Faith and Betrayal: A Pioneer Woman's Passage in the American West [NOOK Book]

Overview

In the 1850s, Jean Rio, a deeply spiritual widow, was moved by the promises of Mormon missionaries and set out from England for Utah. Traveling across the Atlantic by steamer, up the Mississippi by riverboat, and westward by wagon, Rio kept a detailed diary of her extraordinary journey.In Faith and Betrayal, Sally Denton, an award-winning journalist and Rio’s great-great-granddaughter, uses the long-lost diary to re-create Rio’s experience. While she marvels at the great natural beauty of Utah, Rio’s enthusiasm ...
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Faith and Betrayal: A Pioneer Woman's Passage in the American West

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Overview

In the 1850s, Jean Rio, a deeply spiritual widow, was moved by the promises of Mormon missionaries and set out from England for Utah. Traveling across the Atlantic by steamer, up the Mississippi by riverboat, and westward by wagon, Rio kept a detailed diary of her extraordinary journey.In Faith and Betrayal, Sally Denton, an award-winning journalist and Rio’s great-great-granddaughter, uses the long-lost diary to re-create Rio’s experience. While she marvels at the great natural beauty of Utah, Rio’s enthusiasm for her new life turns to disillusionment over Mormon polygamy and violence against nonbelievers, as well as the harshness of frontier life. She sets out for California, where she finds a new religion and the freedom she longed for. Unusually intimate and full of vivid detail, this is an absorbing story of a quintessential American pioneer.


From the Trade Paperback edition.
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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
Denton, a journalist who previously explored Mormon history in American Massacre, relays and interprets a British ancestor's experiences in crossing an ocean and a continent to join the Latter-day Saints in Utah. Jean Rio Baker was, by Denton's assessment, a wealthy Victorian woman who "fell sway" to the message of Mormon missionaries in the 1840s. Not long after her husband died, she packed up her children and other members of her extended family and embarked from England on the arduous voyage to Utah. This short biography is at its best when it adheres closely to Rio Baker's own journal of her experiences on the ocean (where she tragically buried a child at sea) and the plains, which she vividly describes in fascinating detail. But for the long stretches of Rio Baker's life where she either did not keep a journal or it has not survived, readers are left with Denton's own rather angry assessment of how her great-great-grandmother was deceived and betrayed by the Mormons. Unfortunately, the book is riddled with numerous factual errors about 19th-century Mormonism and the Book of Mormon, which may cause readers to question other elements in the biography. Despite the sloppy research and some unfair caricatures, Denton portrays her ancestor as a resourceful, independent mother and midwife who heroically survived her religious disillusionment. (Apr. 28) Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
Award-winning author Denton (American Massacre, 2003, etc.), who's written widely on the American West, tells the story of her great-great-grandmother, a Mormon pioneer. A well-heeled Victorian Englishwoman, Jean Rio Griffiths found herself dissatisfied with the staid ways of the Church of England. When in 1848 Jean Rio and her husband met Mormon missionary John Taylor, they were captivated by his message, and in 1849 they were baptized into the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Just months later, Jean Rio's husband died, and in 1851 the widow took her seven children to America to join the Mormons in Utah. Jean Rio was ultimately disappointed by the church-she loathed polygamy, she was horrified by the 1857 massacre, when Mormons slaughtered a train-full of "Gentile" pioneers, and she couldn't tolerate the Mormons' acceptance of widespread poverty. Eventually, she left and moved to California. The strength of Denton's biography lies in her eye for detail: for example, in the description of Jean Rio's grand piano, the first to make it by wagon to the intermountain West, or the mention of the ox that died because he ingested Indian war paint. The book is filled with riveting vignettes, like the stories of Jean Rio's mother's escape as a baby from Revolutionary France to Scotland and of Jean Rio's daughter-in-law's migration from Denmark to Utah. Denton, however, fails to establish herself as an entirely trustworthy narrator. Granted, impartial writing about Mormonism is rare. But while the tale here isn't wildly sensationalistic, neither is it entirely evenhanded. Denton speaks of Jean Rio's being "seduced" by the story the missionaries told. She leans heavily on Fawn Brodie'sbiased biography of Joseph Smith but doesn't cite standard academic histories like Jan Shipps's Mormonism. The ending-celebrating the "tolerance" and "hope for a community of faith irrespective of creed" that, in Denton's view, Jean Rio espoused by the end of her life-is anodyne. Jean Rio's is an interesting life, but Denton's fourth outing disappoints.
From the Publisher
“An authentic American epic. . . . A harrowing and heartbreaking tale of the Old West that we have not heard before.” –Los Angeles Times Book Review

“A great, often scary American story.” –The New York Times Book Review

“Rich in the history of the time and redolent with strong personalities, Sally Denton’s newest book is a compelling look at a slice of America through the lens of an unlikely pioneer.” –Santa Fe Journal

“As taut as a mytery and as lucid as journalism, Faith and Betrayal is both intimate and epic.”–The New Mexican

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780307425836
  • Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
  • Publication date: 12/18/2007
  • Series: Vintage
  • Sold by: Random House
  • Format: eBook
  • Pages: 240
  • Sales rank: 896,654
  • File size: 2 MB

Meet the Author

Sally Denton is the author of American Massacre: The Tragedy at Mountain Meadows, September 1857; The Bluegrass Conspiracy: An Inside Story of Power, Greed, Drugs, and Murder; and, with Roger Morris, The Money and the Power: The Making of Las Vegas and Its Hold on America, 1947--2000. She received Western Heritage Awards in 2002 and 2004, a Lannan Literary grant in 2000, and, for her body of work, the Nevada Silver Pen Award of 2003 for distinguished literary achievement. Her award-winning investigative reporting has appeared in the New York Times, the Washington Post, and American Heritage. She lives with her three children in New Mexico.


From the Trade Paperback edition.
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Read an Excerpt

Chapter One
“Worth a Long Walk to See”

September 23, 1873. Jean Rio delivers the Ayer baby girl at five-fifteen p.m., after a relatively easy labor, and the mother sleeps quietly for the next several hours. “Had a good night,” Jean Rio records in her midwife’s notebook. (“The baby grows nicely [and] all seemed to enjoy themselves,” she notes nearly a month later, after the mother brings the newborn and the rest of her children to pay a visit.)

It is not always as easy as it might seem. Even the uncomplicated births like Mrs. Ayer’s are trials, the mother usually moaning and screaming in desperation through a long, painful labor to the final agony and then the sudden release of delivery. Often there are tests and horrors Jean Rio must face and somehow cope with, using only her hands and her self-taught skills, experience, and inherent fortitude—hemorrhaging or mortally ill mothers; distressed, deformed, or stillborn babies—a bloody life-and-death struggle no less of a test than any battle faced by a man.

When she cleans up afterward, changing one plain dress—now stained—for another, washing the blood and afterbirth from her hands and arms, she removes her rings, a fine gold band and an exquisite small sapphire set in platinum. They are hardly the rings of a hardworking midwife on the raw California frontier of the late nineteenth century. She might seem a plain, even ordinary, woman of her time and place. But the unexpected grace and beauty of the rings match her own dignity and gentility. The rings signal that she is something other than an ordinary woman.

In her diary entry for October 23, she allows herself one of the rare references these days to the past that the rings echo. “Clear and lovely as a spring morning in England,” she writes. “This summer was worth a long walk to see.” How long a walk it has been, what a dramatic journey full of trust and betrayal, faith and disillusion, defeat and triumph, loss and gain! None of her new friends and neighbors in this rural hamlet can imagine it.

Only the rings and her obvious refinement and intellect, partially obscured by her unpretentious bearing, give a hint of the stark contrast between her past and present. Once she wore the finest gowns of European couture—a wardrobe so vast it had taken nearly an entire wagon to transport. Here she dresses in homespun. Once she performed the classics of song on the stages of Paris and London. Now she performs the exhausting rites of life and death, work no woman of her former station would have deigned to do. Most dramatically, once she was a prize convert to a powerful faith. Now she lives as a discreet fugitive from the betrayal of all that brought her here.

Chapter Two
A Wine Cask on the Channel

Tumbrils filled with entire families rolled along the cobblestone streets of Paris toward the guillotine amid howls and screams. All day, every day during 1792, the killing device was busy, corpses piling up faster than they could be disposed of. More than forty thousand people went to their deaths in those small carts. The decapitation was swift, taking less than half a second from the blade drop to the rolling head—the guillotine was “an instrument adopted by the Revolutionists for the more scientific and humane beheading of the condemned.” Almost all the members of the Rio family from Lamballe, Brittany—renamed Côtes-du-Nord by the revolutionary government—were among them. “Hourly, the hideous instrument of torture claimed its many victims—old men, young women, tiny children—until the day when it would finally demand the head of a King and of a beautiful young Queen,” as one fictional account put it.

Entire generations were eliminated, as victims of all ages were placed facedown on a bench. “The mechanism falls like lightning; the head flies off; the blood spurts; the man no longer exists,” Dr. Joseph-Ignace Guillotin once explained to a nervous audience. The instrument, however, wasn’t always that efficient.

Many of the Rios, like thousands of others, had tried to flee—to England, Belgium, Scotland, Holland, Canada, or the United States. At least one small Rio girl would be delivered from the bloodbath.

In Paris in the summer of 1789, during the earliest phase of the French Revolution—the “Great Fear”—a manservant long devoted to a wealthy French couple from the Rio clan placed their infant daughter in a wine cask. Thus concealed, the baby was smuggled across the English Channel. Her parents and every known family member are believed to have stayed behind, and to have become victims of the revolutionists. Once in England, the guardian christened his tiny refugee with the name Susanna Ann Burgess while providing her with protection in a new land. The fabricated surname, according to family lore, denoted the bourgeois roots of her family, though the reality no doubt was more complicated. The two made their way to Scotland, to the Isle of Skye, where relatives and royalist sympathizers embraced the child. They remained in hiding as the London society press regularly reported on new arrivals from France. The English response to the events taking place across the Channel vacillated between horror and sympathy, trepidation at the infectious revolutionary spirit, and base curiosity.

Susanna would spend her childhood and adolescence in Scotland, her guardian impressing upon her a deep hatred of all things French. This was the story Jean Rio told her children and grandchildren about her French and Scottish ancestors and her mother’s flight from persecution to freedom. She apparently never imparted information about the origins of her own middle name, Rio, perhaps embarrassed by the aristocratic association.

At the time of the revolution, France was the wealthiest and most powerful nation in the world. Its society was divided into three classes. The First Estate—the clergy—controlled the press, monopolized religion, governed the educational institutions, and owned the choice land. The Second Estate consisted of the nobility, who were exempt from taxation but held all high government positions. The Third Estate was the class that encompassed the remaining 98 percent of the population and included the bourgeoisie, the proletariat, and the peasantry. Judging from Susanna Burgess’s entrée into elite, if not noble, society in Scotland, her parents were most likely either nobility or part of the educated upper middle class that sympathized with the Second Estate rather than the masses. With the Third Estate uprising on July 14, 1789, which destroyed the Bastille prison, symbol of royal tyranny, nobles and members of the upper bourgeoisie fled for their lives. The early-twentieth-century novelist Baroness Emmuska Orczy immortalized the flight in The Scarlet Pimpernel: “Men in women’s clothes, women in male attire, children disguised in beggars’ rags. In various disguises, under various pretexts, they tried to slip through the barriers, which were so well guarded by citizen soldiers of the Republic.”

Susanna would be one of thousands of French émigrés to England during the last decade of the eighteenth century, a time when open boats laden with refugees often navigated the stormy Channel in darkness. Many, like Susanna, were babies entrusted by their doomed parents to lowly retainers who had no price on their heads. “The English never ceased to wonder at the degree of devotion manifested by the servants of the French émigrés, greatly admiring their unalterable attachment to their masters,” according to a twentieth-century British scholar of the period. While the identity neither of the servant nor of Susanna’s parents is known, it is assumed her parents and all of her siblings were executed during the Reign of Terror, which started less than two years after Susanna’s flight to Scotland. When Napoléon rose to power a decade later and announced he would welcome back his nation’s exiles, Susanna and her guardian chose not to return.

The themes inherent in Susanna’s escape from Jacobin France would eerily be echoed in her daughter Jean Rio’s life: privilege, persecution, flight, liberation, and concealment. Susanna was born into a family of privilege and forced to escape when the social order collapsed. Jean Rio was moved to flee by a different kind of oppression, what she saw as spiritual bankruptcy. In the end, they both found refuge in hiding.

In 1809, at the age of twenty, Susanna Ann Burgess married a well-to-do Scotsman named John Walter Griffiths, four years older than she and descended from Scottish aristocracy. John’s father could trace his roots back several generations in London, with family christenings and marriages recorded for centuries at the same historic church. John’s mother, Jane Rio MacDonald, was of the landed-gentry MacDonald clan on the Isle of Skye, the MacDonalds having arrived in Scotland from the southern Hebrides in the thirteenth century. Her middle name would seem to indicate a relationship through blood and class lines to Susanna’s French family. In 1790 Lord MacDonald, either a brother or a cousin to Jane Rio MacDonald, built Armadale Castle on his 200,000-acre Highland estate, where the famous Scottish Jacobite Flora Macdonald had

married and where, in 1746, she had hidden Prince Charles Edward, Bonnie Prince Charlie, from Hanoverian troops. “With a price of thirty pounds on his head, he [Prince Charles Edward] wandered hungry and sick from one sanctuary to another, endangering everyone who gave him shelter,” one historian wrote. Flora Macdonald disguised him as an Irish maidservant and facilitated his escape to the mainland. The MacDonalds’ political and social circles included such luminaries as Samuel Johnson and James Boswell, indicating that John Griffiths was born and bred in a lofty world.

While a scion of Scottish nobility like John Griffiths might have fallen in love with and wed the supposed daughter of a fugitive French servant, the class lines and social conventions of the time make such a match highly improbable. The conjecture of genealogists and descendants rests on the more likely scenario that John and his distinguished family recognized Susanna as an aristocratic orphan and political refugee, if not a distant Rio cousin. All involved would have kept such a fact discreetly concealed in the still-charged atmosphere of the Napoleonic years, when escapees from the guillotine might still be prey to some settling of old scores.

The patrician Rio family dated back to the late sixteenth century in the renamed Côtes-du-Nord. Sparsely populated by nobles, priests, and peasants, the region was virtually devoid of the rising middle class. Its inhabitants were passionately loyal to the Catholic monarchy, an antirevolutionary stronghold. Entrenched Catholicism dating back to the fourth century fueled a zealotry and isolationism that kept the nobility out of touch with the object of the revolution. The area would come to symbolize some of the most ruthless reprisals and cold-blooded massacres perpetrated by the revolutionaries. “The worst excesses were committed in the provinces,” historian Christopher Hibbert writes of the bloodshed. “In several towns the guillotine was kept constantly at work and those convicted of crimes against the Revolution were slaughtered wholesale.”

The Rio family had greatly diminished by the end of the eighteenth century, and in the nineteenth century only a handful of Rio births were recorded in France. The name became so rare that it could soon be traced only to an extremely wealthy Rio clan in rural Chard, England, and to the family of Susanna Burgess’s new mother-in-law on the Isle of Skye. Genealogical records and documents relating to Susanna Burgess give her birthdate only as “about 1788” and contain no further details as to place of birth, baptism, or pedigree.

When, on May 8, 1810, Susanna gave birth to her only child, she chose an anglicized spelling for her daughter’s name—Jane instead of the French Jeanne. Eventually the name would become Jean. The Rio name, pronounced with a long i and sometimes spelled “Rioux,” would be carried forward when Jean Rio’s firstborn son would include the name in that of each of his eight children.

John and Susanna’s daughter, Jean Rio Griffiths, would be baptized in London at the St. Lawrence Jewry, an impressive structure built in the twelfth century and dedicated to the martyr who had been roasted alive on a gridiron in third-century Rome. Rebuilt in 1670 by the great English architect Sir Christopher Wren, it was adorned with gold-leaf chandeliers, Grinling Gibbons carvings, and a window commemorating its pre-Reformation preacher, the martyred St. Thomas More. The rituals performed in this imposing edifice, a flagship of the Anglican establishment, would shape and dominate the first forty years of Jean Rio’s religious and spiritual life.

Jean Rio was born near the Jewry, in the district where William the Conqueror had relocated Jews in the eleventh century, and she would grow up an only child in the neighborhood of the Jewry and in the shadow of London’s Guildhall, the center of city government since the Middle Ages and during her lifetime a massive library. Though an intellectual life was largely reserved for males in the England of her youth, Jean Rio’s prosperous parents—both highly educated—afforded her every opportunity for learning. Professors of music came to their home to teach her to play the harp and the piano. She was granted an early education and she became an avid reader at a time when girls of her class were ridiculed for intellectualism. “As a rule, when girls had left school they were thought to be wasting time if seen reading,” wrote one of Jean Rio’s British contemporaries. “They were allowed to spend their superfluous energy in fancy work, and ridiculous wax-flower making, without molestation; but ‘put down your book,’ and ‘don’t waste your time that way,’ were common expressions.” Perhaps owing to her parents’ Scottish ancestry, books were a valued part of Jean Rio’s life. Early on, “reading and writing became embedded in Scottish society,” according to historian Arthur Herman. In Edinburgh “there were six publishing houses in 1763, for a city with a population of only sixty thousand.” She was educated in the English classics and had the good fortune to live at a time when four of the greatest British novelists were women. The fictional spheres of Jane Austen, George Eliot, and Emily and Charlotte Brontë were representative of Jean Rio’s own rarefied world.

Unlike reading, music was considered appropriate for pubescent girls as what a nineteenth-century writer called “the least thought-inspiring” avenue to “soothe the savage breast.” Commonly, parents of this era who dissuaded their daughters from highbrow pursuits and development fostered by books thought it “no waste of time,” as one observer noted, “for them to spend two or three hours a day at the piano.” Eventually Jean Rio studied at a conservatory, though we don’t know which one. Her career as a singer and pianist then took her to concert halls in Paris, Madrid, and Milan.

Other than her emigration diary, which was written as a letter home to a close friend, as well as brief remarks in her later midwife’s notebook, no additional examples of her own writing are known to exist.

From the Hardcover edition.

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Table of Contents

Jean Rio's Family Tree x
Preface: An Extraordinary Woman of Ordinary Virtues xiii
1 "Worth a Long Walk to See" 3
2 A Wine Cask on the Channel 5
3 These Latter Days 25
4 Committed to the Deep 43
5 Snags and Sawyers 64
6 The Crossing 88
7 A Life of Toil 111
8 Through the Veil 140
9 One Household of Faith 162
Epilogue: Peace at Last 176
Notes 185
Bibliography 197
Acknowledgments 205
Index 207
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First Chapter

Chapter One
"Worth a Long Walk to See"

September 23, 1873. Jean Rio delivers the Ayer baby girl at five-fifteen p.m., after a relatively easy labor, and the mother sleeps quietly for the next several hours. "Had a good night," Jean Rio records in her midwife's notebook. ("The baby grows nicely [and] all seemed to enjoy themselves," she notes nearly a month later, after the mother brings the newborn and the rest of her children to pay a visit.)

It is not always as easy as it might seem. Even the uncomplicated births like Mrs. Ayer's are trials, the mother usually moaning and screaming in desperation through a long, painful labor to the final agony and then the sudden release of delivery. Often there are tests and horrors Jean Rio must face and somehow cope with, using only her hands and her self-taught skills, experience, and inherent fortitude—hemorrhaging or mortally ill mothers; distressed, deformed, or stillborn babies—a bloody life-and-death struggle no less of a test than any battle faced by a man.

When she cleans up afterward, changing one plain dress—now stained—for another, washing the blood and afterbirth from her hands and arms, she removes her rings, a fine gold band and an exquisite small sapphire set in platinum. They are hardly the rings of a hardworking midwife on the raw California frontier of the late nineteenth century. She might seem a plain, even ordinary, woman of her time and place. But the unexpected grace and beauty of the rings match her own dignity and gentility. The rings signal that she is something other than an ordinary woman.

In her diary entry for October 23, she allows herself one of the rarereferences these days to the past that the rings echo. "Clear and lovely as a spring morning in England," she writes. "This summer was worth a long walk to see." How long a walk it has been, what a dramatic journey full of trust and betrayal, faith and disillusion, defeat and triumph, loss and gain! None of her new friends and neighbors in this rural hamlet can imagine it.

Only the rings and her obvious refinement and intellect, partially obscured by her unpretentious bearing, give a hint of the stark contrast between her past and present. Once she wore the finest gowns of European couture—a wardrobe so vast it had taken nearly an entire wagon to transport. Here she dresses in homespun. Once she performed the classics of song on the stages of Paris and London. Now she performs the exhausting rites of life and death, work no woman of her former station would have deigned to do. Most dramatically, once she was a prize convert to a powerful faith. Now she lives as a discreet fugitive from the betrayal of all that brought her here.

Chapter Two
A Wine Cask on the Channel

Tumbrils filled with entire families rolled along the cobblestone streets of Paris toward the guillotine amid howls and screams. All day, every day during 1792, the killing device was busy, corpses piling up faster than they could be disposed of. More than forty thousand people went to their deaths in those small carts. The decapitation was swift, taking less than half a second from the blade drop to the rolling head—the guillotine was "an instrument adopted by the Revolutionists for the more scientific and humane beheading of the condemned." Almost all the members of the Rio family from Lamballe, Brittany—renamed Côtes-du-Nord by the revolutionary government—were among them. "Hourly, the hideous instrument of torture claimed its many victims—old men, young women, tiny children—until the day when it would finally demand the head of a King and of a beautiful young Queen," as one fictional account put it.

Entire generations were eliminated, as victims of all ages were placed facedown on a bench. "The mechanism falls like lightning; the head flies off; the blood spurts; the man no longer exists," Dr. Joseph-Ignace Guillotin once explained to a nervous audience. The instrument, however, wasn't always that efficient.

Many of the Rios, like thousands of others, had tried to flee—to England, Belgium, Scotland, Holland, Canada, or the United States. At least one small Rio girl would be delivered from the bloodbath.

In Paris in the summer of 1789, during the earliest phase of the French Revolution—the "Great Fear"—a manservant long devoted to a wealthy French couple from the Rio clan placed their infant daughter in a wine cask. Thus concealed, the baby was smuggled across the English Channel. Her parents and every known family member are believed to have stayed behind, and to have become victims of the revolutionists. Once in England, the guardian christened his tiny refugee with the name Susanna Ann Burgess while providing her with protection in a new land. The fabricated surname, according to family lore, denoted the bourgeois roots of her family, though the reality no doubt was more complicated. The two made their way to Scotland, to the Isle of Skye, where relatives and royalist sympathizers embraced the child. They remained in hiding as the London society press regularly reported on new arrivals from France. The English response to the events taking place across the Channel vacillated between horror and sympathy, trepidation at the infectious revolutionary spirit, and base curiosity.

Susanna would spend her childhood and adolescence in Scotland, her guardian impressing upon her a deep hatred of all things French. This was the story Jean Rio told her children and grandchildren about her French and Scottish ancestors and her mother's flight from persecution to freedom. She apparently never imparted information about the origins of her own middle name, Rio, perhaps embarrassed by the aristocratic association.

At the time of the revolution, France was the wealthiest and most powerful nation in the world. Its society was divided into three classes. The First Estate—the clergy—controlled the press, monopolized religion, governed the educational institutions, and owned the choice land. The Second Estate consisted of the nobility, who were exempt from taxation but held all high government positions. The Third Estate was the class that encompassed the remaining 98 percent of the population and included the bourgeoisie, the proletariat, and the peasantry. Judging from Susanna Burgess's entrée into elite, if not noble, society in Scotland, her parents were most likely either nobility or part of the educated upper middle class that sympathized with the Second Estate rather than the masses. With the Third Estate uprising on July 14, 1789, which destroyed the Bastille prison, symbol of royal tyranny, nobles and members of the upper bourgeoisie fled for their lives. The early-twentieth-century novelist Baroness Emmuska Orczy immortalized the flight in The Scarlet Pimpernel: "Men in women's clothes, women in male attire, children disguised in beggars' rags. In various disguises, under various pretexts, they tried to slip through the barriers, which were so well guarded by citizen soldiers of the Republic."

Susanna would be one of thousands of French émigrés to England during the last decade of the eighteenth century, a time when open boats laden with refugees often navigated the stormy Channel in darkness. Many, like Susanna, were babies entrusted by their doomed parents to lowly retainers who had no price on their heads. "The English never ceased to wonder at the degree of devotion manifested by the servants of the French émigrés, greatly admiring their unalterable attachment to their masters," according to a twentieth-century British scholar of the period. While the identity neither of the servant nor of Susanna's parents is known, it is assumed her parents and all of her siblings were executed during the Reign of Terror, which started less than two years after Susanna's flight to Scotland. When Napoléon rose to power a decade later and announced he would welcome back his nation's exiles, Susanna and her guardian chose not to return.

The themes inherent in Susanna's escape from Jacobin France would eerily be echoed in her daughter Jean Rio's life: privilege, persecution, flight, liberation, and concealment. Susanna was born into a family of privilege and forced to escape when the social order collapsed. Jean Rio was moved to flee by a different kind of oppression, what she saw as spiritual bankruptcy. In the end, they both found refuge in hiding.

In 1809, at the age of twenty, Susanna Ann Burgess married a well-to-do Scotsman named John Walter Griffiths, four years older than she and descended from Scottish aristocracy. John's father could trace his roots back several generations in London, with family christenings and marriages recorded for centuries at the same historic church. John's mother, Jane Rio MacDonald, was of the landed-gentry MacDonald clan on the Isle of Skye, the MacDonalds having arrived in Scotland from the southern Hebrides in the thirteenth century. Her middle name would seem to indicate a relationship through blood and class lines to Susanna's French family. In 1790 Lord MacDonald, either a brother or a cousin to Jane Rio MacDonald, built Armadale Castle on his 200,000-acre Highland estate, where the famous Scottish Jacobite Flora Macdonald had

married and where, in 1746, she had hidden Prince Charles Edward, Bonnie Prince Charlie, from Hanoverian troops. "With a price of thirty pounds on his head, he [Prince Charles Edward] wandered hungry and sick from one sanctuary to another, endangering everyone who gave him shelter," one historian wrote. Flora Macdonald disguised him as an Irish maidservant and facilitated his escape to the mainland. The MacDonalds' political and social circles included such luminaries as Samuel Johnson and James Boswell, indicating that John Griffiths was born and bred in a lofty world.

While a scion of Scottish nobility like John Griffiths might have fallen in love with and wed the supposed daughter of a fugitive French servant, the class lines and social conventions of the time make such a match highly improbable. The conjecture of genealogists and descendants rests on the more likely scenario that John and his distinguished family recognized Susanna as an aristocratic orphan and political refugee, if not a distant Rio cousin. All involved would have kept such a fact discreetly concealed in the still-charged atmosphere of the Napoleonic years, when escapees from the guillotine might still be prey to some settling of old scores.

The patrician Rio family dated back to the late sixteenth century in the renamed Côtes-du-Nord. Sparsely populated by nobles, priests, and peasants, the region was virtually devoid of the rising middle class. Its inhabitants were passionately loyal to the Catholic monarchy, an antirevolutionary stronghold. Entrenched Catholicism dating back to the fourth century fueled a zealotry and isolationism that kept the nobility out of touch with the object of the revolution. The area would come to symbolize some of the most ruthless reprisals and cold-blooded massacres perpetrated by the revolutionaries. "The worst excesses were committed in the provinces," historian Christopher Hibbert writes of the bloodshed. "In several towns the guillotine was kept constantly at work and those convicted of crimes against the Revolution were slaughtered wholesale."

The Rio family had greatly diminished by the end of the eighteenth century, and in the nineteenth century only a handful of Rio births were recorded in France. The name became so rare that it could soon be traced only to an extremely wealthy Rio clan in rural Chard, England, and to the family of Susanna Burgess's new mother-in-law on the Isle of Skye. Genealogical records and documents relating to Susanna Burgess give her birthdate only as "about 1788" and contain no further details as to place of birth, baptism, or pedigree.

When, on May 8, 1810, Susanna gave birth to her only child, she chose an anglicized spelling for her daughter's name—Jane instead of the French Jeanne. Eventually the name would become Jean. The Rio name, pronounced with a long i and sometimes spelled "Rioux," would be carried forward when Jean Rio's firstborn son would include the name in that of each of his eight children.

John and Susanna's daughter, Jean Rio Griffiths, would be baptized in London at the St. Lawrence Jewry, an impressive structure built in the twelfth century and dedicated to the martyr who had been roasted alive on a gridiron in third-century Rome. Rebuilt in 1670 by the great English architect Sir Christopher Wren, it was adorned with gold-leaf chandeliers, Grinling Gibbons carvings, and a window commemorating its pre-Reformation preacher, the martyred St. Thomas More. The rituals performed in this imposing edifice, a flagship of the Anglican establishment, would shape and dominate the first forty years of Jean Rio's religious and spiritual life.

Jean Rio was born near the Jewry, in the district where William the Conqueror had relocated Jews in the eleventh century, and she would grow up an only child in the neighborhood of the Jewry and in the shadow of London's Guildhall, the center of city government since the Middle Ages and during her lifetime a massive library. Though an intellectual life was largely reserved for males in the England of her youth, Jean Rio's prosperous parents—both highly educated—afforded her every opportunity for learning. Professors of music came to their home to teach her to play the harp and the piano. She was granted an early education and she became an avid reader at a time when girls of her class were ridiculed for intellectualism. "As a rule, when girls had left school they were thought to be wasting time if seen reading," wrote one of Jean Rio's British contemporaries. "They were allowed to spend their superfluous energy in fancy work, and ridiculous wax-flower making, without molestation; but ‘put down your book,' and ‘don't waste your time that way,' were common expressions." Perhaps owing to her parents' Scottish ancestry, books were a valued part of Jean Rio's life. Early on, "reading and writing became embedded in Scottish society," according to historian Arthur Herman. In Edinburgh "there were six publishing houses in 1763, for a city with a population of only sixty thousand." She was educated in the English classics and had the good fortune to live at a time when four of the greatest British novelists were women. The fictional spheres of Jane Austen, George Eliot, and Emily and Charlotte Brontë were representative of Jean Rio's own rarefied world.

Unlike reading, music was considered appropriate for pubescent girls as what a nineteenth-century writer called "the least thought-inspiring" avenue to "soothe the savage breast." Commonly, parents of this era who dissuaded their daughters from highbrow pursuits and development fostered by books thought it "no waste of time," as one observer noted, "for them to spend two or three hours a day at the piano." Eventually Jean Rio studied at a conservatory, though we don't know which one. Her career as a singer and pianist then took her to concert halls in Paris, Madrid, and Milan.

Other than her emigration diary, which was written as a letter home to a close friend, as well as brief remarks in her later midwife's notebook, no additional examples of her own writing are known to exist.
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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 24, 2007

    Sloppy History

    'Faith and Betrayal' tells the story of Jean Rio Baker, an Englishwoman who converted to Mormonism and emigrated to Utah in the early 1850s. The main primary source material for any understanding of Mrs. Baker's life is her emigrant journal. The journal itself covers an emigration period of nine months, is largely silent for the eighteen years that Mrs. Baker was in Utah, contains an entry at the end of that period alluding to Mrs. Baker's economic and religious disappointment during her time in Utah, and ends with a few entries made after she settled in California with other family members. Mrs. Baker's journal has been excerpted or included in several anthologies and collections, including 'Saints without Halos' and 'Audacious Women.' As a literary and historical document, Mrs. Baker's journal stands on its own, and a book-length treatment of her life would seem to be of questionable value absent the discovery or production of additional primary source material. However, Sally Denton provides little in the way of scholarship or original research in her book. Ms. Denton states at the outset her frustration that the L.D.S. church has gotten so much mileage out of the journal as a representation of the Mormon emigrant experience while failing to give equal billing to the 'loss of faith' portion that is the crux of Ms. Denton's book. Ms. Denton states that the purpose of her book is to 'restore' Mrs. Baker's voice that the L.D.S. church has 'distorted.' Unfortunately, what the reader hears more often than not is Ms. Denton's voice, a voice that oftentimes is not only unsupported by the historical record, but is contrary to it in many respects. Not content with providing a running paraphrase of Mrs. Baker's journal, Ms. Denton cannot resist padding the journal to make Mrs. Baker a more active participant in the events described in the journal. However, Ms. Denton's use of dramatic license becomes more problematic in relation to the absence of journal entries during Mrs. Baker's time in Utah. Based on the one journal entry expressing Mrs. Baker's disappointment with life as it turned out in Utah, Ms. Denton attempts to detail the course of Mrs. Baker's disillusionment over the past eighteen years for which the journal is otherwise silent. Ms. Denton attributes very specific attitudes and beliefs to Mrs. Baker that find no support in the record: in Ms. Denton's telling, Mrs. Baker is personally repulsed by and vehemently opposed to polygamy, the Mountain Meadows Massacre, the Mormon doctrine of salvation, the Mormon principle of consecration, etc. Ms. Denton explains away Mrs. Baker's actual silence on any one of these topics by asserting that the atmosphere in nineteenth-century Mormon society was so repressive that a free-thinking woman like Mrs. Baker was sufficiently intimidated from confiding her innermost thoughts to her private journal. With this sleight of hand, Ms. Denton effectively turns Mrs. Baker into an empty vessel onto which Ms. Denton can project Ms. Denton's personal objections to the Mormon religion and experience as well as many of her modern-day sensibilities. Yet Ms. Denton represents Mrs. Baker's undocumented feelings and views on particular items with such certainty and specificity that one wonders whether Ms. Denton is channeling Mrs. Baker's spirit. Many of Ms. Denton's factual assertions about Mrs. Baker's life and family are demonstrably false. Key among these is Ms. Denton's portrayal of Mrs. Baker and several of her children's removal to California as a calculated and dangerous 'escape from Mormonism.' The journal itself makes clear that Mrs. Baker accompanied a sick friend to California as a personal nurse, and had intended to return to Utah but was persuaded by her resident son to stay in California. Ms. Denton supports her 'escape' storyline by vague references to family history or tradition, but only ends up contradicting herself. For instance, she claims that certain of Mrs. Baker's

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