Free Forsaking All Others by Allison Pittman Page A

Rachel and Tillman was nothing new for our family. In fact, Nathan had encouraged such visits before, hoping I would see the domestic beauty of plural marriage. The sisterhood. The camaraderie. The preview of heaven on earth. But there was a canyon of difference between being a guest and a refugee. As gracious as he might be to his first wife’s family, Tillman’s loyalty belonged to the church. After all, we had done nothing to line his pockets.
    I knew the morning I woke up to sunshine flooding through my tiny window would be my last in this room. Without waiting for confirmation, I broke the thin layer of ice in my washbasin and splashed my face with the frigid water beneath. Nathan had always said this was his favorite part of any day. He never heated his wash water, claiming the chill of it wakened the blood within. I felt my blood awakened that morning, though my hand ached terribly at the base of my missing fingers.
    The soldiers had never been able to procure a proper brush, so I did what I could with the small comb that had appeared after days of appeal. Luckily, my hair was thin, straight, and soft—its condition an advantage for the first time in memory. The comb’s small teeth slid through easily from my roots to the ends just past my shoulders. Amanda, my sister wife, had a shining blue-black mane, thick like velvet clear past her waist. In the evenings, my daughters would squabble over the right to brush it. She slept with it plaited in three braids, which she twisted together like a rope, and each morning, nearly half an hour was devoted to its styling.
    I wondered what she would choose that morning, though the sun was hardly high enough for her to be out of my husband’s bed.
    My own hands could barely manage the simplest twist, secured at the nape of my neck with a few pins. I was thus engaged when Private Lambert’s familiar knock sounded. When I summoned him to come in, he poked his head through and immediately blushed bright pink, as if catching me in some much more intimate act.
    “I see you’re ready to go, ma’am.” He kept his eyes trained on my feet, perfectly respectable in their laced-up boots.
    “Then we are leaving today?”
    “Within the hour, Colonel says, providin’ you’re set.”
    My stomach twisted. I was anything but set , but God had directed my path this far. I had no reason to believe I shouldn’t follow.
    Not long after, I was presented with my coat, hat, scarf, and mittens. Then a new step outside into the unforgiving glare of a clear day, I was presented with another longed-for sight.
    Honey. I hadn’t seen her since the day I left home, and if she were any measure as happy to see me as I was to see her, she gave no sign. Her breath steamed in tufts from her nostrils as she stood, ever patient, in the snow. Her coat had grown thicker and her mane had been denied the careful attention that Nathan bestowed, but her eyes were brown and bright. She’d been well fed, I could tell, and seemed quite at ease with the man holding her rein.
    “She’s a fine horse.” Colonel Brandon had come up to stand behind me. For the first time in our acquaintance, he was not wearing his familiar blue uniform. In its place were sturdy, plain, brown wool pants tucked into the legs of thick leather boots, with a thick sheepskin coat over all. A black knit cap sat just above his brow.
    “Why, Colonel Brandon,” I said, taking in the sight of him, “I would hardly have recognized you.”
    “This is not official business,” he said. “More of a civilian errand. And I figure I’ll attract less attention if I’m not parading you through town in all my decorated glory.”
    The gathering of men around us laughed, something I couldn’t imagine them doing had he been in full uniform. He held the reins of a prancing white stallion that snorted impatiently, pawing at the patchy snow. Both he and Honey were ready to ride, and while Private Lambert deposited my small bundle of worldly goods