Favorite Wife (45 page)

Members from the United States and Mexico had put their affairs on hold and hastened to Colonia LeBaron. The colony swarmed with grieving humanity, with every residence bursting at the seams to accommodate so many.

Time was at a standstill. Every person inside the colony's boundaries, from the priesthood-holding men to the smallest child, openly watched the skies and counted the seconds expecting to see the clouds roll back and Jesus appear. Many hovered over Joel's body as it lay in state in Magdalena's parlor, and prayed that he would rise from his coffin and gather his flock into his arms. Speculation as to the church's future was on every tongue, and everyone expectantly looked in Verlan's direction. He was the next in line of our leadership. Surely he knew what to do; surely he had the answers. God wouldn't leave us without a leader and the proper priesthood! He had promised us that the priesthood office, which included the Keys of Sealing for Time and Eternity that Joel alone held, would never again leave the earth. The church couldn't go on without this, so if Joel were truly gone, then Verlan, or perhaps one of Joel's sons, must have it.

The old adobe church was packed to overflowing for Joel's funeral. His widows were seated on the bench directly in front of the casket, and placed in the order of their marriage—Magdalena, Jeannine, Gaye, Isabel, Kathy, Claudine, and Priscilla. Nestled in her arms, Gaye held her week-old infant son, whom Joel had never seen. Grandma LeBaron sat in a padded chair at the family's side.

I was sitting with my father and Maria, Fara, and Mona, and I anxiously looked back to where Verlan sat, surrounded by his new bodyguards, against the back wall of the church house. My heart ached for him, and I feared for his life. I tried to imagine his burden, the unexpected weight on his shoulders. He looked so solemn, his face as pale as his crisp, white shirt. How I wished I could hold his hands and kiss his mouth and tell him how much I loved him.

The church house windows and doors were left open, with those mourners who couldn't fit inside, crowding at the openings. Hoards of Mexican neighbors had flocked to Colonia LeBaron to pay their last respects. Although most were of the Catholic faith, they all knew Joel and revered him as a great man of God. Many of them stood outside in the stifling heat throughout the long service, then waited in reverence as Joel's casket was carried past them and placed into Ossmen's pickup bed for the twelve-mile trip to the cemetery on the outskirts of the neighboring village of Galeana.

The scorching afternoon sun beat relentlessly on the caravan as we followed Ossmen's pickup with its precious load. The small, fenced cemetery, bare of greenery, was filled with dusty mounds marked by Catholic crosses. The huge crowd silently traipsed behind the casket as we threaded our way between the graves and circled around the freshly dug hole. As Verlan raised his arm in the dedication of Joel's resting place, his voice quavered. He prayed that the ground might be hallowed and safe until Joel was resurrected. After prayers and songs, the coffin was lowered into the rocky ground. Sobs and groans filled the stifling, hot air. I stood on the edge of the grave and said a silent, private farewell to my Prophet. Shovels, manned by several of the men, began to fill the hole with the powdery earth.

I dizzily stumbled back through the crowd, weaving my way through the graves toward Dad's pickup. The fierce heat suffocated me, pounding down on my head like a hammer. The hot air shimmered, and I was desperate for something to drink. My throat felt parched and my mouth was dry. Every pore in my body screamed, begged, pleaded for water. I had never felt so completely thirsty, so totally desperate for liquid. The bright blue sky blackened at the edges of my vision and my knees buckled. Someone grabbed me, sat me down on a cement grave covering, and shoved my head between my legs.

“Susan, you can't do this now,” Helen Leany, Theron's wife, whispered, shaking me. “You must be strong, you hear me? Verlan needs you to be strong for him right now. You can't let him see you like this—he's got other things than you to worry about. So snap out of it—you'll be fine!”

“Okay.” I forced the word past my swollen tongue and through dehydrated lips. I blinked my eyes, tried to focus. “Water. Get—me—water.”

Helen patted me and hurried off. As I battled against the encroaching dizziness, Joel Jr. struggled past me, carrying the limp form of his half-sister, Fawn, in his arms. Her face was beet-red and her eyes closed. Her head lolled on his shoulder. Sorrow, stress, and the horrible heat had gotten to her, too, the poor thing. So many widows and so many orphans! What would happen to them all? How would they go on without their husband and father?

Fresh grief for them, and for us all, consumed me. Weak, dry sobs wracked my desiccated body. I leaned my head back against the hot cement tombstone, my anguish a high-pitched keen.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-
F
OUR

F
ara, Mona, baby James, and I moved back into my mother's house for the remainder of my stay in the colony. With Charlotte and Irene both at Grandma LeBaron's, there was no room for me—not that I wanted to stay on with both sister-wives hovering. Irene continued her coolness, and I was unhappy with her for shipping Melanie off, and thus putting my tiny daughter in harm's way, so close to such unspeakable horror. I was desperate to get back to San Diego and hold her in my arms again. But I had no way of leaving Colonia LeBaron until conference was over on Sunday night. Meantime, I spent the endless days after Joel's funeral with my sisters, Jay and Carmela, and my father.

Under the direction of Verlan, Alma, Sigfried Widmar, and Ossmen Jones, our three-day general conference took place on schedule. As usual the church house was packed, but the meetings, understandably, were not the joyous reunions of the past. Faces were grim and somber; distress and bewilderment were in the minds and hearts of all.

Where did we go from here? Who was in charge now, who had the Keys? Had Joel secretly passed his priesthood authority on to someone, or would God appoint us a new prophet? Could we continue on as a church without the Keys Joel held?

For three days, our leaders took their turn at the pulpit. Varying degrees of confusion were apparent in each man—a few feeling that the platform they had built their lives and their family's lives on had been jerked from under them. But though shaken, most of the men seemed steady in their faith, and they tried to bolster us, each in his own way.

On the last day—Sunday—Verlan finally spoke, making it clear to everyone that Joel had definitely not passed the Keys to him. Verlan knew that God had a plan for us, but presently he was as much in the dark as we were. He assured us that the church had everything needed in the way of priesthood authority to carry on until such a time as God's new leader stepped forward. Meantime we should walk in faith as the followers of Jesus had after his crucifixion, and continue on with the building of the church.

Then Alma took the stand. Openly wiping tears, he began, “Joel was one of the great prophets of the earth. He said he had the promise from God that he would not fail and would live till his mission was fulfilled. Brothers and Sisters, God knows what He's doing! Joel's martyrdom will prove, as in all ages past, a greater benefit to the people for his having gone to the other side. The righteous in heart will look more deeply into church history and the works of righteousness. The enemy will step back. When Joseph Smith was martyred, the enemy thought Mormonism would end. And now, our enemy thought if Brother Joel was killed, his people would be stopped, and those who are jealous would gain a following. The sincere and honest will see that those who have been instrumental in taking the life of our Prophet have been traitors and hypocrites. Now, let us prepare our hearts to uphold the new prophet whom God will raise up. Who it will be I do not know for sure. I expected Joel to lead us right into the millennium.” Alma shook his head, blew his nose, mumbled a closing phrase, and sat down.

From out of the congregation, a stranger to me stood up, a thin, bald man in his fifties. “I'd like to say a few words before the meeting closes,” he said, making his way to the podium. He stood nervously blinking his eyes, then cleared his throat and in stilted sentences began, “Uh, most of you don't know me. Some of you do. My name's Timothy Neil and I'm from Sandy, Utah. Joel converted my wife and me to the church about a year ago. He's been a guest in our home on several occasions. He seemed to me to be the godliest man I'd ever met and knew more about the Scriptures than anyone I've ever talked to. I was finally convinced he was a Prophet of God, and believed with all my heart he was the One Mighty and Strong talked about in the twenty-eight chapter of Isaiah, and in the eighty-fifth section of the Doctrine and Covenants. My wife and I were baptized last January, and we've been making plans to join the colony down in Baja ever since.”

He cleared his throat and looked nervously around. “Friends,” he continued, “I have to tell you that I'm shaken to the very core by Joel's death. I don't consider his mission hardly started, let alone finished! Why would God barely begin His mighty work in these final days, only to allow His Prophet, His Mouthpiece, His One Mighty and Strong, to be snatched away at the hands of some madman? Joel himself personally told me that he would be here to usher in the Millennial Reign of Peace. We talked for hours about all the missionary work that has to be done, about all the souls that need to be reached. And now, poof! He's gone. Joel's gone, people, and left us all holding the bag.”

He shook his head and glanced behind him at the leaders seated on the bench. “You guys can fool yourselves on and on, and say the Keys Joel had, the ones that were never to leave the earth, are here, somewhere among you. Where, I ask? Verlan says he doesn't have them. No one else has stepped forward. Some of you are speculating that maybe Joel's young son, Joel Jr., has them, or one of his other boys. Well, as far as I'm concerned, all that's irrelevant. As I said, Joel told me personally that he would be here until Jesus comes. That didn't happen, and that speaks volumes in my opinion.”

He pursed his lips and let his gaze rove slowly over the silent congregation, then grabbing the pulpit with each hand he took a deep breath and continued. “I want to state here and now that I'm backing away from the church. I'm doing this for two reasons. One, I refuse to put my family in harm's way, and with Ervil and his people threatening more murders and the like, I feel it would be irresponsible of me to maintain an association. Two, we joined this church believing in Joel and his mission. With him gone I feel confident that God is trying to tell us all something. The question is, are we smart enough to understand, or will we just hold on and watch this organization crumble around our heads?”

He paused. His eyes flitted around the congregation, lighting on various faces as though seeking support for his reasoning. Then shaking his head, he chewed on his bottom lip a moment, and continued. “I highly recommend that the rest of you get on your knees and ask God for personal guidance. That means you women, too! Stop looking to your husbands to carry you into heaven—stop leaning on the arm of flesh. You'll stand naked and alone before the judgment seat of God! Don't cling to something that is disintegrating before your eyes. Don't be blind. Think for yourselves. Read! Pray! Don't stop searching until you find the truth. That's what I intend to do. May God bless you all.” With that, he shook hands with all the men seated behind the pulpit and walked down the long aisle and out the door.

Silence for a full minute, then Franny's dad, Sigfried Widmar, stood and took the stand. “Brothers and Sisters,” he said in his crisp German accent, “That's the good thing about free agency. We are all entitled to our own opinions and free to voice them. I pray that Brother Neil's faith will be restored and he will get over the shock of Joel's murder, just as we all have to do, and that he finds his way back to us again. Let's keep him and his family in our prayers.

“I ask each of you to keep the faith and be patient. Remember that the Lord is in control and has not forgotten us, His Church. Be alert. Watch for His hand, but also, watch for the enemy. The evil ones are out to do us harm and are waiting to pounce on us, just as they did our dear brother Joel. Be on the lookout! Satan is standing by and will do anything in his power to lure us, the Hope of Israel, away, or to harm us. So go now, on about the Lord's business, with God's truth as your armor and shield.”

Hymns were sung and prayers said, and amid tears and pleas to one another to be on the lookout for the Ervilites, the final meeting of conference was adjourned.

As I made my way home, the words of the varied men played in my mind. Verlan, adamant that he didn't have the Keys, but reassuring us that in spite of this minor setback, everything would be fine. Alma, emotional but faith-filled, awaiting the appearance of a new prophet. These attitudes I had expected. But this Brother Neil, this new guy—he had given me tons to think about . . .

His words raised so many questions! What about Joel's claim that he would be here until the Savior came? How did Verlan and the others wave this away? I personally didn't remember those exact words coming from the Prophet's mouth, but it was generally understood. No wonder Tim Neil was leaving us—in truth I was shocked that more of our church body hadn't left. Verlan's intervention and reassurances were all that was holding us together.

Brother Neil was certainly right about another thing—none of us should be leaning on the arm of flesh. I, for one, needed to continue my studies.

The long journey back to Los Molinos was a nightmare, filled with hot, wailing children and the constant smell of soiled diapers. Joel's widow, Kathy, and her three small children rode with Abel, Lillie, our two babies, and myself. As sorry as I was for Kathy, I found myself biting my tongue to keep from repeating my plea to her to contain the soiled diapers instead of leaving them on the floor under our feet. Lillie and I helped her as best we could, but we had our own babies to care for. Abel drove doggedly through the night and into the morning, ignoring the chaos around him.

Early afternoon we stopped at the Jones home in San Diego to pick up Melanie. She stared at me, her blue eyes wary with distrust. I knelt and hugged her tightly, fighting back tears as I reassured her that I wouldn't leave her again. She sniffled and turned her head away, refusing to trust me so easily. She had been dumped on strangers and forced to stay with them for days. Her three-year-old brain was aware of her mother's neglect, and forgiveness came slowly. She clung to me all the way down the Baja peninsula as I held her on my lap whenever James would let me put him down. Between the two, I was too occupied to think of what life held in store for us once we reached home.

Before leaving Colonia LeBaron, Verlan had sent for Lillie and me. He'd spent a hurried moment with each of us, telling us goodbye and letting us know he would be going on an extended missionary trip with Sigfried. For safety reasons he couldn't tell us where he would be or when he would be back. During his absence he wanted us to live together, to keep each other company and to be there for one another. He felt we'd be safer and happier that way, so I was to move into Lillie's home for the next few months.

Well, why not my home? I'd asked. Well, because Lillie's was more comfortable and nicer, and she had a washing machine and a closer well for water. Didn't I think that was a better idea? She'd already agreed and was glad to share her house. Couldn't I be just as gracious and show a bit of gratitude for her sweet hospitality?

You mean her sweet charity, I'd thought. But I'd swallowed the words and reluctantly nodded. Verlan didn't need my nasty mouth to add to his troubles. Besides, I was feeling too desolate and frightened not knowing when, or even if, I would see him again.

Upon our arrival at Los Molinos, I dutifully packed the children's clothing and necessities. I would no longer have Ivan, since Jeannine was staying on in San Diego for a while, and had kept him with her. I boxed up his few remaining things. Then we left our little house with its bare, cheerless kitchen and frugal belongings, and trudged over to Lillie's. She'd made a pallet for the kids on the living room floor. She and I would share her bedroom with the frilly lavender curtains, matching bedspread, and soft purple rugs.

With reluctant acknowledgment, living with Lillie was comforting. She was a meticulous, organized housekeeper, and I learned how to keep ahead of housework and laundry. Her special rule was—don't make a mess and you won't have to clean one up. She was also a great cook and could make a variety of dishes from our meager supplies. We did everything together—the laundry with her gasoline-powered Maytag, the cooking and cleaning. We even prayed together at night for Verlan's safety and quick return to us. Together we did the grocery shopping, attended church on Sundays, and occasionally invited Donna, Rhea, and Laura over for cards and fudge. Irene seldom joined us. She was in a world of her own and refused to let us share her private anguish.

The people of Los Molinos continued with life in a daze. Church meetings still took place every Sunday with some of the Mexican brethren presiding, but the heart and drive and joy of serving the Lord was missing and seemed out of reach. The once booming little town was hushed. Children played quietly, and the streets were desolate.

As for me, I locked my sorrow and confusion far away into the back of my mind. I couldn't bear to dwell on the Chynoweths, Lorna, Ervil, Joel, the church and what was happening. I was afraid that if I started thinking, I would lose my mind. I tried to not think of Verlan often.

As the weeks passed, Lillie missed her period. She'd become pregnant in Colonia LeBaron, on the night she'd spent there with Verlan. I didn't let her know, but I was angry. In spite of Verlan's grief over Joel's death, he'd obviously been able to make love to Lillie. He'd hardly even spared me a kiss the whole week, but Lillie had managed to pull him away from his cares long enough to get her pregnant. I enjoyed the feelings of anger. I could deal with anger better than loneliness.

The days slowly passed, with little change in our routine. One day while the children were napping I walked to my house and wandered through the dusty rooms. I'd stayed with Lillie long enough. The steady, close association was beginning to get on our nerves. I was tired of her constantly cleaning after me. If I pulled something from the cupboard and left it to sit more than a moment, she would be at my elbow, putting it away. And if I left my dirty plate on the table while I attended to my children, she was right there, scooping it up and hauling it to the sink. She had the bed made before I was hardly up, and was continually scolding Melanie for picking her roses. If this continued, I feared that our relationship would suffer. I didn't know when Verlan would return, and I decided I couldn't wait for his permission. He'd been gone for two months, and we hadn't heard a word from him. People said they'd heard he was in Illinois, visiting Nauvoo and other famous historical places where Joseph Smith had lived, but that was just a rumor. I had begun to miss him terribly, and felt awkward letting Lillie see how forlorn I was. She seemed to stay cheerful and upbeat and had accepted his lengthy absence in stride. She never complained, as I did occasionally.