This Loving Land - Dorothy Garlock [101]
Sitting beside the silent Jesse, Summer stared up into the sky. It soon split into layer upon layer of floating white clouds, and she could feel them enveloping her. It was a familiar feeling, like a summer day of her childhood. It was a time for not being attached to anything.
“Better put your hat on. You’ll get a touch of sun.”
She wished Jesse hadn’t spoken; it spoiled the silence. Obediently, she put on her hat and, as if suddenly remembering he was there, turned to look at him. His eyes were squinted against the sun’s glare and his face was wooden. Her heart and mind had room for compassion. Poor man. Enslaved by his love for Ellen all these years. He must have known the kind of woman she was. Yet he loved her and accepted what crumbs of affection she chose to give him. Now, he was free to love Sadie, and she, Summer, was the one enslaved by the results of love.
Midmorning, Jesse stopped to talk to Tom and to tie his horse to the back of the buggy. After that, Tom veered the wagon off onto another trail and they continued on toward Hamilton.
“It’s good of you to do this,” Summer said. “I know you want to go on—want to get on with the burying.”
“Tom will start things and I’ll be there by evening. We’ll go on to the Mormons.”
“Ellen said they were good people and would take me west with them.”
Jesse was silent, then said thoughtfully, “I’m not so sure this is the place you should go.”
A flutter of apprehension stirred her. “Ellen said if I had money, they would take me.”
“We’ll see.”
Because she must, she believed Ellen had been speaking the truth, and sat silently, her face a blank, but surging inwardly with uneasiness.
As the buggy approached the Mormon settlement, Summer had an ominous feeling in the pit of her stomach. The women were washing clothes and didn’t raise their heads as the buggy swept by. The children were not running and playing as children usually do, but stood silently beside their mothers with averted faces. Men, who were working at various chores, neither looked up nor offered a greeting. Most depressing of all was the silence. The ring of a hammer, the buzz of a saw were the only sounds.
Jesse stopped the horse and wound the reins around the brake.
“I’ll see what I can find out. You stay put.”
Summer watched him leave. She tried to catch the eye of one of the women so she could give her a friendly smile, but there was not a single woman who did not have her eyes averted. The children were all being forcibly made to look elsewhere and were uncommonly hushed. The sight of this universal snub caused Summer to grind her teeth. They were peaceable people, Christian people. Why were they ignoring her? It was almost as if they knew!
Jesse spoke to a man working on a wagon wheel. The man had not turned from his work, but gestured toward a rear building. After a quick glance around, Jesse went behind the building.
Summer sat in confused silence, her heart racing even though it felt heavy as lead. When Jesse returned a tall, thin carrion of a man walked beside him. He was wearing a black frock-coat and a straight-brimmed black hat. A long, flowing beard rode majestically on his chest. When they reached the buggy, Jesse climbed in and picked up the reins.
The man’s pinpoint-hard eyes fastened on Summer. She felt the color drain from her face and wanted to move closer to Jesse, wanted to leave this place, wanted to cry.
“Ain’t ya gonna talk it over with the woman?” The voice was deep, booming and full of self-righteousness.
“Hell, no.” Jesse flicked the reins and the horse moved ahead. As they circled to return the way they had come, the man stood in the road, his arms raised, his powerful voice reaching them.
“I am a devout Mormon,” he shouted. “Our Prophet, Joseph Smith, was a divinely inspired man. His vision of a modern Zion in the west has been realized. We go to join him. It is God’s will that woman be used to procreate so we may multiply and spread across the land. We preach that the wages of sin are death!”
“What you want