Shattered Dreams

by Irene Spencer

  Grabbing my stomach even harder, I cried out loudly and prayed for them to stop. I couldn’t remember the Spanish word for stop, but I knew I had to run for a bush. I scanned the road, desperately hoping that over the next knoll there’d be a tall mesquite bush behind which I could relieve myself. I took deep breaths, but one more bump and the inevitable would happen.

  We topped the next summit. To my horror, it fell away into a pretty green valley full of Mexican workers busily digging trenches on each side of the road. There was not a bush in sight. My sobs so frightened the driver, he stopped the truck right there.

  I leapt out, sobbing in agony as everyone watched me wobble to the back of the truck. Verlan jumped down from his perch, exclaiming, “What’s the matter, honey?”

  “I’ve got diarrhea,” I cried. “I’ve got to go, Verlan. I can’t wait!”

  He glanced around. By this time, all the workers were leaning casually against their picks and shovels, not twenty feet away, watching the show. With complete disgust he said, “Go then. Just go!”

  I had no choice. I tugged my tight blue skirt up over my waist, pulled down my pink bloomers, and let loose. My revenge took off in every direction. The spectators whooped and hollered, waving their straw hats wildly. Even the driver came around to the truck’s rear end and saw mine.

  Verlan was mortified. He usually never swore, but he couldn’t help himself this time. “Damn it, Irene, get back in the truck! Let’s get out of here.”

  “I can’t get back in there with those men. Please, Verlan,” I begged.

  “Damn it! Get back in,” he ordered.

  “It’ll kill me if I do!” I pled.

  He gritted his teeth and laughed, humiliated. “Irene, I’ll kill you if you don’t!”

  I reluctantly obeyed. Sitting next to the window, I covered my face with my hands and cried all the way home.

  SOON AFTER MY TRAUMATIC checkup in Cases, Verlan received a summons to appear before the LDS Church court in Colonia Dublán to be tried for his membership. The Mormon Church in Mexico was as intolerant of plural marriage as the Mormon Church in the States. Dr. Hatch had confirmed to the church that Verlan was practicing polygamy, and at his trial they excommunicated him. He said he didn’t blame me for it, but I felt as if I’d triggered the events costing him his membership.

  Afterward, Verlan told us he’d made a heroic effort to defend plural marriage. He reportedly told the LDS high councilmen that it was the Mormon Church that should be on trial for abandoning polygamy, rather than him being on trial for practicing it. Verlan’s answer to one particular question from them finally clinched a verdict against him: “Are the two ladies who were carrying your babies when Dr. Hatch examined them both your wives?”

  “I’ll tell you one thing for sure,” Verlan said. “No lady ever carried my baby who wasn’t my wife.” The truth was plainly out.

  Poor Verlan knew that sooner or later this would happen, but he was still perturbed when it did. He’d gained a second wife and entrance into the Principle, but he’d lost the mother church through which God originally commanded Mormons to live polygamy. He believed the Mormon God was unchangeable, so why didn’t the LDS leaders still proclaim and obey God’s laws? Brigham Young condemned anyone who wouldn’t live polygamy. Now Verlan was excommunicated from the church because he did.

  The scriptures always consoled him. He especially loved this one: “All things work together for good to them that love God.” (Romans 8:28) Verlan simply followed his conscience by living plural marriage. The difficulty was in hiding it for so long, being so fearful of what others would think, say, and do. Now that the whole world knew what Verlan’s conscience drove him to do, and all those who would condemn us for it already had their way with us, we were finally free to live in the relative open without fear of further reprisals. We could throw off the terrible hypocrisy that had so invalidated me, especially, as Verlan’s second wife. Now we could live the Principle proudly, as God surely intended it to be lived. I prayed this was the good to which all things had been working.

  RELIGIOUS DEVOTION characterized Verlan throughout all our trials. He always remained faithful to his beliefs, putting his God and church doctrine ahead of his wives and children. Twice a day, he’d call us all together for family prayers, and we would gather around him as he read to us from the scriptures and the Journal of Discourses. He was dedicated to the original teachings of the early, nineteenth-century Mormon Church. He always made sure we knew that God came first and that he had to do whatever God required of him.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  By now our income was next to nothing. The cows dropped way down in their milk production; some were even dry, expecting their calves. Feed was scarce. It would be three long months before the rainy season, when there would again be plenty of tall grass.

  Anna was expecting a baby a week after me. She promised Floren she was leaving him as soon as her baby was born. This was no life for her, she said. She wanted to live a little, not always struggling just to survive. I could understand completely. The LeBarons’ primitive existence was killing me, too. I envied her spunk.

  Verlan talked for several months of the possibility of our moving back to the States, perhaps to Salt Lake City to be a part of Uncle Rulon’s group again. He knew we needed a better social and material life. But he was wary about leaving. His late father, Alma Dayer LeBaron Sr., had expressly warned all his sons to stay in Mexico to raise their families. He believed that his sons would someday participate in a great work that would take place there. One of them, in fact, was going to be called into a secret priesthood as a direct spiritual descendent of Joseph Smith himself. In the meantime, we were nearly destitute.

  “We need to pray that God will intervene,” Verlan humbly whispered to Charlotte and me one night. “Ask him to either save our financial situation or show us where we ought to go.” So we knelt in a little circle, holding hands. Each took a turn pleading with the Lord to guide us. Then we went to bed, hoping for the best.

  As usual, Verlan was up before daylight. He hitched the horse to an old plow and dragged it to a field he planned to plow all day. He usually came home at noon to eat, but it got to be 1:30, and we still hadn’t seen a sign of him. I took a spoon and our last bottle of cherries out to the field so he could have something for lunch. I knew he was discouraged, and I wanted to cheer him up. I hoped to surprise him.

  I found his horse tied to a barbed-wire fence, the plow lying on its side. Only eight rows had been worked. I knew this wasn’t right. I called his name several times, but got no answer. Maybe he’d been bitten by a rattler and died. I started crying as I looked for him among the mesquites. Eventually, I went home to wait, and I got Charlotte upset, too.

  About 9 P.M., Verlan finally came in, with Floren and Anna close behind him. “I had to get us all together to tell you the wonderful news,” he blurted out.

  He was so excited, I didn’t have the heart to scold him, especially if God might be behind the day’s events. We pulled the wooden chairs around the table, sat down, and braced ourselves for the good news. Verlan was smiling so happily. I knew whatever he had to tell us must be really good.

  “God has answered our prayers!” he began. “I prayed most of the night for God to bless us, to open up a way for us to stay in Mexico if it was his will. Then this morning, I’d just started plowing when a pickup stopped on the road. An American got out and came over to where I was plowing. He introduced himself as Dick Loomis, asked me if I knew how to make cheese. ‘Boy, do I ever!’ I said. He took me to a ranch called Terrenates about sixty miles from here, near the town of Flores Magón.

  “He wants me to start working for him immediately. We’re going to be buying cows, shipping them in from the States. We’ll set up a factory that makes the best cheese in Chihuahua. And that’s not all. We’ll have an eleven-room house for our family, with electricity! Imagine that. And hot running water. It’s furnished, too. They have a vegetable garden. We can have all th
e vegetables we want out of it. I was told they would kill a steer once a month, so we’ll get free meat. Besides that, we’ll have all the milk, cheese, and eggs we need. Plus . . . now listen to this,” he beamed, “I’ll get paid two dollars a day!” Flush with excitement, his eyes sparkled. “Floren and I can both live in the house with our families. We can live high on the hog! With Joel and his wife in the mountains, and Alma and Ervil here at the LeBaron ranch, we can all live better lives.”

  We knelt in prayer, thanking God for his goodness and for our deliverance.

  Later, when we were in bed, I let Verlan know I was somewhat disappointed. “I was hoping we could all go back to the States, but of course this is next best.”

  “You’ll even have to sacrifice a little more, Irene. I really hate to ask it of you, but for now you’ll have to move up to Spencerville into my Aunt Annie’s two-room adobe house. It’ll just be till the baby comes. I’ll be going to the States for cows and equipment. In fact, I’ll be leaving tomorrow to start my new job.”

  “But what about the baby, Verlan? Won’t you be here for the baby?” I implored.

  “Be patient. God will look after you. I can’t pass up this opportunity. Besides, Charlotte will be with you if I can’t make it back in time. You’ve got to learn to have greater faith and trust in God.” Then he gently kissed me good night and rolled over, and his loud snoring soon drowned out my sniffling.

  THE CALENDAR ON THE WALL said it was August 6. My due date was the twelfth, but I was more than ready to get this thing over with. Swollen all over, I felt huge and unattractive. I hated my two faded maternity outfits. I couldn’t wait to cut them into small pieces and turn them into toilet paper.

  I’d been sick ever since I got home from my checkup. My head throbbed all the time. I even passed out once. Everyone told me it was just nerves. Ervil actually accused me of being a coward. I guess I was. I decided I needed a doctor at my first delivery, even if the doctor was a man. After all, I’d been feeling that something was wrong ever since the day I made that strange statement to Verlan. So I’d begged Verlan to let me have our baby in the hospital. As always, he tried to allay my fears to the point of flat discounting them. “Having a baby is the most natural thing in the world. In fact,” he laughed, “every mother on Earth has gone through it.”

  That’s when Ervil shared his thoughts on the subject. “-Delfina has had her three girls at home. It’s as easy as a cow having a calf!” I thought it interesting that all these reprimands were coming from men.

  I cried alone every night, or so it seemed. I didn’t want to be a chicken, but I was homesick for Utah. I felt I needed my mother. But my biggest concern was having the baby without Verlan there. He’d left two weeks earlier for the Terrenates ranch after moving Charlotte, her babies, and me over to Spencerville. “You’ll be in good hands,” he’d told me.

  Aunt Sylvia, the midwife (also Lucy’s mother), lived only a mile down the road from the two-room adobe hut we borrowed from Aunt Annie. Charlotte sweetly offered to stay with me to see that the delivery went well. What more could I ask? I still felt jittery. My legs and feet were so swollen, I could hardly walk. I imagined complications; what if something went wrong? Although I kept my word and never mentioned my earlier premonition again to anyone, I worried about it constantly and begged God to let it be false. I wanted a live, healthy baby.

  I drank lots of herb teas at Aunt Sylvia’s insistence. She thought it might reduce the swelling in my hands and feet. I tried to cheer myself up by thinking how my grandmother bore some of her children in Mexico, with only a midwife attending her. I wanted to be like her. I came from good pioneer stock. Would I be less valiant than she was? I prayed constantly, placing myself squarely in God’s hands.

  I’d just finished washing the breakfast dishes when terrible diarrhea pains hit me. I scampered to the old outhouse and quickly sat down, but the pain kept up, so finally I waddled back to the house. I looked at Aunt Annie’s clock; it was noon.

  Charlotte saw me crying as I sprawled on the bed. “Are you in labor?” she asked. I answered by rocking back and forth, rubbing my stomach and thighs. It was one continuous pain. Aunt Sylvia came immediately. From that point on, I remember very little except that I lay there for hours, feeling like I was dying.

  Charlotte’s mother, my Aunt Rhea, arrived from the States just minutes after my labor pains began. Marden, one of the Spencer boys, brought her down from Utah for a visit. After he dropped her off, he left immediately for Terrenates to get Verlan. It had rained for days, and the muddy roads were washed out in several places. I knew it could be hours before he came.

  At 4 P.M., Alma brought a Dr. Ramirez from nearby El Valle. (Dr. Hatch lived a couple of hours away, near Casas.) This doctor was really rough with me. I thought I’d split as he plunged his fingers inside me. “She’ll go eight or ten more hours yet. Send for me again if you need me,” he said and left. What he clearly meant was, “Handle it. What are you calling me for?”

  The clock nearly stopped after that. Every ten minutes seemed liked an eternity as I drifted in and out of consciousness. Ten o’clock eventually came and went. I expected Verlan hours before, even with the washed-out roads to deal with. I strained to listen for bouncing trucks in the rain, wondering if each one could be Verlan coming to help me through this. Deliriously, I called his name over and over.

  Aunt Sylvia grew concerned about my groggy, semiconscious condition. She asked Charlotte why I didn’t work with them. Trying to rally me, Aunt Rhea rubbed my legs vigorously and massaged my hands. Charlotte held my head as Aunt Sylvia tried to force some coffee down me in hopes it would revive me. But I refused to drink it. I’d been taught that coffee was a no-no. All I wanted was for them to leave me alone and for Verlan to come. Before, I’d merely needed him; now, I was desperate for him. As I drifted in and out, I could hear the women’s muffled voices.

  “Irene, it’s coming. The head’s appearing. You’ve got to cooperate with us,” Sylvia demanded.

  Charlotte coached me, “Push, keep it up, come on now, that’s a good girl!”

  My mouth was parched. Charlotte gave me sips of water. The bearing-down pains brought me out of my stupor as I cried out with each one.

  They prodded me. “Push, Irene, push. Just a few more times, and we’ll have it.”

  “Help me, help me!” I cried as the baby’s head crowned. With Charlotte on one side of me and Aunt Rhea on the other, I grabbed their hands in trembling fear and pushed with all my strength.

  “Pant, Irene, pant,” Charlotte ordered. I did, but I felt like hot acid had been sprayed inside me. With one more push and a blood-curdling scream, the baby’s head came out.

  “Push one more time to get the baby’s shoulders out,” Aunt Rhea commanded me. “The hardest part is almost over.” Hanging onto their hands, I pushed again and then felt one huge release as the baby flopped into Aunt Sylvia’s hands.

  “It’s a girl!” Charlotte exclaimed. “A darling baby girl!” She kissed my forehead, wiping it again with a cool, wet cloth. I glanced at the clock; it was ten minutes past midnight. I’d endured twelve hours of sheer hell. Then I noticed the silence.

  “Why isn’t she crying?” I yelled frantically. Pulling up on my elbows, I watched Aunt Sylvia squeeze a rubber syringe, drawing the phlegm from the baby’s nostrils. “Please,” I begged God, “let her cry!” Then Sylvia spanked her little bottom, and my precious baby let out her first cries. I could see her still attached to my body by the thick, wrinkled umbilical cord that had nourished her for nine months. She cried like her little heart was broken. “Give her to me, please,” I begged.

  Aunt Sylvia said, “Calm down, she’s okay. Let’s cut the cord first. When we get her cleaned up, then you can take her.”

  “No, now,” I insisted. I silently feared that God was going to snatch her away from me. Just to calm me down, Aunt Sylvia gave in. She placed the darling treasure on my stomach. I held her by her little arms, listening to her whimpers. T
hen, as I let go of her arms to turn her on her side, she grabbed my index finger. I wondered how any woman could ever abort such a priceless, adorable gift from God.

  “You’re Mommy’s precious little angel,” I cooed.

  “I’ll call her Leah,” I announced. Satisfied that God had heard my months of anguished pleas, I relaxed, handing her back so Aunt Sylvia could cut the cord.

  When she was through, Aunt Sylvia wrapped my baby in a towel and handed her to Charlotte. “You get the privilege of doing the rest,” she said.

  Charlotte took her and said, “Irene, she’s beautiful.” She proceeded to clean her rosy body with cotton dipped in warm olive oil. When I made it clear to Charlotte that I didn’t want this tiny baby out of my sight, she assured me I could have her back as soon as she finished with her.

  While Charlotte tended Leah, Aunt Sylvia finished with me. “Push again. This is just the afterbirth. It won’t hurt,” Aunt Sylvia informed me. I reluctantly pushed, expelling it. I watched, fascinated, as Aunt Sylvia examined the placenta inside and out, looking for any torn or missing pieces. “It’s okay. Now we can clean up this messy bed.”

  I was looking at my flat tummy, thanking God it was all over, when suddenly Charlotte cried out for help. Handing the baby to Aunt Sylvia, she exclaimed, “This baby keeps acting like she’s passing out!”

  Aunt Sylvia cleaned out Leah’s nostrils and mouth again with the syringe. Then, holding up her back with one hand and her tiny heels with the other, Aunt Sylvia forced the baby’s little knees back and forth onto her chest. She slapped her bottom several times, with no response.