The Faith of a Stiff-Necked Woman

Give me a pile of ten men’s diaries, or one woman’s diary, and I’ll choose the woman’s account every time. —Leonard J. Arrington

James Whitehead Taylor’s personal history, which I discovered in a hefty book gifted to me by my great-uncle, is just over eight typed pages. It reads somewhat like a pioneer CV. In it, he details his conversion to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, his immigration to Utah with his wife and children, different church appointments he had, his mission, and some brief descriptions of miracles along the way. He made scant references to his family, with the bulk of his history describing accomplishments and positions in the community and church. Almost half of his history detailed his mission to Wales. 

I don’t want to fault J.W. Taylor, my sixth great-grandfather, for not writing more about his children—after all, it is a rather brief history, and I imagine his priorities were typical of a man of the Church in his day. He mentioned his children six times, all but one of those in reference to their lack of food while crossing the plains. Their suffering was noteworthy to him and certainly stood out in his memory when he wrote his history years later. 

What really caught my attention, however, were the references to his wife—six total. The sum of those passages left me with an odd impression, so I skimmed back over the sentences referring to Ann. I noticed that three of the references were neutral (i.e. “I told my wife to give one little biscuit a piece to the children, I would go without and what we should do for a week I could not tell, but we must trust in the Lord”). The other three were negative: 

“My wife began to be very bitter against the saints and I sometimes thought I received more abuse than anyone ever did, but perhaps not.” [In reference to Ann’s attitude after his initial conversion.]

“I had much sorrow to contend with because of the folly and unbelief of my partner in life.” 

“How I wish that I could say, "As for me and my house we will serve the Lord," but I cannot for it seems as though I should have to go and be with very few exceptions alone in the kingdom of God.”

Was this my own negativity bias? I searched the document again, and my feeling was validated—I found no positive reference to Ann. This left so many questions: Why would he think he’d be alone in heaven? Did his wife emigrate with him from England? So, I re-read. Yes. Did she never join the Church? Hmmm. How often did that happen—couples emigrating together, one baptized and the other not? I looked again. He never mentioned a baptism, but I thought it unlikely that she would endure leaving home and family without having been converted. What would have led James Whitehead Taylor, taking into account his church status and his day, to believe he might be alone in the kingdom of heaven? That’s when I considered polygamy. Could he have been upset about polygamy? Was it possible that Ann refused to give her consent for him to marry additional wives?

My curiosity piqued, I read on in the book, searching for Ann’s perspective. However, despite the heft of the volume, I didn’t find anything from Ann herself. I found brief accounts from some of her children and grandchildren written about her. They mentioned her toils in being a pioneer and early Utah settler, including a smallpox vaccination campaign and hardships while her husband was away on his mission. But what I wanted was her perspective, in her own words, partly because of the way her husband had painted her. 

Since her words were absent from the book, my next step was checking for additional materials in FamilySearch. I came across many memories that had been uploaded by various descendents that helped fill in a picture of Ann:

From a daughter, Rose Taylor Wadsworth, this unique passage at the end of her account of the lives of her parents:

She died as she had lived, a faithful latter-day Saint, a true and devoted wife and mother and many loved ones to mourn her loss.

From an unnamed grandchild, an uploaded image of a manually typed document:

Ann Rogers Taylor had a lovely parlor in later years with red plush seats. Blinds with scenes and fringe on them. She loved brick brack. She would bring a pretty vase, china dof (sic) or cat, or figurine from Salt Lake. Grandfather Taylor objected to this extravagance. So Grand-Mother would bring some cherished china home, hide it away for a while, then bring it out. Grandfather would say, “Ann, you have been buying some more foolishness.” Grandmother would answer and say, “Why James, I have had that for a long time.” 

A hand-written note, likely from a great-grandchild, appears at the end of a typed history of Ann:

She was never as radically devout as her husband, yet was a firm believer in prayer. It is said she was very out-spoken, even rising in church in her stiff black gown, to “speak her piece,” when Bp. Evans would say something she disagreed with. One day he came to her house and she was white-washing a room of the house. She had tied a cloth around a broom and was using this on the job. Bp. Evans said, “What are you doing Ann,” and she said, “I have dressed up this broom and some of you old fools will come around and want to marry it.” She hated polygamy and was never at a loss for words in placing Bp. Evans at fault, as he tried to get her husband to marry another wife. She told Gr. Grandpa he could do so, but when he did she was leaving.

This was my first indication that polygamy may have been a wedge that divided this couple. James did not mention polygamy directly in his history, other than referencing that it was part of a discussion he had with a preacher during his mission.

An account from another granddaughter, Myrtle Austin, found in FamilySearch in memories of her father, Heber Charles Austin, confirmed my suspicions of Ann’s views on polygamy:

Being a staunch Victorian woman with strong moral attitudes, she [Ann] hated polygamy and told her husband if he ever brought a second wife to her front door, she would go out the back door, and Grandfather knew that she meant it. In spite of the urging of the Bishop of Lehi, he didn't and she didn't, and my mother could point with pride to the fact that there was no polygamy in the Taylor family. Ann Taylor felt that she was upholding the moral precepts that she had been taught and probably didn't mind her husband’s calling her “a stiff-necked woman.” 

In the same document from Ann’s granddaughter, there is another interesting tidbit regarding polygamy and Ann’s way of expressing her disdain:

Mother agreed with her mother about polygamy, but she was in most respects the child of her father. He was evidently kind and sensitive and tactful, and Mother acquired these traits from his example. Mother never had the polygamy problem to face, but she would have faced it differently from her mother. No one would ever have called her “a stiff-necked woman.” 

In finding these accounts, the picture in my mind of Ann and James was beginning to fill out. It appeared she was not afraid to voice her opinion to her husband, their bishop, or to most people. I love the image of her standing up in a meeting in her “stiff black dress” in order to “speak her piece.” I love her strategy of hiding little china dogs and cats and then pulling them out later just so she could tell her husband, “That old thing? I’ve had that a long time.” 

While her husband appears to have thought her a “stiff-necked woman,” it occurs to me that this very quality may have been what was necessary to keep Ann and her children fed during the harsh winter(s) of James’s mission as well as to administer smallpox vaccines to all the children in Lehi. My reaction to James’s personal history and its lack of tenderness toward Ann is admittedly a modern one. I can’t help but feel sad and somewhat indignant at James’s worries that he would be alone in the kingdom of heaven. I realize too that her outspokenness and strong will could have made her a difficult person to be married to in a time and place where women were expected to work hard and to submit to the authority of husbands and church leaders. Work hard she did, but she did not submit and she did not stay quiet. I was starting to see Ann as a resilient pioneer woman with a strong sense of self, who knew exactly what she would and would not put up with.  

As grateful as I was for these extra viewpoints from her children and grandchildren, I was still hoping for something in her own words. Other than the above, most accounts of her life in FamilySearch were versions of the same manuscript. They began with “Ann Rogers was born in Lancaster, England . . . ,” followed by the same stories about the ocean crossing, saving up money for the trek west, and the hardships of early pioneer life. But none of these accounts were written by her. While skimming over yet another history that began with the familiar, “Ann Rogers was born . . . ,” I happened upon a piece of writing on the same document that began after about an inch of white space. It read: “My name is Ann Rogers Taylor.” 

To read her words after so many documents of people writing about her was like hearing her voice cut through time. It was like she was standing up among the crowd, summoning the courage to “speak her piece” as she had done while alive. In fact, some of her words were direct responses to her husband’s statements in his personal history. I imagined her writing her history after reading his and feeling unfairly represented. 

From the start, she is open about her feelings toward her husband and her church. Regarding his conversion:

He was a good man and had the gift of being able to know and understand things that I could not . . .

Perhaps James' faith was greater than mine. His faith was in his God and his compelling urge was to do God's work. My faith was in the God of the Bible and in my husband, and my love was for our family and our neighbors. 

Many times I felt that the Mormon God deprived me of my husband. I was bitter about the Mormons. James knew it, and these feelings caused some unhappiness between us. 

I was beginning to understand her experience beyond the pioneer “greatest hits.” Her heart was being exposed in a way I hadn’t heard before in other pioneer histories. She offered her own viewpoint on many of the events from her husband’s history:

Him: [Regarding the pioneer crossing] After that in about a week we got our first sight of Salt Lake City and as soon as I saw it, I fell on my knees and thanked God for so safely bringing me and mine to safety to our journey's end.

Her: I had twin babies somewhere west of Winter Quarters, and they died of scarlet fever. We left them in an unmarked grave, unnamed. They were the only deaths in our wagon train—good news for everyone else, but they were my children.

Him: [Regarding his leaving on a mission] I left home with very little bedding, thinking I would leave my family as comfortable as I could.

Her: He took little bedding with him because he wanted to leave us as comfortable as he could. However, we were not very comfortable. He left me with no money and only fifty pounds of flour in the house. My only real help was my oldest son Samuel, age 16. 

Comparing the two accounts was like unearthing a failure of two people to see each other clearly. The most heartbreaking to me was his characterization of his wife, who had sacrificed so much, as one who would not be with him in the kingdom of God.  

Him: How I wish that I could say, "As for me and my house we will serve the Lord," but I cannot for it seems as though I should have to go and be with very few exceptions alone in the kingdom of God.

The rest of her short account is when I picture her proverbially standing up in the meeting to “speak her mind.”

Her: [after listing her efforts in feeding and clothing her family, giving of her scant possessions to neighbors, and vaccinating the town] Those things I could do. I could not be happy about the Mormon Church taking my husband. First Mormonism took his heart and his time. Then it was the call to Zion, twice leaving my dead babies, and then being left by James for those years of his mission to England. I know he wrote in his journal, " . . . oh how I wish that I could say as for me and my house we will serve the Lord but I cannot for it seems as though I should have to go and be with very few Exceptions alone in the Kingdom of God." 

I imagine her reading his history, perhaps while he was still alive, or perhaps after he had passed (he died eight years before her), her heart straining with the swirl of emotions stirred up by his words. She continues: 

It was hard to know he didn't feel I was good enough for heaven, particularly because I sometimes wondered if I was even good enough for earth. But what more could I have done? I left everything and everyone I knew in England. I bore fourteen children, pioneered a cold, hard country; tried to be a good neighbor, and kept my family together the only way I knew how to do it . . .   I hope my posterity knows that I not only suffered for the benefit of my children; I also suffered for their children, and for their grandchildren, and for theirs. 

I am Ann’s sixth great-granddaughter. Her words have found me in the middle of my life and have worked their way deep into my heart. Much of her life I can’t relate to. She was a woman who, like many pioneer women, suffered the trauma of extreme loss, poverty, and food insecurity as she watched her husband leave to preach the gospel. She was a woman who was willing to suffer so much for this new religion and its leaders and its God. She experienced doubt and even what we might call today suicidal ideation: “because I sometimes wondered if I was even good enough for earth.” And yet she was a woman who stood in her stiff black dress and “spoke her piece” to the cultural and religious leaders in her community. She drew a hard line in saying no to her husband and church leaders when it came to plural marriage. 

I haven’t left unnamed children in unmarked graves on the plains. I haven’t been asked to participate in polygamy. Life in the twenty-first century seems so different from the life that Ann and James lived. And yet Ann speaks to topics so enduring and present: faith crisis, marital discord, depression, doubt, and more than anything, the searching for that one true relationship and godly perspective that redeems everything. Ann shows me and my posterity how to find this healing and redeeming perspective at the end of her history: 

Knowing what I do now, if I were God looking down from Eternity upon Ann Rogers Taylor, I believe He would tell me, “Even if someone else might have done better or been happier, you did everything you knew how to do. You kept your family together. You were faithful to your husband. You held a place in time so your posterity could be born in freedom and know the Gospel of Jesus Christ in its fullness. It was a hard time to live. Not many could have done as well as you. You say you resented the Mormon God and you loved only the God of the Bible, your family and your neighbors; yet, I am the God of the Bible, and to love your fellow man is the best way there is to love me. You are my daughter and I love you.”

Thank you, Ann. You remind me that, even with all my faults, I am also a daughter of this loving God. The God of the Bible. The God of the Mormons. The God of polygamists and the God of those who would sooner leave out the back door than allow such a relationship. And this God loves me and my children and my neighbors too. Thank you for holding a place in time and for speaking your piece. I’m listening.

Joanna Harmon divides her time dabbling in many creative pursuits, including writing, making music and art, and gardening. She works as a mental health therapist and lives in Provo, Utah with her husband, three kids, and dog.

Art by Frederick McCubbin.