“Sure.”
“Do you think your brother would make a good husband?”
Eliza gave Lillian a sharp look. “I wouldn’t get any ideas if I were you.”
“I’m not going to throw myself on him,” Lillian protested. “But I’m wondering if his wife would accept me.”
Other women had come to Eliza with similar comments. Jacob was young, handsome, kind, and the leader of the church. Of course a man like that needed more wives. And his first wife was crippled by the car accident and might not be able to have more children. How else would Jacob grow his posterity?
“His wife is not the problem,” Eliza said. “She’s made it abundantly clear that she’d welcome a sister wife. But my brother isn’t at all interested in plural marriage. He’s made that abundantly clear.”
“Really? But when I talked to him, he said he’d think about it.”
“What happened to not throwing yourself on him?” Eliza pulled her hand away, irritated.
“I didn’t!”
“You’ve been here three months and you haven’t picked up yet that Jacob doesn’t want another wife?”
Lillian looked bewildered. “Jacob? Whoever said anything about Jacob? I’m talking about David.”
“Oh, gosh. I’m sorry.”
Well, of course. That’s what all that business was about Miriam; it was Lillian wondering how difficult it might be to live as the junior wife in that family. Eliza had no idea if either David or Miriam would be interested in Lillian, but they’d built an extra wing onto their house, with far more space than a couple with one child and another on the way would require. They had been giving the subject plenty of thought, she was sure.
“I shouldn’t have reacted like that,” Eliza said. “But you know what Fernie means to me. She’s my sister. I get protective, especially since her accident.”
Jacob, Eliza, and Fernie shared a strange family bond, unique even in Blister Creek. Eliza and Jacob had the same father, while Eliza and Fernie shared the same mother. She was half sister to both of them, even though Jacob and Fernie were not related to each other and had not grown up in the same household.
Lillian was still frowning, clearly offended in spite of the apology. “You could have started by not assuming the worst.”
“I am truly sorry.”
Lillian’s expression gradually softened. “You know Fernie doesn’t need protecting, right? Not even by Jacob. Not even because of the wheelchair.”
“I know.” Eliza felt doubly chastened now.
“What about David?”
Yes, what about David?
Eliza loved him, too, but she remembered the sick feeling when she tracked him down at the strip club in Nevada, and later in Las Vegas, strung out on crystal meth. He’d turned his life around in the last year and a half and now seemed to be growing every day. He was lucky, in that he had Jacob to lead him and Miriam to push him.
“I don’t know,” Eliza said. “He’s… more than I thought he was.”
“My father is against it,” Lillian said. “He says David is a no-good drug addict. A Lost Boy.”
“After what happened with your first marriage, you’re probably better off doing the opposite of what your father says.”
“I know. But I’m a Smoot, too, and what Father says goes in that house. My mother didn’t want me to marry Aaron Young. My older sisters, either. Even the sister wives, and my brothers. Didn’t matter. Father said to marry him, so I did.”
Eliza had enough trouble managing the personalities in the Women’s Council, some of them as stubborn and immovable as the Ghost Cliffs, that she didn’t have time to study the machinations of Jacob’s quorum. But she knew about Elder Smoot. It was politics, no doubt. David’s influence as the son of the former leader and the brother of the current one was weakened by his youth and his status as a former Lost Boy.
“A second wife would boost David’s credibility,” Eliza said. “And Jacob’s, too. That’s what your father doesn’t like.”
She found herself thinking that David and Miriam should accept Lillian for that reason alone, to strengthen the Christiansons in the quorum. But then she recoiled. That was Father’s way of thinking. The very logic he had used when trying to manipulate Eliza into a polygamist marriage.
“Did you know two of my father’s cousins are bringing their families down from Idaho?” Lillian asked.
“I heard rumors. They split from the church about twenty years ago over some dispute about land.”
“It wasn’t a dispute with the Christiansons, though. With the Kimballs. Now that they’re out of the way, Father’s cousins want to come back.”
“Now that they need the safety of Blister Creek, you mean,” Eliza said. “So your father is getting new allies, is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes, but the part that affects me is that I’ve got some male second cousins moving into the valley. And they’re looking for wives.”
“Wonderful.”
“I’d rather make my own choice, if you know what I mean.”
“Or you could choose not to get married at all. That’s also a valid choice.”
“You don’t think I should marry David, do you?”
“I don’t know, Lillian. I see more trouble than I see benefit.”
“Okay, that’s fine. But if it’s a choice, it’s still my choice. I don’t want you to decide who I will or won’t marry any more than I want my father to.”
“Fair enough,” Eliza said.
Lillian threw back the comforter and reached beneath the bed for her slippers and put them on. With the gray of early dawn slowly brightening the room, the two women set about making the beds.
“Father hasn’t given up on the stolen grain, you know,” Lillian said.
“Neither has anyone else.”
“Yes, but Father is doing things to stop it from moving out of the valley.”
“What kind of things?” Eliza said with a frown.
Footsteps creaked across the floor from the attic above them, and the bathroom door down the hall opened and shut. The entire house was shifting, rousing itself awake. Women waking children, boys and girls off to feed animals, scramble eggs, or mix pancake batter. Every meal in the Christianson house was a feast for a small army.
“Don’t worry,” Lillian said. “Father says he won’t move until the quorum approves. But I think he knows people. He’s moving poultry without a government permit, and he’s hooked into some kind of smuggler. If we can’t get our grain back for ourselves, he’s got a scheme to sell it at black market prices.”
“So wait, he’s telling people the government is sitting on a bunch of food down here?”
“I didn’t think it was any kind of secret,” Lillian said.
“That doesn’t mean we need to advertise it to some smuggling ring,” Eliza said. “It’s like telling people you have gold in your basement. It may be hidden, it may be locked in a safe. But someone is going to try to get it.”
“My mother said pretty much the same thing. But Smoot men don’t take advice from women.”
“In that case, maybe marrying into the Christianson family wouldn’t be such a bad thing.”
Lillian looked up from fluffing the pillows and smiled. “So I have your permission to marry your brother?”
Eliza laughed. “My permission? Okay, if you think that’s important. Yes, you may court David and ask for his hand in marriage.”
Lillian hugged her. “That will make us sisters.”
“I’d like that. But you’d better get Miriam on board.”
Lillian was practically skipping as she grabbed a fresh change of clothing, her towel, and toiletry bag and made her way down the hall to fight for a turn at the showers. Eliza smiled after her, once again amazed at the young woman’s resilience.
And then her mood darkened as she thought about Raymond Smoot. Bringing in cousins, scheming up new alliances. The Smoots were rigid, but she’d always considered them honorable—much like her own father had been.
But as the Book of Mormon said, there must needs be opposition in all things.
Worse than the opposition was Elder Smoot’s poor judgment. Jacob had made contact with smugglers too, but had been very careful to lead the smugglers to believe he’d sucked up every gallon of diesel from the valley to make the trade for the hydro turbine. Smoot, it seems, had not been so careful.
How many smugglers and bandits could there possibly be in rural Utah, she wondered, capable of moving nine thousand gallons of diesel fuel on the black market? And how many who could shift thirty-five hundred tons of grain? Was the sum total of both figures equal to one?
CHAPTER NINE
Jacob had a simple plan to sneak out of Blister Creek without being spotted by Chip Malloy and his occupying army. He’d drive with David, Miriam, and Officer Trost in the pickup along a ranch road until they cut onto the highway a half mile north of the abandoned service station. Krantz would drive the flatbed truck from the Stephen Paul Young compound, hide on the road that ran parallel to Witch’s Warts on the east side, and cut across to meet them down the highway at the bullet-perforated sign that marked the entrance to Blister Creek. They’d be out of the valley by 6:00 a.m.
Jacob was so intent on fighting the rutted ranch road, in need of grading after a wet spring and summer, that he didn’t see the roadblock until he bumped his way onto the highway in a cloud of dust. As he turned south, he started to accelerate and then hit the brakes. The flatbed truck sat in the middle of the road, with a green military truck blocking both lanes, flanked by four men with M6s.
“Oh, hell,” David muttered. “Looks like Chip Malloy.”
“Not again,” Jacob said with a flush of irritation. “It’s like scraping off lichen.”
“Does lichen carry machine guns?”
“Look out,” Miriam warned. “We’re about to find more trouble.”
Jacob saw what had her worried. Krantz was jumping down from the truck and waving his arms at two men who poked at the ropes tying down the canvas tarp over the back. In a moment they’d have those ropes off and reveal what was underneath.
Jacob parked next to the flatbed truck. “Miriam, don’t start anything,” he said as he killed the engine and yanked the keys from the ignition.
“Me? What would I do?”
“No guns. Any of you.”
Handguns dropped on the seat, and the rifle remained on the gun rack at the back. They poured out of the pickup, hands up in a nonthreatening way.
“Police,” Trost said. He held out his badge. “What the devil are you doing?”
“Krantz already waved his badge in our faces,” one of the men said. He stepped forward from the others. “It didn’t work then either, Mr.…?”
Chip Malloy wore his Department of Agriculture uniform—the new, militarized version—and a sidearm in a holster. His face was clean-shaven and his hair cut tight to the scalp, like a drill sergeant’s. Career bureaucrat turned military dictator. Give a man a little authority, Jacob thought.
“Captain Dale Trost, Cedar City PD. Leave that tarp alone.” Trost pocketed the badge. “Unless you can show me a warrant.”
The men kept working at the knots. Stephen Paul must have tied them tight, because the men were struggling.
“No warrant,” Krantz said in a bitter tone.
“What is this?” Jacob said. “We’ve cooperated. You’ve got our grain. Our dried beans. Our rice. We’ve never been paid for it.”
“You will be. Once it moves out.”
“Yeah?” Miriam said. “And when will that be? We’re all dying to get our little pieces of paper with lots of big numbers on them. I know! We’ll buy war bonds.”
The ropes came undone and the two soldiers peeled back the tarp to reveal thirty jerry cans of fuel, strapped together and secured to the truck bed. Jacob also had two boxes filled with food and jugs of water, together with duffel bags holding his paramedic equipment, bandages, surgical trays, morphine, and the like. Just in case. Jacob gritted his teeth as the men pawed through his medical gear.
Malloy gave a smile that managed to look both disappointed that Jacob would try such a thing and pleased to have caught him out. What he didn’t look was surprised.
Which meant someone had tipped him off. Jacob had certainly told enough people that he was leaving, although very few knew the exact reason.
“Well?” Malloy said.
“Well, what?” Jacob said. “We’re on our way out of the valley. We have important supplies to acquire.”
“Such as?”
“Such as, it’s none of your damn business,” Krantz growled.
The other man’s face darkened. “Oh, isn’t it?”
Miriam looked ready to explode, and both Krantz and Trost looked furious. Krantz, especially, had better hope they didn’t search the truck cab, because that’s where he and Miriam had stashed the good stuff—ammo, guns, night vision scopes and goggles, even a couple of grenades.
“And isn’t it the Department of Agriculture?” David added. “Or are you with the War Rationing Board, or whatever they’re calling it these days?”
“I have a duty to uphold the law, whatever that may be.”
“No you don’t,” Krantz said. “That’s my job.”
“We’re in a state of emergency,” Malloy said. “That gives me the right to override local law enforcement.”
“What exactly are you saying?” Jacob said. “That we stole this fuel? Haven’t you noticed the horses riding around town? We’re thrifty.”
“That doesn’t answer where you’re going with all of this.”
“We’ve got a long drive with two trucks. We’re not selling it, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“So what are you doing?”
Even more than anger, both at Malloy’s meddling and the thought that someone in the community was feeding information to the government, Jacob felt bewilderment. No, he didn’t want Malloy knowing when he was leaving the valley, and why, but the thought that it might be prohibited had never occurred to him.
“What are we doing?” Krantz said. “I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. If you don’t let us past, I’m going to make some calls and bring down the hammer.”
This was pure bluster, of course, and Malloy lifted one eyebrow. “Call the FBI, you mean? Last I heard, they fired your ass. Go ahead, make your calls.”
As Krantz loomed in Malloy’s personal space, large and red-faced, and gesticulating angrily, Jacob caught Miriam edging away to one side, in much the same way she had at the abandoned hotel when things started to get weird. The soldiers didn’t pay her much attention. What was that bulge under her jacket? Was she armed?
She wouldn’t.
Except she might. The same trigger finger that sent Mo Strafford on a fiery ride atop an eight-thousand-gallon fuel bomb was itching to get at her Beretta. She was clear now, flanking the soldiers. Jacob could almost read her thoughts. The two forward men first, then the third as he whirled with his M6.
What about Malloy? Would he get his pistol out in time? Never mind, she could take him.
Good heavens, Jacob had to stop her.
“Mr. Malloy,” he said, pushing forward and around Krantz. “Can I speak to you in private for a moment?”
“Turn around and go home, Christianson. Unless you want me to confiscate your fuel.”
“Only a moment. That can’t hurt, right? To keep on friendly terms. You wouldn’t start something because you didn’t want to talk. Would you?”
Malloy looked at his three men with automatic rifles then nodded. Jacob led Malloy on the road a good fifty feet away, back in the direction of Blister Creek, before he stopped. The sun crowned the mountains to the east and Jacob turned north to shield his eyes from the shards of harsh desert sunlight. A good twenty miles distant, the Ghost Cliffs looked like a smear of red frosting on the northern horizon.
“Listen to me,” Jacob said. “We’re not selling fuel, and we’re not dealing in contraband. You know I’m a doctor,
right?”
“Right. So?”
“The hospital in Panguitch is closed. How am I going to supply my clinic? I’m completely out of several critical medications, low on antibiotics, surgical supplies, and almost anything else I need. I’ve got a lead in Las Vegas that can get me this stuff. It takes a lot of fuel to make the round-trip and I need to be sure I can get back.”
“And you need five people, two trucks, and a small arsenal of weapons?”
“You know how the roads are. I can’t look like a target. I needed two vehicles’ worth of people.”
“With a flatbed truck? What are you bringing back, an MRI machine?”
“Sure, if I can get one. And while I’m down there, why stop with medical supplies? We need tools—everything from picks to drill bits to log splitters. I want to get saddles, fabric, mason jars for canning. I could fill thirty trucks with the stuff we need.”
“That’s the truth?” Malloy asked.
“That’s the truth.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re leaving out key details?”
“Do you tell me everything you’re planning?” Jacob asked. “If not, ask yourself why.”
Malloy looked thoughtful at this last bit. Some of the skepticism faded. “So why are you telling me this here?” the man said. “Why not back there?”
To keep you alive, you idiot. Do you want Miriam’s bullet in your brain?
Aloud, he said, “Because I didn’t want to get into a pissing match in front of your people and mine. We get our egos going, it makes it hard to compromise.”
“You know what your problem is, Christianson? You think the world ends at the Ghost Cliffs. You think nothing matters except your little cult.”
“My little cult is my wife, my children, my brothers and sisters, my cousins and second cousins and third cousins. My uncles and aunts. Nephews and nieces. It’s my family. What do you expect me to do? You took our livelihood. Now you’re telling me when I can or can’t leave my own home.”
“This goes way beyond Blister Creek,” Malloy said. “You don’t get that, yet. But you will.”
“I’m leaving now. We’re driving around your roadblock.”
“I could arrest you now. That would put a stop to it.”
The Gates of Babylon Page 9
