“Go get Maria!” I screamed at Melanie. She dashed out into the sunlight, sped across the back yard, tearing around the side of Mom’s house. James was whining in terror, his voice echoing against the cement sides of the well. I tried to reach my other hand in to get a better hold on him, but the size of the hole wouldn’t allow it. I grimly held on to his wrist, my fingers becoming slippery. How had four-year-old Melanie, who weighed almost the same as James, managed to hold on until I got here?
Oh, where was Maria? At least a minute had passed, the seconds ticking away maddeningly, as my hand became numb and my fingers so very slippery. My heart thudded with fear. If I dropped him, I’d never get him out of the water in time. The well was so deep—how would I get down by myself? “Maria!” I screamed, knowing she couldn’t hear me. “Maria, help! Help!”
Suddenly she was running toward me, her thongs flapping against her bare soles. Melanie was hard at her heels. “What’s a matta?” Maria shouted.
“My boy’s in the well!” I screamed in Spanish. “I’m losing him—Help me!”
Maria dropped down flat beside me and slipped her arm in next to mine. She grabbed James’s wrist above my hand and allowed me to flex my fingers.
“I got him,” she said. “I got him tight. Now move the boards on your side.”
“Stand back, Melly,” I ordered, pushing her to the doorway. Carefully, I pried the heavy, tarred boards from their concrete border and set them to the side. Once the opening was large enough, Maria pulled James up and thrust him into my waiting arms.
“Thank you, Lord! Oh, thank you, dear Father!” I quavered fervently. My festering anger at God dissolved in an instant. Shaking and crying, I hugged James and rocked him, and covered his soft face with kisses. Then I reached for Melanie who still waited in the doorway.
“Come here, my brave girl,” I croaked. She hesitantly walked to my outstretched arm. “You saved your brother’s life, Mel,” I whispered. “You are the strongest, and the very bravest girl in the whole world, and I love you more than—than I know how to say, and I’m the luckiest mother I know to have you for my daughter. You saved your little brother.”
Tears began to stream down her pale cheeks as I talked, and she buried her face in my shoulder and sobbed and shook.
“Hey, is okay!” Maria laughed and patted Melanie’s back. “Pobrecita, she so scare. When she come to get me, she not say anything! She so scare she can’t talk, but I know something is wrong, so I run . . . ” She laughed again and dabbed at her eyes. “Everything is okay now. You boy is fine, so don’t cry no more, be happy!”
I kissed her brown cheek and hugged her. “Thank you, my sweet little Mother,” I smiled at her through my tears.
Naomi Zarate Chynoweth, my Uncle Bud’s Mexican wife, had disappeared. The Ensenada police were still looking for her, Verlan told me. But she’d been gone for over three months now from her house in Ensenada, where Uncle Bud had moved her and her five children. According to Naomi’s children, Aunt Thelma and one of Ervil’s wives, a woman I barely knew named Vonda White, had taken Naomi from her home. She hadn’t been seen since, and Verlan was certain she was dead. “She wouldn’t go along with Ervil’s orders, she kept inviting her family and other members of our church to her house. I’m guessing Ervil’s had her eliminated.”
I felt sick to my stomach at the news, especially hearing that Aunt Thelma had taken part in it. Oh, how could she do it? She had become a party to murder! Ervil had corrupted her and all her children, had brainwashed them, and was using them as pawns and puppets in his evil game of blood atonement. I remembered Naomi’s strength and fire while delivering Victoria Zarate’s baby, and her flashing black eyes at her wedding to Uncle Bud, and how she had stood up to Ervil. I had admired her spirit and thought she was so brave. But she had probably paid for her defiance with her life. She was a heroine in my eyes.
Ervil had continued his ominous written warnings, giving them colorful names such as Hour of Crisis and Contest at Law, and now he was not only sending them to us, but to other fundamentalist, polygamous groups in Utah. In a nutshell, we were all told to repent, and accept him as God’s chosen one, or suffer the wrath of God. The groups in Utah were also taking his maniacal warnings seriously, Verlan told me, and had tightened security. Anxiety mounted on all sides.
After the Los Molinos raid, Verlan and his counselors decided to send a written petition to Ervil for peace. It was titled “The Church of the Firstborn of the Fullness of Times Raises a Standard of Peace to Its Attackers.” The single-page document pled for Ervil and his followers to “Restrain themselves from any further acts of violence against our people.” It asked them “To respect our God-given rights to life, property, and the free exercise of conscience and no more proceed criminally against us in treading down our inalienable civil rights,” signed, Verlan M. LeBaron, patriarch over the church.
Ervil responded with another written attack, labeled “Response to an act of war.” The pamphlet, from the Church of the Lamb of God—the name Ervil had given his group—was addressed to its “attackers,” meaning us, the Church of the Firstborn. Ervil classified Verlan’s appeal for peace as “an overt and premeditated act of war.” The pamphlet accused Verlan and his “coconspirators” of capital crimes. Ervil obviously had convinced his followers that we were dangerous criminals and out to get them; but, did the demented lunatic actually think anyone else would believe this?
I had read each of Ervil’s pamphlets. They were so disturbing and hard to follow, filled as they were with hundred-dollar words—the same way Ervil talked. The man was an educated loony, as evil as Satan himself. After muddling through “Response to an Act of War,” I determined I would read no more of his high-sounding garbage. I would pray, and be careful of my children, and refuse to let him or his threats dwell in my mind.
The problem I had was that everyone in the colony talked of little else. Verlan had come to visit us twice since we moved to Colonia LeBaron, and he was consumed with worries about his mad brother. He was determined to see that Ervil, Dan, and the others were put behind bars for the atrocities they’d committed, and he was working with the authorities in Ensenada, and with the Secret Service in the States, to apprehend them all before anyone else was killed. At the same time, Verlan knew that he himself topped Ervil’s hit list, so he had to be constantly vigilant. He actually was packing a pistol at the insistence of the police. He knew nothing whatever about guns, and one night as I lay in bed, waiting for him to undress and blow the lamp out, he shot a hole into the plastered adobe wall when he checked to see if the safety was on. His carelessness scared us all to death. He swore me to secrecy.
With all the Ervilite business, Verlan’s Nicaragua project was on hold. He had Irene and Lucy and their kids living there, but he was too occupied to spend any time there himself. I wasn’t surprised.
My baby was due in a month, and Verlan let me know that he wouldn’t be able to get back to the colony in time for the birth. He was needed in so many places, and I would have to understand. I would be fine, he assured me, and he would come as soon as he could.
My mother had settled into living with Grandma in Pleasant Grove, Utah. Dad went to see her occasionally, and she’d been here for a short visit a few months ago. Mona and I missed her terribly, but when Dad announced that he had decided to move Maria and their family to southern Mexico—and without further ado proceeded to pack up and drive off, our sense of abandonment was complete. I knew my parents had become disillusioned with the church. Especially Dad—he rarely attended the services anymore, had started smoking again, and was openly showing disgust with most of our leaders, Verlan included. Joel’s death had hit him hard, and Ervil’s “shenanigans,” as Dad called them, left him incensed. That his own dear sister Thelma and her family had become Ervil’s champions was more than he could take. Dad felt responsible because he had been the one initially to coax the Chynow
eths into listening to our missionaries. He, personally, had taken Ervil to their home in Utah and made the introductions. Ervil’s first visit to the Chynoweth home had resulted in his courtship of their seventeen-year-old daughter, Lorna.
And now, Dad needed space. His Social Security checks would nicely cover their needs in southern Mexico, and it was a beautiful place to live. They would give it a try.
At Dad’s insistence, we moved into my mother’s larger home. There wasn’t much to move, as Dad and Maria hadn’t had room to take household goods. But the place needed a good cleaning, and Mona wasn’t much help these days. She was in her final year at school, and she was head over heels in love with Joel LeBaron Jr. Her life was full, and she could spare little time.
I rushed madly around in an effort to be settled and have everything organized before the baby came. My sister Rose Ann offered to help the colony midwife with the birth. Mona also wanted to attend since she hadn’t seen a baby’s birth. I searched the countryside for a work-girl to help me for a few days after the baby came, and finally located one who was available. Breathing a sigh of relief, I relaxed, content to patiently await my due date. Everything was set.
My labor started in the early evening, and I sent Mona for the midwife Linda, and for Rose Ann. Then I had Mona go inform the work-girl that I would need her the following morning. Not until after my new son was born did Mona tell me the work-girl’s mother was sick. She wouldn’t be coming after all.
“You’ll be okay,” Rose Ann cheerfully assured me. “You have Mona here, and I’ll try to stop by sometime tomorrow. Just get some rest.”
The baby was healthy and beautiful. He possessed a powerful set of lungs and the deep chest and broad shoulders of a future linebacker. His appetite was enormous—he nursed hungrily the moment Rose Ann put him to my breast.
I was happy to see the women leave for the night. My after-pains had started, and I felt exhausted and wanted to collapse and cry without an audience. But rest was not to be. Mona had gone straight to bed in Mom’s old room off the front porch, and didn’t hear Jeannette crying in the middle bedroom. I called and called for her, but she was sound asleep. Groaning, I put the baby aside and stood up, my body sore and shaky as I shuffled down the hall. I lifted Jeannette from the crib and half-dragged her to my bed.
My night remained a sleepless one. The baby wailed, and Jeannette refused to sleep, and my uterus contracted harshly, making me want to scream. Melanie and James awoke and joined us in my bed. They were excited about the new baby and needed the comfort of Mama’s presence in a house gone suddenly nutty. Mona slept on.
Total exhaustion overcame me as the late November sun was rising. The children had all finally settled down, and slept like little angels all around me. With the baby in the crook of my arm, I relaxed and fell asleep.
“Breakfast, everybody!”
Startled, my eyes flew open. Grinning, Mona stood at my bedside, a plate of pancakes and eggs in her hands.
“Oh, Mona, shush, not now!” I moaned. “These kids barely fell asleep . . . ” But it was too late. James popped his head up, then Jeannette rolled on top of the baby and he started to bawl. “Dammit, you guys!” Melanie cussed, sounding just like me as she rolled off the bed.
I dutifully ate my breakfast while Mona took the children to the kitchen. Their noise was deafening, and I sighed. I felt like crying myself. You just need a few hours of uninterrupted sleep, I told myself, and you’ll be all right. Mona will take care of the kids and you can take a nap.
But this also was not to be. She came to my room for my plate, and said, “Suze, Joel invited me to go to Casas with him this morning. I’ll be back late this afternoon. Will you be okay?”
I glared at her through swollen eyes. “You are kidding me!” I hissed. “I just had a baby, remember? You’re not going anywhere! I need your help, dammit. What, do I have to beg?”
She glared sullenly back at me. “Do you realize this is the first time Joel’s asked me to go with him? The first time! I’m sorry, but I have to go. Besides, Rose Ann said she’ll be here later on today . . . and the kids’ll be just fine. They can play in the other room while you sleep. He’s going to be here any minute, and I have to get ready,” she flounced out of the room.
I closed my eyes. I didn’t have the strength to argue with her. She was so in love—she couldn’t think of anything else. She was only seventeen and didn’t realize what she was doing.
I’d turned twenty-two last month, yet I felt so much older. I would manage.
Melanie brought me clothes and a diaper for Jeannette and I got her dressed while the older ones dressed themselves. Then I tried to rest through the morning as five-year-old Melanie did her best to entertain her brother and sister. Linda, the midwife, stopped by at noon to check on me, but she could only stay a minute. She had another birth across town to attend.
James and Jeannette had both fallen asleep on the foot of my bed. My eyes burned from lack of sleep, but the potty under the bed was beginning to smell. I would have to empty it. I carefully stood and pulled on my robe and slippers, wondering how I would make it across the backyard to the outhouse. It had to be done, and no one else was here to do it. Rose Ann had still not shown up. I retrieved the potty and started down the hall.
“Mom,” Melanie dawdled in the hallway, looking doubtfully at the curtained doorway of the unfinished bathroom, “What is that thing?”
“What thing?”
She pointed, “That ugly thing in there.”
Sighing, I set the potty down on the hall floor and pulled the curtain back. Bile rose in my throat. Amid a pile of blood-soaked sheets, the white bedpan Linda had used last night sat on the cement floor. My huge, purple lump of placenta, swimming in blood, was drying in it.
I let the curtain fall into place as I backed away and slowly dropped my head against the opposite wall. My body tingled with shame—then anger choked me.
What was wrong with everybody! How could Mona, Rose Ann, and even Linda leave me here alone with all this! I couldn’t stand it! My poor little kids were fending for themselves, and I was shaking with pain and exhaustion, and nobody cared!
My legs were cramping, and I slid my back down the wall and sat on the floor. After a moment, Melanie sat down beside me and put her head against my shoulder. We sat together in total silence, but then her small, comforting hand patted my arm, and I could stand it no more. I burst into tears.
I sobbed hard, for Verlan and for my mother, and for my sweet little children who had to take care of themselves. And I cried for Aunt Thelma and Lorna, and dead Naomi, and for my new little baby, whom I hadn’t even wanted at first, but whom I wanted now, so much. The tears streamed down my cheeks.
Suddenly I realized Melanie was crying too. Her shoulders were shaking, and I glanced at her and saw the tears raining down her smooth cheeks. I gave her a fierce hug and cried a minute more; then I mumbled, “I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to cry. Everything’s going to be fine, so let’s cheer up and be happy. Okay?”
She nodded and sniffled, her chin quivering. Then she whispered, “I’ll empty the potty for you, Mama.”
As hard as I resisted, I erupted into new wails of despair. After a few minutes I was all cried out, and I dried my puffy eyes and blew my stuffed nose. Together, Melanie and I carried the chamber pot outside, through the disaster of Mona’s kitchen mess, and into the crisp, late autumn sunshine. We emptied the potty, then together, we sat on the two-holer and emptied our bladders.
I waited until it was nearly dark before taking the bedpan and a shovel to the garden. I couldn’t stand to dump this part of my own baby’s existence into the privy, and had determined it needed a proper burial. I dug a shallow hole, plopped it in, and covered it up. Then I went inside and lit the lamps.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
"For
rest Lane LeBaron!” Verlan insisted—his voice filled with wonder at the beauty and creativity of the name he’d chosen for my new son. I argued and pleaded, but his mind was made up and no other name would do. Verlan gave the baby his blessing in church the following Sunday, then he kissed us all goodbye and was off again to San Diego.
Forrest was six months old when Mom moved back to Colonia LeBaron. She’d come home just in time for Mona’s wedding, riding down from Utah with my three oldest brothers and their families. They, also, had come for the sending off of their baby sister. Even Dad showed up from southern Mexico for the big event. Mona had handled most of the wedding arrangements herself; the reception was held in Grandma LeBaron’s front yard.
The wedding seemed more like a funeral than like a joyful occasion. Surely a more somber union never occurred. Joel Jr.’s second wife Nadine was the love of his life, and it was practically killing both Nadine and Joel himself to have another wife join the family. But he was determined to earn his eternal blessings, so he proceeded with the marriage vows. Joel’s two wives sat on the sidelines during the ceremony, with Tina appearing pale and stoic, and Nadine’s chalky cheeks wet with misery. Joel’s expression was tortured and sorrowful, and my sweet little sister looked as though she might collapse at any moment. I was disturbed at the whole thing and wondered how this could possibly be God’s will.
I was ecstatic, though, to see my older brothers, Perry, Dale, and Ross, and to get to know their families a bit. We all drove into Casas the next day and went shopping and out to eat, and we played cards and had a party that Mona didn’t get to join since she was on her honeymoon. The Utah relatives stayed for three days. Dad stayed a week to spend some time with Mom.
Mother herself looked rested and happy. She’d bought new clothes, and a pair of the stylish new, Nike brand, running shoes. She’d cut her hair into a short, wavy style and had gained a bit of weight. She said it was from all the ice cream she’d eaten at Grandma Susie’s, but I personally thought it was from living a stress-free life for the past two years. She told me that the kids and I could continue to live with her, but I knew my rambunctious children would quickly get on her nerves.
Favorite Wife Page 49
