Free Forsaking All Others by Allison Pittman

corner of his moustache. “And what of your daughters?”
    I felt myself bristle in defense of my decision. “I can’t stay here—in Deseret, I mean. I need a home to bring my girls to. I need to know that I can have that with my parents, or at least with their help. It seems to me a logical conclusion, Colonel. Hardly worth days of stewing.”
    “In fact, Mrs. Fox, I’ve been thinking about my own boy. How he lives day to day unsure of his father’s well-being. He’s cared for and loved, of course, but the uncertainty of his father—well, I know it’s hard. I write as often as I can, but still, he may go years without seeing me and even months without hearing any news. It hardly seems fair to saddle him with so much worry.”
    Something flickered within me—a twisting of hope and dread. “So you’re going to tell me to go back to my husband?”
    “The idea has crossed my mind. Since you won’t be able to travel until spring. But naturally, it’s up to you.”
    “I have a choice?”
    “Of course.”
    “ Of course? Two minutes ago I was a prisoner and you were reading my personal letters. Now I’m just, just . . . nothing?”
    After initial, unchecked amusement, he settled into a quizzical look. “You have always been here at my discretion, Mrs. Fox. And like any reasonable man, my discretion is rarely absolute.”
    “So I’m no longer in danger of being the spark that would ignite a war?” I was being sarcastic now, pouting a little. I must admit to having been somewhat hurt by my diminished importance.
    He looked clearly uncomfortable. “It could be that my decision to keep you here was not entirely motivated by military protocol. Call it old-fashioned chivalry, a natural, protective nature. But I realize now my decision is keeping you away from your children. I don’t know if I have the right to do that.”
    “I chose to leave them, Colonel Brandon. So I can bring them to a better life.”
    “Which you can still do. And I’ll do all I can to help you. But for now—what was your original intent?”
    “To stay with family. In Great Salt Lake City, until the spring.”
    “Perhaps, then, that would be best after all.”
    I thought of Rachel’s home. I’d never felt unwelcome there, and surely if I came to her—wounded and cold—she would willingly give me refuge. Surely her home would be a greater source of creature comfort than this primitive encampment, and Nathan might consider my residence there less of a betrayal than my remaining a willing prisoner of Brigham Young’s enemy. It seemed I had no recourse to argue. Colonel Brandon looked every bit a man settled in his thoughts, and beyond the fact that I’d grown comfortable, I could come up with no compelling reason to stay.
    “Well then,” I said, attempting to inject some light into the graying room, “I’ll have to insist that you give me my shoes.”
    * * *
    I did, in fact, get my shoes back, but days of inactivity had swollen my feet so that tying the laces proved more cumbersome than I could have imagined. I was red-faced with the effort when Private Lambert came to my door.
    “Can’t leave today, ma’am. Storm’s on the horizon.”
    For two solid days it snowed. Grateful for the reprieve, I tried to gather my thoughts, deciding just what I would say to Rachel and Tillman upon my arrival on their doorstep.
    Rachel was more than Nathan’s sister. Though a year younger, she was his fierce protector, and in some ways the bond between them rivaled that between Nathan and me. Both were fiercely protective of each other. It was Nathan who’d joined Joseph Smith’s church first, bringing his beloved sister to join him soon after. He’d arranged a marriage with a strong, prominent man—the imposing Tillman Crane—who’d promptly filled his spacious home with wife after wife. Four, in fact. The rooms teemed with women and children, and here I was set to add myself to the mix.
    If they’d have me.
    The hospitality of