“You won’t make time go any faster,” Mother says, lifting Baby Bill from the bassinet she keeps in the kitchen.
“What’s taking them so long?” I ask. Father owns a construction company and checks his work sites with Tanner every Sunday after lunch. With so many mouths to feed, Father made Tanner and most of my other brothers quit school when they were around my age so they could help out. They’ve been gone so long this afternoon, I’m hoping that means Tanner’s been talking to Father about the festival.
I rock from side to side, unable to contain my excitement at the thought of actually playing in the Santa Fe Music Festival. How many years have Tanner and I talked about that moment?
“Just keep the spirit of the Prophet, and you’ll find your patience,” Mother says. Then her voice cracks. “All those years in that horrible cell.” My swaying stops. The Prophet has been in prison for almost eleven years now. I barely remember what it was like with the Prophet living among us, but Mother acts like the outsiders took him away yesterday. She clutches Baby Bill tight to her chest. “The Prophet never asks what’s taking so long.” Mother’s looking at me now with exhausted eyes. The wave of golden hair above her forehead has gone flat in the hot kitchen.
The Prophet teaches we should all strive to achieve the heavenly virtue of patience—one more thing Meryl says I stink at. She’s looking at me, too.
“I’m sorry, Mother.” I sigh. “I’ll try to be more patient.”
“They’re home,” someone yells.
“See?” Mother says with a smile, like she’s proven her point.
Meryl returns to her stirring, while the other mothers jump to action.
Without a word, Father stomps into the kitchen to wash his hands at the sink. Tanner trails him and zips by me without making eye contact. He retreats down the stairs to the basement so he can wash his hands, too.
My shoulders sink.
“Dinnertime,” Mother Lenora announces through the house intercom. We used to just shout this, but Father couldn’t stand all the yelling.
After he dries his hands on a kitchen towel, Father is the first to receive a plate. Father’s always first. My other brothers and sisters line up behind him.
Some of the younger kids are crying from hunger pangs. I’d like to tell them I know how they feel, but I’m too busy with the older girls, filling cups with ice water and placing giant tubs of butter on the long, long tables. We have two rectangular tables right next to the kitchen. They sit side by side, both lined with hungry kids ranging in age from one to nineteen. After we get plates for the younger ones, the older ones have to help them eat.
Mother Dee, Father’s third wife, stands next to the cooktop. She props a plate on the curve of her pregnant belly and gives Father a heaping scoop of spinach. Next to the pile of limp green leaves, she mounds a swirl of pasta on the plate. My stomach growls as Mother Dee sprinkles Parmesan cheese on Father’s spaghetti. She gives the cheese an extra shake. Then, another. Some of the kids grumble since the cheese will probably run out by the time the last ones are served. No cheese means plain pasta and zero flavor.
But Father always gets the most food, and if he wants more, he says he can have it. He’s already proven his worthiness to the Prophet and holds the priesthood. He has a say in whether every single one of us gets to go to heaven or has to spend an eternity burning in hell. Personally, I think he should get all the Parmesan cheese he wants.
I’m quickly moving down the long tables, handing out the paper napkins someone else forgot. As I finish, Father tucks a loose hair behind Mother Dee’s ear. She smiles up at him. My mother, who’s feeding Baby Bill, turns away.
Near the end of the line, I spot Tanner stick his finger into his mouth and pretend to gag. He does that sometimes when Father shows Mother Dee affection. She’s only a few years older than Tanner and has the darkest hair of my father’s wives, plus the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. My brother won’t admit it, but I think he had a crush on her before she became our mother.
As the line continues to wind behind him, Father takes his place at the head of the table. He doesn’t wait for anyone. He starts eating.
At the other table, Amy makes faces at the little kids, while they await their food. She sticks out her tongue and pulls tightly on her eyes behind her glasses. A few giggles erupt. I can’t help but laugh.
“Gentry,” Father mumbles through his chewing. “Have a seat.”
I wipe my hand on my skirt. “Yes, Father,” I say and pass off the napkins to one of my half sisters. My heart races as I march around the table and head toward him. It’s an honor to be asked to sit beside Father. Too bad I don’t get to eat, too.
Mother Lenora, who is sitting next to Father, lets out an exasperated sigh when I take the seat across from her. Father takes a slice of bread from the basket, and my mouth waters again. I dig my fingernails into my hands to keep from snatching a piece and gobbling it up.
But I don’t have to struggle for long. Mother Lenora passes the bread to her son Kel. My half brother takes a slice and then passes it on to his twin, Kate. It goes farther and farther down the table. Away from me.
I remind myself to keep sweet and force a smile even though it’s hard with everyone eating in front of me.
“Hannah,” Father says as my mother sits next to me. “Give that plate to your daughter and get yourself another.”
My stomach growls eagerly as Mother sets her plate before me. I snatch the napkin and place it across my lap. “Thank you, Father.” I don’t want to give him a chance to change his mind. I pick up my fork.
Mother Lenora jabs her finger in my direction. “She’s being punished.”
Father swallows his food. “Her punishment is over. I trust she’s learned her lesson,” he says and eyes me.
I quickly nod.
“I’ll get another plate,” Mother says, and I can hear the smile in her voice.
I want to hug Father, but we’re not supposed to. So I take a bite instead, savoring the salty cheese and pasta on my tongue.
Father laughs. “Is it that good?”
“Yes, sir,” I say through a mouthful of pasta.
Mother Lenora shakes her head and shoves another forkful into her round face. I want to ask Father about the festival, but I don’t want to get my plate taken away before I have a chance to finish dinner. I decide to eat first.
When my mother returns with a new plate and much smaller portions, a part of me feels guilty that I took hers. “I had lunch. You didn’t,” she says, as if reading my mind in that eerie way mothers sometimes do.
Mother Dee blots her forehead when everyone has a plate and takes her seat next to Mother Lenora. Mother Dee’s portion sizes are almost as large as Father’s.
Mother nudges me under the table to keep me from staring.
I take my last bite of pasta when Father does and watch him gulp his ice water. With so many other kids around, I may not get another chance to talk to him about the festival. “Father.”
He sets his glass on the table. “If you’re going to ask me about the festival, your brother already did.”
“And?” I ask hopefully.
“And it’s out of my hands.” He wipes his mouth with his napkin. “I talked to Uncle Max, and he said no.”
The hope drains from me as quickly as it came. “Did you tell him how important this is to us?”
Father nods. “And he says, with you being a woman now, it’s in direct violation of the Prophet’s revelation.”
It feels like a solid lump has formed in my stomach. I shouldn’t have eaten so fast. “But the festival’s only a few days away.”
“You’d defy the Prophet?” Mother Lenora asks as she mops up spinach juice with her bread.
I shake my head. “It’s not like that.”
“How is it then?” she asks, her voice laced with accusation.
Mother Dee places a hand on her belly. “I’ve heard it’s gotten so much worse. The outsiders are now kidnapping and tortu
ring people like us.”
All of my life, the Prophet has told us the outsiders are evil. They’re jealous we’re God’s chosen and want to hurt us. I’ve only been outside our walls a few times, including the one time to the festival, but that was a while ago and with a large group.
I hate to admit it: I am a little scared to go. But this has been our dream for years, and I probably won’t get a chance to do anything like this ever again. “Tanner will be there. He’ll look out for me, I know it.”
“You would defy the Prophet then,” Mother Lenora says, her voice tightening.
Mother Dee swirls pasta onto her fork. “The outsiders have trained their dogs to attack us. Did you know that?”
“And she’d go out there willingly,” Mother Lenora says, mocking me. “Wouldn’t you?”
As I push the spinach from side to side on my plate, I can feel Mother Dee and Mother Lenora glaring at me, ready to pounce if—when—I say the wrong thing. I look to Father, but he’s buttering another piece of bread.
What can I say to get them to stop looking at me? What’s the right response? I finally settle on, “What’s the question again?”
Mother Lenora clucks her tongue. “Honestly, Hannah. If my daughter talked with such disrespect, I’d rip her from this table and beat some sense into her.”
I drop my fork. It rattles against the plate. As one of my mothers, Mother Lenora has every right to discipline me. And she hits so hard, it makes you wish you were never born. My hand wads the napkin on my lap.
Mother sets her fork down gently. “Thank you for your opinion, Lenora. But she knows perfect obedience produces perfect faith. Gentry’s a little excited, that’s all.”
“I was excited, too,” Father admits, channeling everyone’s attention back to him.
“You were?” I ask, surprised.
He nods and swallows the rest of his bread. Mother Lenora’s lips tighten. She won’t get to lay a hand on me now. Not over this. My fingers unclench the napkin.
Mother Dee resumes her chewing as Father continues, “When Tanner asked if he could surprise you and enter a recording of the two of you into the competition, I said yes. But I did not know then that the Prophet would make this pronouncement.” Father takes another drink of water. “This family will obey the Prophet’s revelation. You’re staying home. That’s final.”
“But, Father—”
“No buts.” Father’s green eyes bore straight into mine. “The devil is tempting you, Gentry. I expect you will make the right choice and follow God’s word.”
I lower my head. “Yes, Father.”
Mother pats my hand. “Just put it on a shelf and pray about it.”
I roll my eyes. That’s our community’s response to anything difficult. But I don’t want to put this on a shelf.
“Gentry will keep sweet,” Father says, confident, even though I’m not. “Especially once she sees her birthday present.”
My head lifts. “Wait. What?”
He smiles. “You didn’t think I forgot, did you?”
Actually, yes, I did. “No, of course not,” I say.
“If you’re finished, come with me,” he says. “Hannah will clear your plate.”
Mother Lenora turns to Mother Dee. “Do you know anything about this?” Mother Dee shakes her head.
I search the table for Tanner. If there’s a secret in our family, he’s usually the first to know about it. I find him over at the other table, holding Baby Bill while he eats. You’re gonna love it, he mouths.
Mother interrupts, “Your father’s waiting.” With a soft smile, she nods for me to follow him into the living room.
I slip between the tables, past my talking and punching and laughing brothers and sisters before stepping down into our sunken living area that’s off the kitchen. After dinner, my entire family will gather here in front of the large portrait of the Prophet for Sunday night devotional.
Father reaches behind his La-Z-Boy as I round the mismatched sofas where my mothers sit. He pulls out a large rectangular case.
My heart beats fast.
“Hey, what is it?” Amy asks, stumbling into the room behind us.
“I don’t know yet,” I say, though I suspect I do. A grin tugs at the corners of my mouth.
“Hurry,” she says, breathless. “Open it.”
I look to Father as he sets it on the floor. “It won’t open itself,” he says.
My fingers reach for the small zippers as I crouch, and I slowly slide them outward. A small silver latch hides beneath the zippers. I look up at Father with anticipation.
“Go on,” he encourages. I slide the latch to the right and open the case. Resting in the blue velvet lining is a honey-colored, full-size violin.
I blink a few times to make sure I’m not dreaming. My hand covers my mouth. “Oh, Father,” I say through my fingers.
Amy gasps.
Father’s smiling. “I bought it at the violin shop in Albuquerque. Tanner helped pick it out.”
“Oh, Father,” I say again, lifting the instrument from the case. I pluck the A string. The sound is so rich, I nearly cry. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
“Told you she’d like it,” Tanner says. “It’s Hungarian. The shopkeeper said it’s over a hundred years old.”
“You’re kidding,” I say, even though I know music’s the one thing we don’t kid about.
Everyone starts coming in for prayer time. “What is it?” some of my siblings ask as they barge into the room. “What did she get?”
I proudly hold up my new instrument for them to see.
“You spoil her, Conway,” Mother Lenora grumbles. “What use is that?”
I’m so happy; her words can’t keep me from grinning.
Father stands tall. “Uncle Max was very impressed with Tanner and Gentry during today’s service.”
“He was?” I ask, shocked again. Nothing impresses the Vulture, except himself. And, of course, the Prophet.
Father winks at me.
Mother Dee elbows Mother Lenora’s broad side. “I received a sewing machine on my thirteenth birthday.”
Mother Lenora nods. “And I received a quilt and baby blankets. Those are appropriate gifts for a future wife and mother.” Mother Lenora plops on the floral sofa, making it sag on one side. “Not a violin.”
They’re right: Girls usually receive something for their future home. According to the Prophet, the highest honor a girl can hope for is to get married. And then, having babies. I glance at the spit-up stain down the front of Mother Lenora’s dress. That’s all I’m supposed to live for and dream about: marriage and babies. I know it’s wrong, but I sometimes wonder if that’s enough for me.
“I think it’s a lovely gift,” my mother says as she enters the room and takes her place on the navy-blue sofa. Her upright piano sits against the wall behind her.
Mother Lenora huffs. “That’s because you’re the one who introduced the devilry of music to your children in the first place.” I hate that she’s trying to pick this old fight. Again. Mother was raised in a more progressive home than my other mothers, and they won’t ever let her forget it. Music was not only allowed when Mother was growing up, but also encouraged.
Mother’s hands curl against the sofa, but she nods. As the second wife, my mother must respect Mother Lenora’s position as the first wife, no matter how absurd or unfair.
Most of my siblings are on the floor now, shoving for space on the carpet.
Meryl is behind Mother, holding the hands of two of our younger half sisters. She stops when she sees. “It’s so very beautiful, Father.”
That returns the smile to Mother’s face.
Father turns to me. “I’m sorry we couldn’t afford to buy you a new bow. Your old one will do?”
“Of course,” I say. “Thank you, Father.”
“Play something, will you?” He gestures to my new violin. My new violin. Despite what my other mothers say, it’s the perfect gift.
Father nods. �
�Tanner, you too.”
My brother slides one of the toddlers off his lap and jumps from the floor. “Yes, sir.”
I pull the bow from my old case and slide my instrument under my chin for the first time. It fits like it was made for me. The smooth neck rests perfectly in the curve between my index finger and thumb. Like I hoped it would.
Tanner lifts his instrument. “Would you care for a hymn, Father?”
“Musicians’ choice,” Father replies as he sits in his chair and rocks back and forth.
“‘Jerusalem’s Ridge’?” Tanner suggests and turns to me. “You take the melody. Let’s see what you can do with that thing.”
I smile at Tanner’s challenge.
With a deep breath, we count off and start with ten staccato strokes of the bow. Then, I fly. At least, it feels like flying to me. I soar straight out of the box I’m expected to stay in when I’m not playing my music.
My fingers run across the fingerboard with the old bluegrass tune. The timbre of my new violin is so intense, I hardly notice my family clapping to the rhythm of our song. I glance at Amy. She’s dancing with the little ones, while Kel and Kate march in place. Tanner and I keep pace, weaving notes between us without slowing until we reach the last few measures and end with a harmonious chord.
Almost everyone is clapping and on their feet. Father whistles so loud, the little kids cover their ears. Even Meryl is grinning and cheering. I’m so happy, it doesn’t even bother me that Mother Lenora and Mother Dee are frowning at us. The flying feeling refuses to leave me.
Under the applause and shouts of encouragement, Tanner leans in with a whisper, “You know there’s no way we’re staying home now.”
He comes away, grinning from ear to ear, and takes a bow. Is he saying what I think he’s saying?
“Gentry, bow,” Amy commands. I do as I’m told. My brothers and sisters go wild with cheers. My chest swells.
I cradle my precious new violin against my body and wonder if it could even be possible. Sneaking out is dangerous. And there’s the God Squad with their giant pickup trucks and guns. Way too dangerous.
But we’ve been dreaming of the festival for years, and now I have the perfect violin. We may not get another chance.
The Prophet Calls Page 3
