Mother Before Wife (The Compound #2) (2 page)

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t here when you arrived. I had an important meeting regarding the temple.”

“Oh, are you involved in the planning?”

He nodded. “I’m the foreman.”

Lehi was also a foreman, but this was nothing out of the ordinary in our community. Men of our faith excelled in the ways of construction. They not only built every home, every facility, every place of worship on the compound, but they were also known in the outside world for their skills and work ethic.

“I’ve heard it will be wonderful.”

“Yes, it should.” He scratched the back of his neck and yawned. “It will take several years to finish, though. Our Prophet has quite the vision for this temple. He’s been planning it for years.”

“Such an honor for you to be in charge of it, then.”

“Indeed.” He nodded before looking into my eyes. “Anyway, that’s why I wasn’t home when you arrived. Are your girls settled?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“What are their names?”

I was impressed that Paul asked this question. When Rebecca was reassigned to Lehi, he referred to her children as “those boys” for months, not the least bit interested in calling them by their names.

“My oldest is Ruthie. Then there’s Susan; she’s quiet and shy. Beatrice is my youngest. I call her B.”

Wrinkles formed next to Paul’s eyes as his lips curled into a soft smile. “I can’t wait to meet them.”

“That’s very kind of you. They’re happy to be here.”

We stood in awkward silence as Paul took me in, examining my height, my size, my state of dress.

I wasn’t surprised; he wasn’t the first man in our community to devour me with his eyes. My mother used to warn me that my ample breasts and soft skin would lead men to sin. I’d ignored her, knowing my faith would always guide me toward chastity and serving our Prophet.

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable with his scrutiny. Lehi had never looked at me this way, with such appreciation and wonder. When Paul’s eyes lingered at my neck, I cleared my throat, bringing his eyes back to meet mine.

“Sorry.” He shook his head. “I’m exhausted. It’s been a long day.”

“Of course. Thank you for coming by. I’ll see you at the wedding.”

I walked to the door and opened it, politely gesturing for him to leave my private space. Once we were married, I would do my best to welcome the lust in his eyes, but until then . . .

“I’ll be the guy in the suit,” he said, attempting a joke.

I didn’t laugh. I’d never been one to fluff a man’s ego. I’d give him my devotion, my faith, and my respect. But if something wasn’t funny, I wouldn’t offer shallow laughter. I just couldn’t.

Without another word between us, Paul left my room and I locked the door behind him, breathing a deep sigh of relief. From what I could tell, he was nothing like Lehi Cluff.

Leaning against the door, I felt the unfamiliar sensation of hope building within me, hope that all would be fine in the days to come.

“You were not placed on this earth to walk alone. Serve your husband, and you shall serve our Lord.”

—The Prophet, Clarence Black

Aspen

When the Prophet took a wife, the entire community of ten thousand gathered in the temple to celebrate in another blessed woman joining him for all of eternity. Generally, the Prophet called upon a member of the priesthood to conduct the ceremony, and everyone was treated to cake and lemonade in the field next to the temple. After several hours of chatter and communion amongst the families, everyone retreated to their homes.

For the rest of us, however, weddings were handled a little differently. It would be impossible for our community to celebrate each celestial union in our faith, so we were encouraged to have quiet affairs in the home of the husband. The Prophet or another member of the priesthood presided over the ceremony, and the immediate family looked on as vows were spoken and blessings were given.

On this dreary Wednesday afternoon, I was ready to be joined to Paul Black, to begin this new chapter of my life here in his home. My hand was warm in his as we stood before the Prophet in the backyard of the home. The Prophet recited scripture, ensuring us that Heavenly Father insisted upon our union, and that we would be welcomed together into heaven.

We said our vows, and Paul squeezed my hand before placing a simple gold band on my finger. I didn’t need to place one on his, as he had already been married over a dozen times, but he removed it for me with a gentle smile, allowing me to slide the thick band back onto his calloused finger. When our vows were complete, he pressed a chaste kiss upon my lips as our family applauded our unification.

We are one.

Paul and I cut the simple cake baked earlier that day by my new sister wife, Sarah. She was the baker of the family. The buttercream was sugary sweet and the cake a little dense for my taste, but I was touched by the gesture. After I finished my piece of cake and offered to take Paul’s empty plate from his hands, he urged me to join him as he walked his brother to the door.

“Thank you, Clarence.” Paul shook the Prophet’s hand when we reached the front gate. “Aspen and I are honored that you conducted our ceremony.”

Paul and I both knew that Clarence Black only presided over wedding ceremonies of his most devout followers. This honor was reserved for those kept in the highest regard, and just because Paul was his brother didn’t mean he was given special treatment. As with all things in our faith, that distinction had to be earned.

“You are most welcome.” The Prophet nodded and produced a closed-lip smile. “I predict this will be a strong union, with blessings abound.”

His sentiment warmed my heart. I studied his face, concerned that he looked a bit ragged, tired. Our Prophet wasn’t a young man, but his face generally held a healthy glow. Today, that was not the case.

“I hope I’m not speaking out of turn, but are you feeling all right? Can I get you anything?” I asked, feeling protective of the Prophet. I’d looked up to him since I was a child, and the thought of him being sick made my heart ache.

He brushed the back of his knuckles against my cheek and smiled while biting down on his bottom lip. “You’re a sweet girl. Thank you, but I’ll be just fine. Just a little tired is all.” The Prophet turned to my husband. “Paul, please come to my office tomorrow to discuss the new plans for the temple.”

“Of course. I’ll be by after breakfast, if that’s all right.”

“Perfect. I have many changes, so bring the biggest eraser you own.”

Paul and I laughed politely as the Prophet left our home. When he was gone, my husband sighed, kissed me on the cheek, and took my hand as we walked around the house and back to the other wives and children.

Paul ran his other hand through his hair, his brow tight.

“Are you all right? You seem tense.”

“Oh, it’s just that he’s changed his mind so many times on the structure of this temple, I’m afraid we’ll never break ground.”

“Why do we need a new temple?”

“Clarence calculated the rate of population growth, and even with the occasional apostate leaving Short Creek, he predicts that in three years’ time, our current temple will only hold half of our congregants.”

“Oh, that would be awful.” It was hard to imagine our modest temple filled to capacity with members spilling out of its doors. Of course, the Prophet would never want anyone excluded from religious services. “But wonderful that our population is growing.”

He nodded, pressing his lips into a thin line. “I’m just hoping he’ll make some solid decisions so we can begin. I haven’t exactly been earning my paychecks of late.” Then he chuckled under his breath. “I’m sorry that we won’t have time for much of a honeymoon.”

“No apology necessary. I’m eager to get on with our lives—” I stopped myself and glanced around the yard. “As a family.”

He squeezed my hand again as he had during the ceremony, and we walked to a group of sister wives, still enjoying their cake.

“Mother Aspen, Mother Aspen!”

Frederick, a solid boy no older than eight, plowed toward me with exuberant force. His hands, covered with sunshine-yellow buttercream, smeared against me, leaving a trail that would undoubtedly destroy the fabric of my white dress. My late mother’s white dress.

As much as I wanted to scold him for his careless behavior, I pursed my lips and looked to his mother to step in. But Flora merely chuckled, shook her head at the boy, and returned to her own piece of cake.

Shocked, I swung my gaze to Paul, who tugged the boy away from me and kissed him on top of his head.

“Best to wash your hands before hugging your new mother.” He patted him gently on the shoulder. “Off you go.”

Frederick ran to join a group of boys, ignoring his father’s instructions to wash up.

Biting my lip, I inspected the fabric, but avoided smearing it further with the napkin Paul handed to me.

“It’ll only make it worse,” I explained. “I’ll wash it this evening.”

Paul gave me a contrite smile. “I’m sorry. He can be impulsive.” When I didn’t respond, an awkward silence hung between us and his smile faded as he added, “As most children can be.”

Tamping down my frustration, I offered a smile of compliance. “If you’ll excuse me, I just need to use the washroom.”

I wove my way through crowds of children munching on cake, several of them with icing in their hair and on their clothing. A little boy whose name I hadn’t yet learned was laughing so hard, milk came shooting out of his tiny nose. Those around him held their bellies, pointing at him and roaring with more laughter.

Appalled, I glanced back to my husband and sister wives, who were oblivious to the debauchery of their brood, and shook my head.
Perhaps this won’t be such a great fit after all.

No matter how hard I scrubbed at the slimy, oily icing, it clung to the cotton. Tears stung my eyes as I used my fingernails, desperately attempting to remove it from the fabric, from me. But it was no use.

The stain lingered, and I could only hope that it wasn’t an omen of my future with Paul Black and his family.

• • •

Before retreating to my bedroom with Paul for our first night together as a married couple, I tucked my youngest into her bed for the second time that night. Beatrice was fussy, missing her bedroom back at the Cluff home. I smoothed down her wispy hair, still thin at the top, and kissed her forehead.

“This is our home now, B,” I whispered.

I glanced across the room, not wanting to wake the other two who were sleeping soundly in their bunk bed. They were so beautiful when they slept, their hair splayed across their pillows.

I was grateful that my girls resembled me and not Lehi. In the end, I felt it would make our reassignment easier. They hadn’t asked about him at all, and I hoped that Beatrice wasn’t about to open that bulging can of worms.

She shook her head and pressed her thin lips into a pout. “But I don’t like it here. Miranda said she doesn’t like me.”

I nodded, remembering the argument between the two girls when we were cleaning up after the wedding party. My sweet four-year-old was certainly the most sensitive of my three, but she wasn’t exactly innocent in the scenario with her new five-year-old sister. Miranda struggled with potty training and had the occasional accident.

“And what did you say to her?”

Beatrice knitted her brow and pulled her quilt up to her quivering chin.

“B . . .” I raised both eyebrows. “What did you say to her?”

“She smelled icky, like pee.”

“Right. And do you know why she smelled like pee?”

“She had an ack . . . an ack—”

“An accident, right. So, telling her she smelled like pee was not very nice. She’s your sister now, and you embarrassed her.”

Beatrice slammed one fist into her quilt, frustration pinching her delicate little face. “But, Mama, I wanna go
hooome
. The kids don’t like me, and I miss my old bed. It was softer, and this one smells weird. Everything smells weird.”

She had a point. The house had a musty odor that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I assumed it was because Paul’s wives weren’t the most disciplined with housework. Family togetherness activities were chosen over chores, something I was not at all used to. Leandra ruled the Cluff household with an iron fist, and every corner of her home was scrubbed and bleached daily.

“I know it doesn’t feel like home yet, but it will. Trust me.” Rising to my feet, I patted her on the shoulder. “Now, get some rest. You and Miranda will be fine tomorrow. Treat others as you want to be treated. Remember that, B.”

“Okay, Mama.”

It took me several minutes to cross the huge home and reach my bedroom. It was the only one available when I was reassigned, and for now it would have to do. I could only hope that if one of my girls had a nightmare, a sister wife would alert me rather than soothing them in my absence. I wasn’t soft with my children, but ultimately I wanted to be the one who wiped their tears from their faces, who chased the monsters from under the beds. I was their one and only mother.

Before opening my bedroom door, I inhaled deeply, preparing myself mentally to submit to my husband’s desires. After observing the lust in his eyes the night before, I was fully prepared for an evening of intercourse. And I could only hope that we’d create a new life, to bond us forever in the eyes of Heavenly Father.

When I opened the door, I found Paul in bed with reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He was reading scripture.

“Hey,” he said, removing his glasses. “Will you read with me?”

“Of course I will.” I closed the door. “I’d assumed you’d want to . . . be intimate.”

“Aspen,” he said solemnly as he pressed the holy book to his chest. “There’s nothing more intimate than reading Heavenly Father’s words together. Don’t you think?”

I nodded, speechless. I was sixteen years old when the Prophet revealed I was to wed Lehi, and we were married just weeks later in his parlor. I had no idea what intercourse was until that night when Lehi forced me to remove my dress and lie flat on the bed. He wasn’t gentle, he wasn’t kind, and it hurt. Oh my, did it hurt.

But I grew used to our time together in the bedroom, and when I became pregnant with Ruthie, I rejoiced. I’d submitted to my husband, and Heavenly Father had rewarded me with a beautiful baby to raise under his one true faith.

I glanced down at myself, wondering if perhaps I’d mistaken Paul’s lustful gaze the night before. Clearly, he was in no rush to lay with me as Lehi had been.

Paul interrupted my thoughts. “Besides, we just met. I don’t think we’re quite ready for physical intimacy, do you?”

“I—I don’t know. I didn’t know I was able to be . . . ready.”

He appeared puzzled for a moment, and then the deep lines of confusion on his brow softened. He nodded. “I see. Well, I’ll wait for you to tell me. And however long it is, I’ll wait.”

Elation filled me. Pure and utter elation. “Thank you.”

He smiled and patted the spot next to him on the bed. “Come read with me.”

I obliged, and was happy to read scripture with my new husband for hours into the night. Just as my eyes fluttered into the welcoming darkness of sleep, I heard him whisper.

“I’m sorry about your dress. I’ll fix it.”

Confident that Paul would honor his word, I drifted into sleep with my lips quirked into a smile. Was I falling in love with him? No. I didn’t believe in such things. But I was honored to be his wife, to be bound to a man who wanted to fix things for me. To make things better.

From my experience with Lehi, that was rare and something to hold on to with a vengeance.