Favorite Wife (40 page)

As they hurried toward the pickup, Irene leaned on her shovel and glared after them. “Just as I thought,” she snapped contemptuously. “Charlotte's right at his elbow. She'll do the running around with him and keep her hands clean, while we stay here like good little wives and slave away. No, sir! I'm not going to put up with it; I just won't. He's going to be fair or I won't help.”

For the next couple of days, in spite of Irene's complaints, Charlotte rode with Verlan each time there was a load of something to be hauled. Irene scowled and griped about it, and periodically threatened to quit, but each morning she came to the work site and outworked the rest of us. She never hesitated to roll up her pant legs, climb barefoot into the mixing hole, and stomp and stir the huge amount of dirt, straw, and water into mud for the adobes. Then using a shovel, she slapped the muddy mixture into the wooden adobe frames, scraping and patting the mud flat with her bare hands. Lifting the mold clear, she left perfectly formed adobes on the field to dry.

One morning after Charlotte and Verlan returned from hauling a load of straw, Verlan stood over our work, carefully scanning the rows of adobes. “Beautiful! Just beautiful. Charlotte, look at all these adobes. Irene does a good job, doesn't she? And so fast!” He winked at me and drawled, “Maybe I should pass the word around and hire her out.”

Irene straightened up, wiped her muddy hands on her pants, threw a scathing glance at Charlotte, and retorted, “One thing's for certain, Verlan. I'm the only wife here who would be worthy of her hire.” Charlotte glared back at Irene, then shrugged, turned on her heel and walked to the pickup.

Each day, Lucy, Beverly, and Lillie took turns preparing our lunch and bringing it to the work site. Our break time was always brief. Verlan, never one to waste a precious minute, would hustle us back to work hardly before we swallowed our last bite. “Okay, okay, let's stop fooling around and get this show on the road,” he would holler.

At nursing times, Charlotte drove me to Beverly's to attend the baby. Verlan ignored my insistence that I was fully capable of driving myself. Although it angered and insulted me that he didn't trust me to drive his pickup, my anger was colorless in comparison to Irene's.

“Dearest Charlotte's the only one with brains enough to drive Verlan's truck, don't you know,” she growled sarcastically. “Don't waste your breath arguing with him about it. I've tried. Believe me, I've tried.”

I nodded, knowing she'd tried. I had heard her try numerous times, to no avail. Verlan remained adamant. Charlotte was his right arm, and Irene and I both might as well accept it. Charlotte was careful not to flaunt her position. She coolly carried out her privileged duties, with only an occasional superior sniff.

Each afternoon when the older boys arrived to help, it surprised and annoyed me how much their father snapped and yelled at them. I'd never seen this side of Verlan, the side that wasn't loving and affectionate. As the days wore on, it became evident that Verlan had little patience for his children and that being around so many of them on a continual basis made him nervous and ill-tempered. Even in his various homes, I noticed for the first time how quickly he greeted the kids, then practically shoved them aside, or out the door, in order to spend time with one of his wives behind a closed bedroom door. I wondered if having him home full-time would be different, or if he felt extra pressure because of our tight schedule.

Within ten days, Irene, Charlotte, and I working steadily at Verlan's side made enough adobes for both houses. Verlan hounded us like a slave driver, pushing us to hurry as he anxiously watched the sky, hoping the autumn rains had indeed quit for the season so that the adobes, at last drying in the field, would have a chance to mature. We were in luck. Each day dawned bright and cold, with few clouds. “There's no doubt in my mind that the Lord's behind this project, girls,” Verlan declared as we surveyed the huge lot of adobes. “I'm feeling better and better about the time I took off from work to do this. It was the right thing to do.”

Once the earthen bricks were completely dry, we loaded them into the pickup and hauled load after backbreaking load to the building sites. Then followed the actual building of the houses.

The walls of Beverly's house were slowly constructed, with Verlan and Irene laying the bricks, while Charlotte, the boys, and myself kept them in supplies. Once the adobes were up, the roof trusses and the windows and doors in place, Verlan had two of Brother Castro's sons pour the cement floor. Meanwhile, we moved our equipment down the road to my new lot. The building process began all over again.

Early one morning, Irene came by my trailer. “Lillie's finally in labor,” she informed me. “She's had contractions since midnight. Verlan said we'll take a break for the day.”

“Who's with her?”

Irene turned to the stove and dipped a fork into my fry pan of sizzling diced potatoes, speared one, blew on it, and popped it into her mouth. “Charlotte and Verlan,” she mumbled. “So is Jeannine. I offered to stay and help, but Verlan told me to go home. Said they didn't need me.”

I glanced sympathetically at Irene. Even in the dim, predawn light in my trailer I could see that her eyes were swollen. “Oh, well,” she sniffed, “just as long as Verlan has Mrs. LeBaron at his side, everything's under control.”

She popped another piece of potato in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “I can't help it, Sue, it gripes me to death. Charlotte's always the one he counts on! The only time he turns to me is if he's short a strong back to haul a wheelbarrow of sand for one of his wives' new homes. Good ol' Irene, always available for the dirty work.”

“That's not true, and you know it,” I retorted swiftly. “He counts on you all the time. He'd be lost without you. You've worked harder than any of us, and you lay adobes better than he does.”

She snorted and headed for the door. “Well, he can forget about me helping him anymore on the houses. I won't do it. He can just have Charlotte finish up the damn work. I'm gonna stay home with my kids and keep my wash done up,” The trailer door slammed shut behind her.

I sighed, turned off the stove, and crawled back into bed. Irene didn't mean it; she was only spouting off, but I didn't blame her for feeling left out and taken for granted. And now, with Charlotte being the one Verlan had asked to deliver Lillie's baby, I could understand her pain. Verlan's constant dependence on his first wife would naturally get on his second wife's nerves. It angered me, as well, but I felt differently about it than Irene did. Charlotte was Irene's competition, while mine would be giving birth shortly.

Lillie's baby boy was born late in the afternoon. They named him Christian Bruce. Bruce—the name Verlan had agreed to save for my second son.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-
O
NE

"S
usan, you do know that Joel is planning to begin a mission in the San Diego area?”

Setting my bucket of paint down on the window frame of what was soon to be my bedroom, I held the brush suspended and curiously regarded my visitor, Lillie's mother, Jeannine LeBaron. What, I wondered, did this have to do with me? “Yes, I remember Verlan mentioning something about it.”

Jeannine fidgeted and pulled her jacket tighter around her thin body. Damp November wind blew hard against the west wall of my new house, rattled the windowpane in front of me, and seeped in cold gusts through invisible cracks. Tiny grains of sand began to stick to the fresh paint on the sill. Disgusted, I tapped the lid back on the paint can and gave Jeannine my full attention.

“Joel asked me to go to San Diego for a few months and keep house for him and the other men. I'd love to do it; I could use a break. Would you consider keeping Ivan for me?”

As I cleaned the paintbrush and other tools, I considered and nodded. “I'll be moving in a week or so. Meantime Ivan could sleep on the trailer couch. Sure, Jeannine, sure he can. I'd love to have him.”

She grinned her relief. “He'll be more help than trouble,” she promised. “Lillie will be taking care of the little girls. She offered to keep Ivan too, but I don't want to burden her with all three kids, with her new baby and all. The girls will be right next door in case Ivan gets lonesome, and I'll be coming down on the weekends. I'll have him get his things together.” Smiling brightly at me, Jeannine dashed out the door and cut across the field toward Lillie's.

I'd always liked Jeannine, even though she was Lillie's mother and never hesitated to sing her perfect daughter's praises. Having Ivan around would be good for me. He would be someone at home to visit with who didn't talk baby talk.

The tarring of my roof was a big day for Verlan's family. It completed our frantic six-week building project, and life for Verlan's families returned to normal. He immediately left for Las Vegas, and I began the move into my new house.

True to Jeannine's word, Ivan was a great help. With the old family pickup and Ivan's and Kaylen's assistance, the trailer was soon cleared of everything that wasn't glued in or tacked down. The thirteen-year-old boys worked hard and steadily, and once my belongings had been hauled to the new house and unpacked, I gathered James into my arms and slowly, almost reluctantly, wandered through the half-finished rooms.

For the past three years I had looked forward to this day with excited anticipation, fantasizing how wonderful it was going to be to have my very own house. I'd looked forward to making it a comfortable, warm, and cozy home for Verlan, and he would love to stay with me. My home would be filled with good smells and laughter and beautiful things.

Wryly, I glanced around. The walls were of rough gray plaster, the floors cold gray cement; dismal winter sky showed through the bare windows. The bedroom doors needed to be hung, and kitchen cupboards needed to be built. Trash and leftover building materials, in piles around the yard, were too trivial for Verlan to worry about.

The furniture in my bedroom consisted of a double bed—its box springs resting on cinder blocks—James's crib, and a kitchen chair. No time or material to build closets, so my clothing hung on a broom handle suspended from the ceiling by baling wire. In the kids' room, a cot for Melanie and a mat on the floor for Ivan were the sole furnishings. Cardboard boxes along the wall held their clothing.

The old orange couch, brought from the trailer, was the solitary piece of furniture in the living room. The kitchen boasted an old stove, a table, and three rickety chairs. My dishes, pots, and pans were in boxes on the floor.

I sighed and looked out the kitchen window, past my new outhouse, to the desolate, treeless field between my lot and Charlotte's. “You knew in your secret mind it would be like this,” I reminded myself. “At least you have a real house of your own now. One of these days Verlan will get you the other things you need. Until then you will just have to make do.”

Yet as I remembered the scanty furnishings in Lucy's, Beverly's, and Charlotte's houses, I knew that it would most likely be years before I had much. Verlan was a fair man. He wouldn't fix my place up until the others had what they needed.

Of course, I couldn't compare Lillie's house to mine because she had bought her own furniture. I'd seen the inside of her house the day Beverly and I had stopped in to see her baby. White metal cupboards and sideboards, a lovely oak table and matching chairs, bedroom groups, plush couches, and overstuffed rockers. Carpets, drapes—everything a woman could want.

I shook the thought away. “I won't do it!” I said through clenched teeth. “I will not allow myself to envy Lillie!”

“What, Aunt Susan? What did ya' say?” Kaylen called, peering at me.

“Oh, nothing. I was just rattling to myself.” I kicked a scrap of sheetrock out of the way, then grabbed it up and slung it into a box of trash.

Ivan glanced up at me, his lips tightly pursed over the nails held in his mouth. His eyes briefly met mine, then he dropped his gaze, and began hammering nails into my new water bench. I watched him in silence. Ivan was a quiet boy, but there was an active brain behind those bright blue eyes. At times I felt as though he could read my mind. Kind of depressing because my thoughts today were anything but cheerful. I was all moved in, finally into my own place, and it was absolutely dreadful.

“There!” Ivan announced as he pounded the final nail. “It's sturdy as can be. Go ahead, Aunt Susan, just try to wiggle it.”

I sniffed and turned my back to the boys, pretending not to hear, as I fought back tears of dejection.

“Come on, it's solid as a rock and big enough for two buckets. Just try to wiggle it!” Kaylen insisted.

“I don't want to wiggle it!” I snapped. Striding to the door, I yanked it open. “You boys leave me alone for a while. Go on over to Aunt Charlotte's and fill those buckets with water. Go! Now!”

Kaylen's and Ivan's mouths dropped as they stared at me. They glanced at each other, picked up my empty pails, and strolled out the door.

From her seat at the table, Melanie watched me with tears in her eyes. “I'm goin', too,” she sniffled. Grabbing her coat, she hurried outside, her tiny body braced against the wind, as she struggled to catch up with the boys.

I stared after her until she took Ivan's hand, and then I closed the door and leaned against it. “You ugly old witch!” I said out loud. Startled, James turned in my arms and regarded me with solemn eyes as I scornfully whispered, “Now look what you've done! Your own little girl can't even stand you. Those boys have been so good and tried so hard, and you've been mean as hell just because your house isn't as fancy as Lillie's. Stop feeling sorry for yourself; you've got a lot more than you've ever had, and crying about it won't solve a thing.”

Carrying James to his crib, I laid him down and looked around me again. I needed to think positive, that was my problem. If I took one project at a time and practiced a little ingenuity, I could make this place livable. I would do it! I had to do it.

I wandered through the empty rooms, my thoughts racing. A sheet, dyed and cut in half, would make presentable curtains for the kids' windows. I could hang another sheet up to my bedroom door for privacy.

I stopped in the kitchen and thoughtfully eyed the boxes of odds and ends littering the floor. I needed something to store my dishes in, and obviously I was going to have to solve the problem myself. Frowning, I searched my mind. If I remembered right, there was a piece or two of plywood out behind Lucy's in the goat sheds. If I scrubbed the manure off them and rounded up some two-by-fours, I could build a cupboard and sideboards for the kitchen. Ivan was good with tools. He would help me.

By the time Melanie and the boys returned with the water, I was in a better mood and ready with an apology. Holding the door open for them, I offered my best smile. “Hey, you guys, I'm sorry that I yelled at you. You've all been such good helpers, and I'm ashamed of myself. The water bench is a masterpiece, Ivan. I didn't mean to be so cross.”

Kaylen set his bucket down on the new bench, lazily scratched his thigh, and grinned at me. “Cross? You call that bein' cross? That was nothin'. You should hear my mother. She hollers so darn loud at us, the Tippettses can hear her swear—” Kaylen bit off the last of his sentence and looked guiltily at me.

“Don't worry,” I chuckled, “I won't tell her what you said.”

He nodded, relieved. “I wasn't worried. Well, I've got to go, Ivan. I gotta milk.”

Thanking Kaylen again for his help, I escorted him to the door and watched him saunter to the road. Suddenly I giggled. Kaylen walked with the same loping gait as his father and the rest of the LeBaron men, definitely in the blood.

Ivan puttered around the kitchen, putting away his tools and sweeping up the sawdust, and he seemed absorbed in thought. I caught him glancing at me several times as I sat on the couch and nursed the baby.

“What's on your mind, buddy?” I finally asked.

He took a breath and mumbled, “I, uh, I . . . would it be okay if I go to see Lillie for a while?”

“Of course you can! Anytime you want to, you can go. Whenever you start to feel lonesome, or whatever, you just go have a visit with her. It'll make you feel better.” I inclined my head toward the door. “Don't be gone too long, though, 'cause I'll be making supper soon, our first meal in the new house.” I grinned at him.

An hour later I stepped outside into the cold, early evening air. The wind had died down, and the sky had cleared somewhat. Half the sun was visible through pink and red clouds dipping into the ocean.

I glanced around, located Melanie's blond head on the other side of the sand pile left over from the building project. She'd become bored watching me make supper, donned her coat, and headed outside to “dig.”

“Mel,” I called, “come on in now, it's time to eat.” While I waited for her, I glanced toward Lillie's, wondering about Ivan. I'd had guilty thoughts ever since he left—aware that he had gone to his sister's place because of my wretched attitude. I'd upset him, and he'd gone for comfort. It rankled me.

Bright orange rays from the sunset glistened off of Lillie's dining room window and off of the old family pickup that was backed up to her front door. Shielding my eyes, I stared. What was that woman doing now?

The pickup was piled high with furniture. Even as I watched, Lillie and Ivan loaded something heavy onto the end of the truck and slammed the tailgate closed. The two of them climbed into the cab, then Lillie started the truck and pulled it onto the dirt road. It swerved in my direction and slowly bumped through the potholes, drawing closer and closer. “What is she doing?” I muttered. “What on earth is she up to now?”

Melanie's cold little hand slipped into mine. Together we stood on the cement step and watched Lillie maneuver the pickup through the break in the barbed wire fence that was someday to be my driveway. She stopped in front of us, opened the door, and stepped out.

“Hi.” Her voice was low, her dark blue eyes holding a hint of embarrassment, “I brought you a few things.”

A knot began to form in the pit of my stomach, spreading heat upward to my face and cheeks. My heart pumped shallow surges of guilt and shame. “What—what things?” I croaked.

“Uh, just some furniture for your house. I couldn't stand to have so much when you don't have anything. I wanted to share with you.”

In a daze I stumbled to the pickup. Lillie's gold bedroom set, complete with dresser and huge mirror, were carefully arranged along one side. Another smaller dresser, Lillie's nice, plush sofa with the oak trim, and her old-fashioned green rocker with the cream ruffles, the one I had secretly admired the day I'd gone to see her baby, filled the remainder of the truck bed.

“Oh!” I gasped in horror. “Oh, Lillie, no! I don't want it. These are your things that you worked for! No, don't do this. Just take them home again where they belong!”

She determinedly reached out and opened the tailgate. “I want to give them to you! See? I can't stand to live next door to you and know that you don't have anything, and I do. Now, don't argue, Susan. I'm giving you this furniture, and that's that.”

I stepped past her and slammed the tailgate closed again.

“Nope. Uh, uh!”

“Yes,” she shouted, wrestling with me over the tailgate. “Yes! I want you to have nice things. Susan, can't you understand? I—I love you! We're family!”

Suddenly Lillie's arms were around me and she was croaking into my ear, “I don't want you to hate me anymore! Please don't hate me anymore.”

Tears blinded my eyes. Wrapping my arms around her thin waist, I buried my face against her shoulder.

“I don't hate you,” I choked. “I never did. Honestly I didn't. It's just that . . .”

“I know. I know.” She sniffed. “I love him, too, remember?”

“How can you be so good to me?” I wailed. “I don't deserve this; I've been so rotten to you—so mean! Oh, Lillie, I can't take your things.”

She dabbed at her eyes and grinned at me. “You might as well. I asked Mom a week ago to stop at garage sales in San Diego and find me some more, so you'll have to take these or there won't be room in my house when she brings the new ones. Come on, now,” she ordered, opening the tailgate again. “Stop your blubbering and help me haul this stuff inside. We're going to fix your house up, and I can't wait to see what it will look like! Can you?”

Lillie grabbed a firm hold on one end of the long dresser. “Hurry, it's getting dark!” she giggled.