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Show in my father's house/ 276 French Basque girl, a rancher's daughter whom he had introduced to my parents the year before. "What is her religion, son?" my father had asked, disregarding Maria who huddled beside Jake, already seeming part of him. Jake seemed surprised, as though he had suddenly been awakened from a deep sleep. "Uh...she's Presbyterian." He craned his neck and smiled lovingly at the small dark features overwhelmed by lumi-hous brown eyes. My mother's face paled and she disappeared into her bedroom. I knew she would be weeping. My father stayed on, speaking to the two of them, insisting that Jake convert Maria to the Gospel. "If she can find it in her heart to embrace Mormonism - and hopefully, the Principle - then we will gladly give our consent," he announced. Maria flinched and quivered like a rabbit at my father's words. I wondered about her home, her parents. What would they say when they learned that Jake was trying to get her to become a Mormon and perhaps one of many wives? I thought I saw anger and discouragement riffle Jake's placid expression, but he agreed to invite the missionaries to visit Maria in her Nevada home. But Maria wasn't moved to baptism. One late summer morning, Jake drove in from Nevada and summoned my father from work. "We've decided to get married, Daddy," he said matter-of-factly. "We'd like to have your blessing, but if not, we'll go ahead without it. I'll be old enough in October." My father's mouth tightened. "The girl hasn't converted to the Gospel. You'll have trouble with her all your life." "It's no trouble, Daddy. I love her." Jake's voice |