We wait for Uncle Hyrum to fill his plate. I make sure there’s grape juice in his glass at all times, like he tells me.
Uncle Hyrum has six wives of his own. Six! What does he need one more for? Why? He’s greedy.
I can tell by the way he eats. With his mouth open. And piling so much on his plate there’s hardly any left for the rest of us.
No one speaks but Uncle Hyrum. He talks on and on of God and his family and the blessings that are his. The blessings that will soon be mine.
“Just one month,” Uncle Hyrum says, “and you, Sister Kyra, will be bound to me and headed toward heaven.”
What can I say to that? Nothing.
What do I think? You make me sick. With your balding head and meat stuck in your teeth and the way you smack your lips when you eat. You make me sick and I’m not planning on sticking around here. I’ll leave, I’ll take my sisters away, I’ll go. You can’t make me stay here.
He smiles and I see where his tooth should be and I realize this is another reason to hate him.
He talks and talks. About discipline. About obedience. About lalalalala and dadadida. If I could get to a piano right now, I would play Chopin. I would try a bit of Liszt. I would hammer out Beethoven just to make this uncle—my future husband—be quiet. I could care less that he’s an Apostle. I just want him to shut up. How could this man be my father’s brother?
At last, at last, Uncle Hyrum is done eating. He calls on Father to say the closing prayer. My uncle hasn’t spoken to anyone once. Just at us. He’s never asked for a response. And all I can think is how much I hate him.
Then Uncle Hyrum says, “Kyra, walk me to your gate.”
“We don’t have a gate,” I say. Bricks line our yard, separating it from my father’s other wives’ yards.
“Oh yes,” he says. His eyes are like buttons. The kind on an old coat that have lost their shine from so much use. I hate him! Hate him and his button eyes.
I keep sitting.
“Kyra,” Father says, his voice low coming across the table at me. Margaret says, “Don’t make her go with him.” She starts to cry and then Carolina bursts into tears, too. Laura hurries to the kitchen sink like she’s anxious to do the dishes. Now I feel like I might weep, but I don’t. I feel so much hate, I could spit.
I walk to the door where Uncle Hyrum stands. He tries to take my hand in his, but I won’t let him.
I’ll never let him, a voice that I don’t even recognize screams in my head.
Outside the evening is cool and the moon has given the yard a milk-washed look.
“Do you understand what is about to happen?” Uncle Hyrum says when we reach the bricks that border my mother’s yard. He doesn’t wait for an answer. “I don’t think you do.” He links his hands behind his back and rocks on his heels. He stares off toward the Temple. “You were saved for me. I saw you when you were young and prayed for you to be mine then.” He’s quiet a moment. “Doing what you’re supposed to do will make life much easier for you, Kyra. And your father. And your mothers.” He takes a breath. “Don’t send your father to Prophet Childs again.”
My backbone straightens and I look right at Uncle Hyrum’s face. I think, I’ll ask Father to go again and again and again to see the Prophet. I think, I’ll ask him until Prophet Childs and God hears me. Uncle Hyrum doesn’t look at me. Just keeps staring away.
“You know what happens to those who contradict God, don’t you?”
I try not to, but I gasp.
Now Uncle Hyrum looks at me and smiles. He’s won and he knows it. “God has given you to me, Kyra Leigh. You will do what He says. What the Prophet says. What I say.” Then Uncle Hyrum walks away and leaves me standing in the milky night.
I REMEMBER BILL TROPHY. He was always laughing. Throwing back his head and laughing so that I was surprised at the large sound of it. Mother said he had a great smile.
“But,” she whispered to me and my sisters when Father wasn’t home, “he should have listened to the Prophet.”
Bill went missing three or four years ago. I bet he wasn’t even eighteen when he ran.
I remember.
“He’s with the Lost Boys,” Mother said. “Gone off with them. That’s where all those boys end up. Somehow they end up together.” Mother looked away. “That’s what we’ve heard. That’s what we hope.”
And Ellen. Quiet Ellen. Opposite of Bill. Mother said she was delicate of bone. Tiny.
I remember Ellen and Bill together.
I remember Mother Sarah telling me to always be obedient.
I remember shots ringing out.
And I wonder why Bill Trophy was allowed to run to the Lost Boys. And not Ellen.
Ellen chose Bill. (You never get to choose if you’re a girl.) That loud laugh of his.
Ellen chose Bill Trophy.
Remember?
I remember.
I walk inside, shivers covering the whole of me. My brain running a million miles an hour.
Bill ran.
Mother and Father stand in the kitchen. His arms are around her and she rests against him.
Look what I have caused, I think. Look at their grief.
“Come here, Kyra,” Mother says. She opens her arm to me and when I get close to them, both she and Father pull me in tight.
I am face-to-face with Mother. Her eyes are filled with tears. I can’t even look at her she’s so sad. Her face shows how I feel.
Father kisses both of us on the tops of our heads. He holds us secure. But his holding me like this is a lie. He can’t do anything to save me. And he’s my father.
Aren’t fathers supposed to save their daughters?
We stand like this, the three of us, for several minutes. Then Father says, “I have to go.”
He leaves Mother and me standing arm in arm.
I am tired from the inside out. I am so tired at that moment it feels like I could melt away with no problem. If only.
I walk Mother into her room. I want her to tuck me in tonight, have her check under my bed for monsters, have her pat down my blankets, fluff my pillow. But I saw her face at the dinner table. She looks to be on the edge, too. I sit on her bed.
“Tell me about Bill and Ellen,” I say.
Mother doesn’t say anything at first, then, “You remember them?”
I shrug. Only a little light comes in from her window. We are shadows in her room, so I’m not sure she sees me. There’s the scent of lavender in here. Lavender meant to settle Mother’s stomach. “They just came to me,” I say.
Again, Mother is quiet. “She was an example,” she says.
I nod. The air is still and hot. Heavy. Like a blanket.
“Sister Ellen married Brother Mathias,” Mother says.
I had forgotten that part. There was a wedding.
Lots of girls getting married. Maybe thirteen or fourteen different girls being married to several men. Including Ellen, one of Brother Bennion’s daughters, who had to marry Brother Mathias, an Apostle. He was at least seventy years old then. His teeth, yellow. His eyes, too. Like an egg almost. He sat at the front of the Temple during meetings, with all the leaders up there in white suits, looking us over.
At the ceremony Ellen cried. Oh, she cried. Wailed. Fought. Screamed for her mother to help her. Screamed for her father to save her.
“She’s crying,” I had said to Mother. Fear raced through me, watching this.
“Hush,” Mother said, squeezing my hand.
“She doesn’t want to get married,” I said to Laura.
Laura looked at me, her mouth a small O. Her squinty eyes wide.
The Prophet spoke louder.
And it was Sheriff Felix who quieted Ellen with a hard slap to the face so the ceremony could go on.
“Then what?” I say.
“She saw someone else,” Mother says. Her voice drops to a whisper even though we’re alone. “She loved someone else.”
“What do you mean?” I say. I think of Joshua. Oh Joshua.
“Intercourse,” she says. “Adultery.” And it’s like she’s shouted the words in this small, quiet room. Beside us, on her pallet, Carolina turns and mumbles something. “With Bill Trophy.”
Mother Sarah takes in a breath. “She was my cousin.” She whispers still.
“Bill was Ellen’s age. Maybe a year older. They sent him away. No one knew what happened. He was just gone.”
The room is so quiet now I hear myself swallow.
“What happened to her? What happened to Ellen?” I say. “Did they send her away, too?”
In the next room someone rolls over and kicks the wall. The sound startles me and I jump.
“What happened to Ellen?” I ask again.
“They killed her,” Mother says.
I REMEMBER! I remember!
The sound of the gun going off.
Mother and Father and the other mothers talking about it afterward. In hushed voices. Telling us in whispers at family time we must be obedient and love God.
Father crying. Looking at all of his children and crying. Those great big family meetings, all of us together, Father’s wives and children, all my brothers and sisters. Me hugging his neck. Afraid and not sure why.
And Father holding me on his lap, his arms tight with his grief.
THE WHOLE HOUSE IS QUIET when I leave to meet Joshua.
Not a sound as I tiptoe from my shared bed, into the living room, and then out the door.
Once outside, I breathe free. I whisper, “I’d have left Brother Mathias, too.”
I trudge past where Father and Mother Claire sleep and little Mariah, past Mother Victoria’s trailer. I head toward the Temple, the steeple guiding me. I hurry toward Joshua, the awful memory of what happened to Ellen, all because she loved someone else, fat in my head.
_________
JOSHUA’S THERE! Waiting. I know it before I even see him. And when I get close to the darkness the building and night makes, his arms reach out for me and pull me in.
“Kyra,” he says. “Kyra.”
Right when he pulls me near, I know why Ellen chose Bill. She must have felt this way.
“I can’t do it,” I say and start crying. Still, tears and all, I kiss Joshua.
“Wait,” he says. “I want to tell you something.”
But I won’t let him speak. “This might be my last time with you,” I say. And I’m kissing him again, my arms wrapped around his neck, my hands in his hair, my body pressing as close to him as I can.
Joshua touches my face, gentle. He starts talking, all the while I’m kissing his lips and cheeks and chin and neck.
“Kyra,” he says, almost laughing, his voice low in the darkness. “Listen. I have to say something important.”
“Okay,” I say. Something desperate fills me. Fear? Pain at remembering Ellen? Worry that Joshua will tell me we must do as the Prophet has said? I close my eyes, resting my forehead on Joshua’s chest.
He holds me by the shoulders. “I’ve made an appointment to meet with Prophet Childs. To speak to him about us. To tell him I want to Choose you. That I want to marry you.”
I open my mouth to speak but Joshua keeps talking.
“I’ve been praying about it,” he says, “and I think we should be together.” He pauses. “If you’ll have me, Kyra.” Again he pauses. A breeze sweeps in from the desert, cool and smelling of sage. “Will you have me as your husband?”
I’m not sure when Joshua became my Joshua. I’m not sure when I first kissed his eyelids. I’m not sure when I first moved his hair from his forehead.
This I am sure about. In my heart, I claim him.
A WHILE BACK I told Joshua about the Ironton County Mobile Library on Wheels, about my choosing books and bringing them to the Compound. It took all my courage. All my hope that he wouldn’t think I was crazy stupid for doing such a crazy stupid thing.
“Look what I have,” I said that night we met.
The evening was light with a full moon the color of butter. I held the book out to Joshua before I even hugged him.
He took it from my hand. “Homecoming?” he said. He was quiet, looking at the title like he didn’t get what he saw.
My heart sat in my throat, nearly kept me from breathing.
“Kyra,” he said, looking at me in the moonlight. “Do you know what this is?” For a moment I felt like Eve giving Adam the apple. Would Joshua bite?
I nodded, my braid feeling extra tight, tears stinging at my eyes. If he wanted, Joshua might stop seeing me because of this. But I had to show him. Had to let him see this part of me.
He lowered his voice, talking as though I wasn’t there. “Books aren’t allowed. Where did you get this?” His hand smoothed across the cover.
“Our kissing isn’t allowed,” I said. “Our secret meetings aren’t allowed. Me being with you tonight isn’t allowed.”
He said nothing. Opened the novel. Leafed through the pages.
“Do you miss reading?” I stood back from him, the book between us.
“We read,” he said, but he didn’t look at me, just at Homecoming.
“Don’t you miss novels?” I said. “Don’t you miss fiction?”
It was a long moment. Long enough that worry grew in my stomach. By showing him this book I’d given Joshua something I couldn’t take back. I’d handed him a bit of my freedom.
“Never mind,” I said, tears threatening. I reached for the novel, tried to take it from him, but he wouldn’t give it up. Instead, Joshua opened the cover again, touched the pages, lifted it to his nose. His voice came out low. “My mother used to read to us, all of us gathered around her on the sofa, me and my younger brother on her lap.”
I was quiet then I whispered, “Me too.”
That night, hidden in the darkness of a building, but holding the book so we could see the words, we read the first four chapters of Homecoming together, our voices light as the breeze in the desert air.
IN THE MORNING Father comes to our home with Mother Claire and Mother Victoria. He announces that the mothers will take me to town for material.
“What for?” I ask. I’m still a little asleep though I’ve had breakfast and done family scripture study with my mother and sisters. I can’t help but wonder if any of the kisses I shared with Joshua the night before are obvious. Are my lips marked? The skin of my face?
“You’ve got business in town,” Father says. He doesn’t quite look at me. “Your mothers will help you.”
I never go to town. Haven’t been in I-don’t-know how long. Men and boys go to town. Women and girls and babies stay here, where they will be safe.
Safe! Ha!
“What do we need material for?” I say. I think of the quilt I started so long ago and that I haven’t sewn a stitch on. I don’t love to sew.
Mother Claire is all business, brushing her hands together though I can’t imagine there’s anything to sweep away. “For a wedding dress,” she says, her words clipped short.
Mother Victoria stares out the window. My own mother dips her head, avoiding my eyes. Father clears his throat and says, “I’ll have the older children take care of the younger while you are gone.” Then he leaves the room, fast.
A wedding dress? At first I can’t find my tongue. When I do I say, “I don’t want a wedding dress.” My voice is loud.
Margaret comes from the bathroom and stands beside me. “She doesn’t want a wedding dress,” she says, “and I don’t think you should make her get one.” She speaks to the living room full of mothers. There’s an awkward silence. Everyone is still. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Margaret sound like this.
“Go clean the dishes,” Mother Sarah says to Margaret. The room snaps back to life. “Go right now, young lady.”
Margaret hesitates.
“Kyra, you be ready to leave in thirty minutes,” Mother Claire says. “I haven’t got all day. And neither do you.”
Mother Sarah reaches for my hands. “It’ll be fun,” she says. Her face looks plastic, her smile f
orced.
“She doesn’t want to get married,” Margaret says. She touches my back, her hand small. Mother ignores her, something she doesn’t do often to any of us.
“We’ll go to lunch,” Mother Victoria says. “The fabric store first. And then lunch at Applebee’s. I haven’t been there in a year. How does that sound?”
For a moment it seems like these women are chickens, like I’ve read in my books. They’re busy and in my face and commanding. And if we were headed to town for something I wanted to do, this would be fun. Lunch out? I’ve never had food anywhere except here, in the Compound, fixed by one of my mothers or by other women when we have holiday celebrations.
“A fresh dress, Kyra,” Mother says. She points toward my room.
Margaret stands beside me, little and unhappy.
The three mothers go their separate ways but not before Mother Claire says, “We have to have her home in time for dinner with Brother Hyrum. We’ll have to hurry.”
Oh, the date tonight. That date. Wasn’t last night enough? Fear and anger, both, seem to fill me.
“Hell,” Margaret says. “Helly hell hell.” Then she throws her arms around my neck in a tight squeeze. I can smell her face, sort of sweet like sugar. Then she hurries into the kitchen to wash the dishes left over from breakfast and I keep standing where everyone has left me.
If I were allowed to love Joshua, I would tell them all right this very second that yes indeedy I could use wedding dress fabric because Joshua was speaking to the Prophet on this very day about me marrying him. But I can’t say anything. So I stomp into my bedroom and grab a different dress and a fresh pair of tights. My eyes are filled with angry tears.
“Kyra?”
Laura stands in the doorway. I can hear water running in the kitchen. Somewhere Carolina is playing.
“Mother said I could go with you,” she says. She wears a dark blue dress and her eyes remind me of a picture of an ocean I saw in a book in the Ironton County Mobile Library on Wheels. “If you want.”
“I do,” I say. “I want you to go, Laura.”
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