Favorite Wife (10 page)

“There you are!” his voice rang out. “I was about to go looking for you. Come on in.”

I quickly took in the furnishings of the bedroom—the bed with its beautiful tied quilt, an opened Book of Mormon face down on it, an old-fashioned white bureau with a hand-crocheted runner covering its top, the cream-colored tile floor, softened with a bright braided rug. The homey, comfortable atmosphere somehow helped with the awkwardness of this meeting.

“I appreciate your willingness to see me,” Verlan was saying as I walked to the center of the room and turned to face him. He leaned against the wall and bending one knee, rested his foot on the edge of the bedstead. Crisp beige jeans hugged his hips. A turquoise western shirt that exactly matched his eyes was open at the neck, revealing dark, curling hair on his chest. He rested his folded arms on his knees, leaned forward, and cleared his throat.

“I'm sure your father told you that I would dearly love an opportunity to get to know you better,” his magnificent eyes touched me, warm and friendly.

I nodded, shaking with nervousness. Somehow I managed to say, “Yes, he did, and I would like that very much. But will your wives be okay with this?”

He looked taken aback. “Well, they understand that I'm highly in favor of plural marriage, and they've accepted that way of life. I don't want you to worry in the slightest about them.” He suddenly grinned, “I want you to think about me, not about them. This is the beginning of a relationship between you and me, okay? Let's just concentrate on getting to know each other. I know it'll be difficult, with me away from town, but I'll write to you real often.”

In one long step he was standing beside me, looking down into my eyes. That now familiar scent of him washed over me in gentle waves. “Do you think you could drop me a line, once in a while? I'd sure love it. For every letter you write, I'll write two to you, okay?”

“Okay,” I echoed. My heart pounded at his nearness. He was just a few inches away, and I fought the urge to put my arms around his waist and bury my cheek against his chest. What was the matter with me! I didn't even know this man, but the knowledge that he was going away and I wouldn't see him again for months suddenly made me blink back tears.

Verlan reached into his pocket, pulled a business card out of his wallet, and handed it to me. “That has my address on it.” He took a deep breath, the raggedness of it causing me to tremble. “Would it be all right if I walk you home?”

I nodded and took a step back, turning so that he couldn't see my face. “I do need to go now,” I mumbled. “It's late, and I have school in the morning.”

We tiptoed through the silent hallway, left the house, and crossed Grandma's front yard. The full moon glowed in the dark sky, making the potholes in the road ahead of us appear as shadowy pits. Verlan's body radiated warmth as I walked by his side for the first time. He made no move to touch me or to hold my hand. How different he was from Lane, who had never missed an opportunity to touch me or kiss me.

“I understand your brother Jay eloped with Alma's daughter last night,” he said, breaking the silence. “I'll bet you've been shook up about that.”

I swiftly glanced at him, wondering what he was getting at. “Jay and Carmela love each other, and Alma was trying to marry her off to someone else,” I said hotly. “I don't blame them in the least. I absolutely disagree with forced marriages.”

“I do too, and I want you to know that right now,” Verlan interrupted. “Just for the record, I told Alma that in my opinion he was way out of line. The Lord gave the gift of love between a man and woman for a purpose, and it's not to be taken lightly. Jay's a good man, and I told Alma so.” In the moonlight I could see a smile crease his face. “What's this I was told about you helping in the elopement? Did you really do that?”

I blinked my eyes and trudged along in silence. What was he going to do, bawl me out? “Verlan,” I primly declared, “I love my brother and I would do anything for him. I'm sorry that Alma's mad at me, but I'd do it again tomorrow if I had to. I hate to say this . . . and I hope you won't think I'm terrible, but I really don't like your brother Alma much.”

Our feet crunched gravel in unison, the sound loud as I awaited his response to my arrogant announcement. Suddenly he chuckled. “Well, don't let anyone say you haven't got any guts.” He looked down at me, his voice warm with admiration. “Yep, you've certainly grown up to be a lovely young lady, and in such a hurry. Seems to me the last time I saw you, you had fallen in the ditch.”

Oh, Lord! Instantly I could feel my face burning, and I groaned aloud, stuttering with embarrassment. “I—I was afraid you remembered that. It—it wasn't my fault. You see, my little sister was . . .”

His loud laugh rang out in the stillness. “You don't need to explain,” he broke in, “I'm just teasing you a little bit. I'm sorry. I knew it was something like that. Do you know, I never realized how a girl could shine, even covered in muck. You looked absolutely beautiful.”

We stopped moving, and I realized we were at the front gate of my home. As Verlan said those last words, his voice lost the tormenting quality. His shadowy features appeared grave and sincere, and suddenly his finger lightly traced my jaw from neck to chin. His hand was trembling.

I searched his face. I wouldn't see this man of my dream again for many months. Our new friendship was being severed before it had barely begun. Why did he have to live so far away? How could I stand it until I saw him again?

“Susan, it is what you want—for us to become better aquainted, isn't it?”

Uneasiness electrified me, and suddenly I was shaking with alarm. Why had he said it like that, as though the idea was mine? What was he implying? A horrifying thought invaded my mind. Grandma told him about my dream! Oh God, surely she wouldn't have! I told her I wanted whatever happened to be his idea! That he might know about it and think I was “after” him . . . Oh, please, God, I thought, please, don't let him know!

He was studying me, waiting for me to say something. Finally I nodded, my head bent. I stepped back, away from his nearness.

“I'll write you real soon, okay?” His voice was gentle. “Take good care of yourself.” He picked up my hand and kissed it, hard. Then abruptly he released it and waited for me to walk up the path to the door.

I turned and waved once I reached the porch. “I'll write back to you,” I called after him.

He sauntered away into the night.

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT

T
he summer months swept the Mexican desert into a heat wave that turned the fields and gardens of the colony an ugly brown. The seasonal rains, though hovering in heavy gray mist over the distant western mountains, stubbornly refused to make their appearance and relieve the parched terrain. The weeks of school vacation slipped away, the days and nights hot and uncomfortable.

Lazy days and fun were only wishful thinking for me. The chores of summer kept me occupied. With Dad and Jay gone, Mother relied on my help. The garden, a valuable source of my family's food supply, needed constant care. Our windmill slowly pumped precious water into a giant tank, and my mother and I irrigated until big blisters formed on our palms, blisters that later became hard calluses. The thirsty land sucked up the water, only to be dry and cracked again in a matter of hours.

The duties my mother, sisters, and I performed seemed endless. We had two cows, three hundred chickens, several fruit trees, and a huge garden, a demanding chore for anyone. Water required hand pumping and hauling for the animals, kitchen use, and laundry. The motor for the old Maytag Dad had hauled across the border had finally quit, leaving us with an old-fashioned plunger and a glass scrubboard. There were peaches, peas, corn, and beans for canning, and later there would be pineapple, apples, and pears. On the weekends when Dad came home, he would haul the cleaned and boxed eggs we had to Casas Grandes for selling. We crawled into bed each night exhausted.

Two weeks after Jay and Carmela eloped we received a letter saying they were living in New Mexico. Jay had found a new job there, doing the electrical work Dad had trained him for. He wrote that they were happy and getting along fine. Dad was working only thirty miles away and drove to see them often. His frequent trips home always brought more news of Jay and Carmela.

I missed Jay, his sweetness and comradeship, also his help with the chores. His little house across the street remained empty, and I longed for the day he and his new wife would return.

Alma continued to be furious regarding their elopement. He perceived it as a personal affront to his church position and his role as a stepfather. He pointedly ignored me as he drove his pickup and tended to his farms and animals. It appeared to me that he spun his tires extra hard when passing me. He vehemently proclaimed to all his resolution to maintain Jay's disfellowship status for many, penalty-paying years. I secretly despised him.

True to his word, Verlan's letters came with faithful regularity. Full of poetic phrases and guarded suggestions of love, the letters were the joy of my existence. He told of new converts, and missions to different states with brethren, and of his job as a housepainter in Las Vegas. He revealed little of himself or his families. The first letter was signed, “Sincerely, Verlan.” The next one, “With love,” and on the third letter he had written across the bottom in his firm hand, “I love and miss you, darling.” I nearly cried with happiness, and eagerly anticipated his weekly correspondence.

One week the expected letter failed to arrive at Jensen's store. Earl Jensen's plural wife, Maudie, was the postmistress there, and the small store contained limited groceries. My feet wore a trench on the dusty road each day I checked the mail in vain. The note that Verlan finally sent seemed distant and cold. He had been busy, his families needed him, he hoped I was well. He closed with a dash of the pen saying, “Stay in touch, Verlan.” The perfunctory tones pricked my heart like a dull needle, and that night I cried myself to sleep.

Who was I kidding, anyway, I bullied myself. How could I expect romance and constant attention from a busy and important man like Verlan? Again, I wondered if Grandma had told him of my dream. If so, he undoubtedly felt obligated to court me. Several times during my piano lessons I wanted to ask her about it, but I just couldn't say the words aloud. Whenever I looked into her honest eyes, I felt ashamed that the thought had entered my mind, and I had to wonder if I was worthy of her friendship. Still, the worry continued to haunt me.

School restarted the end of August. But this year, rather than sending our high school youth to a neighboring town and a Mexican, state-run institution, our leaders had voted to keep us in the colony and have us taught by members of the church. Every adult who was remotely qualified was called upon to teach a class. Quickly our days were filled with lessons. My mother taught English and literature in our kitchen and living room, with sixteen students crowding the two tables.

One of these school days in early September, Debbie took me aside. “Susan,” she whispered, “this morning before I left Anna Mae's, Ervil told me to let you know he wants to see you. He said to have you go over there after school today.”

“Huh?” I sucked my breath sharply. “Why does he want to see me?”

She shrugged. “Beats me. You screwed up lately?”

Apprehension prickled me. What in the world could Ervil LeBaron want with me? I barely knew him. He seemed so distant at church, and too important to waste his time with me. During the eight years I'd been in Mexico, he had hardly spoken to me. But then, he was the Second Grand Head of Priesthood of God's Church, and I was only a fourteen-year-old kid. Was he planning to reprimand me for helping Jay and Carmela when they eloped? That must be it. He wanted to warn me that I was messing with regulations.

After math class, I dutifully walked to Anna Mae's. I'd just hold my head high and let him rant. Then it would be over with.

I timidly knocked on the door of the rock house. “Come in,” Anna Mae's musical voice called. She stood at the sink peeling potatoes. Her hefty body was covered in a moss green, baggy muumuu. Her long, carrot-colored hair was pulled away from her face with a rubber band and cascaded down her back like fiery lava. Her face and arms were covered with freckles. Her brown eyes also contained flecks. “Well, looky who's here!” Her bubbly laughter filled the kitchen. “My goodness, Susan Ray, it's been ages since you came to my house! What can I do for you?”

Her friendliness didn't ease my apprehension. “I understand Brother Ervil wanted to see me about something. Is he here?” I hoped he wasn't, and I'd turn around and leave.

“Oh, yes,” Anna Mae dashed my hopes. “He's in there.” She inclined her head toward a door that led off the living room. “He's actually in bed with pneumonia, but he's not all that sick. Just go on in.”

As I opened the door into Patriarch Ervil LeBaron's bedroom, my nostrils were assailed by a variety of odors—Vicks, damp wool, and stale urine being the most distinguishable. I wrinkled my nose. A sheet hung over the window, leaving the room shrouded in semidarkness. I blinked my eyes, unaccustomed to the gloom, and peered at the bed. Dark, cavernous eyes stared at me from the pale face that lay on the white pillows. A huge hand listlessly motioned to me.

“Come on in,” Ervil's voice rasped.

With a thumping heart, I walked to the armchair he was pointing to. What could he want that was important enough to send for me, as sick as he was? I wiggled back into the chair and looked at him.

He was staring at me, his deep-set eyes ringed with dark smudges. His huge body was covered to the neck with a homemade quilt, his feet hanging six inches past the bottom of the mattress. I remembered Grandma warning him to take care of himself. Well, he must have ignored her. He really did look sick.

He coughed and grabbed the roll of toilet paper near his side, spit phlegm, wiped his mouth, and wearily tossed the tissue into the overflowing trash can at the side of his bed. Then, dropping his massive head onto the pillows, he turned his attention to me.

“I want to thank you for taking the time to see me today. I apologize for this . . .” He waved his hand in a feeble sweep around the room. “I haven't felt well enough to care about anything except sleep. I guess I look pretty bad, huh?” He sniffed and coughed again. “Oh well, I'm getting better.”

He smiled at me, and suddenly I noticed that his eyes glowed with a strange, unearthly light, like a cat's eyes in the dark. I involuntarily shivered. It's the fever that makes them shine like that, I assured myself.

I looked at the cramped, cluttered room. Clothes hung from a chair. A makeshift closet with a bedspread draped in front erupted clothing onto the floor. Under the bed I could see the edge of a porcelain chamber pot. The nightstand held medicine bottles and a fruit jar half full of water, a dead fly floating in it. I squirmed and swallowed hard. “Debbie said you wanted to see me,” I squeaked, tearing my eyes away from the fly.

“Yes. I've had you on my mind lately, and I felt we should talk awhile.” Ervil struggled up on his pillows, his glowing eyes assessing me. “How old are you now, Susan?”

The question startled me. What did my age have to do with anything? “I'll be fifteen next month.”

“Aha.” He nodded and stared at me some more. “You do realize that fifteen is considered a marriageable age in our church.” It was a statement, not a question, and his glassy eyes searched my face. “Do you have anyone in mind?”

I could feel the blood rush to my cheeks. Well! So this was what he wanted to see me about! I wasn't aware that the colony girls were expected to discuss their marriage plans with the patriarch, or any of the leaders for that matter! Someone should have warned me. The last thing I wanted to do was inform this man that I was being courted by his brother, especially now, when I was feeling so unsure of Verlan. Only yesterday I had received another letter from him, another curt, businesslike note that had left me stunned and confused.

“I understand you're planning to marry Verlan, is that right?” Ervil questioned in a calm, raspy voice.

My eyes widened in amazement. How? . . . Who had told him? It had to be . . . It had to be Verlan. Anger ripped through me. He was busy broadcasting our courtship as if it were all settled. How dare he take me for granted!

I leaned back in the armchair and closed my eyes. Hurt boiled in me until I had to squeeze back the tears. I had a little pride. I planned to marry for love, not because I would fit nicely into someone's family. I wanted someone to adore me and want me for me. I wasn't just another female—just another womb to bear some man's offspring! If this was the way Verlan thought of me, then he could just think again. Furious, I turned my head and stared at the door, away from Ervil's insulting gaze.

The huge, smelly man in the bed choked and spit again, then settled weakly back onto his pillows. “Well?” His voice was almost tender. “You are contemplating marriage?”

Haughty defiance replaced my fear of him. Lifting my chin, I swept my eyes back to his pale face. “Brother Ervil,” I said in my most prim voice, “you are a very busy man, and right now a very sick one. I appreciate your interest, but I haven't decided as yet about my future. I have plenty of time ahead of me. When I do decide, I'll let you know, if you like.” I stood up, my shoulders back, shaking inside at my bravery. I was definitely Vern Ray's daughter.

Ervil clutched the bedstead, and with effort pulled himself into a sitting position. He motioned me nearer to him. I hesitated. He reached toward me, his fingers wrapping around my arm in a viselike grip. I found myself being pulled down onto the bed—seated closer to this man than I had ever been in my life. I stared at him in stunned surprise.

“Do you realize the task we have before us as God's chosen people?” Ervil's voice rasped stern and commanding, his eyes intense, his breath nauseating. “We're just a handful of people, young lady, yet we've been given the responsibility of taking God's word to the world before it's too late! No other people on this earth are qualified for such an enormous undertaking, just us men, here, around you. God has asked us to sacrifice our own lives, in a manner of speaking. Life in this mission field is a battlefield, and Verlan and I and our other men are God's soldiers, set apart to do His bidding. What better thing could we possibly do with our lives,” he demanded, “than give them in service to the King!”

I stared into his stormy eyes, unnerved by his earnestness. I had always known of these things he was saying. But never had I been told them in such a direct way. With every breath, this man offered his life as a living sacrifice. Even sick as he was his devotion and wholehearted loyalty to the cause he championed was remarkable. I watched him in awe, and I suddenly understood why so many of the people of the church were almost hypnotized by him. He was on fire for the Lord. No wonder his eyes glowed.

His voice had risen through the short speech, climaxing at the end. Now it dropped, the tones taking on a pleading note. “Where do you women fit into all of this? Well, I'll tell you.” He released my arm, then glanced at me, his gray eyes soft and beautiful.

“Susan, you women play a gigantic part in God's Kingdom,” he declared. “Your support and loyalty to our men is what keeps us strong and able to carry on with the work set before us. We couldn't possibly do it without you. You are the real strength! Let any man try to say that without the support of his wives he can function in the Kingdom as God has commanded him . . . and I will show you a man who is a damn liar.” Ervil vehemently shook his head. “It can't be done. A man is only a miserable failure without good, believing women at his side. Ask me. I know.”

He wiped at his forehead, his face a grayish mass. I stared at him, too moved to comment. With his bright gaze fastened on my face, he spoke on, his voice raising to vibrant tremors, then dropping to whispers. The depth of feeling Ervil stirred within me transfixed me, and I began to see his vision of the church and my part in the order.

“You've been raised in the colony,” he continued quietly. “You have a responsibility. You're not like most of the girls your age. You may be rather young, but you're mature. Tell me, what better thing could you possibly do with your young years than to be a blessing to a worthy man of God? Leave the silly, romantic notions to the girls of the world. Be willing to place yourself in the service of the only Living God! You will be greatly rewarded for it.”