Mother Before Wife (The Compound #2) (7 page)

We were all eager to commence worship there on Sunday mornings, but it was rumored that the Prophet was planning for community recreation rooms to be constructed on the other two floors of the building. I was interested to see what activities would be available for the children, especially during the winter months when everyone grew stir crazy.

Scout was crouched next to a tree, doing his business. I shook my head as I approached the dog, realizing in my haste to find him, I’d forgotten to bring a plastic bag.

When he finished, I grabbed him by the collar, making a mental note of his location so that I could clean it in the morning.

I crouched down and looked him in the eyes. “You silly dog. Why can’t you stay in your yard, huh?”

Scout licked my nose, and I giggled despite my irritation at being out in the middle of the night.

“C’mon, boy, let’s go home.”

Scout and I were walking back toward the house when I heard voices coming from the temple. One was instantly recognizable. The Prophet.

What on earth is he doing here in the middle of the night?

Looking down at my attire, I panicked at the thought of the Prophet seeing me in my nightclothes. I lifted Scout into my arms and hustled to the nearest tree, hoping the Prophet would pass with his companion and I could slink away without being seen.

But then I saw him, the man I’d first seen three years ago by the oak tree. The face of pure evil that had invaded my nightmares ever since. I’d remember that face, that stocky build and hanging belly.

He and four other men were walking with the Prophet.

“I’m sure you’ll find the product to your liking,” the Prophet said, opening the door to the temple.

The product?
What on earth was he talking about?

I searched the faces of the men, not recognizing any of them. Two were dressed in torn jeans and leather jackets, articles of clothing deemed unacceptable in our community. When the Prophet opened the door to the temple, the men walked through it.

No, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t!

The Prophet was welcoming outsiders into our holy temple! The temple that, aside from the workers of the project, no one had been allowed to enter. And yet outsiders,
Gentiles
,
were entering our sacred place of worship.

No, this can’t be happening!

Once the double doors had slammed shut behind them, I placed Scout on the ground. He yelped as I accidentally stepped on his paw. Adrenaline shot through me and I looked around, hoping no one had seen me.

And then I saw him. The Prophet, standing at the temple’s entrance, his eyes locked with mine.

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.

I stood, waiting for him to break the silence, to ask me why I was wandering about at night. But he said nothing. He simply pursed his lips, opened the doors once again, and disappeared inside the temple.

My heart leaped into my throat as I hustled Scout along and closed the front gate of our home. Crazed, nonsensical thoughts scrambled through my brain as I attempted to process what I’d just witnessed.

Our Prophet, the man I’d trusted and revered since birth, the one who spoke of Gentiles and how they should never be trusted, the one who encouraged us to stay within the confines of our community in order to avoid being tainted by the evil lurking within their hearts, was not only allowing Gentiles into our community, but he was holding the door of our holy temple open for them, allowing them into the heart of our compound, into the soul of our faith.

Once inside, I stripped myself of the jacket and hung it back on the coat rack near the sliding glass door. Scout bounded down the hall, returning to Jeremiah’s bed, no doubt.

I reached my bedroom door and stopped cold as I heard Paul humming on the other side, knowing that I couldn’t tell him what I’d just witnessed. I couldn’t jeopardize the peace we’d worked so hard to achieve in our marriage. The last time I’d come to him in fear, it had nearly destroyed us.

No, I had to keep this secret to myself. I had to maintain the status quo with Paul and the other wives. Willing my pulse to slow to a normal rate, I took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Hi,” Paul said, looking sheepish.

My heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. I’d decided that he was the most handsome when his shyness overtook his charm.

“Hello.” I brushed a hand over my nightdress, attempting to remain calm.

“It’s . . . it’s been a while.”

“Yes,” I replied with a nod.

“I’m surprised you weren’t in bed already.”

“Oh.” I motioned back to the door. “Scout had to do his business.”

“Ah, he’s quite the handful, huh? At least he makes Jeremiah happy.”

“So true,” I said, walking toward the bed. “He’s smitten with that pup.”

“Aspen, I . . . I’m not sure if I can be intimate with you. Not yet.”

“That’s all right. I thought we could just talk. I miss our talks.”

It was true. When Paul and I were first married, we would lay in bed for hours, talking about our childhoods, our children, and our goals within the faith. Spiritually, we were aligned in such a way that when we were apart for three years, spending no time alone whatsoever, I found myself craving those discussions, wishing he was in my bed for that reason alone. To talk about our lives.

“Me too.” He ran his fingers through his hair as he always did when uncomfortable. “I miss a lot of things, though.”

“I know.”

I climbed into bed and patted the spot next to me. “C’mon, we have a lot of catching up to do.”

Paul smiled. It was a warm and genuine smile, lovely enough to pull my attention away from the men walking into the temple. We lay in bed, talking about Jeremiah and his rambunctious nature. When he mentioned Scout, my heart skipped a beat, and I was right back there—back in the darkness with the Prophet’s eyes upon me.

I swallowed hard, trying not to panic.

“Aspen, what is it?” He stroked my cheek with the back of his fingers. I loved when he did that.

“Nothing. Scout gave me a fright this evening, is all. He ran off and someone left the gate open, so I thought we’d lost him.”

“Oh no. Jeremiah would’ve been heartbroken.”

“Exactly.”

“How far did he get?”

“Just near the temple. He found a tree to his liking, I guess.”

Paul chuckled. “That dog.”

“I know.”

He placed his hand on top of mine. “This is nice.”

“I know.”

“I hope that one day, we can . . . be together again. As man and wife. I’m sure you’d like more children.”

I nodded. “Of course.”

And it was the truth. My role on this planet was to birth and raise babies to follow in our faith. However, for the very first time, the thought of following the word of the Prophet gave me pause.

And that pause was something I never expected to feel. Not ever.

My world had been tipped upside down, and something deep within me felt as if the foundation I’d built was slowly pulling apart. Like a string tugged away from the rest of the fabric of an old, tattered dress, that string had the potential to destroy the entire article of clothing if it wasn’t stitched properly, if it wasn’t repaired.

I could only hope that my faith in the Prophet could be fixed, be restored. That there was a perfectly acceptable reason for his actions.

But as I lay in bed, listening to the soft snoring of my husband, I couldn’t think of a single possibility.

Not one.

Jorjina

Jorjina Black was overjoyed to attend the wedding of her grandson, Jordan. After all, the mother of the Prophet had always held a soft spot in her heart for Paul’s firstborn son, just as she had for Paul. Admittedly, Paul was her favorite child, even though preferential treatment was frowned upon. Paul was special—kind, gentle, and generous.

Unlike his brother Clarence. The Prophet.

Clarence hadn’t spoken much to Jorjina since Brinley Cluff had left the compound three years prior. Up until that day, Clarence had manipulated his mother into spying on various wives on the compound. She’d be assigned a helper in her home, and was obligated to report back on their secrets, their inadequacies, and their sins.

And it haunted her. She knew her husband and the former Prophet, Walter, would roll over in his grave if he knew of his son’s actions and her compliance in his manipulation, and so she’d made a decision to end her involvement.

Clarence, as she’d expected, was none too happy about her choice. He’d attempted to threaten her, to intimidate her if she didn’t cooperate, but she’d simply laughed in her son’s face.

“You think I don’t know you, Clarence, but I do. I’m an old woman; just leave me be. Get your dirt somewhere else. I’m done digging.”

Those were her words to her son the morning they learned of Brinley’s departure from the compound, the morning Clarence questioned her loyalty when he recognized the satisfaction on her face. He could see that she
wanted
Brinley to escape the confines of her loveless marriage. She
wanted
Brinley to fly free like the birds she spent hours watching outside her kitchen window. He could see it all, and he was angry. So very angry.

Clarence had stormed out of her home that morning and never returned. Not once. He’d sent his wives to attend to her, to bring her groceries, to check on her from time to time, but Clarence himself had removed himself from her life. She was forced to see him at Sunday morning worship, of course, and at special family occasions.

She’d taken a pass on several of his weddings. After all, he had dozens of wives, and she had no desire to watch as young teenagers were married off to a man she was embarrassed to claim as her son.

But there were some events she wasn’t willing to skip.

The wedding of Jordan Black was one of those events. For Jordan and for Paul, Jorjina would endure being in Clarence’s company for a matter of hours. He could sneer at her from across Paul’s living room or backyard, and she would roll her eyes and take a sip of her tea. His resentment couldn’t break her. It never would, and he hated her for it.

“Grandmother.” Jordan hugged her tight, his blue eyes as bright as his smile as he greeted her at the door. “Thanks so much for coming.”

“I wouldn’t miss it, my dear. You’re my namesake, after all,” she said with a wink.

Jorjina had been so proud the day Paul shared that he and Flora had chosen Jordan’s name to honor her. She’d kept that gesture close to her heart and reminded Jordan of it often. It was part of their bond.

She patted him on the cheek as she had since he was a small child. “Have you met your betrothed yet?”

“Briefly last week. She seems nice.”

When Jordan shrugged, part of her heart sank, wishing that everyone could have the opportunity to truly love their spouse the way she’d loved Walter. But she also hoped that, in time, Jordan and his bride would grow to love each other through the years.

“Her name’s Bethany,” he added.

“Beautiful name.”

“Thank you, Grandmother. Should I help you to your seat?”

“That would be lovely.”

Jorjina watched as Clarence joined Jordan to Bethany Hales, the younger sister of her beloved Brinley. As the ceremony dragged on, Jorjina’s mind drifted once again to the young woman who never quite fit into their world. She could only hope that Brinley was happy in the outside world, that she’d embraced her freedom and was living the life she’d imagined for herself.

Paul was beaming with pride, and Jorjina knew his smile held relief as well. His oldest son was marrying, which held so many possibilities for their family. But Jorjina knew Paul was relieved that Jordan was one of the lucky young men to be assigned a wife at all. For many, it was never an option.

Under Clarence’s leadership as Prophet, the process of wife distribution had changed.

His father, Walter, the former Prophet, had believed in balance, in keeping as many men on the compound as possible. Most men were only given three to four wives, just enough to enter the gates of heaven. Occasionally, a man would be left out of the picture. Walter wouldn’t deem him suitable for any of the available women of their community, and that man would have a choice. He could stay and work on the compound as a single man, or he could seek a future in the outside world.

Under Clarence, things had changed dramatically. Clarence himself had dozens of wives, and had bestowed his brothers, such as Paul, with ten or more. If a man was in good standing with the Prophet, he was rewarded with as many wives as the community could provide. For these lucky few, a path of gold was paved to heaven, but for the others, the path they were given led away from the compound.

Many families were forced to obey Clarence’s demands and send their sons into the outside world, banishing them from their homes and families for a simple infraction: petty theft, a stolen kiss behind a tree, reckless behavior on a construction site. Clarence always found a way to whittle the male population down so that the young women entering puberty could be assigned to the chosen few.

Paul was relieved that Jordan was now part of the chosen. It was written all over his face, and for good reason. Jorjina knew that Paul’s heart would break if Jordan was sent away from their community. Being a loving and caring father, he wouldn’t want to part with any of his children, and Jorjina knew it. She praised Heavenly Father for influencing Clarence in this particular instance, but held her breath for the rest of Paul’s children. There was no guarantee that they would all survive the cold, calculating wrath of Clarence Black.

Once the ceremony finished, Jorjina found a shady spot in Paul’s backyard in which to enjoy her cake and tea. Just as she was about to take her first bite, two little eyes peeked over her plate.

Her youngest grandson, Jeremiah.

“Well, hello there, my darling.” Jorjina smiled at the boy, who was the spitting image of his father. Blond hair, blue eyes, and defined cheekbones. “Would you like a bite?”

Jeremiah nodded, and she offered him a forkful of yellow pound cake with sugary icing. It was her favorite of Sarah’s recipes. Jorjina always admired her daughter-in-law’s work in the kitchen.

“Delicious, isn’t it?”

Jeremiah nodded, opening his mouth wide to beg for another bite. She chuckled and offered him another taste.

“I’m so sorry.” Paul’s newest wife, Aspen, approached and grabbed Jeremiah by the waist, hoisting him to her left hip. “He slipped away when I was passing out cake.”

“He’s no trouble, dear, really.” Jorjina offered a warm smile to her newest daughter-in-law. She patted the chair next to her. “Won’t you join me?”

The petite brunette’s eyes widened and she nodded enthusiastically.

They hadn’t been able to spend too much time together since Aspen was reassigned to Paul just three years ago. But Paul had sought his mother’s counsel soon after the marriage. He was in love, desperately in love with his newest wife, and he knew she didn’t return his feelings. Jorjina attempted to counsel her son as best she could, urging him to give Aspen time for her feelings to grow.

“You had a bit of a head start,” she’d said to her son, who’d blushed and run his fingers through his hair. “Give her time, my darling boy. And don’t forget your other wives—they deserve your devotion now more than ever. For now you’re forcing them to compete for the first time.”

Paul had nodded, always respecting her advice. She loved that she’d gotten things right with him, even though she’d clearly failed to raise his older brother properly. And with each coldhearted decision Clarence made, she was reminded of that fact. Thank Heavenly Father for her wonderful Paul.

Aspen was a lovely young woman. She was confident; this was clear every time she opened her mouth. She didn’t mince words, and Jorjina loved that about her. She wanted to know Aspen, to understand her, and if she was being honest with herself, she’d hoped to have another person to bond with over Brinley. After all, Aspen and Brinley had been sister wives for years.

Perhaps Aspen had kept in touch with Brinley since her departure, but this wasn’t something Jorjina could ask about. Not yet. Perhaps if she could gain Aspen’s trust, it would be a discussion for the future.

“How are things, dear?” Jorjina patted Aspen’s knee, watching as Jeremiah dug his fingers into his mother’s cake. “He’s growing like a weed.”

“He never stops eating.” Aspen rolled her eyes. “But he’s a good boy, a very good boy.”

Aspen kissed the top of Jeremiah’s head, and he nuzzled into her neck. Jorjina watched in awe, flashing back to Paul’s childhood and how he used to snuggle with her in the exact same way. Her heart warmed, but her stare lingered a bit too long.

“Is everything all right, Mother Jorjina?” Aspen asked, snapping Jorjina from her trip down memory lane.

“Just watching the love between you. He reminds me so much of his father. Rambunctious, yet loving.”

Aspen seemed taken aback. She looked around the yard of wedding guests as she spoke. “Paul was rambunctious? He’s so calm now.”

“Well, everyone has to grow up sometime, don’t they?” Jorjina said with a laugh.

“True enough.”

Aspen nodded before placing another kiss on Jeremiah’s head and pulling him close. He fought the restraint of her arms, wanting his freedom as most two-year-old boys did.

“Sometimes I wish he’d never grow up, never get married or leave my side. I know it’s silly, but I just . . . I want to keep him little. The world can be an unforgiving place . . .” Her words drifted as she stared off into space.

Jorjina knew that Aspen wasn’t like most of the women on the compound; she could practically see the gears spinning within the young woman’s brain. Her thoughts were deep, her opinions clear.

“You remind me so much of myself at your age,” Jorjina said with a knowing smile.

Aspen seemed surprised by the statement, but placed her hand on top of Jorjina’s. “Thank you. Paul thinks the world of you.”

“I know, but it’s always nice to hear.”

“And I . . .” Aspen bit into her bottom lip. “I know he sought your counsel after we married, and I want to thank you for that. You helped him tremendously, and in turn you helped me. You helped
us
.”

“That’s also nice to hear.” Jorjina smiled, covering Aspen’s hand with her own. The two sat in silence as Jeremiah gobbled down Aspen’s cake. “I hope you’re in a better place.”

“We are, thank you. Reassignment was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it was the right thing to do.”

A voice screamed within Jorjina to take this opportunity.
She’s opened the door, walk inside!
But rather than walk inside that open door, she danced around it.

“Do you miss your old family?”

“No,” Aspen said firmly, her chin raised, her eyes steady. “There’s only one person I miss, but she’s gone. And I’m not allowed to . . .” Her gaze softened, and she tilted her head briefly to the side.

Jorjina squeezed her hand. “I miss her too.”

Aspen’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, and she nodded along with Jorjina. When Jeremiah had finished the cake and run off to join his siblings, Jorjina wrapped her frail arms around her daughter-in-law and held her close. And in that hug, she found peace. Peace and possibility of a fresh start. Of a friendship that might blossom, bridged by a common bond.

Peace and possibility.

Jorjina smiled. She always did enjoy weddings.