by Ruth Wariner
Mom’s confidence that disaster was imminent terrified all of us. She paused and patted Meri lightly on the back, staring at each of us in succession. “Plus, there’s nothing here for you to do but watch TV all day. I want you to learn how to work on the farm and do things that really matter. And you need to be close to your dad. It’s important to have a man around the house.”
Mom continued talking for several minutes, explaining how living in LeBaron would protect us from the doomsday to come. I stopped listening after I heard Lane’s name. To me, going back to LeBaron seemed as bad as staying in California while disaster struck, maybe even worse. But my brothers and I couldn’t protest or ask for further explanation. We just shrugged our shoulders and accepted Mom’s decision. How could we argue when the destruction of an entire nation was at hand?
* * *
A DIFFERENT SCENE played out the following Sunday evening in front of Grandpa and Grandma. We arrived for supper and found Grandpa sitting in his big brown chair with a leatherbound Book of Mormon open on his lap. Grandma was in the kitchen, and the table was already set. I felt an uncomfortable quietness throughout dinner. The air was heavy all through the meal, even when Grandma served her warm blackberry cobbler with huge scoops of melting vanilla ice cream. “Just like Mama used to make,” Grandma always said.
After dinner, we went back to the living room to watch Hee Haw on TV. Every week, Grandma would close the heavy, sage-green drapes behind the beige love seat and we’d all gather on the rug and couches. Mom sat in the rocking chair, rocking Meri back and forth quietly, as if waiting for the perfect moment to spring the news on her parents. Grandpa’s eyelids began to hang heavily.
“Are you gettin’ tired, Daddy?” Mom asked sweetly. “Why don’t you go and lie down. Don’t worry about us.”
“Oh, I’m all right.” She’d startled him back to life and he sat straighter in the chair when canned laughter erupted from the TV.
“You all right, Kathy?” Grandma eyed Mom skeptically through her bifocals, the lenses reflecting the images from the TV.
“Oh, I’m doin’ real good,” Mom said unconvincingly, readjusting Meri, who lay in the middle of her chest. “I want to let you guys know that I’ve appreciated all your help.” She cleared her throat. “And that I’ve decided to move to El Paso to live close to the colony again. Lane’s been comin’ to see me and the kids, and we’re gonna try to make our marriage work.”
Neither of my grandparents said anything for a moment, but then Grandpa got up from his La-Z-Boy, turned the TV off, and returned to his seat. I looked at his face, then to Grandma’s. They seemed disappointed but not surprised.
“Well, I—” Grandma stopped and reconsidered her words. “Well, we heard the kids talkin’ about Lane, so we figured he was comin’ around to see you guys.” She fidgeted in her seat. “We figured it was just a matter of time before you went back to that place.”
“Well, we can’t go to the colony right away. Lane’s not makin’ enough money with his trucking business yet, and Meri needs to see all these doctors. We have to figure out what’s goin’ on with her before we move back to LeBaron. But El Paso’s close enough to travel there on weekends and during the summer.”
“But you got everything you need here,” Grandpa said. “The kids are settled in a good school. Meri has a good group of doctors, Audrey’s close by. Now why would you want to uproot everyone?”
“I don’t feel like we belong here, Daddy. I want my kids to grow up around the people who believe like I do, close to the church and close to their dad.”
At this, Grandma folded her arms over her chest and shook her head. “For the life of me, Kathy, I don’t understand why you keep goin’ back to that man. He has all those women and all those kids. How’s he supposed to support all of you too?”
“Well, Mom, we believe that it’s not all about the money, that it’s God’s will for a husband and wife to bring new life into this world even if we’re not rich.”
Grandma met this with a sneer and leaned forward. She knew perfectly well what her daughter believed. “There’s no way that it’s God’s will to have one man bring so many kids into the world that he can’t take care of, Kathy. You’re not even legally married. You’re not his wife, you’re his concubine.” I didn’t know what concubine meant, but I could tell the word upset my mom.
“In my church, polygamy is a commandment from God,” Mom said defensively. “I was married in that church, so I’m Lane’s wife whether you like it or not.” She seemed to regret her words almost immediately and turned to Grandpa. “You can’t call yourself a Mormon, Daddy, and just ignore that. Joseph Smith believed in polygamy, he taught that it was the right way to live.”
“Times have changed, Kathy,” he said wearily.
“God doesn’t change His mind, and we don’t get to change His rules.”
Grandma couldn’t take any more. She erupted, yelling, “The Bible says that a man will leave his family and a woman will leave her parents and the two shall become one. It doesn’t say three or four or five shall become one.”
“What does the Bible say about Moses and Jacob? They had more than one wife.” Mom gave Grandma a ferocious stare, turned, and gave Grandpa the same look. “Daddy, you once believed that Joel was the prophet. You believed in plural marriage. He was a prophet. He wasn’t crazy. You both know he wasn’t crazy.”
“I should have never gotten my family involved with that church or that man.” Grandpa shook his head. “I should have never given you my blessin’ to marry him.”
“You don’t believe that,” Mom spat back.
“But now I see how my daughters suffered, livin’ that way.”
“I always knew we shouldn’t get involved in that church, but nobody listened to me.” Grandma’s eyes bored holes in the carpet. “And that ol’ Ervil was definitely a nutcase.”
“We’re talkin’ about Joel, not his brother,” said Mom.
“Makes me sick to think about all those old men bringin’ so many little babies into the world.” Grandma shook her head furiously. “All those children, those little bastards runnin’ round all over the place with no one lookin’ after ’em—”
“Callin’ those kids bastards is callin’ the kids in this room bastards,” Mom fired back. I could tell she was on the verge of screaming.
“Well, if the shoe fits…,” Grandma said.
“Oh, come on now, Tressie,” Grandpa said, trying to pull everyone back from the brink.
“Now, Leo, you know it’s the truth.” Grandma shot him a look that stunned my grandpa into silence.
Mom sprang from the rocking chair. “Ya see? That’s exactly why I have to leave here. No one believes like I do anymore.” She hoisted Meri onto her shoulder, yanked a pink cotton blanket out of the yellow diaper bag, and wrapped the baby in it tightly. “I know I’m right, and in the next life, you will too. And by the way, I’m not askin’ for your blessin’ or permission. I’m just lettin’ you know what I’m gonna do.” Her head pivoted in our direction. “You kids get your shoes on. We’re goin’ home.”
“Now, come on, Kathy. You don’t need to leave,” Grandpa said weakly, looking over at his wife, her eyes ablaze with anger. “Let’s turn the TV back on.”
But Mom was already halfway out the door. “Thanks for dinner,” she called out, pushing us toward the van.
16
As much as I hated the idea of leaving California, I was comforted knowing that we weren’t scheduled to move until school was out, in two months’ time. But two weeks later, Mom announced she was pregnant again, and that meant we’d be leaving as soon as possible.
A few days later, Lane’s white pickup rolled into our driveway. Rather than sporting its usual camper top, the truck was pulling an old wooden trailer. I ran to my bed and dug my head in a pillow as deep as I could. I didn’t want to hear any enthusiasm that might come with my stepfather’s arrival.
It was dark when we had finally packed up our things in th
e truck. The following morning we embarked on yet another journey. I trudged to the microbus, opened the sliding door, and stepped up into it.
“Ruthie, you come ride with me,” Lane said.
The offer took me by surprise, and I looked up at Mom to save me. Already starting up the van, she smiled and reassured me, “Oh, go on. Go ride with him.”
“I don’t want to, Mom.” My body was frozen in the van’s doorway.
“Don’t be silly. Go ride with your dad. Go on, and stop bein’ a baby.”
I flashed Lane a scowl as I retreated from the van. I was relieved to find Matt already sitting in Lane’s truck, but when I opened the passenger door to get in, Matt told me I had to sit in the middle.
“Ruthie,” Lane said, “Matt needs to sit by the window in case he gets carsick.” Matt got out to let me in, and Lane motioned for me to slide my body to the middle. The seat was cold, the black dashboard was covered in jagged cracks from sun damage, and mud was caked on the rubber mats on the floorboards. I noticed on the floor half an avocado that had long ago turned black, and wilted envelopes containing letters of apparent importance were scattered below the windshield. I rested my left knee against the stick shift as I dug my fingers into the crack of the seat in search of my seat belt, finding only dirt and crumbs in its place.
“It’s broken. The buckle doesn’t work. Here, scoot over this way so I can change gears.” Lane extended his arm around my upper back and pulled me until I was right up against him with both my legs on his side of the stick shift.
We had a late start, Mom announced, and would only have a few minutes to stop and say good-bye to Grandpa and Grandma. As we pulled up along the front yard and parked in the street, I stared at the vibrant pink roses and the orange and yellow marigolds in the front yard and wanted to cry. I swallowed and held back the beginnings of tears. Grandma emerged from the house, her eyes cast down, the tears already spilling. A sob burst from my chest the minute I saw her. I was surprised to see that Matt was crying too, just as hard as I was. He hadn’t complained about leaving as much as I had, but he was clearly just as upset.
I got out of the truck and threw my arms around Grandma’s shoulders so hard I thought I’d knock her down. She steadied herself, and I pressed my crying face into her neck and wanted to disappear into it.
I embraced Grandpa the same way. “Don’t you worry, Sis,” he whispered in a broken voice. “You’ll be all right. I’m sure we’ll be seein’ ya soon.” His eyes were wet and red when I pulled away from him.
Lane kept his distance at the end of the manicured lawn and stared down at his army-green work boots. Mostly he went ignored, but Grandpa eventually looked in his direction.
“How ya doin’?” Lane asked, trying to sound respectful.
Grandpa just nodded.
Within minutes, we were gone, Grandma and Grandpa waving at us through forced smiles and wet cheeks.
* * *
THE SOUND TRACK to our 968-mile road trip from the center of California to the southwestern tip of Texas was Kenny Rogers’s Greatest Hits, a cassette tape that played on an endless loop. Lane seemed to have a special love for “Lucille.” “‘You picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille,’” Lane wailed. “‘With four hungry children and a crop in the field.’”
But things were worse when he didn’t sing. Lane tried to catch us up on everything we’d missed in LeBaron. He reported that he had three new sons, twin boys with his first wife, Alejandra, and another with his third wife, Susan. “They don’t look anything alike,” he said of the twins with a proud smile, his grease-stained fingers wrapped tightly around the steering wheel. “One of ’em—Alex—you can barely tell he’s mine. He’s got this dark brown hair and skin just like his mother.” Lane let out a quick, jolly laugh. “The other guy is a little version of me, a white boy with blond hair, so we call him Junior.” He looked over to see if he’d impressed us. I tried to smile. “My wives have blessed me with fifteen kids now, and your mom’s new baby will be number sixteen. That’s not including all my stepkids. I see it as a retirement plan. I have lots of people to take care of me when I’m old.” He laughed at his own joke and seemed surprised that we didn’t laugh too.
“Can we turn on John Denver?” I asked.
Lane cleared his throat and the smile vanished from his face. “Look”—he gripped my left thigh—“I know you like livin’ close to your grandma and grandpa, but I think the family’s better off livin’ in El Paso. It’s right at the border.” He patted the top of my leg above my knee.
I glared at his hand until he put it back on the steering wheel.
“Your grandfather LeBaron and your dad set the colony up as a safe place for all of our Heavenly Father’s people to run to when the destructions come.” Lane stared off at the endless expanse of road in front of us. “We have no doubt that it will, we just don’t know exactly when. We gotta at least try and be prepared.” He looked over at Matt and me with a satisfied smile. “Believe me, when that time comes, your grandparents are gonna be sorry they ever left your dad’s church. Our way is a harder way of life, but it’s the Lord’s way.”
Lane continued steering with his left hand on the wheel and swept his right index finger through the air as if he were conducting an orchestra. “They’re gonna be sorry, all these born-againers in the States, only havin’ one or two kids per family.” He made number one and number two signs in the air. “It’s so selfish I can’t believe it. We have to sacrifice lots to have the big families we have, but it’s the right thing to do. There are millions of souls in heaven still waitin’ to come to this earth and prove themselves to the Lord. Our Heavenly Father will take care of us. Our blessings will come in the celestial kingdom.” I hoped this was the end of his sermon, as I had heard it all before. But he was just getting wound up. “All the lazy American men sittin’ around TV sets, drinkin’ beers and smokin’ marijuana, never doin’ anything good with their lives. I know your mom doesn’t want that kind of life for you two.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lane glance at us, but I kept staring straight ahead. “Even the LDS Mormons here in the States don’t have all the kids they should have. They don’t even live polygamy. They wanna say Joseph Smith was the prophet and then wanna forget what he preached, that plural marriage is one of God’s most important commandments. It don’t make no sense.” He shrugged his shoulders.
Lane continued to ramble for the better part of an hour. I did my best to disappear inward, occupying myself with thoughts of the life I’d left behind. I thought about my school and the friends I had made in California. I thought about how sad I was not to be finishing second grade. And I thought about Grandma and Grandpa and how I’d miss Grandma’s freshly baked corn bread and reading stories with Grandpa. At last Lane was winding down.
“Can we turn on John Denver?” I asked again.
This time Lane grunted in response and switched the cassette tapes. Soon he was singing along, belting out “Country Roads.” Take me home to the place I belong. Exactly, I thought, if only Lane would turn the truck around.
17
Eventually we pulled off in a small town in the middle of nowhere. We stopped to have lunch at Safeway, the only grocery store we could find. Mom and Lane had carefully apportioned our food stamps so they would last until the end of the trip. Alleviating Matt’s car sickness by rolling down the windows had left my hair in a mass of complete tangles, and as soon as I could, I asked Mom if I could ride with her. She smiled at the rat’s nest on my head and said that would be fine, she needed help with the baby anyway.
Luke didn’t complain when Mom told him to take my place in Lane’s truck. I lay in the back of the van next to Meri, and soon we were back on the highway. We made it to Arizona by nightfall, and the air turned cool. Meri was curled up in a wool blanket next to Aaron, so I crawled up into the passenger’s seat and sat shotgun, a privilege usually granted to my brothers.
The yellow moon that night cast a dim light over the san
dy, cactus-covered landscapes. Here and there, mesquite trees and tumbleweeds appeared on the sides of the road and then disappeared. Like the valley of LeBaron, it was a place of desolation but also of beauty. I started thinking about my father. Mom hadn’t talked much about him while we lived in Strathmore. As much as I preferred Strathmore to LeBaron, I knew my father had believed in his visions and wanted his followers and families to live in Mexico, even though it was a harder way of life.
This highway, smooth and wide, was nothing like the ones in Mexico. In the side view-mirror, a quiet, endless line of headlights stretched for miles along the rolling hills behind us like a flowing river of lights. It was serene and exhilarating, exactly what I imagined my life would have been like if my dad were still alive.
I looked over at Mom, drinking water out of an empty yogurt cup, hunching exhausted over the steering wheel, her life like a constant trip with no arrival point.
“I wonder about my dad,” I said.
“Wonder what?” Mom’s mind was obviously somewhere else.
“What happened to him?”
“You know what happened, Ruthie.”
“No, I don’t. Not really.”
“I’ve never told you? I must have told you.”
I shook my head. “I heard in Sunday school that Uncle Ervil shot him, but that’s all. Everyone says Uncle Ervil was a mean man, that’s why his name is so close to evil.”
“Well, that’s part right, but Ervil didn’t exactly pull the trigger.” As cars continued to rush past, Mom groped for a bag of sunflower seeds on the dashboard, handing it to me and holding out her palm. I poured a few seeds into it while she kept her eyes on the road. It was a habit of hers on long car trips: cracking sunflower seeds in her mouth and fishing out the center kernel kept her awake and attentive.
“Ervil was the second-in-command of your dad’s church, and—”
“Why was Ervil a part of the church if he was such a bad person?”
“He wasn’t always that way. For most of their lives, Ervil and Joel were the two closest in the whole family. When they were little, people used to think they were twins, they looked and acted so much alike. And they were only eighteen months apart. When Grandfather LeBaron died and left his priesthood to your dad, he and Ervil worked side by side to build the Church of the Firstborn together with your dad as the prophet. Ervil was a missionary too. He was a good man till he and your dad disagreed about how to run the church, and your dad removed him from being patriarch.”
