WHEN ushered into the master bedroom of the Mormon patriarch Brigham Young at his winter home in St. George, Utah, a few years ago, I felt duty-bound to ask an obvious question: Where did the other women sleep?
Other women? The church tour guide blushed, and laser-stared me as if Iâ??d blasphemed the Mormon Moses. I wondered about arrangements and jealousies, the conjugal timing of a man who was married to 55 women, by most accounts. I didnâ??t ask about the sexual acrobatics of the great pioneer, just the spreadsheet logistics of managing all those spouses.
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