Righteous02 - Mighty and Strong

by Michael Wallace

  “Ma’am, if you don’t leave, I’m going to call security.”

  “That’s going to look good on the evening news,” Fernie said. “Because you’ll be carrying me out, screaming for my children. They’ll be crying, begging for Mommy. And there’s even a news crew downstairs interviewing legislators. They’ll be sure to hear the commotion.”

  “Nobody wants that,” the woman said. “Look, why don’t you give me your name and I’ll tell Mr. McKay that—”

  “Just tell him I’m here. Please. He’s taken an interest in my family, I’m sure he’ll want to meet me in person. You know he called my landlord and now I’m about to be evicted? I have nowhere to go.” She gave a significant look at her children. “We’re going to be in a homeless shelter and all because your office told them I might be doing something criminal. What? I have no idea, so I need to talk to him. It’s got to be a mistake.”

  The woman looked uncertain. At last she pulled off her headset and made her way into the back offices. The phone started to ring. Fernie hesitated, and then followed. She rounded the corner just as the woman made her way into a room with a plate on the door saying it was the attorney general’s office.

  She heard raised voices.

  “Yeah, I’ll see her,” said a man’s voice. “And I’ll have a DCFS social worker with me. Let’s see how she likes that.”

  Fernie pushed open the door. “Mr. McKay?”

  He stood behind a huge desk. Plaques, degrees, and other honors and official, intimidating papers and pictures covered the walls

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he snapped.

  Fernie found her courage. “I’m a mother. I’m trying to keep my children fed and off the street. You seem bent on making sure they’re hungry and homeless. Just leave us alone, Mr. McKay, that’s all we’re asking. Leave us alone.”

  “Excuse me,” the receptionist said, and ducked out.

  “Leave you alone? Your entire lifestyle is illegal. It’s wrong and immoral. Maybe if someone had told you that at some point, you wouldn’t still be living in these nasty little cults.”

  “I don’t understand. Aren’t you from the Ebeneezer McKay family? You’re like first cousins with polygamists. So why are you persecuting us?”

  His face turned red. “I’m not singling you out. My job is to enforce the laws of the State of Utah, and to make sure people like you don’t steal taxpayer money.”

  “Just wait until my husband comes back. You’ll be sorry when he finds out what you’ve been doing.” She regretted the words at once. They made her sound weak, dependent.

  “Your husband? Well, then, where is he? Do you even know?”

  “Out of town, but he’ll be back soon, and then you’ll see.”

  “What does that mean, out of town? Out looking for another wife? Some teenage girl, no doubt. Yeah, I’ll wait for him, and then we’ll nail him with statutory rape.”

  Fernie opened her mouth to snarl a response, but caught herself just in time. This contention was of the devil, and more than that, it would be stupid and counterproductive.

  “You people make me sick,” he continued. “You’ve been milking the taxpayers for too long. Not to mention welfare fraud, cheating on your taxes, the whole lot.”

  “I’ve never done anything like that, and neither has my husband.”

  “Your daughter out there, is she already promised for someone? Some old guy with a bunch of other wives? How old is she going to be when he takes her to bed? Thirteen, fourteen?”

  Fernie was shaking with rage now. She wanted to rebuke him, wished for the first time in her life she was a man, with the priesthood. Then she could call on the Lord to smite this wicked, evil man. She tried to open her mouth and say something, anything, but her mouth was dry, her throat tight.

  “Mommy?”

  She turned to see Daniel with the stroller, and Leah a step back. They must have grown nervous waiting. Nephi was awake and squirming to be picked up.

  “Did we get you in trouble, Mommy?” Daniel asked.

  “What? No, you haven’t caused any trouble.”

  “It’s just grownup stuff,” McKay added. “Here, I’ve got something for you kids.”

  Fernie turned, stared at him, blinking, as he went to his desk and rummaged for something. He returned with two hard candies, which he handed to the older children. He took a tissue and bent down to the stroller, wiped the baby’s nose. “Looks like you’ve got a cold, little guy.”

  “It’s allergies,” she said before she could stop herself.

  He stood up and his face hardened. Fernie took a step back, bewildered at the transformation from bureaucratic ogre to kindly uncle, back to ogre.

  “Now get out of here,” he said in a hard whisper, “before I call DCFS. They’ll get here so fast your head will spin. And we’ll find good homes for your children, where they won’t be raised in some filthy cult.”

  She fled.

  The receptionist, for all her obstruction earlier, gave a sympathetic shake of the head as Fernie passed back through reception. “Sorry, he can be a real jerk sometimes. You know, if you call back later, I can put you in touch with—”

  “Please, no, you’ve done enough already.”

  She pushed her way into the hall with the kids in tow. Only one thought passed through her mind, to get far away as soon as possible.

  #

  Another nasty surprise waited when Fernie got home. Maybe she could have talked them out of it if she’d gone straight home, but she came down the hill toward Temple Square first.

  She’d been afraid McKay would send someone to follow her, or even send social workers directly to the house. And she had the vague idea she could find Eliza on Temple Square, and that Jacob’s sister could help.

  But no, Eliza was on a mission, with little money. Jacob had even been sending her a few hundred dollars every month. And what was she going to do, walk away from her mission? Fernie stopped herself as soon as she got downtown.

  She rested just north of the intersection of South Temple and Main, next to the bronze statue of Brigham Young. Was there anything she could sell to raise money? Not really; they had no television and no computer. The furniture was second-hand, and Jacob had the car. Selling that might have been worse anyway.

  How long would Mr. Hoover give her? Surely it would take a week or two to evict her. He’d have to go to court, right, get an order? Then the sheriff would come. And none of that could happen until she was a few days behind in the rent. In the meanwhile, she might think of something, or Jacob might return, or at least call. For now, she should go home, not panic.

  Fernie was wrung out by the time they reached the Avenues, arms aching from pushing the stroller up and down hills between home and the capitol building. Daniel was dragging; she had to stop several times for Leah, who turned whiny. The baby was desperate to eat. Messy diaper, too. At least in the Avenues big mature trees draped over the sidewalk, providing relief from the late afternoon sun.

  There was a commotion on her street. People coming and going, what looked at first like a yard sale. When she got closer, she saw that it was in front of her building. Men carried out furniture and clothes and piled them on the front lawn. Who was moving?

  She was so tired, shaken from the confrontation with Parley McKay that it wasn’t until she saw Mr. Hoover directing the workers that she felt a twinge of alarm. She quickened her pace.

  That was her couch on the front lawn, her dresses they tossed in a heap. It was her bed frame, broken down, maneuvered out the front door by a pair of workers. Boxes, presumably loaded with her things, stacked next to the curb.

  “Mr. Hoover!” she cried. “What are you doing?”

  He turned, grimaced. He’d changed out of the bathrobe into a single-piece leisure suit. “You know, I didn’t want any trouble. I never wanted any of this.”

  “But what are you doing? This is our stuff, you can’t just move it out of our house.”

  “It’s really my h
ouse though, isn’t it. And if you can’t pay the rent, I have no choice but to—”

  “Rent isn’t even due until Monday. And I’m not stupid. Even if I’m late, you can’t just break into my apartment and throw my stuff to the curb. That’s against the law and you know it.”

  “I never wanted any trouble.”

  “You keep saying that. What does that mean, anyway?” Her voice rose higher with every sentence. “If you don’t want any trouble, why are you doing this? You’re the one causing trouble, not me!” Two men started to come out of the building, grunting and trying to maneuver the dresser through the doorway. “Stop that!” she shouted. “Put that back in there, you have no right.”

  Nephi’s cries turned to screams. His face reddened and snot trickled down his face. The commotion had drawn neighbors onto their porches. A kid on a bike pulled up and watched.

  “But the Attorney General called,” Hoover said. “And they said I should cooperate if I didn’t want any trouble.” He looked at the men standing in the doorway, now setting down the dresser and wiping at their faces. “Don’t stop, you idiots.” He waved his hands. “Get it out. All of it.” He turned back to Fernie. “Look, maybe there’s something I can do for you.”

  “Absolutely, there is. You tell these men to move my stuff back inside. And you give me a few days. I’ll get your stupid rent money. I don’t know what’s going on with the Attorney General, but it’s a mistake, it has to be.”

  “I was thinking about a shelter. My wife’s sister volunteers at this place downtown. You might look into it.”

  “We’re not going to a homeless shelter. I have a home. It’s right in there. I’m not even late with the rent, you jerk.”

  “I don’t like your tone of voice,” Mr. Hoover said. He sounded shocked, as if he were the aggrieved party. “If you were serious about wanting to work things out, you wouldn’t come here with that argumentative tone.”

  “Work things out? You’re hauling my stuff to the curb. What do you expect me to do, bring a plate of cookies and ask your forgiveness for not being late with the rent but for maybe, possibly having some trouble coming up with the money, when the rent is finally due?”

  Mr. Hoover took out his wallet. “I’ll tell you what. I never wanted any trouble, and I want to prove that I’m doing the decent thing. Here’s five hundred dollars. Once all your things are out you can give back the key and get some friends or family to get your things off the front yard.”

  “Five hundred dollars? What kind of man are you?”

  She could scream, she could make a scene. And then someone would call the police. She was paid through the end of the month, and even then there were rules. The police would have a hard talk with Mr. Hoover and he’d be forced to let them back inside, leave them alone until he had a court order.

  Except that the cops would show up, take one look at her, and know she was from a polygamist church. And their hearts would turn to stone before they heard the first word out of her mouth.

  And where’s your husband? Out of town, is he?

  They’d exchange glances. Probably hiding from the law, they’d figure, or shacked up with one of his other wives. And maybe they’d take her children, who were homeless now, after all. Wouldn’t help that Daniel and Leah were crying, that they’d hear the baby screaming from two blocks away. Messy diaper, hungry, face caked in snot.

  Could be that when Jacob returned they’d figure everything out and get the children back. But who knows how long that would take? She’d heard stories from other women in the church. The Division of Children and Family Services didn’t follow the same rules. They didn’t have to prove you were guilty to take your kids. It was up to you to prove you were not abusing them.

  “How about seven hundred?” Mr. Hoover said. He removed a couple more bills from his wallet, waved the money in front of her face. “You can get a start somewhere else.”

  “Our deposit is eleven hundred. This doesn’t even cover that.”

  “If I rent the place out, I’ll prorate back your deposit. Minus cleaning fees, of course.”

  “And in the meanwhile? Seven hundred won’t get me into another apartment, not even close.”

  “You could stay at a motel.” He nodded vigorously. “That’s right, a motel. You can do that until you figure stuff out.”

  Without a credit card? Looking like a polygamist, with three kids in tow? Sure, she could find some fleabag place to cram into, but how long would that last? A week?

  She closed her eyes, blocked the sound of her stuff moving onto the front yard, the crying kids, the baby screaming. A dog barked next door and she heard a car slowing, its tires crunching gravel, as it passed by the house. Fernie said a silent prayer.

  Heavenly Father, please help us. I beg thee, we are desperate. Please, show us mercy. Tell me what to do. Thou knowest I love thee, Lord, I seek to obey thee always.

  Except she hadn’t, had she? In spite of her talk to Jacob, the way she taught her kids, it hadn’t even occurred to her to pray for help. Not until she was standing on the curb, next to her possessions, broke and homeless. Maybe if she hadn’t been so hard-hearted the Lord would have shown her a way out.

  “Mrs. Christianson?” Mr. Hoover said.

  I am so sorry I didn’t pray for help earlier. But please don’t punish my children. Show me what to do, and I promise I will do it, just help my children.

  “Are you going to take the money?”

  She opened her eyes and saw the seven hundred dollars clenched in her landlord’s fist. He didn’t want trouble, no, anything but that. Give the woman a few bucks and you can wash your hands of the problem.

  Fernie looked at her belongings stacked next to the street. It was just stuff, wasn’t it? The Lord didn’t care about possessions. The same went for the flower boxes she’d planted, for the freshly painted cabinets that had made her so proud. Or the little patio in the back where she and Jacob would cook hamburgers on a hot summer evening. She’d set her heart on material possessions and look where it got her.

  And suddenly, the solution popped into her mind. The Lord gave it to her.

  She took the money and looked away rather than see the relieved, satisfied look on Mr. Hoover’s face. That would only make her angry.

  Seven hundred. It was enough to buy bus tickets.

  First thing, she had to feed and care for the children. She went to the boxes and found diapers, wipes, changes of clothes for the children, and her temple undergarments, plus another dress. She shoved these into a duffel bag, then hoisted it over her shoulder and turned with her crying children from the apartment. Better not look back.

  “And you’ll come back for your things, right?” Mr. Hoover called after her. “Mrs. Christianson? You’ll come get your stuff, right? When will that be? Mrs. Christianson?”

  Chapter Fourteen:

  “My name is Fear-Not. I am not afraid to kill or be killed. This blood I do freely shed in the name of He who is most holy and just.”

  Thus began the meeting of the three conspirators. The three men who would bring about the Millennium and the great and dreadful day of the coming of the Lord.

  It was dusk at the Gilgal Gardens, a few blocks from Temple Square. The small, gated public park was filled with all sorts of weird and wonderful sculptures, most strange of them being the sphinx with the head of Joseph Smith. A reminder of darker days from Mormon history, when the leadership took masonic oaths and fought persecutors.

  Those days had returned.

  Fear-Not turned to the other two men. “From this moment forward, thou shall be known as Zeal and thou shall be known as Vigilant. Bow thy heads and repeat after me.”

  They bowed their heads.

  “We are not afraid to kill or be killed.”

  “We are not afraid to kill or be killed,” they repeated.

  “This blood do we freely shed in the name of He who is most holy and just,” Fear-Not said.

  They repeated with fervor, “This blood do we fr
eely shed in the name of He who is most holy and just.”

  “Good, now tell me what you’ve seen.”

  “There are at least three agents,” Vigilant said. He fiddled with his combover. “And there’s a gray van that keeps parking around Temple Square, or one of the lots by the Conference Center. Different place every day. Probably surveillance.”

  Vigilant wasn’t a random name. The man could walk through one of the crowded visitor’s centers and come out with an accurate count of men versus women, children, foreign-looking sorts, tourists versus locals, sister missionaries, and so on. If someone or something looked out of place, Vigilant would note it.

  Too bad he looked so out of place himself. He’d shaved off his beard, tried to dress like a mainstream Mormon in a cheap suit, but it didn’t help. There was something about his face that said polygamist.

  Zeal, on the other hand, looked like any young guy you might see downtown. Generic features, neither good looking nor ugly. Average height, average build, average dress. He’d have been perfect strolling in and out of Temple Square except that he was the opposite of Vigilant. A herd of elephants could trot beneath Eagle Gate, right down State Street, and if you asked if he’d seen anything unusual, he would shrug and look puzzled.

  Zeal had other uses.

  “What about the girl?” Fear-Not asked.

  “The missionary? She’s watching us,” Vigilant said. “And there’s something funny about her. I could be wrong, but I think she’s one of us. Raised in the Principle.”

  “I wondered the same thing. So how did she get to be an LDS missionary?”

  “I could grab her,” Zeal said. He rubbed his hand against the oversized nose of the Joseph Smith sphinx. “Bring her here and question her. Or put her in the back of the truck and toss a tarp over her. Drive her up to the hills.”

  There was something intense about that rubbing and a gleam in his eyes. Fear-Not wondered just what form this “questioning” would take. The boy was the sort of weapon that needed to be guarded carefully, he decided.

  “No, too dangerous. It’ll be hard enough to get to the senator. If they double security, the whole thing could fall apart. Last thing we need is for them to start watching us.”