Righteous - 01 - The Righteous

by Michael Wallace

  She blinked in surprise. “Does that matter?”

  “To me it does.”

  Eliza said, “And your other wives, this is why they married you? Because they wanted to? Not because they thought that’s what God wanted or because their fathers made them?”

  “Liz,” Jacob said.

  “No, it’s okay,” Stephen Paul said. “Let me explain, Eliza. I’m not asking if you want to marry me because you find me handsome, or are drawn to my animal magnetism. I’m not so self-absorbed as all that. And so-called chemistry is not important in the grand scheme of things. Husbands and wives gain affection for each other through the natural course of childbirth, parenting, and shared lives.

  “What I mean by wanting to marry me is that you have weighed all the factors. Your belief that I’m a decent man. Your belief that I’ll be a good father, and a righteous husband who will obey the will of the Lord. Your desire to form something larger than yourself. Zion. A community of people pulling in the same direction for a holy purpose. In that light, Eliza Christianson, do you want to marry me?”

  The explanation and the question itself was more than she had expected and entirely fair. She looked around the room at the Young family. They looked happy enough. The women remained in the room. Partners. Maybe not equals, but not servants, either.

  Yes, it was a fair question, and deserved a fair answer. “No, I don’t. You seem like a good man, and goodness knows you’re a better catch than my other choices. But I’ve known you—what?—an hour? And I’m supposed to decide in an hour whether or not to marry you, not just here, but in the next world, too? It’s too soon.”

  “Okay, then,” Stephen Paul said. “That’s all I need to know.”

  “Not yet,” she corrected. “You asked if I wanted to marry you and I gave you my honest answer. But that’s not my decision. I will marry you, because it is the Lord’s will that I marry and you are a man I can respect. I could live here. Maybe even be happy some day.”

  But in the back of her mind she couldn’t help but think those same thoughts that had stirred in her mind since she’d left Eduardo’s trailer. She had turned rebellious, and suffered doubts like the kind that Jacob regularly entertained.

  Stephen Paul shook his head. “I have complete respect for your position, but that isn’t enough. My own family has to be Zion within Zion. Every member has to pull in the same direction with no doubts.”

  “Unfortunately, no doubts doesn’t describe my personality. Not now and probably not ever. There are always doubts.”

  “I’m sorry then.”

  Eliza looked at Jacob. She could see him struggling, not knowing whether he should intervene, and if so, how. When it became clear that he wouldn’t help her in this, she said, “You know who my other choices are, don’t you? One is Elder Johnson. The other is Taylor Kimball, Junior.”

  He frowned at this news. “I would recommend Elder Johnson. He’s a good man. Taylor Junior…I know him well. He’s got all of his father’s bad characteristics and none of the good.” He shook his head. “And he holds only disdain for women.”

  “I’m painfully aware of that,” Eliza said.

  “Then you’re capable of drawing your own conclusions.” He pushed himself back from the table. “It’s getting late. Would you like to spend the night here rather than fight your way down the mountain in the dark?” He directed this question to Jacob.

  “Yes, thank you,” said Jacob.

  Later, Eliza and Jacob stood on the porch watching the June beetles batter themselves into the lamp. Eliza had helped the women clean up the kitchen, then retreated to the porch to gather her thoughts. She had watched the bugs and wondered what it was about lights that bedazzled the insects and sent them swirling in helpless circles.

  Jacob had found her on the porch and said nothing for several minutes. “It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? The insects are out, doing whatever it is they do—breeding, feeding, avoiding bats—when suddenly they see the porch light. They forget everything else to get closer to the light bulb.”

  Eliza said, “There’s an analogy to humans in there somewhere, I’m sure.” She turned to look at her brother. “I think I made a mistake. Now I’m stuck with Elder Johnson. Not exactly every girl’s dream to marry a man with a walker and dentures.”

  “Stephen Paul gave me these.” Jacob held up a folder with several papers inside. “Father had faxed him some of your old school papers, IQ tests, and such. Assure good breeding and all that. Looks like Stephen Paul is a eugenicist. Or at least, Father thinks he is.”

  “So what’s my IQ?”

  “Is this the point where I’m supposed to say that of course I didn’t look?” He smiled as he handed over the folder. “138. No wonder everyone wants to bed my little sister. A good opportunity to improve the breeding stock.”

  She snorted. “A couple more generations and 138 won’t even warrant a second glance. Of course, everyone will be so pious by then that there will no longer be time to reproduce between all the fasting and praying.” She stopped. “Why the rush? Why can’t I have a couple of months to get to know Stephen Paul?”

  “Liz, let’s be honest here. If what Stephen Paul Young wants is 100 percent certainty on your part, he’s not going to get it. Not in a couple of months, not in a couple of years. On the plus side, it looks like my decision is made too. They say Dorothea Johnson has a sweet spirit.”

  “E.g., ugly,” Eliza broke in.

  His phone rang and Jacob retrieved it from his front pocket. “But she’s a good person. That’s more important than looks or chemistry.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself and not Eliza. “Hello?”

  Jacob plugged his right ear with his finger. “I don’t have a good signal out here. What was that? Oh, hi, Dad. Yes, we’re out here right now. What? I didn’t catch that. Oh, really? Is he okay?” He paused and a frown spread across his face, then deepened. “I see. What? No, I’ll tell her. Bye.” He hung up.

  Eliza didn’t like the look on his face. “What is it?”

  “Elder Johnson suffered a stroke this afternoon. He’s in the hospital, in a coma. They don’t think he’ll survive.”

  It was the man she would have married in just a few days, but she felt no sorrow. He was an older man, she didn’t know him well, and, well, it might have been cold to say, but old people died now and then. What she did feel was a growing sense of alarm. Her choices, so recently reduced to two men with the withdrawal of Stephen Paul Young’s interest, had suddenly become very narrow indeed.

  Only Taylor Junior remained.

  Chapter Thirteen:

  Jacob saw the worry in Eliza’s face and cut it off at once. “Don’t be stupid, Liz. You’re not marrying Taylor Junior.”

  “Then what, Jacob?” she asked with desperation in her voice. “Do I go inside and beg Stephen Paul to have me? Do I run away?”

  His mind had already set itself to the problem, but he had the uncomfortable position of a chess player who has realized that a superior opponent has taken control of the middle of the board and is forcing the surrender of any piece that stands in his way.

  “First things, first. Elder Johnson isn’t dead yet.”

  Eliza gave an exaggerated shrug. “Dead or not, he’s in a coma.”

  “Sure, but his family will believe that he’s going to pull out of it. That’s what families do, even if the rest of the world knows the guy is already gone. I’ll call the Johnsons. Give them my well-wishes, but also make them think we’re still interested.”

  “And if Elder Johnson dies tonight?” she asked. “The Kimballs won’t sit around, especially if they know that Stephen Paul is out of the picture.”

  “Okay, so maybe we’ll talk to Stephen Paul. You heard him. He doesn’t like Taylor Junior. At the very least he can feign interest for a week or two while we sort things out.”

  “Didn’t you hear the spiel about moral relevancy, equivocating, etc.? He’s not the sort to pretend or lie, not on his behalf, and certainly
not on mine.” She turned to watch the insects in their mad battering against the porch light. Her face was despondent.

  “You’re missing the upside of this,” Jacob said. “Really. Dad is not going to marry you off to Taylor Junior. The man assaulted you. In front of witnesses. Yes, there are fathers who would force their daughters into marriages under such conditions. Ours isn’t one of them and you know it. Elder Johnson is down, Stephen Paul has declined. What does that mean?”

  She said nothing.

  “I’ll tell you what it means. You’re off the hook. There’ll be no marriage. At least not until Father comes up with some new names.”

  “Come on Jacob. I’m not a fool. The news is always a shock to the girl. And sometimes her mother or father gives her one name and then another man comes and maybe just because the prophet made an off-hand remark to someone, she’s married to someone else. It takes about five minutes for everything to go bad.” She shook her head. “All I know is that Father insists I should get married and that two of the three choices are no longer available. What does that mean?”

  He didn’t know why she wasn’t buying it, why she insisted on this fatalism. Jacob took her shoulders and turned her to look at him. “Fine, you don’t trust your own Father? You want to know who will stand up for you? I will. That’s who. Now stop it, Liz. It’s not going to happen.”

  Jacob turned it over in his mind. It was the uncertainty that was getting to her, mixed with the knowledge that other people were making the decisions. Had news already reached the Kimball family? A call to Fernie might let Eliza know he was serious. He took out his phone.

  “Who are you calling?”

  “Your sister.”

  It rang several times and he tried to think what he would do if one of the Kimball men picked up. Ask for Fernie? Hang up? It was a woman.

  “Hi, this is Jacob Christianson. Is this Charity?”

  “Hello, Brother Christianson. Yes, it is. I’m sorry, but Elder Kimball is out at the moment. Or are you looking for Taylor Junior? He’s got his own line, if you need the number.”

  “Actually I wanted to talk to…uhm, my sister Fernie.” He hoped he hadn’t put too much emphasis on sister and thus reminded Charity that Fernie was not actually his sister in any meaningful sense of the word.

  “Sure, let me get her.”

  She put the phone down and he heard screaming, laughter, and banging from children. It would be bedtime in the Kimball household. Fernie picked up a minute later.

  “Hello, Fernie. Can I talk to you?”

  Again? he imagined her thinking. Didn’t we already rehash this?

  Instead, she said in a low, muffled voice. “Actually, I need to talk to you, too. I learned something that might help.”

  “What is it?”

  “Not now.”

  “Ah, got it. If I look for you in the gardens at, say, 9:00 tomorrow morning, will I find you?”

  “That will work. Why did you call?”

  “First, have you heard the news of Elder Johnson?” he asked.

  “They said he was in the hospital. Taylor Junior was here earlier and mentioned it.”

  Jacob looked to Eliza, who chewed on a lip. He shook his head for her to stop worrying. To Fernie, he said, “And you know that Taylor Junior and Elder Johnson both wanted to marry Liz?”

  “Yes, I know.” Still not talking freely. Voice stiff. Whatever she wanted to share, it had her spooked.

  “Fernie, the Kimballs are going to be all over this. But Taylor Junior isn’t marrying Liz.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Well I’m having a hard time convincing her.” This was for Eliza’s benefit, not Fernie’s. “But just to be safe, can you give me a heads-up if you catch whiff of any scheming?”

  “Yes, right away. No problem.”

  “Good. Thanks. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “Take care, Jacob.”

  When he hung up the phone, Eliza had fixed him with a thoughtful look. “I wasn’t aware you knew Fernie that well.”

  He forced a shrug. “Sure, we were friendly. Of course, she got married at seventeen, so it’s been several years. In any event, I spoke to her this morning about the Jupiter Medallion. And I think she’s got something new.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Listen, you look tired and a little shaken. Go lie down. Pray if you think that will help. You’ll come back with some perspective. I’ll talk to Stephen Paul. I’m sure you can stay here tomorrow, at least. Everything will be fine. You’ll see.”

  She nodded, but without conviction. He could almost read her mind. She was thinking about running. Other girls had done it. She could escape where they had not. He wanted to order her to put it out of her mind, but he didn’t want to plant that seed if he’d misread her. If the time came to run, he could help; on her own, she’d never make it. He tried to mentally drill it into her as she turned and went inside.

  Don’t run.

  #

  Jacob didn’t find Fernie in the tomato garden the next morning, or among the squash. Instead, she worked in a far corner of the greenhouse, alone. The greenhouse lay empty but for flats of withered squash starts that had never taken, drip irrigation systems rolled up and waiting for next year, plastic flats stacked in corners with wheelbarrows, trowels, and rusting garden rakes. The air was stifling. Fernie swept the floor, an unnecessary and suspiciously solitary task.

  She looked up when he opened the door and motioned him over with an urgent gesture. He didn’t like the look on her face. Terrified, almost.

  “They can’t see me talking to you.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know.” She looked to the door on the far end of the greenhouse, as if worried someone would come inside suddenly. “I’ve got children, you know. I have to think of them. I didn’t want to get mixed up in this. I don’t know why she told me. Why not Charity? How about calling her own mother or telling one of her brothers?”

  He drew closer. “Fernie, what are you talking about? Tell me.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “Calm down. It’s okay.”

  She breathed out slowly. “I’m scared. I never thought…” She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “I found this in Amanda’s Book of Mormon.”

  Jacob took the paper. It was a half-written letter in a woman’s cursive. The writing was shaky, as if the writer had been under stress.

  Fernie,

  If you read this, then I’m already dead. My blood has atoned for my sins.

  Dear God, why am I so alone? I don’t know where to turn. I will tell the prophet, but maybe he already knows. That is what they say. You are my cousin, my sister wife, and my friend. And you are a good woman. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe someday we’ll laugh about this together. But if you discover this letter in your dresser and something has happened to me, you will know why I died and by whose hand.

  First, go to my room and get the manila envelope under my mattress. It will help you understand the rest of this letter.

  That was all. Jacob turned it over, but the other side was blank.

  “I don’t understand either,” Fernie said. “Amanda didn’t finish, and the letter wasn’t in my drawer. Something made me open her Book of Mormon. Well, I know what it was. Amanda would sometimes jot notes or journal entries and stow them in her scriptures to look at later. I thought I might find some clue as to what she was thinking before she died.”

  “Good thinking.” It occurred to Jacob that Amanda had guessed Fernie would check her Book of Mormon. “And the manila envelope? Was it under her mattress?”

  “I haven’t looked, Jacob. I’m afraid. What if someone sees me?”

  “In a house as full as yours,” Jacob said, “they’ll appropriate that space soon enough. We have to get that envelope before someone moves the bed and sees it.”

  “I know, I just couldn’t do it,” Fernie said. “I kept telling myself that you were chasing your own tail, Jacob. I couldn’t believ
e it was one of us. It had to be one of the Mexicans, and the sooner you figured that out, the better. I was safe in my own house.”

  “Fernie, they cut Amanda’s throat and tore her tongue out by the roots.” She looked blank, so he added, “Think about the temple.”

  Light dawned in her eyes. “Oh, no. Jacob…”

  He took her in his arms. She lay against his chest, trembling, and he thought of that day almost ten years ago when he had last held her. She had found him in the west fields, shoveling hay. The cold had brought color to her cheeks and her breath came out in puffs.

  He’d smiled to see her, but that smile had faded when he saw the look on her face. Taylor Kimball had sent for her. Fernie had never met the man, but he had several wives already, and a dozen children. She would leave that afternoon. They had shared one last embrace, and Jacob had wept when she’d torn herself away.

  Theirs had been a chaste love, for all its flavor of forbidden fruit. They had shared gentle caresses and a few kisses. Jacob had never touched another woman. He had never wanted to.

  He’d been a fool. He should have gone to his father, confessed his feelings for Fernie, begged Father not to send Fernie away. He’d been too young to marry, but she would have waited for him, he was sure.

  But it was “the will of the Lord.” That’s what they always said. God had chosen her husband and the prophet had relayed His will. Right. Jacob was no longer so naïve. The so-called “will of the Lord” was the wishful thinking of a bunch of old men to justify treating their daughters and wives like chattel.

  And now, angry with himself for being such a fool, angry with Elder Kimball for taking Fernie from him, he was tempted. She was weak now, vulnerable. And lonely. What polygamist wife wouldn’t be consumed with loneliness? Now was his chance to break the bonds that tied her to her husband.

  Yes, and tear her from her family.

  Jacob pushed her away with some effort. “Fernie, whoever did this will kill anyone who threatens to expose his secret.” He didn’t say that this someone was most likely her own husband and his sons. “We have to get that envelope.”