h.lliitMlflMUlli 
 

 (fimmll Hmrmitg Jitat:g 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 
 'f 
 
 t M If-?' 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tinis book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022499051 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PS 2368.M34P7 
 
 Plural marriage :the heart-history of Ad 
 
 3 1924 022 499 051 
 
PLURHL MSRRffiGE: 
 
 THE HEART-HISTOip OF /DELE HE^SCH, 
 
 vR'nuJlu. VBRONIQUE ^ETItJ Qh^dt -J Urk 
 
 ITHACA, N Y. 
 E. D. NORTON, PRINTJIR. 
 
/cornellX 
 
 UNIVERSITY'; 
 \ UBRARVy 
 
 Entered according to act of Congress in the year 1885, by 
 
 A. VERONIQUE PETIT, 
 
 In the Office 0/ the Librarian of Congress^ at Washington^ D, C. 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 Published to Aid the Work of the woman-s National Anti-Polygamy 
 Society. 
 
DED1C;\TI0I\I. 
 
 TO my Sisters, the worrieq of all laqds, wf]o have wept, 
 who have suffered ; w\]o appreciate tl^e agony of 
 heart-wour^ds ; and to the Congress of our beloved cour]- 
 try, wfjo caq decree that thjis cringe agaiqst won|anhood 
 shall cease, tf|is story of tkie grief of son^e of God's little 
 oqes is subnqitted. 
 
Words of Commendation from Eminent Women. 
 
 Mrs. Julia Ward Howe, at Iter home in Boston, said to the 
 author : 
 " Your thoughts are valuable and just. Go forward and de- 
 serve success." 
 
 Mrs. Nevibery, daughter of Hon. Andrew D. White, and wife 
 of Prof. Newbery, of OorneU University, writes : 
 Your missionary story is admirably calculated to do much 
 good. C. W. Newbery. 
 
 From the author of " George Elliott's Poetry and Other 
 
 * * * Your story impresses me favorably, and as 
 
 calculated to do good. Very Truly Yours, 
 
 R. B. Cleveland. 
 
 Mrs. Prof. Jones, President of Woman's Christian Union, of 
 Ithaca, N. Y., says: 
 * * * Your subject interests me deeply, and your story 
 must please the public. 
 
 The Secretary of the Home Missionary Society of Perm Tan, 
 N. 7. — wife of Hon. S. Ay res — writes of the worh : 
 
 Yours is surely a timely efEort, and will receive recognition, 
 though it may be tardily. Sincerely Yours, 
 
 Louise B. Aybes. 
 
 From the Pres. of the Moral Education Society, Boston, Mass. : 
 
 155 BoYLESTON St., Boston. 
 Dear Miss Petit :— 
 
 Thank you for the pages from your romance which you send 
 me. I was very glad to see them. I recognize the importance 
 of your subject, and the value of your words upon it. 
 
 Yours truly, Kate Gannett Wells. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 T N view of the action of the Mormon authorities who, last 
 Fourth of July, hung the proud flag of our country at half- 
 mast, during that day of national rejoicing, we may say to our 
 National Legislature, "You have scotched the snake, not killed 
 it," and it may yet sting you vitally ; for these Mormons swear 
 in the Endowment House "To obey the laws of the Mormon 
 church, and all they enjoin, in preference to those of the United 
 States." 
 
 The strength of this people would be materially lessened if 
 our immigration laws were so amended as to cut ofE this great 
 influx of the ignorant, almost pauper, emigrants of the old 
 world. Let "America be henceforth for Americans." The 
 struggle for bread, for life, is becoming too severe here, since 
 the country has become so filled with adult aliens from abroad. 
 We need the room — shut down the gates ! 
 
PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 (( IfOU are very kind, Doctor, to climb, so often, these 
 
 I tedious flights of stairs, with food and medicine 
 
 for a friendless man. Death is comi-ng to relieve 
 
 you. For months I have not been able to work, and 
 
 my money is gone." 
 
 " Yonder writing-desk was Adze's ; that and the en- 
 closed manuscript is now yours ; publish it if possible ; 
 the world may need the story." 
 
 " I was a Mormon — am now an apostate. I have 
 wandered through country, village and city, till, crushed 
 and penniless, I die to fill a nameless grave. Ah, 
 Adele ! thy wrongs are avenged in me ! Doctor ! 
 God ! " 
 
 And, with outstretched hand, my first patient, Fred- 
 eric Hersch, dropped into the Infinite. 
 
 Though myself a son of poverty, Hersch was buried 
 plainly in Greenwood, and the prayers of the Anglican 
 Church were read above him — myself being minister 
 and mourner ; the undertaker and his assistant com- 
 pleted the funeral train. Here and there, out of door 
 or window of the old tenant house, was thrust the head 
 of some wild tangle-haired woman or child, as the dead 
 
8 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 was borne down the stairway ; none other took note of 
 " the pauper whom nobody owned." 
 
 At evening, returned to my plain, bachelor room, I 
 sat down to examine my legacy — " Adele's writing- 
 desk." It was a simple, ebony box, containing a man- 
 uscript, a journal, and letters written in French, from 
 which the manuscript had evidently been compiled. 
 " Adele's diary— Adele's letter ! " Who was Adele ? 
 
 Whoever reads these pages will learn all I know ; 
 they were printed verbatim from the Hersch manu- 
 script. 
 
 ist September — Geneva, Switzerland. 
 To-day I am sixteen years old, and " can no longer 
 think myself a child," my little mother — my good little 
 mother says. To improve myself, I am to keep a jour- 
 nal, as she has done for many years. She has allowed 
 me to read many pages of her writing, that I may form 
 an idea of what to write. Her book is most neat ; 
 mine will be marred and ink-stained. I am not careful- 
 fingered, like my wee mother — so neat, so spotless is 
 she. Surely, her soul is white, snow-pure. I am young, 
 and have done nothing very naughty yet. She says I 
 must pray always to God to keep me from thoughts 
 and sins black and hateful. 
 
 Home, Quartier Saint Gervais. 
 What can I write in this book ? No thoughts worth 
 keeping come to me. To-day papa showed us where 
 the fortifications stood, which were made in 1750 — 
 more than a hundred years ago. New streets and 
 houses have been built upon the ground. Only the 
 
DEAR SWITZERLAND. 9 
 
 southern portion of the ramparts was left for a prom- 
 enade. 
 
 How beautiful is our river Rhone ! It looked so 
 bright this morning. How much we ought to love so 
 fine a stream. When I read about flat lands or desert 
 countries, I am glad that Switzerland, with its lakes and 
 mountains, is my home. Papa's watch-making is such 
 a pleasant business, and Mamma and the little sisters 
 are such dear ones. It would be sweet, though, to have 
 a fine brother, like Louis Padoux ; but Mamma tells 
 me, "all blessings do not come to any one." 
 
 She says, " my mind must be cultivated by see- 
 ing and studying our surroundings, since-they can no 
 longer aff6rd me teachers." And she plans visits about 
 the city, to see places and objects that people come 
 from far lands to visit. To-day we have been to the 
 Cathedral Church of St. Pierre. It contains many 
 tombs. The pulpit is the one from which Calvin 
 preached ; it is the true, very pulpit. Then we went 
 to a public library, founded by him ; then visited a 
 house where he lived twenty-one years. Mamma 
 seemed to think it a great thing to walk where the foot- 
 steps of this man had been. Mamma and Papa talk 
 very much about Calvin and Voltaire, and their teach- 
 ings ; and also about a new sect which a man named 
 Smith has founded in America, across the great sea. 
 Papa says the missionary, who is here from that coun- 
 try, preaches about a new revelation from God, printed 
 on gold'plates ; and he tells of a new city these people, 
 who are called " the Saints," have built amid a desert 
 where nothing would grow ; but God, for their sake, 
 has blessed the land, and taught them how to work it, 
 until all blossoms like a garden. 
 
10 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 Papa had a holiday, and took Mamma and I to Fer- 
 net, over'in beautiful France. We visited the chateau 
 where Voltaire lived. I did not care for anything but 
 the landscape. The village of Fernet is in full view of 
 Mont Blanc, and the lake. The loveliness of every- 
 thing so filled my heart that many times the tears were 
 on my cheeks for very delight. When returning, the 
 driver stopped upon the road, that we might gaze at 
 Mnot Blanc. With its mysterious charm and solid 
 wonderfulness, it looms above and amid the clouds ; 
 sometimes hung in blue, gray, or black curtains of mist, 
 sometimes shining out white and awful in the sunlight. 
 
 Mamma puzzles me greatly. She gazes out upon the 
 lake or mountain with such wistful eyes, and often I 
 hear her murmur, " My dear Switzerland ! can I ever 
 love any other land as I love thee ? Beloved moun- 
 tains ! must I then bid thee adieu forever ? " She looks 
 so sad and strange, I dare not ask what grieves her. 
 Often I wake at night, weeping with dread lest my 
 blessed mother may be taken away and locked up white 
 and still in the dark earth, and I pray that God will 
 spare her to my father and the wee children, taking me 
 instead. 
 
 She seems anxious to have me go everywhere to see 
 all I can. She says often, " Look out, Adele, upon the 
 water and the mountains every hour ; you may never 
 see such light and shade, such glory in amy other land- 
 scapes. Perhaps you may go away to some distant 
 country to live ; we know not the future, so fill your 
 soul with these fair visions." 
 
 This troubles me. Papa never stops at home even- 
 ings, as he used to do. To-morrow I am to go to 
 Uncle Pierre, at Chamouni, to stay a week. Mamma 
 says, " Look at all, Adele ; remember all, darling." 
 
DEAR SWITZaRLAND. 11 
 
 At Uncle Pierre's, Chamouni, [ 
 2oth September. ) 
 
 Yesterday I came home with my cousin Martin, who 
 has been visiting us at Geneva. We rode in the diH- 
 gence ; I cared not for the rough road, but gave eyes 
 and mind to the wonderful scenery. We drove along 
 the river Arve, which rushes, clatters, roars, through 
 the Chamouni valley, swift as thought, or the fantasm 
 of a dream. 
 
 At St. Martin we had a fine view of Mont Blanc. I 
 understand now my mother's worship of the mountain. 
 " From whence cometh our help ? " she often murmurs, 
 looking upon their snowy peaks. Every step from St, 
 Martin to Chamouni was filled with grand scenes. 
 There was the plunging, flying river ; then frightful 
 chasms, down, down so fearful far ; then the gray, 
 glistening, fantastic glaciers, and Mont Blanc, would 
 appear in lofty stillness, standing white, silent, yet 
 sending deep thoughts into the heart. 
 
 To-day Cousin Martin, who is a guide, took me across 
 the Mer de Glace, that wide stream of ice and snow 
 which slides from the heights down into the valley of 
 Chamouni. Though seeming motionless, it is always 
 slowly advancing. It takes only about forty minutes 
 to cross, yet one seems to have lived months, and to 
 look back upon the past life as across some great period. 
 This strange glacier is like a long lake, storm-tossed, 
 with high running waves suddenly frozen, as if a voice 
 had whispered, " Peace, be still," and, at the word, it 
 had congealed. 
 
 We climbed up and down icy billows, often spring- 
 ing across crevices open two or three hundred feet 
 deep. Where the pressure had forced the ice together 
 
13 PLURA.L MARRIAGE. 
 
 and upward, strange ice-forms of witches and hobgob- 
 lins, nuns, giants and castles appear ; it was a wonder- 
 ful experience. Before we went out, a party started to 
 ascend Mont Blanc ; my aunt took me where we could 
 see them slowly climbing to the summit, going up, up, 
 sometimes hidden by rocks and snow-masses,, then again 
 conyng into view, when everybody would count the 
 company, to be sure none had gone down forever, 
 crashing lifeless over some precipice. It was very ex- 
 citing. 
 
 Chamouni. 
 
 To-morrow Uncle Pierre will take me home. We 
 have just returned from St. Bernard. We went over to 
 Cousin Marie's, at Martigny ; from there we visited the 
 Hospice of St Bernard. The ground floor of the con- 
 vent has stables and store rooms ; above are drawing 
 room and sleeping rooms. There is a cabinet of insects 
 and minerals ; among the strange antique things are 
 some relics from a temple of Jupiter which once stood 
 here. 
 
 There is also a little church, with a monument to 
 General Desaix. It is told that Napoleon said to the 
 dying man, "I will give you the Alps for your monu- 
 ment ! You shall rest in the church of St. Bernard." 
 
 Another day we went to a place called Aosta. Uncle 
 took me there because the place was so ancient. It 
 has many relics of olden times. It is three thousand 
 years old. 
 
 QuARTiER St. Gervais. 
 How good it seems to be at home in dear old Ge- 
 neva ! How sweet to have my mother put her arms 
 
DEAR SWITZERLAND. 13 
 
 about me, and call me " Golden Hair," my childhood's 
 pet name. Yet my visit was delightful ; was, in every 
 respect, satisfying. I saw and felt so much that I seem 
 to myself to be older than when I went away. All 
 regard me as really grown, now that I am so tall. 
 Aunt Marie said, "You are a well-formed comely 
 maiden." She made me blush with pleasure at her 
 kind praise. 
 
 To my surprise. Papa has engaged a young Ameri- 
 can, named John Brent, to give us lessons in reading 
 and speaking English. Mamma will not think of learn- 
 ing one word with us ; she cries always ; goes out to 
 the neighbors, or into another room that she may not 
 hear us. 
 
 " No, no ; my own mother's beautiful French is 
 enough for me. I will not learn that rough speech," 
 she say?, when we would persuade her to join us, for 
 she learns so quickly. 
 
 Papa frowns, but the teacher says, pleasantly, " Do 
 not tease the mother." Only Papa and I take regular 
 lessons, though Louise and the little sister, Marie — 
 "Bramble," as we call Ijer, because of her wild, sweet 
 ways, that are often thorny, too — are learning many 
 words. 
 
 QuARTiER St. Gervais. 
 
 Our happy home is happy no longer ; such dark- 
 ness, such gloom is gathering over us. Mamma is 
 always weeping, sighing, or praying in a way that breaks 
 my heart. Papa is seldom at home, except at meals 
 and English lessons. Whenever he is here, he is por- 
 ing over maps, or wrapped in silent thought. 
 
 To-day, when I walked out to come home with the 
 
14 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 girls from school, I met Mr. John Brent, with his adopt- 
 ed father, whom he. was wheeling in an invalid chair. 
 He introduced me, adding : " She is the daughter of 
 the watchmaker, Le Brun, of whom I told you." 
 
 " Ah, poor, dear child ! " exclaimed the father, " are 
 you, then, become a Mormon, too ? " 
 
 I said quickly, " Indeed, sir, I do not understand 
 you. Please say to me what a Mormon is ? That is a 
 word I have not heard ; I know little English." 
 
 Then Mr. John Brent replied : " Mormon is the 
 name of a religious sect in America ; your father tells 
 me he has joined them." 
 
 "O, then," I cried, "that is what makes Mamma 
 weep so much ! Are they very strange or wicked that 
 it grieves her thus ? But it can not be they are wicked, 
 for Papa would not join wicked people ! " 
 
 Mr. Brent said : " They probably do not intend 
 wrong, but they are very strange." 
 
 " How are they strange ? " I asked. 
 
 "Oh, they insist upon the convert giving up their 
 homes, and going to a place they have in America, 
 called Salt Lake, and living there. I do not know very 
 much about them. Your Papa can tell you more than 
 I — ask him." 
 
 " Then we must all go away to this distant land, this 
 Salt Lake ? What a horrid name ! Do you live near ? 
 Can you tell me about it exactly ? " 
 
 "No," he said, "I cannot describe the place ; it is 
 very far West. We live in Boston, a city on the east 
 coast of America. Salt Lake is nearly three thousand 
 miles from us." 
 
 "Oh, how far ! " I cried in terror, "and it is three 
 thousand miles across that great Atlantic ! How far 
 
DEAR SWITZERLAND. 15 
 
 from our Geneva — our Switzerland ! We must not go ; 
 it would kill Mamma. You must tell Papa we must 
 not go. You must tell him how far, how fearful far it 
 is." 
 
 I burst into tears as the children came, hand in hand. 
 Bramble, seeing me weeping, Mr. John Brent looking 
 deeply grieved, and the sick father with tears in his 
 aged eyes, glanced from one to the other in surprise ; 
 then running to the old man's chair, she threw her arms 
 about his neck and kissed his brow and cheeks : " There, 
 sick man," she said, " now you must get well, then all 
 will smile and be happy.'' 
 
 Poor child ! she did not think the tears were all for 
 us ; that we were the wretched ones. I dried my eyes 
 while answering their cheerful chat. This grief must 
 not darken their young lives. It is a trial that perhaps 
 will pass by. My Testament says, "All must be tried 
 and tempted, and they are blessed who resist tempta- 
 tion, coming purified from trial." Perhaps Papa has 
 not really joined these Mormons. Perhaps he is only 
 looking into their doctrines, because he believes in 
 "trying all things whether they be of God." 
 
 Home, 30th October. 
 
 Yester evening, Mamma went away, as usual, while 
 we had our English lesson. Afterward, when " Bram- 
 ble " was tucked in bed, Louise went out to come home 
 with Mamma, then I asked Papa, abruptly, " Do you 
 believe anything these Mormon's tell ? " 
 
 Papa looked startled, then pleased, as he answered, 
 "Yes, Adele. For some weeks I have wished to talk 
 with your mother and you on this subject, but she has 
 taken such a wild prejudice against these people, I can 
 
16 PLUKAL MARKIAGE. 
 
 explain nothing to her. Will you go to the meetings 
 and hear for yourself ? " 
 
 " No ! Mamma is my guide," I said. " I believe 
 in her God and the Christ of the New Testament. A 
 pure heart and life, with longing for a higher life, will 
 keep us here and hereafter. That is her belief and my 
 belief, and she says we already have light and revela- 
 tion to guide us to a home in Heaven. My mother's 
 religion is my religion." 
 
 Papa looked astonished at my words. He thinks me 
 yet a child. Turning to Mr. Brent, he asked : " Has 
 not a father, a husband, the right to choose the religion 
 of his family ? " 
 
 Mr. Brent smiled sadly, not seeming to notice Papa's 
 question, saying only in English, " Good night ! " then 
 walked away to his hotel. 
 
 After a long silence, my father said, sternly, " Adele, 
 you are old enough to have reason. If you would at- 
 tend our meetings, you would learn that you have not 
 the highest truth. But your mother, with her endless 
 weeping, shall not keep me from duty. I can judge of 
 truth as well as a child of sixteen, and a woman blindly 
 following her fathers.'' 
 
 " This religion must be good. Twice driven by hos- 
 tile feeling from their homes, these people have gone 
 thousands of miles into the desert, and God, for them, 
 has made the wilderness blossom and bear fruit." 
 
 " They constantly increase in numbers. They have 
 a new revelation from Heaven. Their leader, an un- 
 learned man, has translated, from golden plates mirac- 
 ulously found buried, a volume as powerful as your 
 wonderful Bible. It is full of great histories and proph- 
 
DEAR SWITZERLAND. 17 
 
 " It would be wrong not to take my family and cast 
 my lot with these saints in America. My business is- 
 arranged, the household furniture sold ; in three days 
 we leave for Paris. You can tell your mother.'' 
 
 " O, Papa ! " said I, reaching out my hands toward 
 him ; then the light faded. When next I remember, 
 Louise was taking off my slippers and Mamma was 
 chafing my hands. Throwing 'my arms wildly about 
 her neck, I sobbed out my grief in a few words, crying, 
 "O, Mamma, Mamma, we are to go away, away ! " 
 
 " Whither ? " she asked. 
 
 "To America." Without a word to me, she fell 
 upon her knees, praying God -to save us from this hor- 
 ror — to take us in any way, full of pain and agony, out 
 of the world — only to take us together, and swiftly. 
 
 Papa left the house. The lamp flickered and went 
 out. Louise threw herself, sobbing, upon the bed — 
 still sobbing after she had fallen asleep. Mamma, 
 kneeling, prayed until she could no longer speak aloud ; 
 then still she whispered, " O, God, spare Thy servant ! 
 Spare us, dear Lord ! Have mercy upon Thy little 
 children, O, God ! Thy helpless little children who cry 
 unto Thee ! Thou Christ who hast sufTered, intercede 
 for us ! " 
 
 After words failed her, she still knelt, moaning. Ut- 
 terly exhausted, spite of our grief, I fell asleep. Some 
 hours later I wakened to find my mother yet kneeling 
 beside me, holding a small silver crucifix that had be- 
 longed to my Catholic grand-mother. With face death- 
 white and fixed eyes, she was repeating again, and yet 
 again, " The cross, the cross, the gall, the thorns." 
 
 Awe-stricken by her solemn manner, I at first kept 
 silent, then only whispered, " Mamma ! " 
 
18 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 She turned, thrust the crucifix into my fingers, closed 
 them over it, exclaiming, " Take the cross, Adele ! " 
 Then, wakening Louise, she gave it in the same way to 
 her. Louise burst into tears as she took the sacred 
 emblem. Mamma seemed not to heed her tears, but 
 rousing Marie, she cried out very loud, " Thou, too, 
 take the cross ! " 
 
 Bramble, with her yellow curls hanging like a golden 
 halo round her face, said, smiling, " Why, Mamma, am 
 I to be a Catholic, like Dora Gothard ? Then I must 
 kiss the cross ! Mamma, we must love the cross ! " 
 And, taking it gently into her two chubby hands, she 
 reverently pressed it to her lips. 
 
 Mamma wept aloud, crying, " The babes shall teach 
 us ! I have not kissed the cross ! and I must receive, 
 must kiss this cross ! " She threw herself upon the bed 
 beside me. Louise and I silently chafed her hands 
 and kissed her forehead. 
 
 After a few moments, she said, " Go to Marie, my 
 Louise, and sleep again. Cover me, Adele ; fold thy 
 arms around me — I will sleep." 
 
 " O, Mamma," I pleaded, " do not grieve thus. We 
 shall all be together, and we will carry Switzerland in 
 our hearts." 
 
 " My dear comfort, my child ; I thank thee, God, I 
 thank thee for my children," she fervently murmured, 
 and, with the crucifix to her lips, she slept. Then I, 
 too, dropped into forgetfulness. 
 
 Morning had nearly reached midday when I wakened. 
 Softly creeping out, I lighted the fire and prepared 
 breakfast. It was noon when we gathered at the table. 
 My father came in looking pale and weary ; all wore 
 an air of constraint, though no word was spoken of the 
 unhappy night. 
 
GAY PARIS. 19 
 
 There will be no farther protest against my father's 
 way. Mamma seems very gentle, like a person deso- 
 lated by the death of one beloved. We feel a tender 
 awe in her presence. 
 
 Rue de Bordeaux, Paris, France. 
 
 Dear Switzerland, with its mountains and glens, has 
 been left behind us, far from this strange, glittering 
 city. Living, as we now do,' in a tenant house, where 
 there are many people, up many flights of stairs, our 
 old life looks so peaceful and beautiful, it is not strange 
 that Mamma seems like a transplanted flower, wither- 
 ing without air or water. 
 
 We left Geneva the third day after that never-to-be- 
 forgotten night. Mr. Brent, and even the invalid 
 father, went to Papa, entreating him not to take us 
 from our home ; to be content ; believe what he must, 
 but stay in his native land. But Papa said, " Duty 
 called him ; if we saved our souls through sacrifice, 
 was not that everything ? When we received the new 
 truths, as we certainly would, into our hearts, would we 
 not thank and bless him for taking us to dwell among 
 a truly devout and chosen people of God ? " 
 
 All our friends came and took some piece of furni- 
 ture for remembrance, and all gave farewell as if look- 
 ing their last into our dead faces laid in our coffins. 
 It was fearful. For Mamma's sake, I would not sob, 
 but tears rained down my face. Poor Mamma never 
 wept ; when she seemed almost overcome, she would 
 take out Grand-mamma's cross, which she wears now 
 about her neck, look fixedly upon it a moment, then 
 resume her marble calmness. Had it lasted another 
 day I should have gone mad. Louise and Marie some- 
 
20 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 times wept, sometimes smiled ; they do not understand 
 clearly. 
 
 Papa looked stern but pallid, saying often, " We 
 must not put country, home and friends above our 
 God in our affections, but ready, willing to sacrifice all, 
 go forth naked and homeless at his command." 
 
 O, how I pray that he may be right. We ought to 
 give all for Christ, who so loved us ; but would not the 
 good God care for us in Switzerland as well as in that 
 strange city ? Papa calls that new land Deseret, a name 
 which, he says, means " flowing with milk and honey." 
 Since God brought us into life in Switzerland, is it not 
 there our life-work might be found ? 
 
 Papa says we shall learn so much ; that travel un- 
 folds the mind and kills prejudice. But Solomon says, 
 "increase of knowledge is increase of sorrow." Alas, 
 I know not what to think ! I love my mother's Bible 
 and my mother's way, yet I would be at peace with my 
 father ; but I do not love this book of Mormon that he 
 calls his bible. The only best things in it are from the 
 real Bible. 
 
 Rue de Bordeaux. 
 
 We do not know how long we may stay in Paris. 
 The Mormon missionaries are gathering converts from 
 many European lands ; all are to meet in London 
 when notified. We remain here because Papa can get 
 work ; besides it is more natural for us to be among 
 French-speaking people. Mamma has met some pleas- 
 ant Swiss women, who can cheer her somewhat. The 
 little sisters do not attend school. 
 
 Papa and I go twice a week to take English reading 
 of an American artist, who kindly instructs us, then I 
 
GAY PARIS. 21 
 
 teach my sisters. Mamma does not object, because 
 she understands that it will be better for us to know 
 the language of the land to which we are going. We 
 live very frugal. Papa says he must count every franc, 
 as he knows not how long it will be until he is settled. 
 If he were to remain in Paris he could have a fixed sit- 
 uation ; but as he cannot learn when they will send for 
 us to join the main company, he can only secure work 
 from day to day. 
 
 Mamma takes me whenever she goes to market or 
 shopping. "Thou must learn," she says, "to know 
 the good from the bad, the cheap from the dear, in 
 food and dress, because thou wilt not always have me. 
 Thou wilt wed some day ; every wife must know how 
 to use the money the husband earns, so there be no 
 waste. Or, perhaps I may die before we reach this 
 long journey's end, then thou wilt need this knowledge 
 to care for thy sisters and the father. It is well to 
 learn books and poetry — the grand thoughts of good 
 souls who have trodden rough ways of life before us. 
 But noble words will not feed us, nor will grand pic- 
 tures clothe us ; they are as useless for that as our 
 mountain mists — even thy mists, O, beloved Mont 
 Blanc ! " 
 
 I try to learn all household duties and sewing thor- 
 oughly ; yet dearly I love to read, and can procure 
 more books here than at Geneva. Papa often disap- 
 proves, saying, " Too many romances, too much poetry, 
 Adele, makes the heart too soft, the sensibilities too 
 keen. Life, real life, is earnest, hard, stern. Thou 
 must gird thyself for a battle, child, a true battle ; it is 
 not a mere spectacle, a tournament. There is poverty, 
 grinding labor and sin, fierce, hateful sin in this world, 
 
33 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 and thou must meet it. Mother and father cannot 
 always shield thee." This talk makes me knov/ my 
 childhood is gone, never to come back. 
 
 Paris. 
 
 The magnificence of the palaces and boulevards here 
 seems like the stories of fairy architecture. I can scarce 
 believe that all we see is the work of men's hands, from 
 the inner promptings of their taste and knowledge. It 
 seems to me supernatural aid must have been given in 
 rearing such immense marble buildings, such churches 
 and cathedrals. 
 
 We go out every day and walk for hours, visiting 
 museums, picture galleries, parks and churches. Mam- 
 ma seems determined that we shall see and understand, 
 as far as possible, all that is around us. She says : 
 " We must know the world, what is in it, and who, that 
 we may judge of all wisely ; we must learn to realize 
 that any thing man-made, however glorious seeming, is 
 not comparable for beauty and grandeur to God's rocks, 
 forests, mountains, and over-arching sky, with its shin- 
 ing world-lamps." 
 
 She reminds us constantly that we must not grow 
 self-confident, world-wise, because we see and learn 
 much, but that we must every day listen to the heart- 
 voice speaking within, urging us to do the right, to 
 avoid the wrong. Or, if we have fallen into error, we 
 must hasten to repent, seeking by prayer for purity of 
 heart, for spirit-aid to keep us from the temptations of 
 life. These, she tells us, come from love of selfish ease, 
 from love of glittering, man-made toys. 
 
 She tells us most great pictures were painted by men 
 who toiled in ^arrets. DOor and sorrowful : that nalarpc 
 
DARK LONDON. 33 
 
 were built by men working only for bread enough to 
 keep them from starvation ; that cathedrals of great 
 size and cost were reared while women and children 
 were starving in the shadows of their walls ; that in this 
 city, horrors and crimes are every day enacted which 
 would make us shudder with terror ; that snares for 
 the young and unwary lurk everywhere, and we must 
 not believe all are happy and gay as they look, for 
 almost all the world go masked, hiding from every 
 heart great part of the false, wicked, or sad, torturing 
 thoughts which fill their minds ; we must remember 
 that all earth's shows are but shows, passing away for- 
 ever. 
 
 London. 
 
 Many sad days have gone since last I wrote in my 
 journal. An order came for Papa to come hither, as 
 the company was almost ready to start for America. 
 The last hope seemed to depart from us in leaving 
 Paris. Louise and Bramble wept afresh. Mamma 
 kissed her cross often, but silently prepared to go. 
 She seemed no longer our sweet, serene mother, but 
 rather like a sad-faced nun, who had lost all joy, and 
 often, almost like some solemn priest preparing a sac- 
 rifice. 
 
 Sometimes I whispered to myself, so Abraham, spite 
 of his faith, must have looked when he had bound his 
 beloved son upon the altar of wood, and drawn forth 
 his knife to slay. Mamma feels as if they were sacri- 
 ficing us. Often I hear her pray in the night, " Spare 
 these little children, O, God ! Save these helpless ones 
 from this delusion. Shield their souls, O, Christ ! " 
 
 The friends we made in Paris came to bid us adieu, 
 with tears, good wishes and blessings. Then we went 
 
34 PLURAL MAKRIAGE. 
 
 to Havre to embark. It was a dismal journey. When 
 we reached London we were very, very tired ; a cold, 
 slow rain was falling, the gas burned dimly, in a strug- 
 gling way ; there was fog, and we seemed to have 
 entered some cavern, weird and strange. We walked 
 to a hotel in a narrow, dim street, dingy and damp. 
 Everybody spoke the gruff, English tongue, in the 
 gruffest tones ; all were very uncomfortable. Louise 
 and Bramble cried silently. I tried to be cheerful for 
 Mamma's sake, but the hot tears would overcome me, 
 flowing down my cheeks ; yet I would not sob, but 
 talked about every trifle to keep a little heart. 
 
 Papa ordered a fire upon the hearth ; that cheered 
 us somewhat. We took some supper and retired. 
 Papa went away to find out the day we were to go to 
 Liverpool. The children and I fell asleep. I was 
 wakened by Mamma praying aloud. " O, Mamma," I 
 cried, "if thou wouldst not pray so much it would be 
 easier for thee — please go to bed and sleep." 
 
 " My child," was her reply, " thou knowest not what 
 thou sayest. It is only by prayer, by the help God 
 gives me spiritually, that I retain my mind. I should 
 go mad did I not have the help that prayer gives. My 
 heart is broken. I loved my Switzerland, my ancestor's 
 graves, the rocks and the mountains, as I love ray 
 children, my husband. If I could only feel that it was 
 God who tore me away, instead of the madness of man, 
 then I might find relief. 
 
 " I know, through my intellect, that God makes even 
 the wrath of man_ to serve Him, to forward His pur- 
 poses ; but I cannot make my heart yield to His will 
 in this journeying to a foreign land. I cannot bear 
 that my husband should be led away by this delusion. 
 
DARK LONDON. 25 
 
 I must become reconciled, or lose my reason ; hence I 
 pray constantly. Sometimes I must pray aloud, or 
 shriek — I know not what. Thou must bear with me, 
 Adele, as if I were the child." 
 
 She had come to my bedside, and was kneeling be- 
 side me. I folded my arms about her, sobbing : " My 
 dear, little Mamma, ; forgive me ! I do wish to help 
 thee bear this grief. God will be with us upon the sea 
 as upon the land ; in distant America as in the Switzer 
 home. Thy religion shall be mine, and together .we 
 can keep the children in our faith. The same sky will 
 be above us ; the same sun and stars will shine there ; 
 grass and flowers will grow there, and there are moun- 
 tains in that Western land, and Swiss and French peo- 
 ple. Heaven is just as near to America as to Europe. 
 An old French priest told me, one day, that heaven 
 was, or might be, in our souls, if we gave God and 
 Christ the first place in our affections. Canst thou not 
 take comfort from this thought ? It has helped me 
 much." 
 
 For the first time in months. Mamma burst into tears, 
 sobbing, "Yes, it is true ; God's sunlight and sky will 
 be there, and the cruci^ed Savior." 
 
 "No, Mamma," I said, "not the dead Christ, but 
 the living, loving Christ, risen from the dead, able to 
 help us in every trial. Thou must not say the dead 
 Christ." 
 
 Fervently embracing me, Mamma went away to her 
 own bed. Since that hour something almost like 
 cheerfulness has come back to her face. She goes 
 out with us every day from our lodgings, in a strange, 
 dark garret, to see the churches and parks ; often we 
 go to museums and picture galleries. But everywhere 
 is gloom, soot — I hate it ! 
 
26 PLURAL MA.RRIAGB. 
 
 To-day, Mamma said, in a kind of agony, " Will 
 America be dark, like this, Adele ? " 
 
 " O, no," I replied, quickly. " Mr. Brent said the 
 sun was bright in America, and there were many beau- 
 tiful lakes, waterfalls and rivers, flower-strewn prairies 
 and wild glens, with rocky cascades." 
 
 "Thank God ! " she murmured. "Would we could 
 go at once. London is like a tomb ; like everything 
 dark, dismal, hideous." 
 
 A few hours later, Papa brought word that we start 
 in two days for Liverpool. We all cried out, " How 
 glad news!" Papa was surprised. "I thought you 
 would weep again," he said. 
 
 "We are glad to go from London," Louise replied. 
 " It is so big, so close, so dark ; there are so many 
 drunken men and women here ; it is hateful." 
 
 This was a long speech for the sister. Though only 
 two years younger than myself, she is very retiring, 
 blushing vividly at every word she speaks. 
 
 London. 
 
 When all out in the street this afternoon, there sud- 
 denly rose a cry, " The Queen ! " " The Queen ! " 
 In a moment we saw, in a low, open carriage, a large 
 lady in black, with a round, weary face, and a young 
 girl. We stood at the edge of the walk, and the Prin- 
 cess, seeing us, exclaimed, " O, look ! the pretty Swiss 
 maidens ! " The Queen, turning, smiled. Louise and 
 I dropped a curtesy ; Mamma bowed reverently. The 
 odd " Bramble," who always has some peculiar thought, 
 fell upon her knees, raising her fat, clasped hands, as if 
 in prayer. 
 
 The young Princess kissed her hand, and threw a 
 
LAST DAY IN ENG LAND. 3T 
 
 boquet to the kneeling little one. With an adroit turn, 
 the child caught the flowers, and, kissing them, waved 
 the salute toward the giver. The crowd cheered ; a 
 voice called out, " God bless the Queen and the Prin- 
 cess Louise," as they drove away. 
 
 The flowers were a delight to us the whole afternoon, 
 then Mamma laid them in a box to dry, as a memento. 
 It may be foolish to think anything of such a passing 
 incident, but it seemed like an omen of good to us, 
 alone in a strange land, journeying we know not 
 whither, that a princess should turn to smile upon us, 
 and give us her beautiful flowers. I think it even 
 cheered Mamma. We must take all the brightness we 
 can from every trifle, every hour ; then our lives will 
 not be all gloom. Who knows but great happiness may 
 await us beyond that wide sea — " the misty Atlantic." 
 
 March — Liverpool. 
 
 Another strange city! The sun shone upon our 
 journey, making the new early springing grass look 
 quite fresh. It is pleasant to feel that winter has 
 passed. When the sunlight of America falls upon us, 
 there will be flowers blooming ; life will seem to begin 
 anew. 
 
 But a few months ago I was a child in thought and 
 heart, knowing little of the trouble, the grief of life ; 
 now it seems as if I had been familiar with sorrow for 
 years. As our means slowly waste, the privations of 
 the poor become reality to us. Papa is noted as a fine 
 workman, and he has work nearly always, so that we 
 do not fear deep poverty. He did not know, when we 
 left Geneva, that so many months would pass before we 
 should reach America. To-morrow we sail. 
 
28 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 Steamer Glasgow. 
 
 For five days we have been dashing along, fast as 
 steam could carry us. Nearly all the passengers have 
 been sick. At noon an officer came and made all of 
 us who could sit up, go out on deck while the rooms 
 were cleaned. We were delighted to go into the pure 
 air again. Wrapped in our warm jackets, we sat near- 
 ly the whole afternoon looking upon the water that 
 was constantly changing in'color from green to blue ; 
 the waves were capped with a white foam, that Bram- 
 ble called their "snow-hoods." A long, white ribbon 
 of foam stretched behind the steamer as it rushed 
 through the water. At evening we came back to our 
 rooms and took our supper. 
 
 Then we read our English lesson. Mamma and the 
 children went to their funny beds, and I sat down to 
 write ; but amid the chatting and the groaning, I can 
 not compose my thoughts, so I will read my Testament 
 lesson, and try to sleep. 
 
 Mid-Ocean. 
 
 The day has been lovely. We have been upon deck ; 
 the sea air was inspiring, like wine. It seemed as if 
 new life poured into the veins. Nearly all the passen- 
 gers were upon deck, chatting and laughing. People 
 from Europe, and many Americans returning home. 
 It was a gay, joyous scene. Some gentlemen spoke of 
 the fine passage we were making ; named the day and 
 hour we should arrive at New York. The emigrants, 
 they said, would stop at Castle Garden. The name 
 sounded pleasant, sol remembered it. 
 
 The sunset was grand. The sky was covered with 
 long, straight bars of blue-black and blood-red. The 
 
THE MISTY ATLANTIC. 29 
 
 officers were not so cheerful as other people. The 
 captain often scanned the sky. When we came below, 
 a strange, dark cloud was forming in the north-north- 
 west, as the sailors say. There is an influence in the 
 air like that when a storm descends suddenly from 
 Mont Blanc. But God is here ; we have not left Him 
 in Switzerland, with all we have lost. The all-embrac- 
 ing love is round us. Sleep will chase away gloomy 
 feelings. 
 
 Near Newfoundland. 
 
 The mate told Papa we were Hearing this island, 
 which lies east of British North America, and north- 
 east of the port of New York. It is the eleventh day 
 since we left England. It is the day the passengers 
 hoped to land. AH ! what peril we have since known. 
 The sixth day at sea was the one serenely beautiful 
 day, when all felt as if earth had some way swung nearer 
 heaven, where we breathed celestial air, and felt aingelic 
 influences. 
 
 At midnight we were wakened by a long, moaning 
 sound, as if all the dead who slept beneath the ocean 
 had together uttered a loud, solemn sigh ; at the same 
 moment the steamer was hurled eastward so suddenly 
 that we seemed plunging down an abyss. Women and 
 children sj;reamed with terror ; many were thrown from 
 their berths onto the floor — all was confusion. The 
 steamer righted in a moment. For a brief space, there 
 was silence, then came the turriult of a raging tempest. 
 Sometimes the vessel would shoot forward, then would 
 be Whirled southward or eastward ; then would seem 
 to be lifted info the air, then dropped into a chasm, 
 then hurled upright again. Human agency in work- 
 
30 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 ing the steamer ceased — we were at the mercy of the 
 storm. 
 
 We silently dressed ourselves as best we could dur- 
 ing the lulls of the wind ; then all knelt whilst Mamma 
 prayed aloud. Though she used her voice to its utmost 
 strength, only those close beside her could hear ; to 
 others but a few words or phrases came, yet all seemed 
 calmer. Some took down life-preservers, and fastened 
 them on. That was useless, for no boat could live a 
 moment in such a storm, nor could a person keep 
 alive. 
 
 During the remainder of the night we sat clinging to 
 one another. Mamma would sometimes shout out a 
 cheering Bible-verse. The timid ones hung close about 
 our group. Toward morning the storm abated ; the 
 lulls were longer ; we were not hurled about with such 
 violence. We knew the crew were on deck, as we could 
 hear the captain shouting through his trumpet. We 
 could hear one another's voices again. 
 
 As the dawn began to appear, the wind lulled still 
 more ; yet, by the motion of the vessel, we knew the 
 waves were running very high. The color returned to 
 women's cheeks and lips. All thought the danger past, 
 when a loud voice was heard calling the men on deck. 
 A half-hour later, the same voice came to our door : 
 "All who can handle a bucket of water, are ordered 
 on deck ! " Many women fell shrieking upon the floor. 
 Mamma sprang up, saying, " Hush ! be not babes ; all 
 must die ! Get up — try for your lives, if you love them 
 so well ! For myself, I am willing, glad to go now to 
 that other land. Come ! on with your hoods and capes ! 
 Follow me ! " 
 
 " No, Mamma," I cried, " you are not strong enough. 
 I must go ! " 
 
STOEM AT SEA. 31 
 
 Th'e officer, who was scolding and coaxing one and 
 another, said to Mamma, " You are not able ; the girl 
 will do better than you." 
 
 " Where my daughter goes, I go," she said, decided- 
 ly, as we followed the man upon deck. 
 
 Besides the emigrants, a line of men from the cab- 
 ins were already at work ; also four lovely young 
 American girls, whom I had noticed the evening pre- 
 vious, dressed elegantly, and looking as lily-like as if 
 they were some large, delicate flowers. Now they 
 looked very earnest, and, though pale, calm and firm as 
 the men. 
 
 Everyone had to pay close attention — all were silent 
 — the buckets flew. The relief force sat ready, if one 
 faltered, to spring into the place. Some of the pumps 
 failed — the leak was very bad. We worked till past 
 noon. Several men were groping below, in three feet 
 of water, for the leak. We did not leave our places on 
 deck, but when we rested, were served with coffee and 
 biscuit. When one fell exhausted or fainted, he or she 
 was carried below. The sick staggered up and worked 
 awhile, as strength would allow. Everybody rested at 
 times, yet, as tlje afternoon began to wane, a deeper 
 pallor settled upon every face. One lady from the 
 cabin fainted twice during the day, yet returned again. 
 Those who looked bright and young in the morning, 
 seemed now middle-aged ; the middle-aged looked like 
 old, old people. 
 
 Just before sunset the captain came on deck ; every 
 eye turned upon hira ; the buckets stopped ; his face 
 was set and dead-white. " I will not deceive you, 
 friends," he said. " You have fought a good fight ; 
 the water has been slowly gaining upon us all day ; 
 now it gains more rapidly. I will have the boats pro- 
 
32 PLUEAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 visioned to launch at a moment's notice. Your* work 
 is now of no avail ; you may go below." All stood 
 irresolute, not wishing to abandon hope. Mamma 
 began singing, in her ringing contralto voice, Lu- 
 ther's hymn, " Eine feste burg ist unser Gott," in the 
 German tongue, which she uses as well as the French. 
 The German men and women caught it up, and the 
 water buckets began to fly again. The song inspired 
 each with new strength, as the clear tones rang out. 
 Just as the last line was sung, " Das Reich Gottes 
 muss uns bleiben," a cry came, " The carpenter has 
 made the other pump work." Directly came another 
 shout, " The leak is found ! " 
 
 With one accord, all fell on their knees ; it was a 
 solemn moment. None smiled, though life had come 
 back ; many wept. Then, silently rising, all who were 
 not needed at the pumps, went below to rest. Still, 
 all the men worked when called upon, as the water 
 must come out before the leak could be thoroughly 
 stopped. 
 
 This afternoon we were on deck again. Two of the 
 American ladies came and asked how 'we were. They 
 said the other two ladies could not sit up ; they had 
 been very ill after their fatigue. They asked my 
 name. One gave me a plain ring, the other a gold coin, 
 to keep as a memento of our peril and deliverance. I 
 said I had nothing to give them in return. " Yes, you 
 have," said one ; " give us each a ringlet of your golden 
 hair ; we will have it set in lockets." 
 
 When I told them why we had left our home, they 
 said it was a dreadful crime to take us to that distant 
 Mormon city. They told me they would talk to Papa ; 
 
STORM AT SEA. 83 
 
 then "I pointed him out, and they asked him where he 
 should settle in the United States, telling him their 
 father knew all about the Western country, and would 
 inform him where he could do best ; but he replied 
 that his mind was already fixed where he should go ; 
 that he was on the way to Salt Lake. Then they called 
 their father and introduced him to Papa, but their ad- 
 vice had no influence upon him. 
 
 Castle Garden, New York. 
 
 We reached harbor in the night. Yesterday mornmg 
 we landed here. It was another parting from friends 
 to leave the steamer and people whom we had come to 
 know. The two sisters, who were so pleasant to me, 
 told our story to the other passengers, who at once 
 raised a purse for us, but Papa refused it. Papa said : 
 " We must not become dependants upon charity ; we 
 must maintain our self-respect — earn our own liveli- 
 hood." Then Miss Van Courtlandt wrote down Papa's 
 name, saying " they would come to see us to-morrow." 
 
 This afternoon a fine carriage, with footman in liv- 
 ery, drove up. Louise and myself were called, and 
 there were the' two sisters. They had come to take us 
 to their home to spend the evening, and see their 
 Mamma. We could not go, as our own Mamma has 
 been ill ever since that dreadful day aboard the steamer. 
 To-morrow we go to lodgings up on Third Avenue. 
 The young ladies expressed regret at Mamma's illness. 
 They brought her some jellies, a book for Louise, and 
 a writing-desk for me, and said they would call again 
 after we had moved. 
 
 When I looked into my pretty desk, I found a note 
 and a package. The note said they could not returrl 
 
34 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 the money to the passengers who had given it, as they 
 would not take it back, and they could not keep it, as 
 it did not belong to them ; hence, they had put it in a 
 package in the desk — there I found it Papa now says 
 Louise and I may keep the money. All our company 
 have gone West. We feel so very, very lonely with 
 Mamma ill. 
 
 Third Avenue, New York. 
 
 Here we have been two long weeks, with Mamma so 
 ill she did not always know us, but crying piteously 
 to take her back to Switzerland, where her husband and 
 little girls were ; where all her loved ones were, and her 
 dear old mountains. 
 
 Papa and all have shed many scalding tears over 
 her ; everything has been done that love could suggest. 
 The Van Courtlandts came, and sent their own physi^ 
 cian, who was very kind. They have sent all kinds of 
 tempting, nourishing food, and have taken Louise and 
 Marie to stay at their house, that all might be quiet for 
 the dear mother. Yesterday Mamma knew us ; to-day, 
 the doctor says, we may hope the best. Papa is de- 
 voted to her, never leaving her, except to do the mar- 
 keting. 
 
 Third Avenue, New York. 
 A month ago to-day we landed in New York ; for a 
 fortnight Mamma was dangerously ill ; for a fortnight 
 she has been slowly recovering ; now she sits up half the 
 day. How thankful we are that she is still with us, 
 only God knows. Even the giddy Bramble has under- 
 stood what a terrible thing it would be to lay Mamma 
 in the earth, and go away where we could not even see 
 her grave. 
 
THE NEW WORLD. 35 
 
 How strangely God brings about his purposes ; at 
 least the way appears, strange to us. Had it not been 
 for the storm, we should not have known the Van 
 Courtlandts. I cannot imagine what we should have 
 done without their aid or friendship. They came or 
 sent every day to know about us. For three weeks 
 they kept my sisters ; for ten days Mrs. Van Court- 
 landt, who is an invalid, spared her own nurse to come 
 and take care of Mamma. Our own relations in Swit- 
 zerland could not have done more for us, and with 
 such delicate feeling that Papa, sensitive as he is, could 
 not feel that he was receiving charity, but rather that 
 he was accepting kindly offices from tried friends. The 
 only return he could make has been to reset some valu- 
 able jewels for the young ladies. Now they talk and 
 act as if they were the ones obliged, so high-minded are 
 they. They are truly lovely people. Mrs: Van Court- 
 landt, sitting white and wan, bolstered up in a great 
 chair, seems as sweet and holy as a saint. I can never, 
 never forget them. 
 
 Mr. Van Courtlandt has of late talked to Papa about 
 the Mormons, telling their history. By his account, 
 Joseph Smith, the founder of the sect, professed to find 
 buried, gold plates, on which were engraved the text of 
 the book of Mormon, or Mormon bible. Who could 
 dream that sensible, human beings could be so credu- 
 lous as to believe his wild fictions ? Yet, here are we, 
 a whole family torn from a pleasant home by the power 
 of this belief in one heart. Alas ! my poor, deluded 
 father ! He begins to taste the fruits of his simplicity. 
 He must now submit his pride to depend for the com- 
 forts of life upon the Van Courtlandts, while his small 
 earnings, and the savings of his life, waste away in these 
 
36 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 cities where we have been waiting. We do not tell 
 Mamma these stories' about the Mormons, lest a new 
 shock should kill her outright. 
 
 Morgan Street, St. Louis. 
 
 We came hither from New York by railway. We 
 were four days upon the way. We did not travel very 
 rapidly, and we could see the country quite well. The 
 pleasantest part of the journey was upon the Hudson 
 river. The leaves were coming upon the trees ; vines 
 and mosses were growing in the crevices of the rocks. 
 It was refreshing to see the Catskill Mountains — not 
 grand at all, only picturesque, suggestive of mountains ; 
 echoes, as it were, of far away Mont Blanc. Mamma's 
 eyes filled with tears as they came into view, and she 
 softly sighed, " O, my dear Switzerland ! " 
 
 The whole country looks rich ; there are fine villages 
 and good farm-houses everywhere. But the people we 
 sometimes spoke with seemed surprised when we told 
 where we were going. This makes me fear Salt Lake. 
 Papa says they are prejudiced ; that all new creeds and 
 religions are met at first with the same spirit of opposi- 
 tion, ridicule or persecution. We may stay in St. Louis 
 a month. We shall travel hereafter in covered wagons, 
 " camping out " — that is, sleeping in tents or wagons. 
 We shall carry our baggage and food. Papa is at work 
 with Mr. Jacquard, and has engaged a young man of 
 the Mormon company — an American — to buy teams, 
 wagons, and everything for an outfit. How old, tired 
 and sad these changes have made Mamma and L 
 Thank God we have been able to keep the younger 
 girls from feeling all the grief and gloom we two have 
 shared together. We have a little sunshine in our 
 
ST. LOUIS. 87 
 
 home from their bright spirits. They reioice in the 
 sunhght of America, in the broad, green fields, and the 
 wild-fiowers along the way. This city was, originally, 
 French. Here we might grow content if we could 
 remain. 
 
 I have been told the mass of the Mormons are low 
 people of every land, lured here mainly by promise of 
 easier lives than they led in the old world. This is, 
 doubtless, true, though the young man who is so kindly 
 helping Papa, seems good, and there must be women of 
 some culture. Upon the steamer, I learned the value 
 of education and refined manners, when I saw how 
 differently Mamma was considered, because of her su- 
 perior bearing. I did not appreciate Mamma until this 
 trouble began ; now I understand the delicate nature 
 that wishes always to keep herself and hers from any 
 intimacy with the low, the wicked. Yet she is kindly, 
 even to the bad ; but she does not descend — she would 
 lift all upward. 
 
 St. Louis. 
 
 The dress of the people here is not so picturesque as 
 our Swiss costumes, but Papa says we must buy and 
 make such clothing as the Americans wear. Mamma 
 thinks Ainerican dress very ugly. She declares that 
 she shall always wear her Swiss dress. 
 
 We learn English rapidly ; we use it always, only to 
 Mamma we speak French and German. She has never 
 uttered a word of English. She despises everything 
 American, because she classes all with Mormonism, 
 and is surprised to see so much wealth and prosperity 
 among those who have such wicked beliefs. 
 
 To-day there was a fireman's parade, with music, in 
 Concordia Park. We enjoyed the fresh air, bright sun- 
 
88 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 shine and lively crowd very much. Suddenly a German 
 band struck up the Swiss air, " Rans des Vaches ; " the 
 children laughed with delight ; Mamma burst into tears 
 and sank upon her knees, wringing her hands and sob- 
 bing. Many women gathered round, asking what had 
 happened to the mother. Soon they were weeping in 
 sympathy. The children's mirth turned into tears. 
 
 The band played on, knowing nothing of our dis- 
 tress, whilst the Swiss Alps, Lake Geneva, the blue 
 mists, the snow-capped peaks, the glowing, glorious 
 beauty of our native land appeared in my mind with 
 brightness beyond what they ever wore when I looked, 
 with earnest eyes, upon their surpassing loveliness. This 
 wonderful power of music to recall and idealize was a 
 new revelation to me. When the band ceased, my 
 spirit came back to my grieving mother. Many 
 spoke words of comfort to her, but, unnerved, trem- 
 bling, we led her to our rooms. The day had darkened 
 for us. 
 
 Sometimes I wonder if Papa will not yet suffer as 
 much agony as he has caused this poor mother. Can 
 any anguish tear a stern man as it does the woman- 
 heart ? Are we so different beings ? Fond, fragile, 
 sensitive, with such power of attachment, of feeling — 
 are women born but for grief ? Born but to bow to the 
 will of father, brother, husband ? A man chooses, — a 
 woman takes what is allotted to her. Is it just, right ? 
 
 Jefferson City. 
 
 One week from the day we spent at Concordia Park, 
 
 we left St. Louis for the long journey across the plains. 
 
 Frederic Hersch, Papa's young friend, takes charge of 
 
 one of our wagons, that carries our supplies. Mr. 
 
WESTWARD, HO 1 39 
 
 Hersch has no relatives with the Mormons. He told 
 Mamma his father lives near St. Louis, and is quite 
 wealthy. The father has banished him since he be- 
 came a Mormon. Last week he went home to bid 
 mother and sisters farewell. The father met him at the 
 door, and sternly asked why he came. 
 
 Frederic said : " To bid you all good-bye." 
 
 " Then you do not renounce this delusion, and re- 
 turn again to the faith of our fathers ? " 
 
 " No ! I believe God has called us Mormons out 
 from the world to do service for Him in this new way." 
 
 "Then," cried the father, "go ! my family shall not 
 be poisoned by you. There shall be no words between 
 us. Go ! " 
 
 At this moment the mother came into the hall, cry- 
 ing, " O, my lost son ! " as she held out her hands 
 toward her boy ; but the door was closed between 
 them instantly, and he came away with her cries ring- 
 ing through his heart. He wept bitterly while he told 
 this, and it made Mamma feel more tenderly toward 
 him ; yet she keeps him as distant as possible ; she 
 fears his enthusiasm may turn us children. A Mormon 
 missionary led him into belief of Mormon doctrines. 
 These people do not wholly discard our old Bible, but 
 they teach that they have received, by new revelations, 
 later knowledge of God's will. 
 
 Last night we reached this small city, the capitol city 
 of the State. It is upon the bank of the Missouri river, 
 a muddy stream, spreading among ever-shifting sand- 
 bars ; near St. Louis it empties into the Mississippi 
 river. It is said, the Missouri flows from an unknown 
 distance among the Rocky Mountains. We have a map 
 of the country, and try to learn all we can of the way. 
 The States here are very large. I think one would 
 
40 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 mak^ many Switzerlands. It appears as if our old 
 home must have been in altogether another world, it is 
 now so far away. 
 
 July. 
 
 It is very warm weather — all suffer much. We are 
 now upon the broad plains, called prairies. They are 
 treeless, except for a fringe of cottonwood along the 
 streams. The wild grass is mingled with wild flowers of 
 beautiful, brilliant hiies. 
 
 This prairie-land is very lonely ; the earth reaches 
 away, far as the eye can see, until it meets the sky on 
 every side. It seems as if our train were alone on the 
 earth ; as if all the world besides were blotted out, and 
 we, amidst the vast wilderness, slept solitary under the 
 stars. Sometimes this loneliness is oppressive, wearisome 
 beyond words. Yet, just at evening or at sunsise, there 
 is a sublimity in this far-reaching space, without other 
 inhabitant than the wild deer, the wild birds, the prai- 
 rie dog and prairie wolf. The earth has grown so large 
 to us since we left Switzerland ; even here " the West " 
 is far beyond. We seem to ourselves like a family of 
 "Wandering Jews," doomed to go on and ever on over 
 the earth. Yet an end must come, and a settled home. 
 
 We have an English lesson every day. Frederic, 
 our new friend, is our teacher. We can now talk about 
 common things so that Americans can understand us ; 
 when we speak of feelings, hopes, affection,— the inner 
 things of our hearts and minds, — we must still use the 
 French or German. Mr. Hersch can speak only Eng- 
 lish, although his grand-parents were German ; he is 
 learning German with us. Mamma does not wish us to 
 teach him French. She likes to keep that language 
 sacredly for our home use. 
 
WESTWARD, HO ! 41 
 
 Many, many days we have been slowly toiling across 
 the boundless - seeming prairies. We are traveling 
 along the Platte Valley. There are forts scattered 
 along the way, for protection against the Indians. We 
 have seen a few small liunting bands ; we feel very shy 
 of them. At night some of the men sit up to guard us 
 from any sudden attack. They would steal our cattle, 
 if they could. 
 
 We have now left' the beautiful, wearisome prairies, 
 and come upon the ugly and far more wearisome plains ; 
 they are without grass, and covered only with an ugly 
 sort of a shrub called sage-bush. The earth is of a 
 whitish grey color. A biting dust rises constantly that 
 makes our faces burn and smart. The water is dread- 
 ful. 
 
 Mamnia now shows a new side to her gentle nature. 
 She is really sarcastic. She asks Papa or Mr. Hersch, 
 in the sweetest tone, if this is their land that " blossoms 
 like a rose ; " or, in the most desolate of places, she 
 suddenly cries out, " O, how lovely ! How vastly finer 
 than old, rugged Switzerland." 
 
 The children are nearly always merry ; this keeps us 
 from despair. We must chat, smile, live, in order to 
 keep their young lives from grief. Yet Louise begins 
 to feer that we have some sorrow. She often asks: 
 "What is it troubles Mamma and thou ?'" 
 
 She wonders we do not more enjoy this free, wander- 
 ing life, with its new, strange scenes. "It lis far 
 finer," she says, "than strolUng through old churches, 
 cathedrals and picture galleries, as in Paris and Lon- 
 don, for here are new pictures each day, in the sky and 
 on the earth." She declares this kind of life is a ro- 
 mance, captivating as that of Paul and Virginia, or Un- 
 
43 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 dine. I did not know the child had noticed or thought 
 so much. But she has now fourteen years, and this 
 travel, which has so greatly developed my mind, has 
 opened her soul also to understand something of life. 
 I quiet her questionings by saying we loved our home 
 deeply, and cannot be happy away from old friends. 
 
 " Why," she replies, " the way back is no longer than 
 the way hither ; if it is not pleasant. Papa will take us 
 back." Alas, she knows not we have spent all in com- 
 ing, and cannot return unless Papa could earn a great 
 deal of money. 
 
 Deseret. 
 
 Day following day, across plain and prairie, for months 
 we have wearily traveled westward. Many pleasant 
 hours have passed in this long, slow march across half 
 a continent. Soon we shall reach our new home. 
 Soon we shall know in just what position this change 
 in Papa's religious faith will place us. The suspense is 
 fearful to Mamma. My spirit is not so utterly broken, 
 for the wonders of the new land have often diverted 
 my thoughts. 
 
 As we advance into the mountain region, the scenery 
 becomes more picturesque. We wind in and out among 
 the heights, now through ravines, over hills, amid wild 
 scenes. We find beautiful flowers in wild nooks. 
 
 When I recall how much I have learned upon our 
 way, i am glad we came. When I think of all Mamma 
 has suffered, I feel that nothing in the world, but the 
 value of our souls, could repay her ; and I pray God to 
 reveal to us that Papa is right ; is doing for himself and 
 us by this great sacrifice that which, after this loss and 
 all our grief and woe, shall prepare us to receive the 
 heritage of the blessed. 
 
SALT LAKE CITY. 43 
 
 Salt Lake City. 
 
 Our journey is ended ! We have reached this so- 
 called New Jerusalem, We had ceased to expect any- 
 thing pleasant could exist beyond the wilderness we 
 have crossed, hence had no deeper disappointment. 
 
 Papa has rented a small house. We have arranged 
 the few articles we had kept for their precious associa- 
 tions. We have some rough benches for chairs and 
 tables. There is a little grass plot before the door, 
 burnt brown by the summer heat, so that it crumbles 
 beneath the foot. And this is now our only home. 
 
 The city lies southeast of the Salt Lake, in the val- 
 ley at the foot of the mountains. The northern .limit 
 of the city is the upland joining to the mountains 
 Here is our home, and by a short walk, we can go to 
 the open country upon the upland. This makes it 
 more endurable to Mamma. 
 
 The Mormons regard Salt Lake as their Holy City. 
 The chief man among them is Brigham Young. They 
 at first had a leadelr called Joseph Smith. The sect 
 originated near Palmyra, New York State, then re- 
 moved to Ohio. They were forced, by public opinion, 
 to leave that State for Missouri ; driven thence, they 
 settled at Nauvoo, Illinois, a place they founded for 
 themselves ; there they built a temple. Driven by 
 force from Nauvoo, Joseph Smith and his brother were 
 killed by the mob, and the " Saints," as they began to 
 be called, fled across the wilderness, and founded this 
 city, beyond the jurisdiction of the United States. As 
 that Government has grown westward, they have again 
 come into " Gentile " power. They call all outside 
 their own fold, "Gentiles." 
 
 The city seems dreary to us ; partly because of its 
 rough ugliness ; partly because we are strangers, and 
 
44 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 home-sick ; partly because we do not understand Eng- 
 lish well, and feel no sympathy with this new religion. 
 There is no place for Papa to work at his business here. 
 He has never been used to out-door work, hence has 
 not the strength a day-laborer sTiould have, and can 
 earn but little. 
 
 He has sold the wagons and, teams; now the last 
 link which bound us to the Eastern world is broken. 
 We all cried afresh when they were driven away, much 
 as we need the money. The last shadow of hope has 
 faded from our hearts — we are bound here by poverty. 
 
 Mr. Hersch has remained with us, sharing and soft- 
 ening our lot. He found a situation with a mer- 
 chant, and pays Papa a good price for plain living. He 
 helps about the purchases, by learning the prices we 
 ought to pay. It is a comfort to have such a friend. 
 Mamma deeply feels his kindness, and has laid aside 
 her jealousy of his attentions. She knows the value of 
 such a trusty soul among foreigners. 
 
 We already know the chief men among the Mormons. 
 The " Head of the Church " is Brigham Young, a large, 
 light-haired man, with one drooping eye-lid, a crooked 
 nose, and a narrow forehead, and close-shut lips. He 
 wears coarse, hon;ie-spun clothes, loose and "baggy- 
 looking." Formerly he was a painter ; now he is 
 thought a prophet, and is revered as such by his peo- 
 ple, who are sworn to do his bidding, it is said, " unto 
 the death." 
 
 All the leading men have several wives, and many 
 children. Brigham Young has about fifty children. 
 There is a school-house for them alone. Part of his 
 wives live in the large family house ; others live in cot- 
 tages by themselves. The wives call one another 
 "sister." 
 
SALT LAKE' CttY: 45 
 
 Mormons do not like "Gentiles," nor the United 
 States Government. The church is called a Taberna- 
 cle ; the leading men are the preachers. Mamma will 
 not attend, but Papa and I go to every service. I long 
 to learn the source of the fascination in this new: religion. 
 
 March. 
 
 Six months since my journal was last opened. I 
 have been doing the household work, that Mamma 
 might have her time for lace-making, which she does 
 beautifully. Louise and I are also learning this art, 
 and we continue our evening lessons with Frederic 
 Hersch 
 
 A year ago we started to cross that wild Atlantic. 
 Already our past life in Switzerland is like a dream. I 
 do not know that I wish myself again in Geneva, yet, 
 when I look upon Mamma's face, which has grown to 
 look like a saint's face, I would yield all I have gained 
 mentally, if we could be transported to our old home, 
 our old life. 
 
 Yet, could I willingly resign Frederic Hersch ? We 
 are now betrothed ; when the summer comes, I shall 
 be his wife. Papa did not at first like to give me to 
 him, because he belongs to a Jewish family. But I told 
 Papa that Christ was also a Jew, and that I held truth, 
 honor and kindness as higher, more important than 
 race and family, and finally he yielded his prejudices to 
 my persuasions. 
 
 Frederic has already bought a pr«tty lot, with some 
 money an aunt bequeathed him, and is building a Swiss 
 cottage, that promises to be charming. He is al- 
 ways kind, and though I think I can never love any 
 one as I love Mamma, she tells me that when married, 
 I would not leave him for parents, home, or native 
 
46 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 land. One ought to love truly when one enters so close 
 an union for life. "Till death do us part," sounds 
 very solemn to me. 
 
 December. 
 
 Six months have gone since we were married and 
 came to our new home. Brigham Young gave Fred- 
 eric, as a wedding gift, a copy of the Book of Mormon. 
 He is very polite to us, always inquiring if Mamma has 
 recovered from her home-longing. 
 
 People think her somewhat out of mind — we do not 
 try to remove this impression, hoping she will thus be 
 unmolested. She will not conceal her contempt for 
 Mormonism. We regret this, for they are a people 
 jealous of being thought holy and real saints. Papa is 
 losing faith iii them. He reads his old Bible, and 
 makes no defence when Mamma shows her unbelief. 
 He has lost that air of high hope that formerly lighted 
 his face, and often sits for hours silently thinking, ever 
 thinking. He cannot go back, and if he becomes sat- 
 isfied that he has dragged us here in pursuit of a lie, it 
 will break his heart. 
 
 Frederic is not in the least disenchanted, and trusts 
 every word of the leaders as if all were living Christs. 
 I do not try to turn him, for we promised that neither 
 should try to disturb the other's religious views. 
 
 Mamma never mentions Switzerland, but I often find 
 her gazing, with such a wistful look of longing, toward 
 the Eastern sky, that it brings tears from my heart to 
 my eyes, and I slip away, and return quite noisily, in 
 order to rouse her without showing that her sadness is. 
 noticed. We perceive that it is not good for her to 
 brood over the past. We never speak in her presence 
 the words Mormon or Salt Lake, that we may spare 
 
HAPPIER DAYS. 47 
 
 her feelings. This causes some constraint, for it is not 
 possible to watch one's' every word, and yet appear 
 easy and natural. She wept when she saw my home, 
 which is as much like a Swiss house as it could be fash- 
 ioned, and combine American comfort. 
 
 Already my own home is something different to me 
 from my old home with my parents. There is a free- 
 dom, and a responsibility, too, quite new. I have 
 really begun a new life. An American woman is more 
 free, has wider choice of ways, words, work and opin- 
 ions than German or French women have. There is 
 more mental room given her, more deference shown 
 her in little, nameless ways. There is certainly a new 
 atmosphere about me in my own American home. 
 
 June — Salt Lake. 
 
 Can it be so many months have flown — yes, really 
 flown, since I came tQ my own home to live. I have 
 been too happy for words ; nothing has occurred to 
 change the current of our peaceful lives. Mamma, too, 
 seems more cheerful since she sees that Mormonism has 
 lost its hold upon Papa. He has returned to the old 
 family worship, with the dear old Bible of Switzerland. 
 Mamma wears her cross openly about her neck — often 
 raising it to her lips. 
 
 Louise is growing quite lovely ; people turn back to 
 look at her upon the street. She is very helpful, and 
 now I go but once a week to assist them. All think it 
 better for Louise to have some care, that she may learn 
 to think and work independently. Every day I give 
 some time to fancy work that Mamma has engaged — 
 helping them in this way. Papa earns more than at 
 first, so all are more comfortable. Marie is unfolding, 
 
48 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 like a beautiful flower. Certainly, we have reason to 
 be thankful that, through so much trial, we have found 
 a certain peace and rest. 
 
 My studies are never neglected ; every day I write 
 exercises, and Frederic corrects them, explaining the 
 English idioms to me. I have written down a list of 
 all the English words I know, and each week it grows 
 longer. I read something in English, and some verses 
 in my French and German Bibles each day. I wish 
 to retain my two native languages, as I call them. I 
 am thankful 1 was taught to spell and pronounce ihem 
 correctly. When I become more perfect in English, I 
 can teach these foreign languages to ladies here. I 
 long to earn some money of my own, that I may feel 
 independent about helping my sisters. 
 
 June. 
 
 A pleasant surprise has come to Mamma. A rich 
 uncle in Prussia has sent her five hundred dollars. A 
 Mormon convert brought it to-day. When the man 
 poured the coin into the apron, a look of wild delight 
 overspread her face. "O my Switzerland!" she ex- 
 claimed turning with appealing eyes and outreaching 
 hands to Papa. Then looking at me, a shadow swept 
 across her face. " But thou, Adele," she murmured 
 with gushing tears. I understood her thought ; the 
 money would take them back, but she must leave me. 
 My heart throbbed wildly, yet I said, " If you will be 
 happy, I can be brave and let you go." 
 
 " My heart would go, and my heart would stay. It 
 can not do both; it will break. I shall die, my Adele." 
 
 It was too pitiful, the apron full of gold, and Mamma 
 white, wan, weeping above her treasure. 
 
GOLD AND MYSTERY. 49 
 
 "Take it away, chUd," she said; "my uncle has 
 done a kind act, yet I weep as though he had forgotten 
 nae. I am like a weeping, little child. Thou must not 
 mourn when the grave covers me. I am not brave ; 
 the trial is too great ; my fate is bitter, too, too bitter." 
 
 All, even the stranger, were sobbing. He said : " It 
 has been wrong to bring the mother hither." 
 
 Tears streamed over Papa's face ; never before had 
 I seen him weep ; now, bursting into sobs, he hid him- 
 self away in another room. The tear-stained gold was 
 locked in a drawer. The Prussian bade good-day. 
 After a time Mamma became more calm, and thinking 
 she would soon be soothed, I came home ; have sat long 
 buried in thought. There is certainly some new cause 
 of trouble at my father's house. For a fortnight Louise 
 has not been in my house, and formerly she came near- 
 ly every day. Of late, there has seemed a constraint 
 upon the part of my parents. 
 
 This morning Louise came flying in, calling, "Adele ! 
 Adele ! I have run away ! Dost thou know why I 
 am not allowed to come here ? Mamma says there is a 
 danger, and I must not tell thee. I cannot go out 
 without the thickest of veils, this hot weather. She 
 forbids me the front yard, or the front window. I am 
 half wild with the mystery — find it out and release me,_ 
 that's a darling," and away she sped. 
 
 " A great danger ! I must not know ! " Surely, 
 what we have feared has come — Mamma's brain is 
 turning. There is nothing — there can be nothing. 
 Only that Mamma has advised me not to go on the 
 street, I would go at once to know what this mystery 
 can be. 
 
50 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 Sunday Evening. 
 
 Frederic has gone to walk. It is nearly nine o'clock. 
 I feel so desolate ; I fear to weep, but my heart aches, 
 aches. Matnma and Bramble have just left me. Papa 
 and Louise were here in the afternoon, yet I feel as if 
 I had buried them all. Perhaps it is my nervous state ; 
 perhaps it means that I shall not outlive my coming 
 sickness. I cannot pray — I can only cry, " O, God ! 
 O, God ! " only that name, again, and yet again. 
 
 Papa seems so broken ; he sat silent beside me nearly 
 the whole afternoon. Louise was gay, because she felt 
 free. As we chatted, sometimes laughing, Papa would 
 start and look at me with dim, strained eyes; as though 
 his heart were weeping, while no moisture soothed the 
 hot eye-balls. I could not say, " What grieves you. 
 Papa ? " because I would not seem to reproach him by 
 noticing his changed manner. He has come to realize 
 that this new religion is a base imposture, and his heart 
 is breaking as he feels that we have suffered such un- 
 told agonies in the pursuit of a hideous lie. 
 
 He scarcely spoke, except to answer a question. 
 When they started home, Louise kissed me gaily ; Papa 
 took my hand, looked at me as if he were studying my 
 face to draw it, as some English poet says, then mur- 
 mured, " God bless thee, child I Do not think too 
 hardly of thy father ; he is most bitterly punished. 
 Kiss me, child, again, again — there, I must not torture 
 thee, poor innocent victim. Pray for me, darling — thy 
 prayers may reach Heaven. Thou art innocent — God 
 keep thee ! I leave thee all I have to give — my bless- 
 ing. Thou hast been a good daughter." 
 
 Then, folding me a moment close in his arms, with 
 tears streaming down his face, he tore himself away. 
 
THE MOTHER'S LAST VISIT. S^' 
 
 Louise looked on in wonder. She came flying back 
 after she had reached the gate, saying, " Now, Adele, 
 you see something strange is at work in their minds," 
 and, flinging a kiss as she went, the bright creatufe 
 flashed out again. 
 
 This was about six o'clock. Scarcely had I recov- 
 ered composure when Mamma and Bramble came. 
 Upon each pale cheek burned a bright red spot, and a 
 strangely restless mood seemed to move rny poor 
 mother. She asked many questions about the. little 
 one's clothing we have made. She brought me some 
 pretty articles she had knit ; she wished to see them all 
 together, then folded them into the drawer again. She 
 looked over my dressing gowns — would have me try 
 them on, that she might know how I would look wear- 
 ing them. She smoothed my hair and kissed it : " Thy 
 hair is so bright, so beautiful, ' golden locks,' " she mur- 
 mured. For a long time she has not called me by that 
 name. Often she said, " We must go," and yet she 
 tarried. 
 
 Finally she kissed me good-night, as did Bramble, 
 went to the door, returned, and, seating herself, said : 
 " Thou must be very careful, Ad^le. Thou must not 
 get frightened, or weep. Thou must remember, God 
 does all ; we are but wax in His hands ; He will mould 
 us in beautiful shapes at last. Thou wilt pray every 
 day for thy parents, thy sisters, and Heaven will come 
 at last." Then she rose, kissed me quickly, took up 
 the scissors, and clipping a tress of my hair that was 
 hanging loose, hurried away. 
 
 Like Louise, I now feel quite wild to know what dis- 
 tresses them. Certainly they must have some new 
 cause of trouble. Frederic came as I was writing the 
 
53 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 last sentence. I told him something of the day's events. 
 He says they are over anxious about me ; that I must 
 not magnify trifles. When I wept, he said, " I will go, 
 to-morrow, and try to find out if there is anything 
 more serious that grieves them. Go to bed, child," and 
 I will go. 
 
 August. 
 Alas ! the heavy days, the cruel weeks, the harrow- 
 ing grief that have come to me since the last page was 
 written here. How everything that occurred that fatal 
 day comes back to me. I see the room, the table, my 
 book in the same light that shone upon me waiting for 
 news from my sister, my home, my mother. 
 
 How can I write it ? Yet it may be that will take 
 some part of my grief out of my overburdened heart. 
 Sometimes it seems to have happened years ago ; some- 
 times it seems yesterday, or just now, that Frederic 
 came in, with a slow step and strange look. 
 
 "Well !" I cried, "did you see Mamma? Did you 
 see Louise ? Did you find out anything ? " 
 
 " One question at a time, wifey, for a slow man," he 
 murmured, with a made-up smile ; "I did not see the 
 mother." 
 
 "Nor Louise?" I queried, sharply. 
 " No, I did not see Louise, nor your father, nor even 
 Bramble," came very slowly from my husband's lips. 
 
 " How could you disappoint me ? You promised to 
 stop," I sobbed out. 
 
 The same grave voice replied : " I did stop — they 
 were all out. The house was locked, except one door. 
 I went in and found a little note upon the table, ad- 
 dressed to you, and, thinking best, I read the note. It 
 says Mr. Reiker had come for them, and they had gone 
 
THE MYSTERY. 53 
 
 to spend some days at his ranch. " You must not 
 mind," mother says, "but keep cheerful, and not miss 
 them." 
 
 " Was that all ? Would Mamma leave me now ? " I 
 cried, with a feeling of alarm. 
 
 "Yes; here's the note. You know your mother needs 
 a change of scene. They told me a month ago they 
 were invited out there ; of course, they were obliged to 
 go when Mr. Reiker came. Be brave ! the mother will 
 come back in time. You must not grudge her this lit- 
 tle pleasure-trip." Thus Frederic tried to cheer me 
 during dinner, then hastened away to the store. 
 
 Too restless to work, I read and re-read Papa's note, 
 feeling more strongly with each reading that something 
 was hidden behind the carefully-worded sentences. At 
 last I decided to go over to their house. The mid- 
 afternoon was very hot, but I would, therefore, meet 
 few people. Carefully veiling myself, and taking a 
 light shade, I hastened through the empty streets to 
 my father's cottage. 
 
 The rear door was unfastened. At first glance every- 
 thing seemed as usual ; a closer look showed that many 
 things were gone ; those left were spread about to con- 
 ceal that fact from a careless eye. I became still more 
 alarmed— I knew not why. Looking about to find 
 some clew to their sudden and strange departure, I 
 found the key of the inner door to the sitting-room. 
 Without pausing to think I had no right to search into 
 their secrets — I had even forgotten there was any right 
 or wrong in action — I opened the door and entered 
 the room. Two ottomans that I had made for Mamma 
 were not there ; beds and bed-clothing, all their wear- 
 ing apparel, keepsakes from Switzerland, and treasured 
 books were gone. 
 
54 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 I sat down in the room utterly crushed. Evidently 
 they intended to stay longer than a fortnight. I tried 
 to believe they would need all the goods they had taken 
 while staying at Mr. Reiker's ranch, or that they feared 
 their keepsakes might not be safe in the house. I 
 talked aloud to myself about it, in hopes to make my- 
 self think this. Yet through all lived the feeling that 
 they had left me forever. I could not weep ; I forgot 
 home, husband, everything. The last thing I recall of 
 that day is that I felt very ill at length, and lay down 
 upon the lounge, whispering, " Gone, gone forever ! " 
 
 When next I remember, I lay in my own white bed, 
 in my own room, in my own home. I opened my eyes 
 upon a strange, young girl, with large, black eyes, and 
 shining black hair, sitting beside me, looking intently 
 upon my face. " Who brought me home ? Where is 
 Mamma ? " I asked. 
 
 The girl started, but said, " Mr. Hersch and Mr. 
 Brown brought you home, in Mr. Brown's carriage. 
 Your Mamma has not returned yet." 
 
 " Is it the same day, or is it another day ? " I con- 
 tinued. 
 
 " Oh ! it is another day. You have been sick. Mr. 
 Hersch did not find you at home when he came in the 
 evening ; after waiting some time, he began to seek 
 you. Finally he thought of your father's house ; there 
 he found you, very ill from crying and walking in the 
 sun ; then he sought help and brought you back to 
 your own home. But you must not talk ; your face is 
 quite flushed." All this she said in a soft tone, but 
 quick, brisk way. 
 
 "Tell me this," I urged, "how long have I been 
 sick ? Did Mr. Hersch send for Mamma ? " 
 
AUELB'S ILLNESS. 5", 
 
 I do not know your people. Brother Brigham 
 Young sent me to help take care of you. I stay in the 
 day ; Mr. Hersch cares for you at night. If you wish, 
 I will sing for you." Then she gave me something 
 from a glass, and began crooning a monotonous Indian 
 air, that would not let me think, and I fell asleep. 
 
 It was evening when I wakened. Frederic was now 
 seated beside me, gazing sadly upon my face. I looked 
 at him earnestly, without speaking. After a moment 
 he said, gently, " Adele, do you know me ? " I nodded 
 assent. 
 
 "Can you not speak to me, child?" he asked, ten- 
 derly. 
 
 " Yes," I murmured, " if you are not angry with me 
 for going to Mamma's, and making so much trouble." 
 
 He spoke quite eagerly : " Do not mention it. I was 
 alarmed at not finding you here. It has caused your 
 illness ; but I was never angry with my Alpine Rose, 
 my White Lily, now." 
 
 I protested : " It was not walking made me ill, but 
 the grief, the desolation. The house seemed like a 
 grave. I shall never go there again. They must take 
 another house ; I shall hate it always. Why did not 
 Mamma come, if you sent for her ? " 
 
 Again he spoke in the same eager way, as if he 
 wished to dismiss the subject in few words : " I did 
 send, and word came they had gone a few miles farther, 
 to visit a Swiss family." 
 
 " How long have I been sick ? " 
 
 A shade passed over the face I was watching : 
 " Rather more than a fortnight. Doctor said you must 
 not talk ; here's your medicine." Spite of my efforts 
 to think, sleep overcame me. 
 
56 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 The morning hours were long past when I awoke, 
 and my thoughts began to fit together. The young 
 girl was again with me ; she smiled brightly, saying : 
 " I was waiting for you to wake. The doctor said 
 sleep was more useful to you than food, and I would 
 not waken you." She brought me a tempting break- 
 fast, then went out, leaving me alone. 
 
 1 no longer felt grieved that Mamma and Louise did 
 not come. I seemed mentally numb, unable to weep 
 or regret. Thus three or four days passed. One 
 morning a neighbor came to see me. I spoke of hav- 
 ing been sick a fortnight. 
 
 " Yes," she said, "it's been a month, plumb, I know, 
 'cause I and Sister Smith Brown staid here that first 
 night.'' 
 
 " But," I replied, doubtingly, " Mr. Hersch told me 
 it was about a fortnight." 
 
 She laughed—" Well, it's that and more. You were 
 very sick, calling every moment for your Mamma. 
 The baby died with its first breath. Then you never 
 seemed to sense anything, till a few days ago." 
 
 I asked, " What baby died ? " 
 
 " Why, your own little one ! didn't you know it ? I 
 s'posed you knowed all about it by this time. Now, 
 don't cry — pray, don't ! " she continued, as the tears 
 flowed faster and faster over my cheeks ; " Don't, don't 
 cry ! " she kept repeating, amidst regrets about being 
 such a long-tongued ninny. 
 
 After a time the fountain of tears ran dry. Mrs. 
 Braught still deplored her thoughtlessness, until I told 
 her, "not to mind, I must have known it soon." 
 
 After a few minutes, she spoke again : " Well, there's 
 one comfort — the doctor said you could never have 
 another child." 
 
ADBLE'S ILLNESS. 57 
 
 " ' Comfort ! ' do you call it ? " I cried aloud ; " did 
 he say that ? Is it true ? " 
 
 " Yes, he said just that — and it's true ! " 
 
 I felt a horror of the woman. It was useless to tell 
 her how I longed for a wee child of my own, to love, 
 to pet, and to spend my affections upon. That coarse 
 nature could not understand this ; she felt only the 
 worry, the labor, children make ; she knew nothing of 
 the spiritual joy of moulding a soul. 
 
 The numbness of my mind was gone ; I lay silent, 
 pondering what it could mean that my family stayed 
 away during my heavy trial. Four weeks of absence. 
 But my mind would not bear much strain. A little 
 reflection ended in heavy sleep — thus two weeks more 
 went away. 
 
 Frederic, who had never been demonstrative in his 
 tokens of affection, was gentle, tender and carressing. 
 I wept away part of my regret for the lost baby, of 
 which he never spoke. Spite of the wearing anxiety 
 about my parents, my sisters, I began to get strong, to 
 sit up two or three hours each day. Now I can write 
 again. 
 
 The black-eyed girl, Mabel Brown, still kindly waits 
 upon me, and is very attentive to Mr. Hersch, though 
 he scarcely seems to notice her. She is not a servant, 
 but came to care for me, because " Brother Brigham 
 Young " asked her parents to allow her to nurse me. 
 Though she is kind, my heart is not drawn toward her. 
 We are not like natures. She is fond of dress, show, 
 style,, and books that tell about gay, rich people and 
 fashionable scenes. She seems to have no spirituality, 
 no soul-life, and lives wholly in the senses. I wish I 
 rrrrcould lovc hcf, as shc is really good to me. Four 
 
58 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 weeks have passed since I became conscious. I have 
 written out this sad story that I may, perchance, throw 
 part of its weight off me. 
 
 August, 
 To-day, as I reclined beside the window of the sit- 
 ting-room, looking into the side yard, I saw a tiny board 
 standing near the fence, in the earth, and could trace 
 the outline of a little mound ; my heart divined that it 
 was the grave of my babe, and Mabel says the child 
 was buried there. I must get strong enough to go sit 
 beside that sacred spot. 
 
 Last night I asked Frederic about the babe. It was 
 a girl, with yellow hair, like my own, and sweet, round 
 face. He described it as like a tiny marble statuette — 
 very lovely. Then he brought me all the little dresses 
 from the drawer, that 1 might know which one it wore 
 when it was laid away ; afterward I could almost fancy 
 I had seen my infant. Frederic said he buried it in 
 the yard because they feared I, too, would slip away 
 into the silent land, and he meant to put the child into 
 my arms, if he lost me. This thoughtfulness and sym- 
 pathy drew me nearer to him than I had hitherto lived- 
 Mamma was right — I could not leave my husband now, 
 even for my sisters, my parents. 
 
 After Mabel went home, my husband took me out in 
 the easy-chair, and I sat beside the little grave. It 
 seemed not that the child was in the earth, but, rather, 
 was an invisible presence in the air. I felt that my 
 babe was immortal ; and as the warm tears rained down 
 my face, I whispered to Frederic, kneeling at my side. 
 
THE INFANT'S GRA.VB. 59 
 
 " She has only gone before, yet I shall see my child— 
 I can wait." 
 
 He silently carried' me into the house. Now that 
 my wish to sit beside the grave of my infant has been 
 gratified, my longing for my mother grows stronger. 
 
 September. 
 To-day I urged my husband to send again to Mamma. 
 He said he had sent, and learned they had gone thirty 
 miles farther east, to locate near some Swiss families, 
 because Salt Lake affected Mamma's health so unfa- 
 vorably. I wept bitterly, and that made me quite ill 
 again ; but he has promised to take me to visit them 
 when I am strong enough. 
 
 October. 
 Mabel has gone home ; I was glad to get away from 
 her great black eyes — though she was kind to me. No 
 news yet from Mamma. 
 
 October. 
 Yesterday Mr. Reiker came with news of my loved 
 ones ; they have left me forever — gone to St. Louis, 
 Missouri. The visit to Mr. Reiker's was but a cover 
 for their design. He at once took them to a Swiss 
 family, twenty miles distant ; that friend carried them 
 still farther eastward to another family, where teams 
 had been provided ; then some herdsmen escorted 
 them a long distance, to a place where the United 
 States are laying out a railroad, and they sought the 
 protection of the soldiers. When, after a fortnight's 
 absence, Brigham Young sent for them, they were be- 
 yond his power. For Mamma's sake, I must submit to 
 
60 PLURA.L MA.RRIAGB. 
 
 the separation. Mr. Reiker brought a note from Papa 
 begging my forgiveness for their deception, but assur- 
 ing me that it was only when nobody would think they 
 would leave me, that escape would be possible. I 
 wept much, yet there was a comfort in knowing the 
 truth ; in feeling that separation is the whole extent of 
 our misfortune. I will win my husband from this 
 madness, that we may be re-united to our loved ones. 
 He longs for his mother ; through that longing he may 
 be led back. My life-purpose shall be to learn Eng- 
 lish thoroughly, that I may know the whole vocabulary 
 of persuasion, love, entreaty. 
 
 Frederic was greatly relieved to find that I knew my 
 parents had gone East. He had feared the news would 
 overwhelm me, and could not bring himself to give me 
 a blow that might prove the death-wound. 
 
 " I feel like a new man with that secret off my soul," 
 he said. " I suspected the truth at once, but had no 
 certainty of it until Brother Young's messenger came 
 back. I begged him, for your sake, to conceal the 
 whole matter for the time ; I have tried to guard you 
 from sorrow. God knows, Adele, I have struggled 
 against fate, against authority to shield you. If my 
 convictions have yielded to those of others superior in 
 knowledge, you must always remember that I have 
 loved you first, last, always." I do not fully under- 
 stand him, and feel fearful of anything that has an air 
 of mystery. 
 
 29th October. 
 
 Mabel has told me much of the Mormon doctrines. 
 
 There are gods of different ranks ; the highest is Elo- 
 
 him, then Jehovah, then Joseph Smith, fourth, Christ ; 
 
 fifth, Young. Martha and Mary were wives of Jesus. 
 
MORMON DOCTRINE. 61 
 
 Any person may kill another who seems in danger of 
 ^apostacy, to save his soul. Brigham Young says to the 
 women : " If you hear the voice of your husband cry- 
 ing, ' Murder ! Murder ! ' in the night, look not out, 
 as you value your souls ; if he goes, and comes never 
 again, ask not what has chanced to him — it is the will 
 tof God he should disappear." 
 
 They enslave women by saying that no woman can 
 be saved unless married. If there are no unmarried 
 men, then the young women must be sealed to some 
 man already married, in order to save her soul. Some- 
 times a half-brother and sister, children of the same 
 mother, are married to each other ; sometimes a man 
 marries a mother and her daughter ; often men marry 
 sisters. Sometimes the first wife, shocked and degraded 
 by her position, loses her reason — often she commits 
 suicide. Those who attempt to escape are shot. This 
 is the beautiful religion for which my father tore us 
 from our beloved Switzerland. Would we might flee 
 from this dreadful city. Why does not my husband 
 see how hideous this religion is. 
 
 Frederic has begun building a new room to our 
 house. I asked : " Do you really think we need a new 
 room ? ' ' 
 
 He said only : "We may in the future." All day I 
 have puzzled over the matter. I wish I knew his heart 
 to the very bottom as he knows mine. Yet my mind 
 seems to seize words and meanings more readily than 
 before my illness. Care, grief and loss help to develop 
 mind and soul. I must learn to wield these English 
 words with skill and power. 
 
fii! PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 November. 
 
 This morning that odd old Indian woman, Nakoya, 
 came in terribly angry, because a young girl had laughed 
 at her limping, and sent her away. The poor creature 
 had pierced her foot with a thorn. With a pair of tiny 
 pincers, the bit of wood was quickly taken out, and 
 the wound bandaged. She seemed grateful, saying: 
 " Me no forget ; me do good to white squaw, some 
 day." 
 
 Mabel soon came in, and told me the circumstances, 
 excusing her cruel treatment by saying : " She feared 
 Indian women ; she believed in the ' evil eye,' and did 
 not wish one of that race to enter her doors." She 
 seems to recognize the claims of humanity only in those 
 of her own rank .in life, and has no sympathy for the 
 ill-trained, untutored poor. 
 
 The pretty new room, almost the exact counterpart 
 of my own sitting-room, is nearly finished. Frederic 
 and I were looking about, after the workmen left, this 
 evening. His chief thought seemed to be that it should 
 be equally as pleasant and handsome as my other 
 rooms. He showed no pride or delight in its arrange- 
 ments, merely saying : " It made the cottage look more 
 complete ; we were comfortable without more room." 
 
 " Why, then, did you build it ? " I asked. 
 
 " Brother Young ordered it," he said, reluctantly and 
 coldly. 
 
 " Brother Young ordered it ! " I cried. " So this is 
 your fine land of free thought and action, where people 
 are bound, mind and soul, by religious priests ! Give 
 me a dungeon and a free spirit, rather than such soul- 
 
THE NEW ROOM. 63 
 
 bondage ! Rather let us rise and flee at night, desti- 
 tute, like my father." 
 
 He answered : " Adele, it would be useless for us to 
 attempt leaving. Since your father's escape, I am sus- 
 pected, watched day and night. We would be shot if 
 we attempted to get away from Salt Lake. For my- 
 self, I am content to stay. I understand the old Mosaic 
 code ; I appreciate its methods and wisdom. While 
 our people are still weak and young, I can see the 
 necessity of keeping our numbers intact, and of increas- 
 ing them rapidly as possible, that we may be able to 
 cope with the Gentiles, and struggle successfully for 
 our religion. It is the same contest the Israelites 
 waged against the foes round about Canaan. Individ- 
 ual feelings and preferences must be sacrificed." 
 
 Frederic's eyes were all aflame with enthusiasm as he 
 thus spoke. I was shocked to see how strongly he is 
 bound in this accursed net, and could only reply, " God 
 help us, and open your blind eyes, my husband." He 
 seemed about to speak, but checked himself, as he 
 walked quietly away to the store. 
 
 December. 
 At last ! news from my loved ones — such news ! Oh ! 
 my little mother — my darling little mother ! How can 
 I write it ? A week ago a letter came, brought by a 
 German Swiss, who met my father in St. Louis. All 
 reached -there safely, and in health, save this one, dear 
 one — she sleeps under the cotton -wood tree, in a little 
 grove beside the Platte. Well do I remember the 
 shaded spot— the tree which is her monument. We 
 spent an entire day there, resting, while upon our jour- 
 ney hither. Though I have my sister's letter almost by 
 heart, I will copy it, so that if I should chance to lose 
 
84 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 the precious paper, I may still have its contents on 
 
 record : — 
 
 St. Louis, September. 
 My Beloved Sister • 
 
 By this time thou must know that we have fled 
 forever from Salt Lake. We started at midnight of the 
 day we bade thee farewell. 1 little thought at that 
 time I should not see thee again, as all had been hid- 
 den from Marie and I, lest we should unwittingly be- 
 tray the plans. 
 
 We were roused from sleep, and bidden to dress, as 
 Mr. Reiker's people had come. We knew not where 
 we were going until we left Mr. Reiker's for the East. 
 Thou must not blame Papa for leaving thee in ignorance, 
 because of thy ill-health, they dared tell thee nothing. 
 Thou will not blame Mamma when I tell thee she lies 
 asleep under the cotton -wood tree, where Frederic cut 
 all our initials, the day we stopped beside the Platte to 
 rest. 
 
 Mamma drooped, day by day, after leaving Salt Lake. 
 She rarely spoke ; she ate little. Sometimes she would 
 exclaim, after hours of silence, " Oh, our poor Adele ! 
 We ought to have brought her. We have left her in 
 the midst of iniquities — my Alpine Rose ! " 
 
 For several days, toward the end, she lay reclining in 
 the wagon, with her cross in her hand. She said to 
 me, the day she left us, "Louise, I shall not reach 
 St. Louis ; I am going away to the stars. Sand the 
 cross to Adele ; it falls naturally to her, and she is des- 
 tined to wear a heavier heart-cross than thou. She 
 will need her mother's cross — her mother's dying bless- 
 ing to bear her through. My diary, too, I leave to her ; 
 it is in the box I left marked, ' Entrusted to Adele.' 
 It would have been wiser to have told her all. The 
 
"I SHALL SLEEP." 65 
 
 diary will, perhaps, prepare her for her fate. She will 
 be crushed, like her mother, by man's delusions, man's 
 iron will. Thou wilt always cling to Papa and Marie." 
 
 She seemed to remember the trail perfectly ; we 
 came upon the old way after we had gotten so far from 
 Salt Lake that we no longer feared being overtaken by 
 the Mormons. Presently she asked if we could reach 
 our old camp that night by traveling on, after a short 
 halt to rest the team. 
 
 Papa said, " No, not until the following evening. 
 Why dost thou ask ? " 
 
 " Because," she replied, " I should like to be buried 
 there ; then Adele will know where I sleep, and, per- 
 haps, some day, she will come and sit beside my grave." 
 
 Papa said, " My love, if thou shouldst pass away to- 
 night, we will carry thee thither." 
 
 All, except Mamma, wept incessantly ; she only 
 prayed, with the cross pressed upon her heart. At 
 evening we camped, watching beside her as the life 
 ebbed away. At midnight she whispered, "Good- 
 night, till morning — I shall sleep ! " and, with a smile, 
 the first for many months, our dear, dear Mamma slept 
 the sleep. 
 
 In company with us was a German named Jansen, 
 who, with his family, was returning to Sf. Louis. Mrs. 
 Jansen laid Mamma in fresh clothes, doing for us 
 everything a kind heart could do, and we started 
 forward at once. We reached the grove at sunset. 
 Papa and Mr. Jansen marked out a grave, on the east 
 side of the tree — where you sat half the day reading — 
 and, with the help of Mr. Jansen's son, they made a 
 deep grave for our dear one. A tree lay near that had 
 recently blown down, and from it Papa cut bark and 
 boughs to line the grave. About midnight all was 
 
66 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 ready. In her black Swiss dress and Swiss cap, they 
 laid Mamma gently down. We spread the shawl you 
 gave, closely over her, then boughs were laid in by Mr. 
 Jansen ; after which he made a prayer in German. 
 
 Everyone sobbed all the time ; often we swept away 
 our tears to see what we were doing. Hans Jansen 
 gathered stones along the river bank, and, after a foot 
 of earth, a layer of stones was packed into the grave, 
 thus earth and stones, alternately, to the top, where the 
 sod was carefully replaced. All the loose earth was 
 swept up and scattered, so that no one would think 
 there was a grave. We wished" to make sure that no 
 wild men or wild animals should disturb our Mamma. 
 
 Poor Papa, wrapped in his blanket, lay beside the 
 grave all night. Oh, how old and haggard he looked 
 in the morning light. We must never blame Papa any 
 more, for his heart is broken — he is crushed in life and 
 spirit. 
 
 In the morning Mrs. Jansen made breakfast ; we all 
 pretended to eat, though if one, by chance, looked into 
 another's face, both burst into tears, all seemed so 
 wretched, so hopeless. After breakfast, Mr. Jansen 
 proposed that we should move on, but Papa said, " No, 
 I cannot leave my wife to-day — ^go without us." The 
 faithful friends would not do that. Mrs. Jansen ad- 
 vised me to urge Papa, as our provisions were getting 
 scant, and it was dangerous to separate. 
 
 Papa sat down by Mamma's grave, and would not 
 notice or answer me. Hour after hour he sat, silent 
 and almost motionless ; sometimes he would start, and 
 pace up and down the river bank, plunge his hands 
 into the water, dash it over his head, then return to the 
 grave. At three o'clock we took dinner. We had 
 wept until we had no more tears. Mr. Jansen brought 
 
EASTWARD, HO! 67 
 
 up the teams, and made ready to start. Hans had al- 
 ready cut Mamma's letters, and the year, upon the 
 tree. Mrs. Jansen went to Papa, saying : " Come, now, 
 the teams are waiting." 
 
 " Go on ! " he replied, " we will come soon." 
 
 " No," she said firmly, " we will not go without you, 
 and we can wait no longer. We fear the Indians ; 
 would you have your girls captured by them ? " 
 
 " God forbid ! " he cried, springing up, " drive on — 
 leave us alone a few moments, while we bid the mother 
 farewell." 
 
 She turned away ; they mounted the wagon and 
 started. Hans took our team, drove a few dozen rods 
 and stopped. Papa threw himself, sobbing, upon the 
 grave ; Marie and I knelt at the head ; we kissed the 
 tree and the turf. After a few moments, Papa rose, 
 took us each by the hand, walked rapidly to the wagon, 
 almost threw us in, and hastened away. He seemed 
 to fear trusting himself to look backward or move 
 slowly. As long as we could see the grove, Marie and 
 I gazed upon its fading outlines. 
 
 We traveled until ten o'clock, and at four the follow- 
 ing morning, started afresh. Without other trouble, 
 though often weary — always with heart-ache — we final- 
 ly reached St. Louis. We took rooms at Mrs. More- 
 ton's house. Papa said, " We will go where Adele 
 knows, so that she can think of us there, when she 
 hears." All are most kind. Papa works again with 
 Mr. Jacquard ; I keep the rooms ; reading, studying 
 and knitting in leisure hours. Marie is at school. We 
 are settled as well as can be done in two weeks. 
 
 Write soon as possible to us. Papa sends this by an 
 acquaintance. He says, "Give Adele my undying 
 love." Marie sends "a hundred kisses." Oh, my sis- 
 
68 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 ter, what word of comfort can I send thee ? Papa gives 
 
 thee whatever was left. We do not forget thee. If we 
 
 live, we will meet again. Good-by, thou dear one 
 
 Thy loving sister, 
 
 Louise. 
 
 I cannot weep — tears are denied me. I am dazed, 
 crushed. I have set all my mother's furniture together 
 in one room, up-stairs. Some mats she braided lie 
 upon the floor ; there are the seats, and a table Papa 
 made, with their old Swiss dishes, set upon a Swiss 
 table-cover. Every day I sit there, trying to study or 
 embroider, but I only hold my work listlessly in my 
 nerveless fingers, while in thought I aip beside that 
 distant, lonely grave. I cannot wear the cross. " Poor 
 Mamma ! poor Mamma ! " my heart cries all the day. 
 I cannot think of her as a blessed, happy spirit, but 
 only as the grief-stricken woman, murdered by this de- 
 mon — Mormonism ! Her diary lies upon the table, 
 but, like the cross, it seems too sacred to handle. I 
 have not yet dared to read one word. 
 
 Last night I dreamed she came to me, murmuring, 
 " Read the book, Adele ; wear the cross, then thou wilt 
 know all. Then thou wilt have drunk one more bitter 
 cup from life's chalice. Only through the baptism of 
 tears, heart-break and self-sacrifice canst thou come 
 to me. The baptism of the body is naught — the soul- 
 baptism is all," and she smiled upon me. 
 
 January. 
 1 have obeyed the spirit-voice — have read my moth- 
 er's diary. Now, surely, God has pressed the last bit- 
 ter cup to my lips. Now the cross lies upon my 
 
THE MOTHKE'S DIARY. 69 
 
 bosom. 1, who was but a little time ago, a care-free 
 child, have become a cross-bearer among the countless 
 sufferitig women of earth. Alas ! poor sisters ! alas ! 
 that the best, the tenderest feelings of our hearts be- 
 come the scourge whereby we are flayed ; the scorpions 
 that sting us to the death. 
 
 Through what agony my mother wore the sacred 
 symbol of the dead Christ — through what agony must 
 the daughter. wear the same symbol, all caused by this 
 accursed man-made religion. Would that I could 
 write or speak the words of fire that crowd my mind, I 
 would go forth alone through Christendom, tear open 
 our bleeding heart-wounds, and show the world what a 
 festering sin is tolerated, growing stronger and ever 
 stronger, in this beautiful Republic. What was writ- 
 ten in my mother s diary to start my dislike for this 
 religion into such bitter, burning hatred ? Can I write 
 out the hideous secret of her deep despair, their sud- 
 den flight ? Would that I could have fled with them. 
 Better far to leave my husband forever, than be an ac- 
 complice of his sin. In that tear-blotted record, amid 
 piteous cries to God for help, was written, that, as the 
 Mormon rulers had decided Mr. Hersch was able to 
 support more than one wife, for the good of the church, 
 he must take another, and should marry my sister 
 Louise. My mother's death was a blow — this is a dag- 
 ger thrust at my heart. My beautiful, innocent sister 
 to be so degraded. O, God, art thou yet in heaven ! 
 
 How do I retain my reason ? Why am I not shriek- 
 ing mad ? Yet I can write, and that saves me. I have 
 none to whom I may speak my mind. I am alone with 
 the relics of my dead mother — alone, knowing that this 
 last agony of leaving me in order to save Louise, broke 
 the slight cords that bound her to life. She suffered 
 
70 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 so much, it must be God and the saints will keep her 
 tenderly, sweetly. My poor, little mother ! My poor, 
 little mother ! 
 
 For days I have lain almost lifeless upon the couch. 
 The tears, so long denied, broke forth after the last 
 blow, and I wept until prostrated. I raved at Fred- 
 eric, but he assured me he had no idea of marrying 
 Louise ; that he told the elders he called it a crime to 
 place two sisters in such relations to himself ; that he 
 would have suffered imprisonment, death, in order to 
 spare me ; that he had hoped no knowledge of the 
 matter would ever come to me. He begged me to 
 burn Mamma's diary, and let oblivion cover the whole 
 story. He said : " If you brood over this, it will shat- 
 ter your reason, as your mother's resistance of the 
 Divine Will shattered and finally destroyed her." My 
 horror of his infatuation is getting so strong, I dared 
 not reply, but left the room. 
 
 I could not open the diary again ; I never again can 
 read that record of my mother's years of agony, since 
 this hideous serpent invaded our Swiss Paradise. I 
 felt like shrieking aloud when I came up-stairs to-day, 
 and saw the book lying upon the table. Yet I cannot 
 burn it. I will dig a deep, deep place in my baby's 
 grave, and bury the fearful pages. 
 
 Can there be deeper shame and wretchedness yet 
 reserved for me ? Why is such fate mine ? What 
 pride, rebellion or sin is hidden in my heart that must 
 be rooted out? "Whom He loveth He chasteneth." 
 Ah ! but I am ground to powder in this mill of destiny, 
 and I do not see my fault. 
 
THE NKW ROOM FURNISHED. 71 
 
 When I buried my mother's diary, a fortnight since, 
 I deemed I had reached sohd ground, at the bottom of 
 the pit of misery, and that no blacker depths yawned 
 for me. But since, I have gone fathoms down, and, 
 day by day, deeper glide. Let me remember ! Two 
 days after I made that grave in my baby's grave, and 
 laid there the record of my mother's heart-agony, I 
 asked Frederic if I might go with him to choose the 
 furniture for the new room. He replied, " It is already 
 chosen." 
 
 I said, " You might have allowed me some voice in 
 the choice. What have you bought ? " 
 
 " Nothing ! " he answered, his color rising strangely. 
 "I do not furnish the room myself." 
 
 "That is strange," cried I. "Who furnishes a room 
 in your house, if not yourself ? " 
 
 With deliberate emphasis, as if the words were forced 
 from him, he said, " Mabel's father gives her the means, 
 and she furnishes her room." 
 
 " Her room ! " I repeated. " What do we want of 
 her here ? We do not need her ! " 
 
 " No ! " he answered, " we neither of us need her ; 
 yet she is coming to be your sister — my second wife ! 
 We are to be married to-morrow." 
 
 " God ! " I shrieked, " this is too much ! " and sank 
 senseless. For hours after consciousness was restored, 
 I raved in wild, desperate words against heaven, earth, 
 the tyranny of man, and these hell-born institutions. 
 
 Frederic sat beside me, bathing my head, for it was 
 fire-hot to the touch. Throughout the whole night he 
 sat gently restraining me from tearing my hair — from 
 beating my breast. I raved until speech failed, strength 
 failed, and I slept. During the following four days 
 
73 PLURAL MARRIA.GB. 
 
 they tell me, I noticed no one, neither spoke, or tasted 
 food. 
 
 Meantime, Mabel's furniture came, the ceremony of 
 sealing was performed, and my husband was one-half 
 mine, whilst one-half, according to Mormon teachings, 
 belonged to another woman. They kept her away 
 from me ; but yesterday, in returning from my baby's 
 grave, I met her face to face. Mabel extended her 
 hand, saying, with a smile, "Good morning, Sister; I 
 am glad you are better. They would not let me come 
 and tend you, though I would have done so, willingly. 
 We must be friends, because we shall both be utterly 
 wretched if we quarrel. I know you do not want me 
 here, and I would much prefer a husband who belonged 
 wholly to myself. But what can we do? The men 
 rule — they decide our lives. We have no other home ; 
 we are bound to do as those who rule us say. You 
 think this double marriage, sin. Well, it is not our sin. 
 I was forced to marry Mr. Hersch, or take the fourth 
 place with another man — an old, coarse man. I like 
 you and Mr. Hersch ; I chose this. Do you blame 
 me ? Kiss me, and let us be friends. I have no sister 
 — try and like me." 
 
 Mabel spoke so pleasantly, so candidly, I could not 
 resist — I "kissed her. I do not hate her, nor do I love 
 her. It will be best there should be peace between us. 
 She asked me to come see her sitting-room, which is 
 very prettily furnished. She explained that we were to 
 do the work together, because Mr. Hersch did not feel 
 able to build another kitchen, and said, if I were will- 
 ing, she would do the household work the week Mr. 
 Hersch staid with her, if I would do the same the al- 
 ternate week. 
 
TWO WIVES. 73 
 
 Next Monday Frederic will come to pass the week 
 with me. I have not consciously spoken to him since 
 that terrible night. I must not blame Mabel ; we are 
 alike victims of one horror. I have thought her trifling, 
 heartless, but the iron has pierced her soul, and she 
 feels the shame of this mock marriage. 
 
 Fedruarv. 
 
 Yesterday, Frederic came in, early in the morning. 
 He came to me, put his arm about me, kissed me 
 tenderly, saying: " Is my Adele better this morning? 
 She has been very naughty this week, not to let me 
 come fold her in my arms, and kiss away her tears." 
 And this man had just come from Mabel's arms ! In- 
 stantly I felt his kiss, his love had become pollution. I 
 said, coldly, " Will you bring me some wood ? " 
 
 Breakfast passed ; Mabel chatted pleasantly. I de- 
 clined attending temple service. I am determined 
 never again to enter those unholy walls. Frederic and 
 Mabel walked out together ; he, gravely polite ; she, 
 bright, attractive, in her wedding finery. 
 
 I spent the day in silent prayer, and thought about 
 my future. Mabel went from the service to her father's 
 house. Frederic read aloud to me ; I know not what, 
 I could not command my mind to follow. 
 
 At nine o'clock, he said : " Well, little one, is it not 
 time to retire? You must be very weary." 
 
 "Yes," I replied, "I am very weary; I am very 
 weak. You may sleep in our old room. I have decid- 
 ed to use the room devoted to Mamma's memory for 
 my room hereafter." 
 
 " Adele ! " he cried, passionately, " you are my wife, 
 you must not leave me ! " 
 
74 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 "I have not left you," I answered. "I would have 
 clung to you through starvation, imprisonment or death. 
 I would not have received another husband if the whole 
 Mormon society had tried to thrust one upon me. 
 You have left me. There can be but one wife — if 
 Mabel is your wife, I am not. I shall never degrade 
 my womanhood by becoming a partner in any such 
 marriage relations. My mother is in Heaven. I wish 
 to go to her clean-souled, this would pollute me. 
 Good night ! " 
 
 " Go ! " he answered, "if your conscience bids you ; 
 I will stay here. If you should ever think differently, 
 come back to me. Every second week I am yours 
 alone." 
 
 I went away. " Every second week, I am yours 
 alone," I repeated, indignantly. "This is the man 
 who vowed to love, protect and honor me." Ah ! bit- 
 ter tears I wept in that pretty, bright, front room ; yet, 
 I would not return to my husband, for I would not be- 
 come a member of this sinful compact. 
 
 In the morning, Mr, Hersch said: " Adele, do not 
 tell Mabel, or any one, that there is any difference be- 
 tween us, for your own sake, Adele." 
 
 Mabel will spend the week with her mother. I think 
 she has as much jealousy in her nature as I have, and 
 cannot endure the thought of Frederic being with me, 
 while she sits alone. I will not ask her into my room 
 when Frederic is with me. I could see that she winced 
 whenever he spoke to me in his usual, caressing tone. 
 Ah ! plainly I see that misery has come to sit beside us 
 in the day, and couch beside us in the night. Oh, that 
 I were asleep with my babe, beside my dead mother. 
 
ADELE'S GRIEF. 75 
 
 The week has gone, and Frederic is Mabel's hus- 
 band ; sits during the evening hours with her. We 
 meet at table ; he inquires carefully about my health, 
 and wants, as if he feared to omit some duty. The 
 days drag heavily. It is useless for me to attempt far- 
 ther study ; my mind will not receive new thoughts nor 
 new words. I was learning to think in English, but 
 that is gone ; my mind has become wholly French again. 
 I hesitate for words I have known quite well. Mind 
 and body are shattered, and I am yet so young ; will I 
 live years and years with this agony gnawing at my 
 heart ? 
 
 How terrible it is to sit alone during the long even- 
 ings, trying to work, while Mabel's light laugh rings 
 out, and my husband's— her husband's — voice, reading 
 to her, comes to my ear. Oh, if I had my babe ; it 
 would be some comfort to hold her close to my aching 
 heart. But, no ! I thank God, the little one is saved 
 from my fate ; and, thank God, I shall never have a 
 son to grow up a Mormon viper. 
 
 March. 
 Winter has passed, and spring birds are in the air, 
 spring sunshine is melting the snows upon the hills ; 
 all the street streams are gurgling full of water How 
 heavy the winter has been ! The first week of Mabel's 
 coming has been a pattern of all the rest, except Mr. 
 Hersch forbade her going home every alternate week ; 
 then she sits alone, fretting at the solitude. It has worn 
 upon her visibly. She has lost that look of bright, high 
 life which made all her beauty, — she looks wretched. 
 Her "friends live so far away, she cannot see them often. 
 She does not care for books or study ; I do not care 
 for gossip, and her life is very dull. 
 
76 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 A few days ago, old Nakoya called. She said peo- 
 ple told her Mr. Hersch had another white squaw wife, 
 and she thought she would bring me a charm, a plant, 
 to prevent my husband liking the new squaw best. 
 She said it would do no harm, only make her dull and 
 stupid. It looks innocent, and has a spicy smell. I 
 steeped a few leaves, and have drank of it several days, 
 to prove that it is not poisonous. The only effect 
 seems to be a slight stupor. What if I put some in 
 Mabel's tea ? It really adds to the flavor of the tea ; 
 it certainly can do no harm ; it will not really injure 
 her, and if ray husband should tire of her, she is so 
 proud, and so fond of her parents, perhaps she will go 
 home and leave us. It vexes Mabel to sit alone when 
 Mr. Hersch is with me. Once she asked if she might 
 come in to spend the long winter evening. 
 
 " Do you wish me to come sit in your room when 
 Frederic is with you ? " I asked. 
 
 She colored violently, exclaiming : " No, indeed ! I 
 like to think, I try to make myself believe then, that 
 he belongs to me ; then I am half-way happy. It 
 makes me almost furious to sit alone, hearing your 
 voices, and longing and wishing to know what you are 
 saying. When I think he loves you best, because he 
 chose you, and I was thrust upon him, I feel so desper- 
 ate, I could go out and curse Brigham Young, the 
 elders, and even my father, for forcing me into such a 
 position. If I were the first wife, I could bear it bet- 
 ter ; but this position humiliates me. Oh ! I hate my- 
 self when I think how the Gentile world regards such 
 a marriage as mine ! What is the approval of one sect 
 when the whole civilized world — every land where 
 womanhood is honored, despise us ? " 
 
POOR MABEL ! 77 
 
 The long evenings alone, the jealousy, have opened 
 her mind ; she feels this hideous mock-marriage is de- 
 grading. But she had not strength of soul to resist — 
 to die rather than suffer dishonor. Poor Mabel ! poor, 
 struggling soul ! Unhappy sister-woman ! bound in 
 the net of man's depravity ; more helpless than I, be- 
 cause without hope built upon Christ ; more helpless 
 because she has no angel-mother visiting her in dreams, 
 beckoning her beyond. Perhaps Nakoya's spell may 
 dissolve these bonds. She may yet be free and happy. 
 
 June. 
 The Summer days are here, with their languid heats. 
 Mabel droops visibly. I gave her the tea a few times ; 
 she gradually became dull and listless. Frederic re- 
 marked it, and I felt alarmed. It might be wrong that 
 I was doing ; Mabel had not willingly harmed me. I 
 had a terrible fear at my heart ; I urged her to sit in 
 my room whenever she chose. She said : " I no 
 longer care to come. Frederic likes to escape from me. 
 I complain of my position in hot, bitter words ; I have 
 estranged him. But I hate this life ; you are kind and 
 gentle ; I cannot hate you." Coals of fire ! Coals of 
 fire ! This to me, who had been feeding her Nakoya's 
 weed. 
 
 Frederic having become alarmed at Mabel's listless 
 manner and colorless cheeks, has called the physician. 
 Dr. Adams says that, without visible disease, Mabel is 
 probably entering upon a hopeless decline. " I should 
 say," were his words, " that her spirit was broken, and, 
 with her lively nature, that is everything. If she can 
 be interested and made happy in life, being young, she 
 
78 PLURA.L MARRIAGE. 
 
 may yet rally ; otherwise there is but one end to this — 
 death ! " 
 
 I wept bitterly ; I am, in a degree, guilty. I refused 
 Mabel's request when she asked to sit with me even- 
 ings. She has spent half the winter alone, without the 
 solace I have from writing, from my Bible, and from 
 knowing that I am the true wife. Old Nakoya acts as 
 if she had some secret hold upon me. I begin to share 
 Mabel's feeling about the " evil eye." Would that I had 
 never listened to her bad thoughts. 
 
 Every day I take Mabel for a long drive. We stop 
 in shady nooks to gather flowers ; we loiter away whole 
 mornings in the open air. We all live together, now ; 
 I take the entire work and management of affairs. I 
 call her " sister," as the wished at first. Then, I thought 
 she had stained herself in marriage, and I felt myself 
 purer. Alas ! there are many ways to sin ; who shall 
 say which commandment is highest ? Surely, I have 
 not "loved my neighbor as myself." 
 
 June. 
 " The guilty hide," was the thought that came to-day 
 when I unlocked my writing-desk to get my diary, 
 which I used to leave around anywhere. For days the 
 black depths, of what I thought my pure heart, have 
 yawned as dark before my spiritual eyes as did ever 
 any mountain chasm to my physical sense. I became 
 so alarmed at Mabel's increasing weakness that I told 
 Dr. Adams what I had given her. I showed some 
 leaves to the doctor, asking if he thought there would 
 be harm in taking this simple herb, I had from an In- 
 dian woman, saying that I had taken the infusion for a 
 week, with no ill-effect, save dullness. 
 
ADELB'S CONFESSION. 79 
 
 July. 
 
 What fright I felt when Dr. Adams called to-day. 
 He would tell me whether I had committed a murder. 
 What a terrible word ! I have not done that, surely. 
 It is the intention stamps the deed, and, God knows, I 
 had not thought of killing Mabel. Yet I had taken the 
 first evil step in wishing to harm her beauty, destroy 
 her attractiveness, kill her charms in the eyes of my 
 husband ; surely, I have sinned. 
 
 The doctor chatted awhile with Mabel, arranged 
 some medicine for her, then came into the kitchen 
 where I was, making pastry. He said, " I analyzed 
 your plant, Mrs. Hersch, and have taken a strong dose 
 each night for the past three nights, thinking you might 
 have lighted upon some valuable remedy ; it made me 
 sleep very heavily, and made me dull afterward. I 
 judge it only narcotic, but would not advise its use. 
 All narcotics clog the system, and should be only tem- 
 porary expedients. Do not tamper with these old In- 
 dian witches. Take care and do not overwork.'' 
 
 Then I made my confession : " Doctor," I said, " be- 
 fore you were called, I gave Mabel a teaspoon full of 
 this infusion each evening for two weeks ; do you think 
 it could have harmed her ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, child ! " he replied. " It is not sufficiently 
 powerful, and in so short a time. Probably it was good 
 for her, she is so nervous. But do not try any experi- 
 ments. It requires much study, thought, knowledge, 
 to enable one to handle drugs, and the most learned of 
 us make mistakes. You have not, however, harmed 
 Mabel, several of her father's family declined in just 
 this way ; it is constitutional, hereditary. There are 
 some big words for our little Swiss lady to remember. 
 Good-day ! Keep the patient happy while she lasts ; 
 
80 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 that is all we can do." And the good doctor went 
 away, leaving me more easy in my conscience. 
 
 By my conversation with Dr. Adams, a burden was 
 lifted from my heart. I amuse Mabel by telling her 
 about Switzerland, its mountains and its glaciers ; about 
 Paris, London and New York. She says : "You can 
 enjoy yourself alone much better than I, because you 
 have all these things to remember, and live over. I 
 have only my life here, and a dim remembrance of our 
 journey from Illinois. I am not fond of reading, and 
 my mind is empty." I read the Bible every day to 
 her ; she delights in the lovely, gentle life of Jesus. 
 
 The fierce summer heats have come ; I fan Mabel 
 throughout all the hot afternoons. I cannot do enough 
 to atone for the wrong thoughts I have harbored toward 
 her. She turns her dark eyes, full of affection, upon me 
 as I enter or leave her room. She seems to prefer me 
 to her mother. She visibly shrinks from Mr. Hersch. 
 I believe she has come to think her marriage with him im- 
 pure, and would willingly have it dissolved. She never 
 offers him the slightest caress, or any word of wifely 
 affection, as she used. He sleeps upon the couch in 
 her sitting-room, that he may be ready to care for her 
 wants. 
 
 This trouble has made me miss my family less than 
 at first. My mother's lonely grave has become less 
 terrible to remember. It would be great comfort to 
 hear from Papa and the sisters ; my heart yearns after 
 them. I have had but one opportunity to send a letter. 
 
 Old Nakoya was here to-day. Mabel came to the 
 door to speak to me, saw the old creature unex- 
 pectedly, and, giving a shriek, fell senseless upon the 
 
OLD NAKOYA. 81 
 
 floor. She soon recovered, but started, trembling 
 at every sound throughout the whole afternoon. Her 
 fear of the Indian is no fancy. When I returned to the 
 kitchen, the old woman was muttering : " White squaw 
 much 'fraid black squaw ; she soon be gone now. You 
 want more tea ?" 
 
 " No ! " I replied, coldly, frightened at the peculiar 
 look and whispered question, "I only drank part of 
 that you gave me. I threw it all away, long ago." 
 
 "You, lily-squaw, never took it," she said. 
 
 I answered promptly, " Yes, for a week, and I showed 
 it to Dr. Adams. It did not make me any stronger, 
 and was of no use." 
 
 Like a flash it came upon me that I must not let this 
 wretch think I had given Mabel this herb, or had 
 thought it harmful. 
 
 "Ugh," she grunted, "no fool Injun woman ! You 
 gave black-eyed, white squaw some drink ; she sick and 
 soon die ; no fool Nakoya. Nakoya want blanket- 
 must have blanket. Lily-squaw better give Injun blan- 
 ket. Ugh ! " 
 
 I replied, firmly, " I have no blankets to give. The 
 blankets are not mine ; they belong to my husband. 
 It would be wrong for me to give what is not mine. I 
 have tea and sugar that are my own, which I will give 
 you. You frighten Mabel ; you must not come again 
 until she is better. Dr. Adams said your foolish herb 
 would not harm anybody." 
 
 Nakoya took the things I offered, and went sullenly 
 away. I was so alarmed by her manner that I followed 
 her, at a distance, until she left the town, and entered 
 upon the road toward the hills, where she lives. 
 
 "The wicked flee when no man pursueth," I whis- 
 pered to myself. I am afraid of Nakoya ; afraid of 
 
82 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 having anyone see my journal, or knowing my whole 
 thought ; my inmost thought I dare not show to my 
 husband. I deemed myself much purer than these 
 people, yet I have tampered with sin, tampered with a 
 human life, in my eagerness to retain fleeting human 
 affection. Oh, my angel mother ! why didst thou not 
 withhold thy daughter from this wickedness ? Blacker 
 and blacker seems my conduct, as Mabel fades day by 
 day. The thought, the bitter thought that I have 
 wronged her, returns with tenfold power. Every night 
 I pray earnestly I may be taken and she may livei 
 Gladly, joyfully would I yield my life to ransom hers. 
 
 August. 
 
 Yesterday evening Mabel's parents came to spend a 
 few hours with their daughter, Mr. Brown was terri- 
 bly excited when he heard that Mabel fainted at sight 
 of Nakoya. He, too, believes in the " evil eye." "Why 
 do you have her here ? " he asked me, roughly. 
 
 "She stops to rest when she walks to the store," I 
 answered, with calm dignity. " I have bought baskets 
 of her ; once I doctored her foot, which she had hurt 
 with a thorn. She does not steal, and is always sober. 
 Why should I not treat the old creature humanely ? " 
 
 " You ought not to have her here when you know it 
 harms Mabel," he said, less rudely. 
 
 I replied mildly, for I did not wish any contest with 
 him : " Mabel never chanced to see her here until yes- 
 terday, and I told Nakoya she must not come again 
 until Mabel is better." 
 
 " I will see that she never comes again ! " he cried, 
 excitedly. " She hates our family, and, I suspect, has 
 cast some spell upon Mabel that has caused her ill- 
 ness." 
 
MABEL RENOUNCES FREDERIC. 83 
 
 Knowing how useless it is to argue with superstition, 
 I kept silent. They wished to take Mabel to their 
 home, but she would not consent to go : "I prefer my 
 own home, my own room," she said decidedly. " My 
 sister and her husband are kind to me ; it is quiet, and 
 here I shall stay until I die.'' 
 
 Of late, she refers to Mr. Hersch as " your husband," 
 "her husband," never, as "my husband." 
 
 Mabel's mother will stay with us while her daughter 
 lives. It is evident she will not outlast these fierce 
 summer days. The heavy, listless look has passed from 
 her face, and a gentle, almost child-like air of sweet 
 patience has come into the great dark eyes. She likes 
 me to read to her, and that is all I now do for her, ex- 
 cept relieving Mrs. Brown, sometimes, with the fan. 
 The household work takes all my strength. She has 
 had the best care possible ; my conscience is clear upon 
 that point. How 1 like to justify myself, recalling every 
 act of attention, of self-denial, that may seem to out- 
 weigh my fault. 
 
 August. 
 
 " Be sure your sin will find you out ! " For one long 
 week that scorching sentence has run through my 
 mind, rung in my brain, until I often find myself glanc- 
 ing round to see if some one has not said it behind me. 
 My dread of Nakoya had become such that, like Mabel, 
 I should have fainted at sight of her. But sight of her 
 shall I never more have. Mr. Hersch told me at din- 
 ner that she had been found dead, near her hut, among 
 the foot-hills by the lake. I almost said, "Thank 
 God ! " 
 
 The next thought was one of horror that 1 should 
 feel glad at any creature's death. She had been shot ; 
 
84 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 whether by one of her tribe, in anger, or by some hun- 
 ter, accidentally, will probably never be known. Like 
 a flash came to me Mr. Brown's remark that " he would 
 see she never came again.'' Perhaps her dealings with 
 me have been the cause of her death ; and the thought 
 will lie upon my soul. Alas ! I did not teach her to 
 forgive injuries, but, by my own weakness, gave her 
 chance to revenge herself, perhaps fatally, upon Mabel. 
 
 The hot August days are almost gone ; the heat 
 throughout the summer has been intense. Poor Mabel 
 lies every day, white and silent, upon her couch. She 
 is no longer interested in reading, and can only receive 
 some favorite Bible-text or hymn-verse. Her voice is 
 but a silver thread of sound ; her small hands are 
 snow-white. Long ago her wedding-ring fell off, and 
 she would not have it replaced. " Keep and wear it 
 when I am dead, in memory of your unfortunate sis- 
 ter," she said, sadly. 
 
 She calls Frederic, "brother." So far as renuncia- 
 tion can do so, she has dissolved her marriage. Yes- 
 terday Frederic remarked, bitterly, " Two women bound 
 to me through life to death, and yet no wife." Then 
 suddenly glancing at my face, he cried, " My God ! 
 AdMe ! you are almost as white as Mabel. You are 
 my own love, my only hope on earth. Spare yourself 
 for my sake ; let Mabel's mother take care of her child." 
 
 I could not tell him of the fever of agony, of remorse, 
 that was burning out my heart. Ah ! joyfully would I 
 take my place upon Mabel's couch of death, could I 
 thereby cleanse my life from that one fatal wrong, born 
 of jealous fear of losing my husband's affection. If he 
 knew how close I had come to crime, how, in trying 
 to rob Mabel of her beauty, I had, perhaps, hastened 
 her death, would he not fear, spurn and hate me ? 
 
MABEL'S DEATH. 85 
 
 If Nakoya had never come again after Dr. Adams' 
 trial of the herb, I could, in a degree, have forgiven 
 myself ; but physicians are not all-wise, and many 
 things that at first seem harmless, show themselves 
 poison in the end. I was proud of my purity, and I 
 have found my heart black, wicked ! 
 
 *■ Septembkr. 
 
 For a week we have hung over Mabel's couch, await- 
 ing the end. September came without bringing rain, 
 or lessening the scorching heats. Our invalid drooped 
 day by day, until only the dark eyes turned lovingly 
 from one to the other showed that she still lived, and, 
 Tuesday evening, as the sun set, a film came over their 
 brightness, the flicker of a smile played about her white 
 lips, and Mabel had gone away. 
 
 Frederic bore me almost senseless from the room. I 
 have slept Uttle during the week ; I feel as if I should 
 never sleep again. The friends came and decked Ma- 
 bel in her bridal dress. I dared not look at her. 
 Wednesday, (that was yesterday, but so long ago), at 
 sunset, she was laid in the earth. I sat trembling, 
 white as death, at the service in her room ; then Fred- 
 eric brought me back to my couch, and bade me lie 
 there. They took Mabel away — and yet they did not 
 take her away — for I seem to feel and hear her every- 
 where I go. I glance around and over my shoulder, 
 even now, while writing, to see if she is coming into 
 the room. I stop and listen to catch her light laugh. 
 Oh ! that I could bring her back ; she might have 
 everything — my husband, his love, my home, all — and 
 I would go out homeless, nameless, toiling for my 
 bread, if only I could recall the one evil thought I had 
 toward her. 
 
86 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 Frederic returned from her burial, and, kneeling, put 
 his arms about me : " Adele, my love," he said, with his 
 .cheek against mine, " you are my wife again. I have 
 suffered enough. No power on earth shall force me 
 into another such union. You will come back to my 
 heart, to my life, Adele ? " 
 
 Without speaking, for floods of tears, the first tears 
 I had shed for poor Mabel, prevented speech. I threw 
 my arms about his neck ; I was once more his wife, 
 with my horrid secret rankling in my mind. All night, 
 without sleeping, I lay clasped in his arms. All night, 
 remorse tore at my soul, and I felt no joy in this re- 
 union. 
 
 To-day my husband has gone to look after his busi- 
 ness, so long neglected, and I have crept up to my 
 mother's room, to my locked diary, to see if writing 
 will not calm me, will not take something of the bitter- 
 ness from my heart. But Mabel, who never came here, 
 comes now, and I think she looks over and sees what I 
 write. I will lock, aye, double lock it from every eye. 
 
 A week has passed since Mabel left our home, yet 
 her spirit lingers ; I feel it hourly. He father came 
 and took her furniture, still that did not take her away ; 
 she yet walks about the deserted room. I asked Fred- 
 eric, this morning, to tear down the room, but he said 
 the lonely air of the place would pass away after a 
 time, and next year he would re^furnish it as a parlor, 
 and the bed-room should be our library. But I can 
 never use those rooms, never, never ! 
 
 Now a fortnight has gone since we laid Mabel away, 
 still I do not lose the sense of her presence in my home. 
 
MABEL'S SPIRIT LINGERS. 87 
 
 I walk upon the streets every day until I am so tired 
 I can scarce return. I tried the carriage, but she 
 seemed always to sit beside me, and I gave up driving. 
 I never walked with her, and when walking, I am free 
 from her. 
 
 I notice people look at me strangely. When I came 
 home to-day, I went to the glass to see if anything was 
 wrong in my dress. How haggard, wild and wan my 
 face has become. Frederic, I notice, scarcely lets his 
 eyes rest upon me a moment ; if he glances up smiling, 
 the smile slips at once from his lips, and his eyes fill 
 with tears. Alas ! I have wasted my own beauty as 
 well as Mabel's. Indeed, I do not now look as attract- 
 ive as did she. Her face wore a beautiful look of 
 peace and rest, an almost seraphic look, before she 
 went away. This afternoon, I walked to the cemetery 
 to visit her grave. 
 
 When I found her resting-place, I knelt there a long 
 time in prayer. I begged, if she were happy in that 
 far-off land, and knew my error, that she would forgive, 
 and come no more to haunt me, with pallid cheek and 
 wasted form, but would rest in that country whither she 
 has gone, and leave me at peace. Yet, when I came 
 home, she was here ; but she does not look reproach- 
 fully upon me, only sadly, and without the look of 
 affection in her eyes she used to wear, and that makes 
 me think she knows that I have wronged her. But 
 she is now a saint, and the saints forgive ; they feel no 
 resentment. 
 
 OCTOBKR. 
 
 My sin has found me out ! Mrs. Braught came in 
 this morning, and said, abruptly, " What is this people 
 are talking about you and old Nakoya giving Mabel 
 
88 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 Indian herbs to bewitch her ? I tell everybody it's a 
 lie !" The stanch German heart could not believe ill 
 of her friend. 
 
 I replied, with steady calmness : " I never gave Ma- 
 bel anything to bewitch her. I had an herb of Nakoya 
 that both Mabel and I drank somewhat. I showed it 
 to Dr. Adams ; he said it was not harmful, but of no 
 use to us, and I threw the leaves into the fire. I do 
 not believe any person can bewitch another ; who tells 
 such a foolish story ? " 
 
 " O, everybody is saying it. I came in to find out 
 the whole truth, that I might the better defend you. 
 The elders held a meeting about it yesterday ; Dr. Ad- 
 ams and Mr. Hersch were called to testify. It is whis- 
 pered that Mabel's father hired a man to shoot Nakoya 
 in order to save his daughter. Do not mind," she bab- 
 bled on, as the tears began to flow over my face ; 
 "everybody will know it's only Mr. Brown's supersti- 
 tion. Everybody saw the care you gave Mabel, and 
 how much she thought of you. Good-bye ! " and the 
 warm-hearted gossip went home. 
 
 At dinner, Frederic asked, carelessly, looking away 
 from me, " Did you ever give Mabel any herb that Na- 
 koya brought you ? " 
 
 "Yes, a few times, and I took some," I replied, 
 steadily. " It was a sort of narcotic ; it soothed the 
 nerves, but made one stupid. I asked Dr. Adams if it 
 would harm us ; he thought not, but advised me not to 
 use it." 
 
 " Do you believe in witchcraft ? " he continued. 
 
 " No, indeed ! my parents had too much sense to 
 teach us any such trash,'' was my indignant reply. 
 " Why do you ask me these questions ? " 
 
MABEL ACCUSED OP WITCHCRAFT. 89 
 
 " Because some superstitious people are saying you 
 and Nakoya bewitched Mabel, and I wished to know 
 from what such stories could have arisen. Nakoya was 
 a wretched old creature, and by telling of your having 
 herbs of her, has given occasion for a great deal of 
 feeling against you. Of course, only the ignorant will 
 credit, such stuff ; but the ignorant are, unfortunately, 
 too many here. Mabel's parents are greatly excited." 
 
 " Well," I said, " you can tell them Mabel took, at 
 evening, for two weeks only, a teaspoon full of this 
 herb. She never took any until she began to decline. 
 When Dr. Adams said the plant was of no value, I 
 threw it away, and never gave her any other remedy 
 whatever, good or bad. You know she always took her 
 own medicine, until her mother came. I did every- 
 thing in my power for her comfort." 
 
 "That is true, my wife," Frederic answered, in fer- 
 vent tones. " I am certain you would not consciously 
 have harmed Mabel. We will never again speak of the 
 subject." 
 
 Thank God, he will not question me farther ! If 
 now Mabel will only stay in the happy Heaven whither 
 she has gone, I may yet find some peace in life. But 
 I cannot study, I am too weak. I have too much time 
 for thought, for brooding over my mistake. I can no 
 longer take those long walks, which have only worn out 
 my strength. Alas ! I can look forward to no peace, 
 rest, happiness in life I am so hopeless ! 
 
 This was the last page my poor Adele ever wrote in 
 her diary. My unhappy wife has told her heart-break- 
 ing story to this point, and I have carefully translated 
 it from the French, in which she wrote, thinking her 
 
90 PLURAL MAKRIAGE. 
 
 own simple statement more affecting than anything of 
 my own could be. 
 
 When I returned from my store, the evening the last 
 entry was made in her diary, I found no wife waiting 
 my coming. I supposed she had stepped out to the 
 house of some neighbor. The light was burning ; a 
 book she had been reading lay upon the table. An 
 hour passed, in which I amused myself reading ; the 
 kitten purred upon the rug ; the clock ticked in the 
 solemn way it has when one is alone at night ; it struck 
 ten, then, as time slipped on, it clanged eleven ; it be- 
 gan to seem strange that Adfele should be so long ab- 
 sent without leaving any written message, or sending 
 any explanation. I went into the silent street — no 
 lights in neighboring houses indicated that the inmates 
 were still about. However, I roused two or three fam- 
 ilies where I thought it possible she might have gone. 
 None could tell anything about her. Thoroughly 
 alarmed, and fearing the conversation at tea had preyed 
 unhappily upon her mind, I went to Mabel's father — 
 no news ; I went to Mabel's grave — no Adfele. 
 
 Returning home, I searched the yard, the outbuild- 
 ings, and ransacked the house for some clew. I then 
 discovered that all her best clothing was gone, and a 
 small chest of her mother's. I sank helpless when I 
 knew that she had fled. Soon the thought struck me 
 that she had gone to St. Louis. I decided to follow 
 her. 
 
 All night I sat planning how I could dispose of my 
 property, without exciting suspicion, and get away 
 without going as a beggar. A Gentile acquaintance 
 admired my house ; I would offer it to him. Since the 
 railroad had been in progress, many Gentiles had come 
 to Salt Lake, and there were more chances to dispose 
 
SEARCH FOR ADELE. 91 
 
 of property. I determined to be wily, and not let my 
 disaffection become known. 
 
 In the morning I questioned our neighbors ; none 
 had seen Adele during the evening. I sent a messen- 
 ger to Mr. Reiker's ranche. Mr. Reiker came himself, 
 full of sympathy and offers of help, but he knew noth- 
 ing of Ad^le ; she had not been at his house. On pre- 
 tense of looking after the arrival of goods from the 
 East, I went to the' distant railway station to make in- 
 quiries, but was assured that no person of Adele's de- 
 scription had taken cars there. 
 
 After my return, I met Brigham Young : " I under- 
 stand," he said, "you are expending much money 
 looking for your wife. I advise that you take no more 
 trouble on her account. Let her go ; she has evidently 
 deserted you. There are plenty of women ready to 
 take the vacant place in your home. One woman is 
 the same as another, if you make your mind to think so. 
 Of course, it is decent to give a few months between 
 death and re-marriage. But, take my advice — let a 
 new love cure your annoyance." 
 
 I could have struck him for his brutality ; but, true 
 to my plan to be wary, and not excite suspicion, I 
 smiled, saying : " That, doubtless, would be more phil- 
 osophical ; but you remember the saying, ' be off with 
 the old love before you're on with the new,' and I must 
 grieve awhile for Adfele." 
 
 "Yes, yes," he said, hastily, and walked away. 
 
 There was an undefinable something in his manner 
 that confirmed a slight suspicion I had, that my wife 
 had been abducted by the Mormons themselves. I had 
 just learned that Mabel's father had disinterred his 
 daughter, and had her stomach analyzed. Dr. Adams 
 had defended Ad^e like a father, and the post-mortem 
 
92 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 examination proved conclusively that Mabel had died 
 of pulmonary consumption. Yet Mr. Brown had de- 
 manded that Ad^le should be punished ; he declared 
 he thought her insane ; that she not only looked wild, 
 and strange, but she had been overheard to exclaim to 
 herself : " I meant Mabel no harm ! Oh, if I had never 
 known Nakoya, perhaps both would now be living ! " 
 
 I went to Dr. Adams. After exacting a promise that 
 I would not betray him to any persOn, he told me Adele 
 had been taken to an Insane Asylum, in order to save 
 scandal to the church. He felt confident her mind was 
 somewhat impaired by the mental strain, and the shocks 
 which her affectionate nature had received. He, too, 
 advised forgetfulness. After a time, he said, if I were 
 submissive and re-married, I might know where Adele 
 was, and be allowed to look afte/ her welfare. 
 
 I thanked him for well-meaning advice, but faith in 
 the tenets of Mormonism was, from that hour, dead in 
 my heart. I loathed the sect as I would loathe any 
 band of despots. I spurned their creeds as I would 
 spurn and hate poisonous reptiles. But to seek Adele 
 successfully, I must dissemble. 
 
 For two months I continued my business, spending 
 my evenings among the young lady-daughters of the 
 leading Mormons. I declared my purpose to enlarge 
 my business ; talked about taking a new store ; adver- 
 tised to sell out at cost, and soon disposed of my stock. 
 I openly said my house had become distasteful to me, 
 on account of its unhappy associations, and 1 sold the 
 place. To avoid suspicion, I negotiated with one and 
 another about a store, but, of course, could not suit 
 myself. I tried carefully to discover something farther 
 from Dr. Adams, but failed. I privately sent Adele's 
 relics from her mother's family out to Mr. Reiker's, to 
 
STUDYING INSANITY. 98 
 
 be kept for us ; my own furniture was sold with the 
 house. I found my wife's diary, and read her story 
 with bitter tears. I removed her infant's coffin to Ma- 
 bel's side ; then I found my mother-in-law's journal, 
 which I kept for future reference. Then, when all was 
 ready, I started suddenly for San Francisco, ostensibly 
 to buy goods ; in reality, to search for my stolen wife ; 
 to Salt Lake, I never returned. 
 
 Henceforth a wanderer, I haunted mad-houses, lunatic 
 asylums, public and private. Wherever I heard of a 
 young insane woman, I sought Adele. To hide myself 
 from Mormon pursuit, I changed the cut of my beard 
 and cultivated a mustache. I took the name of Lee 
 Richards, representing myself as an author, studying 
 the subject of insanity, in order to write an exhaustive 
 treatise. As I hated pretense and lies, I really made 
 the subject an earnest study, attending dissections of 
 the brain and body, acquainting myself thoroughly with 
 anatomy, whilst constantly taking and writing out notes 
 of the various, peculiar phases of insanity in different 
 temperaments and nationalities. I became an authority 
 upon the subject, so intense was my application. 
 
 After a thorough search in California, I made my 
 way eastward upon the new railway. I had previously 
 written to Adele's fatlier, stating my circumstances, and 
 asking tidings of her. She had n^ot come to him, and 
 he knew nothing of her fate. Upon my arrival in St. 
 Louis, I was kindly welcomed in his humble home. 
 The girls had vastly improved — were charming. The 
 little Marie recalled Adele in voice and complexion — 
 my sweet, golden-haired, blue-eyed, blonde wife ; so 
 petite, so delicate; "the Alpine rose," as her mother 
 was wont fondly to name her ; I begin to despair of 
 finding her alive. 
 
94 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 I resumed my search among the insane asylums of 
 the city. Often I could not see all upon a first or sec- 
 ond visit, because of illness, or because the patient 
 would sometimes refuse to be seen. At length, when 
 almost discouraged, a lady mentioned to me the asylum 
 of a Catholic sisterhood, in which lived a patient who 
 resembled the description I gave of Adele ; unfortu- 
 nately, I had no likeness of my lost wife. I visited the 
 house, was courteously received, and, after stating my 
 literary reasons for wishing to see and study all phases 
 of insanity, I was shown through the rooms ; but found 
 no Adele. Then I told the Sister who was conducting 
 me, that a certain patient had been mentioned to me 
 whom I failed to recognize, and then I described 
 Adele. 
 
 " O, yes,'' she said, "we have such a patient, who is 
 now ill ; she frequently has fearful attacks of head- 
 ache, when nothing must disturb, nothing agitate her 
 or she becomes much worse. Her's is a peculiar case. 
 Her mania is that she has been among the Mormons, 
 was married, and had done some ill to her husband's 
 second wife, when, in fact, her people live in this city. 
 Her father comes to see her, but she will not recognize 
 him as her father. She says her name is Adele, and 
 her husband's name was Frederic Hersch ; but her 
 name is really Elma^Fechter." 
 
 Almost overcome by the Sister's statement, I begged 
 permission to call again, as this strange hallucination 
 interested me greatly. I offered the Sister a gold coin, 
 she referred me to the box for offerings, in the hall. I 
 made the same tender at the door, and again was re- 
 ferred to the box, where I deposited my offering. Gold 
 opens almost all doors. I gained permission to call 
 again in a week. 
 
ALMOST FOUND! 95 
 
 Now I visited a lawyer with my story ; by his ad- 
 vice, took out a writ of habeas corpus for Adele Hersch, 
 alias Elma Fechter. Upon the appointed day, with an 
 officer, I drove in a close carriage to the Sister's Asy- 
 lum. My heart beat as if struggling to escape from me, 
 as alone I went up the steps. A Sister met me with 
 calm courtesy ; I told my errand. Too late ! Two 
 days previous Miss Fechter's father had removed his 
 daughter, having decided to send her to Europe, in 
 hope the voyage might restore her mind. 
 
 I had feared to alarm and injure Adele by coming 
 before she had fully recovered. I had been tracked, 
 and Adele removed. With a cry of despair, I sank 
 down, helpless ; the Sisters, alarmed, called the physi- 
 cian. When able to converse, I asked the doctor for a 
 private conference ; he led me to his office, and I told 
 our grievous story. 
 
 " Poor child ! " he said, " she always told us she was 
 not really insane, only troubled in mind, lest she had 
 done wrong. She was always gentle, child-like. We 
 have been duped by her pretended father ; he is a gen- 
 tleman-like Frenchman, and says he spends much time 
 in Europe, as a missionary. He always expressed him- 
 self as shocked that his daughter's mania should have 
 taken such a strange form as to fancy herself connected 
 with the Mormons." , 
 
 " There is one thing," he continued, " that may com- 
 fort you somewhat ; Elma, or rather Adele, wrote you 
 a letter, a few weeks ago, which she confided to me ; I 
 preserved it, though only regarding you as a myth of 
 her imagination. If I can serve you hereafter, com- 
 mand me. Leave your address, in case I should wish 
 to communicate with you." 
 
96 PLUEAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 Taking this as a dismissal of the subject, I gave my 
 address, took my precious letter, directed in her light, 
 girlish hand, thanked the doctor for his kindness and 
 attention to me, and withdrew to the carriage. We 
 drove to the hotel, I excused the officer, took my letter, 
 my message from the dead, as it were, and retired to 
 my room. 
 
 I hastily opened the envelope, unfolded the sheets, 
 and spread them before me upon the table. For an 
 hour I could not summon resolution to read what I 
 thought would be the record of great suffering. At 
 length I exclaimed aloud, " Why, man ! you are losing 
 time ; the letter may furnish some clew." Then eager- 
 ly I ran it through ; then 1 studied it line by line. 
 Alas ! there was nothing pointing to the future. She 
 related her past life, since we had been parted. But I 
 will write out her letter in her own words : 
 
 My Dear Husband : — 
 
 Of late the thought haunts me that you are near, 
 are seeking me, and yet, that we shall not meet. I am 
 often very ill. The Sisters are kind to me ; I have 
 been with them ever since I was torn from my home. 
 
 That evening, as I sat writing, two men came, so 
 closely mufifled I could not know them, and said they 
 were to arrest me for giving some sort of poison to 
 Mabel Hersch. I replied that I was innocent ; Doctor 
 Adams said the tea I gave Mabel was quite harmless. 
 Then they showed me a paper that said arrest me. I 
 took my bonnet and shawl ; they said, take all my 
 clothes, and I obeyed ; but I forgot my diary, in which 
 I was writing. They said, perhaps it would be several 
 weeks before my trial. " My trial ! " that thought was 
 agony ; to be set in a court-room and gazed at and 
 
ADETjE'S letter. 97 
 
 talked of as a murderess ! , I wept constantly. Both 
 men rode in the front seat, leaving me alone. 
 
 All night we rode ; at morning rested, and, after 
 changing horses with the people where we stopped, we 
 again traveled on. They told me I was to be taken to 
 San Francisco to be tried, but I knew we were travel- 
 ing eastward. After some days' journey, we reached 
 the new railroad ; one man returned with the team, the 
 other brought me hither. He told me to say nothing 
 to anyone on the way, unless I wished people to think 
 me a very wicked woman, for then he would tell peo- 
 ple what I had done. He told me I best call him 
 father, and say that my name was Elma Fechter, then 
 nobody would know I was Adele Hersch, going to my 
 trial. But I would not speak any lies ; I kept silent, 
 and left him to tell the lies. Finally he said we were 
 coming to St. Louis ; he brought me to this house. At 
 first I thought myself in prison, among wicked v/omen, 
 and I felt terribly. Then a Sister told me I was in an 
 insane asylum, where my friends had placed me to be 
 cured. I knew 1 was not insane, and told her so. I 
 begged to send for my father and Louise ; but the Sis- 
 ters had been told this was my mania, and that I had 
 never been among the Mormons, but had come from 
 San Francisco. 
 
 When I found they could not see the truth, I ceased 
 to talk of myself, and gave my time to soothe and com- 
 fort the unhappy women about me, listening to their 
 sad stories, and cheering them, when possible. All 
 love me ; I can calm almost any of them, even when 
 the kind Sisters fail. 
 
 I am not very unhappy ; life will not be long for me, 
 and I shall then go to my mother. Once the doctor 
 took me out to ride ; I begged to drive through the 
 
98 PLURAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 street where Papa lives ; he did so, and I saw Marie at 
 the window, grown so charming. The doctor seemed 
 to think it only my fancy that she was my sister. He 
 would not allow me to stop and speak with her ; just 
 at the corner we met Papa and Louise ; we were driv- 
 ing, rapidly, and I caught only a glimpse of their faces, 
 but I have been happier since. 
 
 Perhaps those Mormons will tire of paying my ex- 
 penses, and will allow me to return home. Daily I pray 
 for you ; surely you have not forgotten me ? Oh ! that 
 for one day, one hour even, I could see you, my sisters 
 and the father. 
 
 The doctor promises to keep my letter until you 
 come. If I am dead, bring Alpine roses to my grave, 
 in memory of your loving wife, 
 
 Adele Hersch. 
 
 That faded letter, so often re-read, fell into frag- 
 ments, while eighteen long years were coming and pass- 
 ing. I have visited asylums everywhere. In vain, all 
 my long search ; in some private prison she has died ; 
 I feel confident she no longer lives. There is an assur- 
 ance in my soul, a spiritual assurance, that my beloved 
 has passed from pain to Paradise. She seems no longer 
 a mortal, languishing in confinement ; she has become 
 a presence hovering about me. I no longer feel alone, 
 though often ahungered, ill and suffering. 
 
 I used all my earnings, and my share of my father's 
 estate, searching for Adfele ; then for months I would 
 work, and again spend all in fruitless search. I have 
 walked thousands of miles, with bleeding feet and 
 bleeding heart — all in vain. 
 
 I have believed' the Mormons "shadowed" me, and 
 prevented my permanent employ, since I have relin- 
 
LAST WORDS OP FREDERIC HEESOH. 99 
 
 quished my quest. Now, unable to work, living upon 
 the least possible pittance, I am slowly dying. The 
 arrangement of these pages has been my last work. If 
 the recital of our wrongs and agony can help in any 
 degree to rouse the public mind against this system of 
 wickedness and crime, we have not suffered in vain ; 
 and, so purified by my long trial, I gladly go to seek 
 my lost Adele, in the great realm of departed souls. 
 
 Let me warn all who may read these pages against 
 this iniquity, which, by degrading women, degrades the 
 race. It teaches that women cannot attain any glory 
 or gladness in the spirit-world, save through her hus- 
 band, and the man's position there depends upon the 
 number of his children. Individual goodness, purity, 
 honor and nobility of soul are naught. Adherence to 
 the Church is the one thing needful. This marriage 
 system is the deepest insult to womanhood, a subver- 
 sion and degredation of all her purest, sweetest in- 
 stincts. 
 
 Would that I yet might live to rouse the world against 
 those doctrines which are in every way inconsistent 
 with the highest good of man and woman. But I am 
 going to my God and my wife. This manuscript may 
 have some power ; I will bequeath it to the young doc- 
 tor who has done so much for this wretched Frederic 
 Hersch. 
 
■iiisiilfesiallJIi.tiiilliiNllli