streets, and
they were enjoying an early burst of spring weather—coats
discarded, the girls strolled in sober pairs, pretty and friendly,
ready to tell a visitor more than he would want to know about the
LDS church.
The temple itself rose high, beautifully
white and gorgeously Gothic in its graceful steeples, a beauty
marred only by the rather gaudy gold angel Moroni at the crown.
Anjali had been enjoying the irony ever since she arrived in Salt
Lake—that in this half-Mormon city, in this almost wholly Mormon
state, a cafe selling caffeinated drinks sat overlooking Temple
Square, the heart of their religion. When Neil had first moved to
Salt Lake, and she had joined him, she’d been worried that she
wouldn’t find cafes at all, that the Mormons wouldn’t allow them.
But they were everywhere.
“It’s math, mostly.” She had been working a
lot this last year, doing some of the best work she’d ever done.
Her advisors at the lab were pleased with her, but she couldn’t
bring herself to actually care. It was just something to do,
something to fill her mind and hands.
Jessica reached out and touched the papers,
her hand tracing over Greek symbols, leaving no mark on the page.
“I was never much good at math. Mostly I liked to sing.”
Anjali could imagine this girl, standing in
the tabernacle across the street, her head tilted back and her
throat open, sending songs up to her God. “I can’t stay on key, but
I like to sing too.” It had been over a decade since she’d lived in
Sri Lanka, but she could picture her mother and aunts, singing
Tamil film songs as they left the movie theater, laughing.
“You just need people to sing with.” Jessica
spread her hands wide, gesturing to form a circle. “When you’re
surrounded by your sister-wives and the spirit is moving through
you all—you can’t help but sing.”
“How many sister-wives did you have? There
were only the two tombstones in the cemetery.”
Jessica frowned a little, thinking. “There
were only two of us, me and Elizabeth, that actually lived as wives
to Matthew. But he was sealed to six women in all—Katharine and
Sarah and Olga and Naomi.” She grinned, looking no more than twelve
for a mischievous instant. “No one liked Naomi; she was just plain
mean. But we didn’t have to see her much.”
“Where did they live, if not with Matthew?” Anjali had always
assumed that the Mormon wives all lived with their husband; she had
imagined it sometimes, a dozen women in one big house, cooking and
cleaning and chattering away, raising a horde of children. She had
thought they must have been mostly happy, while the man was
away—but how did they manage when he came home?
“They lived with their first husbands. Well,
Sarah’s husband died, but she didn’t want to move in with Matthew.
She was a schoolteacher; she did all right living alone.”
Anjali felt like she should be taking notes;
if she were a sociologist, an ethnographer, she’d be in a fever of
excitement at this chance to interview a primary source. But she
felt a strangely proprietary emotion for Jessica. This was her ghost—she didn’t want to share her with anyone. There
were plenty of journals and records from the early days of the
Mormons, the Latter Day Saints—academia could get along just fine
without knowing Jessica’s story. “So you didn’t have a first
husband?”
“I didn’t need one. I had Matthew. He was my
life.” Jessica’s voice had been calm up until now, almost academic
in tone. But with the mention of Matthew’s name, all the emotion
and passion was back, trembling in her voice. “Are you
married?”
“No.” A single short word, forbidding.
Unfortunately, the girl was too young to be tactful. Everyone in
her department had been very good—when Neil had left Utah, and she
hadn’t volunteered the story of why, they hadn’t asked. They had
carefully talked to her about work instead. She hadn’t had to talk
to anyone about him.
“But
they were enjoying an early burst of spring weather—coats
discarded, the girls strolled in sober pairs, pretty and friendly,
ready to tell a visitor more than he would want to know about the
LDS church.
The temple itself rose high, beautifully
white and gorgeously Gothic in its graceful steeples, a beauty
marred only by the rather gaudy gold angel Moroni at the crown.
Anjali had been enjoying the irony ever since she arrived in Salt
Lake—that in this half-Mormon city, in this almost wholly Mormon
state, a cafe selling caffeinated drinks sat overlooking Temple
Square, the heart of their religion. When Neil had first moved to
Salt Lake, and she had joined him, she’d been worried that she
wouldn’t find cafes at all, that the Mormons wouldn’t allow them.
But they were everywhere.
“It’s math, mostly.” She had been working a
lot this last year, doing some of the best work she’d ever done.
Her advisors at the lab were pleased with her, but she couldn’t
bring herself to actually care. It was just something to do,
something to fill her mind and hands.
Jessica reached out and touched the papers,
her hand tracing over Greek symbols, leaving no mark on the page.
“I was never much good at math. Mostly I liked to sing.”
Anjali could imagine this girl, standing in
the tabernacle across the street, her head tilted back and her
throat open, sending songs up to her God. “I can’t stay on key, but
I like to sing too.” It had been over a decade since she’d lived in
Sri Lanka, but she could picture her mother and aunts, singing
Tamil film songs as they left the movie theater, laughing.
“You just need people to sing with.” Jessica
spread her hands wide, gesturing to form a circle. “When you’re
surrounded by your sister-wives and the spirit is moving through
you all—you can’t help but sing.”
“How many sister-wives did you have? There
were only the two tombstones in the cemetery.”
Jessica frowned a little, thinking. “There
were only two of us, me and Elizabeth, that actually lived as wives
to Matthew. But he was sealed to six women in all—Katharine and
Sarah and Olga and Naomi.” She grinned, looking no more than twelve
for a mischievous instant. “No one liked Naomi; she was just plain
mean. But we didn’t have to see her much.”
“Where did they live, if not with Matthew?” Anjali had always
assumed that the Mormon wives all lived with their husband; she had
imagined it sometimes, a dozen women in one big house, cooking and
cleaning and chattering away, raising a horde of children. She had
thought they must have been mostly happy, while the man was
away—but how did they manage when he came home?
“They lived with their first husbands. Well,
Sarah’s husband died, but she didn’t want to move in with Matthew.
She was a schoolteacher; she did all right living alone.”
Anjali felt like she should be taking notes;
if she were a sociologist, an ethnographer, she’d be in a fever of
excitement at this chance to interview a primary source. But she
felt a strangely proprietary emotion for Jessica. This was her ghost—she didn’t want to share her with anyone. There
were plenty of journals and records from the early days of the
Mormons, the Latter Day Saints—academia could get along just fine
without knowing Jessica’s story. “So you didn’t have a first
husband?”
“I didn’t need one. I had Matthew. He was my
life.” Jessica’s voice had been calm up until now, almost academic
in tone. But with the mention of Matthew’s name, all the emotion
and passion was back, trembling in her voice. “Are you
married?”
“No.” A single short word, forbidding.
Unfortunately, the girl was too young to be tactful. Everyone in
her department had been very good—when Neil had left Utah, and she
hadn’t volunteered the story of why, they hadn’t asked. They had
carefully talked to her about work instead. She hadn’t had to talk
to anyone about him.
“But
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