Was it all just a nightmare?
And then, like a freight train, it crashed into me and the pain in my chest resurfaced. I thought of my poor boy who’d been put through so much trauma, so much pain. And for what? Was Clarence punishing me through my boy? Or was there something larger afoot? Months ago, Aspen saw gentiles entering the temple. Which meant this had been going on for a while. Months, maybe even years.
Damn it, Paul. Why didn’t you listen to her?
I knew the reason: Clarence. He took away my job as foreman of the new temple project when I dared to ask him about the man standing near the tree—the man who, I can only assume, was one of the same men Aspen saw walking into our temple. The men who brutalized and raped my son.
A rush of anger and sadness overtook every inch of my body. I laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling as I searched my brain for an answer, for a plan of attack.
Aspen. I have to talk to Aspen.
Quickly, I took my shower and dressed for the day, hoping to catch Aspen before she began her daily chores. It was seven thirty, which meant Jeremiah would be waking and would need his breakfast. Maybe I would catch her in the kitchen. The doorknob squeaked when I turned it, and Sarah stirred in bed.
“Paul?” she mumbled, wiping the sleep from her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Is it morning already?”
“Yes, dear. I’m heading down to breakfast.” I nodded, not sure what to say to my wife as I studied the dark circles under her eyes. Her face fell.
“Wait.” She reached her hand out, gesturing for me to stay. “Was that . . . real? What happened to Isaac?”
“Feels like a horrible dream, doesn’t it?”
She nodded, new tears forming in her eyes. “I can’t believe it.”
“Let’s keep this quiet until I figure out what to do, all right?”
She cleared her throat and rose to a seated position on the bed. “Yes, I understand.”
“Do your best to keep sweet and . . . maybe go check on him. I’m sure he could use his mother’s care today more than ever.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll take extra care of him.” She covered her mouth with her hand and pinched her eyes shut. I let go of the door and walked to her, wrapping my arms around her. She pressed her forehead to my stomach and released a guttural sob. The emotions she’d done her best to repress had found their way to the surface.
“My baby.” She choked on her words. “My poor, sweet boy.”
I stroked her hair and used my most soothing voice. “I know, I know.”
I repeated those words over and over until Sarah’s breathing evened out. She pulled away and wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry for getting your shirt wet. Should I get you another?”
I offered her a kind smile and kissed the top of her head. “No, don’t be silly. It’ll dry.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know, but I promise you I’ll figure it out. He can’t get away with this.”
“He’s the prophet.” She shook her head. “No one will believe us.”
“We’ll see about that.” I kissed her again and left the room. Before heading to the kitchen, I walked to Isaac’s room. I was pleased to see he was still fast asleep, nestled under his covers. His younger brothers were already awake, so I adjusted his curtains to block out as much light as possible before closing the door behind me.
Sleep, my innocent boy. There is safety in your slumber.
When I reached the kitchen, Aspen and Flora were washing dishes and Jeremiah was playing with blocks on the floor with a few of the other toddlers, a small smudge of bananas still on his face. I grabbed a towel before crouching down to greet him.
“Papa!” he yelled, climbing to his feet and wrapping his tiny arms around my neck.
You have no idea how much I need this right now, little guy.
“Oh, good morning, Paul. I didn’t see you come in,” Aspen said, looking uneasy as she watched me wipe Jeremiah’s face. That expression spoke volumes and right that second, I realized she’d probably looked at me this way for months, only I was too wrapped up in my own resentment at the demise of our relationship that I didn’t see it. I didn’t see her.
I’ve failed you, Aspen.
I relaxed my forehead and gave her a warm smile as I scooped Jeremiah into my arms and walked to her. She wiped her hands dry and smiled as our little boy dove into her arms as he often did.
“Ooh, you’re getting big,” she said before kissing him on the forehead. “Did you say good morning to your father?”
“Mmm hmm,” Jeremiah said before he kissed Aspen’s nose.
“Why thank you,” she said with a genuine smile. But her entire expression stiffened when she realized my eyes never left hers. I hated that I made her uncomfortable, that she questioned my intentions. However, I knew it was entirely my fault.
How do I get you to trust me again?
I opened my mouth to speak, to ask her for a moment of her time, but Flora interrupted. “Paul, I need you to have a word with Jordan.”
“Oh?” I asked, surprised at the interruption. I’d almost forgotten Flora was standing a few feet away from me. As always, when Aspen was in my presence, everything and everyone else ceased to exist. My love for her was all consuming.
“Yes,” Flora boomed. “In fact, he’ll be here any minute.”
“What does he need?”
“He thinks he’s ready for another wife.”
“And?” I asked, knowing many men on the compound added another wife within a year of their first. It was a great way to keep him from getting too attached to his first wife and rejecting other women down the road. I never had that problem. Not until wife number fourteen, that is.
“I think he should wait,” Flora said, sounding disappointed I didn’t automatically agree with her. “It’s only been a matter of months. He needs time to settle . . . and so does she.”
Ahh, it all made sense. Flora was being protective of Jordan’s wife. Of course.
Those first wives stick together.
“I’ll speak to him.”
Once I turned away from Flora, I realized Aspen and Jeremiah were gone. I walked down the hall, searching his bedroom and hers, but they were nowhere to be found.
“They went to the park,” Ruthie said as we passed in the hall, her tone dismissive, rude.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
She sighed and smoothed her dress. “I’m bored. Mama doesn’t let me do much these days. And I’m always getting in trouble.”
“Well, keep sweet and you won’t get in trouble. Understand?” Ruthie nodded. “Where are your sisters?”
“Playing in the common room. I’m in charge of them until Mama returns.”
I sent her on her way and glanced at the clock. I still had time before I was needed on site. It was best if I spoke to Aspen in private, so instead of following her to the park, I went in the opposite direction—to my brother Arthur’s home a few doors down.
Clarence was the firstborn son of my parents, and I was the third. Between us, though, was my brother Arthur. My mother always stated that Arthur was a combination of Clarence and myself. Clarence would sneer, knowing my mother was referring to his darkness. I would grin, knowing she was referencing me as the light, the positive side of Arthur’s persona. When I was a boy, I looked up to Arthur, often emulating his mannerisms and behavior to the point of his annoyance. When I was really upset, really hurt, or angry, I knew who I could go to. It was Arthur, always Arthur.
In fact, Arthur was the one person in the world who I trusted at the age of fourteen when I wasn’t so sure that plural marriage was for me. I’d always been a passionate person, and the idea of having to divide my affection amongst several wives was overwhelming to me. If I was honest with myself, I liked the idea of having one woman—just one woman to fall in love with, to dote upon, to adore. And so, I went to Arthur, who was sixteen at the time, and poured my heart out. Arthur listened, he nodded, and
when I’d finished, he peered into my eyes.
“You want some advice?”
“Yes, please,” I said eagerly. I didn’t want to disappoint my parents, and the idea of leaving the compound made me sick to my stomach.
“Trust.”
“Trust who?”
“Trust Father, trust Heavenly Father. Just trust, Paul. You didn’t choose this life, none of us did. It chose us. Just trust. When I was thirteen, the idea of more than wife was overwhelming too. But I’m sixteen now—I’m a man. And I’m ready. One day you’ll be ready too.”
“Really?” I asked, feeling relief for the first time in weeks. “You really think so?”
“I know so.”
I never told another soul, and Arthur had kept my secret. My father passed away without ever knowing his beloved son had questioned the entire foundation of our faith. And I owed that to Arthur. If I had entrusted Clarence with that secret, I’d probably be single and living on scraps somewhere in Colorado City.
Arthur and I weren’t as close as when we were children, but I knew he could be trusted. And it was that trust that brought me to his front stoop. He was an esteemed member of the priesthood and a bookkeeper for several small businesses in Colorado City. When our father died and Clarence became the prophet, Arthur requested to keep the books, but Clarence refused him. It’d always been a sore spot in their relationship and because of that, Arthur seemed to keep the prophet at arm’s length. I could only hope that he would not only listen to what I had to say, but that he would help me, to be a much-needed ally as I prepared to challenge my eldest brother. No matter what, though, I was confident he could be trusted.
I was greeted by his first wife, Delilah.
After the obligatory pleasantries were exchanged, she waved me down the hall. “He’s in his office.”
“As usual,” I added, and Delilah giggled.
With a brief knock, I entered the office of Arthur, who was hunched over his large oak desk. He looked up, pushing his glasses back to the top of his nose. His brow pinched in impatience, and I knew I was interrupting his focus.
“Paul, surprised to see you here.”
“Yes, sorry I didn’t call first, but it’s . . . well, it’s important.”
“That’s fine; have a seat.” He scratched the back of his head and closed his laptop. With a forced look of concern, he took a quick sip of his coffee. “What’s going on?”
“I have reason to believe that Clarence is abusing his power as prophet.”
Arthur laughed. He laughed.
My stomach clenched. “Is that funny?”
“Sorry, brother, it’s just . . . of course he is. He always has. If this is a shock to you, then I’m not sure what to say.”
“Of course he’s always been a little drunk on power—”
“A little?” Creases formed in the aging skin of Arthur’s forehead. “He’s a manipulative snake.”
“I had no idea you felt this way.”
“Then you haven’t been paying attention.”
“I need your help, Arthur. Isaac came home last night—Clarence attacked him. He and a few other men, gentiles.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” Arthur rose from his seat and shook his hands in front of his body. “Attacked?”
“Yes. They assaulted him in the temple.”
“Why? What happened?”
“I don’t know. Clarence lured him inside, and then Isaac was kicked or punched so hard he blacked out. The pain woke him up.” I swallowed hard, unable to continue.
“The pain? What do you mean?”
“Yes, they . . .” I could feel emotion climbing from my stomach. I cleared my throat. “They violated him in the most repulsive way.”
“Oh sweet Heavenly Father.” Arthur turned away with one hand over his mouth, the other gripping the window frame. “Are you sure?”
“Isaac doesn’t lie. Not ever.”
He stood, facing the window, and sighed. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know, but I can’t stand by while he abuses the children . . . our children. If it happened to Isaac, it can happen to anyone. They’re all easy victims.”
“True.” He nodded, turning back to me and returning to his seat.
“I just—I can’t wrap my mind around this. I knew he was power hungry, manipulative, all of that—but I didn’t think he was diabolical,” I continued. “I didn’t think he was capable of this.”
Arthur nodded, staring off into space. “I didn’t either. You know how I feel about Clarence, but this is impossible to process.”
“I need your help,” I said. “He has to pay for this—for what he’s done.”
“And what do you expect me to do? He’s the prophet, Paul. He can do whatever he pleases.”
“You can’t mean that.” I stared at him, my mouth hanging open in shock.
“Look, his actions are deplorable. He’s a monster, I know. But I love my family, and I’m not about to risk my life, my job, my wives and children because something happened to Isaac. Sorry, but it’s the truth.”
“Your children could be next.”
Arthur tilted his head to the side, looking irritated. I had to find his weak spot. I had to give him a possibility—a powerful one. Arthur’s wives had given birth to almost a dozen girls before his family was graced with a boy—his oldest, Timothy, was his pride and joy.
“Timothy turns sixteen next month, does he not?”
Arthur stalked toward me and pointed his finger square in my chest. “You bite your tongue, Paul. Timothy is nothing like Isaac.”
I recoiled. “Do you think that matters?”
He tilted his chin upward. “Maybe it does.”
“So, because my son is different, you think he deserved this? That he had it coming? Is that what you’re saying?”
“No, absolutely not.”
“It sounds like that’s exactly what you’re saying. Isaac isn’t the typical kid, therefore he deserved the evil that lurked in the shadows. He deserved to be taken advantage of and abused. Do you hear yourself, Arthur?”
I was yelling. I never yelled.
“Back off, brother,” Arthur warned. “This is a fool’s errand; you have to know that. No one can bring Clarence down, no one.”
I shook my head. “Everyone has a weakness. Believe me, I’ll find his . . . with or without your help.”
“You want some advice?”
“No.”
Arthur ignored my response. “Take care of your boy; help him forget. Take care of your family and walk the straight and narrow.”
“And then what? Clarence gets off scot-free? Where’s the justice there?”
“There is no justice for our kind.” Arthur’s tan nostrils flared. “You should know that by now.”
I was stunned silent. I ran my hand through my hair, attempting to process his words.
“We live and die by the will of the prophet. Your life, your home, your wives—he’ll take it all away. Are you prepared for that? Because I’m not. No, I’m going to keep my head down, do my job, and love my family. I suggest you do the same.”
He opened his laptop and returned to his work. “You can see your way out.”
“May the Lord have mercy upon you, brother. And I hope you never have to walk a day in my shoes, to comfort your boy after he’s literally walked through the pits of hell.”
“Enough, Paul!”
“And you’ll know that you allowed it to happen, that you welcomed Clarence and his evil into your child’s nightmares. That you turned your back on every single child of this community. That your complacency was your greatest sin.”
“Out!”
“I’m ashamed of you,” I said with tears brewing in my angry eyes. “For the first time in my life, I’m embarrassed to call you my brother.”
With a harsh slam, I left my brother Arthur alone in his office. I sent a quick text message to the men waiting for me at work, knowing that without Arthur’s help, I still needed an ally.
I left his home with determination in my step as I made my way across the dirt roads of the compound. Aside from Aspen, there was only one other person on this compound whom I could depend on.
My mother.
Chapter 18
Jorjina could see the agitation in Paul’s eyes before he opened his mouth to speak. She knew her boy, the slight tilt of his eyebrows, the lines forming above his normally peaceful brow, the slight flaring of his nostrils. Something had happened and he was seeking her counsel. She couldn’t help but wonder if it had something to do with Clarence.
It always came back to Clarence.
Each night she prayed to Heavenly Father and to her loving, departed husband, Walter. She prayed that Clarence would somehow restructure his priorities—that he would care a little less about himself and a lot more about the people of his community, the people who sought him for guidance, the thousands of souls who believed he was, indeed, the one and only mouthpiece of God.
But she knew better.
When her husband passed, the prophet had died. And he had yet to be replaced. She knew she wouldn’t live to see the day when a true prophet would once again lead their people—someone worthy of the reverence bestowed upon him. She knew it was wrong to wish for the demise of her oldest son—she knew that. However, it didn’t change anything. Clarence was a selfish, manipulative human being, always had been. And she knew that for the greater good, his time as prophet would have to come to an end.
But nothing . . . not his calculating ways as a child nor his devious mind games as the prophet could have prepared her for what Paul revealed to her about Clarence. Not a thing. She listened to her third-born son as tears streamed from his eyes, as his cheeks turned red and he hung his chin toward his chest. Nothing could have prepared her for this. Not only was Clarence manipulative, overbearing, and vindictive—he was a rapist, a criminal, and an absolute abomination.
With one hand covering her mouth, the other squeezed the hand of Paul as he told the story of his son, of what happened to him at the temple. Of the pain he endured, the embarrassment, the shame.
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