We headed down the mountain toward the stream at the bottom of the canyon. For a short time, we walked along the trail that ran parallel to the tiny stream, sometimes crossing back and forth to walk on dry ground. But after a while, Mitchell made us hike back up onto the side of the mountain, then track a different course to the canyon, making our way toward the lower camp. It was hard going, cutting through the mountain oak and brush. Eventually, we made it to the first of the lower camps, a small clearing surrounded by outcroppings of rock. It was almost completely hidden and we had to climb down the side of the sheer rocks before dropping into the camp. Mitchell quickly looked around, searching for any sign of Barzee. He grew very agitated when it became obvious that she had not been there. We climbed out of the camp and headed down the mountain again. It took some real bushwhacking to cut our way across the side of the mountain. I had on some old wool socks and from time to time I would stop and try to pull the burrs and stickers out of them, but eventually I just gave up. They were completely plastered. It didn’t do any good. As we got closer to the bottom of the canyon, Mitchell became more and more angry, constantly cursing that we were getting so close to the main trails.
The second camp was located in a small meadow nestled on the side of the canyon. Surrounded by thick trees, this camp, like the previous one, was completely hidden from view. We stopped at the edge of the trees and Mitchell looked around, searching for any sign of trouble before he led me into the camp. The camp was pretty well supplied. A small tent. Water. A few tarps. A couple small plastic containers of camping gear. Mitchell searched through all of their belongings, looking again for any sign that Barzee, or anyone else, had been there. Finding nothing, he stood and looked around, his hands balled into anxious fists.
He stared down the canyon, then back up toward our camp. Then he made his decision. No way he was going to take me any farther down the canyon. It was time to turn around.
“Come on,” he mumbled as he passed me. I turned and followed him as we started the long hike back to our camp. I kept my head low, my spirits deflating. Every step took me closer to my prison. Every step took me closer to a life that was killing my soul. Every step was like adding another rock onto an emotional backpack that was already very full.
We eventually made it back to camp. By then, it was getting very late, the last of the sunlight fading through the trees. The first thing Mitchell did was cable me up again. Then he started telling me—again—how each of us had a cross that we must bear, but how much God must have loved me to give me the opportunity to be his wife. While he was talking, we heard someone walking through the trees. Both of us turned to see Barzee emerge from the brush.
Though she didn’t seem as angry as she had been before, there was a definite chill in the air. She and Mitchell talked. He reminded her once again that she was the chosen Mother of Zion. He reminded her that she was assured a position up in heaven at the right hand of God, a position right next to the Savior himself, if only she stayed faithful to what God needed her to do.
What a bunch of garbage! I thought as I listened to him talk.
*
A few days later, we were out of food again. Mitchell was preparing to go down to get supplies when Barzee confronted him. “Why do you get to go down and drink your liquor and get your smokes and do whatever you want to do while Esther and I are left up here to starve, waiting for your return?”
He glared at her but she stood her ground without flinching. “It isn’t right. I’m tired of it. I’m not going to do it anymore.”
He started to answer, but Barzee took a step toward him, her face as hard as ice. “I’m not going to stay up here and starve while you go down and party,” she said with scorn.
And I could tell Mitchell was going to have to back down. Barzee didn’t win very many of their arguments, but once she had made up her mind there was no backing down. She was tired of him going into the city and never allowing her to go. It had been going on for months now. Something was going to change.
Which was good. Really good. Because I knew there was no way they would leave me up at camp by myself. Seeing the opening, I started begging him to let me go down into the city too. My mind was racing with possibilities. Maybe someone would recognize me! Maybe someone would rescue me! Maybe Mitchell would, I didn’t know … get captured … have a heart attack … decide he didn’t want me … anything was possible.
I begged and I begged. But Mitchell was having none of it. Both of us were going to stay up in the camp.
“No, Immanuel. I’m not. I’m not going to do it anymore!” Barzee shot back.
It took a lot more pushing, but eventually Mitchell was forced to give in.
24.
Party in the City