Favorite Wife (26 page)

I stayed close to home Monday and Tuesday. In spite of Grandma's strong advice, thoughts of rebellion battled inside me. I wandered around in a stupor as I tried to decide what to do with my life. Nausea nagged at me, reminding me of the growing life in my body and adding to the burden of my depression. Was I being a spoiled, self-centered child, feeling sorry for myself and unwilling to do my part to serve the Lord? How could I think of my own unhappiness when Verlan's other wives were faithfully doing as he asked? They weren't complaining or looking for a means of escape. They were quietly supporting Verlan, just as Grandma insisted I do.

Grandma was right, of course. The last thing Verlan needed right now was problems in his own family. I had foolishly reasoned that I could stay in Colonia LeBaron, but the memory of Verlan's teasing, laughing eyes brought emptiness and longing to my heart. I loved Verlan. Oh, what should I do?

“Mother, I'm going to go see Anna Mae and Kris,” I said abruptly. “I promised I would.”

It was almost dark as I set off. A star or two twinkled above, already bright in the frosty desert sky. I pulled the collar of my jacket higher around my mouth, blowing against the wool collar to feel the warmth against my lips. Smoke from several chimneys along my path spiraled upward into the darkness, and I was glad that the people in the colony had wood to burn, so they could keep their homes warm. I shuddered. How I hated the thought of going back to the big drafty house in Ensenada!

I had to make a decision, and I was hoping Kris could help me. She loved Ervil, yet because of his lack of support for Joel, she was thinking of leaving him. Perhaps she would have words of wisdom for me—different words—more earthy words than Grandma LeBaron's idealism.

I knocked on the door of Kris's house, then pounded again, louder. When she failed to answer, I hurried toward the dim lights at Anna Mae's. I remembered how inseparable Kris and Anna Mae had always been, spending every spare moment together. The ideal sister-wives. Suddenly I wondered if Anna Mae, like Kris, had finally had enough of Ervil's nonsense. I couldn't even imagine it. She practically worshiped Ervil, was one of his “soldiers.” Instinct told me that she backed Ervil's rebellion against Joel, which would mean that she and Kris weren't in harmony.

It was fully dark as I tapped on Anna Mae's door. She threw it open immediately, her broad, freckled face breaking into a smile as she saw me. “Well, I declare! She did come, Kris—Come in, Susan, come in!”

Soon the three of us were seated around the kitchen table. As I looked from Anna Mae to Kris, I realized how much I had missed their friendship, and how badly I needed more friendships like this. Around us, children played, giggling and squealing, making it hard to hear. Anna Mae had to excuse herself several times, shouting at the kids to get ready for bed.

The children had just settled down, finally leaving us some peace and quiet, when a car turned into the driveway. The lights flashed across the kitchen window and Kris pulled the curtain back to peer out.

“It's Ervil,” she announced. She glanced quickly at me. “I'm sorry, Susan. He was due back today, and I didn't get a chance to tell you.”

I swiftly stood, alarm gripping me. “I don't want to see him,” I hissed. “I'll go out the back door. I'm sorry. I hope you understand.”

Anna Mae looked taken aback. She blinked her eyes as she curiously searched my face. “What, are you afraid he'll bite you?” she muttered.

Kris grabbed my arm, hurried me toward the back door, and quickly helped me into my jacket. Then she glared over her shoulder at Anna Mae and snapped, “Susan has her reasons.”

She turned back to me and lightly touched my cheek. “Take care of yourself,” she whispered.

The night was coal black, and I had to feel my way around the corner of the house. I stopped behind the butane tank, waiting for Ervil to enter the house so I could cross the front yard to the road. I could hear gravel crunching as he walked around the car. Suddenly the lights of another vehicle swung around the corner by Wakeham's chicken coop. I crouched behind the butane tank when the lights swept to the left, coming to an abrupt stop behind Ervil's car. The engine died.

“Hey, Brother,” a man's voice called out in Spanish. Ervil grunted and stopped. The car door slammed.

“How did it go?” Ervil rasped in Spanish.

“It's done,” the man answered. Then in a high-pitched voice he blurted, “But I hope you never have me do anything like that again.”

I cautiously peeked around the steel tank, straining to make out the man's features. Ervil's broad back was to me; his light-colored jacket visible under the starlight. Ervil put his arm around the smaller man's shoulders and led him to the corner of the house not ten feet from where I cowered between the wall and the tank. “Oh, come now, you're letting your soft heart lead you around,” Ervil said smoothly. “Those people won't even miss that car! That's why they pay insurance companies—to replace them in case of theft and the like. Insurance companies love car theft because it drives up the cost of premiums. See what I mean? You don't have to feel a bit bad about it.”

“It's not just that!” the man hissed. “I almost got caught, man! As I turned the corner, the guy came out of the store and started chasing me. I think he saw my face!”

With pulse pounding, I listened to the exchange between the men. The stranger's voice seemed vaguely familiar, and I wished I could see who it was. I cautiously peered around the tank again.

“Then you'll have to lie low for a while,” Ervil's voice was gruff. “Go back home and go on with your life. I'll pick the car up tomorrow. Now tell me about the meeting in Ensenada.”

I almost gasped aloud. The car thief had been at the men's meeting! Did Verlan and Joel have any idea this was going on?

The guy snorted. “It was run-of-the-mill. Things we've heard a hundred times. But I'd better tell you what Verlan said.”

“What did he say?” Ervil's voice was impatient.

The man paused, then stammered, “He—he said he was aware there had been some stealing going on among some of us and that he didn't care if it was done in Babylon, he wouldn't tolerate it . . . Said we couldn't justify stealing, even from the Gentiles. And that if he heard of more of it, he would see that we were punished by the laws of the land and cut off from the church.”

Ervil chuckled. “My, my. Since Joel gave baby brother the presidency of the Twelve, he thinks he can dictate. As usual, he can't see the forest for the trees. It's trivial squabbles like this that have delayed the Lord's work. Well, the Kingdom must be established. We'll do what we have to do.”

Ervil straightened from his perch against the wall of the house. Grabbing the man's arm, he guided him away. “Don't worry about Verlan,” he growled. “I've had about all of his mouth I can stand. I'm going back to Baja on the weekend. If he tries to cause us any trouble, I'll have him taken care of. Maybe you will do it, yes?” He chuckled again as they stopped next to the car.

I peered around the tank again, straining to see who the Mexican man was, silently cursing the stars for not giving more light. Yet at the same time I was intensely thankful for the darkness that hid me from Ervil's sight. I trembled to think what he would do if I were discovered.

The man's car was only a ripple of metal in the black night, and in reckless desperation I stood up as he opened the car door, hoping against hope that the interior light would illuminate his features so that I could identify him. Only a flash of light cut through the blackness, enough to show me the man's dark skin before he slammed the door. Ervil mumbled something, then the car backed away. It sped toward the corner and out of sight.

I ducked again, blending into the wall as Ervil strode to the front door. The minute I heard the door close I darted across the yard and into the street, running fast toward the corner. I was stunned with terror and disgust. Ervil LeBaron was having men steal for him! And, oh, God, he said he would have Verlan taken care of. What kind of sinister human being was he to even think that way—and about his own brother? Oh, he was sick . . . sick. And unless I had totally misunderstood him, he was ready to kill.

The wind was freezing against my face, and tears were flowing down my cheeks. Oh, Verlan, Verlan! I loved him so much, and his life was in danger. How could I have even considered staying away from him? He had to be warned.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
T
WO

T
he Greyhound bus carefully maneuvered out of the Deming, New Mexico station, puffed its way to the on-ramp, then climbed onto the highway and picked up speed. After a good ten-hour bus ride to Calexico I would cross the border into Mexico again for the final three-hour ride to Ensenada, Baja California. When I settled back into the seat and closed my eyes, relief flooded over me at crossing the first U.S. border on my way home.

Directly in front of me a heavyset woman puffed on a cigarette. The smell wafted toward me and I gagged, my stomach churning with morning sickness. Opening the window, I stuck my nose out until the woman crushed her cigarette, then I leaned back in the bus seat, tense and miserable. As the hours dragged, filled with twisting, turning roads and the constant smell of the woman's smoke, I squirmed impatiently. The bus seat was putting strain on my lower back.

Repeatedly, Ervil's threat to Verlan pounded in my head. I was frantic about my husband's welfare; not only his life was in jeopardy, but also the well-being of the whole church. Something had to be done and quickly. Surely Verlan and Joel would know how to handle Ervil. They couldn't delay it any longer.

I stared out at the countryside and thought about my mother's curiosity yesterday when I told her that I had to leave immediately for Ensenada. “What's the sudden rush, for heaven's sake?” she had demanded. I didn't dare say anything. Verlan was the only one I could talk to, and I prayed he could put a stop to Ervil's madness.

Mom had eyed me suspiciously and asked, “What's the matter with you? You were going to stay a few more days, remember?”

I had shrugged. “I just need to go, Mama. There's no reason to put it off.”

She'd sniffed and looked away, letting me know she was unhappy, and that she didn't entirely believe my excuse. But she had helped me to pack and get a ride to the bus in Casas.

I carefully rearranged the guitar on the seat next to me, so that I could put my feet up. Mom and Dad had given it to me on my twelfth birthday, and were insisting I take it to Baja. I touched the strings, happy that I would have something meaningful to occupy my time once I got back to Ensenada. The guitar had meant much to me years ago. Perhaps now it would bring a touch of the warmth of home.

The bus crawled past each telephone pole, each mile an endless turning of the wheels that laughed in derision at my urgency. Finally the mountainous terrain became flat and the desert of the U.S. border town, Calexico, loomed before us.

The minute the bus stopped at the depot I grabbed the guitar and my huge suitcase. Placing my purse and other bags under my arms, I fought my way to the street and hailed a taxi. In moments we were rushing toward the Mexican border town of Mexicali.

The cramping in my back became intense—with pain shooting down my legs and knifing my abdomen. Something's not right, I shouldn't be hurting this way, I thought. Only a few more hours to Ensenada . . . Lucy will know what to do.

The cab driver screeched to a stop in front of the bus station. Again I filled my arms with my belongings, then struggled to the ticket window.

“One way to Ensenada, Señor,” I said, digging into my purse for the money.

The Mexican gentleman behind the window eyed me suspiciously. “Your visa?” he barked.

I stared at him. “But, Señor . . . I don't plan to stay that long. I don't need a visa for a visit . . . just sell me a ticket, please.”

I hoped the man couldn't tell that I was lying. Well, it was a necessary lie. Verlan had been very strict about my not telling officials or strangers that I was married. “Don't ever admit that,” he had said. “If you do, they'll haul me in for statutory rape.”

The man was looking me up and down. “Señorita,” he said disdainfully, “Go back to the border and arrange for a visa, then I will sell you a bus ticket to Ensenada. You cannot go that far into Mexico without a visa.”

I glared at him, picked up my bags, and struggled to the door, angry at myself for not having the good sense to ride the bus on to San Diego. There was no problem crossing the border between San Diego and Tijuana. I made my way to the street and hailed another taxi. “To the border,” I snapped at the scraggly driver as I climbed in. I leaned back and closed my eyes. The pain became alarming. Lord, I silently prayed, don't let it be the baby. I can't have a miscarriage. Make the pain go away.

The cab driver deposited me at the proper building. Soon I stood in front of a fat official in a khaki-green uniform. “I need a visa, Señor, so I can go to Ensenada,” I said, setting my suitcase and guitar down. I looked expectantly into the mournful brown eyes of the white-haired man behind the desk.

He stared at me until I began to wonder if he understood Spanish. Then his leathery face broke into a smile, and he gently asked, “Am I to understand you are traveling alone, Señorita?”

“Sí, I am going to Ensenada to see friends. The man at the bus station said I needed a visa, although I don't see why. I won't be there that long.” I drummed my fingers on the man's desk impatiently, wishing he would hurry.

“May I see your birth certificate, please?” he said politely. I scowled at him as I dug through my purse. For some reason the man was laughing at me. It didn't show on his lips, but I could tell. I handed him my birth certificate and stood, fuming, as he looked it over. He grunted and nodded, then called out the open door, “Antonio! Antonio, come in here, please.”

Antonio was younger than the man behind the desk, and from the look of the pins on his uniform, more important. He barely glanced in my direction.

“This young lady wants a visa,” the first man chuckled, handing my birth certificate to Antonio. “She is traveling alone—to Ensenada.” Antonio studied my paper, then looked up at me. “You're fifteen years old?” he questioned.

“Sí, Señor.”

“Where are your parents?”

“They live in Chihuahua. I'm going to Ensenada to see friends. I have the permission of my parents.”

Antonio shook his head and handed me back my birth certificate. “It is not possible to let you pass. You're too young to be traveling alone in our country. Sorry.” He turned on his heel and ambled back out the door, then turned back to me long enough to gesture in the direction of the American side of the border.

I stared after him in anger and desperation. My abdominal pain had become acute, but I forced myself to ignore it. Whirling, I faced the man behind the desk. “This is ridiculous!” I thundered. “I have been to Ensenada many times, and never has anyone insisted I get a passport. Ensenada is a tourist resort, for heaven's sake!”

The white-haired gentleman leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette, then said mildly, “Go to the border at Tijuana. They can let you through there.”

I wanted to scream in frustration and pain as I lugged my belongings back across the bridge to the American side of the border. The suitcase was heavy and the guitar was awkward and difficult to manage. To my right was the American Consulate. I glanced at it as I struggled past, noticing that two men in uniform stood by the door, curiously watching me. “Where are you going, Miss?” one of them called out.

I slowed my pace and set the suitcase down, panting and dizzy with the strain. “I'm going to the bus station in Calexico. I need a taxi. Could I call for one on your phone?”

The other man ambled toward me. “What were you doing in Mexicali?” he asked as he picked up the suitcase.

“Oh, thank you,” I gasped. “I was planning to take the bus to Ensenada, but the men over there wouldn't let me get a visa. I will just go on to Tijuana and get a bus there.”

I followed the man into the building. The ceiling seemed to be slowly spinning as I looked around. My eyes burned, and my knees wanted to buckle. My peripheral vision was dark and shadowed, and I groped for the bench behind me, dropping unsteadily onto it. I had closed my eyes momentarily, and when I opened them, the uniformed man was standing before me.

“How old are you, and where are your parents?” he softly asked.

I squinted up at him, concerned with how blurry he appeared. I answered, “I'm fifteen. I'm traveling to Ensenada for my health, to spend some time with relatives there. My mother is in Chihuahua, where I live. She put me on the bus early this morning. Now, would you please call a taxi for me? Please.”

The man reached down and grabbed my arm, yanking me to my feet. “Come with me,” he demanded.

He hauled me into a tiny room in the back of the building and plopped me down on a chair. The room swam. In moments another officer joined the first. “What kind of marijuana do you use, Miss Ray?” he sneered. “Cheap stuff, I'll bet. A girl like you wouldn't be too picky and Ensenada's full of friendly pushers. I'll bet those Mexicans enjoy trading favors with a hot little chickie like you, right? That why you're going there?”

The other man took over. “How'd you get here to Calexico? Did you hitchhike? Answer me, dammit!”

“What kind of dope are you on?” the first man snarled. I shook my head, stunned at the question. I had never been subjected to such humiliation, or felt so much physical pain, a pain that I had to hide. I couldn't let these men know about my pregnancy without implicating Verlan. I grimly ignored the pain.

“Do you have a pimp?”

“What's a—a pimp?” I stammered.

The men both snorted, and exchanged glances. “You're a runaway, aren't you?”

“No!” I screamed at them. “I'm not doing anything wrong! Let me go!”

“Is that a wedding ring that you're wearing?” one of them shot out.

I glanced in panic at my hand, at the circle of gold on my finger. “It—it belonged to my grandmother,” I faltered. “She gave it to me before she died.”

He grunted. “Give us a phone number, so we can reach your parents.”

“They don't have a phone! We live in Mexico, in Colonia LeBaron. I've lived there all my life. I don't even know of anyone who has a phone. Why won't you believe me?”

I glanced toward the door. In the adjoining room, I could see another officer going through my bags. As I watched, he took a pocketknife to the inside of my suitcase and ripped the lining. I jumped to my feet, horrified. “What are you doing!” I screamed.

One of the men pushed me roughly back into the chair. “Sit down,” he growled. “You know damn well what he's looking for.”

Shocked, I looked up into the man's hard, cynical eyes. Behind me, the other man spoke. “You might as well tell us the truth or it's going to be a long night. Now, where do you live?”

I answered the same questions repeatedly. Tears of despair had replaced my initial confusion and anger, and I sobbed, terrified, as they discussed placing me in jail. How I wished I could just call Verlan and know he would come for me. I wished I could let these Babylonian monsters know that I was a married woman who was carrying a child. And that I was cramping, on the verge of miscarrying.

Suddenly the men stood up. One of them walked to the door and held it open. “Get out of here,” he said quietly. “Go on about your business. We don't have enough evidence to hold you, but I do have a piece of advice. If your story's true, you're much too young to be traveling alone. You can tell your parents that for me. And if you're lying to me . . .” He paused, sizing me up, “Your ass is mine.”

I gulped at the brutal warning. With averted eyes, I sidled past him, picked up my belongings from the next room, and crept out the door of the building. I dragged my things across the street, expecting at any moment to be called back, to be drilled again by those horrible men—or put in jail. I had to get away from there. I didn't understand why they released me, but I certainly wasn't going to question their actions.

As I struggled through the twilight, another sharp pain doubled me over. I gasped and stumbled, my head spinning. The streetlights seemed to be pulsing—throbbing a pale glow on the deserted sidewalk. I searched the street for a cab as I forced my leaden body to carry me around the corner and out of sight of the consulate.

The air had cooled, and I began to shiver. The muscles of my back contracted, then my whole body shook uncontrollably. The suitcase dropped from my fingers, and I slumped down onto the curb, lowering my spinning head between my legs.

I had to get to Verlan. An occasional car cruised past, their occupants staring at me. I wrapped my arms around my body and dully looked up at them, past caring that I must appear a street bum. I waited, gathered my strength, knowing that I still had a long journey to make. San Diego was at least two hours away, and I would be lucky to have enough of Jay's money left to buy the ticket.

Behind me I heard the shuffle of footsteps on the sidewalk. I turned my head slightly, enough to see black, shiny boots come to a halt next to me. My gaze traveled up the white pant legs, past the white pullover top, and rested on the youthful, pimply face of a United States sailor. He stared down at me from beneath a jaunty sailor's cap.

“Hey, sister,” he grinned. “What's goin' on?”

I dropped my head again, groaning to myself. “Go away,” I growled.

He squatted down on his haunches. “Do you need some help?”

I exhaled, watching him out of the corner of my eye. His voice sounds friendly, I thought, and his face looks nice enough. He looks innocent. “You could find me a taxi,” I whispered.

His eyes widened as he leaned closer to hear my words. Then he straightened upright, “You're sick, aren't you?”

I nodded, dropping my head. The sailor was gone when I looked up again. But in moments he returned and squatted down by me. “A cab's on the way. Where you going?”

“To the bus station. I need to get to San Diego.”

When the cab arrived, the sailor helped me inside, then climbed in next to me and directed the driver to the bus station. I slumped in the seat and closed my eyes, grateful to have someone take over.