Margaret McMinn,*
Hannah Moon,*
Dorothy Moon,
Adelia Wilcox,
Huldah Barnes,
Eliza Cravath,
Mary Ann Shefflin,*
Charlotte Chase,
Theresa Morley,*
Ruth L. Pierce,
Maria Winchester,*
Laura Pitkin,*
Abigail Pitkin,*
Ruth Wellington,*
Abigail Buchanan,*
Sophronia Harmon,*
Sarah Stiles.+
Elizabeth Hereford,+
Rebecca Williams,+
Sarah Buckwater.+
Mary Dull.+
Thus it will be seen that Heber C. Kimball was the husband of forty-five wives,[A] and the father of sixty-five children. Truly a patriarchal household.
[Footnote A: At the funeral of his wife Vilate, Heber, pointing to the coffin, said: "There lies a woman who has given me forty-four wives.">[
It may well be surmised that the government and support of a family of such dimensions were no small tax upon the wisdom, patience and provident care of even the wisest and most opulent. Forever banished be the thought—aspersion upon reason and consistency as it is—that self-seeking, ease-desiring human nature would take upon itself such burdens and responsibilities from any motive less honorable and pure than that which Mormonism maintains is the true one. Luxury and lust go frequently hand in hand; licentiousness and honest toil but rarely.
Heber C. Kimball was a man of industry, a man of virtue, of self-denial, who would sooner have thought of severing his right hand from his body, than to have cherished an unchaste sentiment, or sacrificed a principle to sin or selfish ease. He was often heard to declare that the plural order of marriage, with its manifold cares and perplexities, had cost him "bushels of tears."
Yet his was an exemplary family—as much so as any in all Israel, polygamous or otherwise. His wives loved each other as sisters, and dwelt together in peace and unity; while his children, especially the males, sons of various mothers, clung together with an affection all but clannish in its intensity. Woe betide the luckless wight, who, even in childhood's days, imposed upon a "Kimball boy." The whole family of urchins would resent the insult, and that, too, with pluckiness surpassing even their numbers.
Family prayer was an institution in the Kimball household. Morning and evening the members were called in to surround the family altar and offer up praise and petitions to the Throne of Grace. It is a common remark to this day that such prayers are seldom heard as were wont to issue from the heart and lips of Heber C. Kimball. Reverence for Deity was one of the cardinal qualities of his nature. Nevertheless, it was noticeable that the God to whom he prayed was a being "near at hand and not afar off." He worshiped not as "a worm of the dust," hypocritically meek and lowly, or as one conscious of naught but the meanness of his nature, and the absence of merit in his cause. But in a spirit truly humble, confessing his sins, yet knowing something of the nobility of his soul, he talked with God "as one man talketh with another;" and often with the ease and familiarity of an old-time friend.
On one occasion, while offering up an earnest appeal in behalf of certain of his fellow-creatures, he startled the kneeling circle by bursting into a loud laugh in the very midst of his prayer. Quickly regaining his composure and solemn address, he remarked, apologetically: "Lord, it makes me laugh to pray about some people."
Heber loved his children, and was justly proud of his numerous and noble posterity. If at times he appeared stern, and was severe in his correction, it was not that he loved them less, but their welfare and salvation more. He made no compromise with sin, but nipped it in the bud, though the soil wherein it grew were the hearts of his dearest friends and relations. His greatest desire for his family was that they should be humble, virtuous and God-fearing. The riches, fashions, and even culture of the world were as nothing in his eyes, compared with honesty, morality and the treasures of eternal truth.
Nor was he morose and sullen, because thus sober-minded and religious. Mingling with his deeply earnest, profoundly solemn nature was a keen sense of humor, a continuous play of mirth, like sunlight gilding the edges of a cloud.