A Story of Four Mormon Girls.

By Sarah E. Pearson

(Previous chapter)

Chapter 2

Jean had awakened from her slumbers on the morning of the day of which we have written with a dim remembrance of some disaster which had befallen her, and vaguely wondered what it was which had even haunted her dreams.

Ah! the recollection came upon her with a rush, and she stifled a moan as she arose to a sitting posture in bed and began to braid the long masses of brown hair which had become unfastened. It was Howard Latimer – her Howard she had fondly believed – and the tone of that last letter from him which caused her such anxiety and apprehension.

“Could it be possible,” she asked herself, “that he whom she had thought little short of perfection, cared nothing for the religion his parents had been such staunch advocates of in those early days of poverty and trial?”

Perhaps he was writing in that strain just to try her. How she hoped she would get a letter from him today so as to end this awful suspense, and she had plodded on through the day’s duties, a little paler perhaps for her disquieting thoughts, but making no sign.

She had had no opportunity to go to the post office, for they must go to Brother Gilbert’s to get their patriarchal blessings, this being the last day of Brother McBride’s stay.

And then on their way home they had met Chatty and whiled away the remainder of the afternoon as we have seen.

As they entered the gate, their brother Jamie drove into the yard with his empty hay rack, and tossed Jean a letter, with a playful joke about her “city jake” and she smiled brightly back at him and ran into the house.

Half an hour later the call came for supper and Brother Stuart came to the house, stopping at the bench by the back door to wash his face and hands. He smiled brightly into his wife’s eyes as she came to the door, and said, “We have the hay all up from the south meadow now, and I feel like we had a big chore off our shoulders.

“We hauled three loads for tithing this afternoon and I told the boys I would credit each of them with a load, for they are getting old enough now to have their own names on the tithing roll. There will be all the grain to take in yet, and I mean they shall have their share of that, too. The tithing clerk joked them about that being a sure sign of their intending to get married,” and he winked to his wife as the boys, Douglas and Jamie, came up in time to hear his last words.

“I think if Douglas stood any chance with Chatty he would, too,” chimed in Agnes as they all seated themselves at the table, “but Fred Loveless seems to be the lucky one there.”

Sister Stuart who was quick to note her son’s embarrassment hastened to remark: “And a pity it is too, for Chatty is much too good for him. I can’t imagine what she sees in him to admire. Why, the last party they had in the schoolhouse he was so drunk the other boys had to souse his head in cold water and work over him a long time to sober him up sufficiently to go and take her to the dance. And she knew all about it, too, for her brother told her, and still she went with him. Oh, I do hope my girls will never take up with a man who drinks!”

“Well, there are lots of nice girls in this place, said Brother Stuart, “and I don’t think the boys will need to go away from home for good wives, if the girls did go clear to Salt Lake for beaux. The Latimer boys seem like nice boys though, and their father was one of the staunchest of Mormons in the trying days of Illinois and Missouri.”

“Speaking of good girls,” said Jamie, “what’s the matter with Rintha Rivers? I think she is one of the nicest girls in town.”

“Yes, I do, too,” said Brother Stuart, laughing, “Don’t you trouble about her Jamie, I’m saving her for myself,” and he glanced at his wife.

“Oh, I give my consent if she will have you. “

“But she wont have him,” laughed Jamie. “How do you know?” said his father.

“Well, she don’t like old men. Her brother-in-law, who is old enough to be her father, asked her the other day to marry him. You know he has her two older sisters and I guess he likes them so well he thought he would like the whole family.”

“What did she say?” queried Agnes, gleefully.

“She cried.”

“Cried! What did she cry for?”

“Oh, she said she had thought him such a nice old gentleman before, and now she would never like him again,” and they all laughed at this piece of feminine perverseness.

Brother Stuart, returning to their former subject, resumed, “I do not believe my girls will ever consent to marry any man who does not love the religion their parents have sacrificed so much for.”

Jean bent her head low over her plate.

“Gowan has already an excellent practice in his law business. It makes me so happy to think that Agnes will not have to work so hard as I have done,” and Sister Stuart glanced with pride at her handsome daughter.

“There are many worse things to endure than hard work, my dear,” interrupted her husband gravely. “What does my little Jean think about it? and he placed his brawny hand with tenderness underneath the chin of this daughter, the only child of his lost Rachel, and gently forced her eyes to meet his.

“What! tears, my darling?” he exclaimed in surprise, looking from one face to another around the table for an explanation.

Jean hastily arose and darted out of the back door, blindly hastening with her apron thrown over her head, to a far corner of the orchard where she might indulge her grief without interruption.

“I called at the post office as we came by from the field this afternoon, and brought her a letter postmarked Salt Lake,” returned Jamie. “I suppose it was from Howard Latimer.”

“And teased her about it?” questioned his father.

“Only a very little. She seemed as gay as a lark until she slipped away and read it.”

“I think something Howard has said in the letter has angered or disappointed her,” volunteered Douglas.

“Perhaps your remark about Gowan being able to keep Agnes a lady hurt her feelings,” addressing Sister Stuart. “You know Howard is reported not so well off as his brother.”

“Oh, no, I do not think she cared for that. She knows I would not hurt her feelings for the world,” and Sister Stuart’s gentle voice broke.

“Yes, indeed! She knows it. Little Jean never had any cause to miss or mourn her dear young mother,” and he gave his wife such a look of love that brought a blush of joy and pride to her faded cheek at his appreciation of her and made her look almost young again.

Jean’s mother had been his plural wife, though she had been his first love. Her parents were New Yorkers, and she had been educated for a teacher. She was practicing her vocation, when a knowledge of the Gospel first came to her, and she embraced it. She underwent very heavy trials from the opposition of her family, she being the only one who ever received the truth. She and Brother Stuart had become acquainted while crossing the plains. Her loneliness had aroused his compassion, her courage had compelled his admiration, and her beauty and culture and goodness had completely won his heart. She had fully returned his regard, but some misunderstanding had occurred between them and estranged them for a season. She had drifted away into a distant settlement practicing her vocation as teacher, and during her absence he had made the acquaintance of Agnes Douglas. The clannish Scottish spirit which first attracted them ripened into mutual regard, and they were married. Afterward when he had become reconciled to his first love. Sister Stuart readily consented to their union. The unaccustomed hardships which she had endured in joining this people, however, had undermined a naturally delicate constitution, and she died in giving birth to her first baby.

Sister Stuart, whose little Agnes was then only about four months old, had nursed both babies, and loved them with equally passionate fervor.

To be continued