Favorite Wife

by Susan Ray Schmidt

  Fara was also living at the colony now, with her two-month-old son, Sam. Her marriage had crumbled right before Sam was born, and she had quietly settled back into single life. She’d moved into an adobe house near the highway. Another house close to hers sat vacant, and she suggested that it should be my new residence. We could live by each other, and keep each other company, which sounded good to me.

  Jay made the arrangements for me to use the vacant house and offered his pickup and services for the move. His new Mexican wife, Luz Vila, came with him to help, and soon I was all settled into the “hill house.”

  Verlan came back to town a week later. He arrived in the middle of the night, and brought Charlotte and all but her three oldest children with him. They’d spent the night at Grandma LeBaron’s. Verlan was in the process of moving them to Nicaragua.

  “Honey, I’m planning to get them settled, then I’m coming for you,” he announced. “I don’t like having you live here; I never get to see you. I’ll be spending lots of time in Nicaragua now, and I want you there with me.”

  “Absolutely not. I won’t go,” I said stubbornly. I stirred the eggs I was scrambling and added salt, then I opened the oven and pulled out the toasted bread. I spread butter on, my shoulders stiff with determination. He couldn’t make me go. I’d barely gotten settled, and I had my family all here. My life was orderly and pleasant. I wouldn’t do it.

  I’d reluctantly let him in last night. He’d knocked and woke me, and though my heart had skipped with excitement at the sound of his voice, I’d reluctantly unlocked the door.

  I’d discovered something in the past several months—a feeling I hadn’t felt in years. I was actually happy! I’d learned to manage my four children just fine by myself. I had the association of my mother and sisters and brother, and I didn’t have the heartache and loneliness that had been mine on a continual basis. Though I felt a twinge of guilt and pain when I thought of Verlan and the rest of the family, mostly I was content. True, I missed Verlan’s kisses and lovemaking—but the lack of turmoil in my life more than compensated.

  I placed the plate I’d prepared in front of Verlan and sat down at the opposite end of the table. My coffee cup, filled with hot water, was grasped firmly in my hand, and I spooned instant coffee grounds in and added sugar and cream. I stirred and took a sip, then boldly met his eyes.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he roared. He picked up the small bottle of Folger’s Instant and examined it at arm’s length. Then he screwed the lid on tight and rolled the bottle across the cement floor. “Susan LeBaron, I’ll not have you breaking the Word of Wisdom!” he flared. “Put that in the garbage where it belongs, and stop acting like a rebellious child. What’s gotten in to you?”

  I calmly took another sip. “This is my house, not yours. I arranged for it, I moved myself here, and I’ll drink coffee under my own roof if I feel like it.”

  He jumped up and wrestled the cup out of my hand. He dumped the creamy brew into the sink and slapped the cup on the counter, then picked the jar up from the floor and threw it in the garbage can.

  “I’m the patriarch of this church,” he icily reminded me. “If I can’t control my own wives, how do you expect me to control anything else? How do you think it would look to have my own wife acting like this?”

  I sniffed. “I don’t care how it looks. It’s just coffee, for heaven’s sake. I’m not running around with another man or anything, although I’ve thought about that, too. What do you care, you’re not around anyway.”

  His face was grim as he stood over me. He stared at me and slowly shook his head. “So, this is what I get, for being good to you and letting you live here so you can be around your folks.” He shook his head again and sat down to his cold food.

  He took a bite, then shoved the plate away. “I’ll be back from Nicaragua in two months. I have to spend a bit of time in San Diego, then I want you packed up and ready to move. Can I count on your support?”

  “Why me?” I snapped. “Why not Lillie, or Beverly, or Ester? I don’t have the slightest desire to move to the jungle, Verlan! You won’t stay there, anyway—it’s just another one of your crazy ideas, just like Los Molinos was. I’m happy here! This is my home, and I’m not going to Nicaragua, not even if you beg me.”

  He stared at me, his eyes cold and stormy. “You want to know why you?” he asked. “I’ll tell you why. The other girls aren’t rebellious like you are. I’m not worried about leaving them! I hardly dare to leave you, just look at the way you’re behaving!”

  The children, awakened by all the noise, trailed into the kitchen, and Verlan cheered up and passed out hugs and kisses. Jeannette refused to go to her father at first. He had to coax her to sit on his lap, and she stared at this huge stranger with big, troubled eyes. “I’m your daddy, precious,” he assured her, kissing her round cheek. She looked to me for verification, and I bit my lip and turned my back.

  He stayed and played with the kids for an hour, then promising to be back later to finish our conversation, he climbed into his truck. “There’s another matter I need to visit with you about also,” he casually said when he backed away.

  What he wanted to discuss I had no idea, but in any event, I wasn’t interested. I went inside and shut the door, then dug my bottle of coffee out of the trash and hid it in the cupboard. I made my bed, memories of the wild night I’d spent with Verlan haunting me. Thank God I’m still nursing Forrest, I thought grimly. I don’t have to worry about becoming pregnant.

  The “other matter” Verlan had mentioned was Elizabeth Jensen, the widow lady who lived close to my mother. She became Verlan’s ninth wife the following evening, in a simple, private ceremony in her home. Verlan stayed with her for two days, then he and Charlotte’s family left for Nicaragua.

  In spite of my anger at the suddenness of it, and at the whole idea of Verlan marrying widows, I liked Elizabeth. She was bubbly and friendly, and I decided I didn’t mind too much that she had joined Verlan’s family. She occasionally came to the hill house to visit with me during the next few weeks, and I could tell she was independent and wouldn’t be demanding on our husband’s time. She had simply chosen Verlan to be her “spiritual head” as single women were supposed to do.

  According to a rule of the church, single women had to choose a holder of the priesthood to make all the hard decisions for them, whether they chose to marry the man or not. Women weren’t considered fit to make their own decisions. I sniffed when Verlan explained this rule to me. I’d made my own decisions for some time now, or hadn’t he noticed? Besides, as soon as Verlan and Charlotte left, I became more determined than ever that I would separate from Verlan. The time I’d spent with him only served to make me realize how little I needed him or wanted him in my life. I cared about him and his family, but I was no longer in love with him. The relief I felt at this realization was enormous. Where this all would lead me, I had no idea, and at this point I told no one.

  Something else I couldn’t tell anyone was that I was attracted to another man. David Stubbs, Lane and Harv’s brother, belonged to another fundamentalist organization in Arizona. David came to Mexico occasionally to visit his relatives. He was young still—only in his thirties. He had two wives, but that didn’t bother me; I was used to polygamy, and I knew David would never have a harem as Verlan did. He wasn’t a member of our church, of course, but at this point, it didn’t matter much. The thought of going to the Celestial Kingdom didn’t appeal to me as much as it used to, now that I fully understood that even there, women were subservient to the men.

  David had flirted with me outrageously at the Saturday night dance last weekend. He was blond and gorgeous, with the sexiest blue eyes and smile, and he could sing as well as any country star I’d ever heard. Naughty thoughts of David filled my head. I fantasized about him for several days, until the horrible realization that my period was way over due. My wi
cked thoughts came to a crashing halt.

  Oh, how could this be! I’d spent only the one night with Verlan, and I’d been so sure I was safe! Never before had I gotten pregnant while nursing—everyone said it was the perfect form of birth control. I’d barely got my figure back! I couldn’t possibly handle another child! What was I going to do?

  My unrealistic fantasies of David and freedom vanished like an illusion, and gloom, thick as heavy fog, encompassed my soul. I had no choice. There was no way I would go through my pregnancy as a single woman and have to deal with the wagging tongues and the suspicious glances I knew would be cast in my direction. With one hasty roll in the sack, for the time being, Verlan had won.

  Nicaragua was like being in another world. Endless coffee-bean fields grew on rolling hillsides, surrounded by thick, dark jungles. Villages were few and a good distance from one another, though an occasional bamboo hut was seen along our route. The village people were fairly well dressed, but the dark-skinned country natives wore scanty clothing. The terrain was unbelievably beautiful with lush vegetation and the strangest trees I’d ever seen, many covered with vines and flowers. I looked for monkeys, but didn’t spot any although Verlan assured me they were out there. A panther did run across the narrow road ahead of us, and I was satisfied that indeed, we were in a jungle as savage as Africa’s.

  Once we left the pavement, we traveled for thirty or more miles on a narrow dirt road. Then Verlan drove through a two-foot-deep creek surrounded by willowy bushes, spun the wheel to the left, and navigated up a little hill. A huge, faded red barn sat before us. Verlan stopped the truck and turned off the engine. “We’re home!” he said cheerfully.

  As wives and children ran out to greet him, it reminded me of that day, seven years ago this month, when Verlan had taken me as his new bride to the house in Ensenada. I had been so full of excitement and anticipation then. Now all I felt was a dull dread. I smiled though, and hugged everyone, and pretended to be happy. Charlotte, too, hugged me tight and treated me with such warmth that I was amazed.

  Verlan had tried to prepare me for the dwelling, but he didn’t do it justice. It was a nightmare. The barn was drafty and had dirt floors. Lucy and Irene and their combined eighteen children lived in it, with all the kids sleeping in the ladder-accessible loft. Verlan had built Charlotte’s family a small, four-room house higher up on the hill. Behind the barn was a storage room where we would sleep.

  The creek ran around the hill, which was the cleared side of the property. Verlan and the older children took me on a tour of the much larger, jungle side, where we walked single file through the trees, then over a log spanning a rivulet, until we came to a large clearing where Verlan and the boys had planted a garden. The corn was already two feet high, and Verlan was ecstatic when he examined all the growing vegetables.

  “This is wonderful!” he shouted. “We don’t even have to water it, what with all the rain. Honey, this is the main reason why I wanted to come to Nicaragua. We can grow anything here!”

  I tried to be happy for him. But I felt hollow inside, and without a word I started back down the path to the barn. The sky had been blue and sunny on our way to the garden, but now the sky was gray, and the rain came swiftly. I was soaked through as I walked into the kitchen.

  Irene’s older girls were feeding my children beans and bread at the split-log table. I dropped down beside them and lifted Forrest onto my lap. The open kitchen door allowed the rain to blow in onto the dirt floor, where water puddles had turned into mud. Flies carpeted everything. The girls and I shoed them from the food, but they returned in swarms, and I wanted to scream.

  Instead, I handed Forrest to one of the girls and hurried outside, where the rain had become only thin drizzle. The storage room had been cleaned out before we got here, and now contained two beds, a dresser, a small table and chairs, and a gas stove. The floor was packed dirt. My few boxes sat on the bed, and I had just started unpacking them when Irene walked in. She took one look at my face, and silently took me in her ample arms.

  “You’re going to be okay, sweetie,” she said as I sobbed. “I’m here, and we’ll be company for each other. Our life’s not so bad. You’ll get used to it—I did. At least we don’t have to worry about Ervil here.”

  I nodded and wiped my eyes; then, pulling away, I sat down. “I don’t know how you stand it,” I whispered, my chin quivering. “How have you stood it this long, and what’s the point of it all? Oh, Irene, maybe you’re cut out for this, but I’m not. I can’t bear to have my children here, living like this on dirt floors. Forrest isn’t even walking yet. What’s he supposed to do, crawl in the mud?”

  She pursed her lips and was silent. Then sighing, she pulled out a chair and sat. “Look, we can either make the best of the situation, or choose to be miserable,” she said quietly. “I don’t know what the Lord has in mind for us. But I love Verlan and intend to support him in this. I know it’s hard! I don’t understand it all, either, and I’m not convinced that this will ever be a gathering place. But Verlan’s the best we’ve got for a leader right now, and we need to make his life easier, not harder. So let’s find the good things about Nicaragua, and not worry about the little inconveniences. Okay?”

  Feeling chastised, I dried my eyes and reluctantly nodded. Life was what you made it, and no one knew that better than I. There had to be some positive things about this place—I just had to quit acting like a big baby and find them.

  The following morning Verlan held Sunday school in the barn. In spite of the rain, he sat by the open door so he could see to read the New Testament’s Book of Acts to us. Even the children all sat patiently as he droned on, then Lucy went to the piano and we gathered around and sang hymns until we were all hoarse.

  The children and I went to our shack after lunch for a nap. Verlan dropped by to lie down for half an hour, then he and the boys went to the garden to pull weeds while the sun was out. By four o’clock it was raining again and it continued until dark. After supper, Irene came over for a game of Scrabble. She’d made fudge, and we played and snacked until bedtime.

  The following morning Irene took me to the creek to do laundry. It was easier than I thought it would be; we waded in to the large rocks Verlan had placed in the creek, and with a plastic tub held between us for the clean clothes, we fished the soaking ones out of the sunken reed basket. We used the big rocks for a scrubboard, and once the plastic tub was full of scrubbed clothes, we pulled it back to the bank and wrang the clothes out. Then we hauled them up the hill and hung them on the barbed-wire fence. The trick was to keep an eye on the clouds. Just before it started to rain, we would have to retrieve the still damp clothes from the fence, take them inside, and lay them on the bed to wait until the sun came out again. Then we would rehang them. Sometimes it took two or three times to get them dry—but that was all we could do, Irene said.

  Verlan had built a large, wood-fed, brick kiln in the backyard for bread baking which worked quite well. He and the boys were in the process today of building an outdoor, wood-fed stove, for cooking beans and the like.

  As Irene and I did laundry, Lucy did the cooking and watched the babies, and Charlotte taught school to Verlan’s children. One room of Charlotte’s house was the schoolroom, complete with blackboard and primers. Seven-year-old Melanie had become her new student.

  We had a corral of goats, two milk-cows and a young bull, and a dozen good laying hens. One corner of the barn held fifty-gallon barrels filled with beans and wheat and corn, and we had several five-gallon tins of oil and honey. With the coming vegetables, Verlan’s Nicaragua families were set for a while.

  Verlan stayed for two weeks, clearing ground and planting more gardens. In a large, open area, he placed poles and strung clotheslines, planning to eventually build a rain cover over them. He organized the boys and older girls to do the garden work, and put Lucy in charge of this project. Irene and I were left with
the bulk of the cooking and laundry to do.

  Verlan promised to be back in three months, before my fifth child was born. On the morning he left, the whole family stood outside in the rain. We waved until he was out of sight.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Life in Nicaragua became a series of rain-scattered days, followed by lengthy black nights where, surrounded by my four children, I sought escape in slumber. But the moist air dampened my bedcovers, and small, kicking feet scattered bits of dried mud across my sheets. Sleep eluded me. I awoke each morning worn out and loathing the task of facing another day.

  During my daily chores, my plagued thoughts reviewed restlessly the lifestyle Verlan had chosen for us. I tried to reconcile myself to accepting this foreign land, with its strange, half-naked natives and harsh existence. But to settle in for good seemed senseless. I abhorred the thought of raising my children in an environment where they would have little contact with the outside world. They would doubtless grow up to be shy, backward men and women, who would have little choice but to either marry the natives or leave their mother and return to civilization to seek a better life. Either way was unacceptable to me.

  As the weeks in Nicaragua slowly turned into months, I desperately yearned for Colonia LeBaron and my own dear relatives. But even more than that, I couldn’t deny my growing desire for a husband of my very own, someone to live with, who would be a loving, caring father for my children and a real friend to me throughout my days. My restless body ached for a man’s gentle touch.