Mother Before Wife (The Compound #2)

by Melissa Brown

  My heart sank at the knowledge that I’d forgotten to update him the night before. I’d been completely spent, both mentally and physically, and it had slipped my mind as I clutched my children in my arms.

  He answered on the first ring. “Aspen? Hello? Is that you?”

  There was an urgency in his voice, and guilt filled my heart for making him worry like this.

  “Yes, it’s me. Jeremiah’s okay.”

  “He is? Oh, thank God. Our squads were out for hours last night, but came up with nothing. Where was he?”

  I paused. “The Prophet had him.”

  “What?” he yelled into the phone. “What do you mean the Prophet had him?”

  I was grateful for Jonathan’s indignation. Finally, there was someone who understood my emotions in this horrible scenario. He didn’t expect me to keep sweet or worry about other people’s hurt feelings. His focus and mine were both on my little boy.

  “He claims that Jeremiah was found sleeping on his deck.”

  “That piece of shit,” he muttered. “We both know that’s complete bullshit.”

  I ignored his profanity as my gratitude far outweighed my desire for proper language. If I was honest with myself, there were several moments the night before that I wanted to scream profanity at the top of my lungs. It was tempting but I’d resisted, although it seemed to promise some sort of release, as if the vulgarity of the words would relieve a portion of the despair that claimed my heart and mind.

  “I agree, but everyone else is under his spell. They’re worshipping him for his good deeds. My husband invited him to dinner to thank him, and I’m sick to my stomach thinking of having this monster at my dinner table.”

  “This is so fucked up.”

  I gasped. That was a word I couldn’t tolerate.

  “Detective, please—”

  “Sorry, but it is. I know you’ve been through hell—I mean, you’ve been through so much in the last twenty-four hours, but I need you to practice.”

  The lock! I’d forgotten all about it.

  “I will. I promise. I just have to get through this dinner first.”

  “Of course.”

  “Listen.” I cleared my throat, wishing I could clear my guilt right along with it. “I’m so sorry I didn’t inform you last night that we had Jeremiah back. I was—”

  “Don’t worry about that. I didn’t sleep at all, and I’ve never even met him. I can’t even imagine how you must’ve felt.”

  “Thank you for understanding.”

  “No need to thank me. Just stay in touch, all right? Especially when you’re ready to go back inside.”

  My stomach lurched at the thought of going back into the temple, but that was exactly what I had to do.

  “I will. Thank you, Detective.”

  “Please ditch the formalities, okay? Call me Jonathan. And seriously, don’t hesitate to call if you need anything, day or night.”

  I smiled. “All right. Thank you so much . . . Jonathan.”

  I hung up the phone, grateful for his empathy. As I tucked it inside my purse, I realized that Jonathan Cooke was slowly becoming the person I trusted most in the world.

  The blasphemous thought sent a chill down my spine. Trusting a Gentile more than my own people? My own husband and sister wives? That was unheard of, but then again, my situation was far from normal, and I considered myself lucky to have anyone in my corner.

  In that case, I wasn’t about to question our differences. I would only treasure the solidarity that Jonathan provided during that phone call, the genuine concern in his voice, and the compassion he continued to show me during the most confusing time of my life.

  • • •

  “This is simply delicious, Aspen.”

  Jorjina scraped the last bit of chocolate frosting from her plate, and I couldn’t help but smile.

  “I couldn’t have done it without Sarah, of course.” I offered my sister wife a grateful smile, and her face brightened.

  “Isn’t this marvelous, Clarence?”

  The Prophet had barely touched his dessert. Normally, I’d be concerned, knowing how much Clarence Black enjoyed his sweets, but not anymore. In fact, the new Aspen wanted nothing more than for the Prophet to choke on his piece of cake . . . right in front of me, so I could watch with satisfaction.

  Keep sweet. Keep sweet. Keep sweet.

  “Yes, quite delicious,” he answered, stuffing a small piece into his mouth before washing it down with his glass of milk. A white mustache remained on his face.

  Jorjina laughed before retrieving the napkin from her lap and wiping her son’s face as if he were still a child. He rejected her grooming tactic, pushing her hand away. It seemed no one could embarrass our Prophet like his very own mother.

  “Mother, please! I’m the Prophet; I can wipe my own mouth!” He pushed his chair away from the table and stormed from the room.

  Jorjina waved him away before mischievously grabbing his plate and setting it in front of herself. The rest of the family sat in uncomfortable silence as she poked her fork into Clarence’s enormous slice of cake, licking her lips in satisfaction after each bite.

  I suppressed a laugh that was brewing, pressing my lips together in a straight line. Flora glared at me from across the table, but rather than look away from her disapproving eyes, I stared right back.

  You don’t scare me, Flora.

  After everyone finished dessert, I went to Ruthie’s bedroom to check on her and her sisters. When I saw the Prophet sitting on her bed, my blood boiled. He was seated at the foot of her bed, and she was kneeling on the floor with her hands on his knees, gazing up at him as if he was, well . . . as if he was the Prophet.

  After all that had happened recently, all that I had learned, I no longer revered things I’d once held dear. As a young girl, I would have gladly sat at the feet of Clarence Black, if he was willing to give me just a moment of attention. But now, the sight of my daughter in this exact situation made me sick to my stomach.

  The truth was, I was pulling away from the only thing I’d ever known. My faith. And the realization devastated me.

  I cleared my throat, interrupting their conversation.

  “Ah, Aspen.” The Prophet offered me a cocky grin. “Ruthie and I were just discussing our wedding.”

  “There’s plenty of time for that, don’t you agree? After all, it’s over a year away.”

  “So?” Ruthie snapped. “It’ll be the happiest day of my life, and my future husband wants to plan it with me.”

  My hands clenched into tight fists. I could feel my pulse jumping in my palm. “Young lady, I—”

  “Darling Ruthie, be a dear and give me a moment alone with your mother.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ruthie stood and kissed him on the cheek, but Clarence’s eyes were locked with mine. His already smug smile turned unbearable when Ruthie’s lips made contact with his skin.

  Keep your anger in check, Aspen. Don’t give him the satisfaction.

  When Ruthie left the room, I stood in silence, waiting for the Prophet to speak. After a moment of stillness, he finally did.

  “How’s that darling boy of yours? Not too shaken up, I hope.”

  “He’s fine.”

  “Oh, good.” He pushed to his feet. “You know, I have a feeling we’re going to be spending a lot of time together in the coming months. After all, technically you’ll be my mother-in-law, won’t you?”

  He chuckled, and I bit down on my tongue to hide my disgust. The metallic taste of blood lingered on my tongue, and I realized I had nothing left to lose.

  “Why don’t you just remove me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve threatened me, you’re taking my daughter, and you’ve made my son disappear. I’ve received your messages loud and clear.”

  “Indeed, it seems you have.”

  “So, why don’t you just kick me out of the community? Pack a bag and leave me on the side of the road. It happens all the time.”

>   The Prophet licked his lips and placed a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Now, where’s the fun in that?”

  My stomach dropped as a creepy smile took over his pompous face.

  “The fun?” I repeated with disgust. “Are you entertained by all of this? By me?”

  “Oh, immensely.” He nodded vigorously. “I haven’t had an adversary in quite some time, Aspen. And a woman? I’ve never had a woman push against me. You’re keeping me quite enthralled. But let’s be clear. You can try all you want. You can snoop around the temple and hide in closets, but you will not win. You’re a puppet, Aspen, a plaything, a toy. And I am the mouthpiece of God.”

  “And what if I don’t believe that anymore?”

  Again, he laughed. “Does that really matter? I have ten thousand congregants who would disagree with you, my brother included. I’m sure he’d be quite upset to find out what you’ve been up to. For all we know, he might remove you himself.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Paul would never.”

  “Don’t be so sure of yourself, my dear. You’re not my only puppet.”

  My mouth dropped open and my face fell. For the first time in weeks, I felt powerless, defeated, as if he’d already won.

  He slapped his hands together, wiping them with quick swipes as if to wash away our conversation.

  “Thank you for the lovely meal. I’d best be going. Let dear Ruthie know I’ll be in touch.”

  I said nothing but stared straight ahead. As he turned to leave, he stopped beside me and placed a hand on my shoulder again. “And watch your step. I’d hate to see you trip on your little strings.”

  He left me standing in my daughters’ room, shocked, with goose bumps on every square inch of my body.

  I was shaken, rattled, and most of all disgusted by the conversation that had just taken place. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine he was amused by my attempts to save Ruthie from his clutches. It was clear to me now that the Prophet was even more disturbed than I’d thought. I had no idea how to proceed in keeping Ruthie from marrying him.

  But there was one thing I knew. I would never be his puppet.

  Never.

  Chapter 23

  “Respect your elders, for they have created the path on which you walk.”

  —The Prophet, Clarence Black

  Aspen

  Another sleepless night, followed by another morning with splotchy skin and dark circles beneath my eyes. But none of that mattered.

  It was my first day to practice with the lock Jonathan had given me, and I couldn’t have been more ready. After breakfast, I sent my girls to their religious education classes, and with Jeremiah, I retreated to my bedroom.

  Since his disappearance just two days prior, I hardly allowed him out of my sight. The list in my head of untrustworthy sister wives was growing by the day, and the only way to know he was all right was to keep him by my side. Besides, he was incapable of betraying my trust. There was no way he could properly articulate to his father, or anyone else, that his mother was practicing the art of lock picking. My secret was safe with him.

  Together, we sat on the floor, Jeremiah stacking his blocks and me fiddling with my lock, trying to remember everything Jonathan had taught me. It was frustrating, and after twenty minutes of failure, I threw my head back in defeat.

  “What you do, Mama?” Jeremiah asked, climbing into my lap and blocking my view of the small metal lock in my hands.

  I welcomed the distraction.

  “It’s a puzzle,” I answered matter-of-factly. “Just like you play with your blocks, Mama plays with her puzzle.”

  “Ah.” Jeremiah reached out to touch the metal. “I like blocks.”

  “I know you do, Jer-Bear. Now, sit on the floor and build your blocks. Mama wants to solve her puzzle.”

  “Okay, Mama.”

  Jeremiah slid from my lap and lay on his belly, stacking his alphabet blocks one by one, his little tongue sticking from the corner of his mouth as he concentrated.

  With a smile, I turned my attention back to the stubborn lock in the palm of my hand and whispered, “What am I doing wrong?”

  Jonathan’s instructions reverberated through my brain. Once it aligns with the barrel, we should hear an audible click.

  “The click!” I said with renewed vigor. I’d forgotten all about the necessary click. It was no wonder I hadn’t been successful at my first several dozen attempts.

  The next dozen attempts were much more successful. Once I heard the click, I knew I was on the right track. After opening the lock five times in less than thirty minutes, I was feeling empowered. I was ready.

  A knock on the door brought me back to reality. I shoved the lock and hairpins under my bed before hopping to my feet and answering the door.

  It was Pennie.

  My frail sister wife offered a weak smile. “You have a visitor. It’s Jorjina Black.”

  “Oh,” I said, looking back at Jeremiah. “That’s strange. She was just here last night. Did she leave something?”

  Pennie shrugged. “I don’t know, but she asked for you specifically. I can keep an eye on Jeremiah, if you’d like. I mean, if you’re comfortable with that.”

  I hesitated, not sure if I was comfortable with Pennie watching my son. My paranoia was growing, and despite the friendship Pennie and I had built for three years, I couldn’t let go of the night at the temple. She might have followed me, or it could have been a coincidence. I simply didn’t know.

  “Yes, that would be nice. Thank you, Pennie. Would you be willing to watch him here? He’s enjoying his blocks.”

  Relief swept across her pale face. “Yes, of course.”

  Pennie walked past me and sat cross-legged next to Jeremiah. “Can I build with you?”

  Jeremiah looked up at me, his eyes innocent, questioning. I nodded at him, giving him a confident smile.

  “Uh-huh,” he said, handing her a block.

  “Can you find the block with the letter J?”

  I laughed. “He’s too young for that, Pennie.”

  “Oh, sorry. Well, we’ll just stack then.”

  “Be prepared for the inevitable disaster.” I laughed. “He likes to stack them and plow them down right after.”

  Pennie had only been blessed with girls, so she wasn’t used to the destructive nature of boys. Jeremiah was about to give her quite the lesson.

  After closing the door behind me, I made my way to the front room, where Jorjina was waiting on the small couch next to the picture window. Her aged face seemed tense. Deep wrinkles had formed between her eyes, and her fingers tapped nervously against her knees.

  “Mother Jorjina, are you all right?” Concerned, I sat next to her and placed my hands atop hers.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, Aspen, but I need to speak with you. Would you take a walk with me?”

  “Um . . .” I looked back toward my bedroom, hesitant to leave Jeremiah. “I’m not sure I should leave—”

  She squeezed my hands. “It’s important.”

  “Oh.”

  I paused, wondering what could be so important. The Jorjina seated next to me was not the woman I’d grown accustomed to. Instead of being relaxed and calm as she normally was, she was tense and paranoid. Like me.

  “Yes, of course.”

  I helped her to her feet and we walked from the house. When I offered her my arm, she linked hers through mine, thanking me as we walked.

  “What is it? What’s the matter?” I asked.

  “Last night, after dinner, I was looking for the bathroom. I—I heard the horrible things Clarence said to you.”

  I swallowed hard. “You heard that? How much did you hear?”

  She nodded, her eyes growing teary. “All of it, I think. What’s going on? Why would he say such things to you?”

  “It’s a long story, and frankly I’m not sure you’ll want to get involved. I mean, he’s your son.”

  Her face fell. “Aspen, I wouldn’t be here if my allegiance was to Clarence.
”

  Goose bumps rose along the nape of my neck. What an odd thing for a mother to say about her son.

  “But you barely know me.”

  Her features softened and the corners of her mouth pulled into a gentle smile. “That’s true. But what I do know, I like. Very much.”

  I patted her arm that was linked through mine. “Thank you. I’ve felt so alone lately, so alone.”

  “Does Paul know how Clarence speaks to you?”

  “Yes and no. He doesn’t want to know, really. He just wants harmony. Paul always wants harmony.” I shrugged.

  “Makes sense. He’s always wanted his brother’s approval, although deep down I suspect he knows he’ll never get it. No one will. Clarence is simply incapable of truly caring for anyone. And I fear that your little girl will know, all too well, how incapable he is. He lures those girls in with the prestige, with the honor they think they’re being given. But it’s a lonely life, being a wife of the Prophet. I should know.”

  Jorjina had been married to the former Prophet and Clarence’s father, Walter Black. Unlike Clarence, Walter was known for his kindness and caring ways. He was truly a good man.

  “But your husband was—”

  “He was wonderful, yes. But he was still the center of the universe, as Clarence is now. The difference is Walter at least attempted to love, attempted to care. Clarence only cares about himself.”

  “I’m learning that.” I kicked several pebbles with the toe of my shoe. “You know, I used to worship him when I was a child. I thought the absolute world of him.”

  “It’s a hard pill to swallow, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. I feel like my faith, my world, has been turned on its axis. I’m completely off-balance, and I don’t know who I can trust.”

  “You can trust me, dear, of that you can be sure. But you have to tell me what’s going on.”

  I sighed, afraid to involve someone else in my increasingly dangerous situation, but I couldn’t resist the lure of the potential comfort of Jorjina’s confidence.

  “I saw him, late one night, with Gentiles. He was taking them into the new temple.”

  Jorjina stopped walking and with horror in her eyes, she looked into mine. “Are you sure?”