“Why? Do you think someone took him?”
He paused, and the line was eerily silent.
“Paul! Talk to me,” I begged.
“Right now, we have to entertain any and all possibilities. But we’ll find him, Aspen. I promise you.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
Again there was silence. We both knew there was no guarantee we’d ever see our little boy again.
“Please meet me at the park,” I said. “I have to see you.”
“I’ll be there in five minutes. We’ll find him, Aspen. We will.”
“Just because you keep saying it doesn’t make it true.”
I disconnected the call and paced the playground, waiting for my husband to arrive. In the distance, sirens could be heard. The people gathered in the park turned as one to gape at the police car that drove down the main road of our community.
Detective Cooke!
He parked the car and approached the group of men standing by the old metal slide. He didn’t look my way, which surprised me since I was standing just a few feet from where he parked his car. But when I heard him speak, I realized why he hadn’t headed in my direction. He was protecting me, protecting our alliance.
“What are you doing here?” one of the men asked, derision in his deep voice.
Police officers rarely visited our compound. They weren’t welcome and were rarely summoned since the Prophet was the law in our eyes.
“I had an anonymous call about a missing child.”
“We have it under control,” another man said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
“That very well may be the case, but I’m here to investigate just the same. I have to take every call seriously, and that’s what I intend to do. Who can tell me more about the missing child?”
Several of those near Jonathan pointed in my direction, and one man muttered, “That’s his mother.”
The detective approached me with neutral eyes, pretending we’d never met before. “Ma’am, I’m so sorry this has happened. Can you tell me more about your child? I want to help find him if I can.”
“H-his name is Jeremiah. He’s two years old with blond hair, bright blue eyes. He, um . . . he was wearing overalls, tan ones, and . . . I can’t remember what color shirt—”
“That’s all right; it’s a start. Give me a second while I call it in, okay?”
“Of course. Thank you, Officer.”
“The name’s Jonathan Cooke. I’m sorry to be meeting you under such circumstances, but we’re gonna do everything we can to get your boy home safe, all right?”
I nodded quickly, placing a hand over my mouth as tears fell that had been waiting to be released since I’d approached the park. Paul’s truck pulled up next to Jonathan’s squad car. He slammed his door before he stalked toward the detective.
“Excuse me. What are you doing here?”
“I’m Detective Cooke, and I’m here to help find a missing child.”
“He’s my son.” Paul’s eyes were wild, fierce, paranoid. He, just like everyone else on the compound, didn’t trust law enforcement, and was less than thrilled to have a Gentile insinuating himself in the search.
“He’s here to help,” I said, placing a hand on Paul’s arm.
Jonathan stared at my fingertips resting on Paul for just a second too long, and I panicked.
“Did you . . . did you call him?” Paul glared at me.
My throat went dry, and I knew I had to lie to my husband. I opened my mouth to speak, but Jonathan beat me to it.
“Actually, the call we received was from a male.”
“Oh.” Paul’s eyes softened and he took my hand in his. “Listen, Officer, I appreciate you coming all the way down here, but we can handle this. We always do.”
“I understand that, sir. Please know I mean no disrespect; I just want to help, that’s all. And by law, I’m required to investigate any phone call we receive. I hope you can respect that.”
Paul nodded, turning to me. “I’m going to search the perimeter again. Will you be all right? Where are the girls?”
“They’re with Pennie. And I’ll be fine. We have to find him, Paul, we have to find our baby.”
My knees weakened and I collapsed, feeling faint. Paul held me in his arms as I broke down, grasping at the coarse fabric of his cotton shirt.
“Find my baby,” I repeated over and over. “Find my baby.”
• • •
“Aspen, come home,” Paul said from the warmth of his truck. “The girls have been asking for you for hours.”
Darkness had fallen, and although I’d wandered miles from our house, I couldn’t stop searching. I had to find him. Paul drove slowly along the road, lighting my path with the glow of his headlights.
“I can’t,” I croaked, my voice hoarse.
I’d called out Jeremiah’s name so many times. My body, my hands, my face, everything was numb.
Detective Cooke had left hours ago with several pictures of Jeremiah that I kept in my wallet, but promised that several squad cars would comb the area, looking for him. The large crowd had dispersed hours ago as our neighbors and friends were able to resume their lives, forgetting all about my little boy.
But I couldn’t. If I went home, I’d be abandoning my baby. No, I couldn’t go home without him. I didn’t care how long it took me.
“Aspen, please,” Paul begged. “It’s not safe for you to be out there alone. And you have to . . . you have to kiss them good night.”
“You go. Kiss them for me,” I whispered. “I can’t leave him.”
“You’re not helping Jeremiah by wandering the streets. Come home.”
“N-no,” I said, my teeth chattering from the cold.
Paul stopped the truck and killed the engine before hopping out to run to me. “Get in the truck, Aspen, I’m begging you. You’ll catch your death out here.”
Another set of headlights appeared and as the vehicle approached us, I recognized it immediately. It belonged to the Prophet.
He stopped his truck and opened his door. Two tiny feet could be seen hopping down from the cab of the truck. Those tiny feet were attached to two little legs, and then a body with two little arms and the most precious face I’d ever seen came into view.
“Jeremiah!” I yelled, running to my little boy and wrapping him up in my arms, holding him so close I could feel his heart pounding behind his overalls. I pressed my lips to the top of his head, kissing him again and again.
Thank you, Heavenly Father. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
“Mama, why you hold so tight?” Jeremiah said with a laugh. “Are you gonna tickle me?”
“Clarence, I can’t thank you enough. How in the world did you find him?” Paul asked, his arms wrapped around me.
I looked up from Jeremiah to see the Prophet standing before us with a smug smile on his face.
He shrugged. “Just fortunate, I guess.”
“But where was he? Where did you find him?”
“I guess I knew just where to look,” he said slowly, his eyes boring into mine, and I knew exactly what that meant.
The Prophet had taken him, taken my baby. He was making good on his promise months ago at Jordan’s wedding, sending me a message. And I received it loud and clear.
I pulled Jeremiah closer and stared at the Prophet.
“Thank you,” Paul said.
He reached out to shake Clarence’s hand, but the Prophet didn’t break eye contact with me. He stared at me while Paul thanked him repeatedly. Then we stood in silence and both men stared in my direction.
“Aspen, we owe the Prophet a thank-you.”
“Where was he?” I demanded, staring at the Prophet and refusing to apologize. I didn’t care if I embarrassed Paul. The Prophet took my boy!
“I found him asleep on my deck. He was curled up underneath the table.”
My son would never do that. You liar!
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Paul said
with an exhausted laugh, smoothing down Jeremiah’s blond wisps. “What are we going to do with you, son?”
I glared at Paul, shocked that he would believe such nonsense. I wanted to shake him, to scream in his face, Wake up! Wake up, you stupid man! Your brother stole our baby to teach me a lesson!
But I didn’t. I remained silent.
“We should get him home,” Paul said. “But please, Clarence. Please come by for dinner tomorrow night so we can thank you properly.”
“That sounds nice,” he said smugly. “I’ll be there.”
Don’t let that monster into our home!
Clarence’s gaze remained fixed on me. “Until then, keep your eye on that little tike. Would hate to see him wander away again. It pains me when any member of my community is lost.”
Phony! False prophet! Kidnapper!
A string of invectives flew through my brain as I carried my boy to the vehicle and held him in my arms. Paul shook his brother’s hand and climbed into the cab of the truck.
When Clarence knocked on the window, Paul rolled it down.
“Drive safely now. I’ll pray that you all have a peaceful and calm night.”
No, you won’t! You want me wide awake, staring at the ceiling, terrified to cross you again.
We drove home. Paul rejoiced at the return of his precious boy, planning a celebration meal to thank his brother, and asked me again and again why I was silent.
“I think you’re still in shock.” He placed his arm around my waist as we walked into the house. Jeremiah was fast asleep, slumped over my shoulder. “Let’s get you both to bed.”
“He’s staying in my bed tonight,” I muttered, pulling my boy closer.
“Yes,” Paul said. “Of course.”
I left Paul to answer the questions of the sister wives and children. The only children I cared about were my own.
When I reached the girls’ room, and after we’d hugged in silence for several minutes while Jeremiah slept, I simply said, “Jeremiah is sleeping in my bed tonight. Would you like to join us?”
“Really, Mama?” Susan asked, jumping up and down. Beatrice grabbed my arm and cried. Ruthie was the only one who hesitated.
“Will we all fit?”
I shrugged. “We’ll make it work. You’re old enough to decide for yourself, but I’d like you there.”
She nodded and followed me to my bedroom.
We climbed into bed, huddled together beneath the warmth of my quilt. I clutched my children, knowing I’d put them all in danger by challenging a cruel and uncaring Prophet. I spent the better portion of the night scolding myself for putting them at risk, but another voice overpowered my doubts and regrets.
It was that voice that spoke the truth.
This was the only way I could protect them, and I couldn’t stop now. I had to harness my anger, my protective nature, and my intellect to bring the Prophet down.
I had to. Not only for my children, but for everyone on that compound, because he was betraying us all.
You won’t stop me, Clarence Black. No, you will not.
Chapter 22
“Gentiles are incapable of compassion and cannot be trusted. They only care about themselves.”
—The Prophet, Clarence Black
Aspen
I wasn’t a violent person. Or at least, I didn’t think I was until all of this began, until my life spun out of control. Now, it seemed that I wanted to physically harm people on a regular basis, and it was making me question who I was.
At that very moment, it was my husband whose face I wanted to pummel. Instead, I inhaled deeply, closed my eyes, and lifted one finger into the air.
“Stop right there. I’m not having this discussion with you.”
“Aspen, she’s upset.”
“I. Do. Not. Care.”
“You were out of line.”
“No.” I slammed my fist against the wall, horrified that he would take Flora’s side in all of this after she dared tell anyone to “keep sweet” while my baby was missing. “She was out of line and I will not apologize. Shame on you for even entertaining this.”
He hung his head, shaking it slowly as he stared at the floor. “I have to strive for harmony at all times. You know that.”
Seething, I turned away from him and stared at the wall. “Again, I don’t care.”
Exasperation consumed Paul. He closed his eyes tightly, rubbing at the middle of his knotted forehead.
“I can’t win with you, Aspen. No matter what I do, it’s wrong. No matter what I say, roadblocks are put in my way. It’s infuriating.”
I rolled my eyes and turned to face him once again. “Then perhaps you need to reevaluate your actions, your behavior, and what you choose to discuss with your wives.” I was no longer holding back. “And perhaps you should value your missing child more than your first wife’s hurt feelings.”
He shook his head violently as he jabbed a finger at me. “That’s not fair. You know I was sick to death with worry, just like you.”
“Then why are you here? Why didn’t you tell her to keep her mouth shut? That your son was missing and no one should have to keep sweet in a time like that? Hmm?”
I glared at him but Paul was quiet, puckering his lips as his nostrils flared. He knew I was right, and so rather than admit it, he moved right along to another topic. One that made my skin crawl.
“My brother will be here for dinner in three hours. You should help the other wives in the kitchen.”
“They have it under control.”
“This is for your son. You should at least be of help.”
“Our son, Paul. Our son.”
Again, he ignored me. He, along with most men in our faith, were not raised to admit when their wives were right during an argument. In some cases, such as with Lehi Cluff, it was impossible for a wife to be right at all. In fact, in Lehi’s home, arguing wives were slapped across the face, even if their opinions were valid or correct.
I was lucky that Paul didn’t act in such a way. At times, he raised his voice, but he never struck me. Lehi would have beaten me bloody by now.
“I invited my mother as well,” he said. “We haven’t seen her for a while, and I know how much you like her.”
“Jorjina?” I asked, brightening.
A small glimmer of pleasure sparked within me at the thought of Jorjina Black visiting us once again. I could tell her that I’d spoken with Brinley, that she was married and content with her decision to leave the compound. I could look forward to a conversation that didn’t center around the Prophet and his glory.
“Yes. Clarence was resistant at first, but he agreed to bring her. Could you at least make her a chocolate cake? It’s her favorite.”
“Sarah’s the baker.”
“I think she’d be touched if you made it. She really likes you.”
His voice was laced with surprise, and I knew why. He didn’t understand my bond with his mother, and that was just fine by me. My cache of secrets was growing by the day, and bonding with his mother over a former sister wife was not only benign, but it was also none of his concern.
“Fine,” I said flatly. “But I’m asking Sarah for her assistance.”
Paul sighed. “Do what you must. How’s Jer-Bear?”
I smiled slightly when he used the nickname Jeremiah’s sisters had given him months ago. I knew Paul loved our son, but I questioned his loyalty. If he knew what I’d been up to with Detective Cooke, Paul would surely turn me in to his brother immediately.
Detective Cooke!
I had to call him, to alert him that Jeremiah had been “found.” But to do that, I needed Paul to leave my room.
“Jeremiah? He’s fine, seems to have forgotten all about it. He’s stacking blocks with B.”
“Why doesn’t he play with Ronan?” His brow creased. “Aspen, don’t punish JoAnna. It was a mistake. It could’ve happened to anyone.”
I couldn’t tell Paul that while I’d stared at the ceiling the night before,
willing myself to sleep, I’d wondered if JoAnna had cooperated with the Prophet in taking my son.
Did he coerce her? Threaten her? Promise her something? After all, JoAnna had never been secretive about her desire to be married to the Prophet, and to me, that meant she’d do just about anything to please him. And even though she’d claimed that Jeremiah was taken during a brief diaper change, I wasn’t convinced.
“I’m not punishing anyone. Beatrice wanted time with her brother, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. This was traumatic for the girls too.”
“Of course. You’re right.”
Paul attempted to take my hand, but I kept both of them at my sides.
Please go! I need to call Jonathan.
“You know, yesterday, when you cried in my arms, that was the first time you’ve touched me in months.”
“And?” I said tersely.
His mouth fell open. Apparently Paul wasn’t expecting my unwelcoming reaction.
“I’ve missed you, missed us. Yesterday, as horrendous as it was, I felt like we were a team, like we could get through anything together, just you and me.”
“But it isn’t just you and me. I share you with thirteen other women.”
Paul closed his eyes briefly as he bit his bottom lip. “I know. Sometimes I wish that wasn’t the case.” When he opened his eyes, they were glistening and kind.
The sight of his vulnerability tore me up inside because I didn’t feel the same and I knew I never would. Plural marriage was all I knew. Sharing him was all I was raised to do. And so, because I couldn’t agree with his sentiment or mirror his vulnerability, I simply took his hand.
“We are a team.” I nodded, allowing my expression to soften.
I wanted to comfort Paul, knowing that he’d exposed his true emotions yet again. This poor man had repeatedly ripped his heart from his chest and offered it to me, seeking approval, togetherness, and acceptance. And repeatedly, I’d placed that heart back in his chest, begging him to keep it there where it would be safe.
“I have to get some work done,” he said, “but I’ll be here before our guests arrive.”
“All right.”
As soon as the door closed behind him, I hurried to retrieve my phone from my purse. I had three unread text messages and two voice mails, all from Jonathan.
Mother Before Wife (The Compound #2) Page 17