Shattered Dreams

by Irene Spencer

  Seeing our surprise, he added, “You did want to get married, didn’t you?”

  “Married . . . uh . . . yes,” Verlan managed eventually. “But . . . I hadn’t planned on it today. I thought you said we had to wait two years. I have classes in the morning. I never expected this to happen so soon.” He looked accusingly at me, then back to Uncle Rulon. “I thought you just wanted to talk to us.” After a long pause he continued, clearly thinking out loud. “Maybe we could do it this Friday. I have the weekend off. That would give us more time. Would that be okay?”

  “That’ll be fine,” said Uncle Rulon. “I’ll make the necessary arrangements for Friday at seven. But remember—do not get out of the car. And never tell who did it.” Uncle Rulon then looked to Charlotte and me, his eyes questioning us. We both nodded in the affirmative. Verlan also assured and thanked him.

  Seeming satisfied, Uncle Rulon shook our hands and suggested we not come into the meeting. Relatives would be suspicious, seeing the three of us there together. We could hear voices inside already lifting up the first hymn to the Lord, but Uncle Rulon waited to make sure we were safely in our car before he said, “I’m so very proud of you all, of your willingness to serve the Lord in these perilous times. God bless you.” Then he waved us away.

  We were silent as we drove off, each of us lost in thought. I could tell Verlan felt the burden of this new reality. The fulfillment of his dream of living plural marriage was less than a week away. But he was ill prepared to deal with two women in such an awkward circumstance. Fortunately, Aunt Beth lived only five miles away.

  I promised myself I’d remain silent until Verlan and I were alone. We would discuss our plans at the first private opportunity. I had planned my wedding before, and I had dozens of questions about this one, even though it appeared, from what Uncle Rulon said, the three of us would make up the entire guest list.

  How I wished Charlotte would say something—anything. Despite her marrying Verlan only after he promised her he intended to comply with the holy Principle of plural marriage, I sensed her devastation at it actually coming to pass. Seeing her face now, I wondered if she’d changed her mind. Feeling guilty and foolish, I reminded myself I was just doing what all the godly people I knew said God required of me.

  Verlan broke the painful silence. He turned and smiled at me. “What kind of ring do you want?” he asked.

  I was flabbergasted. Why couldn’t we wait and discuss this in private? I turned red with humiliation, saying nothing. But he was intent on prying the information out of me right in front of my sister, his wife. “I could get you a small diamond,” he offered.

  That broke Charlotte’s prolonged silence. She looked at Verlan as though questioning his sanity. “You never got a diamond for me! You promised me that all you’d ever buy were gold bands,” she reprimanded coldly.

  Not wanting to participate in such a dispute, I clenched my teeth and prayed we’d get to Aunt Beth’s before Charlotte turned on me. After a brief silence, Verlan tried again. I caught his blue eyes questioning mine in the rearview mirror. “What kind of a band do you want?” he said.

  I saw that to keep the peace, I’d have to conform to decisions they apparently had made together before I’d arrived on the scene. I wondered what other rules they had made for me. Following rules wasn’t really my best thing; they could just ask God about that. From this point on, would I have to get every decision approved not just by my husband but by Charlotte as well? “A band will be okay,” I answered, “But I’d like it to be as wide as possible.”

  “Like Charlotte’s?” Verlan asked.

  Where was his tact? It was bad enough our having to share the same husband without our rings being identical as well. Charlotte apparently felt the same way.

  “Nobody is copying my ring,” she said. “Get it any width except mine.”

  In full agreement, I said, “Just get the ring a width narrower.”

  To everyone’s great relief, we soon pulled into Aunt Beth’s yard. Verlan helped Charlotte out of the car with her baby, and she walked ahead of us into the house. He grabbed the opportunity to whisper in my ear, “We’ll be here Friday at 6 P.M. Don’t tell anyone what’s going on, and don’t bring anything with you. No toothbrush—nothing! I don’t want anyone getting any ideas. Tell Aunt Beth we’re taking you to a movie.”

  Yes, along with everyone else, I would have to hide my marriage from Aunt Beth, whose life was the most shining example of the Principle I knew. As her husband’s third wife and the mother of twelve, plump, jovial Aunt Beth gave the impression that plural marriage was a snap if you just loved God. It grieved me that the practice of polygamy had evolved in such a way that even the Aunt Beths in one’s life had to be kept in the dark about your marriage if you weren’t a first wife. It was for everyone’s good, of course, so if ever questioned by authorities, she could honestly deny having any incriminating personal knowledge. The future of my own family and of the extended polygamous family network could be jeopardized if anyone found out about my marriage. Still, I felt terrible about having to freeze her out.

  Verlan told my aunt their visit would be brief. “We just came by to bring Irene home,” he said. Then he quickly changed the subject, not wanting Aunt Beth to suspect he was interested in me. She told us about all the babies being born, her latest travels with her family, and shared a few of her newest jokes. She was always a delight to visit.

  Eventually, she took note of Charlotte’s brooding silence. Turning to her, Aunt Beth asked comfortingly, “Is this June heat getting to you today? You look like you don’t feel well.”

  “I’m doing just fine,” Charlotte snapped. Verlan took it as his cue to stand up and motion for his wife to follow him out. He shook Aunt Beth’s hand, then gave my hand a little squeeze as he and Charlotte said good-bye.

  I went up to my room and collapsed, my nerves shot from the hours and days of constant tension. Plus, I had other reasons to be anxious. Most notably, I was supposed to be getting married in five days, but Verlan still hadn’t actually proposed to me. He hadn’t even said he loved me. His behavior was such a stark contrast to everything I’d experienced with Glen, I could barely fit “Verlan” and “marriage” into the same sentence in my mind. I was so twisted up, I spent the next four days in bed.

  It gave me time to obsess on a variety of levels. For example, at the wedding, when I apparently would kiss Verlan for the very first time, should I turn my head to the left or to the right? Then there was the fact that we hadn’t made any wedding plans, with the possible exception of the troublemaking ring. What were we even going to do on Friday? If our communication was this bad before the wedding, what would it be like after?

  The whole week, I was sick with apprehension, and my mind kept racing in all directions. Would he remember the ring? Would it fit? Oh, heavens, what if Aunt Beth wouldn’t let me go to the movie? What kind of honeymoon would I have without a toothbrush or nightgown or even clean underclothes?

  On Tuesday, I ran my fingers across the calendar. Wednesday . . . Thursday . . . Friday. Friday, July 3, 1953, would be my wedding day. I couldn’t believe the irony when I realized my mother married my father on the very same day in 1931. Was this mere coincidence, or had God planned it this way?

  A second wife herself, my mother had a lonely, underground wedding, just as it appeared mine was going to be. And, in an effort to obey God, she, too, married her half sister’s husband. In the end, she’d been rewarded with depression, sickness, and years of loneliness. Plural marriage shattered my mother’s dreams. She never got the love, honor, and attention she desired and deserved. I reminded myself that people fail the Principle; the Principle does not fail us. But would Mother agree with that?

  Here on the threshold of my polygamous life, I longed to run back to Trout Creek and take her down into the cellar for another talk. This time I’d do more listening. I’d try and find out just where she’d gone wrong. I’d ask her what advice she could give to a brand-new second w
ife. But of course, I couldn’t run home. So I resolved to be happy with my wedding and my life no matter what. If I just loved the Lord with all my heart, I could surely pull it off.

  Thinking about Trout Creek, however, got me thinking about Glen and the beautiful wedding we’d planned. We would have had guests, refreshments, joy, and many, many expressions of our love and affection for each other.

  Oh, but those were dangerous thoughts! I couldn’t make myself marry Verlan on Friday if I let myself think about such things on Tuesday or Wednesday or Thursday. Forcing Glen from my consciousness for the thousandth time, I kept repeating to myself, “I must be strong. I want celestial glory!”

  The days passed slowly.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  When I stepped on the scales Friday evening, I had lost ten pounds, having been too nervous to eat for days. I ironed my new gingham dress and polished my white shoes while I worried about whether Aunt Beth would give me a hard time for going out. She’d been bringing herb teas and hot broth up to my room all week, trying to cure my supposed flu.

  I’d always envisioned myself being married in white—the sign of purity, of virginity. I was a virgin. I opened the Mormon scriptures and read: “And again, as pertaining to the law of the Priesthood—if any man espouse a virgin, and desire to espouse another, and the first give her consent, and if he espouse the second, and they are virgins, and have vowed to no other man, then is he justified; he cannot commit adultery . . . with that that belongeth unto him and to no one else.” (Doctrine and Covenants, 132:61) I read the passage over again thoughtfully. Charlotte had been a virgin and she was now willing to give me to her husband, Verlan.

  I read the next verse: “And if he have ten virgins given unto him by this law, he cannot commit adultery, for they belong to him, and they are given unto him; therefore he is justified.” (Doctrine and Covenants, 132:62). Oh God, I prayed, please don’t ever let him find ten! I needed love, someone who needed and understood me. How would Verlan possibly manage all that if he was busy with nine others? Furthermore, if I couldn’t be somebody’s only wife, I at least wanted to be his favorite wife. How would I ever have a chance if Verlan fulfilled this scripture? Charlotte would be quite enough competition, thank you very much.

  I looked nice in my new turquoise and lavender dress. It wasn’t what I’d dreamed of wearing on my wedding day, but was any of this what I had dreamed? I finished by pulling my curled hair back into a ponytail and hoped Verlan would be pleased with the results.

  I found Aunt Beth sitting in the living room downstairs. “Where are you going looking so pretty?” she asked.

  I kept my eyes from hers. “To the movie.”

  “Hmm. What time will you be home, dear?”

  I frankly didn’t know, so I just said, “Late.” Then I quickly added, “But don’t wait up for me.” If anyone would have understood, it would have been Aunt Beth, but Uncle Rulon and Verlan said no telling anyone.

  I heard Verlan’s car pull up, which mercifully ended the questioning. I went out to meet them so Verlan and Charlotte wouldn’t have to come to the door and stir Aunt Beth’s suspicions. Walking toward Verlan’s car, I motioned for them not to get out. I was fast catching on to the polygamous way.

  I took my usual place in the backseat, with the three of them—Verlan, Charlotte, and their baby—up front. Verlan pointed to Charlotte’s beige suit (her wedding suit, in fact) hanging in the window. “I thought you’d look nice in this,” he said, “so we’ll stop first chance we get, and you can change.” I guess my best dress wasn’t good enough for Verlan after all.

  Charlotte said nothing, so I presumed my wearing her wedding suit was not her idea. Still, I wished she’d give me her opinion about it. When we stopped at a gas station, she mutely carried the suit into the filthy restroom, and I followed. Because everything in there was too dirty to touch, Charlotte had to hold everything while I changed clothes. We found the suit fit me well enough, though I filled it out a little more than she had. I was grateful for the ten lost pounds at that point.

  “Let’s hurry,” she said. “It still may take us a while to find the place. We can’t be late.”

  I removed the elastic band and let my shoulder-length hair fall around my face. Charlotte produced a lipstick. Though we’d been warned by the brethren not to use such “evil trash,” I was thankful she’d brought it. We both felt God would be lenient this once. After all, how often did a girl get married? Besides, no one else would ever know. The only witnesses at my wedding would be the three of us and the mysterious priesthood elder who would perform the ceremony.

  Soon we pulled up to the address my uncle gave us. Uncle Rulon had told us not to get out of the car. “Now be quiet,” Verlan cautioned us. “Keep the baby’s noise down. I just hope this is the right place. The number is right, but I’d sure feel silly if the wrong person came out to see why we’re sitting in his front yard.”

  I knew we had to be careful, but frankly, I was more concerned with the fact that Verlan ought to have put me up front with him. After all, I was the bride. I felt like a fool sitting alone in the back.

  I didn’t know who felt worse about this marriage, Charlotte or me. It all felt so awkward. I could see the suffering on her face. She only spoke when spoken to and appeared on the verge of crying. It made me feel sick inside.

  Verlan reached under the seat. Then he turned around and handed me a small white box. “This is for you,” he said with a smile.

  I opened it. Inside was a red rose corsage. “I hope you like it,” he said as he reached into the box and took out a white carnation boutonniere for himself.

  I had no idea where to pin it. This was the first corsage I’d ever been given. Verlan took Verlan Jr. from Charlotte just long enough for her to pin it properly in place.

  As 7:00 turned to 7:15 and then 7:30, Verlan couldn’t stand the suspense. He kept checking his watch. “Why doesn’t he come out?” he thought out loud. “He’s already half an hour late. I wonder what’s wrong.”

  Just then, a stocky, middle-aged man came out of the house and walked over to our car. I recognized him, having seen him occasionally in Sunday meetings. He opened the back door and got in beside me. “Sorry to be so late. I hope I haven’t inconvenienced you,” he said. “Go to the Mormon temple. They won’t allow us inside, of course.” He laughed at that, his fat jowls moving up and down. “But at least you can tell your future posterity that you were married on the Salt Lake temple grounds.”

  Once we’d parked the car at the temple, we got out and searched the grounds for a place secluded enough that we could rest assured no Latter Day Saints would see what we were doing and pitch a fit. If we’d been LDS church members, we’d have been ushered through an elaborate secret ritual inside the temple, but as fundamentalists involved in plural marriage, we were strictly forbidden anywhere the general public couldn’t go. That night, the temple grounds were crowded with tourists.

  Disappointed, the brother said, “We can’t perform such a holy ordinance here, under these circumstances. We have what the Mormons have lost. They may not let us in God’s house, but they’ll never keep us from fulfilling his laws. Let’s drive down below the state capitol to a place called Memory Grove. We’ll find a nice, secluded spot and get this taken care of.”

  A short time later, we parked the car and all walked through Memory Grove until we crossed a small bridge. Several trees hid the creek below from our view. We climbed down a hilly embankment under the protection of the trees, just in case any hikers passed by, and found a place we thought was fully hidden from anyone’s view. Then God’s servant clasped his hands behind his back and cleared his throat.

  “This is a solemn occasion,” he intoned. “As a brother holding the priesthood, I have not only the right but also the duty to obtain the sanction of the Lord to perform this holy ordinance. I know you’re in a hurry, so I won’t prolong my remarks. But I do want you to know that God is looking down upon us this very moment. He is pleased with w
hat is about to take place.”

  Then he carefully took Charlotte’s sleeping baby from her arms and nodded to Verlan. “Stand here with your wife on your left,” he said. “Now your new bride on your wife’s left. Okay . . . uh . . . I must apologize. I just realized I don’t know your names.” We told them to him in the order he’d just positioned us.

  “I think I have it,” he said, no longer flustered. “Now, let’s begin. Do you, Charlotte Kunz LeBaron, take Irene Golda Kunz by the right hand and give her to your husband to be his lawful wedded wife?”

  With a catch in her voice, Charlotte answered, “I do.” Then she took my right hand and placed it in Verlan’s. Stepping to one side, she allowed me to take my rightful place next to my soon-to-be husband.

  “Do you, Verlan MacDonald LeBaron, take Irene Golda Kunz by the right hand . . .” It was about to happen. “. . . before God, angels, and these witnesses . . .” I could no longer change my mind. From then on, I would always be a plural wife. Maybe I’d be arrested as my father had been. Maybe I’d even have to go to jail. Then I thought of Glen. I’d wanted so badly to tell him how much I still loved him. But God had to come first. I reminded myself that I had to be strong if I wanted a celestial glory.

  “I now pronounce you husband and wife, for time and all eternity. You may kiss the bride,” the brother concluded. Somewhere in there, Verlan and I actually said “I do.” Now he kissed me for the very first time, ever so lightly. Then he turned to kiss Charlotte, praising her for fulfilling her role in this holy Principle. I thought Verlan’s lips lingered just a little bit longer on Charlotte’s than they had on mine.

  To the brother’s surprise, Verlan took out a gold band from his pocket and nervously placed it on my finger. For obvious security reasons, rings weren’t usually given to plural wives. Mine was a perfect fit.