Chapter 31
CHAPTER XXXI. SHADOWS OF LIFE. The next day my husband proposed several young girls for my consideration, but I felt that it was of very little consequence to me upon whom his choice might fall. It is a custom among the Mormon married men, those at least, who make any pretensions to
doing what is right, and who wish to spare the feelings of their wives as much as the degrading system will allow, to make it appear as if the second wife were chosen by the first, and they go through the form of consulting with her as to who shall be selected. The husband will mention the names of several eligible young ladies, among whom is sure to be the one upon whom he has already set his affections.
If the wife should try to make herself agreeable by suggesting one or another of these young ladies, some objection is sure to be raised. One is too thoughtless, the relations of another are not quite so agreeable as they might be, and the temper of a third is said to be not very good. In this way, one after another is taken off the list until only one remains, the bright
particular star of whom all along the husband has been thinking. And if the wife should make any objections to this one, the husband, of course, has already answer. In most cases, her extreme youth is an excuse for anything. She will have plenty of time to learn and will be the more ready to be taught.
And once they have obtained the reluctant consent of their wives, it is astonishing how bright and cheerful these Mormon husbands become. Notwithstanding all that they have said to the contrary, it is evident that polygamy is no trial to their faith. They say that it was as great a cross to bear as to their wives, but somehow or other they
take very kindly to it. It was soon settled who should be the honoured maiden to whom my husband should pay his addresses. Her name was Belinda, and she was the daughter of the apostle Parley P. Pratt, whom I have already mentioned as coming to an untimely end in Arkansas. I of course was not expected to ask any questions or evince any curiosity respecting the girl
or my husband's relations towards her. I had given my consent. I had acted my part, or at least all the part that was expected of me. I had fulfilled my duty as a Mormon first wife when I agreed to another wife being taken, and henceforth all that transpired was, so the elders would have said, no business of
mine. Mormon domestic matters are to the Gentile looker on a perfect mystery. No one outside of Mormonism can realize the position of a wife in her husband's own house, waiting for him to bring home to her another wife. But the Mormon women understand and feel it all.
They know what it is to watch the course of a husband's courtship, and note how he progresses with his wooing, and they could, if they dared, tell the painful feelings that rankle in their breasts at such a time. Nor is the new wife much happier. The girl against whom the first wife now feels so bitterly will, in all probability, someday
be as unhappy as she is now. In due course of time, when the wooing is over and the maiden is won, she will be brought home and will have her little day of triumph until her lord and master deems it necessary to add another jewel to his crown. And then her heart will be rent, as the first wife's was, and another crushed and degraded
victim will be added to that list of suffering women who have become martyrs to the heavenly order of marriage. Intent on his wooing, the husband is, of course, particularly attentive to his personal appearance, and spares no pains to render himself attractive to the young lady whose affections he proposes to win.
Business and domestic duties, of course, give place to the more important claims of love, and everything must be sacrificed upon the altar of that blind divinity. The wife sees all this, but she is not expected to feel. She remembers the time when her husband used to find his greatest pleasure in paying to her those little endearing attentions which love demands, and finds its reward in rendering.
She remembers the time when he vowed at the altar to be faithful until death, and how often afterwards he has reiterated that vow and declared that no other woman should ever win from him a thought that would be disloyal to her. It is impossible for any man to act justly, to say nothing of acting with affection towards his wife while his thoughts and wishes are wandering towards a younger rival.
Words are uttered which in themselves perhaps are trifling, but which, under the circumstances, have a meaning bitterly cruel, and little things are done which, like the worm at the root, gnaw the heart itself and embitter the whole existence. Women whose minds are said to be strong have written and spoken much of late years in an endeavor to unsex themselves.
That men and women should be morally and socially equal? No right-minded person can for a moment doubt, but a woman never was and never will be a man. In sentiment and feeling, her mind is utterly the reverse of masculine, and no man, however refined or sensitive he may be, can ever fully understand a woman's heart.
A man may be faithfully and devotedly attached to his wife, but she can never be to him what he is to her. Every thought and affection of her soul is centered in him. He is the life of her own existence. In her eyes, he is all that is noble and good and true.
He is her idol, her love, her all. Ah, a thousand times horribly and cruelly do they sin against the holiest principles of human nature, who crush with coldness and unkindness those warm and tender sentiments of affection which in her heart a woman cherishes toward her husband. How often have I mourned in secret some careless word or cold indifferent look which my truant
husband has thoughtlessly bestowed upon me when leaving the house to visit his intended bride? Words which to him had no particular meaning, perhaps, but which pierced my heart. I knew too well that he could not love to at once. It was evident which way his thoughts were wandering, although he, like the rest of his
assured me that principle and religion, and no other motive, attracted him so often to the side of his more youthful, and of course, more pleasing companion. My husband's intended certainly was very young, almost too young for a bride she would have been considered in any other community, and I must in fairness allow that she was very handsome.
It is of the utmost importance that a Mormon girl should marry young. Women everywhere are never anxious to grow old, but among the Mormons age is especially dreaded by the women, for when years have robbed them of their personal attractions, in most cases they lose all hold upon their husband's affections, and find themselves obliged to give place to prettier and more youthful rivals.
A woman's position in the world to come, as I have before mentioned, depends, so the elders say, very much upon the number of children she has born in this. It is therefore a consideration of the very first importance that she should marry as early in life as possible, and this obligation is never for a moment overlooked by the refined and pure-minded Mormon men.
And now began the painful task of wooing the young lady. My husband told me that it was a very painful duty, and as an obedient wife I felt bound to believe him. It was, of course, no pleasure in him to pay his addresses to an interesting young girl. It was no anxiety to be with her which made him hasten away to the damsel's house of an
evening. Oh, dear no, it was pure principle, love for the kingdom of God, and a very painful task. He seemed, however, to bear it remarkably well, and manifested a zeal which was perfectly astonishing to me, considering the circumstances. In fact, I felt it my duty to restrain him a little for the sake of his health, for he
seemed so anxious to perform his task properly that he could scarcely spare time to take his meals. But regardless of his own feelings, he did not pay much attention to my suggestions. But deeply as I sympathized with my husband, there were times when I felt that mine was indeed no imaginary sorrow, and that nothing could lull the storm that had gathered in
my breast. The affliction which I had so long dreaded was now right at my door, and the most painful feelings agitated my mind. Sometimes I shut myself up in my own room and tried to reason with myself, and again I would pace the floor, and my heart overflowing with anger and indignation.
I never at that time knew what was to be happy, for I felt that I was a burden and hindrance to my husband, and I longed to die. I had loved him so devotedly that I could not even now cast him from my heart, and though I felt bitterly my position, I believed that he would not willingly wound me, and that he was acting from the purest of motives.
But it was all in vain. I could not change my nature, and my heart would rebel. The courtship was continued for months, and the end seemed as far off as ever, for on account of the youthfulness of the bride-elect, my husband wished the marriage indefinitely postponed.
It would be impossible for me to tell the thousand annoyances and indignities to which I was forced to submit, trials which might appear too trifling even to name, but which to a wife, under such circumstances, were crosses which she found it hard enough to bear. My husband knew nothing of these things, and had he done so, it is more than probable that
he would have considered it weakness in me to be troubled about matters of such small consequence. Little actions and foolish words which he would have said I ought to have treated with contempt. It was easy to say that, but not so easy to do.
Let any wife picture to herself how she would feel if, after schooling her heart to submission, after realizing that she was no longer to be first and dearest in her husband's affections, she were to be constantly hearing the friends and relations of the young girl to whom her husband was engaged, boasting of his devotion to her, and openly expressing their belief that he had never loved before.
How would any wife be pleased if, whenever her husband's intended received a valuable present from him, she were particularly informed of the fact, and a thousand little aggravating details were added to make her, if possible, more miserable? I do not know how such things would appear to a man's mind if matters were reversed, and the wife took a couple of husbands to her heart, but I have noticed that the lords
of creation are generally, and no doubt justly, sensitive enough, even if they only suspect their wives of engaging in a trifling flirtation. And I know that, however silly she may be considered for doing so, a woman in her heart feels all these things. A woman can nerve herself to endure almost anything, and outwardly she may conceal her
feelings, but there are limits beyond which endurance is not possible. A chance meeting with the girl who has superseded her and her husband's love, or worse still, should she chance to surprise the affectionate couple, tete-a-tete, is sufficient to dispel all her good resolutions and to destroy that tranquillity of mind which she finds it so difficult to preserve.
She becomes sick at heart, nervous and entirely unfitted for her duties. I have frequently heard Mormon men say that, notwithstanding their husbands had been for many years polygamists, they could never see the other wives without a feeling of anger and indignation arising in their hearts. I know that in my own case I never became reconciled to the system.
My husband was called away to the eastern states upon business, and his marriage was postponed, as I have already mentioned, to give the bride an opportunity of growing a little older first. I thought that the present would be a good time to show her some little attentions which I believed it was my duty to do.
The idea of coming in contact with her was certainly not at all pleasant, but I felt that it was only right for me to act in a friendly manner towards her, however painful it might be. She was the cause of much sorrow to me, but I could not blame her, for she had been born and brought up in the system, and of course supposed it true.
But for all that, it is utterly impossible for any woman to think complacently of another who is weaning from her, her husband's affections, however innocent that other may be of intentional wrong. Belinda was a very nice girl, and under other circumstances I believe I should have liked her very much.
I looked upon her as little more than a child, and my husband has frequently told me that he also regarded her in that light, but to me it was of small consequence that he thought of her as a child so long as he acted towards her as a woman. Now that he was away from home, there was no danger that she would meet him, so I invited her in a friendly way to call upon me.
She came and I had one or two other ladies present, for I was not like my husband in that particular. I had no anxiety to be alone with her. My effort to cultivate a friendly feeling towards her was not very successful. There was a coldness and restraint on both sides which we could not overcome, and I felt
not a little relief when the evening was over. Subsequently I renewed the attempt, but to no purpose. Her very presence in my house and among my children seemed in itself an insult to me. It was not strange that I should feel thus. Think what the feelings of any wife would be under such circumstances.
A family of children was growing up around me. Anxious for their future welfare, I surrounded them with the best influences which I could command, and my constant effort was to train them so that they should blush at everything that was not honorable and upright. I had daughters of my own, one of them quite growing up into womanhood.
Had my husband been a Gentile, and had he gone astray, his wrongdoing would not have been introduced into my home itself, nor would it have been a subject of conversation among my children. But under Mormonism, how was I situated? Why I was compelled to drain the cup of degradation to its very dregs.
The sanctity of my home itself was invaded, and I felt ashamed to think that I, wife and mother as I was, was entertaining my husband's affianced wife, a child no older than my own eldest girl, and before long she would be brought home in my presence and among my children. O detestable and unnatural desecration of the sanctity of home! O brutalizing and immoral burlesque upon religious faith!
How could I ever have deluded myself into the idea that such a profanation of all that is good could by any possibility be right? That such an outrage upon decency and propriety, such a violation of the laws of reason and religion could be pleasing in the sight of an all-pure God? During my husband's absence, my poor friend Carrie Grant had been daily growing worse
in health. I had once asked my husband if there was any truth in the rumors that I had heard of his attachment to her, but he had assured me that there was no foundation for them. Subsequently, I learned from Carrie's own lips that this was not exactly true. She said he had deceived me for the sake of sparing my feelings, but I did not appreciate
such kindness. Mormonism is full of deceptions. Men deceive their wives, and in return the wives deceive their husbands, and it is all for the sake of the Kingdom of God. Poor Carrie!
Hers was a short and unhappy life. Even her little dream of love was overclouded by disappointment. She was now constantly confined to her room, and whenever it was possible I used to call upon her and attempted to make her feel more happy and cheerful. She used to ask me to talk with her about Mormonism.
You know, she said, that I have never known any other religion, and I believe that this is right, though it does not make me happy. My father loved Mormonism so much that I feel it must be right. The fault is in my own evil nature that does not bend to the will of Heaven. One day she said to me,
I am getting worse, Sister Stenhouse, and I am glad of it, for I shall die. I am of no good here. There is nothing for me to do. If I lived, I should only cause trouble. It is better as it is.
Carrie, I said, you must not talk like that. You are still very young and probably will live for many years, and you do not know what future may lie before you? Do not blame me too much, she replied, for I am not the only unhappy girl in the city. I know many girls who are very miserable.
Married women think that they are the only ones who suffer, while we girls know that upon the face of the earth can be found such an unhappy set as we are. Why did Brickham Young keep me from going to my friends in the East? I should have been happier then. I should have felt better.
But now I want to die, and I am weary waiting for death. In this melancholy mood I found her one day when she appeared particularly sad. She had been ill then about ten months, but her loving blue eyes were just as bright as ever and I could see very little change in her except that she was not able to leave her couch without assistance, and she spoke as if it fatigued her very much.
It was quite impossible to arouse from her the state of melancholy into which she had fallen, and it seemed to me that she could not last long. I offered to take her to my house and said that I would nurse her there and take care of her, but she said she was very kindly treated by her father's family and did not wish to change.
She seemed to cling to me as if she could not bear that I should leave her, and she told me she had something on her mind that troubled her. She wanted to have a long talk with me about it. But not that day, she said. I went home that evening with tears in my eyes.
As the end was fast approaching, she one day said, I want to tell you now, Sister Stenhouse, what I spoke of before, if you are willing to listen and will not be angry with anything I say. Remember, I am dying or I never would speak to you as I am going to. I told her of my great love for her and that nothing she could say would change that love.
You do not know what I want to ask you or you would not say so, she replied. And I dread so to lose your love that I am afraid to tell you what is in my mind. But you know that I am dying and you will not be very hard with me. She was then silent for some time, as if too much fatigued to continue the conversation. No, I cannot tell you today, she said at last.
I want you to love me one day longer. I urged her not to doubt that my love towards her could never change, and told her that it was better for her to speak at once and relieve her mind. She took my hand and looked long and tenderly at me and then she said, I will tell you all, if your love can stand that test, then indeed you do love me.
I encouraged her and she began, Would you hate me if I told you that I loved your husband? No, I replied, I would not hate you, Carrie. I said no more, for it seemed to me that it would be wrong of me to tell her of my suspicions and all that I had suffered at the thought that my husband had conceived an affection for her.
Can you possibly answer me as calmly as that, she said? I thought that the very mention of such a thing would almost kill you, for I saw how much you loved your husband, and ah, how I have suffered at the thought of telling you. But that is not all that I wanted to say, or I need never have spoken to you at all. I wanted to ask you to do me one last kindness, and then I think I shall die happy.
You know that we have been taught that polygamy is absolutely necessary to salvation, and if I were to die without being sealed to some man, I could not possibly enter the celestial kingdom. My friends wish me to be sealed to one of the authorities of the church, but I cannot bear the idea of being sealed to a man whom I do not love.
I love your husband, and I want you to promise that I shall be sealed to him. If I had thought that I should recover, I never would have let you know this, for I would not live to give you sorrow. But when I am gone, will you kneel by your husband's side in the endowment house and be married to him for me?
Will it pain you much to do that for me, Sister Stanhouse? I felt so strangely as I listened to all this that I could not utter a single word. And she continued, We shall then be together in eternity. And I am happy at the thought of that, for I think I love you even better than I love him.
And then I believe we shall have overcome all our earthly feelings, and shall be prepared to live that celestial law. And perhaps we may prefer it, for no doubt we shall know no unhappiness there. The exertion of talking seemed to be too much for her, and she remained silent for some time.
I felt ashamed that I had allowed my feelings to influence me at such a moment, for while she was speaking I had allowed my thoughts to travel back over the past year, and now that she admitted her love for my husband, very many circumstances came painfully to my recollection, and confirmed all that she said. I resolved, however, not to question her, but to allow her to tell me just what she
pleased. So I knelt down by her side and whispered into her ear a solemn promise that I would do all that she desired. Poor girl, how I felt for her! When I had given her this pledge she appeared much relieved, and told me freely all that
had passed between my husband and herself, and she said she had left my house simply because she could not endure to cause me any sorrow. I told her of my husband's contemplated marriage with Belinda Pratt, and she appeared a good deal troubled at that. Let me be second, she said, for then I shall feel that I am nearer to you, and I want you
always to think that when you die, if I have the power, I shall be the first to meet you, and take you by the hand. 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 connection with my husband must be painful to me, occurred to her mind and she begged me to forgive her for her carelessness.
No, she said, 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 practice 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. I am afraid, she said, that after all he never loved me. He pitied my lonely situation and was so kind and good to me that I learned to love him, and those meddlesome sisters tried to get him to marry me, but I would not be false
to you. Then we both thought it was best not to tell you, as it would make you grieve, although it could never take place. Even now had I not known that I was dying I would never have told you, but you will not love me less when you think of me after I am gone.
I told her that my affection for her would never change, and I talked with her and tried to soothe her dying moments and tried to make her feel less lonely, and thus the morning passed away. In the afternoon she was silent and apparently unconscious, and before another day dawn she had passed away to her rest.
