After a second, Kate suddenly reappears, as if she’s been shoved from behind. Red handprints cover her face and neck. She clutches her wrist. Tears fill her eyes, but she doesn’t dare make a sound as she takes her place with the rest of Mother Lenora’s children.
Mother Lenora adjusts her dress over her round waist as she enters the living room. She returns to the sofa as if nothing happened, pulling one of her trembling sons onto her lap.
“As I was saying,” the Vulture croons with satisfaction, “the Prophet has determined each of his wives shall be reassigned in the following manner: Lenora, you and your children will live with Buckley and his family.”
Mother Lenora’s eyes flick to Buckley. He smiles, still standing behind the Vulture. Her eyes fall to the floor. “Thank you,” she whispers.
“Dee,” Uncle Max calls, and she looks up with hope. “Once Meryl has been sealed to me, you and your infant daughter will come to live with us.”
Mother Dee swallows hard as some of the older kids gasp and mumble, realizing what this means. Because Meryl will be one of the Vulture’s wives, and Mother Dee no longer has a husband, Meryl will rank higher in the family than Mother Dee. “Thank you,” she says.
My shoulders relax a bit. At least this means we can stay in our own home with Mother. That way, Father knows exactly where to find us.
“As for Hannah,” he says.
Mother bobs Baby Bill up and down in her arms, while Meryl clutches the edge of the sofa.
“You and your children have been reassigned to the bishop.”
I glance at the Prophet’s portrait and silently thank him. I don’t like the idea of being assigned to the Vulture, but at least this way I can still see Meryl.
Meryl smiles at me and then hugs Mother. Amy and I jump up to join them and embrace them from behind the sofa.
“I think there may be a misunderstanding,” the Vulture says.
Mother and Meryl separate as Uncle Max leans back in Father’s chair and tents his long, bony fingers. “The Prophet has assigned you and your children to our brother.”
My heart stops. My gaze flicks to the portrait again. He’s sending us to his other brother: the bishop of Waiting.
“In Canada?” Meryl asks, her voice a whisper.
Uncle Max nods with a smile. “Over two thousand miles away.”
12.
It’s all my fault we’re being sent away. Why’d I have to barge in on Meryl’s wedding? Why’d I have to keep my violin? Why’d I have to go to the festival? I know I’m supposed to keep sweet. I know it. So why do I keep messing up?
Reassigned to three different men, my family has been blown apart. It feels as if the government has dropped a giant bomb in the center of our house. Only it’s not the government. It’s the Prophet.
“I don’t see why we can’t stay here,” I say, eyeing Mother’s open trunk on her bedroom floor. It’s stuffed with clothes and blankets and things for Baby Bill.
Mother pulls a hairpin from between her teeth. “Obedience is the key to our salvation,” she says as she fastens one of Meryl’s braids into place.
I shift on the edge of Mother’s bed. “But Father will be home soon. You heard the Prophet: When Father writes his letter of confession, he will return home. Why should we go over two thousand miles away only to turn around and come right back?”
Mother twists another braid through the first. “Gentry, I can’t talk about this right now. Why don’t you put it on a shelf and pray about it?”
I roll my eyes. What good will it do to put it on a shelf here in New Mexico when I’m going all the way to Canada?
“Perfect,” Mother says with a satisfied grin. She holds up the wave above Meryl’s forehead and sprays my sister’s hair for an extra-long time, leaving her in a massive cloud of hairspray. “All finished.”
I cough from the sticky mist.
Meryl lightly touches the back of her lacquered head and stands to unsnap the robe over her pink dress, the one with the scalloped collar and sash. She lays Mother’s robe across the chair, offering a polite smile. “Thank you, Mother.”
“I always knew you’d make a beautiful bride,” Mother says, fiddling with the fraying cuff on her sleeve. “I only wish I could’ve finished your wedding dress.”
Meryl straightens her skirt and nods. “This one is fine.”
“Of course,” Mother says, her voice cracking. “Of course it is.” She points to the hallway. “I think I’m going to go and help Amy pack.”
“She’s already packed,” I remind her, but Mother rushes from the room anyway. I let out a sigh and look to Meryl. “I don’t understand why Uncle Max won’t let us at least stay for the wedding before we leave.”
Meryl laughs a little. “I’m guessing he doesn’t want another interruption.”
“It’s not funny,” I say, pressing my palms flat against Mother’s floral comforter. “Can’t you see I’ve really messed things up this time?”
“Come on, it’s a little funny.” Meryl sits next to me on the edge of the bed, and I fall into her a bit. The smell of hairspray clings to her. She nudges me. “This started long before you ever decided to interrupt a wedding. It started before any of us were even born.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Meryl’s eyes check the hallway before she leans in, whispering, “Did you know Father ran away once?”
I remember the story Father told Tanner and me on the bridge over the Rio Grande Gorge. How he thought he wanted to leave the community when he was younger. I nod. “I think so.”
“Do you know why Father left?”
I shake my head. I don’t remember him mentioning why.
My sister folds her hands in her lap. “He left when the Prophet said it was time for him to take a second wife.”
My eyebrows scrunch together. “But his second wife is Mother.”
Meryl nods.
“So why did he want to run away?”
Meryl glances the direction of the hallway once more. Still no one there. “He had only been married to Mother Lenora for a year or so. He was so in love with her, he didn’t want to marry anyone else.”
“In love with Mother Lenora?” I ask, shock underlining my words.
My sister shushes me.
I swallow hard, realizing what she’s saying. If he hadn’t married Mother, none of us would even be here. “So why did he marry again?”
“Grandfather reminded him it was the way of God. That it was his duty to have multiple wives and children with those wives if he wanted to do right by God in this life and grant his family salvation in the next.” Meryl sighs. “Father understood he was being selfish and returned to the community. He married Mother the next day.”
“But he didn’t love her,” I say.
“Just like I don’t love Uncle Max,” my sister says matter-of-factly. “And like our parents, I’ll fulfill my earthly mission.”
Sounds more like a punishment to me.
“I don’t want to end up like Tanner. I want to be able to see my family.” She shudders. “And I can’t stand the thought of being alone for all eternity.”
I nod, understanding. Nobody wants to be alone, especially in the afterlife. Because that means forever.
Meryl squeezes my hand. “Promise me you’ll stay strong.”
“But they don’t want me to be strong, remember?” They want me to keep sweet.
“You’re right,” she says and then holds up three fingers, the way she sometimes does when she’s teaching my brothers and sisters something important. “Think of a swing set. Most people like to sit in the swing and get pushed, right?”
I nod, not sure where she’s going with this.
One of her fingers goes down. “Then, there are the others who like to do the pushing.” Another one down. “And then, there’s an even smaller number who like to swing themselves. They control the height and the speed. They’re also the only ones who know what it feels like to jump from the swing and fly.” She sm
iles as her hand leaps through the air.
I look into her big blue eyes. “So which one am I?”
She pats my leg.
“The last one?”
Her smile brightens.
All these years, I’ve done my best to stay away from my big sister. I couldn’t understand her; I thought she couldn’t understand me. Suddenly it seems as if Meryl knows me better than I even know myself. She’s my most beautiful sister, but now I see there’s so much more to her than that.
The doorbell rings.
“Don’t forget your violin.” She jumps from the bed. “Now hurry. Your ride is here.”
Reminded of my promise to Father, I rush downstairs and through the living room, past the portrait of the Prophet, and into the kitchen. Except for us, the house is quiet and empty. The doorbell rings again. I hurry to the basement and to Mother’s sewing room before pulling back the scraps of fabric that hide my violin case.
With my case in hand, I rush upstairs to our room as Mother answers the door. I throw open my trunk and hide my violin at the bottom, beneath my sacred underwear. I slam the lid closed and latch it.
“There are two trunks in here,” Mother says as she approaches our room.
When I look up, I spot the scars on his hand before I see his rigid face in my doorway. My stomach drops.
It’s Dirk.
***
The van bounces in a rut, waking me as Dirk turns off the main road and drives through a narrow break in the trees. Snow crunches beneath our tires. I wipe the sleep from my eyes and peer out the window into the endless darkness.
We’ve been in the van for over two days now, stopping only a few times along the way. I’ve barely moved from my seat in the back, the farthest I could get from Dirk. Amy sleeps on my shoulder, snoring softly. Mother looks back at me with an exhausted smile, keeping a hand on Baby Bill, who’s asleep in his car seat. “Almost there,” she whispers.
Within a few minutes, there’s a beacon of light up ahead. It shines brightly on a chain-link fence and a guard, dressed in all black. His eyes are barely visible beneath a black hat and the scarf that wraps around the bottom half of his face. I nudge Amy awake and look through the windows on both sides of the van.
“Where are we?” she asks.
“Waiting,” Dirk answers, making me shiver.
When we approach the gate of our sister community, he nods to the guard. Snow dusts the entire fence line that seems to go on for miles and miles in both directions. The chain link rattles from the guard’s touch, making some of the snow sail off and sparkle beneath the light before it falls to the covered ground.
As we move beyond the fence, I see nothing but snow ahead and a web of leafless trees on either side. I’ve been told about the same number of people live in Waiting as in Watchful, but I guess the houses are more spread out, because I can’t see any of them now.
The van’s engine moans as we move uphill. Amy leans toward me, whispering, “This would be a good place to sled.”
I manage a smile and nod, doubting I’ll ever sled again. I promised myself I’ll try harder this time. I’ll keep sweet. The less trouble I cause, the more likely the Prophet will realize that Father is good for us. And the sooner Father returns home, the sooner we can, too.
When we reach the top of the hill, the van rolls to a stop. The bishop of Waiting has eighteen wives and around fifty children still living at home, but I didn’t realize his house would be this big.
“Wow,” Amy says, her mouth falling open when she sees the massive cabin.
Built with dark brown logs, the structure is three stories high with snow covering the A-line roof that tops each sprawling wing of the house.
It’s the middle of the night, but every window is illuminated by a soft yellow glow. My stomach flip-flops. They’re waiting up for us.
The painted front door flies open and out steps a burly, round-faced man with gray hair. Dirk cuts the engine and jumps from the van. He shakes the man’s hand.
With the door open to the van, it doesn’t take long for the heat to escape. But we remain seated.
“Is that Uncle Hyram?” Amy whispers as the man signals for us to come inside.
I shrug, unsure.
“Now, girls,” Mother says as she pulls Baby Bill from his seat. His head falls sleepily against her shoulder as she opens the door. “Remember your manners.”
The gray-haired man greets Mother as Amy and I grab our coats. Outside, my shoes slip on the packed snow, but I manage to stay upright.
“Careful there,” a man says from the shadows a few feet away. It takes me a second to find him, because he’s dressed in all black, head to toe. There’s a gun strapped to his side. I quickly turn away. God Squad.
Cold air stings my skin as I hurry around the van and help Amy step outside.
“Welcome, ladies,” the pudgy, gray-haired man says from the doorway of the cabin.
I steal a glance at the guard and quickly turn away when I realize he’s still watching us.
“Are you Uncle Hyram?” Amy asks.
“Amy,” Mother scolds. “You know who this is.”
Uncle Hyram gives a hearty laugh, his hands against his large stomach. “That’s quite all right. It’s been a while since I’ve been down to Watchful.”
Mother’s face holds a tense smile.
I clear my throat. “Thank you for allowing us to stay with you, sir.”
Uncle Hyram nods, the folds of his neck scrunching against his stiff collar. “You’re quite welcome, young lady.” Then he gestures us into the house. “You all must be exhausted. Please come in from the cold.”
We follow him inside and Mother mouths tenderly to me, Thank you.
I smile back at her. That’s right. I’m going to show everyone I can keep sweet.
Uncle Hyram leads us into a large living area with a stone fireplace. The air smells stale, like the house hasn’t been aired out since summer. The Prophet’s life-size portrait hangs above the roaring fire. The warmth seeps into my skin as I remove my coat.
“Dirk,” Uncle Hyram says, “tell your aunts you’ve arrived.”
With a nod, Dirk leaves the room, and my shoulders begin to relax. My neck cracks as I turn my head. I hadn’t realized how tense I’d been with him around.
Uncle Hyram sits on an easy chair, much like Father’s. “Everyone should be here in a minute.”
“Can we look at the pictures?” Amy asks, pointing to a long wall of photos.
Uncle Hyram nods. “Please do.”
Amy and I near a series of wedding photographs of Uncle Hyram and each of his wives, with him getting progressively older and his wives seeming to get progressively younger in each picture. As we move around the room, there’s a series of built-in shelves. I wander over to the photos, which appear to be each family grouping since there are eighteen frames total with a picture of Uncle Hyram, one of his wives and their children in each.
In the center of the shelves, there’s an older photograph, but I recognize Uncle Max immediately. Uncle Hyram is in it, too. They’re both younger and stand on either side of the Prophet. It’s the three brothers who lead our church.
“That was taken right before the outsiders got him,” Uncle Hyram says over my shoulder and points to the Prophet. “At the last Pioneer Day celebration.” He turns to Mother. “Do you remember that fine day?”
Mother covers a yawn and nods. “Like it was yesterday.”
“You made it,” a tiny woman says as she glides into the living room with a broad smile. Lines of children file in behind her, pressed and clean. “I’m Pearline. Welcome to Waiting.”
I glance at the first wedding portrait on the wall behind her, where the top of the wife’s head comes to Uncle Hyram’s stomach. This must be his first wife. Only now, she has a few more wrinkles, and her hair has streaks of white.
With Baby Bill in her arms, Mother nods her thanks and joins us against the shelves in order to get away from the traffic of incoming wives and
children.
They enter the room and line up, one by one, eighteen clusters at a time. All of the girls wear the same blank expression with the same perfect wave of hair above their foreheads.
As the final child gets carried in, Dirk returns to stand by his uncle. My shoulders bump against the wall of shelves. The living room suddenly feels hot and cramped.
“She only has three children?” a girl asks. The kids around her shush her.
My heart sinks. No, there aren’t three of us. There’s over twenty of us, and I want to go home.
“What’s wrong with that one?” one of the boys says, pointing at Amy as she yawns. My hands clench as he’s elbowed. Thankfully, Amy seems too tired to have noticed what he said.
The sheer number of them is overwhelming. I really hope we don’t have to stay long.
“This is my family,” Uncle Hyram says, like he’s showing them off. Which he probably is since the more wives and children he has, the better off he’ll be in the hereafter. “Pearline has prepared your rooms.”
“You’re too kind,” Mother and I say. Like we’re supposed to do.
Pearline smiles. “The boys will get your things from the van. Follow me.”
We do as we’re told and trail her, passing by the front door before we move into a long, narrow hallway. A series of hooks line the wall. “You can hang your coats here,” she says and we place them on the bare hooks. “You’re lucky you’re on my floor,” Pearline continues when we reach the steep staircase. “It’s a little quieter.”
“That’s wonderful,” Mother says, obviously exhausted and ready to get some sleep. My legs are like weights as I drag them to the third floor. Boys shove our backs and pass us, running down the hallway.
“Boys,” Pearline scolds, but they laugh as they run into one of the rooms and slam the door.
“You have boys and girls on the same floor?” Mother asks, shock coloring her voice.
Pearline stops in the middle of the hallway and turns, the smile gone from her face. Even though she’s shorter than all of us, it suddenly feels as if she’s looking down on Mother. “When you have this many children, Hannah, you don’t get the luxury of separating them.”
The Prophet Calls Page 11