Shattered Dreams

by Irene Spencer

  I cringed, picking up speed. I knew Ben’s revelations were always false. I hoped to God this one was, too. I stopped at the well and forced myself to look in. The water was clear and still. No floating bottle.

  A crowd gathered. I was told the men already checked the three wells with long poles several times and found nothing. During all these hours, I cried out to God, “Let me find him, Lord, even if he’s dead! Let me find him!”

  Nothing showed up. No bottle. No body. Nothing. The exhausting search went on for nine hours before darkness caused most of the crowd to give up and go home. A few close friends milled around, wondering what else they could do as they tried to comfort me.

  I was hysterical. I could not allow my darling child to be left alone all night. What if coyotes ate his little body? Then I might not ever find out what happened to him. On my way back home, I tried to search the cow pastures one last time. Weeping with uncontrollable grief, I waddled through the darkness, bumping into mesquites and weeds along the way.

  Feeling too faint to walk any longer, I stopped and pled with God. “Heavenly Father, please let me find him.” Just then, I thought I heard voices in the distance. I tried to quiet my agitated breathing. Then I held my hand over my pounding heart and listened.

  “We found him! We found him!” came the relieved cries through the darkness.

  Hope spurred my weary body on. I could see the crowd gathered at the house. Someone was waving a flashlight. “I’m not prepared for this, God!” I said out loud. “Help me endure whatever it is.” I approached the crowd, ready to hear they’d found him dead.

  “He’s okay, Irene! He’s okay!” Charlotte yelled. Then she shoved Brent’s shivering little body into my arms. I wept without shame. God answered my prayers after nine grueling hours.

  As I sobbed, Brent pounded me with his empty baby bottle. “Mok, Mama. Mok.” He tried to lift my head. “Horsey, Mama. Horsey.”

  That’s when I saw the two eleven-year-old boys standing alongside us, almost in tears. Both boys were named Kimball. They’d been severely scolded by their parents, then ordered to give me their apologies. “We’re sorry,” they said in unison.

  Angry, I asked, “What happened?”

  “We were in our cart. The horse was trotting up the lane toward the main road. We saw Brent going in the same direction. He said, ‘Mommy bus,’ so we figured you’d gone to town, and he was trying to follow you. We thought he’d have a good time riding around with us, so we took him to El Valle, hoping to find you.”

  Immediately, I forgave them. Lucy and Charlotte helped me into the house, where I fell exhausted onto the bed. I held Brent in my arms all night, unable to sleep after the prolonged torment of not knowing where he was. Feeling the kick of my unborn child, I hoped I hadn’t exhausted him, too.

  EACH TIME A WIFE was expecting a baby, Verlan would buy two pieces of cloth for maternity outfits. He’d wanted to do something special for me this time because he’d missed my wedding anniversary. Instead of the allotted two, he lovingly bought me three pieces as a belated anniversary gift.

  When I saw the cloth, I had to fight back tears, and they wouldn’t have been tears of joy or tenderness. To put it simply, the lavender material with huge yellow and purple tulips belonged on a couch, not draped across my protruding stomach. Verlan couldn’t imagine I thought it was unsuitable. Why, he’d picked it out himself. “The lovely flowers reminded me of you!” he said. I didn’t press the point so he wouldn’t think I was ungrateful.

  When I finished the maternity dress out of that material, I walked up to my friend Betty’s. She stared at me in disbelief, then laughed aloud. “My God, Irene, where did you get that awful dress?”

  “Can you believe this?” I said, finally giving in to those tears. “It’s my anniversary present.” Then I lightened up. “One good thing about being pregnant, Betty, is that I’m gaining my weight back after losing so much from typhoid. You know I have an aversion to maternity clothes. I guess I better get used to them, though, because I’ll be having babies throughout all eternity.” I laughed. “I’ve decided instead of maternity clothes, I’ll call them eternity clothes.”

  I’D PROMISED DONNA, WHO was almost six, that our new baby would be a girl. Figuring the odds were very much in favor of my little fib, I told her God never sends more than three kids in a row of the same sex. We talked and planned about her lovely baby sister. I told her about Leah’s death and explained how death came upon humanity. I assured her God was good, and that when he gave us another darling girl, it could be hers.

  On Saturday, May 14, at 10 A.M., I gave birth in Lucy’s two-room adobe house to a baby boy. He was the most beautiful child I’d ever seen. I named him Kaylen Douglas. The other boys—André, Steven, and Brent—joyously passed the tiny new arrival around. Donna sat silently on the edge of the bed with her bottom lip out.

  Lucy took the three little boys back to my house. She left Donna with me, where she could finish pouting. “Donna,” I began apologetically, “Mommy’s so sorry that it wasn’t a girl. I really thought it would be.”

  She didn’t move. Her bottom lip stuck farther out. “The baby is so cute,” I said. “I’ll still give him to you. He can be all yours if you’ll just be happy.”

  “I don’t want him!” She burst out crying. “I’m so damn mad at Adam and Eve!”

  I was shocked she even remembered who they were. Trying not to laugh, I said, “Why are you mad at them?”

  She cried all the harder. “If they hadn’t gone to the garden and eaten those damn peaches, we’d still have our baby Leah.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Once when Verlan came home for a three-day weekend, he brought with him a special treat for the children. “Get your poles ready! Daddy’s taking you fishing,” he told them.

  With Verlan’s help, all eleven of the kids (minus the babies) hurriedly got their willow poles ready. Onto each one, he tied a string with a bent nail at the end. I’ll never forget their excitement and joy. Each wife washed her children’s faces and put their sweaters on them so they wouldn’t be cold riding in the back of the pickup on the way to the pond. They jumped into the truck and sat down holding their poles, waving good-bye to us as the truck headed for the dirt highway.

  That was our cue. Charlotte, Lucy, and I hurried into my house. I pounded large nails into each side of the doorframe. We hung a blanket there, leaving about two feet of space at the top of the doorway. I pulled the heavy cardboard boxes containing Verlan’s surprise over close to me so I could easily reach into each one. Charlotte and Lucy took their places on the other side of the blanket, and we waited for the kids to return.

  Verlan only drove up to the end of the lane. He then told the kids the best fishing was right at home, and he turned around. He stopped in front of the house and helped the kids off the truck. He ordered the three older boys—Chad, Verlan Jr., and Mark—to form a line holding their fishing poles and then lead the younger ones single file into the house. They all stood in front of the blanket with their poles, wondering what was going on.

  Verlan showed André how to cast his hook up over the top of the blanket. He excitedly said, “Okay, here’s André. Where’s his fish?”

  I tied a toy onto the nail and carefully pushed it back over while Charlotte and Lucy eased it down so it wouldn’t hit anyone. As it came over the blanket, André started screaming, “I got a truck! Look, I got a truck!”

  The whole group of kids ignited with anticipation, squealing and jumping, wanting to be next. Verlan got the next child ready. “Here comes Mark! Where’s his fish?”

  I rummaged through the box and tied a metal airplane onto his line. The kids laughed and screamed with excitement. We let each one have a turn. Then Verlan repeated the operation all over again. Realizing that it was taking too long, he finally reached behind the blanket and pulled out the big boxes, letting each child take a turn choosing a toy until every doll, truck, and game was gone.

  Verlan brought the sec
ondhand toys from the States. The kids were absolutely elated. These were the first real toys they’d ever played with. Though a few of the toys had broken parts (a bent wheel or a missing eye), it never occurred to our children that they weren’t brand new.

  Long after the kids were grown, they’d still reminisce about the day they went fishing with Daddy.

  THE LONELINESS I FELT during Verlan’s three-month absences was often unbearable. I knew he had no choice but to keep on painting so he could support his families and also contribute to the church (we’d thrown in with Joel and his converts by this time). But I thought he could simultaneously meet some of his families’ emotional needs if he took one of his wives with him to Vegas each time he went. I begged him to consider this, but he refused, saying he could save more money if he went by himself.

  Charlotte, Lucy, and I hated his long absences. When he came home for his three-day visits, we all ended up feeling rejected because we still had to share him. If it wasn’t my turn when he arrived, I’d have to wait a day or two to be with him. The pain of his stopping in just to say hello before he went to be with another wife was worse than his being gone altogether.

  Still, his homecomings were always joyful in a way. Verlan was very thoughtful. He loved to bring home boxes packed with all sorts of used but useful things he’d been given from the secondhand store or found cheap at yard sales. It always felt like Christmas when he did this. Among the assortment of items he surprised us with were bread tins, eggbeaters, graters, plastic tumblers, odd dishes, and those toys for the kids. He got such a kick out of seeing us all so happy.

  Shortly after one of these surprises, Betty dropped by to visit me. “Look Betty, Verlan bought me a new bra. The most uplifting gift I could ask for!” I was so elated. This was my first new bra since I’d married Verlan. Now I wouldn’t have to make my own.

  Verlan came in just as I was taking my new bra out of the box. Betty couldn’t resist the chance to ask, “How do you get the right size bra for each of your wives?”

  Before he could answer, I blurted out, “Oh, that’s easy. He just tries Lucy’s on his elbow, Charlotte’s on his knee, and mine on his head!”

  VERLAN HAD BEEN GONE a long time, and it was my night to have him first for a change. I was jubilant. It was a pleasure to have him sit at my table again. He always complimented me on my cooking, never failing to express his appreciation for me.

  After eating, he played with the kids, giving each a turn riding piggyback. He pranced around with them on his broad shoulders. Then he helped me tuck them into bed.

  When he tried to leave to go tell Charlotte and Lucy good night, I clung to him until he promised to hurry back quickly. “Of course I will,” he said. “I know it’s your turn. I’ll be back as soon as I can to spend the night with you.”

  I quickly took my bath in the round tin tub and then brushed out and braided my golden hair. To set the mood for this special night, I hurriedly sprinkled the few remaining drops of my secondhand perfume onto the flour-sack sheets made for the occasion. A freshly scrubbed pot was in its place under the bed. A quart of fresh well water was on the stand. The kerosene lamp was turned down low.

  I waited and waited. I guess idleness really is the Devil’s workshop, because he got me to take off my panties and my long nightgown and tuck them under the pillow. I jumped into bed naked, pulling the perfumed sheets up over my bare shoulders. I lay flat on my back with only my head in view. In the dim, romantic lamplight, wearing nothing but my most seductive smile, I awaited Verlan’s return. Would he ever be surprised.

  As it turned out, the surprise was on the both of us when he barged in a few minutes later with Charlotte and Lucy in tow. They all knelt down beside my bed for prayer. Verlan turned up the dim lamp and motioned for me to join them. All three of them folded their hands and waited for me to get out of the bed and down on my knees. I didn’t move.

  “Come on, Irene. Get out for prayer,” he ordered.

  “Ah . . . er . . . I’m not in the mood for prayer,” I said.

  “Don’t waste Charlotte and Lucy’s time. Come on now! Cut out this nonsense. Obey me. Kneel down here for prayer.” He reached over to grab the sheet, but I was gripping it so tight that my knuckles turned white. When he couldn’t budge it, his eyes met mine . . . and he knew! Disgusted, he just bowed his head and said, “Let us pray.”

  He must have thought it best to walk them both home. Immediately, they all disappeared, and I sprang out of bed. Oh God, please help me out of this one! If Verlan finds out what I’ve done, he’ll really reprimand me. In a flash, I’d put on my panties and nightie and was back in the bed, striking what I hoped was an innocent pose.

  He walked in and said not a word. He just yanked the sheet off me, throwing it clear across the room.

  He almost sputtered in surprise. “You weren’t like that a few minutes ago!” he said, pointing accusingly.

  “You’re damn right I wasn’t. But did you really want me to jump out of the bed and show them the naked truth?”

  LUCY’S HARDEST LABOR STARTED without any warnings. Immediately, her pains were one on top of another. We sent a friend by truck to Spencerville to fetch her mother, Aunt Sylvia, to deliver the baby. In the meantime, I threw a plastic covering and a clean sheet onto Lucy’s bed to prepare it for the delivery. Wincing and holding her stomach, she also told me where to get her Lysol, cotton, and sterilized rags. As the final preparation, I set out a freshly washed set of clothes for the new arrival.

  I ached inside for Lucy. She needed Verlan to be with her, but he was in Las Vegas, working to support us. He couldn’t come home every time he had a child. Still, I felt a powerful foreboding that brought back memories of my own ordeal when Leah was born and died without him there. I didn’t think any woman should be asked to lay her life on the line or be subjected to such excruciating pain without her husband there to see her through it. But patient Lucy was never one to complain. She hid her needs and fears very well indeed.

  Her cries brought me back to the situation at hand. I rubbed her back as she gripped the dresser. I wanted to cry with her. She didn’t deserve to suffer so.

  Aunt Sylvia arrived with her shabby black bag, which she placed on the floor at the foot of the bed. She asked for a wash pan full of warm water, and I fetched it from the kitchen. Hurriedly, she washed her hands with soap, instructing me to pour fresh water over them. Then she held her clean hands up in front of her as she turned to Lucy. “Get on the bed as soon as your pain stops. I’ll need to check to see how far you’re dilated.”

  Charlotte took Lucy’s children over to my house, where they wouldn’t be able to hear her painful cries. When Charlotte returned, she rubbed Lucy’s back gravely. “Is the pain over enough so we can help you lie down?” she asked. Lucy nodded her head as Charlotte and I held her arms and led her slowly to the bed.

  Sitting on the side of the bed, Lucy lifted her long, thin legs onto the sheet as her mother placed a pillow beneath her shoulders. “Quick! I’m having another one!” Lucy cried. Charlotte and I each took a side near the foot of the bed. We held our arms firm, and Lucy clung to us as she bore down.

  Aunt Sylvia’s fingers probed inside as Lucy arched her neck and let out staccato moans of agony. We could see the worry on Aunt Sylvia’s face. I thought how difficult it must be for her to deliver her own daughter’s baby. Charlotte and I sent fervent prayers to God asking that this woman our husband chose to love would cease to suffer soon and be delivered of a normal, healthy child.

  Lucy begged for sips of water as she perspired in the June heat. Then suddenly her water burst, thrusting a piece of the umbilical cord out first. Charlotte, Aunt Sylvia, and I looked at one another, alarmed. None of us had ever seen this happen. “Bear down, Lucy,” her mother commanded. “Bear down long and hard. We must get this baby out as soon as we can.”

  Lucy grabbed her stomach as the baby squirmed, kicking with tremendous violence. Sylvia touched Lucy’s tummy. “This baby wants out, Lucy.
Push hard!”

  Instinctively, I let go of Lucy’s hand and ran to the home of the closest neighbor I knew had a car. Without knocking, I yelled, “Come, Earl! Please come and take Lucy to the hospital. Something is wrong.”

  “What is it?” he asked as we both jumped into his car and he sped down the gravel road back to the house.

  “The cord came out first, and her contractions won’t expel the baby.”

  “Oh God,” Earl said, shaking his head. “We have to push that cord back inside before air gets to it, or the baby will start breathing. I’ll bet it’s too late. Don’t say a word,” he ordered.

  We ran in, hearing unbearable moans from Lucy’s room. Aunt Sylvia pushed the cord back in as Earl commanded. “Now move out of the way and let me carry Lucy to the car,” he said.

  I ran ahead with a thick blanket and a pillow, and I spread them on the backseat for Lucy to lie down on. She cried out in pain as we pushed her frail body into place. Aunt Sylvia, holding her black bag filled with sterilized rags and baby clothes, climbed in beside her. I sat next to Earl, and we frantically started toward Casas.

  Earl flew so fast down the narrow paved highway, we skipped right over the potholes. The speedometer rose quickly to 50, 60, 65 miles per hour. I pointed nervously at the gauge. Earl shook his head for me not to worry. The needle climbed to 75, 85, 90. My prayers were just about as loud as Lucy’s cries as we raced over the dangerous road to Casas.

  When we got there, Earl drove the car to the rear entrance of the clinic, and I ran inside to get a stretcher. But he snatched Lucy right up and carried her directly to the operating room.

  Dr. Hatch appraised the situation, then ordered, “Irene, have Earl drive you to the public swimming pool. Find Arturo, the anesthetist. Tell him not to take time to dress. Get him over here immediately.”