least from Donna.
He turned to her. 'Forgive me for asking, and feel free to say it's none of my business, but how come you're still a member of the Church when you doubt its approach, the way it covers up its history, and the fact you're . . .'
'A divorcee and a single mom?'
'Well, yes,' he added, a little taken aback by her directness but grateful for her sparing him having to use a polite, strained euphemism. 'It is, after all, based on family and the sanctity of family, isn't it?'
'Amongst other things, yeah.' She shrugged. 'It's my Church. I grew up with it. I have a few problems with some of the doctrines and covenants, but then show me any Christian who agrees with everything that's said in the Bible. And there's a heck of a lot of Christians who have a problem with some of their Church's attitudes. The fact is, I got married to the wrong man and it didn't work. The way I look at it, if I'm going to be sealed to a man for eternity, which is a mighty long time, then the least I can do is make sure he's not an asshole. I ain't gonna burn in hell for that. I'll just be a damn sight more careful the next time. But the basic tenets of my Church I fully believe in.
We have our jerks and our fools, just like any other Church -- hell, just like any other religion -- but I'm not gonna let that get in the way of me following my faith. And I still have it. Long as I do, I'll be a Latter-day Saint. Soon as it goes, I'll be downing bourbon and sleeping with any man that looks cute in jeans, like the rest of you godless heathens. Ain't that right, Heather?'
There was silence. She checked the rearview mirror.
Heather was in a deep sleep.
'Maybe not then,' she added. 'Though perhaps Heather ain't the Lee Cooper jeans kind of girl.' She gave Nigel a look from the side of her eye he could only describe as sly.
'Maybe she likes her buttoned-up English guys in, I dunno, tweed or something?'
Nigel said nothing, even resisted the temptation to check his herringbone jacket.
Donna laughed softly yet wickedly. She leaned in towards him. 'I've seen the way you look at her,' she whispered. 'Is it an unrequited thing you got going on there, Nigel? Or do I sense a bit of history?'
Nigel cleared his throat. 'I'd rather not discuss it, actually,' he said.
She nodded. 'OK, I see. I'm guessing there's a clue right there in what you said, but I know Englishmen don't like to talk about these things. She's sure pretty, though.'
'Yes,' Nigel said. Yes, she is.'
Again the softer, wicked laugh. 'You told her how you feel?'
Nigel glanced in the wing mirror; he could still see Heather sleeping. 'It's complicated,' he muttered.
'As far as I see it, it ain't that complicated. You tell her how you feel and you all know where you stand.'
'Maybe I did once and maybe I didn't like what happened next. You know the phrase 'once bitten, twice shy'? Well, there's something to be said for that.'
Donna gave him a kind look. 'Sometimes it's worth hanging in there, honey. I don't know much, but people appreciate someone who loves them without question.
My ex-husband only loved himself. Me, I'm looking for someone who loves me happy or sad, fat or thin, with make-up or without, the whole nine yards. Generally someone who thinks the sun rises and falls at the back of my ass. Do that with Heather and she might come to her senses. I mean, I look at you and I think she's mad. If you knew your doctrine and covenants and got yourself a temple recommend, I'd be looking to get sealed with you for all eternity.' She squeezed his thigh to emphasize her point.
Maybe the Mormon Church wasn't so bad, he thought.
They entered the city limits for Llewellyn as the afternoon light left. In the rapidly descending twilight it was hard to see much of the town, though Nigel suspected he might not be missing a great deal in terms of scenery. He was wrong: as they drove into town, Donna pointed out the dark shadow of the LDS Temple on a hill overlooking the town, backlit by a dramatic blood-red sky. They rode downtown, past the historic district and along the main drag, past shops and the occasional office block until they reached the library. As the car stopped, Heather woke from her slumber with a start.
'Have I been asleep all the time?' she mumbled apologetically.
'Sparko,'
Donna said.
The library formed part of the county office building, a grand old department store comprising several buildings connected and remodelled over several decades. The library occupied the ground floors and seemed cramped in such a tight space, though there were few people using it at that hour. Donna wasted no time approaching the desk and asking for copies of the Logan Leader. They were pointed towards the library's collection of microfilmed newspapers.
The Logan Leader was there but its origins were the same as that in Salt Lake City -- the missing editions were still absent. Nigel went back to the desk and to the demure young woman manning it.
'Do you have the originals?' he asked.
She shook her head sadly. 'We donated most of our materials to the Church,' she said. 'That includes the newspapers.'
He cursed. 'Do you have anything at all about the history of the area?'
She showed a few local histories, but they mostly told the story of the pioneers and their heroic struggles against nature, disease and apostates. He went back to the desk.
'Do you have anything, anything at all, about a place called Temperance?'
She looked shocked. 'Temperance? Why, no, I don't think so. Is it a genealogical inquiry because we have family search . . .'
'No,' Nigel said. 'Not really' He decided to be honest.
'I'm trying to find details of an incident that took place in Temperance in 1890, maybe a disaster of some kind, where quite a lot of people died . . .'
His question tailed away as he saw the blank look on the woman's face. It was clear she did not know what he was talking about.
'Sorry, sir,' she said. 'Have you checked the newspaper reports for the area? We have them all on microfilm.'
Not all, he thought, but he couldn't be bothered explaining about the missing copies. 'Thanks,' he said and went in search of Donna. She was ploughing through another section of local histories and memoirs with an equal lack of success.
'This is pointless,' Nigel said wearily.
Donna's resigned look suggested agreement.
You people want to know about Temperance?'
The voice came from behind them. They both turned.
A woman in her forties with jam-jar spectacles and a friendly face was smiling at them.
'We sure do,' Donna said. 'Why, can you help?'
She looked over her shoulder. 'Might get myself in some trouble over this, but I know someone who can.
What do you two think of frequenting bars?'
Nigel looked at her as if she was mad. What did she mean?
Donna laughed. 'These guys are English. I don't think they'll mind. Which bar?'
'Oh, we only have one in Llewellyn. Called Hooky's, just off Main. You're looking for a guy named Pettibone.
Josiah Pettibone.'
'Thanks,' Donna said.
'Just one other thing,' the woman added. 'I didn't send you.'
Half an hour later they had found Hooky's, a subterranean dive tucked away apologetically down a side street to nowhere. The last building on the left, just before the pavement ran out. Nigel could sense Donna's reluctance and he hesitated at the top of the stairs. 'Looks like a nice joint,' he said sardonically.
Heather brushed past. 'A bar's a bar,' she said brusquely.
'I should know, I've done my time in the pubs of the north.'
She headed down the stairs and through the door.
