Favorite Wife (22 page)

I lit the lamp in the trailer before answering her. “Maybe we better just stay here,” I said quietly. “We could stay here and talk, or . . .”

“Talk!” she scoffed. “Talk? We'll talk tonight. Let's do something fun tomorrow! We don't want to stay around here, with a town like Ensenada so close! Let's go to a movie.”

I sat and slowly removed my shoes, lowering my eyes so Lillie couldn't see my embarrassment.

“I'm paying your way, so you don't have to worry about the money,” she said lightly.

“Oh, no!” I stammered, “Now, Lillie, I'm not taking money from you, so forget it.” She was smart and sensitive, and my insides cringed with shame at not being in the position to carry my own weight.

“Susan Ray, I'm paying your way!” she insisted. “We'll have a blast. I've got a good job and lots of money, so don't worry about it. Shopping, then dinner and a movie?”

“Uh, okay,” I agreed faintly.

We visited for hours. Lillie told me about her job in San Diego at a print shop, and about a gorgeous fellow worker she had a crush on. “He's so neat,” she sighed. “It's too bad he's a Gentile. He's really pretty wild; he even drinks beer. He asked me out once, but I was afraid to go. I was afraid he would try something. You know how immoral men of the world are.”

I agreed. Of course, I didn't personally know, but I had heard plenty. We talked on and on, and it was early morning before we slept.

We rested until noon, then dressed in our fanciest clothes and left for downtown Ensenada. Pointing out the tourist attractions, Lillie confidently drove through the narrow, crowded streets. Finally parking along the main tourist drag, she announced, “This is where we want to look around.”

She looked chic and sophisticated in her yellow pantsuit. As we meandered in and out of the little shops I could tell that the native men, who lounged around against the buildings, admired her. I admired her, too. She had her own car, an exciting job, and lots of money to spend. She was free and happy, and more and more as the day passed, I envied her.

We stopped at a seaside restaurant and ordered shrimp. It was my first time trying shrimp, and I was surprised at how delicious they were. Then we drove to the theater and both cried through
Romeo and Juliet
.

The town was bathed in twilight shadows as we hurried toward the car. “Oh, heck.” Lillie groaned, “I hope Daddy's not mad. I didn't realize the show would be so long! They're probably all waiting at Lucy's for me, so we can drive down to Los Molinos tonight.”

“Does Joel get mad at you?” I queried. I couldn't imagine the Prophet losing his temper! He seemed much too spiritual and in control.

Lillie grinned and threw me a sidelong glance. “He's human, you know,” she said. “He doesn't really get mad, but you can tell.”

“Does he seem like your real dad?” I asked presently.

Lillie stopped for a traffic light, then glanced at me again. “I love him as much as though he were my real dad. I respect him more than any man I know. I feel so blessed, Susan. More than you can imagine, to be raised by him. He's so good to me, and he treats me like he does his other kids.” She shrugged. “I wish he was my real father, but it doesn't matter. He is, in every way that counts.”

We drove on, and after a lengthy, thoughtful silence, Lillie said, “You know, it's going to be tough for me to find a husband. I won't settle for just anyone, after having Daddy's example around. Whomever I marry will have to be as dedicated to the Lord as he is. I couldn't stand for my husband to be less.”

I glanced at Lillie. She looked soft and lovely under the neon lights. She was so sure of herself and so wise. She liked to have fun, yet she was spiritually strong and knew what she wanted in life. I felt lucky to have her for a friend.

I leaned back and thought over the events of the past two days. Life as a married woman, from now on, wouldn't be so lonely. I had two new friends to spend time with—Lorna and Lillie. I hated to see Lillie and the others leave. She assured me that she would stop again on her way back to San Diego.

It was the middle of December before we heard from Verlan again. He sent each of his wives a letter, hand delivered by Charlotte. They had all been sent to her address in San Diego, all placed together in a big manila envelope. It was hard for us to get our mail through the postal service, as it required a trip to the post office in Ensenada, and we didn't have a car. As Charlotte sorted through the letters and handed mine to me, her face was impassive.

“Dear one,” my letter read, “I hope you won't feel too bad, but I can't go down to see you this time. Ervil's here, and tomorrow he and I plan to go on a two-week mission to Utah. He's making an effort to get along with Joel and me, and I feel it's important to spend some time with him. Please understand. I will see you at Christmas. Don't ever doubt my love for you, sweetheart. I miss you more than you know.”

The day before Christmas Verlan arrived, the car loaded with Christmas goodies for the children. As usual, the whole household ran outside to greet him, and he hugged and kissed everyone in turn.

“My, it's good to be home!” he shouted, tossing baby Norine up into the air then handing her to Lucy. “Now don't any one of you look in the car. Laura, I mean it! Close that door. All of you go on back into the house and give me a chance to hide this stuff. Lucy, you and Charlotte stay, and grab those bags. Take them into your bedroom, Lucy, and lock the door. You kids, go on, now.”

Verlan herded the group of reluctant children into the house, chuckling as they begged him to give them just a peek. Then Verlan turned to the wives and waving said, “I'm going to go and see Beverly for a few minutes.”

He sauntered into the backyard. I watched him go, thrilled that he was home but aching because I knew that he would leave again. Besides, I had spent the last night with him, when he was home a month ago. Unless he stayed for four full days, I wouldn't get a night with him again.

I stood back and watched as Charlotte and Lucy obediently filled their arms with bulging paper bags. They carted them into the house, laughing together. I envied their easy relationship, and I wondered why Charlotte was so accepting of Lucy. She seemed to enjoy Lucy's company, and yet she still hardly said a word to me.

After the children were in bed, Verlan, Charlotte, Lucy, and I prepared their Christmas sacks. My job was to write a child's name in large letters at the top of the paper sack, then hand the sack to Charlotte, who put oranges, apples, and a bit of candy in it. Then Verlan would place a toy or a game, whatever he had picked out for the child, in the top of the sack. Lucy took the sack from Verlan and tied a ribbon around the top, then hid it back in her bedroom, to be brought out in the morning.

It was a different sort of Christmas than I had ever seen. We waited until breakfast was over Christmas morning, then Verlan placed all the sacks on the dining room table. The kids lined up, smallest to biggest, and Verlan handed each one his/her sack, soundly kissing each cheek. The other wives and I waited, with Beverly among us, and watched Verlan play Santa Claus. After the last sack had been handed out, Verlan ran to Lucy's bedroom. He emerged after a moment with four more sacks. “These are for you girls,” he grinned. “I know it's not much, but I wanted you to have something. Merry Christmas, loved ones.” He handed each wife a paper bag, kissing us in turn.

I held mine for a moment without opening it. This had been the strangest Christmas of my life. We hadn't gotten a tree or decorated the house, nothing but these sacks. But everyone seemed thrilled and happy, the kids squealing over their toy and candy.

I watched as Lucy eagerly opened her extra large sack, a broad grin creasing her features. “Well, I'm happy with my gift, thank you, Verlan.” She pulled a huge, blue kettle from the sack, big enough to make soup for an army. With a sly grin on her face, she looked at Verlan. “You remembered,” she crowed.

Standing next to me, Charlotte opened her sack, glanced inside and smiled. “Thank you, Verlan,” she said as she closed the top again. She didn't even allow me a peek, and I frowned. She was always so secretive and superior!

Beverly was next in line. She took her sack, smiled as Verlan kissed her, and walked out the door to her house. Well! I thought, dismayed. She's being just as secretive as Charlotte!

I didn't care who saw mine. I pulled the ribbon from my sack and glanced inside, then retrieved a plastic-covered white blanket with huge pink roses. Beneath the blanket Verlan had placed apples, oranges, and Christmas candy.

“I hope you like it,” Verlan grinned. “I wanted to give you something useful.”

“Thank you, Verlan,” I echoed the others. I tore the plastic off the blanket and ran my hand over the fluffy material. At least it wasn't a kettle, like Lucy's. I would have preferred perfume or a new nightgown, but at least he hadn't forgotten me.

Lucy, Charlotte, and I made a turkey dinner, with potatoes, gravy, and salad. There were pies and a soda pop for dessert. After the meal we gathered in the living room, where Verlan told us the story of Christmas. The children's eyes were glued to their father's face as he related the details of Jesus' birth.

“Soon, kids—soon He will come again. It will be during your Uncle Joel's lifetime, so you all will be here. You need to live your lives worthy of receiving Him. You are some of the most blessed of God's children—born under the Covenant. My constant prayer is that you will conduct your lives as such. You are my pride and joy, and I thank God for every one of you.”

After Verlan's talk, we played games until bedtime. Then Verlan walked me to my trailer to say goodnight, followed me inside and waited while I lit the lamp. “Sweetheart, I want to give you your other gift now,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “It's not a Christmas gift, exactly, but it's high time you had one of these.” He opened a tiny black box and removed a wide, gold ring from the silk lining. Lifting my hand, he kissed it, then slid the ring on my finger.

“Oh!” I gasped, my eyes widening. I held my hand out to admire the ring, then throwing my arms around Verlan's neck, I covered his face with quick, smacking kisses. “Oh, I love it,” I said breathlessly.

He pulled back a bit, an amused expression flitting over his face. Suddenly he chuckled. “You are charming, do you know that?” Slipping his arms around my waist, he whispered against my hair. “I adore you, my little charm. Thank you for marrying me.”

I melted against him, squeezing back happy tears. He was so good, and I was so lucky to be his wife. I was really beginning to feel married, at last.

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

"O
h, Lord, not again. Not again!” I groaned as I threw back the heavy quilts and bolted toward the door of my trailer. I dashed, shivering, through the darkness, the damp Baja earth sticking to the soles of my bare feet. The old hinges of the outhouse squeaked as I opened the door and leaned over the two-holer, vomiting in the direction of the biggest hole. Trembling, I leaned against the wall as I waited for the nausea to subside. Then I grabbed a handful of tissue paper and wiped the seat off. Turning around in the cramped quarters, I sat down, too weak and unsure of my stomach to dare leave the tiny, wooden hut.

It had to be Lucy's chili beans, I concluded. Chili beans always made me sick. My stomach churned as I waited, and I gently massaged it, my whole body shaking in the damp air. Finally I took hold of the door and pulled myself up, stumbling through the black night to the tap outside Beverly's house. The water was icy cold, and my teeth chattered as I scrubbed my hands and rinsed my mouth. I needed to lie down. I needed to get warm. Nausea swept through me again in threatening waves. I whirled in the darkness to run in the direction of the outhouse, but as I took the first step, a bush near Beverly's front door caught my bare feet. I stumbled, falling heavily against a bench at the side of the cement step. On the bench, Beverly had left a metal baby bathtub. The bench and tub fell against the step, clanging loudly in the still night air. I landed on top of the bench, my knees hitting hard against the wooden edge.

“Oh, hellfire!” I moaned. I cried out again with the pain, my cry suddenly drowned as I retched.

“Who's out there!” Beverly's high-pitched voice demanded. She peered at me from behind the screen door; her body swathed in a long white nightgown. “What are you doing?” she gasped. She pushed at the screen, but the bench, the tub, and my sprawled body blocked it. Moaning, I rolled off the cement, careful to stay away from the mess I had left. Beverly pushed again, and the bench and tub grated toward me. “What happened? What are you doing?” she demanded as she helped me up.

“I'm—I'm sick,” I mumbled. Shivering uncontrollably, I said, “Would you mind if I waited until morning to clean up the mess?”

“Don't be silly,” she snapped. “You're too sick to worry about it. Go on back to bed and I'll clean it up.”

“No, Beverly, really,” I insisted. “I'll come early and take care of it.”

“Whatever,” she snapped again. “Go to bed.”

I hurriedly rinsed my hands and mouth again and crept back to my trailer. I climbed under the covers, shaking with the cold. My knees throbbed and, reaching down, I gingerly touched them. Sticky, broken skin met my fingers, but I was too tired and cold to care. My head pounded, and I closed my eyes, praying for sleep. How I wished my mother were here. She would bring me aspirin and pamper me and I would feel warm and loved . . .

I forced myself out of bed at first light, my stomach still queasy as I bundled up against the Pacific, winter air. Cold drafts filtered through the thin walls and windows of the trailer, and again I desperately wished there were some kind of heat. There was little wood in Baja for a fire, and we couldn't afford gas or electric heat, so everyone in the family wore sweaters and coats, even indoors. No one else complained, so I wore my warmest clothes and kept silent.

Fog floated through the air as I stepped outside. Beverly's house looked hazy, illusive. I hurried to her front step, examining the ground. Puzzled, I investigated, but there was no sign of the puddle of vomit I had left. The bench had been replaced, and the tub hung neatly from a nail at the side of the house. I stood hesitantly, looking at Beverly's closed door. She was certainly a hard one to figure out. She made no secret of her resentment, yet she had thoughtfully cleaned up after me. I shook my head as I walked toward the big house, wondering what I could do to express my gratitude.

Lucy hovered over the stove in the kitchen as I entered. She wore an old brown sweater over her bathrobe in an effort to stay warm in the clammy house. Her new, blue kettle was on the stove for oatmeal.

“Hi!” Lucy said, smiling as she lit a match and stuck it toward a burner. “You're up early.”

I gasped with nausea at the smell of burned sulfur and the odor of raw butane. I sank into a kitchen chair, my legs weak. “Lucy,” I moaned, “Oh Lucy, I'm afraid I'm sick.”

She hurried to me, her hand gentle as she felt my forehead. “What is it? How do you feel bad?”

“Maybe I've caught the flu,” I choked as I lay my head on the table. The kitchen seemed to spin around me, and I closed my eyes, fighting the urge to retch.

Lucy's hand was warm on my shoulder. She stood quietly by my side for a moment, then gently asked, “When was your last period?”

I frowned and looked up at her, startled at the question. “Oh, I don't know, it was a long time ago . . . ” My words trailed off as the meaning of Lucy's suggestion hit me. I could feel my face blanch. The room reeled as my stunned mind tried to comprehend. “No,” I gasped. “You don't think that . . . that I might be pregnant?”

She chewed on her lip, fighting a grin. “It's a possibility, don't you think?”

I dropped my head back onto the table, tightly closing my eyes. In vain, my mind searched for my last menstrual date. But one day had run into another—one week so like the next. It had been before Christmas. Possibly the week before. Now it was the end of January . . .

Dazed, I stared over at Lucy, who had returned to the boiling water. She calmly stirred in oats with a huge spoon. Her features appeared unruffled and serene. She looked up at me, her eyes twinkling. “Well, what do you think?”

I gulped. I could feel the color flood my face as I mumbled, “It's been at least six weeks. I just can't believe it. It's so soon—I've hardly seen Verlan—”

Lucy chuckled. “It only takes once, you know.” She shook her head, chuckling again. “Irene swears that all Verlan has to do is send her a letter, and she's pregnant. I have a feeling you're like her. Another ‘Fertile Myrtle.'”

I blushed and hid my face in my hands, my stomach churning. I could hear the children stirring in the back of the house as they readied for school. I sat, lost in thought until Lucy placed a bowl of oatmeal in front of me. “Why don't you eat,” she said kindly. “It might make you feel better.”

As I looked at the gray-colored mass, I gagged and stood, the room spinning maddeningly around me. “I can't,” I choked. “I couldn't possibly. I'm going outside into the fresh air.”

Lucy's face was sympathetic as I stumbled toward the door. I hesitated in the living room, then returned to the kitchen. “Lucy,” I swallowed, “please don't tell Verlan. I want to tell him myself.”

“I won't say a word to anyone,” she assured me.

I stopped at my trailer for a heavier coat, then set off across the small suburb toward Lorna's. I had to talk to someone, and no matter how good Lucy was about it, it was hard to discuss my pregnancy with her. My pregnancy . . . I shook my head as I hurried through the fog. I felt stunned. Why hadn't I expected it? Why was I so surprised? The thought of becoming pregnant hadn't occurred. I searched my heart, trying to decide if I was happy about it—a baby of my own, a tiny, helpless baby, who would depend on me for care. I battled with my emotions. One moment I was elated, and at the next I was filled with despair and an overwhelming fear.

Verlan, of course, would be thrilled. Verlan adored his children. I would be giving him another child, another jewel to add to his heavenly crown. When I told him, he would hug me and grin and tell me what a blessing I was. He would be so proud.

How glad I was that Lorna was close! She would help me deal with this, I knew, and would help me put away my fears and see only the positive side. That's how Lorna was.

A smile creased my face as I thought of her. I had been to see her often, and without fail she had bolstered my sagging spirit, helping me to see that I was indeed serving the Lord, that my life wasn't being wasted. Lorna was always cheerful. She'd scoffed when I finally got up the nerve to ask her how she could stand to live in such poverty. “How can you call the wealth of two precious children and a wonderful husband, poverty?” she'd asked. With a wave of her hand at her surroundings she'd added, “It won't always be like this. Sometimes we have to sacrifice material possessions for things of greater value. We have to earn our blessings, Suze, and I'm grateful for the chance to earn mine. You need to look beyond what the eye can see and concentrate on your heavenly throne.”

As I entered Lorna's yard, her little Andrew stood by the front door, throwing scraps to a couple of chickens. “Hi, Andrew,” I smiled. “What's your mom doing?”

He gave me his usual scowl, threw a crust of bread to a chicken and mumbled, “She's grinding wheat in the backyard.”

I walked around the house, wondering why Andrew always seemed so defiant. He had the looks and bearing of a prince, yet the intelligence that glowed in his eyes was almost hidden behind a festering anger. He was much too young to be so intense.

Lorna's head was bent as she struggled over the grinder that was fastened to a board against the house. Her face was red with the effort of forcing the handle around. Her body was heavy with pregnancy, and she suddenly stopped, gasped for air, and clutched her abdomen.

“Lorna!” I shouted as I hurried to her. “You shouldn't be doing this, for heaven's sake! Here, give it to me!”

“Hi,” she panted. Relinquishing the handle to me, she stepped back. “I'm almost finished.” She mopped her forehead.

Finely ground wheat filled a cake pan under the wheel, with a gallon jar of whole wheat sitting on the bench beside it. I poured more wheat into the grinder and forced the handle around. Within minutes perspiration lined my brow, and my back and shoulders began to ache with the strain. Lorna removed the cake pan filled with flour and emptied it into a plastic container, then replaced it under the wheel. Soon it was full again. “There, that's enough,” she finally said. “Let's go inside.”

“I don't want you grinding any more wheat,” I said firmly. “It's too much for you. I'll ask Verlan Jr. to come over and grind up a bunch. He'll be glad to do it.”

Lorna set the flour on the table, then slumped into a chair. Her face looked drawn, and her eyes were red around the iris. She inhaled a ragged breath and intently examined her hands. I stared; never had I seen her looking so depressed. I sat in the chair beside her and took her hand. Her knuckles were rough under my fingers, her hands cold. “What's the matter?” I asked softly as I searched her face.

Her eyes strayed over to Tarsa. The little girl was playing with a toy. She sat on a heap of clean, unfolded laundry, and as I noticed the laundry, I also realized that Lorna's usually immaculate little house was completely littered. Dirty dishes were heaped in a dishpan and on the countertop. The table in front of me was covered with bread crumbs and spots of honey. Toys and shoes were scattered.

Lorna sighed and leaned back in the chair. She slowly shook her head. “I'm not good company today, I'm afraid.” Her eyes filled with tears. She blinked rapidly to withhold them, then gave in and let them fall. “You see, I'm just not as strong as I should be. I'm weak, and lacking in the faith. I'm letting little things bother me.”

“Lorna LeBaron, that's a lot of nonsense you're spouting!” I said firmly. “You always amaze me with how strong you are! You're so selfless. You are one of the most righteous women I know and a true example for me. Shoot, everyone feels blue now and then. Now, tell me what's bothering you.”

Lorna reached out her arms to Tarsa, and the beautiful child climbed into her mother's lap. “Just look at my baby's face,” Lorna sobbed, her thumb rubbing the little girl's cheek. “Look at the way this weather's ruined her complexion. Look at her little hands, how rough they are! They look like orphan's hands . . . I've kept lotion on her, but it doesn't do any good . . . Andrew is even worse. They were so beautiful when we moved here, and now look at them!” My distraught cousin hid her face in Tarsa's platinum hair.

I listened, trying to understand how she could cheerfully endure such poverty, and a husband who left her alone in a strange town for weeks on end, and then crumble because of chapped skin. There had to be more to her wretched state of mind than what she'd told me. Perhaps she'd only acted content and cheerful before for my benefit, and no longer had the strength to hide her misery.

“When will Ervil be here?” I asked.

Lorna eyed me over the top of Tarsa's head, then raised the little girl's chin so she could look in her eyes. “Tarsa,” Lorna sniffed, her voice even as she spoke, “Go on outside for a few minutes, will you? I need to talk to Susan alone for a minute. Okay?” The child obediently left the room.

As Lorna looked at me the tears once again welled in her eyes. “Ervil's not coming,” she wailed. “At least, not till after the baby's born. I got a letter yesterday . . .” Her shoulders shook.

I inhaled deeply. So, now it was coming out. Lorna, for weeks, had talked excitedly about the baby's birth, because Ervil was coming to be with her. She'd planned her life around Ervil's return. “It's going to be so great!” she'd glowed as she talked. “Ervil wasn't able to be with me when I had Andrew or Tarsa. He plans to spend at least two weeks with me. I need to get new curtains made, and glass in the windows before he comes, so it won't seem so dark in here.” She'd chattered on and on about her plans, and now he was letting her down. She was going to be alone again when his baby was born.

“Why?” I shouted, bristling with anger. “What's he doing this time that's more important than his promise to you?”