Mother Before Wife (The Compound #2)

by Melissa Brown

  “Can I speak with you, Aspen?” Pennie asked after I’d walked away from Flora’s rotation calendar.

  “Of course.” I nodded. “Walk with me, won’t you? I’m on laundry duty, and I’m falling behind already.”

  “I’ll help. We’ll do it together.”

  Pennie and I walked down the hall to retrieve two large laundry baskets. We took turns gathering worn and stained garments from the children’s bedrooms.

  “I saw it . . . the calendar.”

  I pursed my lips and shook my head. “You always do.”

  As soon as the snide remark left my lips, a smidgen of guilt burned through me. Pennie was my only friend, and her concern was genuine.

  But I couldn’t help it. The distance between Paul and me was private, and I wasn’t quite ready to discuss it. Even with her. Pennie was a loyal friend, but at times she overwhelmed me with her presence. She inserted herself into my business, and even though I assumed she was just trying to be supportive and friendly, I was used to handling things on my own. I didn’t need someone to hold my hand.

  Pennie looked down at her feet. “I’m sorry. I know I can be intrusive.”

  “Some things are just private, Pennie. That’s all.” I shrugged. “Paul and I are going through a rough patch. Everyone does.”

  She was silent.

  With a raised eyebrow, I turned to lock eyes with my sister wife. “Haven’t you?”

  Pennie looked back down at her toes and shook her head slowly back and forth.

  I cocked my head to the side and placed my free hand on my hip. “Are you seriously telling me that your marriage to Paul has been peaches and cream for . . . how many years have you been married?”

  “Fifteen,” she answered, staring at the cotton dresses in her arms.

  “And you’ve never had conflict?”

  She shrugged. “Not really. We . . . we’ve always gotten along; we’re friends. He’s a good man, and I’m grateful for that.”

  “Oh.” I licked my lips, taken aback by that. “Do you think I’m ungrateful?”

  Pennie sighed and swallowed hard. “No, not at all, I just . . . I was raised in a different type of household. My father beat us on the regular, and I don’t mean spankings. He broke my arm half a dozen times, throwing me into the wall. Marrying Paul was . . .”

  “A relief?” I asked, feeling my defensiveness subside.

  Corporal punishment was an acceptable practice in our faith. In fact, it was, in my opinion, a healthy part of child-rearing. Spare the rod, spoil the child was a mantra repeated often during congregation and in study of the Prophet’s words. However, some parents weren’t satisfied with simple swats on the behind, and it wasn’t unheard of to see some little boys with swollen eyes, puffed a deep shade of violet, and girls who were unable to sit down from the lashings given to them by their mother. Clearly, Pennie had been one of those children.

  I placed my hand on her wrist and when she flinched at my touch, I pulled back. “Sorry. I just . . . I’m sorry about that. About your father.”

  She nodded, her cheeks turning a deep shade of scarlet. “No, no, I’m sorry. I should be more supportive of your troubles with Paul. And I should stop interfering.”

  “Don’t be silly.” I reached for a few more dresses, placing them on my towering stack. I couldn’t make any more enemies in the house. I had to be smart. “There’s nothing wrong with being observant. I was defensive and I’m sorry. You’re just about the only friend I’ve got here, even after three years of living with this family. Can you forgive me?”

  “Of course.” The creases in Pennie’s forehead smoothed out and her face appeared to relax. “I’m always here for you, Aspen, no matter what.”

  “Listen,” I said, placing my basket on the floor and reaching for hers. “I’m going to get the wash done and I’ll check in with you later, all right?”

  “Do you need anything else?”

  She seemed eager to continue our conversation, but I needed my solitude once again. I had to gather my thoughts.

  “No, I’ve kept you from your own responsibilities long enough. Thanks for your help.”

  She nodded and a polite smile crossed her face, but that smile didn’t reach her brown eyes. There was something she wasn’t telling me, but I couldn’t take the time to think about Pennie. My thoughts were occupied with protecting my children. I was at my wit’s end trying to figure out what I could do to keep them from harm.

  You have to leave. It’s the only way.

  That nagging voice inside me refused to silence itself, and it angered me. I had no intention of leaving our community, of abandoning everything I stood for and a way of life I believed in because of one man’s abuse of power. He wasn’t the first Prophet, and he certainly wouldn’t be the last.

  I’m not leaving, I told that voice. There’s got to be another way to protect my babies without abandoning my faith, my beliefs, and everything I hold dear. I have to find another way; I just have to.

  And then, like an answer sent to me from Heavenly Father himself, my phone chimed from my pocket.

  A text from Brinley.

  Since Jordan’s wedding, I’d transferred her information to my new phone from Paul, and we’d exchanged the occasional pleasantries. But as I read her simple message, something clicked within my brain.

  Call her. She can help you, all of you.

  I didn’t know exactly how my former sister wife could prevent the Prophet from marrying my little girl, but I couldn’t ignore that voice in my head. I had to try.

  And so, as I busied myself for hours in the laundry room, washing, sorting, and ironing clothes for dozens of Paul’s children, I planned my conversation with Brinley—what I would say and how I would say it. I had to be careful, cautious. I practiced my delivery with each stroke of the iron, and the washing machines thumped in a rapid rhythm that matched the pounding of my heart.

  Anticipation was my adrenaline.

  Finally, the last load of laundry was clean, dry, ironed, and delivered to the appropriate bedroom. With a deep breath, I sneaked past the common area, hoping Jeremiah, who was under the watchful eye of Pennie’s oldest daughter, wouldn’t see me. I couldn’t resist his smiles and calls for his mama.

  I let my breath go, knowing I’d safely traversed the home with my little ones none the wiser. Checking quickly, I ensured that the bedrooms surrounding mine were all empty; my sister wives still busy with their daily chores.

  Now is the time. Here’s your opportunity, Aspen. Make that call.

  After closing the door and locking it behind me, I retrieved my phone from my pocket, took another deep breath, and made the call I’d been planning for hours.

  Chapter 13

  Brinley

  Brinley Hammond was exhausted, having been up since five that morning. She and her husband, Porter, were on a new health kick, waking up early to run. This morning they’d powered through four miles before heading back home. They were training for a half marathon later in the year, and with each morning run, her confidence was improving, and she surprised herself with her endurance.

  I guess life is just full of surprises.

  Almost daily, the normal everyday occurrences of her life would bring her mentally back to the compound, even if just for a moment. Running or any other form of exercise was frowned upon for women. They were expected to use all of their energy to work—cooking, cleaning, and child-rearing was the expectation. Focusing on one’s own personal health was frowned upon as it was time taken for selfish purposes.

  Brinley shuddered at the thought—her run that morning, the cup of chai tea she’d balanced in one hand as she’d turned the key of her home with the other, the hair appointment she’d scheduled for the following day, and even her job as a teaching assistant—all of those things were considered sinful on the compound. And it was in those moments of reflection that she realized just how far she’d come in her new life with Porter. Her husband, Porter. The man she’d chosen.

&nb
sp; She couldn’t imagine going back to a life where her choices were irrelevant, where her desires, her dreams, her fears meant nothing at all. As the months and years passed, she was grateful that her time on the compound was becoming more of a distant memory than an open wound. She was opening herself up to new experiences and ideas, although as hard as Porter pushed, Brinley ignored his suggestions they go skydiving and bungee jumping. He’d tease her incessantly when she insisted that thrill seeking simply wasn’t for her.

  “Are you kidding?” he’d say. “What do you call sneaking out of a compound to see me? You’re the ultimate thrill seeker, Brin. You’re just too modest to see it.”

  Brinley would simply roll her eyes and push him gently on the arm. Deep inside, however, she knew he had a point. When she thought back to the risks she’d taken, the danger she’d endured to be with Porter, she was shocked at her own fortitude and gall. Maybe she was a thrill seeker after all. But considering she hadn’t yet flown on an airplane, she preferred to keep her feet on the ground, thank you very much.

  When she entered their kitchen, Porter looked up from a sink full of dishes to greet her. His blue eyes were bright, and his blond hair was getting a little long. Perhaps she could convince him to join her at the salon for a trim. Knowing Porter, however, he’d prefer to see his barber.

  “Hey, babe. Have a good day?”

  Brinley entered the kitchen and placed her things on the counter before offering him a kiss. She smiled, taking in the sight of him—yellow kitchen gloves covering his hands, soapy bubbles splashing onto the Formica.

  So many memories.

  When Brinley had first entered Porter’s apartment back in Colorado City, this was exactly how she’d found him—hands submerged in soapy bubbles. It amazed her just how far they’d come, and how lucky she was to have a husband who didn’t mind washing dishes. Her assigned husband, Lehi Cluff, would never have dreamed of washing a dish. In fact, he probably wouldn’t know how to do it if he tried.

  Brinley shook her head and took a sip of her tea. “Good. Exhausting. And you?”

  “It was slow. Just drywall at the community center; they sent us home after that. So I thought I’d catch up on some stuff.”

  A whiff of oregano drifted past Brinley. “Are you cooking?”

  He nodded, pulling the plug on the sink before removing the gloves from his hands. “Chicken parm.”

  “Mmm, my favorite.”

  Ever since she’d moved in with him years ago, Porter had expressed interest in learning to cook. Even though it felt odd to teach a man to cook, over time Brinley was happy to share her knowledge in the kitchen with him. He was a natural, and after several months, she’d adjusted to Porter’s desire to share in the role of cooking. After draining days like the one she’d had that day, she was ever so grateful to be surprised with a home-cooked meal.

  Brinley walked to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He followed her lead and pulled her in by the waist.

  “You’re so good to me,” she said.

  “I try.”

  He smirked before pressing his lips to her neck and tickling her skin with his tongue. She squirmed at his touch but clutched his neck harder, urging him on as she took in his scent. She always loved the way he smelled after a day at work. She could smell the sunshine on his skin.

  Their moment was interrupted by her cell phone, which rang from her purse.

  “Ignore it,” Porter murmured as he moved to the other side of her neck and resumed his kisses.

  But then she remembered. This wasn’t the first phone call she’d ignored since leaving the elementary school. Someone had tried to reach her while she was driving, and again when she was walking up to the house, balancing her school items and hot cup of tea. She’d assumed it was Porter, since aside from her cousin Tiffany, she didn’t receive many calls on her cell.

  “This is the third call. I should see who it is.”

  Reluctantly, she pulled away from Porter and retrieved her phone from the purse. Her breath caught as she read the name on the screen. Aspen.

  “I have to take this,” she said, taking Porter’s hand in hers as she pressed the green button to accept the call.

  “Brinley? Is that you?” Aspen’s voice was panicked, not controlled and self-assured as it usually was.

  “Aspen? Is everyone all right? Are the children okay?”

  There was a pause. A long one.

  Aspen’s voice cracked when she finally spoke, her voice rushed. “No, we’re not okay. We’re in trouble, Brinley. And I have no idea what to do.”

  Brinley’s heart raced as she felt herself being pulled back to the compound she’d fought so hard to leave behind. But for Aspen she’d go back. She’d go back in a heartbeat.

  “Okay, slow down. Tell me what’s going on.”

  Aspen’s voice lowered to a harsh whisper. “I don’t have much time to talk. No one can know I’m calling you.”

  “That’s fine, but tell me—tell me what’s happening.”

  “He wants her, Brinley. The Prophet wants to take my baby.”

  Brinley’s heart climbed into her chest and she squeezed Porter’s hand. “What do you mean?”

  She asked the question, but she already knew. The Prophet wanted to marry Aspen’s oldest daughter, Ruthie. She couldn’t have been older than twelve.

  “He claims that Heavenly Father revealed it. She’s to be his wife when she turns thirteen.”

  The cynicism in Aspen’s voice gave Brinley pause. Her former sister wife was one of the most devout women she’d ever known. To hear her doubt the Prophet was shocking.

  “And you don’t believe it?”

  Aspen paused before sighing into the phone. “No, I don’t. I can’t believe I’m saying the words, but no—he’s sending me a message. He’s trying to keep me silent.”

  Brinley released Porter’s hand and walked to their couch to sit down, puzzled by Aspen’s cryptic statement, feeling a familiar trepidation whenever the Prophet was mentioned.

  He can’t hurt you now, Brinley. You’re free. But Aspen wasn’t, and neither were her children.

  “Keep you silent? About what?”

  “I saw him,” she whispered. “He was leading Gentiles into the new temple. I saw him and he saw me, and then he threatened my Jeremiah.”

  Brinley covered her mouth with her hand. Even though she was now considered an apostate, a true enemy of the faith, even she knew that the Prophet had committed one of the most heinous sins one could commit in their faith. Only the chosen could and should enter the temple.

  “Threatened him how?”

  “To make him disappear.”

  Brinley gasped, then swallowed hard against the bile that rose in her throat. She wasn’t a mother, not yet. She and Porter had recently started a discussion of what if—what if we stopped preventing pregnancy? What if we decided to be parents?

  And even though they were just discussions, Brinley found herself being oddly protective of her imaginary babies, her possible future babies. She couldn’t imagine having the life of a child threatened, especially by a man with unlimited resources and power. If the Prophet wanted your child harmed, it would be so. Brinley knew it, and she was certain Aspen did too. She could only hope that Aspen had support from her new husband.

  “And your husband? Have you told him?”

  “Yes.” Her voice cracked again, telling Brinley that Aspen was crying. “Paul doesn’t believe me. He thinks I’m lying, that I’m making it all up.”

  Brinley closed her eyes, feeling protective. If Aspen’s husband had beaten her, Brinley had every intention of climbing into her car and driving to the compound right that minute to collect Aspen and the children.

  “Aspen, did he hurt you?”

  “No.”

  “Aspen?”

  “Brinley, I promise. I would tell you—you know that. Besides, I’m not the one we should be worried about. It’s Ruthie, she’s too young. I can’t let him take her. I won’t.”

>   “Do you need a place to stay? You know you can come here. It’s small, but we’ll make do.”

  “No, no. I—this is my home. It’s who I am; it’s what I believe. I can’t let him change that.”

  “But he’s the Prophet, Aspen. No one defies the Prophet.”

  “Not yet.”

  Brinley was startled by those words. Not yet.

  “Think this through, okay? If the Prophet wants to marry Ruthie, that’s exactly what will happen. Unless you leave.”

  “I can’t.”

  Brinley understood Aspen’s way of thinking. Even after meeting Porter, it had taken Brinley months to warm to the idea that if she wanted him, she’d have to leave the compound. There was no in-between, no exceptions to be made. She had to make a choice. Deep within her gut, she knew Aspen would be faced with that same choice, but she couldn’t push her into being ready to make it.

  “Okay then, what can I do? How can I help?”

  “I need a name.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Someone who can help me figure out what the Prophet is doing, if he’s breaking any laws.”

  And then Brinley realized what Aspen was planning. It was risky—probably the most reckless thing she could imagine.

  “You want to take down the Prophet, don’t you?”

  Aspen’s response made goose bumps rise on Brinley’s arms. “Maybe if I have proof, Paul will listen. Gentiles in the temple, Brinley. He’s not the man I thought he was. And I won’t let him control me . . . or my children.”

  “Let me see what I can do. Porter knows a couple of guys on the force. Maybe there’s someone who can help.”

  “Thank you. I have to go.”

  “Of course. I’ll call you when I have some information.”

  With trembling hands, Brinley ended the call and merely sat, staring ahead in a daze. Porter moved from the recliner to sit beside her on the couch, and when he reached out to grasp her shoulder, shaking her from her stupor, she startled. She hadn’t even realized that he’d had followed her into the living room.

  “Brin, talk to me. What’s going on?”