He nodded, “Okay. I’m going. But I won’t be far.”
I followed Naomi to the sink and scrubbed while she entered the bedroom to examine Victoria. Emerging after a few minutes, she shook her head. “She’s got a way to go yet, Susana; she’s small, even for a first birth.”
Filling a basin with cool water, I entered the dark, cramped bedroom. Victoria lay on a lumpy mattress, her childlike face beaded with sweat. She smiled up at me as I bathed her forehead and arms and quietly visited with her. Once I was through, Naomi took her sister-in-law’s hands and pulled her up off the pillow.
“You need to walk a bit, Querida. Come on, you can do it.”
With Naomi’s help, Victoria stumbled through the small trailer as one contraction followed another. I watched Naomi, sensing her inner strength. Uncle Bud had indeed found himself a fine woman. Thinking about Bud reminded me of Aunt Thelma, and sudden loneliness for her left an ache in my chest. I missed her so much—all of them, Mark, Duane, Rena . . .
An hour dragged by, then another, as Victoria endured the excruciating labor. Watching her, I recalled James’s birth, nine months ago. I hadn’t been nearly as strong as this girl.
The sun was high in the sky, radiating a still, breathless heat into the little trailer. Outside the window, I could hear the rise and fall of the Zarate men’s voices as they lounged in the shade at the far end of the trailer to await news of the birth. Well, they wouldn’t have to wait much longer. Victoria was once again lying down, this time on the sterile sheets Naomi had pulled from her bag.
Victoria gripped my hand, staring wide-eyed and unseeing as she struggled against the pain. Tossing her head, she moaned, “Benjamin—Benjamin . . .”
“Susana, why don’t you—”
Suddenly from outside the window, a man’s high-pitched Spanish voice rose in an angry tone, drowning out Naomi’s words. “ . . . This land is our land, Benjamin! If you want to go on living here, you will pay us for it, or by damn . . .” Something vaguely, hauntingly familiar about the man’s voice prickled along my spine. What was it about that voice?
A cacophony of protests and threats interrupted the first man. Several began to talk at once. Startled, Naomi and I stared at each other, then our eyes dropped to Victoria’s face.
The girl’s agonized gaze lit on the window as she breathed deep with the labor, her eyes dilating as she looked away again. “No, no!” she gasped, rocking her head wildly back and forth. “Jesus, no.”
“Get out there and tell those men to move away from the window!” Naomi snapped to me. “Don’t they realize what’s going on in here? Tell those estupidos to go argue somewhere else!”
I hurried to the door; Naomi talked soothingly to Victoria.
“ . . . Isn’t that right, Ervil?” the first voice I had heard, the high-pitched one, started in again when I reached for the doorknob.
My heart skipped a beat as I swung the door open. Ervil LeBaron’s back was to me—that enormous back, covered in a bright silk shirt. His balding head was nodding an agreement. “We can arrange this amicably,” he reasoned smoothly. “I have no desire to evict you people. I’ll accept a transfer fee of a hundred fifty dollars per hectarea, if you like. It’s a fair price.”
“Ervil’s a fair man.” This was the high-pitched voice again, and as I recognized its owner, I gasped and stumbled backward.
My breathing almost stopped; my head reeled. The short, wiry man standing beside Ervil was the same man I had seen with him that night as I crouched behind the butane tank outside of Anna Mae’s home in Colonia LeBaron! Gamaliel Rios. The driver of that stolen car had been Gamaliel Rios, a boy I had gone to grade school with. “Maybe you will take care of Verlan, yes?” Ervil had laughingly said to him.
“Oh,” I groaned, suddenly sick to my stomach. It couldn’t have been Gamaliel! He wouldn’t be stealing for Ervil and discussing such a horrible thing as murder. He had always been a good boy.
“Joel gave these acres to us, you know that. He gave mine to me, and he gave Benjamin’s to him.” The man who quietly protested was Fernando Castro. He stood solidly in front of Ervil and Gamaliel, his thin body dressed in patched and faded clothing that perfectly suited his simple, unpretentious bearing.
As I stepped out onto the porch, the huddle of men seemed oblivious to my presence. Behind me I could hear Victoria moaning, and I knew that Naomi needed me. I had to send the men away and get back—but I stood frozen, unable to tear myself free from the drama unfolding before me.
As Ervil shifted his weight, I caught sight of Dan Jordan’s smirking face behind him. He seemed content to stay in the background and let Ervil and Gamaliel do the talking. I hadn’t seen Dan since my honeymoon three years ago, when Verlan and I had spent our wedding night in his and Sharon’s spare bedroom in Chihuahua City.
Why were all these Ervilites here on the Zarates’ land? What could they possibly hope to prove by their ridiculous claims against these poor people?
I scanned the faces of the six men at the end of the trailer, quickly noting that Benjamin Jr. hovered protectively at his father’s side. The older Benjamin’s agitated face was beaded with sweat, his chest beneath his ragged cotton shirt heaving with anger as he faced Ervil. Benjamin Sr.’s attention shifted to the young man on Ervil’s left, his old leathery face wrinkled with pain. Andres Zarate returned his father’s appraisal, his features cold and mocking.
My blood chilled. How could Andres be a party to Ervil’s efforts at taking his own family’s meager little acre of land? Oh, the wickedness of it! How could he side against his own flesh and blood?
Ervil ignored the looks that passed between the Zarates. He stared unblinking down at Fernando Castro. “Now come, Fernando, Joel had no business giving this land to you. It wasn’t his to give! The land on which Los Molinos sits was mine in the first place. It always has been. But as I said before, we can come to an understanding, one that will prove beneficial for all of us.”
Ervil cleared his throat, squared his huge shoulders, and puffed out his chest. “I want you men to know that I intend to bring about a great economic project here that can help the situation of you poor Lamanites. Look around you, man! This great valley will give us thousands of dollars if we only do a few things here to attract the Gentiles.
“Look over there by that salt flat, old Benjamin. We can build a grand, fancy hotel there with all its conveniences. We will put signs along the highway so the Gentiles will come here and leave their money with us,” a conspiratorial look flashed across Ervil’s face. His voice lowered in a confiding tone. Cupping his huge hands, he slowly moved them up and down. “Have you men ever held millions in your hands? Millions of pesos?”
Fernando Castro’s eyes briefly shifted to Old Benjamin’s disdainful face. Then he shuffled his feet, scratched his head, and grunted.
“Well, if you choose to side with me, you will have millions—but dollars, not pesos!”
Dan Jordan lazily drawled, “We want ten men. Both of you, Fernando and Benjamin, along with young Benjamin, here. Ten men who will not betray us. Find us the others, join our ranks, and we will make you rich.”
Fernando studied Dan’s swarthy, insolent face for a moment, then he turned back to Ervil. Somehow his voice remained calm. “We don’t need your promises of wealth. What’s the matter with you guys, anyway? Have you forgotten that our mission here is not to become rich, but to spread the gospel of Jesus? As for joining your ranks, Joel is our Prophet. You used to believe that too, Ervil. You are the one who converted me to the church, remember? You came on a mission to my home in Mexico City, where you baptized me and swore to me that Joel was a Prophet of God, sent to deliver the world from the hands of Satan. I believe that today with all my heart! We don’t need your money. We are already wealthy! We have the priesthood of God, and Joel in our midst.”
“Besides,” Benjamin Jr
. spoke for the first time, cutting off any retort by Ervil, “your big plans won’t work, because the land is rightfully ours. We are building our own city, which one day we will call the City of Zarahemla, a refuge for the righteous. God is blessing us here. As you can see, this desert is blossoming, just as the promise reads, becoming green and fruitful with the water pumped by the big windmills Joel built.”
Ervil threw back his head and laughed soundlessly, then wiped his eyes. “Those unsightly, farm-boy specials? Come on! They’re practically from the dark ages. Joel never has learned to change with the times.” He laughed again, shaking his head.
Andres snorted and motioned toward a distant windmill. “Take a good look at them, Benny boy. Those rickety old things are the best Joel will ever have to offer you.”
Gamaliel Rios impatiently waved the small talk away, intent on getting back to business. “Enough. You men have made your position clear. If that’s the way of it, then there is no deal, so we demand an immediate payment.”
Gamaliel’s words trailed off. A breathless, uncomfortable hush fell over the small crowd as Joel LeBaron strolled around the corner of the trailer.
Upon catching sight of the men in their rigid huddle, the tune Joel was whistling abruptly ceased. He looked from one tense face to the next.
“Well, here’s the farm boy now,” Ervil jerked his hand in Joel’s direction, not bothering to hide the sneer on his face as he looked him up and down. From his work boots and faded jeans to his sweaty, checked flannel shirt with its rolled-up sleeves, Joel indeed looked the part. The slight sunburn on his nose and broad forehead enhanced the image. He smiled good-naturedly and shook hands with Ervil and Dan. “Hello, didn’t know you men were in town.” He nodded to the other men. “What’s going on?”
“Unfinished business. I was letting these men know the land they’re on belongs to me.” Ervil coughed into his hand and casually leaned his shoulder against the trailer. “I’ll take a hundred fifty an hectarea for it. They’ve expropriated my land long enough, Joel. If they want to stay, they’ll pay.”
Benjamin and Fernando glanced at Joel, their expressions taut.
The Prophet’s eyebrows slightly raised. “You know that the church gave these men this land years ago. It’s theirs, free and clear. I’ll not have you hounding them.”
Ervil’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t want there to be any trouble, Joel, I really don’t. But I’m the one who arranged for this land in the first place, and since we no longer see eye to eye and have come to a parting of the ways, I plan to take my belongings, or at least the value of them, with me.”
Joel’s voice was so low I had to strain to catch his words. “You may have ‘arranged’ for the land, but you used church money to do it.”
The men surrounding Joel and Ervil stood silent, almost receding into a backdrop for this strained meeting between the LeBarons. Joel spoke again, his voice even. “Take anything of mine you want, but if you begin to take that which belongs to the needy Lamanites, I’ll stand in your way. If it becomes necessary to protect their interests, I’ll take you before the courts of the land.”
Ervil’s head snapped up, his face becoming a dull red as he stared at Joel. “You’ll what!” he rasped. “How dare you—” Growling deep in his throat, Ervil took a threatening step toward his brother.
Joel didn’t flinch. He stood in front of his followers, his legs slightly apart, his body relaxed. His eyes were devoid of anger; I sensed only sadness as he looked at Ervil.
Just as suddenly as Ervil’s violent anger flared up, it cooled off. “Do you know something?” he suddenly chuckled. “You make me laugh. A goat farmer who’s convinced himself he’s a spiritual leader! Ha, ha! You’re a dry well, Joel. You’re all washed up, and it’s a sad thing that these men can’t accept it!”
Ervil’s voice rose again, his eyes glowing with that unearthly light I had come to recognize. “You’ve let the Lord down, Brother. You’ve failed your mission, and you’re leading precious souls astray. You’re standing in direct opposition to Jesus Christ’s personal representative, and you’ll have to answer for it. Take warning, Brother Joel. The Lord requires payment for your sins. He requires a day of atonement. Blood atonement.”
Fernando and Benjamin Sr. gasped.
I frantically searched my mind, knowing I had heard the term “blood atonement” before. What was it?
Joel bowed his head. A heavy, unnatural silence hung over the group of religious rivals. Then Joel slowly looked up into his brother’s eyes. “The only thing the Lord requires, Ervil, is a broken heart and a contrite spirit,” he answered.
Ervil’s sensuous lips twisted. He began to say something, then bit the words back. Turning abruptly on his heel, he stalked around the corner of the trailer and headed for the road.
Dan Jordan, Andres Zarate, and Gamaliel Rios stood uncertainly. When Joel searched the faces of his former disciples, his eyes mirrored the deep, heart-wrenching sorrow in his soul. The three men looked away. Without another word, they scurried after Ervil.
Joel sighed as he watched them go. His shoulders suddenly sagged with weariness. Then turning back to the three men who remained, he draped an arm around old Benjamin’s stooped shoulders. In a comforting voice, he began to reassure the men of their ownership of the land.
My legs trembled as I stepped off the porch. Suddenly Joel straightened, turned, and regarded me. Concern creased his brow as he saw the terror in my face.
I searched his hazel eyes. Lifting my hand, I placed a shaking finger to my lips.
He threw me a quick, understanding smile. Grabbing Fernando’s arm, he led the men away from the trailer.
I fled back up the steps. As I pushed the door open, from the bedroom at the back of the trailer came the gasping wail of a newborn baby.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
"There!” I took a step back from the table, set my hot pad down, and sniffed at the glass pan filled with steaming, gooey, cheesy enchiladas. Verlan loved enchiladas. This supper was going to be the beginning of a special and intimate evening. Verlan, praise the Lord, was finally home from his mission to Utah, and for the first time in almost two months, tonight was my night.
“No!” I screeched as Melanie, a spoon in her pudgy hand, headed toward the pie sitting on the end of the table. “No, Melanie. That’s Daddy’s pie, his surprise. He’s coming to spend the night with us.”
Melanie frowned. Standing on tiptoe, she eyed the golden brown swirls of toasted meringue. Then she demanded, “Well, where’s my lemon pie?”
“If you’re a good girl, I’ll save you a piece of Daddy’s for tomorrow. Okay? But you have to go to bed early.”
Her rosebud lips pouted for a moment as she considered the deal. “Does Ivan get some, too? Does he have to go to bed early, too?”
“Ivan’s spending the night at Lillie’s. And, yes, he will have a piece of pie tomorrow.”
I smiled as I thought about Lillie. She had come over earlier today, through the field on the little path that had formed between our houses. Glancing toward my bedroom where only a sheet hung in front of the doorway, she had made a cheerful suggestion. “Why don’t you send Ivan to my house for the night? That way you won’t be so crowded.”
My face reddened a bit, but I immediately agreed. Lillie wanted my night with Verlan to be a memorable one.
Over the past eight months, Lillie and I had become the closest of friends. Time after time she had proved what a gracious and lovely person she really was, with constant thoughtfulness. Lillie had not only become a wonderful example for me, but a source of strength and moral support, as I knew I had become for her. I guiltily tried to ignore the memory of the long months I had allowed myself to openly resent her. I was amazed that true esteem and respect for my sister-wife allowed me to suppress the natural jealousy of knowing my husband loved her
and spent time with her. I actually found myself wanting her happiness above my own. And now Lillie had out done herself by wanting my night with Verlan to be a special one.
It will be special, too, I thought grimly, as I scurried around the house making certain everything was shipshape. But as I worked, a tiny finger of guilt persistently plagued me.
I had a secret—one that I knew I should share with Verlan. Yet telling him my secret would put a quick end to my plans for an intimate night in his arms. Past history reminded me of Verlan’s firm belief that it was morally wrong to have sex during pregnancy.
“You need this time with him, Susan,” I sternly told myself. “You’re lonely, and you’re only human! If you don’t take advantage of your night with him now, it’ll be too late for months to come. Stop feeling ashamed! One night of secrecy won’t hurt a thing. It’s not your fault he’s a fanatic.” Yet all the reasoning in the world didn’t change the nagging feeling that I was somehow culpable.
“You’ve been so down in the dumps, lately,” I grimly carried on my silent monologue as I fed the children and put them to bed. “You need your husband’s lovemaking. A woman needs that once in awhile. So just keep your mouth shut, and Verlan won’t know the difference.”
Shadows filled the house; I lit my lamps, then walked to my bedroom window and peered out through the darkness toward Lucy’s. Then I looked down the road toward Irene’s. Verlan’s lanky figure wasn’t in sight. Where was he? It was getting awfully late, even for him. He knew, of course, that I was expecting him. Maybe he’d run into Joel.
Turning on the oven, I rewarmed the enchiladas, and then wished I hadn’t as the minutes dragged by and Verlan didn’t show. With the children asleep, the house seemed terribly quiet, and I fidgeted. Rearranging the table settings took my mind off my absent husband for a few minutes, as did sewing the buttons back on James’s shirt. In desperation, I cleaned out my silverware box. And when I finally allowed myself to look at the clock on the wall, it was after eleven o’clock.
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