Thus we talked together for a long time, and it was with painful interest that I listened to what she said. It was a singular interview—a wife receiving from a young girl the confession that she loved her husband; that he had fully returned her affection, and had even talked with her about marriage; the girl requesting the wife to be married for her to her own husband; and the wife, full of tender love towards the girl, freely giving her a promise that she would do so. In my sorrow at parting from her, and the great affection that I felt towards her, all feelings of jealousy were utterly forgotten. Before I left I said: “Carrie, whether you live or die, you shall be married to my husband, if he ever enters into Polygamy; and I say this although I do not doubt that he will do so, and at the same time I think that you will live.”
I really believed that she might recover; for now this burden was off her mind, I thought she would have strength to subdue her sickness, and at first it seemed as if this would really be the case. The next day she appeared so much better that her friends all became hopeful, and when I told her that I had written to my husband and had told him, that since he had made up his mind to go into Polygamy, I wished him to marry her, she appeared so happy, and showed her joy in so many innocent ways, that I could not be angry.
“How do you think he will feel,” she said, “when he gets your letter? Do I look pretty well to-day? And do you think that if I continue to get better I shall have regained my looks before he comes home?”
“Oh,” I said, humouring her, “you will look quite pretty by the time he returns; I shall be really jealous of you.”
In an instant the thought of how much all mention of her in connexion with my husband must be painful to me, occurred to her mind, and she begged me to forgive her for her carelessness. “No,” said she, “I will try never to give you pain, and you must always love me.”
For some days this improvement in her appearance continued, and I thought and hoped that we should soon have her round again. I really wished her to live now, for if it was absolutely necessary that Mr. Stenhouse must practise Polygamy, I would prefer that, rather than any other woman, he should marry her, for I felt that she would understand me as no one else could.
Thus, after all, I really had selected a second wife for my husband!
But the change in poor Carrie’s looks was altogether deceptive. News came to me one morning that she was very much worse, and I hastened to see her. As I entered the room, her eyes brightened, and she said: “I am glad that you have come, Sister Stenhouse, for I feel that I am going soon.” Then, after a pause, she added, holding up her hands—“Do you know what that means?” The fingernails were turning blue.
“That means death,” she said; “and it is better so.”
After this we conversed together for some time upon various topics of special interest to her in the position in which she then was, and presently she said, as if asking a question, “You will keep your promise, I know.”