Grandma LeBaron was looking a bit better than the last time I’d seen her. She was still teaching piano, she told me, but only to a handful of students now. They helped her temporarily forget her dear son Joel, and her precious son Ervil. She kissed my children and fed them bread and honey, and she wanted to know all about Verlan and the other girls. I didn’t want to talk about them, and I left as soon as I could. Being around Grandma made me feel guilty.
My sister Fara was living in El Paso with her husband John and his first wife, Robin. Fara was doing well—Dad told me—and seemed to fit right in with her new family. They were planning to move to Colonia LeBaron soon.
My youngest sister, Mona, had been staying with Dad and Maria, but to my delight, she immediately hauled her few belongings across the back yard and announced that she was my new roommate. At sixteen she was a shy girl with immense, dark-lashed cerulean blue eyes and long, honey-blond hair, and a soft little chin that quavered at the slightest harsh word or look. She was in her junior year of high school, and caught the bus at the highway every day to Buenaventura. She was so homesick for Mom and deliriously happy about having me home again.
Jay had moved Carmela and his new wife Karen to the acres of land he’d purchased twelve miles from the colony, parcela land. As the other American men had done, he’d secured it in Carmela’s name, because she was a Mexican citizen. He’d built two homes and was planting pecan orchards. He already had several acres of baby trees that his wives took care of during the week while he worked in New Mexico. Carmela had three children now, and Karen, a slim, attractive blond, had a baby daughter. Carmela confided in me that Jay was in the process of courting another Mexican girl, Luz Vila, the daughter of one of the colony residents. Carmela was incensed about it. “He doesn’t even have time for us, Susan!” she declared in exasperation. “He’s only home on the weekends, and he has so much work to do, with the orchards and all. We hardly see him . . . I just don’t know what to do.”
How well I understood! I nodded in sympathy and bit back a nasty comment regarding my brother’s increasing lack of devotion to her, his childhood sweetheart, as he became more and more important in the bishopric of the church. Carmela didn’t need to hear that from me, and I certainly didn’t want to begin my new life with a negative attitude toward my darling sibling. I felt wonderful being away from Los Molinos and all my sister-wives and heartache, and even to be away from Verlan and the constant reminder of how topsy-turvy my own emotional life was.
I knew my spiritual life was suffering. I still prayed every day, but my prayers were perfunctory words that I no longer felt in my heart. I couldn’t feel close to a God who was so solidly aligned with his sons, and who valued his daughters only as vessels for bearing more sons. I tried not to be angry, but I couldn’t seem to control my feelings. Maybe someday I could accept it, but for now, I didn’t want to think about it. All I wanted was to relish the associations of my family and friends, enjoy raising my children, and keep all thoughts of plural marriage and what it entailed far away. Verlan’s new wife, Helen, his cousin Theron’s widow, lived across town, but I hardly saw her except at church, and I’d managed to steer clear of her even then. I had three lovely, healthy children, and that was plenty for me. I didn’t need Verlan anymore. The others could have him. Just as long as his three boys working in San Diego kept my twenty dollars a week coming, I would be just fine.
On November 9, 1973, Ervil was sentenced to twelve years imprisonment by the Ensenada court. Although the sentence seemed ridiculously short for such a crime, we at the colony rejoiced that justice was finally being served, and we breathed a sigh of relief. Our joy was short-lived, however. The following month on December 14, a higher court in Mexicali, Baja California, ordered Ervil’s release. Lack of evidence was the reason given for the change of verdict, but bribery was of course suspected. Dismay and apprehension once again reigned throughout the church. So much effort on the part of Verlan, Sigfried Widmar, Ossmen Jones, and the others, and all for nothing! Ervil again roamed free.
The sound of someone knocking woke me from a sound sleep. I pulled my robe around me, hurrying to see who needed me at this hour. I glanced out the kitchen window as I unbolted my door. The first whispers of a rosy, late December dawn were creeping across the sky. The year 1974 was fast coming to a close.
Joel LeBaron Jr. pushed the crack of door I was peering through further open, and unbidden, stepped inside. Even in the poor light I could sense the fear and horror in the brown eyes of the late Prophet Joel’s twenty-two-year-old son. Joel Jr. had been only twenty when his father was killed. The past two years had matured him into a true leader among us.
“The Ervilites just attacked the Los Molinos colony!” he rasped. They shot people . . . some are dead . . . burned the whole town . . . Grab your kids and find a hiding place, they’re headed here next . . . ”
“What?” My heart leaped into my throat. My body began to tremble as his words sank in. The past year since Ervil’s release had been one of constant foreboding. We lived each day expecting another disaster, and now it had happened. I grabbed Joel’s icy hands, needing the human feel of his closeness. “Oh, my God!” I moaned. “Who’s dead? Who, do you know? Charlotte and her kids are still there . . . and Ester . . . Oh, Joel . . . Who . . . who all, how bad is it, and how do you know the Ervilites are headed here?”
“I don’t know the details . . . just that thirteen or more are wounded and at least two are dead . . . Alma’s wife Luz called from San Diego. They’re all certain Colonia LeBaron’s next . . . We need to be ready!” He squeezed my hands, then pulled away from my frantic fingers.
“Find a spot out in the peach orchard, or somewhere. Take water and blankets, and a gun if you have one . . . The cowardly bastards threw cocktail bombs on the houses, so we need to expect the same here. I’ve got to go—and warn the others.”
Within minutes, Mona and I had the children bundled up and our necessities thrown together, and we headed out into the frosty predawn. We scurried around the barn and chicken coop, then ducked through the barbed wire at the back of Dad’s lot.
“Run! Run!” I gasped, pushing at Melanie’s back. I clutched James’s hand and half-dragged his small body across the uneven ground. We had to make it to the trees. They wouldn’t find us in the trees. Mona raced next to us, baby Jeannette bouncing up and down in her arms.
Our rushing steps through the frozen underbrush crashed in my ears, and I cringed. The early morning silence seemed ominous, and I darted a quick look behind us. Halfway through the orchard, I found a tree with a particularly large ditch bank around it. We dropped a blanket and hunkered down under the low, frost-covered branches, then covered up with a heavy quilt.
“What’s happening, Mama?”
The terror in my oldest daughter’s eyes mirrored my own fear. She was so little, so helpless. How could she ever comprehend that her own uncle wanted to kill us?
Mona’s gaze met mine for an instant. Then she buried her chalk-white face against Jeannette’s blanket-wrapped body and slumped against the tree trunk.
My voice quivering, I whispered, “All of you be very, very quiet. Be real good and don’t worry! We have to stay here for a while, so let’s just get comfortable and take a little rest.”
I peered over the ditch bank. I could just make out the back of Dad’s barn through the bare trees. Dad and Maria had gone to El Paso on business, and their kids were staying at Maria’s parents’ place across town. Oh, why weren’t they here with us!
Thoughts of Los Molinos, Verlan’s families, and the others there—bloody and dying—God, please, let them be okay, just let them be okay, my mind chanted. Just let Charlotte and the kids, and Ester and her little ones, the Tippetts, the Babbitts, the Castros, the Zarates . . . Please Lord, please! Don’t let them be dead or hurt!
Thank God I had decided to leave . . . And, oh! Thank God that Verlan and
the others were in Nicaragua! He would have been their prime target.
Los Molinos was burned. My house there, with its rose-colored windowsills that I’d painted so carefully, was it still standing? Well, it didn’t matter. If only our people were all right. But some of them weren’t; they were wounded and dead, Joel Jr. had said . . .
Who of Ervil’s people had done this dastardly act? Gamaliel Rios, probably, and Andres Zarate, the young man who had led Jeannine and Kathy on the wild-goose chase in Ensenada when Joel was killed. Ervil himself wouldn’t dirty his hands—and Dan was still in hiding.
Roosters were crowing. A dog yapped, and another one answered. Jeannette began to squirm and fuss, and James raised his blond head and whined that he had to pee. His nose was running, and he was shivering. We were all freezing—how long were we supposed to stay here? I took the baby from Mona’s arms and shushed her. Mona helped James unzip and had him kneel in the bushes. Next to me, Melanie began to sniffle.
“Suze, how long should we wait?” Mona whispered. “We can’t stay here all day, it’s too cold! What should we do?”
“I don’t know! I don’t know,” I whispered back. Not even an hour had passed. The sun was up now, but was heading into a mass of heavy gray clouds, and at best would give little warmth. But if we went back, we could be in danger. What were the rest of the colony people doing? Everything was so silent!
“We’ll hear them if they come! We should go back home; I’ll keep watch!” Mona pleaded. “Besides, we can’t stay here all day! We need to find out what everyone else is doing and if everyone’s okay.”
She was right. I nodded and straightened my cramped body upright. Jeannette’s round face was ruddy with cold, and I pulled her blanket over her head. “Okay, let’s go,” I whispered. “But quietly. No talking.”
The children trotted obediently after me, with Mona and her armload of blankets acting as rear guard. We scuttled across the yard and into the house like a strange assortment of burglars. The house was chilly with no fire. I hesitated to start one for fear the smoke would broadcast our presence.
“Feed the kids, and stay inside,” I ordered Mona. “I’m going to Nadine’s to find out what’s going on.”
I dashed across the street and tapped on the door of Jay and Carmela’s old dream house—a bigger and nicer place now—where Joel Jr. and his second wife, Nadine, lived. There was no answer. I tapped again and called out. The house remained silent. I ran up the street to Elizabeth Jensen’s place. She opened the door immediately and pulled me inside.
Elizabeth, an attractive, middle-aged widow, was alone but didn’t seem frightened. We would be okay, she assured me. Some of the men had gone to Casas Grandes and were bringing back the National Guard to keep watch over the colony until the threat was over. I should go home and take care of my children.
The only new details she’d heard about the raid on Los Molinos was that it had been a pickup-load of men with guns and Molotov cocktails; Babbitt’s tower had burned to the ground, and the roofs of several homes had burned, and two young Mexican men had died. She didn’t know their names.
Young Mexican men. The relief I felt was overwhelming—quickly followed by guilt for being so happy it wasn’t women or children. None of Verlan’s family was dead, if Elizabeth’s information was correct. How long before we would know? And how long would Ervil and his followers keep us captive in our own homes? His lunatic doctrine was plain and simple: If we refused to be his disciples, he would kill us. And if we joined him, we would be the killers of others. How could this happen to us, the Church of God? Was this part of the test we had to endure, to earn our way into the Celestial Kingdom? I hurried back to my family, my mind a whirlwind.
Jay arrived at noon to take us to his “ranch” at Spencerville. As we left the colony, guards with khaki-colored uniforms stopped Jay’s pickup, recognized him, and waved us through. Seeing rifles in their arms was scary, yet comforting to have the soldiers hovering at the colony’s entrances. How long they would stay, no one knew. But I guessed not long—perhaps a few days.
The two young men who had died were new to Los Molinos, Jay told me. They had just come from Puebla, down past Mexico City, and weren’t even members of the church. Ossmen Jones and brother Perez had brought them and several others to Los Molinos, promising them a better life with our people, and land of their own. They had never even known Ervil.
Thirteen others had been wounded. Among them was an old Mexican grandmother, two pregnant Mexican women, one being Victoria Zarate, the brave young wife of Benjamin Zarate—whose baby I’d tried to help Naomi Chynoweth deliver. Benjamin himself had been shot in the head and was in a coma. Two of Fernando Castro’s sons were also wounded—Fernando Jr.’s hand had been severed.
The next bit of news was the worst of all. Mark, Duane, and Rena Chynoweth had been recognized among the group of Ervil’s people who raided Los Molinos. They were in the back of the pickup, and threw the bombs and shot the rifles at the innocent residents of the tiny town where the Chynoweths once lived.
For two days Mona, my children, and I stayed at Carmela’s. Their place was a mile from the highway and hidden by trees, and Jay was certain we would all be safe. He didn’t return to the States to work, but spent every day in the colony, holding meetings with Alma and the other men. It seemed wryly weird to me that Jay was a counselor in Alma’s bishopric, and his right-hand man—since Alma was the one who had objected so strongly to Jay marrying his stepdaughter, Carmela. Mean old Alma had eaten crow where Jay was concerned. Maybe my brother got along with him now, but I still couldn’t tolerate him.
Dad and Maria were finally back from El Paso, and Jay took us home. The soldiers still hovered at the entrances to the colony. They were supposed to stay on guard for a month, Jay told me; then the colony men would take turns. Each family was to have a place of hiding prepared, and in the event of a warning by the guards, we were to go to our hideout and stay until further notice. Our plan wasn’t foolproof, but the best the men could offer for now. Surely the authorities would catch the people who had executed the raid soon, he said.
I shuddered when I thought of my cousins going to jail. Even Rena, with her laughing eyes and smiling lips, had taken part in the raid! I wondered what Aunt Thelma thought of her precious children now? Was she proud of them, thinking they had done a service to God? Or was she sickened and desperate to get them away from Ervil’s clutches? In spite of what they’d done, I loved them still. They were under Ervil’s malevolent spell, and my heart ached for them. But for God’s intervention through Verlan and Irene, I too, could have been doing those wicked, horrible things.
Slowly, we all in Colonia LeBaron became accustomed to our new way of life. I showed Maria and Dad our peach tree with the high bank around it, and we cached water and plastic-wrapped blankets there. Dad oiled his old 30-30 and rarely left the house. Our church meetings went on as usual, but men with rifles stood outside the doors, bundled and braving the cold winter air.
Verlan had immediately flown back from Nicaragua, arriving at Los Molinos in time for the funeral of the young men who died. I got this information from Ossmen. Verlan had called him on church business, and given him a message for me. He loved and missed me and hoped we were all well. He had lots to tell me, and he would come as soon as he could. I was to please go see his mother and give her his love.
I had news for Verlan, too, for when he found time to come see us again. As careful as I’d tried to be, the one time I’d been with him on his last, quick visit to the colony had left me with a tiny keepsake. The thoughts I’d been toying with—to become independent and live a carefree life as a single woman—were dashed away. I couldn’t deny it to myself any longer. I was pregnant with my fourth child.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
After several days of rain and wind, the sun had finally returned, and the chilly March morning wa
s just warm enough that I allowed Melanie and James to bundle up and play in the yard. They’d been cooped inside long enough—we couldn’t hide forever.
While washing my breakfast dishes, I watched them through the window. Melanie was squealing excitedly about something she’d found and babbling to James nonstop as they wandered around. He followed her like an adoring puppy, and looked so cute in his red coat with the hood covering his wavy, platinum blond hair. He was getting so big! He’d be three soon. Born on his late Uncle Joel’s birthday, on July 9.
In the back bedroom, Jeannette had awakened. I dried my hands and threw another quick peek out the window, then hurried to her. Her sleeper was soaked—I would have to put some water on to heat. I put her in the high chair, and as I reached for the water bucket, Melanie’s piercing scream electrified me.
She was always squealing about something, but this was different, and I glanced, startled, out the window. The children weren’t in sight. Rushing out the door, I scanned the yard—nothing. She screamed again from the well house, and I dashed inside.
Melanie’s terrified eyes met mine from where she knelt on the boards covering the well, over a hole left by an eight-inch steel pipe that Dad had removed. Her arm to the shoulder was in the hole, clutching something I couldn’t see. I dropped down beside her, reached in, and grabbed James’s wrist from her tiny hand. His little body swung back and forth beneath the boards under our feet, and Melanie’s grasp was all that had kept him from falling into the deep well beneath us.
I tightened my hold on his wrist. I could barely see his little face looking up at me. As I tried to lift him back through the hole, his head, together with his raised arm and shoulder, wouldn’t fit. How he’d fallen through such a tiny hole was a mystery, but I couldn’t get him out. I was kneeling on the eight-foot boards, so I couldn’t move them.
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