“You said you wanted to buy it,” I said shortly. “Well, I’m ready to sell.”
Startled, she took the guitar from me. “Are you sure . . . ? I thought you didn’t want to do this.” Her eyes probed mine as I tried to hide my unease.
“I need the money.” I stood up and turned my back to her. Lillie sat uncertainly, holding the guitar on her lap. I could feel her watching me, and I knew she realized how upset I was.
“Susan, if it’s money you need, I could loan you some. I would be glad to.”
“That won’t be necessary, thank you just the same. If you’re interested in buying my guitar, it’s for sale. If you’re not, I’ll find someone else who wants it.” I took a deep breath and stared out the window.
The contents of her purse rustled as she dug into it. Then she hesitantly said, “Here, I checked on prices for used guitars in San Diego, and ones similar to yours are going for fifty dollars. Will that be okay with you?”
Fifty dollars! My hand shook as I held it out and took the money. I had never had fifty dollars all at once in my life. It would pay a doctor, and buy so many other things that I needed . . . “This will be just fine,” I said, keeping my tone expressionless.
“Susan, please . . .” Lillie’s voice dropped and failed. I glanced up at her face, noting the pleading in her eyes. “Please don’t hate me.”
As I realized what she was referring to, the blood immediately rose to my face. “I can’t promise you that,” I snapped. “My feelings aren’t to be considered in your plans, so what do you care how I feel? It wouldn’t change your mind, now would it?”
Lillie hesitated, the color rising in her cheeks. Visibly swallowing, she said, “I’m doing what I believe is right. You have to understand that. I don’t mean to hurt you. Verlan doesn’t, either. You have no idea what he’s going through! Verlan is more upset over how you will take this than over any of his other wives. He feels so deeply about you . . .”
“Oh, I just love hearing from you how my husband feels!” I sneered. “I suppose he tells you everything, right? All of our little secrets, all of his fondest desires—I suppose the two of you are just so close . . .”
I turned away, hiding from Lillie’s red-rimmed eyes, the torment of my own. The seconds ticked by as I fought back tears. Why didn’t she just leave! Our business was over with. Couldn’t she see I hated being around her now—that just looking at her made my heart want to break?
Her voice was muffled when she spoke again. “It amazes me that you think you have reasons for jealousy about me! It just amazes me. How do you think I feel, listening to Verlan talk about you? Susan, his eyes sparkle when he talks about you. His voice fills with laughter and he looks so young . . . Oh, he talks of the others, too, but it’s not the same. The more I’m around him, the more I’m convinced that you’re the very heart of him. I’m marrying him knowing that.” Suddenly she was beside me, forcing me to look at her. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” she whispered.
Staring into her eyes, I slowly shook my head.
Lillie shrugged lightly and let go of my shoulders. “Verlan has a favorite wife. It’s you. You’re it. I can’t take your place in his life, no one can. There is no reason for you to be jealous of me.”
I stared incredulously at Lillie as her words rang in my ears. His favorite wife? Me?
“That’s . . . that’s not true!” I stammered. “You’re just saying it. You’re trying to make me feel better, hoping I’ll ease your guilt and welcome you into the family. Well, I’m not going to do it.”
Lillie’s hand dropped from my arm. She backed away and picking up her new guitar, walked to the door. Stopping with her hand on the knob, she turned back to me. Her voice was flat as she said, “One of these days you’re going to realize that I’m right about this. I just hope you don’t hold it over my head.”
As the screen door closed, I stared blindly at the wad of money in my hand. Lillie was being ridiculous. She didn’t know what she was talking about. How could she—she hadn’t been around enough to know anything about Verlan’s and my relationship.
I shoved the money Lillie had given me into my purse. Bundling Melanie and lifting her into my arms, we set out across Los Molinos toward Irene’s. I would borrow the pickup and take my baby to a doctor.
The suggestion haunted me as I struggled over the damp trail. Me, Verlan’s favorite wife. He didn’t have a favorite—he was much too fair a man for that. And even if he did, it was Charlotte—Charlotte, his first love, his educated, right arm of a wife. Or Irene, perhaps! Irene was such a happy, jolly person. I remembered the way Verlan’s eyes danced when he joked with Irene . . .
The trail joined the main road. Shifting my tiny daughter’s weight against my growing tummy, I rounded the corner and continued toward the distant yellow house that was Irene’s.
Ahead and to the left of me sat a white and green trailer house. I looked up as its screen door closed with a loud bang. Involuntarily, I slowed my steps as Joel’s third wife, Isabel, and Verlan’s fifth wife, Ester, walked swiftly toward the road. Turning, they came directly toward me.
“Oh, boy,” I groaned. “I wonder if they’ll speak to me.”
As the sisters approached, I glanced quickly at Isabel. Her plump, dark face was set, angry at me for her sister’s sake. Looking at Isabel, I remembered the story of how she and Joel’s first wife, Magdalena, detested each other. Word was that their mutual jealousy and hatred was the reason Magdalena had refused to leave Colonia LeBaron along with the rest of Joel’s wives, when he had moved his families to Los Molinos. Magdalena had coldly informed Joel that no one town was big enough to hold both her and Isabel. Isabel had fervently agreed.
I turned my attention to Ester’s marble-like features. Slender and petite, Ester walked with her head held high. In spite of her stiff back, each step she took was graceful and fluid. Jet-black hair hung in a single, heavy braid down her back and gently swayed with each step. Regal. That was Verlan’s word for Ester. Verlan had said that when Ester was dressed in her Sunday best, she looked like a regal queen. Ester, my sister-wife whom I scarcely knew.
The women and I were almost opposite one another now, and still both of them were snubbing me. Well, I wasn’t going to be as low. “Good afternoon, Ester, Isabel,” I nodded cheerfully.
Ester’s almond-shaped eyes met mine for a split second. Then pursing her full lips, she carefully, deliberately, spat on the ground between us. I whirled to stare at her. Just as haughty and superior as royalty itself, she moved on down the road, her steps light and lithesome.
Of all the cheap, disgusting . . . My face flamed. She even had the callousness to spit. Boy, wasn’t she something! Cold as ice . . .
Hot tears forced their way to the surface. I brushed them hastily aside as I neared Irene’s gate. Everything was going so wrong. My baby was sick . . . my beloved guitar was gone, Lillie was marrying Verlan, and Ester . . . snobby Ester treated me like dirt. The saddest part was, I didn’t blame Ester. I understood her heartache. How could I blame Ester for hating me, when I resented Lillie so much! It seemed that I was Ester’s cross to bear—just as Lillie was mine. The Lord had planned it that way.
Not even the huge amount of money in my purse, or Irene’s company on the way to town could cheer me. Once again everything was so confusing. How, Lord, I silently pleaded, how am I supposed to handle all of this? Why can’t I, like Lucy and Irene, just accept things and be happy? What’s wrong with me?
Irene swiftly shuffled, then dealt the cards clockwise around the table in a smooth and experienced motion. Her face was sober, her blue eyes carefully following every movement of her hands. The silence in my trailer hung dismal and heavy as Beverly, Donna, and I picked our cards up and examined them. I mentally decided not to bid, placed my cards facedown in a perfect fan, and hurried to the stove to shake the pan of exploding popc
orn on the burner.
Then I walked to the open north window of the trailer and, grabbing the four bottles of soda pop from the sill, unwrapped them from the wet towel. They felt pretty cold. Now would be a good time to serve them. The Cokes should make my guests happy—at least, as happy as possible under the grim circumstances. Verlan and Lillie’s wedding was occurring in San Diego.
At this very instant, Lillie was becoming Verlan’s seventh wife. And, Charlotte—Verlan’s right arm, was standing next to our husband and his new bride at the wedding. The thought was nauseating.
I sniffed as I vigorously shook the pan of popping corn. Verlan had decided Charlotte should be the one to present Lillie to him during the ceremony. He’d discussed it with her last time he was home, asking her to do the honors.
It wasn’t suggested that the rest of us be there. In fact, Verlan had stubbornly refused Irene’s plea to go, saying he didn’t want Lillie to feel uncomfortable. No, we certainly couldn’t have that.
Of course Lillie’s wedding reception would be a fancy one. She wouldn’t settle for anything less. If anyone could present a gala occasion properly, Lillie could. Half of Los Molinos had left this morning to attend the wedding, leaving us wives of Verlan’s conspicuously behind. Joel naturally was performing the ceremony.
I shook the popcorn pan once more, and poured the savory-smelling kernels into a bowl, adding melted margarine and salt. Then I hurried to the back bedroom to check on Melanie. She was still fast asleep, healthy, and gaining weight now, thanks to Lillie’s money, the medicine the doctor had prescribed, and the jars of actual baby food I had purchased. I tucked the covers tightly around her, touched her cheek, and hurried back to my company.
Donna, my pinochle partner, was getting impatient. She looked pointedly at me and demanded, “What’er you going to do, Suze?”
“Let you do the bidding.” Carrying the popcorn bowl to the table, I set it in front of her.
Donna glanced at me and frowned. “Again? Aren’t you even going to open?”
I set the bottles of Coke on the table, and glumly said, “Okay, I’ll open and bid once.”
“Thanks for the Coke, Susan. I’ll bid two-sixty,” Beverly intoned without looking up.
“Two-seventy,” Donna said promptly, taking a swig of her pop.
Irene shoved a huge bite of fudge into her mouth before glaring at her cards again. Her brow wrinkled in concentration as she mumbled, “I’ll bid three-fifty.”
As if defying us to outbid her, Irene’s eyes roamed around the table in an effort to read each face. Her gaze hesitated on each one, taking note of our long expressions.
With a sudden, exasperated snort, she threw her cards down and snapped, “Okay, dammit, I’ve had enough of you girls’ mournful expressions to last me a lifetime. I say we cheer up.”
She looked from Beverly to me, her blue eyes angry. “Look at all these expensive goodies you’ve bought, Susan! If it weren’t for Donna and me, they’d be going to waste. Beverly, eat some fudge; what’s the matter with you? We’re at a party, girls—a party! Let’s forget all about that damn wedding.” I peered over the top of my cards at Beverly’s swollen eyes. She’d cried plenty over this, too.
I took a slow breath and forced a smile. “You’re right. We’re being stupid. What do we care about Lillie, anyway? We can’t do anything about it, we might as well have a good time.” I picked my cards up again and threw an ace of clubs on the table.
“Play, Beverly,” I nudged her and smiled.
Donna casually sloughed a card as the play moved to her. “Look at it this way,” she said, “if Daddy had to marry again, you girls ought to be glad that he chose someone nice like Lillie.”
Beverly glared at Donna. “Oh, fine! Wonderful. That’s just what we need here tonight—someone on Lillie’s side.”
“I’m not on anyone’s side, I’m just telling you how I feel. I’m glad Lillie’s nice.”
“Well, I happen to be glad she’s skinny,” Irene grinned wickedly, “skinny as Lucy’s poor dog. Verlan’s in for a big disappointment. I can just imagine him trying to cuddle up to Lillie’s sharp bones.”
Beverly looked at me, and we both giggled. Lillie wasn’t as wretchedly thin as Irene suggested, but Irene’s way of trying to cheer us up, was so typical.
“Did I ever tell you girls what happened one night when Charlotte, Lucy, and I lived together in the old, three-story blue house in Ensenada? It’s the one we lived in before Verlan built the big house.”
Irene’s eyes were dancing in a manner that I recognized. A long story was imminent, and setting my cards down, I relaxed to enjoy it.
“Well,” Irene sniffed, “life was hell with the three of us living together like that—absolute hell. All those kids under one roof. Charlotte, of course, figured because she was the oldest and the first wife, she could boss Lucy and me around. I wasn’t about to let her! She was always on such a high horse, telling Lucy and me what to do and acting like she was insulted if we didn’t obey. Boy, she made me mad! I finally got tired of arguing with her, so I started ignoring her. She’d stick her nose in the air, stalk to her bedroom, and spend hours sulking over my ‘negative attitude.’ ”
Irene made a face and shook her head, warming up to her story. “Verlan always sent Charlotte the household money,” she continued, “and it griped me to death. Charlotte and I would go grocery shopping together, and she’d try to tell me what I could or couldn’t buy. If I put a container of Cokes in the basket, Charlotte would put them back on the shelf and tell me I couldn’t have ’em. I’d put them back in the basket and tell her to mind her own business, and she’d stalk out of the store, mad as a wet hen. Well, this one time Verlan was home with us, and it was my night with him. Charlotte, of course, had the big bedroom on the main floor. My tiny bedroom was directly above hers on the second floor, and Lucy’s was down the hall from mine.
“That night I knew that Lucy was really depressed. She’d had a miscarriage and was having a hard time getting over it. You girls know Lucy—nothing phases her—so I knew she was bad off. When Verlan came on up to bed that night, I spent a few minutes with him, then I asked him to go spend the night with Lucy. She needed someone to cheer her up and I didn’t care, I was tired anyway. So Verlan told me goodnight, went on into Lucy’s bedroom, and went to bed.”
I glanced at Beverly and Donna. Our card game had completely stopped, and the two of them were raptly listening to Irene, the hint of a grin on their faces. I took a slow, contented breath, cut myself a piece of fudge, and turned my attention back to Irene.
“I lay in bed awhile and couldn’t seem to sleep, and suddenly I got this idea.” Irene’s eyes twinkled, and I grinned, watching her. “I knelt up on the bed and began to bounce, real rhythmic-like. Slow at first, then faster and faster. The harder I bounced, the harder I had to smother my laughter so Charlotte, in her bedroom below me, wouldn’t hear it. I knew Charlotte thought that Verlan was with me, and I could just imagine the look on her face as her imagination ran away with her.”
Beverly and I choked with laughter. “Oh, Irene,” Beverly gasped, “I can’t believe you did that! What happened then?”
“Well, every hour or so, all night long, I knelt up and bounced again. Now, you girls know Verlan. He’s never gotten sexually carried away like that in his life, at least not to my knowledge, but I sure tried to make Charlotte think he was. You have no idea how much I enjoyed that! You should have seen Charlotte’s face the next morning when I went down to breakfast,” Irene giggled. “Her eyes were swollen, and she was pale and quiet . . . I acted real happy, and asked her what was the matter. I told her she didn’t look so good. She just turned away, real quiet, and went to her bedroom. It was great,” Irene chuckled again in remembrance.
I shook my head, wondering how Irene had the nerve to do it. “Did Charlotte ever find out the truth?�
�
“Oh, I’m sure she did. I imagine she accused Verlan of overindulging me, and he let her know he’d spent the night with Lucy. I told Lucy about it the next morning, and she got a big kick out of it.”
“Speaking of Lucy,” I changed the subject, “I wish she would have come to my party. I imagine she could use some cheering up, too.”
Donna hooted. “Aunt Lucy thinks playing cards is wicked. She’d never come to a card party. Besides, she doesn’t care if Daddy gets married again. Aunt Lucy likes Lillie.”
Irene glared at Donna, then abruptly changed the subject. “Well, guess what, girls? Guess who visited me yesterday?”
“Who?” Beverly and I said in unison.
Irene rolled her eyes. “None other than Ervil the Great, in his fancy gold car. We had a long visit.”
I pursed my lips. “What did he want?”
“You won’t believe what he talked about. He was so affable and friendly, and acted like he and I were best of buddies. He wants to start a target practice for the women of Los Molinos.”
“A what?”
“Target practice. You know, guns. He wants to teach all of us women how to shoot guns in case we should ever have the need to know how. He plans to talk to every woman in Los Molinos about it, so you two can expect a visit,” Irene sniffed. “He’s crazy as a loon.”
“What did you tell him?”
Irene snorted, “That I wasn’t interested, thank you. I told him to cross me off his list and not to bother coming back to see me.”
I shuddered. “Well, I hope he knows better than to come to my house. He’s well aware of how I feel about him. Beverly, if he comes to talk to you, don’t let him in. Just tell him to go away.”
She nodded in agreement.
“I’ll be seeing Ervil before too long, though,” I grimaced. “You girls know that Uncle Bud is taking a plural wife—Naomi Zarate, Benjamin’s daughter, the young widow from Mexico City with the two children. Aunt Thelma and Uncle Bud are insisting that I come to the wedding. Ervil, of course, is performing the ceremony.”
Favorite Wife Page 37
