In Thy Hands

Words by Amy Wadsworth

Art by Sandra Eckert

Sallie Ann appeared at Eliza’s bedside, a specter in her white nightgown, her hair loose from its braid, floating up around her pale face. “Mama, I don’t feel good.” Joseph was in Anna’s bed which gave Eliza room to welcome her eight-year-old daughter under the covers. Ever since she had heard the news at church that Mina Watson was quarantined with diphtheria, she had fought back a leaden sense of dread. Eliza wrapped her arms around Sallie’s hot body curled next to her. 

“Where don’t you feel good, Sallie?” She worked to keep her voice calm to soothe her small, birdlike daughter.

“My throat hurts, Mama. It hurts to swallow.” Eliza brushed Sallie’s hair away from her forehead and cupped her face, feeling her hot cheeks and the swollen glands beneath her jaw. Eliza closed her eyes and whispered a prayer.  

“I will get you a sip of water.” She slipped out of her bed and pulled the heavy covers over Sallie’s small frame. A sliver of blue moonlight cut through the window curtains, laying a track of brilliance on the braided rug. Feeling her way to the kitchen, she welcomed the warmth radiating from the kitchen stove. She found the pitcher of water next to the sink and fumbled for a tin cup on the nearby shelf. Her heart thudded in her chest, and she took deep breaths to steady her hand as she poured.  

Sallie Ann sat up and took the cup with both hands, tipping it to her mouth, its wide brim nearly covering her face. Threads of water slipped down each side of her mouth as she drank. She passed the cup back to Eliza who watched standing next to the bed. She took the cup and placed it on the nightstand, then sat next to Sallie Ann, stroking her hot forehead. The little girl licked her dry lips, her breathing quick and short between shallow coughs. Eliza lay next to her, one arm draped over the small body. “Please, dear Lord,” she whispered. “Let me be an instrument in thy hands …”

Sallie Ann stayed in Eliza’s bed the next day. She lay against the pillows, listless, her skin a sallow grey color. Joseph stood at the bedside studying her. “No need to jump to conclusions, Eliza. It looks like a cold to me. Sore throat, runny nose ... Let us not presume the worst.” Eliza stood just behind him, peering around him at the bed. She wanted to believe in his certainty.  

“Perhaps,” she whispered. The knot of fear in her stomach climbed upward to her throat as she reconstructed the evening a week ago when Mina Watson had been in their parlor for her singing lesson with Joseph. The young woman’s cough, the pasty sheen of her cheeks. There was no question that she had left their house already ill.

Eliza stayed next to Sallie Ann through the morning, changing out cool wraps across her forehead, encouraging her to take sips of water. A bowl of thinned corn mush sat on the nightstand untouched. Her fever came and went, punctuated by violent chills. When Eliza pulled back the curtains at noontime, she was shocked to see how pale, almost blue, the little girl had turned. Sallie panted in quick short breaths and looked with glassy eyes around the room. Her neck had become so swollen from the infected glands that there was little definition of her chin and jawline.  

“Joseph!” Eliza crossed to the door and called out. Her panic filled the house. Joseph stepped out of the kitchen, alarmed when Eliza rushed to him.  “Joseph, we must go get Dr. Murphy.” Tears pricked at her eyes as she pulled him toward the bedroom. “I don’t know what to do and I am afraid …” The color drained from Joseph’s face.  

He stepped around her and went into the bedroom where Sallie lay motionless. Her eyes were closed, but the lids twitched as if she were searching for the sound of the movement without waking. Joseph stood in the doorway, his hand on the doorknob. He barely recognized his daughter, her swollen neck, her face a bluish white. He turned abruptly and bumped into Eliza who had followed him. “My consecrated oil,” he stated, looking over her head toward the dining room. 

Eliza caught her breath and raced to the cupboard in the dining room where Joseph kept the small vial of oil. It was ceremoniously placed in front of their Book of Mormon and Bible. Her hands shook as she picked up the tube of glass and brought it to Joseph. His face changed as she placed it in his hand. His fear had melted into a stalwart gaze. He took a deep breath and went back into the bedroom. Eliza tiptoed in behind him and stood with her back to the closed door. Joseph stepped to the side of the bed and reached out his hand, holding it just above Sallie’s forehead. She stirred, sensing his presence. He watched her face as he lowered his hand, letting its full weight lie on her damp hair. She lay still under his touch.  

“Sallie Ann,” Joseph spoke to his daughter in a gentle but confident tone. She opened her eyes at the sound of his voice. “I am going to give you a special blessing. Can you sit up?” Eliza moved to the bed and propped a second pillow behind the small girl. Joseph took the corked lid from the vial that he held and with a steady hand poured a thread of oil on his daughter’s hair. Eliza took the consecrated oil and recapped it while keeping it in the tight curl of her hand. Joseph placed both of his hands on Sallie’s silky hair, closed his eyes, and lifted his chin toward the ceiling. 

“Sarah Ann Russell Brown, by the power of the Melchizedek priesthood, I lay my hands upon your head and ask our dear Father in Heaven to bless you this day. May He grant you strength and healing. Dear Lord, we ask Thee to protect this child and take this illness from her. We are Thy faithful servants and know that Thou art powerful in all things. Bless this child through the power Thou hast invested in me.” Joseph paused and Eliza looked up at him, knowing that the prayer was not over. “And Lord,” he began again. “We place Sallie Ann in Thy hands, knowing that it is up to Thee if she is healed. Let us accept Thy word. We offer this prayer in Jesus’s name, Amen.”  

Eliza opened her eyes and scanned her daughter’s face. Joseph’s shadow fell across the little girl, but even in the dim light, Eliza could see that Sallie Ann’s eyes were closed as she panted through cracked lips. She took a step closer to the bed. “Please dear Lord, heal my baby,” she whispered. Joseph studied his daughter.  

“It is now in the Lord’s hands,” he stated matter-of-factly. Then he patted Eliza on her shoulder and walked out of the room. Eliza watched him leave feeling powerless and afraid.  

Two days passed. Eliza kept vigil as each of the other children took a turn sitting next to her. Sallie stirred briefly and gave a weak smile when her little sister Clara pulled up the rocker close to her and softly sang. Her older brother, Aaron, came in and placed a tentative hand on Sallie’s forehead before lifting her lifeless hand and placing it against his mouth. He gave a quick sob, before placing it back on the folded sheet. 

No one spoke during supper. Joseph solemnly anchored the table around his two wives and ten children. He ate without looking up from his plate. His second wife, Anna, quietly served the youngest children. Eliza only took a few bites of food before returning to her darkened bedroom. The older children exchanged fearful glances with each other.  

Later that night, Eliza stepped out of her bedroom into the dark entry hall. She pulled the door softly closed and turned to find August, her eighteen-year-old son, standing on the bottom step. She gasped in surprise and put a hand to her throat.

“Mama,” he stated. “I think you should send for Dr. Murphy.” She could not see August’s face in the darkness, but she imagined the direct gaze of his blue eyes. His voice was also direct. Guilt rose in Eliza, and she lifted her hand to her lips. His words gave reality to the thoughts she had pushed away for over two days. She had been afraid of suggesting that Sallie Ann’s fate was perhaps not up to the Lord and that He expected them to seek help. But Joseph had been adamant about following the spirit and accepting the Lord’s will. And half-heartedly, she wanted to believe and accept, too. August waited in the darkness. When Eliza remained silent, he shook his head, turned, and went back up the stairs. She listened to his heavy steps even though she could no longer see him. 

Sallie Ann died the next afternoon.  

Nothing had prepared her for the raw, terrible grief as she held Sallie’s hand and felt it turn cold. She fell to her knees next to the bed and cried out, “No, no dear Father, don’t take my baby. Please take me. Don’t take her.” Joseph put his hands on her shoulders as she knelt sobbing. The children stood behind him, a mournful audience.

* * *

Eliza bathed the tiny still body, brushed her long strawberry hair, and let it curl around her swollen face. She tried to block out the sound of Joseph’s saw and hammer rhythmically constructing the narrow box that would hold her daughter. “There now,” she whispered as she positioned the little girl’s hands across the satin ribbon that encircled her waist. “You look so pretty,” she told her. Then she touched her hair once more, lifting a long strand that lay across her inert lips.  

Eliza’s mind was thick from the endless weeping. Her face was swollen, blotchy. But the tears had finally stopped. A steady calm poured through her, a blessed numbness that allowed her to complete her daughter’s final preparations, knowing that there would be no songs, no sudden laughter, no growing into womanhood. How arrogant she had been. To think that she would be spared losing a child. Now the fragility of life penetrated her every thought and wound a tight knot in her throat. Surely, she had made her sacrifice. Please, dear God, let my children be safe.  

It was over six miles to the City Cemetery, the resting place for Saints and Gentiles, rising above the snow choked valley on a hill just beyond the city walls. A long, cold ride through a bitter January afternoon. Anna stayed back at the house with the little girls. Joseph and the five brothers lifted the small coffin from the wagon and carried it to the waiting hole that had been chiseled out of the frozen snow. Eliza followed. She watched as the men guided the box into the ground, lowering it carefully with the supporting ropes. She imagined Sallie’s face and still fingers, as the coffin lurched and settled into the grave. No one from Mill Creek had come. The word had quickly spread through the ward that Sallie had died from diphtheria. Surely, she had caught it from Mina Watson, who had mercifully recovered. Bishop Whitworth was the sole representative from the community. He gave a short prayer, then stepped back a safe distance while each brother took a fistful of cold dirt. They waited for Eliza and Joseph. Eliza’s face was frozen from the cold. She could feel nothing as she pulled her hand out of the woolen muff and bent forward for a handful of dirt. As the cold earth sifted through her fingers, she gave one last look at the wooden box, lying at the bottom of the dark hole, pulled her hand back to her face and covered a gasping sob.  

* * *

Eliza sat motionless on the black horsehair sofa, staring at the fireplace where the last embers smoldered. Her hands lay in her lap and she gave no sign that she had heard the insistent knocking on the door, nor had noticed Anna passing through the parlor to the front entry until the raw February cold blew into the parlor with the opened door. 

“Excuse me. Sister Brown?” Eliza shivered and looked up at the sound of the man’s voice. She caught a glimpse of a black hat in gloved hands, a thick wool coat. 

“I am Anna Brown. Eliza is my sister wife. Perhaps you wish to speak with her?” Anna had turned away from the open door toward the parlor, allowing a few inches for the man to peer into the dark interior. He cleared his throat, placing a gloved hand to his lips.    

“I do not want to be an imposition on you at this difficult time. My name is Seymour Young. I’m the Quarantine Physician for the city.” The voice pulled Eliza to her feet. She took several steps towards the door. 

“It’s too late,” Anna mumbled. The young doctor inhaled quickly.  

“Sister Brown, I am so sorry about this tragedy. I learned about it just a few days ago, and I felt compelled to visit Brother Brown, and Sister Brown, and you. May I please come in?” Anna looked back toward the parlor just as Eliza walked into the hallway. Eliza placed her hand on Anna’s arm and the younger woman stepped back. The stranger paused as he took in Eliza’s gaunt countenance. “Eliza Brown? I’m Dr. Young. May I please speak with you and with Brother Brown? I know that this is a very difficult time.”  

Eliza’s head felt numb, her mind thick and slow, but she opened the door and stepped back so the doctor could enter. She watched the young stranger step into the parlor and wait for her and Anna to follow. “Brother Brown is in his workshop,” she stated quietly as she returned to the parlor. “Anna, could you go tell him Dr. Young has come to see us. Please sit down, Doctor.” The cold dampness had filtered into the dark room making Eliza shiver under her thin wool shawl. Dr. Young selected a corner chair not far from the entry and pulled out a small notebook from his coat pocket and a short pencil. Eliza crossed to the fireplace and stirred the coals absently, then laid a log into the cast iron grate.

“I’m sorry,” she said, struggling to focus on the curl of smoke. Everything around her seemed distorted and out of tune. “What did you say your name was? I’m not a very good listener these days.” She stood up and looked more closely at the man, perched on the edge of his chair, his hat resting on his knees. He looked like a doctor. “I’m not being very polite. May I take your hat, your coat?”

He gave her a quick and sympathetic smile as he shook his head. “No, I will only be here a few minutes. But thank you. Dr. Young, my name is Dr. Seymour Young. I am the attending physician at the Quarantine Center.” Eliza absorbed the information for a moment, forcing herself to concentrate on his mouth, then slowly returned to the sofa and sat down. She noticed that he had kept his gloves on even as he held the short pencil and paper.  

“I’m afraid Anna was right, Doctor. You are too late.” Eliza dropped her eyes to her hands, her voice barely audible. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead, pressed his lips together and waited. The crackle of the dry wood catching fire broke the stillness.  

“It was Sallie Ann first, you see. We think she may have caught the illness from Mina, a young woman in the ward who had come to our house for a singing lesson with my husband. I think it was from her muff. Sallie Ann held it to her face, you see. That’s all I can figure. Then a week later, our boy Aaron, then baby Rhoda.” Her voice was toneless, empty of emotion, and her eyes studied the edge of the braided rug just beyond her shoes. “We thought that may be the end of it.” Her eyebrows lifted as if a surprising thought had suddenly flitted across her mind, then drew downward as she droned on. “One week more, then it was Anna’s Hattie, my Clara a few days after, then Hattie’s sister Ellie.” She lifted her eyes from the floor and looked at the doctor, troubled, confused as she pulled together the names and memories of the past month. “Then the two boys last week …” As if she had suddenly awoken from a bad dream, she gasped sharply, drawing her hands to her mouth, and the raw terrible grief twisted her face as she sobbed.   

Dr. Young stood up automatically but remained near his chair. “Sister Brown ... I,” he began. Eliza looked up, past the doctor and out the front window. A puzzled look came over her face.

“Hyrum came ... our oldest. He came when he heard the news about the boys ... his little brothers, you see. He didn’t really know the girls. They came much later, after he had gone to West Jordan. But the boys ... oh he cried when he saw the two of them laying there, side by side.” She stopped, and the doctor could see that she was pulling together the details of that last visit. She worked her mouth and frowned before she continued. “Hyrum told his father we should burn this house down ... move away from Mill Creek and start over. Said there was infection everywhere.” She knitted her eyebrows together and looked down at her hands. “He must’ve been right.” The grandfather clock continued its relentless ticking while she paused. “We got word two days ago, that when he returned home to West Jordan, he fell sick.” Her voice trailed off as she finally looked up at the doctor, her eyes a dull light. “And died.” Eliza reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a folded letter. She studied it for a moment before she continued. “He was a new daddy. Just married a year.” 

Anna suddenly appeared from the kitchen, her cheeks ruddy from the cold. She stood in the dining room, waited for a moment, then took a seat next to Eliza. “I can’t find him,” she whispered. The two women seated close beside each other might have been mother and daughter. Neither woman looked at him until he spoke.

“May I ask you both a few questions?” The sincerity and warmth of his voice drew their faces toward him. Eliza nodded and Anna murmured yes. The doctor looked down at his notebook for a moment, then raised his head to ask his question. “When did the first child, Sarah Ann, become ill?” Eliza and Anna looked at each other, each searching for the answer from the other.  

“She was ill for … four days. And died January 26.” The doctor awkwardly scribbled the information on the small pad.  

“When she became ill, did you get medical help?” He looked up at them, his face open, curious. Eliza looked away and Anna stared straight ahead without making eye contact.  

“I … I wanted to ... but we thought ... Joseph really believed that she was just sick with a bad cold ... He gave her a blessing.” Eliza’s voice grew softer. “He believed that it was in the Lord’s hands …” Dr. Young looked at her, then dropped his gaze to the paper while he wrote.  

“And later when the other children became sick? What precautions did you take?” Eliza looked at him, confusion clouding her face. She moved her lips to form an answer. Anna turned and looked at her, waiting, then looked away toward the doorway to her bedroom. Her baby’s soft burbling rose to a hungry cry on the other side of the door. Anna got up and left the room. Eliza watched her go, then turned toward the Doctor.  

“I don’t understand your question.”  

“Did you separate the children who were ill?” He kept his voice very gentle, prodding her to remember. “Or send the others away?”  

“My bedroom became the sick room. It is where we all took turns helping nurse the sick.” He looked at her, waited for her to complete the details. “It seemed like we could manage it with Sallie Ann. But it was like that children’s game…” she looked about the room trying to think of the word. “Catch, no tag. They just passed it on. It didn’t seem to matter what I did! Or what I could do …” Her face crumpled in emotion.  

“Sister Brown. I’m certain you did everything you knew how ... But your other children …” He gently prodded her to look at him. “You must now think of them. How many ... how many are here in the house with you?” Eliza listened closely and seemed to weigh his question.  

“Four,” she answered. “No, five. Anna has baby Thomas. August, Pearl, Israel, and my baby Nora. My oldest girl, Caroline, doesn’t live here. She’s in West Jordan.” Eliza opened and closed one hand in her lap, as if counting off the fingers for each remaining child.  

Dr. Young stirred in his seat and spoke with a sharper tone of authority. “Sister Brown, please listen to me. As soon as I leave, I want you to take all the bedding in your house, every blanket, every sheet and pillowcase, and boil them in the hottest water. Open your windows if you can and clear the air in your house. Take a bucket of strong lye soap to each room where the sick children lay, and I want you to scrub the floors, the walls, every surface you can see.” Eliza sat up, her posture matching the fervency of his voice. “Diphtheria is a very, very infectious disease. It may be worse than smallpox. Your children who are right now in this house may be the next victims. Sometimes, we don’t understand why, some patients get a very mild form or are carriers ... never show symptoms at all. But they can spread the infection. It is very important that for at least four weeks your family stay away from neighbors, or … or anyone who may want to come in and help.” His face flushed a heated red. “And for the sake of your children, call for a doctor if anyone becomes sick! They should be isolated immediately!” He caught his breath and looked away, then turned to Eliza, his eyes unblinking. “Sister Brown, the Lord expects us to do our part.” 

Eliza stared at him. His words cut through the thick gauze in her brain. Anna stood frozen in the bedroom doorway, her arms wrapped around baby Thomas who was hidden in his bundle of blankets. Dr. Young closed his notepad and slipped it into his coat pocket as he stood up. “My heart breaks for your loss, sisters. This was a terrible tragedy.” His eyes had filled with angry tears. “Please share everything I’ve told you with Brother Brown.” He let his words hang in the air and checked that each woman was listening. “No need to see me out.” He held up his hand as Eliza rose from the couch. “Thank you and may the Lord bless you.” He positioned his hat on his head and turned first to Eliza and then to Anna, gave them each a polite nod, and left the room. 

Eliza listened to the door open and then close before she crossed the parlor into the entry hall. She placed both hands on the heavy pine door and leaned her forehead against it. The rustle of fabric drew her back up straight. She glanced over her shoulder to see August turn and walk up the stairs from where he had been sitting.

* * *

Anna and Eliza began that day; stripped the beds of soiled sheets and carried them to the large cast iron washing pot they had set over a hot fire in the backyard; they opened every window and door to let in the stinging winds of late February. Pearl clutched Baby Nora and watched in confusion and dismay at the ceremonial purge. Together, the wives rolled up each oval rug and carried it over their shoulders to the outside laundry line left from autumn. Each woman beat each rug, each blow an act of retribution. Clouds of dust lifted in the air, and they wiped the sweat from their faces, pushed back the strands of wet hair that fell over their eyes and worked through every carpet in their house. Without speaking, they left them hanging in the dark afternoon and returned to the cold kitchen. No time, no time, the grandfather clock warned them. Eliza filled two wooden pails with hot water and passed one to Anna, who stood waiting already with a bristle brush in one hand. “I will start in the boys’ room,” Eliza stated. “You go to the girls’ room.”  

Joseph came back to the house as the gray clouds turned into a black night sky. He stood perplexed in the center of the parlor. The curtains were gone from the open windows and the bare floors echoed an unsettling emptiness. The horsehair sofa was pushed up against the dining table with the chairs stacked in all directions like a shipwreck on an island. “Eliza! Anna!” his voice boomed in anger and fear. He heard the scrape of a bed being dragged across the floor overhead and studied the ceiling with a piercing gaze. “Eliza! What is going on?” Light footsteps crossed overhead and quickly descended the stairs. There was a momentary pause before Eliza appeared in the doorway from the entrance hall. Her disheveled hair and the large circles of perspiration under her arms contradicted the calm look on her face. She held her hands together in front of her dusty skirt.

“We are clearing out the disease.” Joseph’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open at her words.  

“The house is freezing! Our children will die of the cold!”

“Better that than I let one more die of diphtheria!” The pitch of her voice surprised both of them. She closed her mouth and walked past Joseph toward the kitchen. He grabbed her arm as she walked by. She turned toward him and pulled her arm out of his grip. “Dr. Young came to our house this morning. Dr. Seymour Young, the Quarantine Doctor from the city. He came to our house, Joseph, …. to warn us … help us ... so our children will be safe. So no more will die.” Joseph took a step backward at the fierce tone in her voice and looked across the room toward Eliza’s bedroom where each child had lain sick and had died. 

The color drained out of his face and he all at once looked like an old man. Eliza watched this transformation and felt the confliction of satisfaction and empathy. She caught her breath. “He came to tell us ... to clean the house, everything, scrape it clean of this terrible disease. And to stay away from everyone till we know it’s gone.” She watched him absorb her words before she continued. “We’re quarantined, Joseph. For four weeks.” She could see his mind in action, counting out where four weeks would end, how it would impact his work, their food, their supplies. “We have enough to get us by,” she continued. A cold breeze from the open windows made her shiver. “Anna and I are nearly done scrubbing the upstairs. There’s leftover soup on the stove for you and the children. I won’t sleep till all the walls and floors have been scoured.”   

“Where are the children?” 

“I had August take them all out to the barn. He has stoked up the stove there until we are done in here.” Joseph looked toward the direction of the barn. “You should go to them, Joseph.” Eliza watched him struggle through the confusion and anguish of her words, the destruction of their house, their lives. His face churned through a rise of emotions that left him silent. She waited, allowing space and time between them, before she turned and left the room. She knew that he wouldn’t go.

That night, she and Anna dragged the mattress from her bed to the open front door and carried it to a large bonfire that blazed in the carriage lane. The two women laid the feather mattress over the intense heat and watched the thick smoke climb through the night sky. They covered their noses against the putrid stink that rose from the black and orange flames as the feathers caught fire. 

Over the next weeks, Eliza laid down a thick wax over the pine floors that had begun to warp from their baths of scalding water. She left her bedroom windows bare; the charred remains of the heavy curtains mingled with the mattress’s ashes. The braided rug from her bedroom lay sodden in the muddy lane, abandoned to the March storms. And finally, Eliza stopped. No one else became sick. No one died.  

About the author

Amy Wadsworth grew up in the middle of the Salt Lake Valley, just a few houses away from the tall pink house her polygamist great-great-grandfather built. From birth, she was raised on the stories that came from her Mormon pioneer roots, most of them revealing the darker natures of her mother’s lineage. Upon her retirement from a long career in education, she began her first novel, Resolution, based on the titillating scandal of her great-great-grandfather’s second wife who ran away with a horse doctor and left her six children behind for the first wife—Amy’s great-great-grandmother—to raise. As Amy researched her family’s letters, journals and records, she searched for the details that would put all the pieces together and ultimately answer the question of what really happened.

About the artist

Sandra Eckert is a doodler, a dabbler, and a messy and restless individual. An avid naturopath and off-the-road walker, she finds inspiration in the unscenic vistas and hidden places. While her interests currently lie in the world of art, she has been known to tend goats, whitewater kayak, fish for piranha, and teach teenaged humans. She is fascinated by the lessons of the natural world, both seen and unseen. Sandra holds a BFA with certification, and has continued her education both formally and informally, though she is too distracted to gather up her credits. She lives in Allentown, Pennsylvania with her husband, Peter, and her dogs, Jack and Tobi.  Additional works are available here.