Favorite Wife (11 page)

He dropped onto the pillows and closed his eyes. I stood, so touched by his words and manner I couldn't speak. I looked at him, so drawn and pale. Surely he was a great man of God! His righteousness was supremely evident, and I wondered how my father had thought otherwise about him. I walked to the door in a spirit of reverence. The dim, dingy room had taken on the aura of a great cathedral, a place where only a holy hush would do.

Ervil's voice broke the spell. “I'd like to see you tomorrow afternoon, same time. If anyone should question what you're doing with me, just tell them I'm giving you endowments,” he turned his face away, exhausted.

As I left Anna Mae's house, the clouds, which had delayed their coming for so long, finally whipped themselves into huge thunderheads. The late afternoon sky was dark and foreboding. The wind tore at my hair and blouse as I walked the dirt road, past Wakeham's chicken coop, past the church house, and on toward home. Ahead, a tumbleweed rolled across the road and lodged against the barbed wire fence. I hurried, leaning into the wind, bent on reaching shelter before the full force of the rain hit.

My mind and body felt numb from being in Ervil's presence and from his soul-searching words. He was right. I had needed his sermon in the worst way to get me back on the right track. I had been so self-centered! I had totally ignored my responsibility to give God my life in service. I had worried about petty things, like love and romance, and a man's attention, when I should have been thinking of how best I could serve God, how best I could build up His church. I shook my head in ashamed exasperation at how foolish and weak-minded I was. Ervil had called me mature! I chuckled in self-derision as I pushed my way against the strong blasts of wind. If he only knew. I was glad he didn't. I was going to change, and offer myself as a soldier in God's army. I would line myself up shoulder to shoulder with people like Ervil, and gladly serve the Lord.

The rain came softly, then in a deluge. The pelting sheets of water plastered my hair against my face and thin blouse. It was past milking time as I dashed through the kitchen door. I stopped on the porch only long enough to scrape the mud off my shoes.

“There you are!” my mother's voice snapped at me from the dinner table. “Where have you been? I've been worried sick about you with that storm outside.”

My sisters were sipping at steaming bowls of soup. Mona looked up at me and giggled. “Holy moly, you look like a drowned rat. You been at Franny's?”

That sounded good. “Um hum . . .” Mom would have many questions if she thought for a moment that I had spent the afternoon with Ervil LeBaron. I wouldn't know how to explain. “I'd better go milk,” I said quickly, and grabbed my raincoat and two milk pails. Fara gave me a knowing glance, a look that said, “Sure, you've been at Franny's.” But she kept her mouth shut.

“Miss Susan,” Mom began, “I get so tired of you ignoring the rules around here! You know I have asked you so many times to come straight home after school . . .”

I slammed the screen door, and as I sloshed through the mud puddles toward the barn, I could hear my mother's scolding voice, droning on as if I was still there.

The rain was hammering down in torrents, and I shivered. I was soaked underneath the raincoat, and I wondered why I had worn it. Our two cows were standing as far under the overhang of the barn as they could, their hides steaming with the rain. Cleo moved toward me when I opened the gate as if to say, “Well, where have you been?” I guided her to her stall, forked hay into the manger, and started an even splat-splat into the milk bucket. The rain, pounding down on the tin roof of the barn, had a hollow and lonesome sound. I tucked my head under the flap in Cleo's hind leg, and, to the rhythm of the squirting milk, I sang, “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet, to guide us in these latter days . . . .” Ervil wasn't a prophet, exactly, but he was the next best thing. What an extraordinary, godly man!

I adjusted the one-legged milk stool more firmly beneath me. It had sunk in the mud nearly to the seat. Mud stuck to my fingers, and as I wiped it off on Cleo's steaming hide, my mind spun with the events of the afternoon. I thought about the things that Ervil had told me concerning marriage. I tried to picture Verlan's face, and I wondered again if he wanted to marry me, or if he felt it was his duty. Was I being oversensitive about his letters? Probably. He had talked several times about love and called me “darling.” I had my dream. It would all work out.

The following day, when school was out, I raced through the rain to Anna Mae's. I wondered why Ervil wanted to see me again. What more did he want to say to me? I turned into the gate and walked up the path to the rock house. Two small boys were staring at me through the window. They had red hair like their mother's and big, solemn brown eyes.

“Ervil was hoping you'd come again today,” Anna Mae beamed at me. “Go right on in, and here, take this lamp with you. That storm has made it almost dark as night in there.”

Aromas of fresh, hot bread surrounded me. Anna Mae's muumuu, the same she had worn yesterday, was splotched with flour and oil. I smiled at her, admiring her warmth and kindness. There was no doubt she was one of the “soldiers” Ervil had spoken of.

I carried the lamp past the two staring boys and softly rapped on Ervil's bedroom door. He was looking better! As I moved the Mason jar of water—no fly in it today—and the cough syrup on the nightstand for the lamp, I looked at him and grinned. His hair was neatly combed, and he was clean-shaven. A fresh white shirt was buttoned to his neck, and he was propped on his pillows in a sitting position. He appeared ready for company. As he reached out to shake my hand in greeting, I caught the distinct smell of toothpaste and a hint of after-shave lotion! I smiled inwardly. Was this for my benefit?

“Sit down, sit down!” he offered heartily.

I removed my raincoat and glanced around, noticing the armchair I had used yesterday was absent. Ervil obligingly moved his feet. I could feel the color stain my cheeks as I perched on the end of the bed. This was so cozy. It was almost intimate. A few days ago I couldn't have imagined sharing a bed with Ervil LeBaron, regardless of the innocent circumstances.

Then began a lengthy discourse, the subject of which took me totally by surprise. “Did anyone ever tell you I was a star basketball player in high school?” Ervil opened the conversation. “All of us boys played, but I was the best.”

I stared at him, initially taken aback, and then fascinated as he spoke. He carried on of his previous athletic talents, how Mesa College in Arizona had offered him a scholarship and how he had begged his father, Alma LeBaron, Senior, to further his schooling and his sports. His father refused to allow him college entrance. His help was needed in Mexico, on the ranch caring for the goats.

“At the time,” Ervil said reminiscently, his gaze sad and faraway, “I thought he was the meanest and most narrow-minded person I'd ever known. I didn't understand how he could insist his own son pass up a basketball scholarship to be buried on a little ranch out in the middle of nowhere. But now,” he sighed, “now that I'm older, and Joel has been given the Mantle and needs my help to run this church, I realize how wise my dad really was to get me out of the United States when he did. If he hadn't—who knows, as young and innocent as I was, where I would have ended up. God was guiding him,” he concluded. “My father knew there was a mission in store for me.”

Although I knew little about basketball or scholarships, Ervil's manner was so touching and humble that I found myself immediately drawn to him. Although he had bragged about his ability in sports, his obvious willingness to follow God's lead impressed me, and again I sat in awe of him.

He was watching for my reaction to his story. He appeared satisfied as his eyes roved over my face. “Susan,” he said quietly after a moment, “God wants me to give you a message.”

As the weight of his words slowly sank, my breathing labored. I stared at him, wide-eyed. I could feel the blood drain from my face. Dear Lord! A message from God—to me?

“What do you mean?” I gasped.

“God wants you to know that He would be extremely pleased if you married me,” he said evenly, his gray eyes never leaving mine.

I slowly exhaled. My hands were clammy, and I wanted to run, to fly, anywhere, away from this stifling room and this strange, charismatic man who claimed God talked to him. I glanced at him and then looked away. What was I supposed to say? What could I say?

Suddenly I thought about my dream. I had been given my own personal revelation, my own guidance about the man I would marry. It had nothing to do with Ervil. Something was wrong here; something didn't make sense. Yes, I decided; I had to tell of my dream.

Shakily I said, “Brother Ervil, I don't mean to make light of what you just said. I don't want you to think that I discount your word, but you must know that I had a dream a few months ago. A special dream. It was about a man—the man I would marry. That man wasn't you. I believe that the dream was a revelation from God. Since then, I've planned to marry this man.”

If he was disturbed by what I said, he didn't show it. “Who, Verlan?”

I hesitated for only a moment. “Verlan,” I echoed.

Ervil calmly nodded his head. “Verlan's a good man. I don't mean to steer you away from him. But you must realize that dreams can come from two sources. Know what I mean? Many people have found themselves in deep trouble from relying too heavily on dreams.”

He fell silent, and I was speechless. The seconds passed. I shifted on the bed and glanced longingly at the door. Noises from the living area of the house—kids chattering and Anna Mae's high-pitched voice answering them seemed louder than before. I could feel Ervil's eyes studying me. He cleared his throat, his voice gentle. “God told me personally that He would like you in my family. There's no mistake about this, Susan. I know He wouldn't give you a dream about someone else and then tell me to ask you to marry me. I'm sure you can see that. So, what should we trust, your dream or direct word from God? You tell me.”

My body, as I listened to Ervil denounce my dream, shook with shame and uncertainty. I slumped and dropped my face into my hands. Verlan. Was it all just a figment of my imagination? Just a common nightmare? All this time I had thought God considered me worthy and had chosen to personally direct me. Was it my imagination? Perhaps Verlan knew and had been trying to tactfully end his courtship. I wanted to die.

Ervil's voice cut into my heavy thoughts. “Will you just think about what I've said?” he asked softly. “You don't have to give me an answer right now. Just say you'll give it some serious thought.”

I tried to speak, but my tongue refused to form the words. So I nodded, my listless fingers tracing the pattern on the quilt.

“Good girl!” he beamed. Sitting upright, he grabbed my shoulders, pulled me across the bed, pushed me onto his pillow, and began kissing me hungrily, his mouth open and probing. I was so surprised I didn't have time to protest. He was grinning down at me, his arm under my neck, when the bedroom door opened.

Kristina, Ervil's youngest and prettiest wife, came in. She abruptly stopped as she saw us, her hazel eyes growing wide with shock. “What is going on in here?!” she choked.

She stood adhered to the floor, hands on her hips as she stared at her husband, holding me tightly against him as he lay in his bed. I leaped out of Ervil's grasp and straightened my skirt. Never had I felt so embarrassed or flustered. Oh, God! What was Kris thinking! Surely she didn't think that . . .

“Susan, will you excuse us for a minute?” Ervil said smoothly. “Go on out and talk to Anna Mae, would you?”

“Please do!” Kristina's voice was icy, as she looked me up and down. “I can hardly wait to hear what you have to say, Ervil.”

My face flamed with shame and indignation as I stumbled past Kris. I wanted to go home! I wanted to go home and never come back, to lock myself in my room and scream and scream. How could Ervil have put me in that position? What kind of a man would just grab me and kiss me like that? And then Kristina . . . Oh, what must she think?