CHAPTER NINETEEN
"Oh, Lord, not again. Not again!” I groaned as I threw back the heavy quilts and bolted toward the door of my trailer. I dashed, shivering, through the darkness, the damp Baja earth sticking to the soles of my bare feet. The old hinges of the outhouse squeaked as I opened the door and leaned over the two-holer, vomiting in the direction of the biggest hole. Trembling, I leaned against the wall as I waited for the nausea to subside. Then I grabbed a handful of tissue paper and wiped the seat off. Turning around in the cramped quarters, I sat down, too weak and unsure of my stomach to dare leave the tiny, wooden hut.
It had to be Lucy’s chili beans, I concluded. Chili beans always made me sick. My stomach churned as I waited, and I gently massaged it, my whole body shaking in the damp air. Finally I took hold of the door and pulled myself up, stumbling through the black night to the tap outside Beverly’s house. The water was icy cold, and my teeth chattered as I scrubbed my hands and rinsed my mouth. I needed to lie down. I needed to get warm. Nausea swept through me again in threatening waves. I whirled in the darkness to run in the direction of the outhouse, but as I took the first step, a bush near Beverly’s front door caught my bare feet. I stumbled, falling heavily against a bench at the side of the cement step. On the bench, Beverly had left a metal baby bathtub. The bench and tub fell against the step, clanging loudly in the still night air. I landed on top of the bench, my knees hitting hard against the wooden edge.
“Oh, hellfire!” I moaned. I cried out again with the pain, my cry suddenly drowned as I retched.
“Who’s out there!” Beverly’s high-pitched voice demanded. She peered at me from behind the screen door; her body swathed in a long white nightgown. “What are you doing?” she gasped. She pushed at the screen, but the bench, the tub, and my sprawled body blocked it. Moaning, I rolled off the cement, careful to stay away from the mess I had left. Beverly pushed again, and the bench and tub grated toward me. “What happened? What are you doing?” she demanded as she helped me up.
“I’m—I’m sick,” I mumbled. Shivering uncontrollably, I said, “Would you mind if I waited until morning to clean up the mess?”
“Don’t be silly,” she snapped. “You’re too sick to worry about it. Go on back to bed and I’ll clean it up.”
“No, Beverly, really,” I insisted. “I’ll come early and take care of it.”
“Whatever,” she snapped again. “Go to bed.”
I hurriedly rinsed my hands and mouth again and crept back to my trailer. I climbed under the covers, shaking with the cold. My knees throbbed and, reaching down, I gingerly touched them. Sticky, broken skin met my fingers, but I was too tired and cold to care. My head pounded, and I closed my eyes, praying for sleep. How I wished my mother were here. She would bring me aspirin and pamper me and I would feel warm and loved . . .
I forced myself out of bed at first light, my stomach still queasy as I bundled up against the Pacific, winter air. Cold drafts filtered through the thin walls and windows of the trailer, and again I desperately wished there were some kind of heat. There was little wood in Baja for a fire, and we couldn’t afford gas or electric heat, so everyone in the family wore sweaters and coats, even indoors. No one else complained, so I wore my warmest clothes and kept silent.
Fog floated through the air as I stepped outside. Beverly’s house looked hazy, illusive. I hurried to her front step, examining the ground. Puzzled, I investigated, but there was no sign of the puddle of vomit I had left. The bench had been replaced, and the tub hung neatly from a nail at the side of the house. I stood hesitantly, looking at Beverly’s closed door. She was certainly a hard one to figure out. She made no secret of her resentment, yet she had thoughtfully cleaned up after me. I shook my head as I walked toward the big house, wondering what I could do to express my gratitude.
Lucy hovered over the stove in the kitchen as I entered. She wore an old brown sweater over her bathrobe in an effort to stay warm in the clammy house. Her new, blue kettle was on the stove for oatmeal.
“Hi!” Lucy said, smiling as she lit a match and stuck it toward a burner. “You’re up early.”
I gasped with nausea at the smell of burned sulfur and the odor of raw butane. I sank into a kitchen chair, my legs weak. “Lucy,” I moaned, “Oh Lucy, I’m afraid I’m sick.”
She hurried to me, her hand gentle as she felt my forehead. “What is it? How do you feel bad?”
“Maybe I’ve caught the flu,” I choked as I lay my head on the table. The kitchen seemed to spin around me, and I closed my eyes, fighting the urge to retch.
Lucy’s hand was warm on my shoulder. She stood quietly by my side for a moment, then gently asked, “When was your last period?”
I frowned and looked up at her, startled at the question. “Oh, I don’t know, it was a long time ago . . . ” My words trailed off as the meaning of Lucy’s suggestion hit me. I could feel my face blanch. The room reeled as my stunned mind tried to comprehend. “No,” I gasped. “You don’t think that . . . that I might be pregnant?”
She chewed on her lip, fighting a grin. “It’s a possibility, don’t you think?”
I dropped my head back onto the table, tightly closing my eyes. In vain, my mind searched for my last menstrual date. But one day had run into another—one week so like the next. It had been before Christmas. Possibly the week before. Now it was the end of January . . .
Dazed, I stared over at Lucy, who had returned to the boiling water. She calmly stirred in oats with a huge spoon. Her features appeared unruffled and serene. She looked up at me, her eyes twinkling. “Well, what do you think?”
I gulped. I could feel the color flood my face as I mumbled, “It’s been at least six weeks. I just can’t believe it. It’s so soon—I’ve hardly seen Verlan—”
Lucy chuckled. “It only takes once, you know.” She shook her head, chuckling again. “Irene swears that all Verlan has to do is send her a letter, and she’s pregnant. I have a feeling you’re like her. Another ‘Fertile Myrtle.’”
I blushed and hid my face in my hands, my stomach churning. I could hear the children stirring in the back of the house as they readied for school. I sat, lost in thought until Lucy placed a bowl of oatmeal in front of me. “Why don’t you eat,” she said kindly. “It might make you feel better.”
As I looked at the gray-colored mass, I gagged and stood, the room spinning maddeningly around me. “I can’t,” I choked. “I couldn’t possibly. I’m going outside into the fresh air.”
Lucy’s face was sympathetic as I stumbled toward the door. I hesitated in the living room, then returned to the kitchen. “Lucy,” I swallowed, “please don’t tell Verlan. I want to tell him myself.”
“I won’t say a word to anyone,” she assured me.
I stopped at my trailer for a heavier coat, then set off across the small suburb toward Lorna’s. I had to talk to someone, and no matter how good Lucy was about it, it was hard to discuss my pregnancy with her. My pregnancy . . . I shook my head as I hurried through the fog. I felt stunned. Why hadn’t I expected it? Why was I so surprised? The thought of becoming pregnant hadn’t occurred. I searched my heart, trying to decide if I was happy about it—a baby of my own, a tiny, helpless baby, who would depend on me for care. I battled with my emotions. One moment I was elated, and at the next I was filled with despair and an overwhelming fear.
Verlan, of course, would be thrilled. Verlan adored his children. I would be giving him another child, another jewel to add to his heavenly crown. When I told him, he would hug me and grin and tell me what a blessing I was. He would be so proud.
How glad I was that Lorna was close! She would help me deal with this, I knew, and would help me put away my fears and see only the positive side. That’s how Lorna was.
A smile creased my face as I thought of her. I had been to see her often, and without fail she had
bolstered my sagging spirit, helping me to see that I was indeed serving the Lord, that my life wasn’t being wasted. Lorna was always cheerful. She’d scoffed when I finally got up the nerve to ask her how she could stand to live in such poverty. “How can you call the wealth of two precious children and a wonderful husband, poverty?” she’d asked. With a wave of her hand at her surroundings she’d added, “It won’t always be like this. Sometimes we have to sacrifice material possessions for things of greater value. We have to earn our blessings, Suze, and I’m grateful for the chance to earn mine. You need to look beyond what the eye can see and concentrate on your heavenly throne.”
As I entered Lorna’s yard, her little Andrew stood by the front door, throwing scraps to a couple of chickens. “Hi, Andrew,” I smiled. “What’s your mom doing?”
He gave me his usual scowl, threw a crust of bread to a chicken and mumbled, “She’s grinding wheat in the backyard.”
I walked around the house, wondering why Andrew always seemed so defiant. He had the looks and bearing of a prince, yet the intelligence that glowed in his eyes was almost hidden behind a festering anger. He was much too young to be so intense.
Lorna’s head was bent as she struggled over the grinder that was fastened to a board against the house. Her face was red with the effort of forcing the handle around. Her body was heavy with pregnancy, and she suddenly stopped, gasped for air, and clutched her abdomen.
“Lorna!” I shouted as I hurried to her. “You shouldn’t be doing this, for heaven’s sake! Here, give it to me!”
“Hi,” she panted. Relinquishing the handle to me, she stepped back. “I’m almost finished.” She mopped her forehead.
Finely ground wheat filled a cake pan under the wheel, with a gallon jar of whole wheat sitting on the bench beside it. I poured more wheat into the grinder and forced the handle around. Within minutes perspiration lined my brow, and my back and shoulders began to ache with the strain. Lorna removed the cake pan filled with flour and emptied it into a plastic container, then replaced it under the wheel. Soon it was full again. “There, that’s enough,” she finally said. “Let’s go inside.”
“I don’t want you grinding any more wheat,” I said firmly. “It’s too much for you. I’ll ask Verlan Jr. to come over and grind up a bunch. He’ll be glad to do it.”
Lorna set the flour on the table, then slumped into a chair. Her face looked drawn, and her eyes were red around the iris. She inhaled a ragged breath and intently examined her hands. I stared; never had I seen her looking so depressed. I sat in the chair beside her and took her hand. Her knuckles were rough under my fingers, her hands cold. “What’s the matter?” I asked softly as I searched her face.
Her eyes strayed over to Tarsa. The little girl was playing with a toy. She sat on a heap of clean, unfolded laundry, and as I noticed the laundry, I also realized that Lorna’s usually immaculate little house was completely littered. Dirty dishes were heaped in a dishpan and on the countertop. The table in front of me was covered with bread crumbs and spots of honey. Toys and shoes were scattered.
Lorna sighed and leaned back in the chair. She slowly shook her head. “I’m not good company today, I’m afraid.” Her eyes filled with tears. She blinked rapidly to withhold them, then gave in and let them fall. “You see, I’m just not as strong as I should be. I’m weak, and lacking in the faith. I’m letting little things bother me.”
“Lorna LeBaron, that’s a lot of nonsense you’re spouting!” I said firmly. “You always amaze me with how strong you are! You’re so selfless. You are one of the most righteous women I know and a true example for me. Shoot, everyone feels blue now and then. Now, tell me what’s bothering you.”
Lorna reached out her arms to Tarsa, and the beautiful child climbed into her mother’s lap. “Just look at my baby’s face,” Lorna sobbed, her thumb rubbing the little girl’s cheek. “Look at the way this weather’s ruined her complexion. Look at her little hands, how rough they are! They look like orphan’s hands . . . I’ve kept lotion on her, but it doesn’t do any good . . . Andrew is even worse. They were so beautiful when we moved here, and now look at them!” My distraught cousin hid her face in Tarsa’s platinum hair.
I listened, trying to understand how she could cheerfully endure such poverty, and a husband who left her alone in a strange town for weeks on end, and then crumble because of chapped skin. There had to be more to her wretched state of mind than what she’d told me. Perhaps she’d only acted content and cheerful before for my benefit, and no longer had the strength to hide her misery.
“When will Ervil be here?” I asked.
Lorna eyed me over the top of Tarsa’s head, then raised the little girl’s chin so she could look in her eyes. “Tarsa,” Lorna sniffed, her voice even as she spoke, “Go on outside for a few minutes, will you? I need to talk to Susan alone for a minute. Okay?” The child obediently left the room.
As Lorna looked at me the tears once again welled in her eyes. “Ervil’s not coming,” she wailed. “At least, not till after the baby’s born. I got a letter yesterday . . .” Her shoulders shook.
I inhaled deeply. So, now it was coming out. Lorna, for weeks, had talked excitedly about the baby’s birth, because Ervil was coming to be with her. She’d planned her life around Ervil’s return. “It’s going to be so great!” she’d glowed as she talked. “Ervil wasn’t able to be with me when I had Andrew or Tarsa. He plans to spend at least two weeks with me. I need to get new curtains made, and glass in the windows before he comes, so it won’t seem so dark in here.” She’d chattered on and on about her plans, and now he was letting her down. She was going to be alone again when his baby was born.
“Why?” I shouted, bristling with anger. “What’s he doing this time that’s more important than his promise to you?”
I jumped up and began to pace, rage at Ervil causing me to lose control. “It’s not fair!” I whirled on Lorna. “It’s unforgivable for him to do this to you, and you know it. Boy, how I wish he was here so I could give him a piece of my mind!”
I stopped and searched Lorna’s face. She sat pale and quiet; slowly wiping crumbs off the table and letting them fall onto the floor. “It’s not that big a deal,” she finally sighed. “He’d be here if he could. It’s just that I was so looking forward to it. I’ll be okay.”
She glanced at me, her eyes puffy. “I’m going to write to Mom and see if she can come down to be with me. It’ll be a bad time for her to leave home, but I think she’ll come. They’re packing right now, getting ready to move to Los Molinos. Their house in Utah finally sold, did I tell you? They have to be out in a month.” Lorna gave me a tight smile. “I should be thrilled right now, instead of so down. Just think, Susan, in one month, Mom, Dad, and the kids will be living in Los Molinos, only four hours away! Isn’t that fantastic?”
I put my arms around my cousin and patted her arm. “It’s wonderful!” I exclaimed. “I’m not just happy for you, I’m happy for me, too. I can’t wait to spend some time with Aunt Thelma and Uncle Bud. And Mark, Lorna dear, is a total babe. I pity the poor girls who live in Los Molinos.”
She sniffed, then grinned—a real, genuine act of mirth, and I laughed out loud with relief. She was going to be all right; she was strong; she would make it.
“Lorna,” I hesitated, then I smiled wide, little thrills running down my spine as I whispered, “I have a secret. I’m going to have a baby, too.”
It was late in the afternoon before I got home, and within minutes, I wanted to shout with happiness. Lucy had handed me a letter from Jay, and my eyes quickly scanned the page. He was coming! He would be here, in Ensenada, in a week! Oh, Glory!
“A general priesthood meeting, to be held in Ensenada, was called by the Prophet Joel,” his scrawled writing said, “and he sent me a personal invitation, saying he wants me to be there. I think he plans to reinstate me into the fellowship of the church
and restore my priesthood. I’ll be there with bells on. Can you put me up?”
I closed my eyes and smiled in anticipation. How could I stand to wait for a whole week? I wondered if he would bring Carmela.
Verlan was also coming to the meeting, which would be held in a rented building in town. Charlotte had delivered his message in her usual curt manner. “Verlan phoned me from Las Vegas, said he couldn’t get away now. He’ll be here next weekend, when the men hold their meeting; he asked me to tell you all; he sends his love.”
I had hurried to my trailer to hide my tears. After waiting for two weeks to tell him about my pregnancy, now I would have to keep on waiting. No one knew but Lucy and Lorna. I had toyed with the idea of telling Rhea and Laura but had decided against it. I didn’t want Verlan to accidentally hear about it from anyone but me.
I had it all planned how I would tell him. We would be alone in my trailer, and the mood would be just right. I would tell him about the baby, and the shock on his face would turn to joy. He would grab me and hug me, his hand going to my tummy, “Our child,” he would whisper. “Yours and mine. We’re a family now, my charm.”
I wiped the tears away as I thought about it. It was going to be so wonderful when I finally got to tell him. Just one more week.
The vehicles started filling the yard on Friday night. Joel and his wife, Gaye, were the first to arrive. “Lucy,” Joel said, “If you have room, we’d like to stay with you. If you don’t, we’ll get a motel downtown.”
“Don’t be silly, we’ll make the room,” Lucy smiled. “The boys will let you have their room, and they can sleep on the living room floor.” She trotted off to tell the boys.
Within minutes, Brother Castro and Brother Zarate arrived. “Think Lucy maybe can put us up?” Brother Castro asked Joel anxiously. “If she doesn’t have the room, maybe we could sleep in the back of your truck.”
“Nonsense!” Joel said. “Lucy said the boys’ room is available; you men can sleep there.”
Favorite Wife Page 23
