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Charlotte danced into the bedroom and came back with her bonnet. Amy began to tie the strings. "Amy, I don't like to be a carrier of bad news, but I must tell you," Clarissa began. "There is talk among the apostates that the United States marshals are coming. They are arresting all the second wives of polygamists they can find. The apostates have already given names and descriptions. They told me be- cause they thought I would be sympathetic. So with Mr. Marlowe already in prison, you cannot be too careful. Perhaps you should go somewhere else." Charlotte listened intently, her eyes widening. "Are they going to put Momma in prison, too?" she stammered. "No, Charlotte," Amy comforted her. "Thank you for telling me, Clarissa. But I won't hide until I have to. I have my children to take care of." She looked down at Chariotte's anxious little face and smiled. "Run along now, dear. Every- thing is all right." Charlotte, reassured, skipped out the door, the egg basket in one hand, the honey jar in the other. "An angel, that one," Clarissa smiled. "One whom God has chosen." "One who has chosen God." "As fascinating as it is, I can't talk predestination with you this morning," Clarissa spoke firmly. "I must get this batch of bread in the pans so it will be done when I go visit-ing this afternoon. Perhaps it will help me give a more con-vincing discussion." "Let me help you, Clarissa," Amy said, taking a portion of dough to mold into a loaf. "I really can't understand why you came to a Mormon town as a Protestant missionary." Clarissa laid a loaf in the pan. "Because I care. I believe I have the truth and I care enough about the place of truth in lives that I want to share it with others. Why do - 11 - |
