fallen in love and was to be married, but she left her fiancé in Norway and
crossed the ocean. Her mother died before she reached the American shore.
The family was now destitute; there was no money to send Anna to her
fiancé, to the marriage she had given up. Anna was a financial burden on her
father, so a bishop persuaded her to marry a rich farmer as his second wife.
His first wife was barren, and she flew into a jealous rage when Anna became
pregnant. Anna worried the first wife might hurt her baby, so she returned to
her father, where she gave birth to twins, though only one would survive the
harsh winter on the frontier.
Mark was still waiting. Then he gave up and mumbled the words I was
supposed to say, that he didn’t understand fully, but that he knew polygamy
was a principle from God.
I agreed. I said the words, then braced myself for a wave of humiliation—
for that image to invade my thoughts, of me, one of many wives standing
behind a solitary, faceless man—but it didn’t come. I searched my mind and
discovered a new conviction there: I would never be a plural wife. A voice
declared this with unyielding finality; the declaration made me tremble. What
if God commanded it? I asked. You wouldn’t do it, the voice answered. And I
knew it was true.
I thought again of Anna Mathea, wondering what kind of world it was in
which she, following a prophet, could leave her lover, cross an ocean, enter a
loveless marriage as a second mistress, then bury her first child, only to have
her granddaughter, in two generations, cross the same ocean an unbeliever. I
was Anna Mathea’s heir: she had given me her voice. Had she not given me
her faith, also?
I was put on a short list for the Gates scholarship. There would be an
interview in February in Annapolis. I had no idea how to prepare. Robin
drove me to Park City, where there was an Ann Taylor discount outlet, and
helped me buy a navy pantsuit and matching loafers. I didn’t own a handbag
so Robin lent me hers.
Two weeks before the interview my parents came to BYU. They had never
visited me before, but they were passing through on their way to Arizona and
stopped for dinner. I took them to the Indian restaurant across the street from
my apartment.
The waitress stared a moment too long at my father’s face, then her eyes
bulged when they dropped to his hands. Dad ordered half the menu. I told