then, that the Rebels will conquer?” Hagar asked with a pathetic anxiety in her voice.

“The Southerners? yes, they will conquer. You should not say Rebels. People are not rebels when they fight for their rights. Oh, yes, they will conquer; the Union armies can never recover from their recent disasters; the North is discouraged, indeed there is every reason to believe that before this, a treaty of peace has been signed granting the South a separate existence, and indemnity for the cruel injury done her.”

Hagar felt like uttering a cry of pain; but she controlled her feelings and resumed her work, listening as he went on:

“God is on the side of the South, because he is on ours, and our prayers go up to him in their behalf. The Constitution was inspired by God, and granted religious freedom no less plainly and unequivocally than it legalized the sacred institution of slavery.”

Hagar had heard many of the saints make remarks intimating that their sympathies leaned towards the cause of the South, but she had not known for certain that the Mormon Church placed so much reliance on the success of the Confederacy. The discovery of that fact in connection with so much else that was disagreeable added to her anxiety, and she was unable to see her way out of a decidedly uncomfortable dilemma. Why had she ever been so foolish as to come to Utah?

The Bishop looked at her a moment as if expecting her to say something, but she plied her needle in silence, devoutly hoping that he would soon withdraw. Presently he moved his chair a little nearer, and leaning towards her, said entreatingly:

“But what are the other difficulties, dear Sister?”

“I have heard that you made a promise to Sister Amelia when you married her two years ago, that you would never take another wife. They said at the Spencer’s that she would not marry you until you did so.”

“That was simply a temporary matter to please her vanity. I never meant it seriously, and she knew very well that my religion would not permit me to make any such foolish pledge. Perhaps, so far as I am personally concerned, I might prefer to have only one wife; but we must obey the Lord’s laws, not make laws unto ourselves where we have His to guide us. If God requires me to take another wife I am at once absolved from a promise like that, and Amelia herself would be the first to admit it.”

There was an almost irresistible desire in Hagar’s mind to ask him how he became so conveniently aware of the requirements of the Divinity with relation to such minor details of his life; but she had become accustomed to that species of cant, and now felt a loathing for the hypocrite before her, whom she believed to be as insincere to his supposed religion as he was false in his private life.

Hagar had been conscious from the first that Amelia regarded her as a possible rival, and that she had exhausted every artifice in trying to prevent the Bishop from seeing her alone. She knew also that he had obtained the present interview through a cunning trick. But she could not lose sight of the fact that her situation demanded prudence. She therefore determined that whatever he might say she would neither speak a rash word nor give him a decisive answer at present. While she had made no strong professions of religion, nor entered into any of the ‘mysteries’ she was taught to regard as a necessity, she had been careful not to define her attitude; but tried to content herself with doing her present duty, and leaving the future to Providence, for whose help she humbly prayed.

“I think you are mistaken about Sister Amelia. She will not consent to your taking another wife.”

As Hagar spoke the Bishop seemed to devour her with his eyes. He rose and almost sprang towards her in his eagerness. Grasping her hand passionately, he exclaimed with a kind of fiendish rapture:

“Are you so sure of that, dear Sister, that you will agree to say ‘yes’ if she does?”

His look had chilled her, but his touch seemed to create a horrid sickness in her heart—a nauseous disgust that made her shudder. She could not speak. He held her hand fast and went on:

“Only pronounce that little word and make me the happiest man on earth. For I love you—have loved you from the moment I first saw you. I have never felt towards any woman as I do towards you—you have inspired me with a kind of infatuation never before known to my heart. My tongue’s loose, now, and I must tell you all. You are my sunlight, the air I breathe, the hope that makes me love life. God has sent you to me to crown with bliss what I have done for duty. You are mine by right, by the very gift of Heaven!” He spoke rapidly, but in a subdued tone. Sister Eliza must have caught the sound of his voice, however, for she turned round and took a sly glance over her spectacles, then indulged in a pinch of snuff, and resumed her knitting. She was soothed by the pleasant conviction that Edwin was teaching her young guest some of the mysteries of the latter day gospel.

Hagar drew away her hand as soon as she could without exhibiting too much of her real feelings towards her polygamous suitor.

“You doubt that Amelia will agree? Why, she will come to you and plead my cause if I ask her to. You do not answer, Sister.” Hagar had resumed her seat, and he had stepped back a pace or two well aware that he had met with a check though there was no marked outward token of it.

When she felt that she could speak without betraying the anger she was keeping back, Hagar replied, while looking at him calmly:

“I am too selfish, and jealous, to occupy the position of a plural wife. Besides, Bishop Langley, I am in no way suited for the honor you offer me, of becoming your seventh wife, and I trust you will let the matter rest where it is. What you propose is impossible.”

“One moment. Do you realize that you are rejecting the man who worships you?” He spoke in a soft, pleading voice. Hagar was more startled than she would have been if he had begun to threaten her. “I do not believe,” he continued earnestly, “that you are suited to be a polygamous wife. You would be my only one, in all except the fulfillment of my religious duties to the rest. You shall be my only wife. I am rich, I will pension off the others, provide for them and their children, and live alone for you. I never loved a woman till I saw you, and I believed I never should. But I deceived myself—it has come at last—it devours my heart—it seems to take possession of my soul; and you, you, dear Sister, are the cause—” The clock in a large wooden case on the mantel struck eleven, and a new agitation began to disturb the Bishop’s mind. He must go to the theatre at once with the sleigh to bring Amelia home.

Sister Eliza also noted the time and said:

“If yer goin’ to fetch ’Meelie, Edwin, ye’d better be startin; the theayter must be nearly out, I guess.”

Hagar would have been glad to thank Sister Eliza for that speech.

“Yes,” replied the Bishop, “that is true. But we can resume our conversation at another time, Sister Miles. I will say good night; and may I not trust that we shall understand each other?”

“Good night: I hope we may,” Hagar rejoined.

Immediately after his exit she went to her chamber, where she fell on her knees at the bedside and wept as she had not done for some time.

The hall-lamp had been turned low and was burning dimly, giving the Bishop a decidedly crestfallen appearance as he seated himself near the hat-rack and took off his blood-red slippers. He pulled on the left boot with some difficulty, and ejaculated a phrase or two which would have been very like profanity coming from any other than a Bishop, when his foot came in contact with the water at the bottom. Seizing the other he turned it up and poured its liquid contents on the floor, blaming himself for his stupidity in placing them where they would catch the melting snow from his coat. That came from falling in love! Quite twenty minutes were lost in procuring a dry pair of socks and boots, as he was not certain in which wife’s apartment he could lay his hands on them. But he was presently ready, and hurried to the barn where the man had the sleigh in waiting.

“Did you put the gate-key in your pocket, sir?” asked the man.

“No,” the Bishop answered, sourly, “I hung it in its proper place.”

“Well, it’s not there, sir.”

Find it they could not. And after spending nearly half an hour in the fruitless search several minutes were next consumed in finding a bar to pry out the staples. It was after midnight when the Bishop drove up to the theatre to find it in darkness.

As Amelia was not waiting in the portico he concluded she had walked home so he drove there with all haste. Edwin junior, who had been with her at the theatre, had reached home and was foraging in his mother’s larder for something to eat. He said that Amelia had gone to pass the night with Miss Spencer as she could n’t walk through the snow, and that she was terribly riled about that priesthood meeting.