Shattered Dreams

by Irene Spencer

  In addition to being our leader, Uncle Rulon was something like a father to me growing up. I recall how he would lift me onto his broad shoulders and then romp and whirl around the room with me hanging on to his blond hair. Tall, stately, and very handsome, he was universally thought of as a godly man.

  On the day I received Glen’s letter returning my lock of hair, I called Uncle Rulon with a heavier than usual question pressing on me.

  “How’s my sweet niece today?” he asked, concerned.

  “I’d be doing better if I could talk to you. Could you give me a few minutes of your time if I come over to your office?”

  “Come right on over, dear,” he said. “I’ll have time during my lunch hour. I’m not too rushed today.”

  I hoped the cold water I splashed on my face would relieve the swelling around my puffy eyes. I didn’t want Uncle Rulon to think I was still a “bawl baby” at sixteen. I also didn’t want a tearstained face to make Uncle Rulon doubt my resolve to be obedient to God. Besides, God might not count my sacrifice as worthy unless I offered it without flinching.

  At his office, I explained my dilemma to Uncle Rulon as he took small bites of a tuna sandwich and weighed out the facts I presented to him. My voice broke several times as I expressed my love for Glen, cataloged Glen’s wonderful attributes, and proclaimed what a good man he was. In light of all that, might there be some way I could marry Glen and yet stay right with God? Perhaps if Glen were willing to convert . . .

  My uncle interrupted with his most comforting voice, gently but firmly excluding the possibility that Glen might ever be a suitable husband for me. I fought off despair as Uncle Rulon then agreed heartily with the premonition I thought I’d had about Verlan the first day I met him. “There’s no question Verlan is the better man, my dear,” Uncle Rulon said, “if for no other reason than he was born under the covenant.” His words tore at my heart.

  “You definitely can’t let an unbeliever like Glen stand in the way of your salvation,” he sagely counseled me. Then, glancing quickly at his watch, he added, “I approve of your decision. You’re a valiant woman. I appreciate your willingness to serve the Lord.” His voice cracked when he added, “Your dear Mother suffered terribly trying to live the Principle. I hope you won’t have as hard a time. Whatever happens, will you promise me one thing?”

  I nodded.

  “Promise me you won’t come back in five or ten years, asking me, ‘Uncle Rulon, why did you let me do it?’ ”

  He was asking me to promise I’d stick with it, that I’d never veer off the polygamous road once I started down it. It would be hard, to be sure, but I had vast stores of wisdom to fall back on and bolster me along the way. What else had all the years of lessons and talking and praying about the Principle been for? I was a child of the covenant; I could do this. I had to do it. It was my duty and my birthright. Besides, I’d gone voluntarily up the mountain with my Isaac in tow. In my deepest heart, I could not believe God would ask this of me unless he meant to reward me with something just as good in the here and now.

  “Yes, I promise,” I said.

  “Well,” he said, rising from his chair, “tell Verlan I’d like to talk to him. See if you can find me at home this Sunday, just before meeting.”

  We hugged. Then, squaring my shoulders, readying myself for the long march into God’s celestial glory, I ran to the bus station and bought a one-way ticket to Provo.

  IT’S NOW BEEN OVER fifty years since I’ve seen Glen, but he lives on vividly in my heart. Sometimes I can even sense his presence, especially each springtime, when I see his illusive form in the golden yellow daffodils.

  BOOK TWO

  STANDING ON

  PRINCIPLE

  CHAPTER SIX

  A promise can be a powerful thing. When I boarded the bus bound for Provo, it had only been a few hours since I’d received Glen’s letter returning his mementos of my love for him. But in those few hours, a promise had been made. I already felt as if I was living a different life, though committing to it didn’t mean it was going to be easy. My first challenge was to get my new life out of the starting gate.

  I did lots of hard thinking in the forty miles to Provo. What exactly did Uncle Rulon want to tell Verlan? Would he now consent to our marriage immediately? If so, how did I feel about having brought about that change of heart? And how would Verlan feel? Then there was Charlotte. She might have some feelings about it, too. More pressing still, how was I to tell Verlan the priesthood leader wanted to see him? I didn’t want Verlan to think I’d been too forward by visiting privately with Uncle Rulon.

  The trip was scary in itself. Here I was, traveling out of town without anyone in the world knowing, although Uncle Rulon promised to call Aunt Beth so she’d know my whereabouts. Why, I hadn’t even a clue how to get to Verlan and Charlotte’s from the bus station. So, after the bus pulled into Provo, I got off quickly and surveyed the other passengers as they descended the steps. I approached a fat, gray-haired woman of about forty-five and showed her the paper in my hand with Charlotte’s address on it. She eyed it for a minute, thinking. “Well, young lady,” she said, pointing east, “it’s about twenty blocks that way. Do you need a cab? I can go into the depot and call one for you.”

  “No thanks,” I said, taking the paper from her chubby hand. It was my only link to Charlotte and Verlan; I couldn’t afford to lose it. I walked in the direction the woman pointed, hoping the street signs would make enough sense to me, hoping to find someone else I felt comfortable approaching if the need arose. With my apprehension running so high, the continual uphill walk exhausted me more than it should have. Every few blocks I had to rest on a bench at a bus stop. It gave me opportunity to fret even more.

  Making my way up the hilly avenues heading east, I passed redbrick homes with beautiful landscaping. I picked one out and imagined it was mine—a place of beauty, with a man inside to fulfill my dreams. I was the only woman who lived in my fantasy house. And, of course, this brought me back to Charlotte, whom I would get to face in just a few moments under the most awkward circumstances. The thought made me need to sit down again. Would she be angry with me for infringing on her rights? I vowed to censor my every word so as not to distress her in any way.

  We were half sisters, yet I’d never felt close to Charlotte, who was by nature serious and spiritual and never seemed to waver on our fundamentalist faith. In contrast, I loved to laugh and be silly, and I struggled powerfully with our gospel, as Charlotte well knew. I’d surmised she’d never much appreciated what she likely saw as my nonsense and excessive laughter. Despite what she told me to the contrary that night at Aunt Rhea’s, I found it hard to believe I was the girl Charlotte really would have wanted to get the position of second wife to her husband. Perhaps I should have phoned ahead.

  The concern was academic at this point. I found the white-plastered house with the same bold black numbers as the ones I’d written on my paper. I rang the bell and heard a baby’s cries inside. When Charlotte answered the door a few moments later, her pretty face showed complete surprise.

  “Irene, what are you doing here?” she asked as she invited me in. I stepped into the foyer, and she embraced me. Then she shot questions at me. “How did you get here? Did you come alone?”

  I tiptoed around with my answers, hoping she wouldn’t catch on that I’d come to see her husband, but her brown eyes looked sadder and sadder the longer I talked. I was sure she was figuring out my scheme. Out of small talk, I played with seven-month-old Verlan Jr., holding him on my lap, cooing at him, conversing with him in baby talk. He looked so much like his father. Secretly, I wondered if my children by Verlan would be as handsome.

  For the longest time, neither of us mentioned that taboo subject—Verlan. Instead, our conversation centered on siblings, mothers, and new additions to our huge family through marriages and births. Charlotte finally invited me to sit down and eat dinner with her, explaining that “Verlan won’t be home until eleven. He attends BYU in
the daytime, where he’s in his second year of college. At night he works at the state mental hospital.” Since I knew so little about Verlan, I clung to each detail. He was still such a mystery to me.

  I helped Charlotte with the baby and the housework, but the hours passed slowly and quietly once we’d run through all the headlines about relatives. Finally, at precisely eleven, Verlan came through the back door into the kitchen. His blue eyes danced when he saw me. He shook my hand, squeezed tightly, and held on a little longer than I thought was legal. “What a nice surprise to have you here!” he said.

  When Charlotte left the room to check on the baby, Verlan’s pleasing voice lowered to a whisper. “What’s going on? Are you bringing good news or bad?”

  Before answering, I couldn’t help but pause a moment to appreciate how clean-cut he looked with his blond hair, dark blue slacks, and blue and white plaid shirt. When I realized I’d been staring, I blushed, but Verlan seemed not to notice. “Well,” I said, “it depends on how you look at it.” Then I added nervously, “Uncle Rulon wants to see you on Sunday.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “He simply told me to tell you to come and see him.”

  Just then Charlotte returned with a pillow and blanket, and we both stopped talking. She looked past me to her husband, and asked, “Are you ready to eat? If so, I’ll serve you now.”

  Charlotte handed me the pillow and blanket, and invited me to retire in her living room. I laid the pillow on the couch and quickly unfolded the blanket. Then I pulled my dress over my head and spread it neatly across the wooden rocker. I didn’t want Verlan to see it wrinkled the next morning. I took off my freshly polished white shoes and curled up on the sofa in my panties, bra, and slip for the night. I hadn’t brought a thing with me.

  The next day was Saturday; Verlan had the weekend off from both school and work. Here I was, without even being invited, taking up Charlotte’s precious time with him. I felt just as ridiculous being there as I would have expected Charlotte to feel if she’d come down and horned in on Glen and me. It was an awkwardness I’d one day find as normal as sleeping and eating, but at this point it was still a new thing, and I despised it.

  In the midst of my feeling this way, when Charlotte’s back was turned, Verlan winked at me in a furtive attempt to flirt. I froze with apprehension. I was shocked at how stupid men could be about a woman’s feelings.

  I wondered why I’d even come, since I was so constrained here. I wanted to go home before Charlotte got really upset with me. I’d just about decided to when Verlan handed me his infant son. A wide grin flashed across his handsome face. “Keep him happy for a few minutes,” he commanded. Then, ushering Charlotte into the bedroom, he said, “We need privacy for a few minutes.” I couldn’t imagine what would happen next. The minutes dragged as I watched the hands move on the white wall clock. After some time, I laid the baby down to nap.

  Nearly half an hour later, Verlan emerged, but no Charlotte. “How about going to a movie?” he asked excitedly.

  I shrugged. “Let’s go if you want. Is Charlotte ready, or does she need help with the baby?” I asked.

  He gently pushed me toward the kitchen door. I looked around, hoping Charlotte and the baby were coming along behind us. They were not. Verlan reassured me. “It’s okay. The two of us are going alone.”

  My pangs of fear made me feel like I was getting diarrhea. How could I just walk out with Verlan, without Charlotte? No wonder she’d stayed in her bedroom. I imagined her there in pain and tears.

  When we were outside, Verlan suggested I get in the car first and duck down; he would follow a few minutes later. “I don’t want the nosy neighbors to see me driving away with a woman who isn’t my wife,” he said. “We have to be cautious. These gentiles don’t understand our divine laws.”

  Once we were alone in the gray Chevy and out of view, I sat up and told Verlan I didn’t need to be entertained. I needed to get to know him better. He seemed fine with this change of plans, so we drove over to Provo Lake and sat in some shade with both car doors open to allow a cooling cross breeze. For three hours, he did most of the talking—nothing really important, mostly just bragging about this and that. He described some of his brother Wesley’s inventions. He told me about his sister Esther’s piano playing and her musical awards. He talked about his brother Ben, who’d taken first place in a high-jump competition in school and about Wesley’s setting a record in pole vault. I learned he had nine living siblings. He was the youngest, but after he was born, his mother lost twins, Joseph and Mary, at birth. He didn’t mention Ben’s mental breakdown until I brought it up. He assured me it had just been stress. Then he admitted that one of his sisters, Lucinda, had a few mental problems. “But I’m sure God will eventually heal her,” he said.

  After a while, I noticed none of the topics Verlan brought up included me. I began to wonder if I had the wrong idea about him. Was he really interested in me? If not, why had he brought me out to the lake alone? Did he think this was courting? I’d experienced courting, and this didn’t much resemble it. When Verlan spoke about his future plans, I wasn’t even mentioned in them. If God wasn’t going to give me a big fat reward for sacrificing Glen, I thought he could at least give me some tiny assurance that obedience wasn’t going to be exclusively about suffering. All I wanted at this point was a lifeline, something I could cling to for hope.

  The only lifelines I could find that night were Verlan’s pleasing personality and striking good looks. That is, I liked him. I watched his face as he spoke, wondering if he could capably guide me here and in the afterlife, if he could really exalt me one day and make me a goddess. I’d just placed my fate in the hands of God, so I guessed it was time to start trusting him.

  Finally Verlan stopped talking and reached down to take my hand in his. He smiled. “We must be heading back to the house,” he said. “I don’t want Charlotte to feel bad that we’ve been gone so long.” He relinquished my hand and closed the car door on his side. I followed suit. He started the motor, threw the gear into reverse, flashed a broad grin, and said, “You sure are pretty.” After a pause, he added, “I hope you don’t feel I’m too forward in saying so.”

  I didn’t answer. Who cared if I was pretty? God was going to make me share a husband. I’d have to face Charlotte, to somehow deal with her presence, not only when we got home that night but for our whole lives. I had both fear and resentment to look forward to. I decided then and there that sister wives should live miles apart.

  The mood at home was somber. Charlotte’s sulkiness affected us all. While Verlan went in to talk to her, I stayed in the living room by myself, trying not to eavesdrop. I scrutinized every detail before me, especially the framed pictures of Charlotte and Verlan’s wedding. The way he smiled into her beautiful oval face made me feel as if I should leave and just go back to Trout Creek, where I had a love of my own. Instead, I retired to their uncomfortable blue sofa and listened to my stomach growl. When I realized Charlotte and Verlan were not going to reappear, I went to bed hungry and lonely and more than just a little angry. Several times during the night, I woke up and wondered what I was doing there. And why, I asked God, did love hurt so much?

  The following morning, I took a shower, combed my hair back into a ponytail, and put on the same dress I’d worn the previous two days. Charlotte looked cheery in her green and white striped dress when she came in. She sewed all her own clothes and dressed very conservatively. “Your dress is sure pretty,” I complimented her. She didn’t answer.

  “Sit down here in the kitchen,” she said flatly, making no eye contact. “The French toast will be served here shortly.”

  I sat down, trying to think of something to say to her. Rarely had I ever lacked for words, but in Charlotte’s presence, I was tongue-tied.

  Verlan soon breezed in and saved the day. “Good morning. What a wonderful day! Let’s eat breakfast quick so we can leave as soon as possible.”

  Charlotte loaded the spatula wit
h three pieces of French toast and stacked them on a serving plate. “We’re ready for prayer,” she announced. Verlan fell to his knees beside his chair, inviting his wife to kneel close to him. I folded my hands and knelt by my own chair as he led us in the invocation.

  After we hurriedly ate, we collected the baby’s things and made our way to the car. The three of them rode in front, forming an idyllic family picture. Then there was me—the spoiler in the backseat. It saddened me, embarrassed me, and made me angry all at the same time. The pain on Charlotte’s face told me the arrangement wasn’t going to be any easier on her than it was on me.

  We arrived at Uncle Rulon’s home ahead of schedule. Worshippers were just starting to straggle in for the Sunday meeting. A couple dozen cars were parked in the circular driveway in front of the three big homes in which Uncle Rulon had established his seven wives and their respective offspring. This compound also served as the nerve center of our church network, which was spread along the Wasatch Front, from Ogden to Payson.

  Uncle Rulon had been watching for us, and he excused himself and came out to meet us. Instead of inviting us into the meeting, he walked us back out to the car. In whispers, he cautioned us, “I don’t want anyone to know what’s going on here.” Then he pulled a piece of paper from his shirt pocket and handed it to Verlan. “Go to this address at seven o’clock tonight,” he said. “Don’t get out of your car.” He looked at Verlan to make sure he was taking note of each detail. “Someone whom I’ve authorized will take you to a secluded place and perform your marriage ceremony. Let me emphasize, you must never reveal who did it.”