Saints (60 page)

“Sister Dinah,” he said. “Joseph says you ought to be upstairs with the others anyway.”

“Allow me,” Bennett said, offering his arm with a smile every bit as charming as ever.

Clayton rather boldly pulled Bennett back toward the drawing room. “I’m sorry, Mayor Bennett. Brother Joseph was quite plain. Dinah is concerned with the matter being conducted, but you are not.”

“Put in a good word for me, Sister Dinah,” Bennett said. “I’ll be glad to wait down here till you’re through and escort you home. Wouldn’t want a woman in your delicate condition to walk all that way alone.”

Dinah did not answer. She was already halfway up the stairs, pretending to take no notice of him. But her stomach was churning, and she was afraid. Bennett would not be docile if Joseph actually turned against him. Perhaps he’d try to face it down the way he did last summer with the poison, but if he didn’t, if Joseph exposed and ousted him, Bennett could be dangerous. He knew enough truth to attack the Church for years in the gentile press, and Bennett was not one to restrain himself from adding to the facts. The danger was not just Bennett’s tongue and Bennett’s pen. A man who would use his privileges as a doctor and Assistant President of the Church to set up a system of mistresses obviously had few moral scruples. Dinah wasn’t sure what he would do in vengeance, but she feared that he would find some way to do the Prophet harm.

Joseph was too excited about Emma accepting the Principle to want to talk about problems. Still, she tried to tell him. “It’s about spiritual wifery,” she said. “Charlie’s Sally and Dorcas Paine have both—”

But he wasn’t listening. “Is it so urgent it can’t wait until afterward?”

“No,” she said. “But right afterward, please.”

“I promise.” Then he went back where he belonged, with Emma.

The room was not large, and even though the furniture had been removed, there were too many people for the space. Heber and Vilate, Hyrum and Mary, other apostles, and their wives; it was a convocation of the Kingdom of God, the secret Church. And at one end of the room, Emma and the four young women she was giving to her husband. Emma looked tired, fearful, defeated. The ceremony began.

Emma led the girls one at a time to Joseph, took the girl’s hand and put it in Joseph’s, and Hyrum said the words that Dinah remembered from her own marriage to the Prophet. The girls were frightened and shy, and Dinah’s heart went out to them. Yes, she knew that their husband was a kind man, but they could not know what kind of husband he was. They
did
know what kind of woman Emma was, and while she made a loving mother, they had every reason to fear her as a sister wife. They were not as strong as Dinah. They did not have her independence, her stature in the Church. I will soon be able to stand with Emma as an equal, Dinah thought, but it will be a longer, harder road for these children. She could see that Joseph felt more compassion than desire for them; but if Emma was giving him wives, he must certainly take the wives she chose to give.

Emma came to Dinah almost as soon as the ceremony was over. She was still on the verge of uncontrollable emotion. All around her the others broke into quiet conversations, but Emma was too on fire with feeling for any of the others to have the courage to approach her. Yet, seeing Dinah, Emma managed a smile.

“You’re stronger than you ever thought,” Dinah said.

“No, I’m not,” Emma said, laughing a little, nervously. “This is only the first step.”

“It gets easier,” Dinah said. “Every day easier.”

“You’ve never been the first wife,” Emma said.

“No,” Dinah said. “But I’ve loved a husband who had other wives. It isn’t that much easier.”

The others saw that Emma was smiling, conversing normally, and so the tension in the room eased. Eased so much that Heber Kimball got the courage to approach Emma directly. “Welcome to the fellowship, Sister Emma,” he said warmly.

Emma took his offered hand. “I’m just learning,” she said, pretending to be cheerful.

Heber nodded. “Dinah’s been a help to more than one who entered the Principle. She was an old-timer when Vilate and I were taking our first steps. Vilate could never have done it without her.” Then Heber, his duty done, cheerfully went on, not guessing the wreckage he left behind him.

How could he have known that Emma thought Dinah was his wife? But that was no help to Dinah now, watching Emma’s face as she made the connection. “Oh,” Emma said. “I thought—because he baptized you, and because you and Vilate are so close, I thought—but then, who
is
your husband?”

I must lie to her, Dinah thought. A convincing lie. She isn’t ready for the whole truth now, but what man can I possibly tell her, which of the Twelve?

The hesitation was too long. Distracted as she was, Emma saw it.

“Why won’t you tell me? I thought we’d have no secrets now. Why can’t I know who the father of your child is? Don’t you trust me?”

“I’d trust you with my life.”

“But you won’t tell me.”

“Of course I’ll tell you. It’s—”

“No, you’ve decided to lie to me. You’re going to lie to me, even though you know that I accept the, accept the—” Dinah could hear it clearly now in Emma’s voice. She was over the edge of hysteria now. No doubt if she could choose, Emma would choose to control herself, but she had been overtaxed today, and there was no power left in her, no force left that she could turn against herself. She must strike, and not inwardly, but out, against someone else. Against me, Dinah thought. She will hate me, and I can’t even claim that she would be unjust.

Emma’s face was crying, but her mind, her voice did not know it. “You didn’t need to lie to me. You don’t have to lie to me unless your husband, unless your baby, you didn’t have to lie unless—”

Emma’s voice was loud and harsh. Dinah could not look away from her, but she still saw the movement of people gathering at the doors of the upstairs rooms, watching. They will realize what is happening, she thought. They will call Joseph. He will stop this, he will explain to Emma—I can’t do this alone.

“You were my friend! I trusted you, I trusted you, he broke his word to me—
I trusted you!
” Suddenly Emma struck her across the face. The blow caught her brutally at the place where the jaw meets the neck, and she recoiled against the wall at the top of the stairs. Dinah panicked. The last time she had been struck that way was the night that Matthew nearly killed her. Terrified, Dinah’s only thought was to run away, to get to Robert in time, to protect the babies or Matthew would take them away, she couldn’t let him take away the baby—

Just as Dinah stepped backward onto the top stair, Emma’s second blow struck. It was lighter than the first, a glancing blow. Perhaps in her terror Dinah would have stumbled anyway. Perhaps she was already falling, which is why Emma did not hit her squarely. The physical cause of her fall was impossible to know. But the real cause was unmistakable. It was the Principle that had hurt Emma so deeply, and it was God who gave it to them. Dinah would remember that afterward, would remember that it wasn’t Emma who did it to her, that it wasn’t any mortal soul, it was God himself, and God’s will always has a good, a perfect purpose behind it. There was some eternal purpose that was satisfied when Dinah stumbled backward, flung out her arms to catch herself, spun around and landed with a sickening pain, not on her hip but on the soft flesh in front of it, where the baby was. She landed where the baby was, then somersaulted, crumpled, rolled, and finally sprawled on the floor at the bottom of the stair. She did not even feel the rest of the fall. The worst thing in the world had already happened. The stair of Joseph’s house had struck at Joseph’s baby in her belly, where it should have been safe; that’s all she thought about, even though a stair-edge broke her nose, even though a place in the railing caught her foot and tore at it, spraining her ankle. She did not even hear Emma screaming at the top of the stair, “Dinah! Dinah! No!” She only lay on the floor and felt the ghastly cramping pain in her womb as the baby writhed, as the baby struggled against the pain, and that awful stillness when the baby died. She was sure the baby died. Only then did she let herself faint from the pain, only when she was sure there was no hope. God had taken her child from her again, and she wanted to die.

John was putting finishing touches on a portrait of Sidney Rigdon when one of the Lawrence girls came pounding at the door. John knew at once from her wide-eyed look of dread that she had no good news for them. “Is Sister Kirkham here?”

“No, she’s out visiting,” John said. “I don’t know where. A sick child, I think.”

At that the girl turned to leave.

“What did you come to tell her?” John asked. “You can tell me, I’m her husband.”

“Oh,” the girl said. “Then you’re Dinah’s father.”

“What’s happened to Dinah?”

“She’s took a fall, Brother Kirkham, at Sister Emma’s house.”

“A bad one?”

“She fainted. Dr. Bennett’s caring for her. They’re worried that she might lose the baby.”

The girl was already a dozen yards away before John realized what she had said. Surely the girl did not mean it the way it sounded. If there was one sure thing in the world, it was Dinah’s virtue—she wasn’t the sort to be pregnant out of wedlock. She must have been carrying someone else’s baby in her arms when she fell. That was much more plausible. Yet the thought of Dinah, pregnant, stayed in the back of John’s mind as he rushed to the Prophet’s house, along with a piece of information that disturbed him much, much more. Bennett was seeing her. Of course he is, John told himself, he’s a woman’s doctor, of course they’d call him. But John could not help but think of what the whore had told him Bennett really was, and the thought of those hands touching Dinah infuriated him.

The Prophet himself was downstairs, as white-faced as if it was his own daughter injured. John looked to him for explanations, of course, as everyone expected Joseph to speak, but the Prophet looked away, and it was William Clayton who explained. “She fell, the whole flight. She took a bad blow to the hip, we think, and her foot may be broken—bruises on her face—she doesn’t wake up—”

“The girl who came to me said there was a baby in the accident, too.”

Clayton went red, and stammered something unintelligible.

John could guess why as well as anyone. It was what the girl had said. Dinah was pregnant. Pregnant and upstairs alone with Bennett. “She’s pregnant, and you’re letting that bastard have his hands on her?”

The room went silent. Joseph looked at John distantly, as if he were puzzled about something. “He’s the only woman’s doctor in Nauvoo. He was here in the house.”

“Whether she played the whore or not, I’d rather she saw no doctor at all than see him,” John said. He headed for the stairs.

Hyrum reached out to stop him. “He said he wasn’t to be disturbed, too dangerous—”

“I have no doubt of it. But the only danger he’s worried about is danger to
him
.”

“What are you trying to tell us?” Joseph asked.

John had no intention of stopping to answer. He was halfway up the stairs when he heard Charlie come in. “Where is she?” Charlie demanded.

Someone started to explain, when a door opened upstairs and John Bennett came to the top stop. “I’ve done what can be done,” he said. There was blood on his hands. “There was no more clean water. Will someone draw me water so I can wash?” He brushed past John on the way down the stairs.

“Bennett!” John said, and Bennett turned to face him only a few steps down.

“How is she?” Joseph asked. John noticed how concerned he seemed to be. Was he somehow responsible for her falling?

Bennett was looking at the Prophet when he spoke, but John could see his face clearly, and it seemed to him that the man was gloating. “It’s not mine to comment on whoever it was who got her with child. Providence apparently determined that the child should not live. The babe was too small to survive anyway, but no matter. It was already dead before I took it.” A pause, and then, as if it should mean something to Joseph, “It would have been a boy.”

Charlie still was waiting stupidly at the front door. “Dinah was going to have a baby?”

“Not now,” Bennett said. “And it’s tragic to say, but not ever. The injury was too great. I had to choose between her life and trying to save organs that could not be saved. She’ll never have a child again.”

The words hung in the air for a moment. Bennett sounded so convincing, so authoritative. There was no choice. He saved her life. And yet there was a hint of triumph in his voice, and John could not keep from hearing the harlot’s voice saying, “Well, somebody has to clean up.” Dinah’s baby was dead, Dinah’s womanly parts had been destroyed, and the man who had his hands in her to do it, the man who still had her blood damp on his fingers, Bennett was an abortionist. John did not
decide
to kill him; it was not the thing a man decides. He simply tried to do it, and if they hadn’t stopped him, would gladly have finished the job. Standing three steps higher on the stair, it was almost effortless to kick out at Bennett. Bennett was off-balance, having turned to look at Joseph again. The heel of the boot caught him at the side of the face, just in front of the ear. The blow had force enough that Bennett’s feet did not touch the three steps that remained below him; he sprawled on the floor, trying to raise himself to his feet. John did not wait to see if he had strength to rise. Someone was shouting the foulest language John had ever heard as he bounded down the stairs and kicked at Bennett’s unprotected belly. Even when they grabbed him, began to pull him away, John got free enough to put a boot into Bennett’s crotch. Bennett’s cry of pain at last stopped the string of curses and obscenities. John realized only then that he had been doing the shouting himself.

“Brother Kirkham!” Hyrum was saying to him, “in the name of heaven, don’t blame the doctor for doing his work!”

“Doctor!” John’s throat hurt him when he spoke, and all he could manage now was a rasping sort of voice that he didn’t recognize. “He’s a butcher. He’s an abortionist for the local whores, that’s what he is!”

William Clayton tried to hush him. “It’s not right to call such names—”

“I’m not calling names!” John cried out hoarsely. “I’m telling you what he is! One of the tarts told me so, and I’ve heard it again since then. He does the cleaning up when the whores get pregnant, he keeps them in business, he’s
their
doctor, and you let him get his hands on my daughter!”

Someone was helping Bennett to his feet. “I didn’t think you were the sort of man who visited prostitutes,” Bennett said, his voice sounding sad.

The man could lie even after a beating. John wanted another try at killing him, but they were holding him too tightly.

“You knew I was, Bennett, from the time you saw me with the tart in Springfield. And you knew her, too; I saw you greet her.”

“I don’t know what you have to gain by lying about me, Brother Kirkham. I saved your daughter’s life. When you’re not so worried about her, you’ll regret saying these things. But don’t worry. You won’t need to come apologize. I forgive you already. And the Lord will forgive you for adultery, as well, if you truly repent.”

John looked around him, wanting someone to rebuke Bennett, to denounce his pose of righteousness, but the other men were embarrassed to meet his gaze. It was plain that whether they liked Bennett or not, they weren’t going to take John’s word. Except about his having been with a whore—they’d take his word for
that
.

“Brother Charlie,” Hyrum said, “maybe you ought to take your father home.”

“Not till I see my daughter,” John said.

“No,” Bennett said. “She’s too weak, she couldn’t bear to see him now. It would endanger her life.”

“I’m her father,” John said, “and she has no husband here, and I’ll not have a bloody abortionist tell me not to see my daughter.”

“I tell you it’s too—”

Joseph interrupted. He spoke quietly, but Bennett fell silent when he spoke. “I’ll go with Brother Kirkham myself,” Joseph said, “to make sure he doesn’t do her any harm. A man has a right to see his daughter—that’s not a matter for a doctor to decide.” Joseph reached out to John, and the men let him go. The Prophet took him by the shoulder and began to draw him toward the stair. His touch was firm and welcoming, and John wondered if perhaps the Prophet believed him after all.

Bennett limped to the stairs ahead of them. “I’ll go too,” he said, “to make sure she’s doing well.”

“No,” Joseph said, firmly moving him aside. “I think you won’t be needed with her anymore.”

It did not take the murmurs from the watching men and women to tell Bennett what they all could see. Joseph believed John Kirkham, however unlikely his story sounded, and Bennett knew it now. He stepped back, letting them pass, and for the first time John could see an impression that might have been fear pass across Bennett’s face. It lasted only a moment, however, before plain hatred took its place.

Charlie followed them up the stairs. The room stank of blood and sweat and vomit; Dinah was retching over a chamberpot, writhing in agony after every empty heave. John marked how Joseph ran to her at once, had his arm around her, supporting her as he took the pot and held it with his other hand. The action said more than any explanation could have done. There had been no hesitation. Joseph knew Dinah more intimately than John would have supposed.

Charlie, of course, didn’t see it. “How are you?” Charlie said.

“Don’t let him near me again,” Dinah whispered after gasping for breath. “Don’t ever.” She retched again.

“Bennett?” Joseph asked.

Dinah clung to him and wept. “He was hurting me,” she said. Her voice was almost too weak to hear. “I woke up. His hand in me.” Joseph held her as she shuddered, tried again to vomit, twisted again in pain when she was done. “The baby’s dead. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

A woman whose husband was thousands of miles away when her baby was conceived might apologize to the Prophet for being pregnant. But she’d never apologize because the baby
died
unless the Prophet was the father.

“What’s happening?” Charlie asked. “How could Dinah—”

Of course Charlie didn’t understand. Or perhaps he did, John thought, but would not believe it unless someone put it into words. At any rate, he stopped with the question unasked. Joseph said, “I’ll explain it to you. Tomorrow, Charlie.”

“Don’t let him near me,” Dinah whispered.

“I won’t.”

“Spiritual wifery,” Dinah said.

Joseph tried to lean her back on the bed, putting pillows under her. “Don’t try to talk, Dinah. Try to rest. Try to sleep.”

Desperately she tried to stay sitting up, but without his support she couldn’t do it. “Listen to me.”

Joseph stood up. “Later, Dinah. When you’re stronger.”

It was agony for her, but still she tried to shout it: “I don’t want to die without telling you!”

“Listen to her,” John ordered. Rest would do her no good if her mind was not at peace.

Joseph listened.

“Bennett. Telling women they’re his spiritual wives. Just before they marry, telling them to let him—afterward—” She started to gag, then stopped and lay on her back, panting. “Sally was one. A week before the wedding. And Dorcas Paine. Ask them. He tells them you had a revelation.”

“
My
Sally?” Charlie asked.

“Stop him, Joseph,” Dinah whispered.

“I will,” Joseph said.

“The baby’s dead,” Dinah said again.

“Sleep now, Dinah. We won’t let him near you. Go to sleep.”

She was crying softly, but it was so calm that it seemed to John almost as though she were happy now. She awoke with Bennett’s hand in her. John wanted to spew the memory of the words out of his own mouth, though he had not said them; he wanted to drive the picture from his memory, but it stayed before John’s eyes no matter where he looked, as he silently cursed his clear imagination and the way that strong pictures lingered with him. Bennett bowing over Dinah’s naked body, unwomaning her with his delicate fingers as she awoke from the pain. “I wish I had killed him.”

Joseph closed the door behind them. They stood at the top of the stairs. “No, Brother John. Vengeance is God’s.” They both whispered, so that they would not be heard downstairs.

“Don’t tell me about God, Prophet,” John said. “There’s damned few men who could get a child on Dinah, damned few she couldn’t say no to.”

“Don’t judge what you don’t know,” Joseph said.

“I’m no stranger to
that
, sir,” John answered. “I know how little bastards come to be.”

Joseph suddenly held him by the shirt front, in a strong grip that included a little bit of the loose skin of John’s aging chest. “Your daughter is not a harlot, Brother John,” he whispered, “and the child who died today would not have been a bastard. I’ll take it out of the skin of the man who says otherwise.” His voice was so quiet that John was sure even Charlie could not hear him. But Charlie could see the way that Joseph held him, could see that a warning had been given. John nodded, and Joseph let go of him.

“What will you do about Bennett?” Charlie asked.

“We were going to build the City of God together.” He was speaking calmly, but John saw how his hands gripped each other too tightly, as if he were trying to hold himself in check by brute force. “I have to think. Give me time to think.” Then, like a man awaking after talking in his sleep, he looked from John to Charlie and said, “We’ll care for Dinah here, of course, until she’s stronger.”

Joseph started down the stairs. “John Bennett,” he said. “I must have a word with you. We have something to discuss.” He sounded distracted, unsure of what he meant to do.

It didn’t matter. “He left,” William Clayton said. “As soon as you went upstairs, he was out the door.”

“Is it true?” asked Vilate. “He’s an abortionist?”

Joseph nodded.

“But he was my doctor.”

“Sister Vilate,” Joseph said, getting control of himself because the others needed him to be in control, “would you go up with Sister Dinah? She needs you.”

Vilate went quickly. Joseph then addressed the whole group. “It’s too much to ask that no word of these things leave this room. I will say only this. Anyone who says that Dinah Kirkham Handy was carrying a bastard in her womb is a liar, and I will testify against him at the judgment bar of God.” He did not shout, but the words had all the more power for that.