Tributary: Galley

On the day I moved from Lars’ stable at the Barrens up into Ada’s cabin on the Bench, I gauged my happiness by this sight: dusted with snow, the Wasatch Mountains seemed to cup the valley like a bread-maker’s palms. I would live on the fleshy pad of their thumb.

I moved my few possessions in and stood a long while in silence. I set the books Ada had loaned me in the window sill. Then I scrubbed the river rock walls until they gleamed. I would press flowers at the window right of the door, place one crate there. Hang clothes on a cord strung in the back corner. Firewood to the left of the hearth, washtub and kitchen supplies to the right. I hoped to find a large table to place in the center of the room. I had no bed and the door needed mending. Leather strips would do for hinges.

That night, I watched the lamps on Main get lit, one and two. The copper-faced creek angled north, toward Ada’s windows, which were bright. And a hymn came, with words that filled my breast:

Oh, Zion! dear Zion! land of the free,
Now my own mountain home, unto thee I have come?
All my fond hopes are centered in thee.

My move across town released me from Bishop Olsen’s so-called care. I now resided within the confines of the Second Ward, and under the eye of a new Bishop. Daniel Dees was tall and strappy, and he presided over the Sunday meetings with mannish ease. I believed I might enjoy this change, until he took me aside that first Sunday and told me my new calling?to sew holy garments for a living, the sacred long johns worn by couples after they’d married in the Endowment House. I objected, panting inwardly Me in close quarters with the holy underwear? But he silenced my concerns with a generous smile, saying married Sisters would attach the holy symbols, marking breast and knee. As if that made it better. As if that made it right.

His smile lingered in my mind for days. What would it mean to move through life with such assurance? How would it feel to know something, anything at all, beyond a shadow of a doubt? I asked myself, until the questions became riddles I knew I’d never solve.

Bishop Dees also called for a house-making, that first Sunday. He asked the Ward members to open their bounty to the newest householder, to share whatever they could. All week long, items arrived at the top of the hill. A tin tub and bent ladle, hempen bed cord, tatted couch covers, crockery, three and a half bars of Sister Karen’s oatmeal soap, a bread can, yeast starter, an axe, flour, molasses, an old Dutch oven with two legs, one kerosene lamp and a flax broom.
Homer Tingey hiked up late that first week. He greeted me with a smile so large, his jaw begged rest.

I said, ?Brother Tingey, I do not need another thing. I am beyond thankfulness.”
Homer blushed.

?Bishop said, ?Guard and deliver.’” He called down to the boys in his wagon. They shoved a tarp back, and my heart leapt in recognition.

Brother Larsen’s cast iron tub.

It was the only claw foot tub in Brigham. Lars had ordered it by mail. Some said he’d ordered it for Sister Larsen just before she died. A quiet Brother, but his heart was true. He may have meant it for his ailing wife but Lars didn’t blink an eye, changing its purpose. That tub, brimming with water, lay to the belly in muck outside his own black geldings’ stall?the best horse trough in Zion.

Four boys muscled the claw-foot tub to the top of the hill. I knocked snow and dried manure off its sides while Homer’s boys and two of Bishop Olsen’s sons threw off their coats. They tipped the tub and squirmed in the doorway. Four steps, they turned it right and touched it down.

?Don’t take your ease, boys,” Homer said, stepping in. ?Sister Martin may not want the tub set there.”

Inger Olsen ran his hands along his sleeves, grimacing. ?We ain’t slaves,” he said, ?and she sure ain’t no queen.”

But when I looked in?the long white tub aligned with the door, a dumpling set square center of the room?I thanked them, Homer and his sons and the Bishop’s boys. ?It’s where I’d have it. It is just right.”

I would find three planks to lay across it for my table, by day. By night, its purpose was clear. Never had I felt so safe or slept so sound, enclosed on all sides by cast iron.