How little did we either of us imagine the story she would afterwards tell me in Utah!
I tried to soothe her, and she threw her arms passionately round me, and pressed me to her throbbing heart, and wept again. She thought of her husband and her little girls. But with all her fears she dreamed not how miserable was the life before her in poverty and polygamy. She was herself handsome in form and fair in feature; and, in the full enjoyment of all that could be desired in her sphere of life, she was as happy as a youthful wife could be. She pictured to herself a time—not now, her Serge loved her too truly now—when her husband might cast his eyes upon some blooming damsel, younger than she was then, and might begin to take a nearer interest in polygamy. She pictured him bestowing on the youthful beauty the love and tenderness which he had always bestowed on her; how his affections would die out towards her; how her heart would be desolate and alone!
I took her hand in mine and spoke very gently to her; and when she was calmer, I talked to her more freely. We found now, as we tried to look our common enemy in the face, how strong a hold Mormonism had taken of us; and it is in this that persons unacquainted with the Saints have so greatly misjudged the women of Utah; they know how small a hold such a religion—now they look upon Mormonism and polygamy as identical—would have upon them; and they forget how all-absorbing was our faith in Mormonism without polygamy. We confided not wisely, but too well.
Had polygamy been an invention of our husbands, or a system which they capriciously adopted, we might have been grieved, but we should have known how to act, for we were in a Christian country, where women had rights as well as men; it was our own hearts which were traitors to us. We had been taught to regard Abraham and Jacob, and David and Solomon as types of holiness, as men who were fit objects for imitation; and now it was proved to us, from Scripture, that these men were polygamists, and yet were blessed by God; and we were called upon to follow their example. Thus we tried to crush out the remembrance of our own womanhood. Had we but followed the light of reason which God had given for our guide, we should have trampled in the dust that vile burlesque upon the holy religion of Jesus called a “Revelation upon Celestial Marriage.” As it was, the religious teachings which we had received, both before and after we embraced Mormonism, alike combined to blind us to the truth.
In this state of mind we knelt, and prayed for the Lord to increase our faith in that very doctrine which in our hearts we cursed and hated; and on our knees we wept again; and natural feelings of repugnance mingled with an earnest struggle to submit to the will of God. Madame Balif had not so much faith in Mormonism as I had, and she had consequently less to trouble her in that respect; but she loved her husband, and she knew that he was determined to go to Zion as soon as he could; and then not only would all the luxuries of a happy home be sacrificed, but all her anticipations of the future were overshadowed by a terrible apprehension. Thus we were equally troubled, though I had to endure most, as the task of teaching fell upon me. I did at last manage to persuade her not to offer any active opposition to the Revelation, but I could not satisfy her that all was right. She even went so far as to promise to try to overcome her own feelings, for if it was really true she did not wish to be found fighting against the Lord. She had, however, hardly ceased speaking when the thought of her little daughters crossed her mind, and once more she paced the room like an enraged tigress, declaring angrily that “no vile polygamist should ever possess either of her sweet girls.” I had felt like this for my own darling Clara.
I had now a companion in misery, some one who could sympathize with me. Even had my husband detested the doctrine as I did, he could not have comforted me as a woman and a mother could. My poor friend could feel as I felt, and her sympathy was very dear to me; misery loves companionship; we were sisters in affliction. Not only so, Madame Balif declared that this painful task should not rest on me alone; she would help me in speaking to the sisters. Thus we helped each other in the time of our trouble.
It must have been about this time that I received another letter from Mary Burton. The postmark is quite indistinct, but a week or two one way or the other does not signify much. In her usual quick and impulsive way, she gave me her views of the “beauties” of polygamy, and perhaps the reader would like to hear what she said.
“ ... I am very miserable, Sister Stenhouse, and furiously indignant. I little thought when I last wrote to you that I should have such news to tell; but I suppose you know it all without my saying a word. How we all felt when we first learned that polygamy was true, no words of mine can describe; we hardly dared look one another in the face. Let me tell you how it was.
“One night, quite late, Elder Shrewsbury came round in a hurry, and asked to see me. I went down into the parlour to meet him, and Mrs. Elsworth came down also, and remained until he went away. Elder Shrewsbury looked very strange that night, just like a man who had been doing something wrong and was ashamed of it.