Then Verlan handed me the wedding band Charlotte bought for him and placed on his finger two years earlier. I hesitated, knowing how bad it would make her feel. The brother instructed me to put it on Verlan’s finger, so I did.
Suddenly, it was all over. I was a wife. I looked around me and took everything in from this pivotal new perspective.
No one has ever known better than I did in that instant how big a crowd three really is.
I sat beside Verlan as we drove the elder back to his home. Verlan thanked him, reassuring him we’d keep his trust and never reveal his identity.
I felt jittery, taking Charlotte’s place next to Verlan. Then, to my shock, he reached over and patted my knee right in front of her. “One more errand, and we’ll be on our way,” he said.
He drove back to the temple and parked at a meter, then helped Charlotte and Verlan Jr. out of the car. She said nothing to me, but I could see her tears as she turned and walked away.
“I’ll be right back,” Verlan said nervously to me. By the time he caught up with her, she was openly crying, so he put his arm around her and tried to comfort her. I could see her shoulders shake as sobs racked her body. Then they walked slowly toward the Greyhound bus station across the street. This was his “one more errand.” He was sending her back to their apartment in Provo, where she would spend the weekend alone with her baby while he celebrated his honeymoon with me. My heart was aching for her.
“Verlan,” I called out after him. He turned and waved, signaling that everything was under control. I yelled louder, “Verlan, please come here.”
He didn’t want me attracting attention, so he came running back. “What is it?”
“Please, Verlan, just take me home . . . please don’t do this to her!” I begged.
“She’ll be okay,” he reassured me. “Really, I’ll get her happy again.” He ran back, taking long strides, and caught up with her just as the light changed for them to cross the street.
Fifteen minutes went by. I was tempted to run away and get lost in the temple crowd. I felt so confused. Before their marriage, Charlotte made certain Verlan meant to live the Principle. Why, then, did she seem so devastated? I wasn’t taking him away from her. We were just going to share him, as good fundamentalist wives do. I’d been taught a man would love you more if you gave him another wife. She had done that very thing. Besides, she’d had him all to herself for almost two years. Surely he loved her more. He hardly even knew me.
His “errand” apparently complete, I saw him jaywalking through traffic to hurry back across the street. Grinning broadly, he almost skipped over the curb and winked at me as he approached the car. Finally, he plopped down beside me in the driver’s seat and kissed me for the second time. Only now, he wasn’t so nervous or quick about it.
Starting the motor, Verlan patted my leg again and announced, “We’re going north to Ogden, where nobody knows us. We have to be careful, you know. I can’t take a chance on having anyone find out I married you!” He explained he was in the United States on a student visa to attend college. “If any snoopy officials find out I’ve got two wives, I’ll be arrested, and I could lose my residency rights.” He let out a sigh. “But let’s try to be happy, okay?”
With Charlotte out of the way, I began to see a different side of Verlan. Now he was free to treat me like a wife without having to worry about hurting her feelings. “I’m the luckiest man alive!” he exclaimed. “Today I finally entered the Principle. I really did it. I’m on my way to exaltation!” He held my hand, stealing kisses as he rattled on. “You are the key, Irene. The key to plural marriage. No matter how many wives I have, you’ll always be the key that got me into this Principle!”
So much for being loved, cherished, even liked for myself. A damned key was what I was. I suppose he thought I would be thrilled to have been useful to the cause. But then, that would actually have required him to focus on something besides his own future glory.
On our way to Ogden, Verlan stopped at a fruit stand in Bountiful. “Stay in the car,” he instructed. “Do you want a cold soda?”
I shook my head no.
He returned with a large paper bag, which he laid on the backseat. Then we drove on. He tried sharing his 7-Up with me, insisting I at least take a swallow. I was thirsty, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to get it down. I was increasingly anxious about what was coming next. I watched, frightened, as Verlan carefully scanned every motel sign we approached.
“Which one would you like to stay in, Irene?”
I couldn’t even cope yet with the general concept. Every time he’d slow down, I’d say, “Let’s go to the next one, okay?”
Before we realized it, we were heading out of town and had to turn around. Verlan pulled into the first motel we came to after that. Dick’s Motel. “You stay out here while I go and register for our room,” he ordered. “Take off that corsage. Don’t act like you’re my wife [as if I knew how to do that]. If I’m caught with an underage girl, I could be in big trouble.”
I was sixteen years old, about to have sex for the first time, and had no personal belongings with me of any kind, but all he could think to be concerned about was himself. What in heaven’s name had I gotten myself into?
“Oh, don’t look so hurt,” he apologized. “We just have to be cautious, that’s all.”
He came back with a key and drove us over to room 9. Obeying his orders, I stayed in the car while he checked out the room. Apparently satisfied, he walked quickly to the rear of the car and took out his suitcase, looking around carefully to make sure no one saw us. “Follow me,” he said quietly. “But wait till I turn the lights out.” He darted into the room, flipped the switch, and motioned with his hand in the semidarkness for me to come in.
Once inside, he locked the motel door behind us. After checking to make sure there were no sizable curtain cracks, he flipped the lights back on and placed his suitcase on the foot of the bed, opening it with a broad smile. “Charlotte made this for you,” he said, pulling out a paper sack and playfully throwing it to me. “I’ve never seen it before,” he assured me. “You can be the first to show it to me when you put it on. If you don’t mind, though, I’ll use the bathroom first.”
When he had gone, I opened the sack. Inside was a nightgown. I’m sure I must have turned ten shades of red even though I was the only one in the room. It was just the thought of Charlotte knowing and planning what I would wear on my wedding night. Since I hadn’t been allowed to pack a thing, I was certainly grateful to have something to put on, but I hated that it had to be something Charlotte made. Like a shadow, her presence permeated the room. It seemed to me she was everywhere.
I sat on the foot of the bed, listening to Verlan take a shower and brush his teeth. When he came out in his striped pajamas, I blushed and turned away. “You can go in now,” he said cheerfully.
I ran in and closed the bathroom door behind me. But I was afraid to get into the shower. The mere thought of being naked with Verlan just on the other side of the door made me blush all over.
I opened the paper bag again and took out the long cotton nightgown with elbow-length sleeves. It had cute, colorful little figures of violins and birds on it. I hoped Verlan wouldn’t think of Charlotte when he saw me wearing it. I double-checked the lock on the bathroom door, and then I took the fastest shower of my life.
Afterward, standing there in my new nightgown, nervous and sweating, I hesitated for several minutes, trying to summon the courage to open the bathroom door and go out to my husband. Suddenly I felt the need to go, but I didn’t dare for fear he’d hear the splash. To buy some time while I figured out what to do, I turned on the tap so the water would run into the sink and Verlan would think I was still just prettying up. Then I worried he’d think the sink splash was me using the toilet, so I quickly turned the tap back off. Oh God, what had I gotten myself into?
From the other room, I heard Verlan whistling, and I froze. “Are you ever coming out?” he asked.
/> “Turn the lights off first, and I will,” I said.
He did as I asked, but pleaded, “Let me take a peek at your nightgown.”
I slowly opened the bathroom door and stood there one brief moment for him to get a glimpse, and then I flipped off the bathroom light switch, darkening the room.
Somehow, despite my heart now beating double fast and extra loud, I heard Verlan whisper to me, “Come on over here, Irene. I’m waiting for you.” I was paralyzed with fear. “Well, are ya’ comin’?” he asked in the darkness. I groped along, feeling the wall with my right hand while my left hand searched to find the bed. Then I stumbled over his legs.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, pulling me down beside him in a kneeling position against the bed. “Let’s have prayer first.”
God forgive me, I thought. I had to admit, prayer was the farthest thing from my mind.
Verlan grasped my hand tightly in his and prayed out loud: “Dear Lord, thank you for giving me such a beautiful wife. Thank you for this special Principle that gave her to me. We are indeed blessed, Lord . . . bless Charlotte, comfort her, help us to always be united. Amen.”
I climbed onto my side of the bed, and Verlan crawled over me to get to his side. I could barely breathe as I tried to recall all the ins and outs of the law of purity Aunt Rhea taught me. Would we be able to do this without committing adultery? Would I be able to do it at all? There was so much to fear.
I checked to make sure my new nightgown was clear down to my ankles. Verlan pulled me close, making sure he didn’t touch my breasts. It seemed he was almost as embarrassed as I. We lay in that position for nearly an hour, and all that time he talked on and on about our future.
“I’ll move back to the family ranch in Mexico just as soon as I get ahead a little,” he said. “Down there we can live plural marriage freely. I don’t want to have to hide the fact that you’re my wife.”
That sounded ideal to me. I gave no thought at all to my mother’s constant warnings of insanity, fanaticism, and isolation down in Mexico. Instead, I imagined a sprawling ranch house with a white picket fence, a big red barn, a generator for lights, and fields of luscious green alfalfa—just like the Youngs’ place. Verlan explained how the early Mormon polygamists moved to colonies in Mexico, taking their plural wives out of the United States to avoid arrest. Mexico had its own bigamy laws, but enforcement there was far more lenient. Perhaps this was because the culture was so open to men having mistresses. At any rate, Verlan promised that when we were safely below the border, he would openly acknowledge me. Then I’d receive the same rights and privileges as Charlotte.
He further told me how thrilled he was to have me as his wife, to finally be on his way to fulfilling all his dreams. “Can you imagine?” he said in wonder, “I now have two of the seven wives I’ve dreamed of having!”
Lying there in his arms as he revealed his innermost hopes and dreams, I fixated on that last one. Seven wives? I’d never thought a man having seven wives was a big deal, but now that I was a second wife, I was stunned.
“Just think,” he said, “if I can have a quorum of seven wives, and each one of them has at least seven kids, I can easily have fifty children! Irene, I want you to help me build my kingdom! I’m so glad you’re a part of it.”
I sank deeper by the minute. This wasn’t the kind of honeymoon I’d expected, even from Verlan. I had just taken the biggest step of my life. I was a brand-new wife who had sacrificed her true love and married for God’s Principle, but I still desperately wanted some assurance I’d be cherished. What did I get instead? A long-winded lecture about other wives to come.
Apparently satisfied with the picture he painted, Verlan sighed, gave me a quick kiss, and then turned over on his side and said, “Good night.”
I didn’t know whether to cry or run away to where I could scream. I was overcome with regrets, with bitter remorse. I gave up passion for this? Glen hadn’t been able to keep his hands off me. His kisses were always long and fiery, while Verlan’s were just . . . just chicken pecks. In vain, I tried not to compare the two in my mind.
The remainder of my lonely wedding night, I lay awake, wondering if I’d done the wrong thing. Or was it possible, despite his infinite wisdom, that God was the one who made the mistake?
Eventually, the early morning sun began to filter beneath the dingy curtains, and I came out of my sleepless, all-night stupor. I thanked God it was daylight. Beside me, Verlan stirred, stretched languorously, and climbed out of bed. I pretended to be asleep until I heard him close the bathroom door. Then I quietly got up and put on my bra and gingham dress. I looked at my haggard face in the mirror. Spotting his pocket comb on the dresser, I used it without permission, figuring that since I’d given up everything, whatever he owned should be mine, too.
Opening the bathroom door, Verlan saw I was awake and chirped, “Good morning, Irene.” He walked over and kissed me. “Boy, you’re sure quiet this morning. Are you hungry?” He went over and pulled a package of sweet rolls and a carton of warm milk out of the paper bag he’d brought from the fruit stand. It was some spectacular wedding breakfast.
“No, I don’t feel like eating yet,” was all I said. Normal people had big, colorful weddings and family feasts afterward. I knew we had to be discreet and that Verlan didn’t have lots of money, but he could at least have made arrangements to take me out to a nice restaurant. I wondered if he was ashamed of me, only pretending to be cautious. Or did we truly have to be this austere?
After Verlan ate, he casually took a bunch of books from his suitcase and sat in the only chair in the room. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said, grinning. “I have a lot of homework to do. I’m having a big test on Monday. This is my second year at BYU, you know.” Without another glance in my direction, he started turning pages and scribbling notes. I sat on the bed doing nothing until he finally asked me to read psychology to him. Then he read to me. I consoled myself with the fact that we were at least sharing something. Eventually, he slammed the psychology book shut and asked me to drill him for a test.
I wondered why he didn’t take a break and pay some attention to me—kiss me, or at least give me a little hug. He must have noticed my disappointment. With a sly look, he said, “That’s enough studying for now. I do need to draw a design for my art class, but that can wait.” He suddenly jumped up and threw me back on the bed, kissing me on the face and neck. “I really need to get this done first!”
I thought we might have finally gotten around to “it.” But Verlan released me as suddenly as he grabbed me, and he sat back down to thumb through another book, looking for ideas to make a design for his art lesson.
Angry and frustrated, I said dryly, “Why don’t you just copy the design on the border of the wallpaper?”
“That’s perfect!” he squealed with delight. “Why didn’t I think of that? Thanks, Irene.” I numbly watched as he colored in the shades of blue and green, matching the wallpaper design. When he finished, he laid down his pencils and announced, “We have to get going if we want to see a movie and go out to dinner.”
After the breakfast he’d offered me, I couldn’t imagine what he might have in mind for dinner. But by now I was starving as much for food as for attention. I tried to shrug off my mounting depression. Already my honeymoon was half over, and I was still a virgin!
During the movie, Verlan played with my fingers and held me close. I was all jittery inside, my mind one minute on consummating my marriage with Verlan and the next minute on Glen. Would I ever forget him? I couldn’t tell you now what the movie was about. I couldn’t have told anyone even then. My attention was focused on the noises inside my head and stomach.
After the movie, Verlan found a small family restaurant and proudly ordered “two big steaks.” The wedding feast was finally on. The jukebox was our wedding orchestra, and the meal, when it came, looked fabulous, with all the trimmings. I couldn’t swallow a bite. Verlan insisted several times that I try and eat my steak, but I was i
n an overwrought state of mind unlike anything I’d ever experienced. I just couldn’t do it.
He apologized as he deftly reached over and stabbed my steak with his fork. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “I don’t want it going to waste.”
“Go ahead. Help yourself,” I heard myself say. As I watched him devour my steak, I thought how obvious it was he’d been married before.
The jukebox eventually played Eddie Fisher’s haunting “I’m Walking Behind You.” It was lovely but heartrending. As I listened intently to the familiar lyrics, I imagined each word being sung just to me. It was Glen singing them. His final words to me in his letter carried that same sad message: “If things go wrong dear, and fate is unkind, look over your shoulder, I’m walking behind . . .”
Fighting back tears, I excused myself and headed for the ladies’ room. I told myself that “fate” couldn’t be unkind to me forever. If God put me in this, he’d have to see me through somehow.
Back at the motel, Verlan turned off the overhead light in our room, leaving on just a small table lamp. After we crawled into bed, he snuggled up close to me and began talking about his schooling, his childhood, and his religion. After a long time listening to him go on and on, I could no longer contain my disappointment. Dreading the answer, I asked him the question that had preoccupied me for the past twenty-four hours.
“You really don’t love me, do you?”
He got my drift. Amazed, he rolled over on his side and wrapped his strong arms around me. “Of course I do,” he said. “I just want to take things easy. But I’m glad you want me.” Before I knew what was happening, he pulled me out of the bed onto my knees. “Come on, Irene, let’s pray first.”
I knelt there beside him, so shaken I could hardly breathe. We held hands, and he began, “Our Heavenly Father, help us stand firm under all our trials. Let your spirit be with us.” He paused. “Bless us now, in what we’re about to do, and forgive us wherein we offend you. Amen.”
Shattered Dreams Page 10
