Favorite Wife (48 page)

Los Molinos was burned. My house there, with its rose-colored windowsills that I'd painted so carefully, was it still standing? Well, it didn't matter. If only our people were all right. But some of them weren't; they were wounded and dead, Joel Jr. had said . . .

Who of Ervil's people had done this dastardly act? Gamaliel Rios, probably, and Andres Zarate, the young man who had led Jeannine and Kathy on the wild-goose chase in Ensenada when Joel was killed. Ervil himself wouldn't dirty his hands—and Dan was still in hiding.

Roosters were crowing. A dog yapped, and another one answered. Jeannette began to squirm and fuss, and James raised his blond head and whined that he had to pee. His nose was running, and he was shivering. We were all freezing—how long were we supposed to stay here? I took the baby from Mona's arms and shushed her. Mona helped James unzip and had him kneel in the bushes. Next to me, Melanie began to sniffle.

“Suze, how long should we wait?” Mona whispered. “We can't stay here all day, it's too cold! What should we do?”

“I don't know! I don't know,” I whispered back. Not even an hour had passed. The sun was up now, but was heading into a mass of heavy gray clouds, and at best would give little warmth. But if we went back, we could be in danger. What were the rest of the colony people doing? Everything was so silent!

“We'll hear them if they come! We should go back home; I'll keep watch!” Mona pleaded. “Besides, we can't stay here all day! We need to find out what everyone else is doing and if everyone's okay.”

She was right. I nodded and straightened my cramped body upright. Jeannette's round face was ruddy with cold, and I pulled her blanket over her head. “Okay, let's go,” I whispered. “But quietly. No talking.”

The children trotted obediently after me, with Mona and her armload of blankets acting as rear guard. We scuttled across the yard and into the house like a strange assortment of burglars. The house was chilly with no fire. I hesitated to start one for fear the smoke would broadcast our presence.

“Feed the kids, and stay inside,” I ordered Mona. “I'm going to Nadine's to find out what's going on.”

I dashed across the street and tapped on the door of Jay and Carmela's old dream house—a bigger and nicer place now—where Joel Jr. and his second wife, Nadine, lived. There was no answer. I tapped again and called out. The house remained silent. I ran up the street to Elizabeth Jensen's place. She opened the door immediately and pulled me inside.

Elizabeth, an attractive, middle-aged widow, was alone but didn't seem frightened. We would be okay, she assured me. Some of the men had gone to Casas Grandes and were bringing back the National Guard to keep watch over the colony until the threat was over. I should go home and take care of my children.

The only new details she'd heard about the raid on Los Molinos was that it had been a pickup-load of men with guns and Molotov cocktails; Babbitt's tower had burned to the ground, and the roofs of several homes had burned, and two young Mexican men had died. She didn't know their names.

Young Mexican men. The relief I felt was overwhelming—quickly followed by guilt for being so happy it wasn't women or children. None of Verlan's family was dead, if Elizabeth's information was correct. How long before we would know? And how long would Ervil and his followers keep us captive in our own homes? His lunatic doctrine was plain and simple: If we refused to be his disciples, he would kill us. And if we joined him, we would be the killers of others. How could this happen to us, the Church of God? Was this part of the test we had to endure, to earn our way into the Celestial Kingdom? I hurried back to my family, my mind a whirlwind.

Jay arrived at noon to take us to his “ranch” at Spencerville. As we left the colony, guards with khaki-colored uniforms stopped Jay's pickup, recognized him, and waved us through. Seeing rifles in their arms was scary, yet comforting to have the soldiers hovering at the colony's entrances. How long they would stay, no one knew. But I guessed not long—perhaps a few days.

The two young men who had died were new to Los Molinos, Jay told me. They had just come from Puebla, down past Mexico City, and weren't even members of the church. Ossmen Jones and brother Perez had brought them and several others to Los Molinos, promising them a better life with our people, and land of their own. They had never even known Ervil.

Thirteen others had been wounded. Among them was an old Mexican grandmother, two pregnant Mexican women, one being Victoria Zarate, the brave young wife of Benjamin Zarate—whose baby I'd tried to help Naomi Chynoweth deliver. Benjamin himself had been shot in the head and was in a coma. Two of Fernando Castro's sons were also wounded—Fernando Jr.'s hand had been severed.

The next bit of news was the worst of all. Mark, Duane, and Rena Chynoweth had been recognized among the group of Ervil's people who raided Los Molinos. They were in the back of the pickup, and threw the bombs and shot the rifles at the innocent residents of the tiny town where the Chynoweths once lived.

For two days Mona, my children, and I stayed at Carmela's. Their place was a mile from the highway and hidden by trees, and Jay was certain we would all be safe. He didn't return to the States to work, but spent every day in the colony, holding meetings with Alma and the other men. It seemed wryly weird to me that Jay was a counselor in Alma's bishopric, and his right-hand man—since Alma was the one who had objected so strongly to Jay marrying his stepdaughter, Carmela. Mean old Alma had eaten crow where Jay was concerned. Maybe my brother got along with him now, but I still couldn't tolerate him.

Dad and Maria were finally back from El Paso, and Jay took us home. The soldiers still hovered at the entrances to the colony. They were supposed to stay on guard for a month, Jay told me; then the colony men would take turns. Each family was to have a place of hiding prepared, and in the event of a warning by the guards, we were to go to our hideout and stay until further notice. Our plan wasn't foolproof, but the best the men could offer for now. Surely the authorities would catch the people who had executed the raid soon, he said.

I shuddered when I thought of my cousins going to jail. Even Rena, with her laughing eyes and smiling lips, had taken part in the raid! I wondered what Aunt Thelma thought of her precious children now? Was she proud of them, thinking they had done a service to God? Or was she sickened and desperate to get them away from Ervil's clutches? In spite of what they'd done, I loved them still. They were under Ervil's malevolent spell, and my heart ached for them. But for God's intervention through Verlan and Irene, I too, could have been doing those wicked, horrible things.

Slowly, we all in Colonia LeBaron became accustomed to our new way of life. I showed Maria and Dad our peach tree with the high bank around it, and we cached water and plastic-wrapped blankets there. Dad oiled his old 30-30 and rarely left the house. Our church meetings went on as usual, but men with rifles stood outside the doors, bundled and braving the cold winter air.

Verlan had immediately flown back from Nicaragua, arriving at Los Molinos in time for the funeral of the young men who died. I got this information from Ossmen. Verlan had called him on church business, and given him a message for me. He loved and missed me and hoped we were all well. He had lots to tell me, and he would come as soon as he could. I was to please go see his mother and give her his love.

I had news for Verlan, too, for when he found time to come see us again. As careful as I'd tried to be, the one time I'd been with him on his last, quick visit to the colony had left me with a tiny keepsake. The thoughts I'd been toying with—to become independent and live a carefree life as a single woman—were dashed away. I couldn't deny it to myself any longer. I was pregnant with my fourth child.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-
S
EVEN

A
fter several days of rain and wind, the sun had finally returned, and the chilly March morning was just warm enough that I allowed Melanie and James to bundle up and play in the yard. They'd been cooped inside long enough—we couldn't hide forever.

While washing my breakfast dishes, I watched them through the window. Melanie was squealing excitedly about something she'd found and babbling to James nonstop as they wandered around. He followed her like an adoring puppy, and looked so cute in his red coat with the hood covering his wavy, platinum blond hair. He was getting so big! He'd be three soon. Born on his late Uncle Joel's birthday, on July 9.

In the back bedroom, Jeannette had awakened. I dried my hands and threw another quick peek out the window, then hurried to her. Her sleeper was soaked—I would have to put some water on to heat. I put her in the high chair, and as I reached for the water bucket, Melanie's piercing scream electrified me.

She was always squealing about something, but this was different, and I glanced, startled, out the window. The children weren't in sight. Rushing out the door, I scanned the yard—nothing. She screamed again from the well house, and I dashed inside.

Melanie's terrified eyes met mine from where she knelt on the boards covering the well, over a hole left by an eight-inch steel pipe that Dad had removed. Her arm to the shoulder was in the hole, clutching something I couldn't see. I dropped down beside her, reached in, and grabbed James's wrist from her tiny hand. His little body swung back and forth beneath the boards under our feet, and Melanie's grasp was all that had kept him from falling into the deep well beneath us.

I tightened my hold on his wrist. I could barely see his little face looking up at me. As I tried to lift him back through the hole, his head, together with his raised arm and shoulder, wouldn't fit. How he'd fallen through such a tiny hole was a mystery, but I couldn't get him out. I was kneeling on the eight-foot boards, so I couldn't move them.

“Go get Maria!” I screamed at Melanie. She dashed out into the sunlight, sped across the back yard, tearing around the side of Mom's house. James was whining in terror, his voice echoing against the cement sides of the well. I tried to reach my other hand in to get a better hold on him, but the size of the hole wouldn't allow it. I grimly held on to his wrist, my fingers becoming slippery. How had four-year-old Melanie, who weighed almost the same as James, managed to hold on until I got here?

Oh, where was Maria? At least a minute had passed, the seconds ticking away maddeningly, as my hand became numb and my fingers so very slippery. My heart thudded with fear. If I dropped him, I'd never get him out of the water in time. The well was so deep—how would I get down by myself? “Maria!” I screamed, knowing she couldn't hear me. “Maria, help! Help!”

Suddenly she was running toward me, her thongs flapping against her bare soles. Melanie was hard at her heels. “What's a matta?” Maria shouted.

“My boy's in the well!” I screamed in Spanish. “I'm losing him—Help me!”

Maria dropped down flat beside me and slipped her arm in next to mine. She grabbed James's wrist above my hand and allowed me to flex my fingers.

“I got him,” she said. “I got him tight. Now move the boards on your side.”

“Stand back, Melly,” I ordered, pushing her to the doorway. Carefully, I pried the heavy, tarred boards from their concrete border and set them to the side. Once the opening was large enough, Maria pulled James up and thrust him into my waiting arms.

“Thank you, Lord! Oh, thank you, dear Father!” I quavered fervently. My festering anger at God dissolved in an instant. Shaking and crying, I hugged James and rocked him, and covered his soft face with kisses. Then I reached for Melanie who still waited in the doorway.

“Come here, my brave girl,” I croaked. She hesitantly walked to my outstretched arm. “You saved your brother's life, Mel,” I whispered. “You are the strongest, and the very bravest girl in the whole world, and I love you more than—than I know how to say, and I'm the luckiest mother I know to have you for my daughter. You saved your little brother.”

Tears began to stream down her pale cheeks as I talked, and she buried her face in my shoulder and sobbed and shook.

“Hey, is okay!” Maria laughed and patted Melanie's back. “Pobrecita, she so scare. When she come to get me, she not say anything! She so scare she can't talk, but I know something is wrong, so I run . . . ” She laughed again and dabbed at her eyes. “Everything is okay now. You boy is fine, so don't cry no more, be happy!”

I kissed her brown cheek and hugged her. “Thank you, my sweet little Mother,” I smiled at her through my tears.

Naomi Zarate Chynoweth, my Uncle Bud's Mexican wife, had disappeared. The Ensenada police were still looking for her, Verlan told me. But she'd been gone for over three months now from her house in Ensenada, where Uncle Bud had moved her and her five children. According to Naomi's children, Aunt Thelma and one of Ervil's wives, a woman I barely knew named Vonda White, had taken Naomi from her home. She hadn't been seen since, and Verlan was certain she was dead. “She wouldn't go along with Ervil's orders, she kept inviting her family and other members of our church to her house. I'm guessing Ervil's had her eliminated.”

I felt sick to my stomach at the news, especially hearing that Aunt Thelma had taken part in it. Oh, how could she do it? She had become a party to murder! Ervil had corrupted her and all her children, had brainwashed them, and was using them as pawns and puppets in his evil game of blood atonement. I remembered Naomi's strength and fire while delivering Victoria Zarate's baby, and her flashing black eyes at her wedding to Uncle Bud, and how she had stood up to Ervil. I had admired her spirit and thought she was so brave. But she had probably paid for her defiance with her life. She was a heroine in my eyes.

Ervil had continued his ominous written warnings, giving them colorful names such as Hour of Crisis and Contest at Law, and now he was not only sending them to us, but to other fundamentalist, polygamous groups in Utah. In a nutshell, we were all told to repent, and accept him as God's chosen one, or suffer the wrath of God. The groups in Utah were also taking his maniacal warnings seriously, Verlan told me, and had tightened security. Anxiety mounted on all sides.

After the Los Molinos raid, Verlan and his counselors decided to send a written petition to Ervil for peace. It was titled “The Church of the Firstborn of the Fullness of Times Raises a Standard of Peace to Its Attackers.” The single-page document pled for Ervil and his followers to “Restrain themselves from any further acts of violence against our people.” It asked them “To respect our God-given rights to life, property, and the free exercise of conscience and no more proceed criminally against us in treading down our inalienable civil rights,” signed, Verlan M. LeBaron, patriarch over the church.

Ervil responded with another written attack, labeled “Response to an act of war.” The pamphlet, from the Church of the Lamb of God—the name Ervil had given his group—was addressed to its “attackers,” meaning us, the Church of the Firstborn. Ervil classified Verlan's appeal for peace as “an overt and premeditated act of war.” The pamphlet accused Verlan and his “coconspirators” of capital crimes. Ervil obviously had convinced his followers that we were dangerous criminals and out to get them; but, did the demented lunatic actually think anyone else would believe this?

I had read each of Ervil's pamphlets. They were so disturbing and hard to follow, filled as they were with hundred-dollar words—the same way Ervil talked. The man was an educated loony, as evil as Satan himself. After muddling through “Response to an Act of War,” I determined I would read no more of his high-sounding garbage. I would pray, and be careful of my children, and refuse to let him or his threats dwell in my mind.

The problem I had was that everyone in the colony talked of little else. Verlan had come to visit us twice since we moved to Colonia LeBaron, and he was consumed with worries about his mad brother. He was determined to see that Ervil, Dan, and the others were put behind bars for the atrocities they'd committed, and he was working with the authorities in Ensenada, and with the Secret Service in the States, to apprehend them all before anyone else was killed. At the same time, Verlan knew that he himself topped Ervil's hit list, so he had to be constantly vigilant. He actually was packing a pistol at the insistence of the police. He knew nothing whatever about guns, and one night as I lay in bed, waiting for him to undress and blow the lamp out, he shot a hole into the plastered adobe wall when he checked to see if the safety was on. His carelessness scared us all to death. He swore me to secrecy.

With all the Ervilite business, Verlan's Nicaragua project was on hold. He had Irene and Lucy and their kids living there, but he was too occupied to spend any time there himself. I wasn't surprised.

My baby was due in a month, and Verlan let me know that he wouldn't be able to get back to the colony in time for the birth. He was needed in so many places, and I would have to understand. I would be fine, he assured me, and he would come as soon as he could.

My mother had settled into living with Grandma in Pleasant Grove, Utah. Dad went to see her occasionally, and she'd been here for a short visit a few months ago. Mona and I missed her terribly, but when Dad announced that he had decided to move Maria and their family to southern Mexico—and without further ado proceeded to pack up and drive off, our sense of abandonment was complete. I knew my parents had become disillusioned with the church. Especially Dad—he rarely attended the services anymore, had started smoking again, and was openly showing disgust with most of our leaders, Verlan included. Joel's death had hit him hard, and Ervil's “shenanigans,” as Dad called them, left him incensed. That his own dear sister Thelma and her family had become Ervil's champions was more than he could take. Dad felt responsible because he had been the one initially to coax the Chynoweths into listening to our missionaries. He, personally, had taken Ervil to their home in Utah and made the introductions. Ervil's first visit to the Chynoweth home had resulted in his courtship of their seventeen-year-old daughter, Lorna.

And now, Dad needed space. His Social Security checks would nicely cover their needs in southern Mexico, and it was a beautiful place to live. They would give it a try.

At Dad's insistence, we moved into my mother's larger home. There wasn't much to move, as Dad and Maria hadn't had room to take household goods. But the place needed a good cleaning, and Mona wasn't much help these days. She was in her final year at school, and she was head over heels in love with Joel LeBaron Jr. Her life was full, and she could spare little time.

I rushed madly around in an effort to be settled and have everything organized before the baby came. My sister Rose Ann offered to help the colony midwife with the birth. Mona also wanted to attend since she hadn't seen a baby's birth. I searched the countryside for a work-girl to help me for a few days after the baby came, and finally located one who was available. Breathing a sigh of relief, I relaxed, content to patiently await my due date. Everything was set.

My labor started in the early evening, and I sent Mona for the midwife Linda, and for Rose Ann. Then I had Mona go inform the work-girl that I would need her the following morning. Not until after my new son was born did Mona tell me the work-girl's mother was sick. She wouldn't be coming after all.

“You'll be okay,” Rose Ann cheerfully assured me. “You have Mona here, and I'll try to stop by sometime tomorrow. Just get some rest.”

The baby was healthy and beautiful. He possessed a powerful set of lungs and the deep chest and broad shoulders of a future linebacker. His appetite was enormous—he nursed hungrily the moment Rose Ann put him to my breast.