Favorite Wife

by Susan Ray Schmidt

  We drove on through the streets of Chihuahua, leaving the poverty stricken section with its adobe shacks and lean-tos, behind. Dan maneuvered the car into a nice residential area and pulled into the driveway of a cream-colored, brick home. Wearily, we piled out of the cramped car.

  Verlan’s long legs had been scrunched the entire, three-hour trip, and he stretched and groaned, “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m ready for a nice, soft bed.”

  Dan had to eat and run to work, so Sharon bustled around the homey kitchen, cooking potatoes and eggs. In spite of my growing dislike of Dan, I felt sorry for him. He had been up all night, for the meeting and then the long drive. I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open, and I wondered how he could go to work.

  After breakfast, Verlan pushed back his chair. “Sharon, where do you want Susan and me to rest?” he questioned. His eyes looked strained and bloodshot, his face pale with weariness.

  My heart pounded at his question, the blood rushing to my cheeks. “Oh,” I said quickly, “I’m not ready to go to sleep yet. I’m going to help Sharon clean up the kitchen. You go ahead. I’ll take a nap later.” He didn’t argue. He followed Sharon to a bedroom down the hall, and in a matter of minutes I could hear him snoring.

  “What are the plans for your honeymoon?” Sharon asked as she pushed a broom across the floor. She looked exhausted, and I decided that when the dishes were done, I would nap, so she would feel free to rest.

  “I haven’t had a chance to ask Verlan yet. We got married so quickly, and we’ve hardly seen each other in the last two days. I’ll just have to wait and see what he has in mind.” I dried the last pan, then turned to her. “Would it be all right if we go downtown later on? I need to buy some shoes.” I lifted my foot so she could see the holes in the toes of my sneakers.

  She grinned. “Looks like you could use a new pair. Sure we can. Now, I’m going to bed! Are you ready to relax for a while?”

  She waddled off to her room, and I lay on the couch. I couldn’t bring myself to enter the bedroom and lie with Verlan. The thought was all too new and scary. I tried to imagine lying next to him—what it would be like, and I shivered with nervousness. For him, it would be no big deal. He had slept with a variety of women for years, with five wives before me. I remembered Irene’s joking words a few nights ago at Grandma’s, when she told me that Verlan would get a “hot surprise” when he got into bed that night. A hot surprise! She’d sounded as if she enjoyed the thought. It worried me a lot. Verlan was used to hot surprises, and I knew almost nothing about sex. It had all been shielded from me at home. Mom was very prim and old fashioned and the subject had never been discussed.

  I remembered one time when my curiosity about the male anatomy had gotten the best of me. Shaking with shame, I’d peeked through the curtain that hung in front of Jay’s bedroom door, knowing he was taking a bath, and dying to get just a glimpse of what a naked man looked like. I had to know, I told myself, so I could put my curiosity to rest. What I saw on the other side of the curtain was my dear, innocent brother, kneeling at his bedside in prayer. I could have cried, I felt so evil, and I thought the Lord had planned it that way to teach me a lesson. I shifted uncomfortably on Sharon’s couch. Soon I would have my answer.

  It was three in the afternoon when I awoke. Bright afternoon sunlight streamed through Sharon’s living room window, and Verlan was leaning over me. “Why are you sleeping out here?” he demanded. “You should have come into the bedroom. I don’t bite.”

  Maybe not, I thought as he hugged me, but you snore. And heaven only knows what else you do. I smiled into his eyes.

  Sharon came out of the bathroom, braiding her long hair. She looked rested, her dark blue eyes sparkling in her thin face. “Do you want to go get your shoes now, Susan?” she asked.

  I shyly looked at Verlan. “Do you mind? Dad gave me the money.”

  “Let’s go,” he said promptly.

  We drove to downtown Chihuahua and wandered down the crowded street until we came to a shoe store. I tried to appear calm and indifferent, but I was quivering with excitement. In the fifteen years of my life, this would be the second pair of brand-new shoes I ever had. I remembered the first pair. It was right before we moved to Mexico, when I was six and just starting first grade in Arizona. My father had taken me, bouncing with excitement, to buy me my first pair of new shoes. “We can’t have our girl starting school without new shoes,” he had said.

  I’d stared in awe at all the beautiful shoes, my attention focusing on a pair of black patent leather ones with bows on the toes. Gleefully I had pointed them out to Dad. “Those are the ones I want,” I had shrieked. Dad paid no attention to me. After careful deliberation, he picked up a pair of boy’s two-tone oxfords, bent them at the toe, examined the stitching, and then motioned for me to sit down. Horrified, I had watched as he tried them on me. “There,” he’d smugly said as he waved my protests away, “Those ought to last you for a while.” I wore those shoes to school in shame. They were ugly, boys’ shoes, and all the prissy girls at school had teased me. This time, I promised myself, I was having a pair of pretty shoes. I was a married woman with my own money, and I deserved to have something nice.

  We walked into the store, its huge windows displaying the latest shoe fashions for the entire family. A gentleman in a suit and tie hastened to be of assistance. “Sí, Señores, what can I help you with?” He respectfully bobbed his head.

  I hesitated momentarily. Buying shoes was new to me, and I wasn’t sure how to proceed. I opened my mouth to tell the man that I wanted a pair of black, patent leather shoes, with bows on the toes, shoes that shined like his hair.

  “Here, Señor, the young lady would like to try these on,” Verlan commanded. In his hands he held a pair of shoes, and he gave them to the man. With a quick jerk of his head, Verlan motioned for me to sit down.

  Openmouthed, I stared at him, the blood pounding in my ears. Surely he wasn’t planning to choose my shoes! Verlan’s blue-green eyes never wavered as he stared back at me.

  “Sit down, darling,” he said gently, “let the man try them on you.”

  I stood frozen and humiliated, with three pair of eyes watching as they waited for me to obey. I wanted to scream in protest, inform Verlan that I was a grown woman, and that I would choose my own shoes. But the words wouldn’t come. They choked in my throat as I stared at my new husband, the man who only hours before, in a long and solemn ceremony, I had sworn before God to obey.

  Shuddering with the effort, I forced my muscles into action. I sank into the leather seat. Oh, Lord, I silently, desperately prayed as the little man knelt in front of me. Don’t let them fit.

  He gingerly removed my tattered tennis shoes, holding them carefully away from his body with the tips of his fingers. He replaced my old shoes with Verlan’s selection—a pair made of brown leather, with square toes and sturdy heels, ideal for mountain climbing. The shoes slipped perfectly onto my feet and the salesman laced them up tight. He pinched the toe to check for fit, then triumphantly nodded as he stood up and grinned at Verlan. “Sí, sí! Son perfectos. Son perfectos!”

  My vision blurred and my head throbbed as I stared at the ugly shoes. I hated them! I despised myself too, for not having the nerve to say anything, but marriage was all too new to me, and I didn’t know what my rights were.

  Verlan was watching me, a contemplative look on his handsome face. “Go ahead and walk in them,” he said impatiently.

  Dutifully I obeyed. Words of rebellion were in my head but choked out of utterance. I felt stifled and out of control of the situation. How did a bride argue with her groom, when he was twenty-three years older than she, and the President of the Twelve Apostles? Verlan stuck out his hand. I put my ten-dollar bill into his palm and watched without a word as he paid for the shoes, pocketed the change, then ushered Sharon and me out of the store.

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nbsp; “Real fine, then!” he said happily. “Those ought to last awhile!” Where had I heard those words before? I plodded along next to him, too mad to see.

  Sharon’s eyes met mine as we climbed back into the car. Why did you let him do that? She silently questioned me.

  Verlan seemed oblivious to my withdrawn mood. As we drove through the streets of Chihuahua, he talked to Sharon, asking her about the historical landmarks of the city. She drove past a huge marketplace that was under tents, where the smell of fried Mexican food permeated the air. I brooded in the back seat of the Volkswagen. Was I being childish and silly to feel so upset? Maybe Verlan made all the decisions for his wives. I wondered if he selected their shoes, also, or if he thought that I was so young and inexperienced that I needed someone to choose for me. Well, I would have to put a stop to it in the future.

  Sharon pulled up next to a little stand along the road and purchased zucchini squash and tomatoes. “Let’s go home and make supper,” she said.

  Dan was on the couch, gently snoring, as we walked into the house. We tiptoed past him and on into the kitchen. “Poor baby,” Sharon crooned, looking at him from the kitchen doorway. “He won’t be much company tonight.”

  Good, I thought. I had dreaded the possibility of another doctrinal discussion between Dan and Verlan. It made me uneasy, and I knew Verlan wanted no part of it. I wondered how long he planned for us to stay here, and I hoped tonight only. I wanted time alone with my husband—time to get better acquainted before we arrived in Baja where the rest of his family was. I’d thought constantly of the shoe incident, and was convinced that it was nothing more than a misunderstanding. Verlan was wonderful, thoughtful, and loving, and I needed more patience. I wanted to recapture the closeness between us, the feeling of companionship that we had experienced before the wedding. I needed to behave as a wife behaved, and then he would surely stop treating me as a child.

  Sharon made a delicious dish with the zucchini and tomatoes, and she cooked steaks that were pounded thin and breaded. She called them “Milanesa.” We squeezed lime juice over the top of the meat, and the dish tasted exotic and delicious.

  Dan joined us at the table, his eyes swollen from lack of sleep. With his mouth full, he began as I knew he would, to talk doctrine. “Verlan,” he mumbled through the food, “I want to show you a place I found in the D&C that backs up Ervil’s position on the Civil Law. I don’t think you’ve really studied on this before, Brother, and I’d like to help you to understand. Maybe there’s hope still, that we leaders of the church can see eye to eye.”

  The “D&C” Dan was talking about was the Doctrine and Covenants, the book of revelations from God to Joseph Smith. I glanced at Verlan, and could feel him tense. He chewed, then swallowed and answered, “I’m willing to listen, but it’ll to take a lot to convince me.”

  “Well, for your sake I’m going to try,” Dan said wryly.

  I glared at him. Boy, didn’t he think he was something! Verlan made no comment, and I admired him for not losing his patience. If he were speaking to me, I would have wanted to smack his insolent face.

  After the meal, the men retired to the living room. As Sharon and I did the dishes, I could hear Dan’s nasal voice as he read aloud. I tried to ignore the sound, and I wondered how long this impromptu meeting would continue. As the time for my delayed wedding night drew near, I hoped the meeting would linger. I was scared.

  “Susan,” Sharon said suddenly. “If there’s anything I can do for you, or any questions you have, I’d be glad to help you. Feel free to ask, okay?” She was smiling at me, and I nodded, my face flaming.

  All too soon, Verlan called to me. “I’m going to get ready for bed. I’ll be waiting for you, honey.”

  I fidgeted nervously. Dan grinned at me as he walked into the bathroom. “Just make yourself at home, Susan,” he drawled. “Take a bath, or whatever. Take your time.”

  I glared at his back. He was so smug! I sat alone on the couch for a few minutes, searching for the courage to face my wedding night. Finally I walked into the bedroom.

  Verlan was in bed with the covers pulled up to his chin. He winked at me as I grabbed my suitcase. “I’ll be right back,” I muttered.

  Sharon was in the bathroom combing her hair. I joined her, set my suitcase down, and closed the door. She glanced at me in the mirror, then turned to me questioningly. “Everything okay?”

  “I do have something to ask you,” I whispered.

  “Go ahead, honey. Don’t be afraid to ask.”

  I looked down at the floor. My face burned as I asked, “Do you think I should wear my bra to bed?”

  Her effort as hiding a grin failed. “If you do, it won’t stay on very long.”

  I nodded and felt miserable. She consoled me with a gentle pat on the shoulder. “It’ll be okay. Just relax and enjoy it.” She patted me again, kissed my cheek, and left the bathroom.

  I stared after her for a minute, then locked the door and undressed. As I showered I thought about Aunt Thelma. At home on the day of my wedding, she’d pulled a pale pink negligee out of her suitcase. Holding it in front of her, she’d danced around the bedroom, singing, “Boy, won’t ol’ Verlan love this!” She’d handed it to me with a sweep and a curtsy, and I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that I wouldn’t wear something like that. My dilemma was, I didn’t have a real nightgown. There had been no time to think about it in the two busy days before the wedding, and now I found myself in a quandary. Should I wear the sheer nightie, or a tee shirt and panties? In desperation, I searched my suitcase, hoping for a miracle, a nice, long flannel nightgown. I groaned as I slipped Aunt Thelma’s nightie on and looked in the mirror. My full breasts, the nipples appearing dark and round, were plainly in view through the filmy, pink material. No! I told myself in panic, this won’t do! What would Verlan think? I removed the frothy, wisp of nothing, put my bra back on, and pulled my red tee shirt on. It reached my waist, leaving my white panties and pale legs uncovered. I can’t have him see me like this, I thought grimly. I yanked the nightie on, over the tee shirt. Why, oh, why hadn’t I anticipated and prepared? I didn’t even have a robe.

  The lights in the hallway were off, and Dan and Sharon’s bedroom door was closed. I tiptoed to our bedroom and stood outside the door. My heart pounded alarmingly as I tried to convince myself that I could do this.

  My hand shook as I opened the door a fraction, reached, and flipped off the light switch. Then I ran swiftly and threw myself onto the bed, diving under the covers. I did it quickly, and it occurred to me that I was in bed with a man for the very first time.

  “Hey! Wait a minute,” Verlan chuckled. “You didn’t even let me see your nightgown!” He reached over in the darkness and shoved at me, trying to push me off the bed. When I wouldn’t budge, he crawled over me and turned the light back on.

  “No, Verlan, no!” I shouted in panic. “I don’t want you to see it! Please don’t look!”

  “Shh, Shh!” He darted a hasty look toward the door. “Keep your voice down, Dan and Sharon will hear you!” He eyed me in exasperation, and then flipped the light switch back off. “It’s all right for me to see you, now, sweetie. You’re my wife, remember?” He crawled back over me and got under the covers.

  As Verlan had stood in the light, it shocked me to see that his body was covered, to the wrist and ankle, in long white garments, the type that Mormons wore who had been through the temple ceremonies. They wore the garments as a symbol of purity, and as a covenant with God. Why Verlan wore the garments of another church, didn’t make sense, but I couldn’t worry about it now. I would have to ask about this later, when I knew him better. He looked strange, with black tufts of hair poking through the three sets of strings that tied the top of it together. A pair of white briefs, over the cotton leggings, covered his hips. I felt the urge to giggle. My wedding night attire couldn’t look stranger than my br
idegroom’s did.

  I trembled as I stared at the dark ceiling and waited for Verlan’s hands to touch me. I was as far over on my side of the bed as I could be. I knew I was being childish. I loved him, and I was his wife. I shouldn’t be afraid. But I was afraid, and I jumped when he reached for me. He casually ran his hand up and down my back. The material of Aunt Thelma’s nightie was smooth and thin over the top of my tee shirt, and Verlan’s hand stopped abruptly.

  “What are you wearing this thing for?” He demanded, pulling out on my bra strap.

  “I always wear it to bed.”

  “Humph,” he growled. “You should take it off. It cuts off the circulation during the night. What’s this thing?” He was yanking on the sleeve of the tee shirt. I ignored him and turned away from him. The silence between us grew, and as the minutes passed, I wondered if he was asleep. Then out of the stillness, he whispered, “Can I?”

  The uncertainty in his voice amazed me. Verlan, timid and hesitant? This important man, with five wives, was as nervous about our wedding night as I was! He seemed at a loss as to proceeding. My fear of him lessened considerably, and I began to feel in control of the situation.

  “Can you what?” I whispered back.

  “You know.”

  “No, I don’t. Can you what?”

  Verlan sat up in bed, his voice filled with whispered alarm. “You don’t? Susan, don’t you know?”

  Immediately my heart went out to him. I couldn’t bear the uncertainty in his voice. “Yes, Verlan, I know,” I patted his arm in reassurance.

  In one movement, covers were tossed aside, my panties were removed, and Verlan’s garment-clad body settled on me. His hard, dry kiss stifled the silent screams that arose as burning agony tore through me. My invaded body trembled with pain and shock, and my hair became damp with the tears that ran from my eyes.