The doctor began the operation. I swallowed hard, gritting my teeth as I watched him cut Linda’s left breast from the base halfway to her nipple. Immediately, he and the nurse were mopping up thick, yellow pus. Dr. Cortez’s gaze met mine as he checked for my reaction. He pressed gently on her breast again, forcing more of the nasty gook into a special container. He must have extracted at least a pint.
Linda thrashed around. One leg almost fell off the table. I quickly pushed it back, holding it in place as the doctor proceeded. She moaned and then thrashed around again. The doctor paused as we watched, waiting for her to calm down. Her chest rose and fell, up and down, then up and . . . stopped.
“Doctor, she’s dead!” I exclaimed. “Do something quick. Oh, she’s dead!”
The young nurse removed the mask from Linda’s face as the doctor forced her chest up and down with his strong hands. With a telltale frantic look in his eyes, he kept trying again and again, all in vain.
I begged him, “Can’t you give her a shot in the heart? I’ve heard of that saving people. Anything, Doctor! Please!”
I watched with frozen anxiety as he tried one final time. He injected some liquid into her heart with an extra-long needle. I stood by helplessly, watching in silence. I was praying to God that what I was witnessing wasn’t really true.
“I’m sorry,” the doctor said. “There’s nothing more I can do. She’s dead.”
I fought back emotion as tears welled up in my eyes. I had to carry on. I found the nearest phone and called San Diego. Chuck wasn’t available, so I left a message with his friend. Then I forced myself to drive to Linda’s house to get her clothes so I could return to the hospital and dress her for burial.
The notebook Linda showed me three days earlier was still lying there on her kitchen table. I opened it and read the instructions for her funeral. I went down the list and found every article, even her favorite beads, nylons, and best dress shoes. When I got back to the hospital, her body was still on the operating table. The nurse helped me dress it. She was only in her early twenties.
I finally made it back to my crowded trailer house to find that Linda’s infant was refusing to take a bottle. She was crying her head off, expecting her mother to come nurse her. That was more than I could stand. I toted both her little babies around in my arms, sobbing my heart out. Life was hard enough, but being without a mother was the saddest thing I could imagine. After much coaxing and cuddling, the baby took a bottle and fell asleep.
I left Donna in charge of all nine kids again, and I drove back to the hospital to be by Linda until someone could arrive with a casket so we could take her home. Everyone had left the hospital except for the doctor and the nurse, who waited for me to return. They now took their leave. I began my lonely wake.
The generator automatically shut off at 11 P.M. sharp, which soon left me in the dark. I lit the kerosene lamp and turned it down low as I nervously reclined on the nurse’s cot in a small room adjacent to the operating room. I could still see the remains of my friend through the open door.
Nervous and alone, I couldn’t sleep. The whole past few days seemed so unreal. Linda never knew I secretly envied her life. Although she and Chuck planned on entering into the Principle at some point in the future, at the time of her death, she had a husband to herself and a cozy house for just them and their girls. She was the first woman I knew who actually had a checkbook. She used her own judgment, spending her money freely on things she considered necessities. To me, many of them were luxuries. She’d buy cold cereal, lunchmeat, crackers, mayonnaise, tuna, and chocolate. I could go on forever with the list. I tried not to compare, but my children ate boiled wheat and ground corn for breakfast. Every day, my boys used a hand-turned grinder to turn whole kernels of wheat into flour and hot cereal. Pinto beans and bread were our main staples. I was lucky when I could afford rice or potatoes to serve along with the beans. Occasionally, I splurged and bought margarine.
The flickering lamp released fumes from the kerosene into the eerie partial darkness. It brought back memories of my night with little Leah. She’d been just as cold, stiff, and lifeless as Linda was now. During those six hours of contemplation, I think I surrendered my desires for worldly comforts. What I really envied was Linda’s departure. Wherever she’d gone, it was far away from this harsh world. Here was a woman who’d been granted an easy out. I became convinced that the only way to freedom was death.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Life was chaotic for all of us. Verlan managed to come home on a few weekends and some holidays. When he did, he was lucky if he spent two nights home, and all five of us wives were upset. We were all dying for love and companionship, but only two of us got his attention, while the other three waited for their turn to come around next time. We were lucky if we each spent two nights with him a month.
Verlan soon realized his troubles had compounded, so he decided to move Beverly and Esther to the States and set them up as live-in maids earning enough to support themselves. He moved Charlotte, Lucy, and me to Ensenada, which was halfway between Los Molinos and San Diego. He found a big, green, two-story house that had been part of a motel complex. Charlotte and Lucy got the place by themselves until I recuperated from my recent confinement after delivering Connie. My ninth child, Connie was born on June 14, 1966, in the same Guerrero clinic where my friend Linda died. When my baby was two weeks old, I moved into that overcrowded house in Ensenada, making a total of twenty-five people living under one roof. Understanding this was to be a temporary arrangement until we could afford separate homes, we all tried to love one another and do the best we could under such crowded circumstances.
Verlan’s paychecks not only went to support us, but they had to cover his rent and living expenses in San Diego, monthly payments on a truck, and the assistance he gave Joel on the newly acquired land in Baja. As always, his earnings fell short.
When Verlan arrived on December 23, he was determined to make this the best Christmas ever. He told me how he showered praises on Beverly for sacrificing $15.00 of her hard-earned money so he could buy presents for his kids. Our spirits were high—we could really surprise the unsuspecting brood. The oldest child was only fifteen. We knew we’d really have to stretch that money to get something for each of the twenty-one kids, but somehow we’d succeed.
I was the lucky one who accompanied Verlan into town, and he warned me several times to be certain to not forget any of Charlotte’s little girls. “Make sure we don’t forget anyone,” he commanded. I looked longingly at all the boxes of games, beautiful dolls, tea sets, and other expensive toys, dreaming that we were rich enough to afford them. I realized that they were all out of question when Verlan called me to come down the next aisle. I joined him in the party favor section, where the small toys and balls were.
Verlan excitedly grabbed several different small, rubber, colored balls. He put them in the cart. I got three sets of jacks for the three older girls. Verlan mentally summed up the prices as I continued carefully choosing each child’s gift. “Let’s see now,” he began checking it out. “We have three sets of jacks, eight balls, and these lovely dominoes for the three older boys to share. I wonder if there will be too many fights?” he questioned. “But at their age they deserve something nice. That will do for fifteen of them. Hey, these plastic whistles are on sale!” he said excitedly as he grabbed five different colors, examining their quality.
“Put those back! Please, Verlan, it’s bad enough having twenty-five of us in the house when we’re all quiet, let alone with children blowing whistles.”
“No,” he insisted, “they’ll love them! That’s it. Let’s get the rest of the kids balloons!”
We watched the register closely, adding up each item, making sure we didn’t go over the designated amount. Verlan was jubilant as he walked out, carrying our treasures. “Boy, will the kids ever be surprised!”
We stopped at a fruit stand on the side of the road. Verlan talked the owner into giving him credit for
two weeks. He went wild—his kids would have the best Christmas yet. He got five kilos of peanuts, a box of oranges, plus a crate of bananas. Verlan’s eyes danced when he selected three bags of candy. Regretfully, he bought a big bag of colored bubble gum. “God must really be on our side,” he smiled. “Look, they even have brown paper bags here. We can put a toy plus some goodies in them so each child will have their own individual present.”
When we got home, Lucy kept the excited bunch of kids behind a locked door, just long enough for the gifts to be hid in my bedroom.
The day before Christmas was especially busy with preparations. The children worked in teams doing their chores extra carefully. Along with everything else, I tripled the recipe for bread. Cinnamon rolls were an extravagance, but tomorrow the family would have their fill! By evening, I could see in all those little dancing eyes that it would be a sin to make them wait until tomorrow, so I gave in: they could celebrate tonight, but only one frosted cinnamon roll apiece.
The older ones begged me to give them hints. “Please, Auntie, what did Daddy buy for us?” they asked. I insisted they start their baths early and go to bed, so they’d all be ready bright and early for Santa Claus.
After they went to bed, we set to preparing the gifts. Following Verlan’s instructions, I took a black marker and wrote the kids’ names on the sacks, starting with Charlotte’s children. I wrote her name at the top of the first bag, then the name of each of her children on their own bag. There would be a Christmas bag for everyone.
Verlan impatiently grabbed the first ones as he said, “Keep marking more as we fill them up. Charlotte and I will distribute the peanuts and fruit. Lucy, you count out the candy so it will be divided equally.” I handed over Lucy’s children’s sacks, all marked. Verlan checked over each name to make sure the count was right. “That’s great! Now, hurry up with yours, Irene. Mark them and start helping us.”
When mine were all done, I opened them up myself and started filling them with peanuts and the allotted fruit, one orange and one banana each. I’ll never forget how happy we were all together, switching a toy from one sack to another, each wife making sure her kids got their fair share. Verlan had the final say on what he thought was best for each child. “How nice,” he commented with satisfaction. “Everyone has a gift in their sack except for us adults.”
We carried the bags into my bedroom, pushing them close together to form two long lines, all ready to be distributed tomorrow. We were jubilant; it seemed God had worked things out. There were even enough goodies for the adults.
On Christmas morning, I could hear little children giggling and whispering at my bedroom door. “Go get dressed,” I commanded. “Tell your mommies to get your hair done, then we’ll have our Christmas.” Was there ever commotion in the house! Kids hunting shoes, older ones dressing their younger brothers and sisters. Verlan was doing final details. He washed little faces and wiped a few runny noses.
With all the eager anticipation it was no easy task. We finally got all twenty-one kids quietly kneeling in a circle for prayer. Verlan thanked God for the occasion we were celebrating, for his wonderful family, and for the many blessings we enjoyed. The “amen” seemed to zap little bodies into a jumping, scampering beeline to the presents.
Verlan calmed the children down. “Just be quiet and stand in line.” He looked pleased to see them so excited. “Now, when Daddy calls your name, come and get your sack. Be quiet until your name is called. Understand?”
Charlotte and I passed sacks to Lucy, who in turn handed them to Verlan. The names weren’t in any particular order, but he began, “Loretta . . . Pierre . . . Beth . . . Verla . . . Norman . . . Connie.” He turned to me, “Irene, this is for your baby Connie. Make sure she doesn’t choke on the peanuts.”
My little five-year-old, Kaylen, couldn’t stand the suspense a minute longer. “Daddy,” he yelled above the commotion. “Where’s mine?”
“Be quiet, son. Wait, your turn. It’s coming. Mark . . . André . . . Chad . . . Sandra . . . Margaret . . .”
Kaylen got more upset. “I’m littler than those big kids,” he whined. “Where’s mine?”
Verlan wanted obedience, so he grabbed Kaylen, shaking him a couple of times. “Now be quiet! Or you won’t get one!” He continued handing out the bags. He was having the time of his life! It was fun just to watch him. He got the biggest thrill seeing those little kids’ faces light up with joy. He continued, “Verlan M. . . . Laura . . . Donna . . . Rhea . . . Brent . . .”
Kaylen lost his patience. He was more frightened of being left out then of getting punished. “Daddy, you’re forgetting me!”
Verlan stopped, looking very firm. He repeated, “Kaylen, I told you, if you don’t behave, you won’t get one!” He passed out more sacks. “Byron . . . Susanna . . . Steven . . . Barbara . . . Norine . . .” With each additional sack, Kaylen sank deeper into despair. Seeing tears forming in his eyes, Verlan finally gave in. He turned to me. “Give me Kaylen’s sack. He’s been a good boy to wait this long.”
Before I even read the names, I counted the remaining sacks. 1, 2, 3, 4—I got sicker with each count. There should have been five. I checked each sack, reading the names out loud. “Lucy, Charlotte, Irene, Daddy.” I couldn’t believe it—I’d left out my own kid!
Verlan was crushed. He’d only wanted to teach Kaylen to be patient and obedient. He didn’t want Kaylen to know that he’d really been forgotten, so he grabbed his own sack, hoping Kaylen wouldn’t notice. Hugging him close, to make up for the oversight, he thrust his own bag into Kaylen’s expecting hands.
Kaylen quickly opened the sack rummaging around to find his toy. He looked up disgustedly at us. “Where’s my toy?” he demanded tearfully. He looked accusingly at Verlan, pointing to the writing on the sack that said DADDY. “You know that’s not my name!”
We were sick with guilt! Poor little Kaylen was absolutely broken-hearted. I thought we’d succeeded in stretching the $15.00, but we hadn’t stretched it quite far enough. Verlan promised Kaylen that, as soon as we could afford it, he’d buy him his own special toy. But many a Christmas has come and gone, and Kaylen swears he’s still waiting!
SOON OUR STAY together in the big green house seemed more permanent than temporary. Living conditions became more and more intolerable with the three of us wives having to deal with each other as well as our combined twenty-one children, who were constantly underfoot. School in Ensenada for the older children plus an occasional outing at the beach for all of them were about the only outlets for the kids’ unrelenting energies.
Lucy, Charlotte, and I did well at avoiding major fights, but the air was thick with feelings. Verlan’s absences became the norm. Most recently, he’d gone off on a three-month mission trip to persuade polygamists living in Canada to come down and join Joel’s church. He arrived home from that trip with nothing to offer his impoverished families. We’d been subsisting on donations from the church storehouse, but we somehow scrounged up enough to celebrate his homecoming.
It was Lucy’s night to sleep with him. Her bedroom was upstairs, directly over Charlotte’s. Mine was upstairs, too, across and down the hall from Lucy’s. I cunningly cleaned up my room nicely and offered to let Verlan and Lucy sleep there. I insisted that Lucy let me take her baby to tend along with mine, and I’d sleep in her room. They were both pleased that I could be so thoughtful by giving them the night alone.
I made sure the babies were asleep. Then I lay on my stomach and rhythmically bounced the bed for all I was worth. I was laughing so hard, I had to smother my face in the pillow. I waited five minutes, then continued the rhythmic bouncing, waited, then continued.
The next morning, Charlotte was in the kitchen when Verlan came downstairs in a chipper mood. He tried to kiss her good morning, but she flipped her head and refused to accept any of his attentions.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“You know darn well what’s wrong. I refuse to live another day in this house!”
&
nbsp; Verlan was baffled. “What on earth are you talking about?”
She blurted out in tears. “I heard you! And I can’t believe it.”
“Heard what?”
“I think it’s terrible that I had to listen to you and Lucy making love.”
“How could you have heard anything? We didn’t even sleep in her room!” he said defensively.
“Don’t lie to me! I heard you!” Her sobs grew louder. “I will not tolerate living here another day!”
Verlan rushed upstairs to consult with me. “Boy, does Charlotte have an imagination!” he said. “She’s so upset. She says she’s moving out for sure. What do you think is her problem?”
I let him talk on and on, fretting about it, until I couldn’t restrain myself any longer. I threw myself on Lucy’s bed, laughing uncontrollably. Then I bounced that bed up and down, clueing him in on my prank.
He pointed his finger at me in disbelief. “You didn’t?”
I was laughing so hard, I could barely squeak it out. “Yes . . . I did!”
“Why on earth would you do this to her?”
Still giggling, I ventured, “I guess I just wanted her to think we were getting more than she was.”
FOR A SHORT TIME, we all benefited from my fun. True to her word, Charlotte did move out. She rented a brick house a few blocks away. Verlan decided he couldn’t afford the rent on that house and the big green house as well, so Lucy moved into a trailer house nearby in Chapultepec, and I rented a small, four-room cinder-block house next to a winery (called La Vinata) for $35 a month. This was the eleventh time I’d moved in thirteen years.
Because my house had a convenient cement slab for a carport, Verlan moved a small camper trailer onto it for pregnant Beverly. She cooked in my house, but slept in her little trailer. Esther moved back to Los Molinos. Although Beverly and Esther both lost their first babies at birth, the number of Verlan’s offspring reached twenty-nine.
Shattered Dreams Page 28
