Mother Before Wife (The Compound #2) (12 page)

I grimaced at his lewd vocabulary. Part of me wanted to run from his office before he could utter another syllable. But then I remembered Ruthie.

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

“My name is Aspen Black, and I’m a friend of Porter Hammond. He said you could help me.”

“Ah, Porter.” He nodded, pursing his lips. “Good man. I assume you know his wife, since she was a . . . uh . . .”

“A polygamist?” I asked, unashamed. I was proud of our way of life, of the choices I’d made to remain true to my faith.

He narrowed his eyes before leaning back in his leather chair. “Yeah, that. I wasn’t sure what term you folks preferred these days. Didn’t want to get my head bitten off.”

“Detective, it’s no secret that I’m a member of the FLDS. We don’t need to dance around that topic.”

“Very well.” He nodded, balancing a pencil between his fingertips as he gazed curiously at me. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I need help, but I’m not sure how to begin. You see, my children—”

“Ah, I see. You know, I don’t think I’m your guy.” He rose from his seat and walked to the door.

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t know how to get you out of there, but I’m sure there are plenty of people who can.”

“But I—”

“You don’t have to be afraid.” He opened the door. “There’s a whole underground railroad thing happening. I just read an article a few weeks ago—”

“Underground
what
?”

“Railroad. You know, like in the Civil War . . . with the slaves.”

He tipped his head forward, urging me to understand the reference, but I didn’t. I stood staring at him blankly. I had no idea what he was talking about.

“Oh, I forgot.” He snickered. “You people don’t read.”

Irritation crashed through me and I stood up straighter, crossing my arms in defiance. “Excuse me, but I read just fine, thank you very much. I just don’t know much about railroads.”

A wicked grin crossed his face as he stroked his chin with his fingertips. He closed the door and walked back to his seat, still smiling. He looked mischievous, like Jeremiah when he stole a cookie from the pantry.

Finally, he spoke. “You’re not like the others, are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you look like them, of course, like you stumbled off the set of
Little House on the Prairie
. But they’re timid, shy, soft-spoken. And you, you have
cojones
. I like it.”

“I don’t know that word.”

Was he even speaking English? Little house on a prairie? Our house was large, and there were no prairies in our part of the state. What on earth was this man talking about?

“That’s probably for the best.” He winked. “It’s not very . . . holy, if you know what I mean.”

His attitude infuriated me. This meeting was not going at all like I’d hoped, and I didn’t have time for such nonsense. I could feel my cheeks growing hot in annoyance.

“I can see you’re having fun at my expense, Detective Cooke, but can you please just listen for one minute? I don’t have a lot of time; they think I’m at the pharmacy.”

“Fine, fine.” He laughed, plopping himself back into his chair and raising his feet to rest on the corner of his desk. “Sorry, yes. Please tell me why you’re here.”

“It’s the Prophet. I think he’s up to no good.”

“The Prophet?” he repeated with one eyebrow raised. “The head honcho?”

“The man in charge, yes,” I said, feeling like Detective Cooke and I were speaking different languages. His slang was causing my mind to race, and I yearned for the familiarity and safety of my home. I wanted to be
understood.
“I saw him leading men into the temple. Men who didn’t belong.”

“And that’s bad, I assume?” Another sly smile crossed his rugged face, and he scratched the scruff on his cheek.

“Detective, please, can we stop the games? I need help, and if you can’t be the one to give it, please direct me to someone who will take me seriously.”

“Okay.” He lowered his feet to the floor and sat up straight in his chair. “Sorry. I’m listening.”

I paused, raising both eyebrows.

“Seriously.” He nodded. “You have my undivided attention. Tell me what’s going on.”

“All right.” I cleared my throat. “In our faith, only the chosen may enter the temple. These men, they weren’t one of us. They were outsiders, like you.”

“How old is the temple?”

“It’s still being built.”

His forehead relaxed. “Well, there ya go. They’re probably architects, contractors. He sought them out for their expertise.”

“No, we have men who can do all of that on the compound. We don’t need outsiders.”

“Well . . .” He shrugged. “Maybe he wanted someone with a degree, someone with a proper education. You folks like big temples, right? It takes major planning for that.”

“We built the first temple ourselves. There’s no reason to think we needed assistance with this one. And besides, he looked at me, he
saw
me . . . and then he threatened me. Well, he threatened my children, which is so much worse. He’s hiding something; I know it.”

“All right.” Detective Cooke paused and retrieved a notepad from his desk drawer, slapping it to the top of his desk and readjusting his glasses.

I’d finally done it. I’d gotten his attention. He was prepared to take me seriously.

“So, what else? What can you tell me? When was this?”

“Several weeks ago. It was nighttime.”

“Was anyone else with you?”

“No, just my dog.”

“How many men?”

“Five.”

He scribbled on the notepad. “Did you get a good look at them? What did they look like?”

“I only saw the back of their heads, most of them. But there’s one I’d seen before. His face is flat like a frying pan, and his skin, it’s leathery and worn, deep in color.”

“I see.” He licked his lips. “Is that it?”

“He said something about a product.”

“Interesting.” He shrugged, tapping the table with the tips of his fingers. “Could be drugs.”

“Perhaps.”

“Wouldn’t that be a trip? The Prophet of a fundamentalist group dealing? Sounds like a made-for-TV movie.”

He chuckled, and his laughter made my head spin with anger. He wasn’t taking me seriously, and I snapped.

“You don’t understand! The Prophet . . . he must be doing something very wrong. After I saw him, he threatened my two-year-old boy. And then he announced that he’s going to marry my daughter.”

“With all due respect, isn’t that par for the course? I mean, isn’t it common? Grown men marrying young girls?” He looked genuinely confused, unlike earlier in our conversation, so I tried not to take offense at his inaccurate assumption.

“Sixteen, yes. Seventeen, of course. But my Ruthie, she’s eleven.” I paused, needing to get my point across. He had to understand how serious this was. “E-lev-en.”

“Oh.” He nodded, pressing his lips into a thin line as his expression softened. “That
is
young. Too young.”

“Yes.” I willed my tears to disappear. I couldn’t lose face in front of the detective. “Will you help me?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Yeah, I’d like to. But I need to know where we’re headed with this, Aspen. What are you hoping to achieve? To save your daughter from marrying him?”

“Yes, of course. You said yourself, she’s too young—” I was confused.

“She is, but I mean, this is the Prophet we’re talking about. He’s in charge of
all
of you. You have to know that if you go up against the Prophet, and you lose, that won’t bode well for you or your little girl. This could backfire in a very big way.”

“I won’t let that happen. I’ll be careful.”

He didn’t seem convinced. “Look, I want to help you, I do. But I need more information. What you’ve told me isn’t enough to do . . . well, to do anything, really. I need more.”

“Like what? I’ll do anything.”

“Can you get inside the temple?”

“I can try.”

“Okay then, let’s start there. Get inside the temple, see what you can find, and then report back. If there’s drugs, don’t touch them. Leave them there. I can’t bust him for dealing if you walk in here carrying a purse full of smack.”

“Smack?”

He shook his head, waving me off. “Never mind. Just . . . see what you can find out, and come see me. Here—” He dug into his pocket and retrieved a small card. “This has all my information on it, my cell number and stuff. Call me if you can’t get to the station, okay? I’m assuming your husband doesn’t know you’re here.”

“That’s right.”

“Okay, so we’ll just have to be extra careful. Wait, do you have a phone? Sorry, I just assumed—”

“Yes.” I tapped my purse and offered a polite smile. “I have a cell phone.”

“Nice.” He hopped to his feet. “Then we’ll take it from there.”

I rose to my feet, extending my hand. “Thank you, Detective.”

“Call me Jonathan. I mean, if you’re comfortable.” His attitude had changed from mischievous to accommodating, and I was grateful for the switch.

“Somehow, I think I’ll manage.” I smirked, wanting him to know I was comfortable, that I would try to trust him.

He laughed at my quip and ran his fingers through his hair. “Touché. And I’ll do my best to help you, Little House.”

“Little House?”

“It’s a nickname. No disrespect, I promise.”

“Hmm,” I said, trying to hide my smile.

He laughed under his breath. “Trust me.”

I shrugged, feeling my eyes get teary with relief. “I’ll try.”

Trusting a Gentile wouldn’t be easy, but it was the only chance I had to save my girl. And for Ruthie, I would put my faith in Detective Cooke, no matter what he called me. I’d tolerate the jokes, the superior attitude, and the underlying judgment of my faith.

I’d tolerate it all if he could help me make sense of everything in time. Ruthie’s twelfth birthday was only months away. The clock was ticking.

He said he needed more information, and it was time for me to get it.

Paul

Paul sat forlorn on the edge of Aspen’s bed, staring at the striped wallpaper. In each of his clutched hands was a full bottle of cola syrup. After Aspen had left that morning, he’d attempted to go back to his study to gather his things and leave for work. But a little voice in his head told him to check her bathroom. And so he did, and when he found those bottles in a matter of seconds, his heart fell to the floor.

Aspen had lied.

As challenging as their relationship had been over the past years, Paul had never thought Aspen was one to tell untruths. Why would she fabricate such a trivial thing as the need for cola syrup?

Paul believed in running a relaxed household, one in which his wives were given a generous amount of freedom. They were allowed to work in the community, when many husbands demanded their wives stay within the confines of the home. He encouraged all of his wives to maintain communication with their parents and family, even going to the lengths of purchasing cell phones for every wife to use as they saw fit.

He didn’t restrict trips to the pharmacy or grocery store. So, why would Aspen lie about her trip to the pharmacy? Certainly, she knew he would never restrict such an errand.

Why did you lie to me?

Paul’s feelings for Aspen were unlike those he’d experienced with any of his wives. Heck, if he was going to travel down this path of thought, he might as well admit that he’d never felt this way for
anyone at all. Even though she was unaware of it, Paul had been enamored of Aspen for over a decade. She was very much the object of his affection years before they ever said their vows. Eleven years, to be exact.

Eleven years prior, Paul had been a happily married man. At that point, he had just five wives. Five women who loved and adored him, each providing him with healthy, happy children. But he wanted more. He wanted her . . .

• • •

Aspen was young when he’d first seen her, probably fourteen or fifteen years old. She was unmarried, but outspoken about her desire to become the wife of a truly devout man. Paul had respected that, but it wasn’t the reason for his attraction. No, the attraction lay in the swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips, and the lingering storm of her blue eyes. She was the most beautiful thing Paul had ever seen.

She was chosen to recite scripture at congregation, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. The way she spoke with such conviction, the confidence in her voice, everything about her was alluring to Paul, and he found himself ensnared by her beauty. During the picnic following the service, he watched her from afar as she laughed with friends, nibbled on her lunch, and shied away from the watchful eyes of the boys who sniffed around her and her friends.

Paul felt a growl within his chest as he watched them circle her like prey. And right then, he knew she must be his wife.

That afternoon he paid a visit to his brother, the Prophet, set to request that Aspen be assigned as his sixth wife. However, Clarence’s reaction was not something he could have predicted.

“Beautiful girl, isn’t she?” Clarence asked, not looking up from the papers on his large mahogany desk.

“Yes,” Paul answered honestly.

“You’ve been blessed with more than one beautiful wife already, brother.” Clarence removed his reading glasses and tossed them to the desk, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“I can’t argue with that,” Paul said softly, feeling a knot form in his stomach.

“So, what is it? What’s so special about this girl? In my opinion, she’s just like all the rest. Nothing special whatsoever.”

“I can’t explain it. I just
know
she is to be mine.”

“Not necessarily.” Clarence gritted his teeth. “
You
do not make the decisions here, brother. I do. And the Lord is leading me in another direction.”

“To someone else?” Paul’s mouth felt dry. It was difficult to swallow.

“Yes, there are dozens of men worthy of receiving a new wife. And she’s ready.”

“Please, Clarence, I’m begging you.”

His brother tilted his head to the side. “Why?”

“I told you, I . . . I can’t explain it. I just want her.”

“I’m afraid that’s not good enough.” Clarence licked his lips, narrowing his eyes at Paul. “Have you engaged in sin with this girl?”

Paul’s eyes widened in shock. “Of course not!”

“Because that would be a sin worthy of expulsion from our blessed community. A married man fornicating with a young, innocent girl—”

“Clarence, I swear to you, I’ve never even spoken a word to her.”

“Then what? Yes, she’s beautiful, but you seem desperate, dear brother. That tells me there’s more to the story.”

Paul closed his eyes and shook his head with vigor. “I promise you with all that I am, I have never sinned with her. I saw her speak today and I was moved. I felt a connection that was foreign to me. Yes, I have five wives, and I’m grateful for each of them, but I want to feel that connection again. I want the opportunity to grow spiritually with this girl. And marriage is the only way to do that.”

“You are aware that greed is a sin. One of the seven
deadly
sins.”

“Greed? I don’t understand.”

Clarence walked around the desk, perching on the corner and crossing his arms boldly in front of his shallow chest. “There are barely enough women to go around, and you’ve been lucky to receive five capable and healthy women. Why are you not satisfied? Do you know how many men in our community are desperate for a third? If I assign her to you, you could be the sole reason another man doesn’t enter the gates of heaven.”

Paul surprised himself with his answer. “I don’t care.”

It wasn’t true. Of course, he didn’t want other men not to enter heaven. But in that very moment, the only thing that mattered was Aspen.

“Well, I do.” Clarence returned to his seat. “Aspen will be given to another.”

Paul hung his head, leaning his elbows against his knees as he sat in the cold, wooden chair. He was defeated, but attempted to remain unfazed by his brother’s dismissal. He’d grown used to Clarence’s lack of empathy. Paul could only hope that Aspen would become the third wife of a young man in the community, one worthy of her love and servitude.

Weeks later, when Aspen had married Lehi Cluff, Paul was filled with rage. For all of his talk and concern about the men in the compound who required a third wife to enter heaven, Clarence had awarded Aspen to Lehi Cluff, a man with five wives already, just like himself. He wanted to kill his brother, wanted to tear him limb from limb. He began to have nightmares, scaring his first wife, Flora.

“You were talking in your sleep,” she’d say. “Who’s Aspen?”

Paul didn’t want to offend his wife, and so he remembered his study of geography when he was a boy. “It’s a city in Colorado.”

“And you were dreaming of it?” she asked, looking skeptical.

“Strange, isn’t it? I was there on a job site years ago. Must have crept into my brain.”

Flora seemed doubtful, but after he dismissed the matter, rolling over in bed and attempting to return to his slumber, he knew she had followed suit. Paul vowed right then and there to let Aspen go, to allow her happiness with Lehi Cluff, and to focus on the five wives who loved and served him daily.

Years later, however, when Aspen requested a reassignment, Clarence had paid him a visit and awarded him with Aspen’s hand in marriage. He was elated. After all, he’d always known they belonged together, even after all the years had passed. She was his fourteenth wife, rather than his sixth, but that didn’t matter. His attraction was undeterred. In fact, he wanted her more than ever.

Their three years of marriage were tumultuous, fueled by lust in the beginning and bolstered by faith as time continued. But he’d let her down. She came to him, desperate for his support. But as much as he loved Aspen, as much as he cared for her and still lusted for her sensuous curves and haunting smile, he would never question his brother’s word again.

His foolish devotion had sent him barreling into Clarence’s office the night everyone had gathered in the field, waiting to be called to heaven. Aspen had seen a man, a man who’d frightened her, and Paul resolved to ease her fears by speaking with his brother. But again, the conversation with his brother did not go as expected.

“Once again, this woman has you desperate. Do you realize how silly you seem, brother?”

“Say what you will, but she’s my wife. I need to protect her. She’s frightened, Clarence.”

“She should be.”

Paul was startled by that statement. “What does
that
mean?”

“It means that we should all live in fear, fear of Heavenly Father and his wrath. You and I both know it’s real and it’s coming. Perhaps not today, tomorrow, or even next year. But it will come.”

“Specifically, though, this man . . . she said he didn’t belong. Perhaps he was an outsider spying on us, looking to hurt our women, or worse, take them away from us. You’ve said yourself that Gentiles aren’t to be trusted.”

“I’m sure he was no Gentile. No one, other than myself, is aware of every single citizen of our community. Just because your beloved wife did not recognize one person this evening, doesn’t mean he doesn’t belong.”

“So, you won’t pursue this? You won’t maintain that our community is safe?”

“Heavenly Father has assured me that we are quite safe indeed.”

“Clarence, please—”

His brother sneered at him, his eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. “Do you
dare
question what the Lord has said to me? To my loyalty to our people?”

“No, of course not.”

“Leave my office. And starting tomorrow, you’ll be removed from your duties as foreman of the temple.”

Paul couldn’t believe his ears. How had this conversation escalated so quickly?

“What?”

“You heard me. Now go.”

“Clarence, I meant no disrespect.”

His brother’s nostrils flared and his cheeks turned red as he slammed his hand onto the desk. “You shall call me
Prophet
. And heed my words, brother. Your job is only the tip of the iceberg. If you continue down this path, you will find yourself alone, standing on the outskirts of our community without a penny to your name. No wives, no children.
Nothing
.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Indeed.” Clarence had nodded slowly. “Have I made myself clear?”

“Crystal clear, sir,” Paul had said, his mouth agape as tears of anger and shame burned his eyes. “I’ll see myself out.”

• • •

Paul had left that night, knowing he could never again oppose the Prophet, and he had to do everything within his power to quell Aspen’s rebellious nature. But he was failing. Unlike his other wives, she had a mind of her own and was not easily swayed, which was originally part of his attraction to her. But now . . . well, now he was trapped. Now he was fighting to keep his family intact.

He looked down at the bottles of cola syrup in his hands and searched his brain for a reason for her lies, but came up short. The truth was, he had no idea what she was up to. But he knew that in order to preserve his standing with the Prophet, he would have to find out . . . and soon.

Slowly, he returned to the bathroom and placed the bottles exactly where he’d found them. With a sigh, he retreated to his study, stopping only to ask Pennie to join him for a short discussion. If anyone in the house knew of Aspen’s true whereabouts, it would be Pennie. Paul hated himself for using one wife to gain information on another. It was common amongst the men in their lifestyle to do so, but he’d always strived to treat his wives with the utmost respect.

However, desperate times called for desperate measures, and the normal rules no longer applied.