TAKING A SECOND WIFE:—THE EXPERIENCE OF THE FIRST.  
I did not presume to ask my husband what it was that he had to talk about with Carrie’s friend, but I instinctively felt what it might be, and I was so much troubled in mind that I thought I would never go to see her again.
By that time I had learned, as every Mormon wife does learn, never to ask questions. The wife of a Saint never dares to ask her husband whither he is going or when he will return. She is not expected to know or care what business her husband may have on hand when he leaves home in the evening, after making a most elaborate toilet, with frequent admiration of himself in the mirror. If the poor wife feels that she must say something, to give vent to her overwrought feelings, she simply asks in a conscious, guilty way, when he will be home again; wishing too often in her secret heart that he might say—Never. Her duty is to be silent and unobservant; and though some poor women have, when their outraged feelings were overcharged, inadvertently betrayed curiosity respecting the movements of the absent ones, they have soon been sternly taught their duty, and those loving husbands have given them good cause to repent of their inquisitiveness.
And who can blame these disconsolate, lonely women, if thus they feel? Their religion alone is to blame. It has been the destruction of that sweet confidence which should exist between husband and wife, and it has divided hearts and interests which should inseparably have been for ever one. This, slowly but no less painfully, I was beginning to understand. However earnestly I might try to combat the idea, my life was wretched with the one continual fear of what I might see or hear of my husband. I tried to drive away such thoughts, and I called to mind all the acts of kindness and devotion which he had shown to those whose love my heart held dear. Sometimes, arguing with myself, I said: “No, my husband[279] will not deceive me; no matter what other men may do or be with their wives, my husband will be frank and true with me.”
So I thought then; but I was destined to realize in my own experience how utterly impossible it is for any man, no matter how honest and truthful he may naturally be, to practise Polygamy without becoming a hypocrite; and the more he loves his wife the greater hypocrite he will become, trying to deceive her with the foolish notion that half his cruelty is done in attempting to “spare her feelings.”
My husband thought that he was acting kindly to me when he said nothing of all that transpired between him and Carrie; but when I saw the visit of Carrie’s lady-friend so frequently repeated, I began to suspect the truth, and was much troubled. I was, however, too proud to question him on the subject, at the risk of getting an evasive answer, and it was evident that the two persons most intimately interested in the matter intended that I should be kept in the dark. I saw through all this, and it did not tend either to restore my peace of mind or to make me more pleasant in my intercourse with Carrie or my husband. In their conduct I could see nothing but deception, however good their intention might be, and I felt that they were treating me as a child. The thought was very painful to me, and it was only with a great effort that I suppressed it.
These painful feelings, of course, had a marked effect upon my daily life. I grew weary, and my health failed, I became thin, and my features were marked with care and anxiety. When people came to see me, I said little to them, and their very presence I felt irksome. Mechanically I went through the daily routine of duty, but my heart was in nothing that I did. I dared not even trust myself to speak to any one, for fear of becoming the subject of conversation and attracting the attention of the authorities, which was not at all desirable, for the position of a “rebellious woman” in those days was anything but pleasant. I stood alone. Upon my husband I looked with suspicion; my children were too young to understand me; Carrie—whom I had taken to my heart, to whom I had confided my sorrows, whose own welfare had been so dear to me—had, as I thought, turned against me, like an adder, and there was no one in whom I could trust. It seemed to me too cruel for Carrie to treat me so, and yet I could not doubt that she was acting unfaithfully towards me.
Surrounded by my children, living under the same roof with my husband, my heart was, nevertheless, filled with a[280] sense of utter loneliness and desolation. There was no one in whom I could confide, to whom I might tell my sorrows, and from whose counsel or strength I might derive comfort. I dared not even go and lay my griefs before God, for I had been led to believe that all my suffering was caused by an arbitrary decree which He willed to be enforced. How false a notion of that loving heavenly Father whose tender care is so manifestly shown in His gentle dealings with the weakest of His creatures!
It was now about six months since Carrie left my house, and I was under the impression that all that time certain well-intentioned sisters had been doing all they could to bring about a marriage between her and my husband. Her health, however, was so bad that sometimes for weeks together she did not leave her room. At the time, of course, I knew nothing of this, but I afterwards heard of it. When I called upon her, which I did when I found that she was too ill to come to see me, I thought she was greatly changed in her manner; but when I thought of her lonely position, my heart warmed towards her, and I forgot all my suspicions. Certainly, I wanted to ask her one plain question relative to my husband, but my pride would not allow me to speak to her on that subject unless she first mentioned it to me. One day I thought that she was about to make a confession. Talking indifferently of ordinary matters, she suddenly said, “I am surprised you ever wished to see me;” but when I asked her why, expecting that she would now explain what had so long troubled me, she answered evasively, and nothing more was said.
With Carrie’s absence from our house the rumours about her which had troubled me so much somewhat subsided. Nothing could silence the secret apprehension which continually held my soul in dread; but the fear of my young friend’s influence once removed, I was comparatively at peace. It was, however, but the lull before the storm. I soon learned that in losing Carrie I did not lose Polygamy, and from about that time I can date my husband’s desire to sustain his brethren in the performance of their duty, and his wish to act as they did, especially in reference to the “Celestial Order of Heaven.” Just at that time the “Morrill Bill” for the suppression of Polygamy was presented to Congress, and all true Mormons were made to feel that it was their duty to stand by their leader; and though, in itself, they might see nothing desirable in Polygamy, yet, if they had not already multiplied wives, it was their duty to do so without any delay.
[281]
Ever watchful as I was, I noticed little changes in my husband, which under ordinary circumstances would have escaped my observation. By this time one all-absorbing idea had taken possession of my mind, and my husband’s thoughts, I believe, were turned in the same direction—only our wishes did not exactly coincide. Polygamy was the thought common to both, but upon its desirability we entertained dissimilar views.
A man with Polygamy upon his mind was then a creature which I did not understand, and which I had not fully studied. Some years later, when I had a little more experience in Mormonism, I discovered several never-failing signs by which one might know when a man wished to take another wife. He would suddenly “awaken to a sense of his duties;” he would have serious misgivings as to whether the Lord would pardon his neglect in not living up to his privileges; he would become very religious, and would attend to his meetings—his “testimony meetings,” singing meetings, and all sorts of other “meetings,” which seemed just then to be very numerous, and in various other ways he would show his anxiety to live up to his religion. He would thus be frequently absent from home, which, of course, “he deeply regrets,” as “he ............