 CHAPTER XXVII OF TELL IT ALL by Fanny Stenhouse. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. SOCIAL LIFE in Salt Lake City Ballrooms, Wallflowers, and Divorce Spring opened bright and beautiful, and I began to feel more at home in Zion and more contented with my position. I do not, however, mean that I was satisfied with polygamy or that I contemplated calmly the prospect of my husband taking a plurality of wives, but that I had begun to adapt myself to the manners and customs of the saints and had already formed many of those pleasant intimacies which lend such a charm to life. My talkative friend was a constant visitor at our house, and her strange views of life and of that all-absorbing subject, the management of man under the plural wife system, together with her lively conversation and unceasing flow of spirits, made her visits acceptable, and she often banished from my mind thoughts which, if unchecked, would have made my life unbearable. Her husband, too, poor creature, sometimes followed in her train, and on one occasion she actually brought Alice with her that I might see what sort of a girl she was. I found her quite good-looking, intelligent, and as pleasant a little body as one could wish to know, but at the same time I detected in the expression of her features, lively and self-reliant as she was, too many traces of that look of subdued sadness which casts a cloud over the countenance of every woman living in polygamy. Other friends besides I had, too numerous to mention. Friends whom I had known in England and whom I had wept over the horrors of polygamy when it was first announced, and dear Swiss friends, not a few who had come to Zion before us, and were now quite settled and at home. Two faces I longed to see, but of their owners I could at first get no tidings. Poor dear Madame Belif, my old Swiss friend, who in past days had shown me so many kindnesses and whom I had so tenderly loved, where was she? Somewhere I knew in Zion but not in Salt Lake City, and to the chapter of accidents I felt that I must leave it whether I ever saw her again or not. And there, too, was Mary Burton, with all her sweet winning ways. She whom I had known as a child, whose early womanhood had been darkened by apprehensions of that accursed abomination, polygamy, who had suffered that terrible martyrdom upon the plains, who for ought I knew might at that very time need most my sympathy and sisterly love. Oh, where was she? Poor Mary might it not be that worn out with the fearful sufferings which she had endured, she had gone to that peaceful rest which she had so vainly sought on earth. I had asked everyone who came across my path who was likely to know whether they could give me any information as to where she was, but I could learn nothing more than that not long after their arrival she and her husband had left the city and had gone to one of the settlements in southern Utah. I had, therefore, to wait in uncertainty for any chance which might accidentally bring us again together. I was very glad that the winter was over, for we had had rather a rough time during our first months in Salt Lake City, and the various associations of our life had tended rather to strengthen than to relieve my apprehensions respecting the future. The ball-season which, of course, I cannot pass by in silence, had been a source of annoyance, and I may say disgust to me. I had seen so much that was unpleasant at those balls, and although what I witnessed did not then affect me personally, yet it was painful to see others suffer and to hear poor women whose hearts were crushed and broken tell each other in whispers the sorrow which had blighted their existence. Dancing was always very popular among the saints, and the leading men among them have wisely fostered a taste for it. When the people first went out to Utah, as may be supposed, life was hard and amusements were few. The Mormons, as a body, are examples of industry and diligence. To them labor is one of the cardinal virtues, and like all other pioneers they found plenty of employment for their energies. Others had to be built, land prepared for cultivation, the commonest necessaries of life to be manufactured or raised, and busy hands were perpetually engaged in a thousand useful industries, and the dust of toil was washed from the careful brow. It was but natural that the need of a little recreation should be felt. So in very early days Brigham built a theater, and a very fair amount of histrionic talent was developed among the saints. The social hall, in which were held balls, public entertainments, and other amusements, was used for histrionic performances before the theater was built. Brigham owned the theater. Money was to be made out of it, and the chance of making money, rather Brigham never permitted to slip through his fingers. Brigham's eyes were sharp enough to see that a theater would be to him a source of profit. But he did not look far enough. That theater, under the immediate direction of the prophet, with his own daughters acting in it, with the plays which were performed under his own censorship, has been one of the many causes which have perceptibly, although perhaps indirectly, shaken the hold which Mormonism had upon many a woman's mind. A man would probably witness the performance of a play with no other thought than the remembrance of an hour's amusement, but not so a woman. To her the play suggested something more, and her daughters would share her thoughts. Daily, and hourly, it might be the effects of polygamy would be brought under their notice as a matter affecting themselves personally. They might be firm in the faith, but the observant instincts of their sex could never be wholly crushed. They would notice the neglect which wives endured even from good husbands. They would see a man leaving the wife of his youth, the mother of his children, and careless of the cruel wrong he did her, leave her in lonely sorrow while he was spending his time in love-making with some young girl who might have been his daughter. They would see a wife crushing out from her heart the holiest impulses which God had implanted there, striving to destroy all affection for him whose dearest treasure that affection should have been, because indeed polygamy could not exist with love, and themselves personally feel the degradation and misery of the celestial order of marriage. And that to them would be the practical picture of life. But in the theatre, short-sighted Brigham, to allow it to be so, another picture would be presented for their consideration, a picture it might be ideal in its details and surroundings, but true to the letter and the lesson which it conveyed and the thoughts which it suggested. The disgusting, the brutalizing cruelties of polygamy were never represented on the stage. Thoughts so coarse, so sensual, could never inspire the true poet's pen. No, the tale of love as the poet tells it is all that is refined and chaste and delicate and pure. The commingling of two souls, the unison of two loving hearts, the hopes, the aspirations, the tender joyful sorrows of two fond natures, of two alone. Such is the picture presented as the ideal of the beautiful and of the good. Then to the delicate attentions of the devoted lover, his happiness even in the shadow of a smile from her, the lofty pedestal upon which to his imagination she stands, a queen and peerless, or the confiding love of the heroine of the story, blushingly confessing to herself that there is one heart on earth which is all her own and in which none but herself can ever rule or reign. The Mormon women are not devoid of common sense, nor are they destitute of those quick perceptions which under all circumstances distinguish their sex. They see on the stage representations of the happiness attendant upon love and marriage, such as God ordained, and such as finds a response in every heart. And they compare such pleasant pictures with what they know and have witnessed of polygamy. And they draw painful inferences therefrom. Their faith may be proof against apostasy, but the impression left upon their minds produces its effect notwithstanding. Another institution was the dance. Brigham and the leaders knew that it would never do to leave people without amusements of some kind, and thus the balls and social gatherings were originated. The idea of prophets, apostles, high priests, and patriarchs attending a ball and joining in a dance must appear grotesquely incongruous to the Gentile mind, but out among the Mormons it is quite the thing, and to the men those balls and parties were very pleasant. I do not think that many of the Mormon women enjoyed the ball season, and I know to some of them it was the most painful part of their lives. It is a cruel thing for a woman anywhere to know that her husband's affections are divided, that she is not his only love, and that his heart is no longer all her own. But far worse is the lot of the wife in Utah. She has to see and be present when the lovemaking is going on, when her husband is flirting and seeing soft nonsense, or looking unutterable things at silly girls who are young enough to be her daughters, nay, her own daughters, and her husbands may actually be older than the damsel he is courting for his second wife. Such an outrage upon the holiest feelings of womanhood would not for a moment be tolerated in any civilized community, but among the saints women are taught that this is but one part of that cross which we all have got to bear. Cross-bearing is all very well, and I do not doubt that sorrow and trial have a sanctifying influence upon the soul, but by all means let us have a fair division of the burden. It is not just that the heaviest end of the beam should be placed on poor, weak women's shoulders, and that her lord should even find pleasure in that cross which weighs her to the dust and crushes out from her weary soul the last sparks of love and happiness and hope. How sweetly did the men preach patience and submission to the will of heaven. I wonder where their own patience and submission would have been had matters been reversed and their wives had been taught that it was their privilege and a religious duty to court and flirt with and marry men younger and handsomer than their husbands. The brethren never forget what Brother Brigham once said about the Mormon men being all boys under a hundred years of age, and they do not neglect their privileges. Here in the ballroom you may see men of three-score years and even older joining in the dance with girls of sixteen and even younger, making love to them, flirting with them, marrying them. Age or plain looks are nothing with such men. The girls are taught that they can exalt them to greater honor and happiness in heaven than young and untried men could and that they ought to feel honored by receiving tender attentions from the chosen servants of the Lord. One wife or even half a dozen if they chance to have so many of course will not stand in the way. The husband is the Lord and master and a woman's wishes count for naught. In the ballroom the company of the first wives and in fact of many of the plural wives, once worshiped but who had had their day was not so much sought as that of young and interesting maidens. And after having stood up with their husbands in the first dance as a matter of form, many of those forlorn wives might be seen sitting along the sides of the hall, keeping each other company and talking over their sorrows. We used to call these poor ladies the wallflowers, sitting there watching, noting all that their husbands did or said. Those poor women were in themselves a touching protest against the cruelty of the system, such as none but a Mormon heart could have resisted. But for that horrible system these balls and parties would of course have been extremely pleasant. With the feeling of fraternity which exists among the saints, such gatherings ought only to be a source of pleasure. But polygamy blighted everything and it is with the feeling almost of hatred that I recall some of those occasions. How many an aching heart has there felt weary? Felt so weary as to long for death. No change of feature might betray the mental struggle, but the bitterness of the soul was all the same. And I have seen wives there whose husbands paid them market attentions so that the girls to whom they were making love might notice their devotion and draw favorable auguries for the future, in case they married them. And the wife has known all this and has valued her husband's attentions accordingly. And yet the poor deluded women persuade themselves that this system is right and in accordance with the revealed will of God, and they think that the evil, poor creatures, is in their own hearts and that they deserve to suffer. The Mormon men sometimes would be rather surprised, I think, if they could hear what their wives say of them at those balls. I have seen very obedient wives so goaded to anger by the conduct of their husbands that they have said very bitter things indeed. And what was not spoken was felt, I know, by every wife in whose nature the last traces of womanly feeling had not been altogether crushed out. At one of those balls, the apostle Heber C. Kimball came up to me and said in his jesting way that he would introduce me to his wife. He brought up five or six ladies of various ages, one after the other, and said, there now I think I'll quit now, for I'm afraid you are not too strong in the faith. Are these all you have got? I asked. Oh, dear no, he said. I have a few more at home and about 50 scattered over the earth somewhere, but I've never seen them since they were sealed to me in Nauvoo, and I hope I never shall again. Heber was called the model saint. But the ball season passed and the spring came on and our prospects began to brighten. My husband not only found remunerative employment for his pen in Salt Lake City, but was also engaged as special correspondent to the New York Herald and several of the California papers. One morning a country man, roughly dressed and looking the picture of care, called at our house and asked to see Mr. Stenhouse. I gazed at him for a moment, for I thought there was something familiar in the sound of his voice. He looked at me and I at once recognized him. It was Mr. Belif himself, in whose house we had lived in Switzerland. But oh, how changed he was. Once a refined, handsome, gentlemanly man, now a mere wreck of his former self. Careworn, roughly looking, poorly clad. He and his family had been in Utah six years and had suffered all the ills that poverty can induce. The change which was wrought in him was so great that for some moments I was so overcome by my feelings that I could not utter a word. In the few short years which had elapsed, since I saw him in his own bright and happy home, he had become quite an old man. I hardly dared to ask about his wife, for I feared what his answer might be. But after a little while he told me that she had sent her love and would like to see me whenever I could find an opportunity to call upon her. They lived some miles from the city, but I told him that I would not fail to visit them whenever it was possible for me to do so. I talked a long while with Mr. Belif and was much interested in what he told me. He made no complaints. He had still firm faith in Mormonism and said that if the brethren had not dealt fairly by him, they would be answerable to God for what they had done. Besides, he added, I do not blame them so much, for they are Americans and would not be happy if they did not get the advantage in some way. I was anxious to ask him if he had been induced to take another wife as he had been in Utah during the Reformation and I did not see how it was possible for him to have escaped. But while I was thinking how I might put the question delicately, he saved me the trouble by himself telling me that he had married the young servant girl whom his wife had taken from Switzerland with her. This information was quite a shock to me, for I well knew the proud spirit of his wife and I could realize what anguish this second marriage must have caused her. I did not, however, like to question him on the subject, so I turned the conversation into another channel and when he went away I sent kind messages to Madame Belif saying that I would seize the very first opportunity of hearing from her own lips the story of all they had gone through. Here again I found the trail of that monster, polygamy, this time in the home of my dearest friend. From the moment when she and I had mingled our tears together in Switzerland over that abomination, life had been to me one long, weary, sickening battle with my own heart, one futile attempt to fully convince myself that polygamy was right and that I was wrong. I certainly did believe or thought that I believed the doctrine was true, but at times nature prevailed in the struggle and womanly indignation and anger rose in arms against faith. These feelings were, however, at once and unhesitatingly subdued. Faith returned triumphant and I was again convinced that the revelation must have been the will of the Lord and that my duty was to submit, but not to question. In moments of comparative self-control I had even tried as a missionary's wife to justify it to others, but only to witness an outburst of sorrow and anger and to feel still more the weakness of my position. That had been my own experience, but how had the time passed with my dear old friend? She must, no doubt, have been as greatly disappointed as I was when she came to Zion and saw things as they really were and not as they had been represented to us. My own eyes had certainly been opened not a little since my arrival. Instead of finding the people enjoying the comforts and blessings of life, which we had been taught were strewn about them in profuse abundance, we found, among all but the leading families, the greatest poverty and privation. The majority of the people were living in little log or adobe houses of one or at the utmost two rooms of the most primitive construction and without the slightest convenience of any description. Their food was bread and molasses and it might be an occasional morsel of meat, but many of them scarcely even indulged in the latter or in any article of grocery for months at a time. Their floors and walls were bare and their clothing poor and scanty and yet destitute as they were of all the comforts and conveniences of life, they were conscientiously endeavoring like good saints to practice polygamy because as they believed, the Lord had commanded it. In respect to education, they were in even a worse position. Books, pictures and periodicals of any kind there were none with the exception of that dreary organ of the church, the desert news. The subparific influence of which some wicked apostate has likened to a dose of Winslow's soothing syrup. Brigham Young himself an illiterate man and the leading elders frowned upon every attempt to raise the intellectual status of the people and so little encouragement was given that no one could afford to keep school. The consequence was that the boys and girls grew up with little more education than their own sense of necessity taught them to acquire for themselves. And it was not until very recently that any suitable efforts were made to supply trained teachers and to open schools in which a thorough education could be afforded. I have already mentioned the sermons in the tabernacle and observed how little calculated they were to elevate the character or cultivate the minds of the people. I have before me, as I write, a choice morsel extracted from one of the sermons of Heber C. Kimball, which I think I must give for the reader's benefit. Fancy an apostle, thus addressing a large and mixed congregation of men, women, and children. Here are some educated men just under my nose. They come here and they think they know more than I do and then they get the big head and it swells and swells until it gets like the old woman's squash. You go to touch it and it goes cursed smash. And when you look for the man why he ain't thar, they're just like so many pots and a furnace. You know I've been a potter in my time, all mighty thin and all mighty big. And when they're sought up, the heat makes them smoke a little and then they collapse and tumble in and they ain't no war. This was Heber's style in general. Next to making modest people blush, nothing pleased him better than to annoy or ridicule anyone who had the smallest pretensions to education. And yet, naturally, Heber was a kind-hearted man. Brigham's style is very little better and the substance of his discourses quite as bad. I will give a very favorable specimen taken from a sermon on polygamy delivered some years ago, touched up and corrected and published in the official organ, the Deseret News. Man will say, my wife, though a most excellent woman, has not seen a happy day since I took my second wife. No, not a happy day for a year, says one. And another has not seen a happy day for five years. I am going to set every woman at liberty and say to them, now go your way, my women with the rest, go your way. And my wives have got to do one of two things, either round up their shoulders to endure the afflictions of this world and live their religion, or they must leave, for I will not have them about me. I will go into heaven alone rather than have them scratching and fighting around me. I will set all at liberty. What, first wife too? Yes, I liberate you all. I know there is no secession to the everlasting whinings of many of the women in this territory. I am satisfied that this is the case. And if the women will turn from the commandments of God and continue to despise the order of heaven, I will pray that the curse of the Almighty may be close to their heels and that it may be following them all the day long. And those that enter into it, the celestial order and are faithful, I will promise them that they shall be queens in heaven and rulers to all eternity. Now, if any of you will deny the plurality of wives and continue to do so, I promise that you will be damned. This was sweet language for a prophet and a saint to utter, and yet it is not half so coarse or improper as some whole sermons that I have listened to from the lips of Brother Brigham and the other leaders of the church. The apostle Orson Pratt is the only one who has dared in the presence of Brigham to say that education was a proper thing and that there were many books which would be of good service to the saints if they obtained and studied them. On one occasion Brigham arose in ire and said, the professor has told you that there are many books in the world and I tell you that there are many people there. He says there is something in all these books. I say each of those persons has got a name. It would do you just as much good to learn from somebody's names as it would to read those books. Five minutes revelation would teach me more truth than all this pack of nonsense that I should have packed away in my unlucky brains from books. But the prophet has changed with the times and there are now in Utah very good schools, both Mormon and Gentile. But none of them are free schools. Bishop Taylor once said in a public lecture that they were destructive to the best interests of the community. And the bishop's lord in the lion house is exactly of the same opinion for he has repeatedly declared, there shall be no free schools within his saintly kingdom on earth. Nevertheless, brother Brigham and his infallible priesthood are at last beginning to discover that although the night of ignorance and superstition may hate the clear daylight of truth and knowledge, when the great ruler of all commands the light to come forth, it is not in the power of man with all his boasting to forbid the sun to shine upon the dark places of the earth. Balls, parties and the theater provided amusement for the people in Salt Lake City itself. But in the settlements, there was little else in the shape of recreation than idle gossip or the harangues of the tabernacle. In the city of course, this has all been changed of late years. But in the settlements of Utah, there is the same lack of civilization as there was 15 or 20 years ago. At the time when we went to Utah, Mormon society was slowly recovering from that terrible marrying mania which has set in during the Reformation. And a season of divorce was the result. The authorities at that time, as I have already observed, had urged every person without distinction into polygamy. Men and women had been forced to marry one another without any respect to affection or fitness. And the result was that hundreds of marriages were entered into, which made those who contracted them miserable for life, but the consequences of which they could not avoid. At the same time, not a few were divorced almost immediately after they were married. And these things were a matter of daily occurrence. Brigham Young, with his eye perpetually on the dollar, finding that his marrying scheme, like many other of his divine plans, was a failure, saw at once that quite a nice little sum might be realized by charging a fee for divorces. Nothing was charged for marrying, but if the people insisted on having divorces, why the best and certainly the most profitable thing was to make them pay for it. When we first went to Utah, the profit was doing quite a flourishing business in that line. Anyone could get a divorce for $10 and Brigham publicly in the tabernacle gested about it and said that the money thus obtained came in very conveniently as pin money for his wives, though I doubt if they ever received a dollar of it. He added that so far as eternity was concerned, these divorces were not worth the paper they were written on. The people had married for eternity and in eternity they would have to live together whether they liked it or not. He says the same today, but still he sells his divorces and gathers in the $10. All this is an anomaly, although the people do not appear to see it. While more than any other community, they profess to regard marriage as a sacred institution, they marry and are divorced in a more careless fashion than the people of any civilized country. I could mention instances which would be really ludicrous where they not so shocking. I know a young woman in Salt Lake City who is not over 21 years of age. She is a very pretty girl and has engaged quite extensively in the divorce business for she now lives with her fourth husband. She was in my employment after she left her third and I had an opportunity of studying her character. I noticed that she was frequently visited by a certain young man who seemed to make himself very agreeable to her and feeling a great deal of interest in her. For she had left her father and mother in England when a mere child in order to gather to Zion under the paternal care of one of the elders. I asked her why the young man came to see her so often. He is my intended husband, she replied. Why I said quite astonished. You have only just been separated from your last husband and after so much ill treatment I should have thought you would have been afraid of trying another at any rate so soon as this. You're wrong there, she replied in quite a serious earnest way. I am determined to marry until I get the right one even if I have to do so a dozen times. Don't you think I am right? This really seemed so shocking that I did not know what to say. The most absurd point in all this was that of her three former husbands, one was a Gentile and two were Mormons. The Gentile of course would have no chance in the world to come but to each of the two Mormons she was sealed for eternity. Now if Brigham's divorces are of no force in the next world and if his marriages are binding what will this young woman do between her two Mormon husbands to say nothing of the two other Gentile ones who do not count for the Mormons though they are so generous to themselves in the matter of wives will not allow a woman to have a couple of husbands either here or in eternity. What nonsense is all this? What blasphemy to ascribe to it the Lord? How different I found the Mormon Lord from that great and glorious being source of all goodness, holiness and truth to whom in the days of my childhood I had looked up and adored. The Lord of whom they so flippantly spoke was not the same him to whom things in heaven and earth do bow by whom and in whom are all things. He never blighted the heart of woman or cursed her with a perpetual curse. But to him, since I escaped from the cruel thralldom which once blighted my existence day by day my soul goes out in love and gratitude. Would that I could infuse into the worn and weary hearts of the women of Utah the knowledge that God has given freely to all his creatures, to woman as well as man no cruel law to torture their souls no wretched revelation to embitter their lives but a gospel of peace and gentleness and love which makes perfect those who walk therein. End of Chapter 27 Chapter 28 of Tell It All by Fanny Stenhouse This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. What women suffer in polygamy the story of Mary Burton. One bright summer morning about six months after our arrival in Salt Lake City I was sitting in the work room busy with my girls when a light tap was heard at the door and the next instant a lady entered and coming straight up to me was about to kiss me. I started back a step, held out my hand looked her full in the face and in a moment we were in each other's arms. It was my old friend Mary Burton. I could with difficulty find words to express my astonishment when I recognized her so greatly was she changed in every respect. From the very first whenever we met after a long separation I had noticed a more than ordinary alteration in her appearance but it must be remembered that at the time of our first reunion she had grown out of childhood into womanhood. When I met her again in New York she had passed through the most interesting phase of a woman's life. She had forsaken maidenhood for matrimony and now I met her once more after she had endured those horrors on the plains of which the reader has already heard and she had entered into a life of sorrow worse than any she had known before. No wonder then that now as upon previous occasions I noticed quite a startling change in her appearance. Her dress was of the coarsest and plainest kind but neat as was everything she touched yet not so carefully arranged as in the old time in England. She used formerly to have a way of adjusting a dress or a bonnet so that it set her off 10 times better than it would a girl who had not naturally the same taste but now although as I said her clothes if course were neat she evidently had not taken any pains to set herself off to the best advantage and in a woman what a story did that simple fact tell. But it was in her features and manner that the change was most remarkable. Looking at her face you would have been puzzled to say in what the alteration consisted. Her cheeks were thinner and sadly pale but that was not the cause of her appearing as she did. Had she been older I verily believed the anguish she had passed through would have blanched her hair and left upon her brow deep marks of thought and suffering. As it was however though no one feature in particular was very greatly altered the whole expression of her face was that of one whose heart was utterly crushed and broken. And when her eyes met mine I could hardly refrain from tears as I saw the mournful look of subdued pain which told in them the terrible conflict which her heart had endured. I took her to my own room poor girl how my heart bled for her and again and again I held her in my arms and tried to comfort her for she was very weary and at last she wept. I was glad to see that passionate flood of tears for I knew it would relieve her and in that I was not mistaken. She threw her arms round my neck and kissing me repeatedly sobbed out don't blame me sister Stenhouse don't blame me very much I cannot help it. There there Mary I said be calm and you will soon be better. You must tell me all your troubles and I will do all I can to help and comfort you. There is no help sister Stenhouse no comfort for me I'm past all that she answered. Don't say that Mary I said I know that you have passed through a terrible amount of suffering and have had much to trouble you in every way but your husband is still alive is he not? And there may be many years of happiness before you. It is the thought of him that makes me so wretched. She said oh I could have borne death a thousand times rather than this. I would gladly have seen him die rather than see him changed as he is now. You do not know sister Stenhouse how my whole soul was wrapped up in that man how I almost worshipped him. When we suffered so much together on the planes I felt happy in comparison to what I feel now. I remember that terrible night when I believed he was dying I remember the anguish that I felt but oh I knew then that he loved me and that his heart was all my own. Had I lost him if I could myself have lived I should have felt that he had never loved another beside me. I should have known that we would meet together again in heaven and be happy in each other's love. After all we went through together I loved him more and more. We seemed to live with one life. We had the same thoughts and hopes and pleasures. I leaned upon him and I loved him also fondly and sister Stenhouse I know he loved me then. We were getting over the effects of our sufferings on the planes and I was gaining strength and was looking forward to the time when my child should be born. It was then that they came and taught him that devil's doctrine and led him away from me. Oh dear I cannot bear it sister Stenhouse I cannot bear it it will drive me mad. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed again. Mary dear I said don't talk like that he cannot have ceased to love you I am sure. He used to almost worship you dear. It is because I know that he did once that drives me crazy. You do not know what I feel what I have to bear. I did not utter a word. My own sorrows were hidden in my own heart. The heart knoweth its bitterness and a stranger intermedleth not in the matter. You have been through the endowments she asked. So have I. We went through sister Stenhouse about three months after we came to Utah and never since then have I known a moment's peace. I do not know what they said to my husband but whatever it was produced a great effect upon his mind and changed him altogether. He has been an altered man from that very time. I have no doubt that they told him that it was his duty to take another wife and they would say that no promise made to me before our marriage is binding if it comes in opposition to our religion. You know how devoted he is, how firm his faith is, why I do believe that he would obey counsel even if it broke his heart and cost him his life. Did they say anything to you or your husband dear? Certainly they did Mary. We have heard it daily and hourly and my husband is constantly being counseled about it. I am wretched Mary, you know I must be. I feel just as you do, but how can we help ourselves? No, we cannot help ourselves. There is no hope, she said, but it is a cruel wrong. You know well enough how determined I was never to marry a man who would take another wife. When I thought that Elder Shrewsbury might be influenced by his religion I made him go to the apostle and get counsel. And then he solemnly vowed to me that he never would enter into polygamy without my consent which of course was the same as saying that he would never do so at all. Until we went through our endowments he never even hinted at such a thing but they spoke to him then. And one day after he had been having a long consultation with the bishop he came and spoke to me. He was not unkind in the least. In fact he seemed to be as much pained at all the mention of the subject as I was. He said that the bishop had been urging him to live up to his privileges and had explained to him how great a loss in the celestial world it would be both to him and to me if he did not take more wives. He was told that now while he was young was the time and that I would soon get over any pain that I might suffer. Yes they actually said so. Fancy tearing out the very affections of one's heart and blasting every hope and happiness in life and then saying that I should soon get used to it. I tell you Sister Stenhouse a true woman never can get used to this hideous system. If the hearts of some are dead and cold it is a curse to them and a curse to their husbands and their children. And if a wife seems careless or callous as the case may be it is because love for her husband has first died out in her heart. She feels no jealousy because she has no love. But if a woman has but a spark of love for her husband she will hate with a deadly hatred any other woman whom that husband loves. But what did Elder Shrewsbury say when they told him to enter into polygamy? I inquired. At first he told them that it was utterly impossible, she replied. And he mentioned his promise to me and said we were very happy together and that he wished for nothing more. But they knew his weakness and that he would do anything for his religion and they urged him on that point. It was even a sin against me, they said for if he had no more than one wife he could never exalt me in the celestial kingdom. That I ought to be treated like a child, a very dear but spoiled child. And if I refused what was for my own and my husband's benefit and everlasting welfare he ought to act up to what he knew was right and leave the consequences with the Lord who would order all things for the best. My husband told me all this very sadly at first but I could see that it had an effect upon his mind. They saw it too and did not let the subject drop. Every day they spoke to him of it and at last he gave way for my sake, he said. This was the cruelest wrong of all. Then one day he told me very firmly and very coldly as if he had steeled his heart to do so that he had made up his mind to take another wife. What I exclaimed after the solemn oath he swore never to do such a thing why I could not have believed it of Elder Shrewsbury. I reminded him of his promise she said but he told me that the revelation justified him in breaking it. That it said in the second clause that all covenants, contracts and oaths not sealed by him who was appointed on earth to hold this power in the last days are of no force after the resurrection. That for this cause we had been married again for eternity and that now he was free from his oath. I knelt down before him and I wept and prayed as if for life itself. I entreated him if no more to wait and put off all thoughts of another marriage for a few months until he had time to consider the matter carefully. He had already thoroughly thought it over, he said and could not go back now for the bishop had chosen a wife for him and had arranged everything. He even told me who it was, a young girl named Wilbur, about 14 years of age, a mere child. I prayed him if he would be so wicked as to perjure himself and wrong me so foully at least not to add to his sin by injuring a poor innocent child. He was very indignant with me for that, said that he was doing the child the greatest good he possibly could by marrying her, that he was ensuring her salvation as well as mine and that he expected to receive the blessing of God. Mary I said this system is a fearful curse. Curse, she exclaimed. Curse is a heavenly word to apply to such a system where there is nothing in hell so hateful, so vile, so detestable. It is a blight and ruin to everything that is fair and good. I never pass a day but I curse with the bitterest hatred the men who devised it. Women can hate bitterly when they choose but I hate them more than ever woman hated before. Hush, hush dear I said. You mustn't talk so, Mary. I mustn't talk it perhaps, it's dangerous I know, but I may think it. There is not a true hearted woman in Utah who does not feel as I do this day. Do you think that when they have ruined all our hopes for time and for eternity we shall love them still? Here but for this wretched system I should have been a happy wife and mother and now see what I am, husband, child, all lost, all lost. Is the child dead, Mary? I asked very gently for I feared to pain her. Yes, dear, she replied. In fact I believe it never lived, the one I was thinking of. I was ill, very ill indeed, after what my husband had told me. They thought I should die and I think he was sorry for he became very kind and tender to me but that only made me feel worse. Then my child was born but I never saw it for I was unconscious for more than a week after and then they told me that it was not alive but my husband would never speak to me about it. As I grew better his cold, stern manner returned and then at last he married that girl Wilbur and since then he has married two more for he is doing very well in business. I think that all his love for me has gone. At first he thought of marrying again because it was a religious principle and as it was the time of the Reformation he did not dare to refuse but now his heart has grown hard and cold. You see a change in me, Sister Stenhouse but I think you'd see a greater change in him. I know of course that I used to look at him with eyes of love and of course did not see him as other people did but that is not the only change. It isn't in his face alone. His whole nature seems altered. It quite pains me sometimes to see it. Do you feel any happier now? Any calmer, Mary? Yes, she said yes and no. I do not love him as I used to. How could I? But when I look into my heart I find if I tell you the truth that a little love does remain there. If only I could quite cease to love him I think I should be happy. But when I pet and play with my little girl for we have had one child since that dreadful time some of my love for him comes back again and I sit down and have a good cry. Sometimes that isn't enough to calm me and I shut the door and walk up and down the room and swear. There don't look so horrified, Sister Stenhouse. I cannot help it. If I did not give way to my feelings now and then I should die outright. And sometimes I break a few things but he never knows it and it does me good. We came into the city yesterday on a visit and we shall stay for a few days. He brought me I believe as a matter of form but I found out where you lived and I came to see you. You never answered my letter and I did not know whether you had left New York yet. I really am glad to see you, Sister Stenhouse. And it is true that Brother Stenhouse has not taken another wife yet? Not yet, I said. But as I told you he has been spoken to about it and I cannot tell what he may do. As you say, Mary, the Mormon women have not much to make them happy. I took her in then to get some refreshments and I asked her to stay for the day. She said that she had a message which someone had left for Elder Shrewsbury, that she would go and leave it as it was of some importance and that she would come back again. In about an hour she returned and somehow, although I had intended to talk of quite another subject, we got back to our common grievance again. I do not wonder at this for it was the perpetual theme of all our thoughts. Queen Mary, of unpleasant memory, is said to have fretted over the loss of the town of Calais until she believed that after her death that name would be found written upon her heart. And I really do think were such a thing possible? The word polygamy would be found indelibly engraved upon the heart of many a wretched wife in Utah. Mary gave me a great deal of information in that she was quite herself as I knew her in bygone days. Nothing escaped her observation. She sat down with me and told me all her troubles and I need hardly say how deeply I sympathized with her. So I tried to comfort her and spoke about her child, but even respecting that poor little thing, she felt no hope. Why, when it grows up, she said, it will be as miserable as I am. I can see no prospect of happiness in the future for it. We agreed that the only way whereby we might prevent our children from experiencing sorrow and misery similar to our own was to teach them from the very first that polygamy was the natural and proper as well as the revealed order of marriage, in fact, to bring them up in the system. What a miserable resource was this for a woman who loved her children. One thing, Mary, I said, referring to her own personal experience in polygamy. One thing I do not quite understand. You, of course, had made your husband specially promise before you married him that he would never take another wife and he was therefore bound as a man by every moral obligation not to do so. But other women have not been situated as you were and they have extracted no promises from their husbands. Yet it always seemed to me that your doing so was quite superfluous. For you must be aware, Mary, that the revelation says that before a man can take a second wife, he must have the full consent of the first. The elders in Europe used to make a great deal of that point as you may remember. For they said that this provision took from the revelation any harshness or injustice which it might otherwise appear to show. I know many women who submitted on this account. For they argued that if their permission was necessary, they could always, by refusing, save themselves for many further trouble. Now, if that was so, how came your husband take another wife against your will? I say your husband because I should have no difficulty in many other cases. I have been repeatedly told that husbands never troubled themselves about the revelation when they wanted another wife, unless it was to silence the first with it if she rebelled. But I always regarded Elder Shrewsbury as a conscientious man and I firmly believed that he would never willingly give you a moment's pain. When he made that promise to you, he had the revelation before him and also the apostle to go to if he needed the word of the Lord. He was therefore bound by that promise, notwithstanding anything that the revelation might say to the contrary. And even had he made no promise, the revelation was on your side. We are told that every woman must first give her consent. That is all very true, Sister Stenhouse, she said, to a certain extent. The theory is, as you say, but you have not heard the whole. I know the revelation pretty nearly by heart and so I can tell you exactly what it does say. The first wife is said to hold the keys of this power by which is meant that she can refuse. But then it goes on to say that when her husband has taught her the law of the priesthood, that is polygamy, she shall believe or she shall be destroyed, sayeth the Lord your God, for I will destroy her. You see there is no loophole of escape for the woman. Her husband is to teach her the law and she shall believe, and if she does not, and of course people have no power to make themselves believe what they please, she is to be destroyed and God will destroy her. Do you know, Sister Stenhouse, there are stories whispered here of women who did refuse and who stood in their husband's way and it is said that the priesthood did not wait for the Lord to destroy, but carried out the law themselves. My dear Mary, we really must not talk in this way. I said it's quite wicked. My husband would never forgive me if he knew what we have been talking about. He says that all these stories are untrue and that they are all exaggerations or fabrications of the apostates who wish to bring scandal on our religion. I do not wish to shake your faith, Sister Stenhouse, but my own is pretty well gone, she replied. Of course I never speak to my husband about these things, nor do I dare to talk to anyone else, but I feel it quite a relief to see you and to be able to say what I think, for I know I can confide in you, but we have wandered sadly from your question. You were talking about the first wife giving her consent? Yes, I said, and you were about to tell me whether it was really and practically necessary in every instance. You have been here longer and have seen more than I have. The wife's consent is by no means necessary, Sister Stenhouse. It may be asked sometimes as a mere matter of form, and of course in the endowment house when she gives the other wives to her husband, she may be said to give her consent to his marrying them. It is nothing but a piece of folly to talk about women having the power to withhold their consent, and it is simply an insult and mockery for their husbands to ask it. They will know before they ask that their wives dare not refuse to give it, but it enables them to boast to the Gentiles that they do not take other wives until their first wife gave her consent. This is what is meant by the liberty of the gospel, I suppose, about which Brother Brigham talks so much, but everyone knows perfectly well that this is all a farce and that he would take other wives all the same, however stoutly the first wife might refuse. She would only make herself miserable, even if she got off as well as that. The idea really is that in polygamy there are four who must give their consent. Brother Brigham must first receive a revelation from the Lord, stating that he approves of the proposed marriage. Then the first wife's permission must be obtained, then the consent of her parents, and last of all the girl herself is to be asked. This all sounds very fair, she continued, but in practice it is quite otherwise. Without President Young's consent there can be no marriage at all. But if it is the will of Brigham, the refusal of the first wife and the parents and the girl herself do not for a moment signify. But did your husband, Mary, act in this way? Well, not quite. He told me that if I refused it would not make the slightest difference. And as I believed him, I of course went and did not make a scene. It would have only made matters worse. Some of the older sisters came round and talked to me over and explained and insisted and labored with me as they called it, until I hardly knew what to think or do. My mind was quite unsettled. Eliza R. Snow is quite great at that sort of work. When my husband took his other two wives he did not consult me at all, but simply told me that on a certain day I must go with him to the endowment house. We went and he married two sisters on the same day. But it did not do him much good. They are handsome girls but have very bad tempers and we often have a very unpleasant time. The second wife, poor child, suffered most when he married the other two. She did not seem to like me very much at first, which was quite natural. But when the other two were brought home she seemed quite to clean to me. And I have, strange to say, taken quite a fancy to her. In all our disputes she always sides with me and in return I always stand up for her as a matter of course. I am getting used to this wretched life. I have stifled all my love and I am sorry to say that sometimes I almost hate everyone around me, including my husband. Now and then the old longing for someone to love, for someone to confide in comes over me. I felt like that this morning when I came here and that is what made me act so badly. Say nothing of that, Mary, I replied. I wish you would stay with me while you're here in the city. No, she said. We shall be here for a day or two but I do not think my husband would like me to stay here altogether. He knows that you are aware of his attachment to me once and his promises in the old times and very likely he would be a little ashamed to meet you. He'll make business an excuse and in fact he is busy all the day. So I'll come round alone as much as I can and we'll have a good talk again. I saw her to the door and then she turned and said, I'll come again and see you, sister Stenhouse, before we leave the city. I know you think me very wicked but there don't be shocked, dear. I'm not so very bad after all. Thus saying, she kissed me, laughed with the ghost of her former Mary Ways when I first knew her and said good night. I watched her till she was lost in the darkness and then I closed the door saying to myself with a sigh, ah me, can this be the Mary that once I knew? End of chapter 28. Chapter 29 of Tell It All by Fanny Stenhouse. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. How marriages are made in Utah. A new wife found for my husband. Not long after this I was enabled to visit my Swiss friend, Madame Ballif. Ever since her husband had called upon me in Salt Lake City, I had watched anxiously for an opportunity of seeing her for I felt much interested in learning how time had passed with her since we parted in Geneva. I found her in a little log cabin of two rooms with bare walls, bare floor and miserably furnished and in this wretched abode poverty and polygamy had wrecked the life of my poor friend whom I had known under such different circumstances. Here together with their five children lived also the second wife with her two children. It was with difficulty that I could recognize in the poor, careworn, broken spirited and ill-clad woman who stood before me the once gay, light-hearted, happy and elegantly dressed lady whom I had known in Switzerland. Mormonism had in her case utterly blighted her existence. It seemed to me hardly possible that so great a change should have been wrought in her in such a few years as had elapsed since last I saw her. What suffering she must have endured, I thought. What mental agony, what physical pain to write those wrinkled lines of care upon her once handsome face, and, ah, what a pang I felt at the remembrance that I myself had been instrumental in leading her into Mormonism and polygamy. Self-approach I did not feel, but sorrow I did. I had thought to lead her into the way of holiness and heavenly peace by winning her to the religion of the saints. But that which in my enthusiasm had believed would be the greatest blessing which one poor mortal could communicate to another had turned to a curse. And instead of a happy wife and mother which she once had been, she had become a victim to that faith which, in its very existence, is an insult to womanhood. In temper and disposition she was, however, just the same. Her affectionate nature was unchanged. No doubt she read in my features the painful surprise which I experienced in witnessing her altered circumstances. But she met me with not a single word of her approach for my being the cause of her leaving her own dear country. I should not have blamed her had she hated me, though she knew, of course, that I had wronged her innocently. She told me of the difficulties which they had had to contend with after their arrival in Utah and how they had been compelled to part with almost everything they had in order to provide bread for their children. When they left London, they took with them several handsome carpets, china, glass, and a large quantity of silverware, besides bedding and clothing of every description, for they were well to do in the world and had quite enough for themselves after they had liberally assisted the poorer saints to emigrate. Upon their arrival in Utah, the husband, good man that he was, was willing to come down to the level of his brethren and to go farming among them. A brother who knew him in his own country and imagined, I suppose, that he could afford to lose sold him a farm that he himself had become disgusted with, though, of course, he did not say so. And when my inexperienced friend, Monsieur Ballif, found that nothing could be done with it, he supposed that the land was good enough, but that he himself was not competent to work it. No one ventured to hint that he had been cheated as it was one of the church authorities who had sold him the land. After spending upon it all that he possessed, he was finally compelled to abandon it. They were now very much straightened in circumstances and my poor friend told me that she frequently had been compelled, as they were entirely destitute of money, to take a silver spoon or fork to the butcher's market to trade with. And there they drove a hard bargain with her and she obtained next to nothing in exchange for her silver. Her crystal and plate now graced the table of a certain rich man in Utah. Every article they possessed went in this way at a most ruinous sacrifice until nothing remained. And then the husband was forced to engage in manual labor while the poor wife employed herself in whatever feminine work she could obtain. They receiving in return just what people chose to pay them. In the midst of their troubles the husband was counseled to take another wife. But why did he not refuse to do so, I asked. If you had been here during the Reformation you would not ask me such a question as that. Sister Stanhouse, you ought to thank God that you were not here then. There were shocking things done at that time and the men were all crazy about marrying. They married every woman who was single and even little girls who had scarcely reached their teens. It was a time of terror and no one dared to rebel. She then told me that her husband had been, as one might say, compelled to marry a young Swiss girl whom they had brought out to Utah with them as a domestic. This girl had been a very faithful servant and Madame Ballif had become very much attached to her. During the Reformation the bishop visited them and counseled Monsieur Ballif to take a second wife. The girl was also counseled to marry and when she said that she did not know of any one to whom she would like to be married the bishop told her that he himself would find a suitable man. My husband told me what the bishop had urged him to do, said Madame Ballif, and we talked the matter over in a practical way. We knew that the girl would be forced to marry somebody and that then she would have to leave us which would put us at the very greatest inconvenience for situated as we were we could hardly get on without her assistance. At the same time he also would be compelled to obey counsel and we came to the conclusion that as there was no way of evading the difficulty altogether it would be better for him to marry the girl than to bring a stranger into the house. So he asked her and she accepted him and they were married. She is a good girl and tries to do her best but it is a great trial to me and one which I trust you may never be called upon to bear. My husband is as kind and gentle a man as ever lived and he has done all he could to keep me from feeling unhappy. Had it been otherwise I dare not think what I should have done. I believe I should have gone mad or died. In our household arrangements of course it made very little difference but it was inexpressibly painful to me and though I suppose I shall remain a Mormon till the day of my death I have learned to hate Mormonism. Poor Madame Boliv hers was a life of privation and sorrow of late years. Happy as woman could be in her youthful days she little dreamed what Providence had in store for her where her earthly course had run with a faithful and devoted husband with a charming little family growing up around her with all that could make life fair and beautiful. But that accursed thing polygamy came and poisoned all her happiness and blighted all her hopes and when but a few months ago worn out and weary of life she left behind her all her sorrows and all her misery. I could not weep that she had gone to a better land beyond the veil but I thanked God that at last poor soul her days of trial were forever over and she had entered into her eternal rest. One day Brother Brigham sent me word that he wished to see me. I went to him and he told me that he wanted me to become acquainted with a certain young girl in whom he took a great interest. She was the daughter by his first wife of Jedediah M. Grant the famous apostle of the Reformation. Her name was Carrie and she was now an orphan. Brother Brigham wished me to have her with me every day for she was not feeling well, he said and he thought I might do her some good. This not feeling well I afterwards discovered meant that she was almost ready to apostatize. If she desired it I was to teach her my business not that she needed to follow any profession for as President Young explained she had a good home but her mind needed occupation and he did not care how she employed her time so long as she was with me every day and could be made to feel well. I listened to all that Brother Brigham said and accepted the trust in good faith not only to please him but because the girl was an orphan and my heart went out towards her even before I had seen her. Before I returned home I called at the house where Carrie was stopping and arranged that she should come every day to see me under the pretext of learning the business. Now it so happened that we each conceived a liking to each other the very first moment we met. We made friends together at once and she wanted to begin coming to me the very next day. She was a sweet looking and intelligent girl, fair but fragile and with a peculiar expression of melancholy sadness dwelling upon her features which gave her a painfully interesting appearance. I never before or since met with a young girl who habitually looked so unhappy and I thought that perhaps physical weakness might be the cause for it was evident that in constitution she was extremely delicate. I almost feared consumptive. The first day we spent together she told me that her parents had been among the pioneers to Utah that her only sister had died on the plains and that she had lost her mother soon after they had arrived in Salt Lake City. As the only remaining child of her mother she had been a great pet with her father but he too had died about four years previous to the time of which I speak and she had never been happy since. I often longed to die, she said, that I might join my mother and father, no one loves me here and I have nothing to live for. Her father had married four wives after her mother's death and they were all very kind to her but she did not feel that she had a home. She told me that about six months before she came to me she had started to go east with her mother's friends where they had frequently written to her urging her to come to them and that when she was about two weeks journey from Salt Lake City, Brigham Young sent after her and she was brought back. But she said, I shall never be happy here, sister Stenhouse I know I never shall and why should they not let me leave and go to my relatives? I knew very well that it was of no use for her to try to get away for we had no railroad then and escape was almost impossible. I therefore tried to make her more cheerful and told her that a girl as young as she was for she was scarcely seventeen had much to live for. But her unhappiness had become almost a settled melancholy and she seemed to be interested in nothing besides which the task I attempted was all the more difficult as I was not at all happy myself. One day the conversation happened to turn upon polygamy and in a moment I saw that all her trouble arose from that miserable doctrine and from that alone. We had not exchanged many words upon the subject when she exclaimed, oh how I hate polygamy God forgive me but I cannot help it, sister Stenhouse. I do hate it and yet I believe that it is true. Poor child, I understood her too well for her position was exactly mine. From that moment we were fast friends. Here was the child of one of the greatest fanatics that Mormonism has ever known. One of the wildest advocates of the celestial order of marriage perfectly loathing the system and yet poor girl believing in it firmly and believing too that she could not obtain salvation unless she entered into it. How I pitied and loved that poor girl and yet what strength or consolation could I offer her being myself as painfully situated as she was. Our mutual sorrow united us still more closely in loving companionship. I had rarely met among the Mormon girls with one so thoughtful and observing, so kind and gentle. She had not been with me many weeks before she had entwined herself so completely round my heart that I was lonely when she stayed away and I tried to keep her with me altogether. I tried in every way to make her feel at home when at my house and noticing her delicate health and thinking that she did not always get those little things that tempt her appetite, which an invalid should always have. I found out many trifles which I believed would please her and always tried to get them for her. She seemed to think much of these little attentions and I have always believed that she loved me very dearly. Some of my neighbors began to whisper pretty plainly to me that Brother Brigham had an object in view and asking me to interest myself in Kerry's welfare. They told me they believed that my husband, if he had not already been counseled to marry her, would be before long. Knowing as I did Kerry's aversion to polygamy, these suggestions did not trouble me very much, but I begged my informants not to speak of the matter in my young friend's presence as it would only disturb and annoy her. I was the more anxious on this point as her health by that time began very perceptibly to improve and sometimes she seemed to be almost joyous and lighthearted. Sometimes she would so and sometimes she read or played with the children of whom she was very fond and I always allowed her to do just as she pleased. One day my talkative friend came to see me. She had not been near the house for several months and I think at her last visit she must have taken offence at my telling her that I thought she had not acted wisely in procuring wives for her husband. She had however now an object incoming which I soon discovered. She was shown in and as soon as she was fairly seated I observed that while talking to me she was inquisitively scrutinizing Kerry's face as if trying to discover her character or read her thoughts. Suddenly she did everything impulsively. She interrupted the conversation saying, Sister Stenhouse, I want to speak to you privately. I asked her to come with me into the next room and she did so but before I had time to close the door she exclaimed, Allow me to congratulate you, you have done very wisely. Congratulate me upon what I asked. Upon the excellent choice you have made for your husband, she replied, I knew very well you would ponder over my good counsel and seek another wife for Brother Stenhouse and I am certain that my example and my faith and prayers have helped you for I have asked the Lord to strengthen you to do just what you are doing. Doing, I said, what am I doing? I really don't understand what you mean. Oh nonsense, she exclaimed, but I understand if you don't you wish to keep it a secret I suppose. Until the happy event takes place and you are quite right in that for there are so many busy bodies here and they do interfere so much in their neighbor's affairs that it isn't pleasant but of course you needn't fear me. I shouldn't think of breathing one single word of the matter unless you wished me to do so. I'm really at a loss to know what you mean. I said, very much annoyed with her. Oh, she said, if you think that I am interfering I will not say another word for I should very much dislike to be considered meddlesome. But you know, my dear Sister Stenhouse the great interest I have always felt concerning you from the very first when I knew you in England I always prophesied great things of you but I was a little afraid when I saw your opposition to polygamy and I cannot tell how happy I felt when I heard yesterday that you had found a wife and a good wife too for your husband. I find a wife for my husband I exclaimed that I would never do. I dislike polygamy far too much to do so. No, if he ever wants another wife I shall never help him to find her. He'll have to get her himself. Besides which I don't believe he does think of ever taking more wives. I believed what I said. During our residence in Utah my fears had calmed down for my husband very seldom mentioned polygamy in my presence unless the brethren or sisters introduced the subject. I naturally concluded that now he had seen so much of the practical results of the doctrine he like myself had become disgusted with it. But my talkative friend of course knew nothing of my thoughts. Who is that young girl then that I just saw now? She asked, is not that Miss Grant? I replied that it was. Well said she, I was told that you had asked her to marry your husband. There is no truth in that report I said. I am sure that she has never thought of such a thing nor have I nor has my husband and I would not have such a thing spoken of for the world. Well, she replied, I am really quite disappointed. You have a splendid opportunity and I do believe that was what Brother Brigham meant when he asked you to see after her. In fact, I was told that it was his only motive all along. Then Brother Brigham will soon find out his mistake. I can assure you, I answered. For I never will ask her and moreover if I thought for a moment that she would ever wish such a thing much as I love her, I should then hate her. My dear sister, she said, how do you expect ever to get salvation? I suppose you think that is none of my business and that I should leave you in the hands of the Lord. But before I go, let me ask you to see Eliza Snow as soon as you have an opportunity. She will build you up and do you a world of good. I told her I needed no building up. All I wanted was that my husband and myself should be left alone and that people should not meddle with our affairs. She apologized for what she had said and we returned to the sitting room and she asked me to introduce her to Miss Grant. I did so although I feared that in some way or other she would be the means of interrupting the pleasant relationship which had hitherto existed between us. After she had gone, her conversation troubled me a great deal. What did it all mean? Had the busybodies been trying to bring about an alliance between my husband and Carrie? Had Brigham Young been working all along to this end? However it might be, I resolved, Carrie should know nothing of the matter from me. One morning the apostle Heber C. Kimball called in his carriage. It was very early being only about seven o'clock. Mr. Stenhouse went out to see him but in his blunt way he said, I do not want you, I want Sister Fanny to take a ride with me. My husband brought him into the house and he told me he wanted to have a talk with me. You must not fix up, he said, or I won't ride with you. Come along in your wrapper and slippers and just put on your sun-bonnet. I told him that I never went out in a sun-bonnet. Well then do it for the first time, he said. I suggested that I had had no breakfast and asked him if he would wait and have some with us. No, said he. I have plenty of wives around this town and we will find breakfast somewhere. So I started just as I was and he told the driver who I think was one of his own sons to call round and see the folks, meaning his wives. Then turning to me he said, you never looked prettier, Sister Fanny. You ought always to wear a sun-bonnet but you like dress a great deal too much. You will keep your husband poor and then how will you be able to carry out the commands of God? Did you ever think of that? Then again you dress your children too much. It must take pretty well all your time to make their clothes and to see what it must cost. Now I am going to give you some good advice. Do what my folks do. I tell them to make a Lindsey dress for each of the children in the spring and let them wear it all summer and then when winter comes it will be so full of grease and dirt that it will be sure to keep them warm. Now I'm sure you won't consent to do that with your children so it is good counsel thrown away. I knew well enough that Brother Heber was only jesting for apparently he provided very well for his family although he allowed them no luxuries. He went on to say, but that isn't what I wanted to speak to you about. I had something else to say. When is your husband going to marry Miss Grant? That girl has got to be looked after by some good man and woman and I think that you and Brother Stenhouse would be first class. What do you think? I should not like my husband to marry her, I said. And why not, Sister Fanny? he asked. Because I myself love her, I replied. Why that is the very reason why he ought to do it the sooner. He said, and you would continue to love her and love her all the better too when she belonged to your husband and when you saw how much he loved her. He laughed outright as he said this and told me not to look so solemn. Why he said it's the finest thing in the world to develop love in the women. A man never gets so much attention in his life as when he has got several wives all trying their best to please him. That may be, I said, but who is to pay attention to their wives? Things have been all upside down in the world, Sister Fanny, he answered, and the priesthood is going to set them all in order. It is the women's place to minister to the men and the men in return will save them in the kingdom if they are good girls. By this time we had driven round several of his fields in the lower part of the city and at last we stopped at the house of one of his wives. She very kindly prepared breakfast for us after which we called to see two or three other wives and then returned home. On the way back he tried to get me to promise that I would persuade my husband to marry Miss Grant. This I positively refused to do, although it would have been dangerous for me not to acquiesce, had it not been that Brother Heber was attached to me and allowed me to say what I liked against polygamy, laughing at me and telling me to hold on when I became too much in earnest. This constant reference to Carrie began to trouble me seriously, although so far I had not yet spoken about it either to her or to my husband and did not intend to. I felt sure that Carrie, poor child, was perfectly innocent. She had refused to go to several parties with us and had otherwise declined to accompany my husband and I believed that I had no cause for uneasiness. Thus time passed and more than a year flew by and Carrie still remained with me. Lately I thought that her manner was changed and that she was a good deal altered. I noticed that she was shy when in the presence of my husband and that she rather avoided him. For a long time I had not suspected that anything was wrong between them and the knowledge that Carrie was troubled and that my husband was the cause came upon me suddenly. She began by staying away for several days at a time and at last she told me that she was going away for a while to visit a friend in the country. She looked so unhappy that I felt sure that all was not right and begged her not to go but she would not listen to me. It was necessary for her to go, she stated and would say no more. She bade me goodbye and for two months I heard nothing of her supposing that she was in the country and then I was surprised to learn that she was visiting with a friend in another part of the city and that she was very ill indeed. I immediately went to call upon her and she was much pleased to see me and then I discovered that she had not been in the country at all but had been there in the city with her friend. I could not at the time understand her conduct but as she in common with most other delicate people was rather capricious I allowed it to pass without any comment. She told me that as soon as she felt a little better she would come and see me but she never came and I was somewhat offended at her supposed neglect and thought that before I visited her again I would wait and see whether she first came up to our house. All this time a friend of Carey's was in the habit of looking in very frequently upon some trifling errand or other and I noticed that she always waited for the return of my husband and then made some excuse to go out with him and they had long conversations together. There was some mystery I clearly perceived and as a wife and a woman I determined that it was my duty to find out what that mystery was. End of chapter 29.