During dinner, I found my gaze drifting to her as it used to years before when we were newlyweds. Everything about Aspen was attractive to me, from her rich brunette hair to her deep sapphire eyes. She had two little freckles on her tiny nose and when she allowed herself to smile, she had dimples that softened the appearance of her face. My favorite thing, though, was her lips. They were full and pink and when I was lucky enough to kiss them, they were the softest I’d ever felt. I longed for Aspen’s lips and her kiss.
My cheeks grew hot as I allowed my mind to wander with thoughts of Aspen naked in my arms, the way she cried out when I gave her first orgasm, the way she dug her fingernails into my skin, piercing it as her pleasure consumed her. It was the most exciting moment of my life—pleasing her, introducing her to new feelings and sensations, seeing her eyes catch fire when they stared into mine.
“Paul, please pass the salad.” Flora interrupted the erotic thoughts running through my head. I passed the large wooden bowl then adjusted my pants as I pressed against the seams. I had to stop thinking about Aspen this way at the dinner table. It was improper and disrespectful to all my wives, including Aspen. She was the only woman to ever make me question my devotion to plural marriage. She was the woman I imagined as a boy when I wondered if this life was something I could handle. Aspen brought out another side of me that didn’t quite align with my faith—the desire to please just one woman, the eagerness to love her and devote myself to only her. As I pushed the roast chicken around on my plate, I wondered if the teenage boy in me knew one day she would come . . . one day she’d be mine, tempting me and reminding me I was nothing but a weak man full of sin and lust.
“Are you enjoying your meal, Paul?” Pennie whispered from next to me. “Is the chicken cooked through?”
“Oh, yes, of course,” I said, patting her on the shoulder, knowing she wasn’t the most confident when it came to preparing poultry. “You did a fine job. My stomach is off today, that’s all.”
Pennie offered a comforting smile. She and I always did have such a kind, amiable kinship. No muss, no fuss. “There’s cola syrup in my medicine cabinet if you need it.”
“Thanks.”
Hearing the words cola syrup made me think of Aspen, of course. Memories of her lying to me, saying she was out of cola syrup and needed to go into town. Now I knew she was probably at the police station visiting with the detective. Only now, despite the fact her dishonesty still stung, I had a new understanding of her desperation, of her need to protect Ruthie from Clarence. And with this realization, forgiveness soothed the sting.
Once the meal was completed, I checked the calendar to see where I’d be sleeping that evening. I was with Pennie. A smile crossed my face knowing that, unlike Flora and some of the other wives, Pennie wouldn’t keep close tabs on me and wouldn’t necessarily be looking for intimacy. Some nights with Pennie were spent playing checkers in her room or discussing current events. Although we had a handful of children together, she wasn’t as set on having as many as some of my other wives were. She was content with what we had together, and I appreciated that about her. Because of her relaxed attitude, I knew it would be all right if I paid Aspen a visit before retiring for the evening.
When I knocked on Aspen’s door, my heart raced. I wasn’t exactly sure how to break the ice with her, but I was prepared to think of something. She answered the door with a look of surprise on her delicate face.
“Oh, Paul.” She looked into the hallway. “Did you need something?”
“I, uh . . . my stomach isn’t so good. I know you usually keep cola syrup.”
Coward.
“Yes, of course.” She gestured for me to enter the room and she scurried off into her bathroom, opening and closing cabinets. She returned with a bottle of syrup and a small paper cup. “Here you are. I’m sorry you’re not feeling well.”
When I reached for the cup, my fingers brushed hers and she tensed at my touch. “Thank you. Listen, Aspen, I was hoping to—”
A roaring cry pierced the quiet air between us. “That’s Jeremiah. I should go.”
“Is he all right?”
Aspen shook her head. “He’s having night terrors; it’s a new phase. Nothing like blood-curdling screams to wake you up at night.”
“Anything I can do?” I asked, not ready to part ways with her. I needed to speak to her, for her to hear my apologies, for her to give me another chance to be the husband and support she deserved.
“No, just take your cola syrup and I’ll calm him down.” She passed me the bottle and forced a smile. “Here, just in case you need more. I do hope you feel better.”
I held the bottle up in front of me and smiled with appreciation. “Thanks.”
And with that, she rushed down the hall to the children’s bedroom. On my way I stopped to listen as she soothed our son. “Shh, Mama’s here, sweet boy. Shhhh.”
I stood by the door for just a moment, listening to Aspen as she sat with Jeremiah. Once he’d calmed, she hummed his favorite lullabye and I leaned my head against the wall, knowing the biggest mistake I ever made was turning my back on her. I was determined to fix it. All of it. I hoped I could catch her the next morning.
Aspen was nowhere to be found when I entered the kitchen for breakfast. Jeremiah was playing with the other children in the parlor, and Flora was wiping down the breakfast tables. Impulsively I thought to ask Flora where I might find Aspen, but corrected myself knowing it was a bad idea. Flora didn’t care much for Aspen, and it was best not to rock the boat.
Where are you, Aspen?
I turned toward the hallway that led to her bedroom and spotted the back of her braid. My heart jumped to my throat as I set out to follow her and finally discuss everything with her.
“Paul,” a voice called and I turned to see Sarah, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“What is it?” I asked, rushing to her and placing one hand on her shoulder.
“It’s Isaac. He needs you.”
“Yes, of course.” I turned back, but Aspen was gone.
Isaac must come first, Paul. You’ll find Aspen later.
“Ugh, that child,” Flora muttered under her breath.
“Bite your tongue,” I hissed at her. “You know nothing of what’s happening with my son. You will keep sweet and mind your business. Am I understood?”
Startled, Flora nodded and returned her attention to the table. It wasn’t often that I lost my temper with my wives, but I had no patience for Flora’s attitude, especially when it came to Isaac.
“Thank you for that,” Sarah said softly, wiping her tears as we walked. “She’s never been easy on him.”
“She’s not the most patient, is she?” We stopped outside his door and I whispered, “What’s going on?”
“He’s having nightmares, and he can’t get the thoughts out of his head. I don’t know how to help, and seeing him like this is so hard.”
I nodded. “I see. Should I go in alone?”
“I think that would be best.”
I offered Sarah a comforting hug, rubbing her back gently as we stood in the hall. “I’ll let you know how it goes, all right?”
“Thank you.”
Sarah walked off, sniffing away her tears, and I knocked gently at the door. “Hey, buddy, it’s me. Can I come in?”
There was a pause and then I heard Isaac’s meek voice. “Yeah, okay.”
I entered the room and saw that his brothers had already risen, made their beds, and vacated the room. Isaac was under his covers and I crossed the room to sit next to him, pulling the quilt from the top of his head.
“Hey there. Your mother said you aren’t sleeping well.”
“I can’t get my mind to forget. These pictures keep flipping through my brain—it’s like I’m reading this book, only I’m in the pages. And then I can’t breathe, Papa. I can’t breathe.” His voice cracked and he turned his eyes into his pillowcase; wetness formed in the clean cotton.
“I’m so sorry, buddy.�
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“And my forty-eight hours are almost up. Soon I’ll be gone and I won’t ever see you or Mama again. I won’t see anyone, and I don’t know where I’ll live or what I’ll eat. What if I starve to death? No one will know, Papa, no one will even know I ever existed.”
“You’re not going anywhere, do you hear me?”
“But the prophet, he said—”
“I know what he said, but I’m not going to let that happen, you understand? If you go, I go. And I’m not going.”
Isaac turned his head and looked up at me. “Really?”
“Really.” I stroked his head and was relieved when he didn’t jump at my touch. “You’ve been through more than anyone ever should. But it’s over now and your mother and I are going to do everything we can to help you heal . . . and to make sure your uncle Clarence is brought to justice for his actions.”
“Is he going to get in trouble?”
“I hope so.”
“Will he still be the prophet?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I sure hope not.”
“Me too.” Isaac sniffed and wiped his tears with his trembling fingers.
“Have you eaten anything today?”
He shook his head.
“Can you do that for me?” I asked, patting him on the shoulder. “I have to go, but I’ll check in with you later, all right? I promise.”
“Thanks, Papa.”
With anger brewing inside me, I left Isaac’s room and stalked across the house. I knew I couldn’t wait any longer before pursuing justice in regard to Clarence’s acts.
“Has anyone seen Aspen?” I called out to the common room as I passed through, scanning the area for any sign of her.
“She just left a few minutes ago,” JoAnna answered. “She ran out to the pharmacy.”
I stopped in my tracks. “Let me guess, for cola syrup?”
She tilted her head to the side with a bemused grin. “Yeah, how did you know?”
I shrugged with a sigh. “Lucky guess.”
Leaving my hesitation behind me, I walked with confidence and determination to the Colorado City Police Department. I was done playing games and whispering in corners. I was ready to nail Clarence to the wall, and I knew exactly who could help me.
Chapter 20
I saw her inside the office and for just a moment I felt betrayal sneaking in as I watched her talking to the detective. There was a familiarity there between them. Even without hearing their words, I could see that. She was comfortable around him, maybe even more comfortable than she was with me. And as much as that bothered me, I had to let it go . . . for now. There was plenty of time for Aspen and me to discuss her relationship, partnership, friendship, or whatever it was with the detective.
I looked at the name on the door. “Detective Jonathan Cooke.” Yes, I remembered him from that day at the park. It was time for me to make my entrance. Just before I turned the knob on the door, both of them turned to me.
“Detective Cooke?” I asked.
“That’s right.”
“Paul, I can explain,” Aspen began, stepping in front of me. Panic emanated through her voice, but I couldn’t lock eyes with her. I needed to stay firm in my resolve.
“Please, just listen to me, Paul,” she continued, pulling on my sleeve.
Doing my best to stay focused, I walked past Aspen, pushing her to the side gently with my arm as I approached the detective. His hand was extended and I shook it. His eyes widened in surprise. I used a firm grip to let him know that I was no one to be trifled with. As much as I needed his support, I had no plans to be a pushover with the police. Especially not one who was communicating with my wife secretly for months.
“What can I do for you?” the detective asked, placing both hands on his hips and exposing his badge.
Your badge doesn’t intimidate me, Detective.
“I want you to put Clarence Black in jail for the rest of his natural life,” I said as calmly as possible. I wasn’t about to mince words. Not today.
The room fell silent. Cooke tipped his head forward in obvious disbelief, and Aspen’s mouth hung open in shock, her skin pale, her eyes wide in total confusion. I knew her mind must have been racing a mile a minute.
“What?” Aspen blurted, but I ignored her.
“Excuse me?” Cooke asked. “I don’t think I heard you right.”
“You heard me just fine. Let’s take that son of a bitch down.”
Another pause hung over the room. Aspen and Cooke exchanged glances, and it pained me to see her communicate with another man without saying a word.
They know each other very well. Maybe too well.
You may have lost her, Paul, you stupid man. You took too long to hear her out, and now she’s found someone else to protect her.
Aspen, as if she could read the expression on my face, took my hand in hers. “Is this a dream? Are you really here?”
I turned to face her. “Detective, may I have a moment alone with my wife?”
Instead of answering me, the detective set his eyes on Aspen and waited for her response. She nodded to him, letting him know she was comfortable, and he left the room without another word.
“What are you doing here?” Aspen asked, an urgency and excitement hung in her voice.
“So much has happened; I’ve been trying to talk to you for two days now.”
“I noticed, but I thought . . .” She paused. “I thought maybe you were onto me, that you knew about Jonathan and me.”
I tilted my head to the side as adrenaline spiked within my gut.
Jonathan and me. No three words ever burned as much as those did.
Again, as if my facial expressions spoke thousands of words, Aspen took both hands in mine. “No, not like that. No, Paul. I just mean . . . well, I mean that he’s helping me. I didn’t have anyone else. I tried, you know I tried, but—”
“I see. Well, I’d like to help too, if you’ll have me.”
“If I’ll . . .” Her words trailed off and her eyes grew wet. She looked down at her feet, then back up at me. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you to say that. But I don’t understand. What happened? What made you change your mind?”
“There’s so much to tell you, and I have so much to apologize for, to repent and ask, to beg for your forgiveness. But for now, let’s just talk about the basics, all right?”
“Of course.”
I crossed the room to the door and invited the detective back inside. “Two nights ago, my son was brutally attacked, he came home with bruises and wounds I don’t even want to say out loud.”
“Oh no,” Aspen gasped. “Who?”
“Isaac.”
She gasped again, then sat on the nearest chair, clutching her mouth with both hands, her eyes pressed tight. “I ca—I can’t—”
“This is what we were afraid of,” Cooke said, shaking his head back and forth. “With so many victims, it was bound to hit close to home eventually.”
“Yes.”
“Is your son willing to press charges?”
“Absolutely,” I answered. “Is that all we need to do? Then you’ll arrest him?”
“Well, I’m afraid it’s not that simple. Your son will have to come in and give a statement, and we’ll have a stronger case if we can find more than one victim. Friends of ours are working on getting some statements from others who’ve left the compound.”
He used the word ours in reference to himself and my wife. I wanted to punch him in the throat. However, I followed the advice I gave my wives and children on the daily to keep sweet.
You must keep sweet, Paul. Besides, she turned to him because of you . . . because you turned your back on her. You only have yourself to blame. Keep sweet, you stupid man.
“Just tell me what to do.”
“Are you sure Isaac can handle that? From what Jonathan’s told me, there’ll be a trial. He’ll have to testify in court. He’s such a sweet boy. I just don’t know if—”
“He’ll be fine. He’s turning eighteen in a few weeks, and I’m confident he’ll handle it. I’ll help him in any way I can.”
The detective looked cynical. “Testifying to sexual abuse can be traumatic . . . for anyone. Maybe you should talk to your son first, make sure he’s okay with telling his story in a courtroom, to a group of twelve strangers. I just want you to be sure.”
“Look, I’m not taking this lightly, I’m not. I’m sure it will be one of the worst experiences of his life, but I’ll help him. I’ll explain that he’ll be helping thousands of people in our community—that he’s preventing other kids from being hurt. Isaac has one of the biggest hearts of anyone I know. He’ll want to keep others from going through what he went through. I know it.”
Aspen took my hand in hers and the detective cringed. “If Paul believes he can do it, then so do I.”
Pride swarmed my gut as I squeezed her hand in gratitude.
She’s coming back to you, Paul . . . you haven’t lost her yet. Hold on, hold on tight.
I swallowed hard. “Who are these friends you mentioned? The ones who are working on statements from other victims.”
I glanced at Aspen, but she looked confused. She shook her head and shrugged before turning to the detective for answers.
“Porter Hammond and his wife, Brinley. They used to be a part of your community.”
A vision of a kid with blond hair, blue eyes, and a lot of attitude crossed through my brain. “I knew Porter. He worked on one of my sites. Good kid, chip on his shoulder, but a good kid.”
“Well, he was . . .” The detective glanced at Aspen before continuing. “He was a victim.”
“What?” Aspen screeched. “He what?”
Cooke turned to Aspen. “I’m sorry that you had to find out this way. I was planning to tell you; it’s why I called your cell phone.”
Aspen stared off into space. “Poor Porter. Is he all right? I can’t imagine what he must be going through . . . and Brinley too.”
“That explains why he was pissed at the world,” I muttered.
“Yeah, something like that,” the detective said. “Statute of limitations keeps him from pressing charges, but he knows a lot of lost boys.”
Just Keep Sweet (The Compound Series) Page 16