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About The west shore. (Portland, Or.) 1875-1891 | View Entire Issue (Feb. 1, 1889)
THE WEST SHORE. 71 " What do you mean," he asked presently, " when you say you ain't a Mormon? " " I hate it," she replied bitterly. " You can't know how I feel, but I'll tell you. When we first came here to Utah, father an' mother didn't know nothin' about plural marriage, an' when they first heerd of it they both thought 'twas dreadful; but the elders kep' talkin' to father, an' so fin'ly he give in." She shuddered at the remembrance of that time, then went on in a low, hurried tone: "That was an awful day when he told mother he was goin' to take another wifa She begged him not to, an' told him mebbe she wouldn't live long, she wasn't very strong; but 'twas no use. He said it was his duty to do it, an' hers to submit, an' when she wouldn't they degraded her an' put Marthy over her as first wife. She didn't live quite a year after that, an' I 'moat hate father when I think how he treated her. He made me stay away from her, an' said she was bad, but I'd creep into her room of nights an' we'd talk in whispers for fear they'd hear us. I told Marthy she lied once, when she said mother was a wicked woman an' sure to go to hell, an' father he took me in mother's room she was sick abed an' he whipped me till I was sick. Nex' time I saw her she was dyin'. She hadn't spoke all day. I guess they thought she was too weak to talk, or they wouldn't ha' let mo in. She put her arm 'round my neck an' whispered low for mo to promise her to never bo a Mormon, an' to git away from 'em. Then she died, but I kissed her poor face, an' promised jest as if she could know. I'd learnt enough not to tell nobody how I felt about Mormon, ism, an' I never have till now. I know I don't feel right to father, but oh, I can't never forgive him for keepin' me away from her." She burst into bitter tears that would not bo re pressed. Tom was silent, not knowing how to com fort her. " I'm a wicked girl," sho said presently, " I don't love my father, an' if I married you, an' you took an other wife, I'd hate you both. I'll keep my promiso to mother, an' I can't marry you 'less you'll bo a (Ion tile," " Clarisay," said Tom earnestly, " if you'll marry mo I'll never take another wife, W'y, I oouldn't; l'vo loved you over sinco I've knowed you." " They'd make you do it, or they'd kill you," re plied the girl sadly. " Oh, the days of tho Danitea aro over," said Tom, with youth's easy confidence " I hear they'ro going to build a railroad up through Cache, and father says if once tho railroad comes this way the MH)plo wou't bo so bogoty. The Gentiles will corao in ami every, thing will bo different then; but Clarisiy," his voice was very tender and his lips almost touched her flushed check, "you know father won't go away, he's so old now. Ho wants to die at homo, ho says, ami I promised him this time I came home I wouldn't leave him again. It's very lonely down at tho house, my dear, won't you trust mo and let mo try to make you happy." Clarissy was not mado of marble, and sho loved Tom very dearly, yet sho could not forget her moth, er's warnings. " You make it awful hard for me," sho said, lira ply, "but you know I love you, Torn," and with that ho had to bo content for tho presnnt " I've got to go down to Ogdon to-morrow," ho told her at parting, " and I may bo gone a werk or t wa Will you bo glad to seo mo whon I oorao back ? " " Wait and see," sho said demurely, and with that they parUxL Uar.i.Mxu. To ! roUtim!
