Favorite Wife

by Susan Ray Schmidt

  Well, why not my home? I’d asked. Well, because Lillie’s was more comfortable and nicer, and she had a washing machine and a closer well for water. Didn’t I think that was a better idea? She’d already agreed and was glad to share her house. Couldn’t I be just as gracious and show a bit of gratitude for her sweet hospitality?

  You mean her sweet charity, I’d thought. But I’d swallowed the words and reluctantly nodded. Verlan didn’t need my nasty mouth to add to his troubles. Besides, I was feeling too desolate and frightened not knowing when, or even if, I would see him again.

  Upon our arrival at Los Molinos, I dutifully packed the children’s clothing and necessities. I would no longer have Ivan, since Jeannine was staying on in San Diego for a while, and had kept him with her. I boxed up his few remaining things. Then we left our little house with its bare, cheerless kitchen and frugal belongings, and trudged over to Lillie’s. She’d made a pallet for the kids on the living room floor. She and I would share her bedroom with the frilly lavender curtains, matching bedspread, and soft purple rugs.

  With reluctant acknowledgment, living with Lillie was comforting. She was a meticulous, organized housekeeper, and I learned how to keep ahead of housework and laundry. Her special rule was—don’t make a mess and you won’t have to clean one up. She was also a great cook and could make a variety of dishes from our meager supplies. We did everything together—the laundry with her gasoline-powered Maytag, the cooking and cleaning. We even prayed together at night for Verlan’s safety and quick return to us. Together we did the grocery shopping, attended church on Sundays, and occasionally invited Donna, Rhea, and Laura over for cards and fudge. Irene seldom joined us. She was in a world of her own and refused to let us share her private anguish.

  The people of Los Molinos continued with life in a daze. Church meetings still took place every Sunday with some of the Mexican brethren presiding, but the heart and drive and joy of serving the Lord was missing and seemed out of reach. The once booming little town was hushed. Children played quietly, and the streets were desolate.

  As for me, I locked my sorrow and confusion far away into the back of my mind. I couldn’t bear to dwell on the Chynoweths, Lorna, Ervil, Joel, the church and what was happening. I was afraid that if I started thinking, I would lose my mind. I tried to not think of Verlan often.

  As the weeks passed, Lillie missed her period. She’d become pregnant in Colonia LeBaron, on the night she’d spent there with Verlan. I didn’t let her know, but I was angry. In spite of Verlan’s grief over Joel’s death, he’d obviously been able to make love to Lillie. He’d hardly even spared me a kiss the whole week, but Lillie had managed to pull him away from his cares long enough to get her pregnant. I enjoyed the feelings of anger. I could deal with anger better than loneliness.

  The days slowly passed, with little change in our routine. One day while the children were napping I walked to my house and wandered through the dusty rooms. I’d stayed with Lillie long enough. The steady, close association was beginning to get on our nerves. I was tired of her constantly cleaning after me. If I pulled something from the cupboard and left it to sit more than a moment, she would be at my elbow, putting it away. And if I left my dirty plate on the table while I attended to my children, she was right there, scooping it up and hauling it to the sink. She had the bed made before I was hardly up, and was continually scolding Melanie for picking her roses. If this continued, I feared that our relationship would suffer. I didn’t know when Verlan would return, and I decided I couldn’t wait for his permission. He’d been gone for two months, and we hadn’t heard a word from him. People said they’d heard he was in Illinois, visiting Nauvoo and other famous historical places where Joseph Smith had lived, but that was just a rumor. I had begun to miss him terribly, and felt awkward letting Lillie see how forlorn I was. She seemed to stay cheerful and upbeat and had accepted his lengthy absence in stride. She never complained, as I did occasionally.

  I stopped in my kitchen and observed the bare room. My house needed kitchen cupboards and work areas desperately. The makeshift boards I’d used for a temporary work counter had to go. This was a start.

  I hurried across the field to Lucy’s and searched through the goat sheds and storage room. Leaning against the back of the goat sheds I discovered several two-by-fours and a couple of old, manure-stained sheets of plywood. A filthy porcelain sink, lying in a mud puddle, caught my eye. I gleefully examined it. In the shed I found another treasure, an almost-full gallon of white enamel. Elated, I hurried to Irene’s to borrow the pickup. I had to load the items myself, since the big boys were all in school. Struggling with the sheets of plywood and the old sink, I eventually got them loaded. Then I raided the storage shed for tools, nails, and a paintbrush. Grinning, and truly excited for the first time in weeks, I hauled the supplies to my little house.

  As I wrestled with the big sheets of wood, Lillie hurried across the field and gave me a hand. “What are you doing with all this stuff?” she asked curiously. She turned her nose up at the dirty sink and wiped her hands on her pants.

  “I’m making myself some kitchen cabinets,” I announced, laughing. “Wanna help me?”

  “You’re kidding,” she scoffed. “You need some decent wood, for one thing. That stuff’s gross. Do you know how to build?”

  “No,” I said cheerfully. “But I’ll figure it out.”

  She shrugged. “I honestly think you’ll be wasting your time. I’ll watch the kids for you, but I don’t think I’d be any use to you here.”

  “That’s fine. Thanks,” I smiled, refusing to let her dampen my spirits.

  I worked for days on my new project. I drew my plan up on paper, then bravely measured, marked, and began cutting with my handsaw. I had no wood to waste, so I had to be careful. Most of the time, I took the children with me and let them play as I worked. One day when we went to Lillie’s for lunch, she didn’t join us as usual, but stayed busy washing windows as we ate. I put the kids down for a nap and returned to my project. That evening, she hardly spoke to me, and when I asked what was wrong, she answered that nothing was wrong. The next day she was the same—silent and preoccupied. I was putting the final coat of paint on my cupboards and anxious to see the finished results, but I finally threw my brush down, frustrated. I stomped across the field and onto Lillie’s utility porch where she was doing the laundry. “Okay,” I snapped. “What are you mad about? Tell me, dammit!”

  She scrubbed at a sock, her face red. Then shrugging, she said, “Okay. I’m mad because you hardly help me around here anymore. You don’t do a thing except take care of your kids and work on your cupboards! Susan, you’ve lived with me for almost three months now, and you haven’t washed windows even once! I’ve washed them every time they’ve been done! I don’t think it’s fair!”

  I stared at her in consternation, my eyes wide. “You mean you wash your windows that often? Gosh Lillie, if they were my windows, they’d be lucky to get washed once a year. It just never occurred to me that you should wash ’em more than that. I never even thought about it. Why didn’t you ask me?”

  She shrugged again. “I just thought you’d offer on your own, I guess.” Her mouth formed a thin smile. “Okay. Now I understand. And it’s okay, really. It’s my mistake. I’m sorry I got so mad. It was dumb.”

  Her smile slowly dissolved, and tears flooded her cheeks. Dropping the wet towel she was wringing into the tub, she sat on the edge of the porch and began to sob. I sat beside her and put my arm around her shoulder. I hugged her and kissed her cheek, and she cried harder. “What is it?” I whispered. “What’s the matter?”

  She shook her head, unable to speak. I waited, and finally she hiccuped and moaned, “I miss Daddy so much! Oh Susan, I can’t believe he’s dead! He was so good to me! And I miss Verlan so, so much! Do you think he’s okay? Why doesn’t he write to us? How can he be gone so long, and not even send word that he�
�s all right! I’m just, so—so sad! I never thought I’d hate anybody, but I’m so mad at that damn Ervil I could shoot him myself!” Her body shook with misery.

  I jumped up and stomped my foot. “Yes!” I hollered. “Let’s do it! Let’s find us some guns and go track him down, you and me! We’ll blast him into Kingdom Come, the old bastard! Come on, Lillie, go change your clothes!”

  I hitched at my pants, fiercely yanked my hair back and started braiding it, and Lillie burst out laughing. She leaped up and hugged me, and together, we went inside to check on the children.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Verlan’s long legs, muscular and sexy in his baby blue Levi’s, swung freely from where he sat perched on my new countertop. I stood in front of him bristling with fury and scorn, while his blue-green eyes pleaded, begged, and insisted that I accept the current, sharp knife he was plunging into my very soul.

  He’d arrived from his eleven-week absence today, a few minutes ago, and the first thing out of his mouth was that he had to leave again, tonight. Why? Because he had to go back to San Diego to see a young woman named Kim.

  “Honey, she likes me, I know she does, and if I don’t get back there now, she’ll take off with Steve Silver to Israel. I’ve got to stop her—don’t you see? Before she’s gone and out of my reach. Please understand!”

  “Oh, this is just wonderful!” My voice was cold and insulting. “Here, the whole foundation of the church is at stake, and you’re wanting to go off chasing another woman! Aren’t there more serious issues to deal with right now, such as putting the church back in order? How can you even consider pursuing another girl?”

  My anger, my reasoning, and my tears had been to no avail. Numbly I stood at my front door and watched his retreating back as he dashed on over to Charlotte’s. I could only imagine how she would take this latest news. When had Verlan found the time, or the inclination, to court Kim? I just couldn’t believe it! Where were his priorities? I shook my head and went back inside.

  Steven Silver, our schoolmaster at the Los Molinos School—the man who had been one of the LDS French missionaries, had left us right before Joel’s death. To the shock of the whole church body and especially to us at Los Molinos, he’d given up on our religion, abandoned his first two families, and had only taken Carolyn, his third wife, with him. Lanky, redheaded Kim was Carolyn’s teenage sister. According to Verlan who had received this bit of information from Irene only minutes ago, Steve had convinced Kim to go with him and Carolyn on their journey to Israel to join a kibbutz. Hence we had Verlan, earnest knight in shining armor, to the rescue. I wanted to slap his handsome face.

  Joel had been dead for almost four months, during which time Verlan had been traveling around the United States and staying out of Ervil’s way, while at the same time working with the authorities to have Ervil arrested for masterminding Joel’s murder. He and Sigfried had also notified the FBI and the California State Police, and had contacted rival polygamist groups throughout Utah, along with the Mormon Church leaders in Salt Lake, warning them of Ervil’s madness and his written intentions to mete out further punishment.

  In his ongoing pamphlets that were sent to our people, Ervil had threatened: “The first thrones that will be cast down in this great work are the thrones of the false kings in the priesthood of the different groups of Mormondom.” In another pamphlet Ervil wrote: “The most flagrant and criminal violations must be stopped first. The one single violation of the law, which God hates more than any other, is the crime of ecclesiastical treason. This monstrous crime is presently being openly and flagrantly committed by almost all the different sects and churches of Mormondom. All those who should not hear the word of the Lord that this servant would bring forth would be destroyed.”

  Ervil, Dan, and others of his group signed these types of warnings, couched in religious jargon. They were either sent by mail to our church members or handed out on our meetinghouse doorsteps by the handful of Ervil’s followers who still lived among us. Most of his people had gone into hiding, as had Aunt Thelma and her children. Uncle Bud occasionally came to Los Molinos to see Naomi, who was still refusing to leave her Zarate relatives and join Ervil’s followers. The few times I’d bumped into Bud, I’d gotten the impression that he was straddling the fence between Joel’s people and Ervil’s group. He refused to discuss his position, and would only tell me that Aunt Thelma and the others were somewhere in the San Diego area. The whole situation made me nauseous.

  I wondered what the Chynoweths’ lives, as Ervil’s puppets, were like. How could they stand living in hiding like wanted criminals? But that’s what they were. Police investigators had circumstantial evidence that Mark was involved in the plot to kill Joel. I could see Dan Jordan being a murderer, but my sweet cousin, with all that musical talent, conspiring with these horrible men to kill our Prophet? It was more than I could comprehend. Uncle Bud had told Naomi on his last visit that Mark had married Ervil’s daughter, Lillian, a girl I’d gone to school with in Colonia LeBaron. So now Mark was Ervil’s son-in-law. And, Rena was most likely married to Ervil by now. Lorna, Rena, and Mark, all now in Ervil’s immediate family. His carefully spun web around the Chynoweths was complete.

  And here was Verlan, running off to chase yet another girl—Verlan, who had left his seven families practically destitute and ignorant of his whereabouts. The audacity and stupidity of his latest urge continued to stupefy me. How, Lord, how could I uphold my husband in this? How could he justify it? I was truly confused.

  I’d begun to study the Scriptures in an effort to find for myself what I believed in. Ervil’s writings were what triggered my interest—as had the provoking words of Brother Tim Neil during the last conference meeting in Colonia LeBaron, when he’d challenged the church’s women to read and study, and stop leaning on the arm of flesh. Tim Neil’s accusation had made me realize how well I fit into that category. I was no longer a child, I needed to know for myself that our church doctrine was true, especially now that Joel was gone.

  Until Joel’s death I’d never had a single doubt that the Church of the Firstborn was all it professed. But what, now that Joel was gone? Still no one had come forward claiming his Office of Moses, the Office that was never to leave the earth again, according to the Doctrine and Covenants. Verlan and the other leaders were standing in as best they could, but they didn’t hold the Mantle of the Priesthood, or the Scepter of Power, the authority needed to set in order the house of God. Nor did they hold the sealing Keys to perform Celestial, or plural marriages. Something was amiss, and I felt a growing anxiety. Evenings of late I sat at my kitchen table and pored over the books our church considered as scripture, the Bible, the Book of Mormon, the Pearl of Great Price and the Doctrine and Covenants, in an effort to understand what God required of us. There were so many of them that I felt overwhelmed at the task.

  Although my study plan was our doctrine as a whole, I found myself becoming focused on what the scriptures said about plural marriage. This unorthodox practice of ours was a major part of our lives and beliefs; it had to be God-ordained, and must stand up to scrutiny, or the very foundation we based our church on was wrong. I searched every reference I could find. I started with the Bible.

  In Genesis of the Old Testament, the subject was first mentioned. In the sixth chapter, men, whose normal life span exceeded 800 years, began to notice the beauty of the daughters of men, and began to marry as many of them as they chose. The Lord said to this; “My Spirit will not contend with man forever, for he is mortal, his days will be a hundred and twenty years.”

  I gaped at the verse, grabbed my dictionary, and looked up the word contend. Its meaning was, “to fight, to argue, to strive with.” I sat back, excited. God obviously was angry at these men’s choice to take more than one wife, and to punish them, he shortened their life span by hundreds of years! I read furiously on in Genesis.

  Chapter six,
verse five, went on to say that the Lord had seen how great man’s wickedness on the earth had become, and that men’s hearts were filled with evil all the time. The Lord was grieved that he had made man, and His heart was filled with pain. He would wipe humanity from the face of the earth and start over.

  The only righteous man was Noah, who had one wife. Noah was commanded to build the ark and take his one wife and his monogamous sons and their wives, into the ark. Even the animals that were taken into the ark were in pairs, one male and one female. Then came the rain for forty days. The flood wiped out everyone on the earth but Noah’s righteous family. And what started all this? According to my understanding, it was God’s anger at man for his corrupted ways, which included his plurality of wives.

  God promised Noah that never again would He destroy the world by flood, and that men should live out their lives as long as the earth endured. After many fruitful years in the New World, man began the practice of polygamy once again. Along with the other laws and ordinances God gave to Moses was the one which said that if man should marry a virgin, and desire to marry another, that he must not diminish the first wife’s raiment, apparel, and duty of marriage. This was not a commandment to live polygamy, but a rule to abide by if man chose to do so. In other words, God was saying okay, do what you will, but you must at least be able to afford the luxury of more than one wife before indulging in this practice; this, I do command.

  I turned to the New Testament. It hardly mentioned plural marriage, except for both Paul and Timothy’s warnings that leaders in the church shouldn’t practice it.

  The Book of Mormon mentioned the practice in several places, and each one condemned it as being evil and disgusting, and not to be lived by God’s chosen people. In Jacob 3:5 it said: “Behold, the Lamanites your brethren, whom ye hate because of their filthiness and the cursing which hath come upon their skins, are more righteous than you; for they have not forgotten the commandment of the Lord, which was given unto our fathers—that they should have save it were one wife, and concubines they should have none, and there should not be whoredoms commited among them.”