His kingship in things material no less than in things spiritual had been absolute, undisputed, undoubted--indeed, gloried in by the people as much as Brigham himself gloried when he declared it in and out of the tabernacle.

Their blind obedience had been his by divine right, by virtue of his iron will, his matchless courage, his tireless spirit, and his understanding of their hearts and their needs, born of his common suffering with them.

Nothing could be done without his sanction.
No man could enter a business, or change his home from north to south, without first securing his approval; even the merchants who went east or west for goods must first report to him their wishes, to see if he had contrary orders for them! From the invitation list of a ball to the financing of a corporation, his word was law; in matters of marriage as well--no man daring even to seek a wife until the Prophet had approved his choice.

The whole valley for five hundred miles was filled with his power as with another air that the Saints must breathe.

In his oft-repeated own phrase, it was his God-given right to dictate all matters, "even to the ribbons a woman should wear, or the setting up of a stocking." And his people had not only submitted blindly to his rule, but had reverenced and even loved him for it.
Twenty-five years of such allegiance, preceded by a youth in which the same gospel of obedience was bred into his marrow--this was not to be thrown off by a mere heartache; not to be more than striven against, half-heartedly, in the first moment of anguish.
He thought of Brigham's home in the Lion House, the score or so of plain, elderly women, hard-working, simple-minded; the few favourites of his later years, women of sightlier exteriors; and he pictured the long dining-room, where, at three o'clock each afternoon, to the sound of a bell, these wives and half a hundred children marched in, while the Prophet sat benignantly at the head of the table and blessed the meal.
He tried to fix Prudence in this picture, but at every effort he saw, not her, the shy, sweet woman, full of surprised tenderness, but a creature hardened, debased, devoid of charm, dehumanised, a brood-beast of the field.
And yet this was not rebellion.