Mother Before Wife (The Compound #2) (3 page)

“We will become the masters of our own destinies by practicing self-discipline in all things.”

—The Prophet, Clarence Black

Aspen

A month later

I didn’t believe in coddling children. Period. And that was one thing, the
only
thing I missed about my former home with the Cluffs—discipline. In all things, discipline.

That was not so in the house of Paul Black. After studying my new husband and sister wives for the past month, I could say with certainty that there were fifty-two coddled children in this grand, yet disastrously run home. And three little girls who now looked to me to change my mothering based on their new lenient surroundings.

They’d need to get used to disappointment.

Strict schedules, high expectations, and harsh punishments whenever necessary would prepare my daughters for life . . .
real life
on our compound. A life of strenuous work, a life of servitude that simply didn’t exist within the confines of Paul’s lax household. My husband was held in high esteem with our Prophet, and although Paul’s work ethic was impressive while out in his field, that principle didn’t carry over into his home life. And tonight, it caused our first true disagreement.

I’d given Susan three harsh slaps on her behind when she refused to make her bed this morning before breakfast. She’d woken up sullen and unwilling to face the day. I’d given her three more when she ignored Flora’s instructions to set one of the children’s tables before the meal.

“I’ll ask one of the other chil—” my first sister wife had said, waving the disobedience away, but I wasn’t having it.

“No,” I insisted. “Susan will do as she was
told
.”

Flora nodded, turning away as I called my child back to the kitchen and spanked her bottom. She cried, which Susan tended to do, but she delivered plates, forks, and napkins to the table as tears streamed down her pale cheeks.

I could feel Flora’s scrutiny, but ignored it. Preparing my children properly for life was more important to me than popular opinion amongst my sister wives. What Flora didn’t see was that when Susan finished setting the table, she joined me in the bathroom where I wiped her tears and asked her my standard question.

“How long will I love you?” I asked, pressing a cold cloth to her flaring cheeks.

“Always and forever,” she answered, staring at the floor.

“That’s right.” I patted her on the shoulder. “When you’re given a job, you do it. I’m training you, and one day when you’re married and serving your husband, you’ll look back and thank me for instilling this discipline.”

“But, Mama,” she whispered. “The other kids—”

“The other kids are at a disadvantage. Their mothers are crippling them, and in time, they’ll see the damage they’ve done.”

“Yes, Mama.”

My six-year-old remained focused on the tile beneath our feet. I tilted her chin so that her red eyes met mine, and gave her a soft smile.

“Always and forever.” I had kissed the top of her head and sent her on her way. She and I were both at peace and could move on with the day.

However, word had gotten back to my husband, and he wasn’t pleased with my consistent use of corporal punishment with my girls.

Tonight, we stood in my bedroom, separated by three feet of air that was thick with tension. His hands were on his hips, and I wanted to mirror his stance, to display my defiance. But I remembered the words of the Prophet, and remembered my gratitude in being with this kind new husband who’d yet to lay a hand on me. This respectful man who was allowing me to choose when to give of myself physically and spiritually. And so my arms remained at my sides as he spoke.

“Flora and I are concerned. We don’t want the children,
any
of the children, to fear us.”

“But they should.”

“Pardon me?” Wrinkles appeared on his forehead.

“It’s in the teachings of the Prophet. Children should fear their parents as they fear Heavenly Father.”

“That’s an extreme interpretation, Aspen. I want my children to be loved, to feel comforted while they’re in my home. Your girls have only been with us a month; they need to adjust.”

His voice was calm and mellow as it tended to be. As sinful as it was, I’d nicknamed him
Passive Paul
in my head. I’d never dare admit that to anyone else, but to me, the shoe clearly fit.

I pushed, to see if he’d push back. “Please don’t tell me what my children need. I’m their mother.”

His cheeks reddened. “And I’m their father. Or did you forget that small detail?”

Clearly, I’d hit a nerve.
Good
. I needed to know my boundaries. And for the last twenty-nine days, I’d had none within my marriage. Enough was enough.

Paul moved his hands from his hips to cross in front of his chest. “You’re concerned about the teachings of the Prophet. What does he say of submitting to your husband?”

“I understand. I apologize, it’s just—”

His voice deepened as he interrupted me. “Using your logic, I should discipline you right now. Is that what you want? Three lashes for speaking out of turn with your husband?”

My cheeks flushed at the thought of Paul reprimanding me with physical force. Memories of Brinley on her bedroom floor, gasping for air as Lehi beat her, flooded my brain. I closed my eyes tightly before answering.

“Of course not.”

“Good. Because that’s not the kind of household I run. I will never raise my hand to you, Aspen. Never.”

He was expecting me to flinch, to stare at the beige carpet beneath my feet. But my gaze never left his. I stood with my shoulders back and chin held high.

“And you will respect my wishes,” he continued. “Do not raise your hand to those girls.”

My pursed lips hid my gritted teeth. Again, I said nothing, but locked my eyes with his.

“Aspen?” He raised both eyebrows, clearly perplexed by my silence.

“Yes?” I asked, clearing my throat in forced ambivalence.

My brain was abuzz. The idea of my girls becoming lazy and complacent was almost too much for me to handle. Didn’t he understand that I needed to prepare them for life as productive adults?

“Are you going to respond?”

“I’m thinking.”

He sighed and swallowed hard. He was bracing for a fight.

“No, I mean no disrespect, Paul. You’ve been . . . well, you’ve been wonderful. You’ve welcomed us with open arms, but I’m afraid for my girls, for what might lie ahead if they don’t learn self-discipline.”

I stopped, hoping I wasn’t going too far. I’d pushed him further than I’d anticipated, and was, to a certain degree, impressed that he was capable of being pushed only so far. I didn’t want to steamroll my husband. He was the head of the house, and my key to the celestial kingdom. I wanted to bind myself to a strong man, one worthy of my devotion.

“Go on.” He nodded.

“And this is all I know. It’s how I was raised. I don’t know any other way to guide them.”

This time, Paul was the one who dropped his hands to his sides. He was listening to me, so I pressed on.

“I like to believe that I’m a valuable member of our community. I honor my promises, and I follow the words of the one true Prophet. I want my girls to be like me. Devout, centered, confident in what they have to offer their husbands and the Prophet.”

“I see.” He nodded. “Well, perhaps there’s another way. And maybe we can learn it together.”

I tilted my head to the side, curious by his choice of words. Did he know his other children were unkempt monsters with stained clothes, food on their faces, and barely any manners to speak of?

“I know that some of my other children can be . . . rambunctious.”

I stifled a laugh, but allowed myself to nod.

“And some of my wives have gotten . . . comfortable.”

I nodded again, wanting to applaud his self-reflection.

“Perhaps that’s why you’ve joined us, Aspen. To find a happy medium. For all of us.”

My lips parted in astonishment as a spurt of adrenaline shot through me. Could that be why? Would my marriage to Paul strengthen everyone in the household? Nothing would make me happier if that were the case.

If my role in this family was the conduit for change, then I was willing to bend in my parenting. I would spare the rod, not only out of deference and respect to Paul as my husband, but in the hopes of bringing this family to a new state of holiness. And my faith in my Prophet for guiding me here would be sealed for all eternity.

“May I broach another topic?”

His expression and tone softened, and before he spoke another word, I knew exactly what his question would be.

“On our wedding night, we discussed—”

“I’m ready.” I answered with a decisive nod, adrenaline still surging through my veins.

Knowing my possible purpose on this earth was exhilarating, and I couldn’t think of a better time to share my physical body with my new husband. When I said I was ready, I’d meant it wholeheartedly.

He smiled and exhaled deeply. “Are you sure? I don’t mean to pressure you.”

“You haven’t pressured me. I knew I was ready moments ago, before you even mentioned our wedding night.”

He ran his hands through his hair, his cheeks growing crimson. He shrugged before speaking. “I know this may sound strange, but I feel closer to you now. As if this argument bonded us.”

He stepped toward me, only inches away, and reached up to trace a line from my forehead to my lips before kissing them gently. It was sweet.

“Where would you like me?” I asked, wanting to accommodate his desires, his needs. After all, if he wasn’t able to reach completion, it would be impossible to make a baby. But when he cringed at my question, I grimaced, wondering if Lehi was unique in his desire for intercourse in various locations and positions.

“The bed, of course.” Paul narrowed his eyes, studying me, waiting for me to explain my question. But I wouldn’t. I refused to bring Lehi into our bedroom. He didn’t belong there.

“All right.”

I unbuttoned my dress, removed it, and draped it across the foot of the bed. Next, I stripped off my long underwear that covered nearly every inch of my skin. As heavy as the fabric was, I almost felt naked without it, even when I wore my nightgown at night. Brinley once called it oppressive, and I’d laughed at her. It was an honor to wear it and protect my modesty. But here I was prepared to offer myself,
all of myself
,
to my husband. He’d waited long enough.

When I removed my white bra and high-waisted underpants, allowing them to drop to the floor, Paul licked his lips.

“Aspen, you . . . you’re so beautiful.”

He gazed at me with his mouth agape as a bulge formed in his pants. Whether he found me physically attractive was no longer in question.

Staring at my breasts, he stalked toward me. When he reached me, he wrapped both long arms around me and pressed his lips to mine. His kiss was eager, hungry, and I did my best to match his passion with my own in order to please him. If I pleased him, things would go quickly.

Paul tore off his clothing and tossed the garments to the floor. Then he lowered me to the bed and entered me slowly. He wasn’t quite as large as Lehi, so it was easier than it had been in my first marriage. But just as Lehi had done, he began to move quickly, grunting and pinching his eyes tight until he found his release. I lay with him, looking at the ceiling as I rocked my hips back and forth to accommodate him.

He cried out, digging his fists into the sheets as he found his release. When he was done, I smiled and kissed his shoulder.

“Was that all right for you?” he asked, his eyes glassy. “I mean, you didn’t . . .”

I shook my head. “I don’t have them.”

“Do you want to? There are things we can do, other things.”

Again, I shook my head, and placed a soft kiss on his lips. “That’s not necessary. I’m here to submit to you, and to create life. That’s all.”

Paul’s face fell, which confused me. Sex between a man and his wives was strictly for procreation; the scriptures and the Prophet reminded us of that fact. And Lehi had never questioned my ambivalence toward sex. It simply wasn’t something that interested me.

“Have you ever had one?” he asked, removing himself from me once he’d gone flaccid. He lay next to me, propping himself up on his elbow.

I pulled my knees to my chest, assisting his sperm to reach my uterus. Mother had taught me that before she died, and it had worked with all three of my pregnancies.

“One what?” I played dumb, staring up at the ceiling that glowed in the moonlight.

“An orgasm.”

“Don’t be silly. I don’t need to have them; only men do.”

“You don’t need one to make a child, but don’t you want to experience that? I’d love to do that for you, Aspen. I would.” He smoothed down the stray hairs that had escaped from my braid.