He jumped up and followed me back to my room in his pajamas. “Boy, this weather is terrible!” he exclaimed. “Get back into bed before you catch a cold.” He felt for his coat in the hall. Taking a woven rug off the floor in the hall, he went out and nailed it onto the window frame next to our bed. He came back into our room, stomping his feet. When he finally got the coal oil lamp lit, we were shocked to see that the foot of the bed was covered with snow. He pulled the blanket off and shook the snow into the hall; then he threw it back over our shivering bodies.
I moved my twenty-four-day-old baby to the outside of the bed, where I could hold up the edge of the heavy covers so she could breathe while we attempted to keep warm throughout the bitter cold night. Somehow, pregnant Lucy and I managed to drift off into a deep sleep.
Incredibly, without Lucy or me knowing a thing about it, Charlotte quietly gave birth to her third child, Laura, sometime before daybreak. Following Charlotte’s wishes, Verlan secretly sent for Lucy’s mother, Sylvia, to attend the delivery. After Charlotte’s participation in my babies’ births, I was shocked not to be included in this birth of hers. So was Lucy. But it was a practice Charlotte would maintain throughout our lives together. She helped out with our confinements, but we were never included in the delivery of any of her nine children.
THROUGHOUT DECEMBER, the cold made it almost impossible to keep warm in our house. We wore thick sweaters day and night. I slept lightly, always worried Donna would either freeze or smother under my covers. I longed to have a crib and other minimal comforts of life.
Aunt Rhea came at Christmastime. Though she couldn’t afford to do it, she was so shocked at our living conditions, she contributed a hundred dollars to buy windows for the house. Verlan quickly measured the frames and ordered the windows. (When he went to pick them up, he ordered a table and six chairs for me, on credit.) I’ll never forget those beautiful, wood-framed windows with real glass in them. What a joy it was to raise them up and down just to see how they worked.
One thing led to another, and pretty soon Verlan was entirely carried away. He bought plaster for the living room walls so we’d have at least one nice room. Then he splurged and bought some bright, rose-colored paint he applied to the walls himself. On the next trip to town, he brought back some loud, pink-flowered drapery material for curtains. I didn’t mind him exploring his artistic side, but after seeing how that colorful room turned out, I told him I thought his creativity should be restricted to creating babies.
When Aunt Rhea returned again in the summertime, she was thrilled to see the improvements we made on the house. She approved of the new windows and seemed to think things were progressing nicely. Verlan’s ingenuity especially impressed her. He set up a metal tank on the roof of the house. He would carry three five-gallon buckets of water up a ladder and pour the water into the tank, where the sun would warm it for our showers. Because the tank was small and a chore to fill, we were instructed to follow careful procedures whenever we used it. We were to get in the shower, wet ourselves down, turn the water off until we’d soaped up, and then rinse off.
Aunt Rhea did exactly as instructed. She hollered out that the water was nice and warm. In fact, it felt wonderful. I heard her turn the water off to lather up, just as she was supposed to. But a few seconds later, she was shouting in exasperation, “Somebody help me! The water’s all gone. I can’t rinse off!”
I called Verlan, who rushed out and drew up water from the well. Then he climbed up the ladder and poured the five gallons of cold water into the tank. “It’s okay, you can shower now,” he shouted. I’ll never forget Aunt Rhea’s screams as she jumped to one side when the cold water hit her. In an attempt to take the chill off, Verlan added a teakettle of boiling water so she could finish her shower more comfortably.
Even these little luxuries were short-lived. The original four-room house was far too crowded with Verlan, all three wives, four children (two of them small babies), and Lucy’s baby on its way in April. So Verlan consented to let me move into the second, unfinished house.
He put glass in the windows, and I was elated as I cleaned the old place out. Donna and I would have three rooms all to ourselves. When my new table and chairs arrived, Verlan finished them beautifully with white paint. He had enough left over to paint the small, rundown cupboard we inherited from his mother. With the addition of a few nails to strengthen it, the cupboard now looked shiny and new. I filled it with the pots and pans Verlan’s mother gave us permission to use.
Next, Verlan cut the handle off an old broom and used bailing wire to hang it from the wood beams in the ceiling to serve as a closet for my meager wardrobe. I wasn’t too happy with the stove he gave me, because it smoked up the kitchen. It also had no oven, but I could walk twenty feet over to Charlotte’s house and use her oven for baking.
The inside walls of the house were plain adobe. No plaster. No paint. I owned no pictures or knickknacks, not even a mirror or a clock. I had no kitchen sink or running water. But I would finally be alone. And I’d be free. For the first time in two years of married life, I’d have my husband all to myself. Now I could hug him and say what I thought without fear of being overheard. No more whispering. I didn’t have to be continually on guard. I could laugh and joke and be myself. But best of all, I wouldn’t have to share my bed with any other wives.
I spent five days in heaven, then Verlan came in and told me he’d been thinking about things. I knew that meant trouble. It meant the other wives were voicing wants, and I was going to end up with less. “It’s not fair for you to live alone. Charlotte should have that privilege first—”
“Hell,” I interrupted. “She lived alone with you for two years before I married you. I’ve never had any time alone! It’s my turn. I don’t even know you yet!”
“Oh, come on now. It’s not right that six of us should be crammed into those tight quarters, while just you and little Donna live over here by yourselves. Besides, Lucy says she prefers living with you.”
I blew up. “What more do you want? I was forced against my will to let Lucy marry you. Then you begged me to let you bring her home. You managed to get her into my bed. And now you want her to move in permanently—to live with me for the rest of my life! I refuse, Verlan. She’s not my wife; she’s yours. So you figure it out.”
He couldn’t help laughing at that, and he tried to tease me into laughing with him. “You’re the one who placed her hand in mine. Now she has the right to go where I go.”
“Well, you can both go to Hell!” I shouted. “Every decision you and I make revolves around another wife.”
Urging me to comply, he said, “I could put more clay on the roof of that back storeroom, and Lucy could use it for her bedroom. How would that be?”
“Just give me one room of my own! I’ll be glad to get by in it if it can be mine alone. I’m sick and tired of all your damn promises!”
“Irene, I can’t afford to separate you right now. Please realize I’m doing the best I can. All three of you want your own home. Just don’t be so selfish.”
I knew what he was saying was true. I had to give in. But it seemed every time I got my hands on something I dreamt of having, it was immediately snatched away. Charlotte and her three children stayed in the original house we all lived in together, and Lucy moved with me into the house Verlan promised I could have to myself.
DR. RAMIREZ ACTUALLY MADE it on time to Lucy’s delivery. She went for hours in hard labor while the four of us—Dr. Ramirez, Verlan, Charlotte, and me—attended her. When her baby finally arrived, Verlan was jubilant. “It’s a boy! Can you imagine that? God has given me another boy!” Hearing him sound so proud and surprised, I suddenly fixated on the fact that God had not yet given Verlan that particular gift through me. The germ of a new fear and a new jealousy infected me. Meanwhile, Lucy and Verlan named their boy Chad.
A few days later, at Lucy’s insistence, Verlan cleaned up the third, two-room adobe house that had been the old LeBaron toolshed, and
Lucy moved into it. I was as thrilled as she was. At long last, we all had places of our own.
We held a family council at which each wife gave her opinion about the fairest way for Verlan to distribute his time and attention among the three separate households. Charlotte, Lucy, and I were already on a continual rotation for sleeping with him. As for meals, we decided he could eat two days a week with each wife. Then, on Sundays, he’d eat breakfast with me, lunch with Charlotte, and supper with Lucy. I had Verlan all to myself on Wednesdays and Saturdays. Those two days were mine and no one else’s. When he went to the fields or took a rare trip to town on one of my days, I could go with him. I would respect Charlotte’s and Lucy’s days with Verlan, just as they would respect mine. It was exciting. I would often save my allotments of sugar and other supplies so I could make special meals for him when he came to my house. Soon I noticed he ate like a king wherever he went. Always vying to be his favorite, we all sacrificed to treat him extra special.
Now that I had my own house, Verlan couldn’t understand why I still spent so many nights crying. I wanted to be strong and live up to his expectations, but jealousy drove me into tearful fits of anger. I’d cover my face with my pillow, sobbing and screaming as my mind flooded with images of him and Lucy breaking all the rules, manufacturing baby boy after baby boy. Even if she was his wife, and even if God had commanded us to live plural marriage, I still hated every minute of it. I spent almost the entire first year of Lucy’s marriage weeping and imagining she’d taken my place in Verlan’s heart.
When I admitted to him how I continued to struggle with jealousy toward Lucy, he reprimanded me and prayed I would overcome such irrational, unrighteous reactions. He wanted his wives to be humble and submissive. Apparently Lucy complied, but my compliance clearly was still not up to par.
ONCE WE WIVES spread out and came up with a Verlan-rotation everyone agreed to honor, I did find life a little easier in certain ways. Finally I had a few things I could count on. I could count on no one being in my bed whom I didn’t want there. I could count on no one overhearing me when I voiced my thoughts or feelings aloud in my own house. And I could count on enjoying Wednesdays and Saturdays all alone with my husband. These meager little things were my lifeline.
Late on one particular Wednesday afternoon, Verlan opened my screen door and said, “Irene, do you want to go for a walk with me to the wheat fields?”
“I sure do,” I said excitedly.
He hugged me and said, “Then wait a minute. I’ve got to go to the john. It’ll give you time to get ready.”
This was perfect. My baby was sleeping, so I’d have a couple of free hours if Lucy would just peek in on her a time or two. I rushed off to my bedroom, where I brushed out my hair, put it in a ponytail, and slipped into a clean dress for our date. Almost the only place I ever got to go was to the Spencers’. I was thrilled that Verlan went to the trouble of thinking up something fun for us to do. I really felt privileged as I fantasized about how romantic it was going to be, just the two of us walking through the golden grain.
When Verlan didn’t come back after several minutes, I started to wonder why he was taking so long. He said he’d only be a minute. I decided to meet him outside, but he wasn’t in the yard. So I walked past Lucy’s house to the outhouse. He wasn’t in there either. I couldn’t imagine where he’d gone. I opened Lucy’s door and called. No one was there. How strange; I’d seen her haul a bucket of water from the well to her house just a few minutes earlier.
It must have been instinct, or perhaps just that irrational, unrighteous jealousy of mine. I gazed out over the yellow wheat field and saw something that extinguished my good mood and my newfound sense of security like a pail of ice-cold water. There went Lucy and Verlan, arm in arm, like the proverbial lovers heading off into the sunset. I wished they’d change course and head straight for Hell.
That proved it—Lucy was Verlan’s favorite. It was my day, and he invited me, but he took her. If she was going to steal him away from me in broad daylight, she could just have him. But boy, would they both be sorry.
I’d have to hurry if I didn’t want them to catch me. One by one, I carried three dresser drawers from my house over to hers. Two of them were full of Verlan’s socks, jeans, underclothes, and belts. The third contained all sorts of his other things, including pens and pencils, erasers, writing paper, books, and various important documents. I dumped all of it onto Lucy’s bed and hurried back for Verlan’s shirts, coats, and sweaters. Holding these by their hangers, I swung them high and landed them on top of his other stuff. Then I grabbed a wooden crate by Lucy’s door, ran back to my house, and filled it with Verlan’s shoes, slippers, and rubber watering boots. I piled three old caps and his straw hat on top and lugged the crate back over to Lucy’s. Some things dribbled across her floor as I dumped the contents of the crate on her bed along with everything else. She knew darn well it wasn’t her day.
I ignored Verlan when he came in. I wasn’t even going to look at him, but he pulled me around to face him and said, “Irene, how can you be so mean? You’ve got Lucy crying over there! You know she doesn’t have room in her small house for all my things.”
I started to cry. “Well, let her make room! If you’re going to give her my time, I’ll give her your other things, too. She can just keep them. In fact, she can keep you!” I sobbed.
“Honey, don’t be so mad. She followed me out to the john and asked what I was doing.”
“You should have told her you were taking a dump!” I interrupted. “How can she be so stupid?”
He tried not to laugh. “Really, honey, I told her I was going out to the wheat field, and she begged to go with me. If I’d refused her, she would have felt bad for a week. But I know you; you blow up, and then it’s all over in five minutes. I decided I’d rather deal with you and save myself from a week’s worth of trouble. I’ll take you next time. I promise.”
That was Verlan all over. At least he always felt as comfortable telling me what he was really thinking (selfish as it might be) as I felt telling him. Still, I rejected his hugs. He finally left because he could see I wasn’t going to give in.
All sorts of nasty thoughts ran through my mind about Lucy when I saw her a few minutes later at her kitchen door. When she picked up the wooden crate, supposedly to start packing away some of Verlan’s stuff, he tried to comfort her by giving her a big kiss. Boy, did the Devil ever whip out his pitchfork and stab me with it when I saw that! I hollered out, “How do you like kissing her big nose?” Lucy went into the house crying, and I backed off, knowing I was in big trouble . . . again.
Two nights later, as was his practice on the evenings he spent elsewhere, Verlan came by to tell me good night. It was his turn to sleep with Lucy. How I hated those damned turns. I wanted to sleep with Verlan when I wanted to, not just when it was my night. We were on the bed kissing, and my body forgot that it wasn’t my night. It almost went wild. Verlan tried to leave, saying as he pulled away, “I’d really love to stay here tonight, but I can’t.”
“You could if you really loved me,” I challenged.
“I do love you, but I’ve got to do what’s right. Do you think it would be fair if I stayed at Lucy’s all the time? What would you think then?”
I tried pulling him back onto the bed. “If you really love me, prove it!”
“I do love you, but I can’t ruin Lucy’s night!”
“I want you to stay here when I want you to. Besides, my body doesn’t know a damn thing about turns!”
He left in a huff. He was tired of my ungodly innuendos. I knew I’d pushed him farther than I should have, but I just couldn’t help it. Now I might as well push him a little farther.
I peered out the window, and as soon as Verlan closed Lucy’s old wooden door, I rushed outside and grabbed a rock as big as a grapefruit from the flower garden next to my house. I ran halfway to Lucy’s and heaved that rock for all it was worth against her kitchen door. I knew I should skedaddle then, but m
y anger made time for one more assault. I flung a second rock good and hard, bouncing it off her door, and then I ran for dear life. Safe inside my own house, I locked the door behind me and fell across my bed in tears.
A minute or two later, Verlan almost knocked my door in with his violent banging. “Open this door,” he ordered.
I made no response.
“You’ll be sorry!” he threatened.
I didn’t answer.
“You’ve gone too far! I can’t believe you’d treat Lucy like this! Open up.”
My heart was pounding so loud, I was afraid he could hear it. Other than that, I didn’t make a peep.
“Okay, you’ll be sorry.”
Still, I didn’t budge. I listened until I heard Lucy’s door open and close again. I would just have to make up with him the next day, after he’d calmed down some. It would be my turn to feed him anyway.
But the next day, Verlan didn’t come for breakfast like he was supposed to. I watched him working in the fields. At lunchtime, I noticed that he ate at Charlotte’s. He passed my place several times throughout the day, but he never stopped in to see me. At dusk, he milked the cows. I knew he’d head over after that to tell Lucy good night before he went to spend the night with Charlotte. He hadn’t even told me good morning yet. I stood looking out my screen door, hoping that the next time he passed by, we could reconcile. After all, the Bible said not to let the sun go down upon your wrath. I’d suffered enough that day; I didn’t want to go on suffering the next. I watched Verlan approaching, and when he didn’t stop, I stepped out in front of him. “Hey, can’t you even say hello?” I asked.
“Do you want me to?” Seeing he was still mad, I didn’t know if I wanted him to or not. “Suit yourself, but you can come in if you want to,” I said. He followed me in, but he didn’t touch me. I was actually relieved. Although he’d never more than raised his voice to scold me, I’d been a little scared he might hit me on this particular occasion.
Shattered Dreams Page 20