I sat on the tattered couch and waited—my anger just under the surface. How had this happened to Debbie Bateman, my spirited, fun-loving, gum-chewing friend from southern California! She’d had the courage to leave Ervil, and that was wonderful. But to come to this? This was almost as bad a life as that poor little native woman in Nicaragua!
I closed my eyes and mentally fought for control of my tongue. I always wanted to rescue people—I couldn’t help it, I couldn’t bear to see other people suffering! But I couldn’t let Debbie see my rage at her husband for not providing better—it wasn’t my business.
“Would you like something, maybe a cup of mint tea?” Debbie offered when she joined me. She appeared anxious to play the hostess, and genuinely pleased that I was here, yet obviously I’d caught her at a bad time.
“No, really, I’m just fine,” I assured. “It’s just been so long, and I wanted to see how you’re doing. How’s everything with you, and how’s Ritchie?”
Everything was good, she told me, her eyes evasive. Her baby was due in a week, and her mom was coming to help her. Ritchie was keeping busy with farming.
“It’s been forever since I’ve seen Ritchie,” I murmured. “Is he around?”
“No, not tonight,” she said quietly. I nodded, wanting to change the subject, but Debbie blurted, “He’s gone to ask Laura out to the movies.”
“Laura! Laura LeBaron?!” I gasped. Verlan and Charlotte’s twenty-year-old, single daughter had been in town for the past few days. Verlan’s three oldest girls, Rhea, Laura, and Donna hadn’t gone to Nicaragua. They each had taken jobs in California. Laura had become a lovely girl with a lithe, long-legged body, and soft brown hair and eyes. She was visiting from San Diego and staying with Grandma LeBaron. She’d stopped by to see the kids and me a couple of times. Several of the brethren were relentlessly pursuing her, but as yet she’d shown no real interest in anyone.
I stared at Debbie, with her bare feet and rag of a dress, and I lost my head. “Ritchie’s trying to court Laura?” I hissed. “Look at you, all big and pregnant and living like this, and your husband’s out chasing the prettiest girl in town! This is the sickest thing I’ve ever heard!”
Debbie’s face turned white. She struggled to her feet and snapped back, “Well, what about your own husband! How many wives has he got? Something like ten or so, isn’t it? And he’s still after more. How do you feel about his courting Priscilla? He needs another wife like he needs another hole in the head.”
We stared into each other’s eyes, my own face slowly blanching with shock. “What!” I finally gasped. “What did you say? Verlan’s—courting Priscilla?”
Images of the Prophet Joel’s beautiful young widow flashed in front of me. Priscilla, the exquisite girl I’d spoken to at the airport while we waited for Joel’s body to arrive from Ensenada. Priscilla, Ritchie’s sister, Joel’s widow, Verlan’s new conquest?
Debbie sat back down again, her shoulders slumping. “You didn’t know, did you?” she said softly. “I’m so sorry, Sue. That was so rotten of me. You shouldn’t have found out like this. Oh, Lord, I’m so sorry.”
I dropped onto the couch, hugged my baby tightly and slowly rocked him. I swayed back and forth with Verlan’s tiny, sleeping son; my frozen lips locked in a kiss against his soft forehead.
Debbie talked quietly to me, but I didn’t really hear her. My thoughts were dazed, yet running swiftly over my married life.
My first lonely months: living with Lucy in Ensenada, Verlan’s courtship of Lillie—Beverly’s coldness and subsequent friendship—Charlotte’s distaste of the child I’d been—Irene’s sweetness—Ervil—and my heartache over the Chynoweths. Verlan’s constant absence—My first house, that horrid trailer that was just as bad as this place of Debbie’s—The poverty. My guitar—Lillie. Kim. Helen and Elizabeth. Nicaragua and the dirt floors and flies.
As I finally left Debbie, I choked out my own apology. I hadn’t meant to be rude—I really hadn’t. I’d just been so upset . . . I’d spoken my furious thoughts out loud . . . With my baby clutched tightly against me, I hurried back through the cold, semidarkness to Fara’s.
My brain still whirled with the news. I hadn’t questioned Debbie’s knowledge of Verlan and Priscilla’s courtship. She’d know what she was talking about—Priscilla was her husband’s sister. Besides, I’d always been aware of Verlan’s admiration for Priscilla. It showed in his eyes each time he was around her.
My anger was harsh and deeper than what I’d felt about Lillie. But now, it wasn’t directed so much at Verlan or even at Priscilla. They were both victims of the same powerful, deceptive indoctrination that my own mind no longer tolerated. My anger was mostly at myself for being weak, for being a victim of my own heart and insecurity. Somehow I had to free myself from the hold Verlan and my other loved ones had on me.
How long had I suspected that this church I belonged to was based on principles that were, in so many ways, unchristian? Since Los Molinos, when I’d finally understood women were considered mindless baggage—and if submissive, we would be admitted to heaven on our husband’s coattails. That had been the beginning. Since then, I’d come to realize that not just the women were leaning on the arm of flesh, but our men also. Joel’s teachings had become more important to Verlan and the others, than Christ’s. And in many ways they weren’t the same teachings at all.
Polygamy was the key to the door of disaster in this church. The task of living polygamy so overwhelmed us all, that the very reason for the church’s existence—our solemn duty to share the precious gospel of salvation with the world before it was too late—was lost in the confusion.
Admittedly, I didn’t understand all the ramifications. But I did know that if this huge part of our doctrine was in error, then we were in serious trouble. Why couldn’t Verlan see this? He was an intelligent man—how could he be so blind? Was the thrill of always having a new woman on the horizon the blind spot? Was the feeling of power, of being a god over his own little kingdom here on earth, too large a sacrifice to make for truth?
I’d been so blind! Why had it taken Debbie’s appalling living circumstances to open my eyes wide to what our men were doing! Verlan’s wives lived no better! Verlan himself ignored the dreadful squalor of his families’ conditions, and chased after women with wantonness that was truly sinful. And he did it while hiding behind the skirt of religious purity.
Laura’s face crept into my imagination—Laura, Charlotte’s innocent daughter, who soon would choose a polygamous husband and inevitably join the ranks of heartbroken, abandoned, abused, plural wives.
I shuddered, my steps racing up the gentle incline to Fara’s. My own little children would not be raised this way! My daughters would never go through this heartache, nor would my sons be taught that they could control and abuse women’s emotions. Somehow I would get them away from this, where they would be free to search for the truth, and would never be subjected to the empty promises and resulting degradation of polygamy.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
My baby son Lance was six weeks old when Verlan returned from San Diego. Beverly and her children were with him. She planned to move in with her parents temporarily, since she refused to stay any longer in Los Molinos.
“She wants to live close to her folks,” Verlan sighed, looking at me with a strange, accusing glint in his eye. I ignored the silent implication. I could read his mind—he was blaming me for starting something in his family, something that was getting out of control.
Verlan’s stop in Colonia LeBaron was brief. He was on his way back to Nicaragua. He’d received urgent letters from the wives there, demanding that they be returned to civilization immediately. My husband’s demeanor seemed cowed and resigned, and he’d taken little notice of my own reserve toward him.
Nothing was going right, he complained. Ervil’s wife, Vonda, had been releas
ed for lack of evidence in the murder of Dean Vest. More members of our church had “bailed out,” the primary one being Bruce Wakeham, one of Verlan’s two main counselors. And now, this demand by his three wives in Nicaragua! It would take several trips to get all three families relocated, and he “didn’t have a clue where to take them.” They wanted to come to Colonia LeBaron, but he had no homes available for them.
“I have found you a little house, though,” he said, brightening a bit. “Harv Stubbs has sold me that little place on the corner, down by Stubbsville. You can move in while I’m gone, and we’ll fix it up and get you some furniture when I get back. There’s no outhouse, but I’ll have someone get right on it and build you one.”
I bit my tongue and nodded. I couldn’t stay with Fara forever, and as yet I still had no concrete scheme for leaving Colonia LeBaron. I didn’t dare reveal my ultimate plans to leave him and the church. The pressure on me would be enormous, and Verlan would never willingly allow me to take his children.
“I have a question for you,” I coldly changed the subject. “It’s been called to my attention that you’re courting another woman. Is this true?”
Verlan stared at me, his face becoming grave, “Who told you this?”
I sighed, “What does that matter? Is it true or not?”
“The only thing you could possibly be talking about is that Priscilla’s asked me to be her spiritual head,” he said slowly. “Now, Susan, that’s all there is to it. You know the rule of the church; I’ve explained it to you. Single women need to be under the authority and guidance of a man of the priesthood. She’s chosen me to be the one. Don’t make a big deal out of it, please!”
“That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard!” I snapped scornfully. “Why would she want you? You don’t even have the time to guide your own wives! Why would any woman ask you to be her spiritual head! Don’t insult my intelligence, Verlan; there’s more to this Priscilla thing than you’re telling me.”
“I don’t want to talk about this,” he countered swiftly. “You’re not being rational, and I don’t like being called on the carpet this way. I’ve told you to trust me, and you may as well decide to do it. Look, I’m here to spend some time with you! Can’t we enjoy each other’s company for a while?” He reached out to touch me, and I pushed his hands away.
“If I were you, I wouldn’t want to be judged, either,” I retorted. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the cupboard. Enough of this, I thought. What Verlan did with Priscilla would never affect me—not as it did his other families.
He lounged against Fara’s kitchen counter, pursed his lips, and tiredly shook his head. He still couldn’t fathom why his having other women should upset me. He was doing the right thing by taking care of his brother’s widow; what could be my problem?
My voice softening a bit, I continued, “Verlan, I love you. I do, and I always will no matter what happens. But I don’t agree with the way you live your life or with the way you treat your wives. I hope someday that you realize that women have rights, too. We have the right to be loved and cared for. We have the right to expect our husbands to be real daddies for our children. And we also should be respected and allowed to have an opinion about the actions of our husband that affect our own lives. I just hope that someday you truly realize this.”
His aqua-colored eyes stared into mine, absorbing my every word. The house became silent. The morning sun poured warmth through the window, its rays reflecting against the metal snaps on Verlan’s western shirt. Outside, I could vaguely hear the soft voices of the children as they played in Fara’s sandbox.
Verlan’s hand slid along the counter to where my hand rested against the sink. He lifted it to his lips. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?” he whispered. “Oh, Susan, my little charm. God knows that sometimes I’d just like to run away with you. Just you! We’d live a normal life, where I didn’t have to deal with all the pressures of the church and everyone else. I’d make you so happy! We’d have our beautiful children, and each other . . . we wouldn’t need anyone else.”
“You’d be bored stiff in a week,” I retorted. “If you didn’t have your harem and the church to keep you busy, you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself. You’d end up driving me crazy.”
“No, I wouldn’t. I’d find plenty of things to do! I’d learn to golf, for one thing. I’ve always thought that looked like fun.”
He leaned over and kissed me, soft and deep. Forsaking his usual chaste smack, his kiss deepened and searched. Tears instantly filled my eyes, my heart and soul ached with sorrow as I returned his kiss. Verlan didn’t know it but he was kissing me for the last time, and my breath came in harsh gasps when I finally pulled away.
He grabbed my hand again and urged me toward the bedroom, his eyes desperate with sudden desire. “No! No, I can’t,” I moaned, my own traitorous longing for him weakening my will. “I can’t.” I yanked my hand free and shoved it behind my back. Then I moved away from him, my grief apparent in my eyes.
“Why?” He growled.
My frozen brain searched for an excuse—Fara—my period—the children. They would all work.
I shook my head, my face contorted with anguish. “I just can’t,” I sobbed. “Please go away! Please!”
Verlan silently nodded. He stepped past me. Hesitating at the door, he looked back. “Send for me when you want me,” he muttered. The screen door latched softly behind him.
I stood motionless, my tears falling silently, my heart bursting with misery. Into my shattered thoughts my dream of long ago crept—the dream I’d considered a personal revelation from God, the one I’d been taught to expect from childhood. In my dream Verlan had come. He had rescued me from evil. He’d kissed me, and Grandma had assured me this meant he was the one I should marry. The reality was, I had married Verlan and we had five wonderful children. He’d saved me from marrying Ervil and becoming part of Ervil’s madness. The other reality was, Verlan lived with a certain madness of his own, one that I could no longer agree with. As of now, that part of my life was over.
Dad’s yellow Toyota pickup sped swiftly past the sandy, cactus-covered landscape, moving ever closer to the United States border and New Mexico. The little truck, with its camper shell on its back, bumped over the rough roads and swayed around the turns. I grasped the side of the mattress and softly cursed my father’s driving.
Six-year-old James looked at me and grinned, showing off the gap of his missing front teeth. “You said a bad word,” he announced.
“You’re right, I did. Oops.” I smiled at him, then used my feet to hold the suitcases from sliding at us as we turned into another curve.
Forrest and Lance both slept—one curled on either side of me. Melanie and Jeannette were in the cab with Grandpa. James leaned against the camper shell, his long legs reaching the end of the mattress. He stared out the open window, the breeze blowing his shaggy blond hair about his face. Blue-green eyes snapped with excitement—he was going to visit his uncles from the States!
My heart still fluttered, but it no longer pounded with fear. We were far away from the colony now, and no one could stop us. Verlan was somewhere in California—probably San Diego—and he wasn’t aware of our escape. No one, including my father, knew that we would never return.
Dad had been so sweet and happy for the company when I’d asked if the kids and I could ride along on his trip to Utah. We needed a vacation, I’d told him, just a little break. I hated lying to him, but I knew I had no choice. He would never have agreed to take us otherwise.
I’d packed two suitcases and a cardboard box. Then I’d wandered nervously around the little house Verlan had procured for me. I was actually doing it. I was leaving.
I glanced regretfully at my brand-new, beautiful oak cabinets in the kitchen. They’d just been delivered yesterday from the carpenter in Casas and remained empty. T
hey were the most beautiful things I’d ever had, and I was leaving them. Well, they were one of my few regrets. Verlan would eventually give them to someone else. Maybe Priscilla would get them. She and Verlan planned to be married soon.
I turned to stretch my legs, but James had all the space. He obligingly scooted a bit, and I blew him a kiss. He grinned and continued his excited study of the desert. I buried my face in the pillow and closed my eyes, my worried thoughts scurrying.
It was November 1976. We would be arriving unannounced on Thanksgiving Day. What would my brothers say when I arrived with five children? I was asking so much of them! Yet from the hints they had made in the past, I knew they would take us in. They would help me get on my feet and show me how to survive. I would get a job, and perhaps go to school—I would manage . . . I relaxed and slept.
The snow in Cedar City, Utah was two feet deep as my father pulled into Perry’s driveway. I shivered with nervous excitement as Dad and I bundled the children and trudged to the front door. Dad wasted no time on niceties. He turned the doorknob and marched the six of us inside.
“Hallo, anybody home?” he boomed. Perry, Darlene, and their two blond girls and little boy jumped up from the dining room table. Grinning, they raced to us, shouting excited questions while hugging us at the same time. Coats and snow-covered shoes were removed. We were herded into the brightly lit kitchen, where Dad placed calls to Dale and Ross, my two brothers who lived on the outskirts of town.
“How long can you stay?” Perry asked, his eyes twinkling with excitement as he served up Thanksgiving leftovers. He placed them in front of my wide-eyed children who crowded around his table. Darlene poured foamy glasses of milk and passed them around, then she took Lance from my arms and fed him mashed potatoes and gravy.
Favorite Wife Page 53
