Saints (65 page)

The theater manager introduced him glowingly with all the titles Bennett had given him to read. Noted scholar, surgeon, founder and fellow of the University of Columbus—or had he told him Louisville?—no matter—and above all former mayor of Nauvoo and Assistant President of the Mormon Church. “Who is in a better position to expose Mormonism than one who has been deep in that pernicious conspiracy, but saw the light and left it just in time?”

That was his cue. He gave his cravat one last tug and stepped onto the stage. He knew he looked immaculate, the perfect gentleman in this town where anyone with a clean suit was taken for a dandy. He began his lecture by describing how he had suspected Joseph Smith of nefarious purposes from the start. “I was unable to believe that such a monster as he was reputed to be could possibly have influenced so many of my hapless fellow-Americans to follow him. I determined that I must study what he was and discover what he planned, and to do so the only means that seemed sure of success was to join his church and try to gain this man’s confidence. It is a sign of how much God communicates with him that never once did God give him the tiniest hint that I was anything but the most sincere of dupes to his nonsensical religious claims. He believed me, they all believed me, and there were times when belief was so contagious that I almost believed myself.”

On and on, the now familiar words. The city of Nauvoo is filled with puppets, and Joe Smith and his henchmen, the apostles, pull the strings. You can’t hold office in Nauvoo without Joe Smith’s approval, and we all know how to get his approval. Joe Smith drives in a fine carriage while people are dying of hunger and disease. Joe Smith waves a hand and a man can lose his job. Bennett hardly had to think of what he was saying anymore. He just watched and listened to the crowd, tuned his voice to fit their mood. And this crowd was hot, outraged. The poor bastards took democracy seriously. Half the people in the hall had probably paid or received a bribe in running the state of Illinois, but still he could get them angry at the only unbribable man that Bennett knew.

By the time he got to spiritual wifery, the audience was ready to believe anything. Especially something titillating. Especially when it showed the so-called Saints to be lustful hypocrites. All bastards like to believe that the righteous are only pretending. So he told them of women leaving their husbands to join harems to satisfy the lust of Joseph Smith or Hyrum Smith or the other lecherous leaders of the so-called church. Young ladies taken into locked rooms and there shouted at and harangued and lied to and threatened until they finally consented to become Joe Smith’s spiritual wives and let him have his way with them. And when Smith finished with them, he rented them out as whores to the apostles.

“There are those who say that I am afraid to name names. Well, my friends, I had thought to spare the tender feelings of members of the fair sex, but in the interest of your right to know the truth, I must tell you what I myself know, the tragic tale of Dinah Kirkham. A poor English girl, destitute, friendless, her family stricken with poverty. But pretty? She was pretty, and Joe Smith gets first picks in Nauvoo. He inducted her into the secrets of eternal intercourse and heavenly haremism. But where, you ask, was her family? Had she no brothers to protect her? She had one, yes. A tall, strong young man. But he was so obedient to the Prophet that this young English gentleman was bought off. Joe Smith arranged a loan for him and he built himself a factory, so he could get rich and play the duke, lording it over the mere Americans around him. Joe Smith sent him off to Washington, where he went to parties and balls while Joe Smith got his sister in the family way with a child that for delicacy we will refer to as being of questionable legitimacy. Now tell me, gentlemen, if it’s natural for a
man
to behave that way when his sister’s virtue is attacked? Would you have done as he did? Or would you look to find where last you put your musket, your powder and ball, and would you answer Joe Smith as such men should be answered! When a spoonful of lead served hard and fast in the center of his black, black heart!”

He had them. They rose to their feet and shouted threats and oaths that were a joy to hear. If Joseph walked into this hall, this minute, he’d not leave the place alive. Keep this hatred, people. You are all cattle, you are all swine, but keep this hatred and give me my vengeance. I gave Joe Smith his charter, I gave Joe Smith his city, I gave Joe Smith his political influence and even saved his life, and he begrudged me my pleasure even while he was rutting with half the women of Nauvoo.
He
had Dinah Kirkham, that bastard, and wouldn’t even let me have a few girls in my examining room. Well, Joe Smith, think of the faces of this mob in your sleep, if you can sleep. I’ll have them at your throat one day, and you will die knowing that John Bennett’s friends fare better than John Bennett’s enemies.

But there was nothing for the mob to do tonight, so he wound down his lecture with hints of orgies in the half-built temple and occult sacrifices in the Masonic Lodge. He spoke of a woman who had tried to kill herself rather than endure the obscene rituals of Mormon baptism for the dead, and he hinted that abortion was treated as a holy sacrament. And just when the poor bastards were getting hot to hear the detailed descriptions of these obscenities, Bennett coyly stopped. “It would be an offense to public decency,” he said, “to continue my scientific discussion in a hall with ladies present. So I invite all gentlemen who have a scientific interest in the practices of this strange religious sect to come back tomorrow night to hear my second lecture, in which I will acquaint you with the details of the debauches practiced by the Mormons.”

Several people called out “smut merchant” and “pornographer,” but Bennett didn’t mind. He only smiled and pointed toward the person who had called the loudest and said, “There are always those who prefer to remain blind to the truth because the truth is ugly, and they would rather not see it. But Mormonism is a cancer growing in the very bowels of our society, and we must examine it, find its limits, discover the extent of its poisonous influence, and then cut it out to save the rest of the body.”

He left the stage sure of a full house tomorrow. He could make more money in three weeks doing these lectures than he had made in a year in Nauvoo. That’s one thing he owed to Joe Smith—the best damn source of income he’d ever had.

Joseph came for Dinah just after dark, his carriage newly washed and Porter Rockwell wearing an unusually clean suit.

“You shouldn’t bring the carriage right to the door,” Dinah rebuked him as he led her from her house.

“I can’t very well ask you to hike a mile, can I?”

“I could do it. I’m much stronger.”

“Tonight, you and I are going to your brother’s house as husband and wife, not as thieves afraid of getting caught.” To prove his point, he kissed her out in the open before lifting her into the carriage. When he was inside, he pointedly opened the carriage curtains so that anyone with sharp eyes could see who was riding with the Prophet.

“Joseph,” she said, “this isn’t wise.”

“Tonight somewhere in Illinois Dr. John C. Bennett is telling every curious bastard with a dollar for a ticket all about how I seduced poor Dinah Handy and made her part of my harem. Let the devil make it look as ugly as he likes, I’m proud to have you in my harem, ma’am, and I am not going to hide you tonight.”

She laughed and rested her hand on his thigh, but she also kept her face out of the moonlight that streamed in the window. She would not enjoy this evening if Joseph were made to suffer because of it.

They were the last to arrive at Charlie’s new house. Joseph boldly led her through the front doors, and loudly introduced her as Dinah Smith before the door was fully closed, but to her relief he didn’t carry it to extremes—he made no effort to open the curtains so that passersby could see just who was the Prophet’s consort tonight.

Hyrum was full of wit tonight, and Heber was jovial, and even Brigham managed to be decent company, and all the women were the sisterhood that Dinah wanted them to be. Especially Charlie and his wives. Who would have thought it; my brother Charlie, of all people, the first to make the Principle work as it ought. For Harriette had never been so beautiful, and Sally never so serene as when Charlie held their hands and offered the prayer over the food. And I, too, Dinah thought, I have never been so happy as tonight. For in this house, with these people, I am Joseph’s wife. His true wife when he is with the truest Saints. I could not ask for more.

Charlie had relaxed from the Word of Wisdom enough to serve wine with the dinner tonight, and when the forks were still and the toasts began, Dinah carefully rose to her feet and proposed one. “To the day when all wives live in such harmony as Sally and Harriette, and to the day when we will not have to close the curtains on such a gathering as this! Come quickly!”

“Quickly,” some murmured, and “Amen,” and they drank, and then Joseph arose and kissed her hand and lifted his glass and said, “Brothers and sisters, to my wife.” No one blamed her that she put her hands to her face and wept for joy.

Then Joseph gathered them all into a circle and said a prayer to dedicate the house.

When the guests had gone, Charlie, Sally, and Harriette cleaned up together, and when the work was done, Charlie kissed Sally good-night at the door of her room, and then brought Harriette up to bed. To Harriette’s relief, Sally still seemed glad the next morning. Harriette began to think it might work out well after all.

And it did work out. She and Sally never quarreled. Any loneliness one might feel on the nights that Charlie was with the other could be borne well, for they both knew he would be theirs the next night. Even the private jokes, the little habits that grew up between Charlie and each of his wives, became a part of the life of the house, no more noticed, in the main, than the pattern on the china or the shadows of the furniture on the wall.

Why, then, Harriette asked herself one night, why do I still have times like this when I want to scream and run from this house and hide somewhere in the woods for a year or two? She tried to think what had gone wrong today. Only little things. Harriette hadn’t put enough starch in Charlie’s collars. Sally didn’t fuss about it, just said, “Oh, by the way, Charlie usually takes more starch.” And Harriette smiled and nodded and why not? What was wrong with that? Sally had been married to him longer, she knew what he preferred. But Harriette could not help suspecting that Charlie had no preference and never noticed if his collars were starched at all, that it was Sally who wanted his shirts that way.

Even if that’s so, she insisted to herself, so what? Sally never imposes her will on me. We decide the housekeeping assignments together. She never makes me feel that she’s following after me to check up on my work. We do practically everything alike in the house anyway—we’ve done housework together for twenty years. We even cook the same dishes, and agree on how much salt there ought to be in the soup.

But Harriette’s uneasiness remained. Charlie had a way of saying, “Remember when we bought the chiffonier?” though he and Sally had bought it long before Harriette joined the family; “I told you the Pierces were coming over tonight,” when in fact he had told only Sally. And tonight—yes, that was why she felt so out of sorts—tonight they had been sitting together in the parlor. Charlie was reading the
Times and Seasons
, seeing how his advertisements looked and making fun of the typographical errors, while Sally repaired a damaged shirt and Harriette hemmed an apron. After a while Harriette realized that Charlie had forgotten she was there. When he looked up from the paper or spoke without looking up, his comments were all directed to Sally, and he was content when only Sally answered. Harriette was sure it was her imagination. But when she did make a comment, Charlie looked at her with just a little startlement. It wasn’t so much that he would even notice it himself, but it was real.

This was what bothered Harriette tonight: Charlie and Sally had a web of habit that had grown up between them for many, many months. They had a past together that Harriette could never be part of. It was childish of her even to care, she knew. Yet she was envious nonetheless; envious even of the tragic memory of little Alexandra, for that pain, which Charlie and Sally had in common, bound them in a whole that excluded Harriette. Even the pain because Charlie had not ever seen the child—even that was part of Harriette’s irrational jealousy. If anyone knew what she felt, they’d laugh at her. She even laughed at herself, and then went on feeling just the same.

It will pass, she told herself. As we have more and more experiences together, those parts that I’m not part of will be smaller and smaller in proportion. Be patient.

Still she lay awake, alone in her bed, a book of poetry open before her filled with words that said nothing. What is poetry to Charlie? A decoration in his life, while Sally is his heart. Not that I ever want to displace her. Someday my thread will be as thoroughly woven into the fabric as hers is.

The book tipped forward as she dozed for a moment, and when she startled and lifted it again, a folded paper, sealed with a few drops of wax, slipped from the leaves and lay upon the sheet. It was the poem Dinah had written for Emma and given to her. Harriette opened it and read again.