Read Online Righteous04 - The Blessed and the Damned by Michael Wallace - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael Wallace
Ads: Link
brown with gray streaks, it was now gray with white streaks.
“This is terrible,” he said, looking around at the makeshift camp. “I can’t believe nobody will take you in.”
“They’ll take me. Fernie tracked me down last winter to see if I’d join them in Zarahemla. Jacob and Eliza have been here twice.My sisters in Harmony would take me, and our daughters would take me, the ones who aren’t in Blister Creek.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Blister Creek is my home. I can’t go back if I’m waiting for you. But it hasn’t been so bad. Jessie Lynn drives me into Kanab once a month for supplies.”
“And the rest of the time you sit out here in the desert? Alone?”
“I’m never alone. The Spirit is with me, and I have plenty of time to read the scriptures. Are you hungry?”
He shook his head.
Charity went into the motor home and brought out a second plastic chair. He sat, moving in close to the fire to take some of its warmth. For a moment, he caught a pair of eyes glinting at him from the darkness. He started, and the eyes disappeared.
“A fox,” she said. “The skunks and raccoons don’t come until later.”
“How about other vermin?” he asked. “No, never mind. It doesn’t matter—you won’t be here much longer.”
“You went to Blister Creek? You met with the prophet? What happened?” She leaned forward and an anxious note tinged her voice. Kimball caught a glimpse of the Charity Orrock he remembered, the girl with the mischievous smile and the beautiful eyes, before age and disappointment had ground her down.
“I talked to him,” he said. “I took your advice and I asked his forgiveness.”
“And? What did he say?”
“He rebuked me,” Kimball said. “He said, ‘You and your family are cursed. Your seed will wither and die, and your wives andchildren will wander the desert until the coming of the Son of Man.’ And then something about being blinded.”
Were those the exact words? Something close, anyway.
“Oh no,” Charity said, her voice twisted with anguish. “Why would he do that?”
She was still thinking about Abraham, damn her. Forty, fifty years on and she couldn’t stop thinking about their foolish childhood romance.
Once, years ago, after their toddler had drowned in a canal, he’d come upon Charity reading old letters. An icy distance had developed between them after Joel died, and they had simply stared at each other across the bedroom. Charity quietly tucked the letters back in the drawer and he said nothing, but turned around and went downstairs to split wood. Later, when he knew she was at a women-only Relief Society meeting, he returned to the bedroom to search her drawers.
There were eight letters, well worn from being opened and refolded over the years. Silly, chaste declarations of admiration, written in Abraham Christianson’s blocky script. From the dates, he saw they’d all been written during the months between the forced dissolution of the engagement and when Heber Christianson gave Charity to Taylor Kimball instead. Nothing improper in the substance or timing of the letters. Except that she’d kept them, of course.
A phrase in one letter haunted him especially. “I don’t care who else they marry me to now or in the future, Charity Orrock. You and you alone are my eternal companion.”
Had Abraham once deluded himself into believing he was a monogamist? If so, that feeling had passed. He’d certainly married plenty of other wives over the years.
Kimball had taken the letters and tossed them in the fire. He felt no guilt about it.
Charity never asked about the missing letters. She’d probably been relieved, had held on to them out of nostalgia and known she should get rid of them sooner or later. If either Abraham or Charity had still nurtured feelings for each other, surely Abraham Christianson would have claimed her as his own as soon as Elder Kimball went to prison. After all, Jacob Christianson hadn’t waited five
“This is terrible,” he said, looking around at the makeshift camp. “I can’t believe nobody will take you in.”
“They’ll take me. Fernie tracked me down last winter to see if I’d join them in Zarahemla. Jacob and Eliza have been here twice.My sisters in Harmony would take me, and our daughters would take me, the ones who aren’t in Blister Creek.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Blister Creek is my home. I can’t go back if I’m waiting for you. But it hasn’t been so bad. Jessie Lynn drives me into Kanab once a month for supplies.”
“And the rest of the time you sit out here in the desert? Alone?”
“I’m never alone. The Spirit is with me, and I have plenty of time to read the scriptures. Are you hungry?”
He shook his head.
Charity went into the motor home and brought out a second plastic chair. He sat, moving in close to the fire to take some of its warmth. For a moment, he caught a pair of eyes glinting at him from the darkness. He started, and the eyes disappeared.
“A fox,” she said. “The skunks and raccoons don’t come until later.”
“How about other vermin?” he asked. “No, never mind. It doesn’t matter—you won’t be here much longer.”
“You went to Blister Creek? You met with the prophet? What happened?” She leaned forward and an anxious note tinged her voice. Kimball caught a glimpse of the Charity Orrock he remembered, the girl with the mischievous smile and the beautiful eyes, before age and disappointment had ground her down.
“I talked to him,” he said. “I took your advice and I asked his forgiveness.”
“And? What did he say?”
“He rebuked me,” Kimball said. “He said, ‘You and your family are cursed. Your seed will wither and die, and your wives andchildren will wander the desert until the coming of the Son of Man.’ And then something about being blinded.”
Were those the exact words? Something close, anyway.
“Oh no,” Charity said, her voice twisted with anguish. “Why would he do that?”
She was still thinking about Abraham, damn her. Forty, fifty years on and she couldn’t stop thinking about their foolish childhood romance.
Once, years ago, after their toddler had drowned in a canal, he’d come upon Charity reading old letters. An icy distance had developed between them after Joel died, and they had simply stared at each other across the bedroom. Charity quietly tucked the letters back in the drawer and he said nothing, but turned around and went downstairs to split wood. Later, when he knew she was at a women-only Relief Society meeting, he returned to the bedroom to search her drawers.
There were eight letters, well worn from being opened and refolded over the years. Silly, chaste declarations of admiration, written in Abraham Christianson’s blocky script. From the dates, he saw they’d all been written during the months between the forced dissolution of the engagement and when Heber Christianson gave Charity to Taylor Kimball instead. Nothing improper in the substance or timing of the letters. Except that she’d kept them, of course.
A phrase in one letter haunted him especially. “I don’t care who else they marry me to now or in the future, Charity Orrock. You and you alone are my eternal companion.”
Had Abraham once deluded himself into believing he was a monogamist? If so, that feeling had passed. He’d certainly married plenty of other wives over the years.
Kimball had taken the letters and tossed them in the fire. He felt no guilt about it.
Charity never asked about the missing letters. She’d probably been relieved, had held on to them out of nostalgia and known she should get rid of them sooner or later. If either Abraham or Charity had still nurtured feelings for each other, surely Abraham Christianson would have claimed her as his own as soon as Elder Kimball went to prison. After all, Jacob Christianson hadn’t waited five
Similar Books
