Jimmy was much slower to accept my apology, and I don’t blame him. I’d been such an ass. When I found out about his Hope House project, which was just an idea on paper then, I felt even worse. He came from the same place that I did, but instead of letting his past ruin him, as I had been doing, he was trying to make a difference. The longer it took for him to accept my apology, the worse I felt. I would likely have ended up on the street again except that two things happened, almost simultaneously.
The first was that I tried to recover the watch I’d stolen from Craig’s house.
“Sorry, it’s been sold,” the pawn dealer said.
If I could have put my hands on a bottle that day, I would have guzzled the whole thing. As it was, I’d been sober for a few weeks. The realization of what I’d done hit hard. That wasn’t any old watch—it was a family treasure, inscribed with love.
While I was contemplating my next move, possibly stealing something else in order to buy drugs to numb the guilt, the second thing happened. Celeste called and asked me to watch Hope for her. She had to meet with Mrs. Kennedy, the school counselor, and then she had a couple of job interviews. I was still living at Craig’s at that point, doing nothing. She brought Hope to me. My plan had been to watch her for that one day, then pack up my few belongings and hit the streets again. To hell with what I’d told my father.
Hope was asleep in her carriage when Celeste dropped her off. I remained in my chair, staring into space, bracing myself for my return to street life. When Hope began to fuss, I lifted her out of the carriage and plugged a baby bottle into her mouth.
She studied me for the entire time it took her to drink that bottle.
I tried to see myself through her eyes. She was too unaware of the world to know that I was a complete failure. A thief. A bum. All she saw was her oldest brother. Light-brown hair. Blue eyes. Metal stud in one earlobe.
We locked eyes and continued to stare at each other. I felt that she was deciding whether she could trust me to keep her safe, warm and dry. When she finished sucking, I tugged the bottle out of her mouth, and her little face broke into a bright, toothless smile. I’d passed the test. I propped her on my knee and began to pat her back. In that moment I realized Hope had been seeing me, not the bum who’d given up on himself, and I wanted to be the big brother she could count on.
I held her for the rest of that day, even when she fell back to sleep, and continued to study her peaceful face. I could feel a sense of protectiveness swell in me. I had to keep Hope safe from harm. I knew Celeste had Abigail, Taviana and the other boys to help her, but this was my little sister. I wanted to be someone she could be proud of.
When Craig returned that afternoon, after Celeste had collected Hope, I approached him immediately, before my newfound resolve could evaporate.
“About that watch,” I said. “The one I stole from your family.”
He nodded and waited for me to continue.
“I took it to a pawnshop. I needed the money.”
He remained quiet.
I took a deep breath and let it pour out. “I know now how stupid that was. I regret it. I went to the pawnshop to get it back, but it had been sold.” I crumpled into the nearest chair. “I am so sorry. I don’t know why you welcomed me back here, knowing what I did.”
Eventually Craig spoke. “Jon?”
I met his eyes.
He pulled up his sleeve, and there was the watch. On his wrist.
“You bought it from the pawnshop?” I asked.
He nodded.
“How did you know where it was?”
“Lucky guess.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I knew you’d eventually want to talk about it. But I didn’t want to push you before you were ready.”
I stared at him. “How did you know I wouldn’t steal something else?”
There was a long pause. “I didn’t know for sure, but I decided to trust you.”
I blinked back tears. For months I’d been telling myself that the world was conspiring against me, that none of what had happened to me was my fault. It was the Prophet’s fault. My father’s fault. Even Abigail’s and Jimmy’s faults. But now I’d found out that Craig chose to trust me. Now I had an opportunity for a fresh start with Hope. I could show her who I really was.
“I’ll pay you back. I promise.”
“I know.”
Shortly after that I moved into Alex’s home. Jimmy began to soften. We worked together over the summer, and he eventually started talking to me again. He even apologized for calling Celeste an ignorant sister wife. He knew her by then and felt bad that he’d called her that. I used Alex’s computer to sign up for online courses to complete my high-school diploma. It’s taken until now to get it, one painful course at a time. Occasionally I’ve had to ask Craig for help, but I won’t ever have to tell my little sister that I was too stupid to finish high school.
After I spend the morning cutting and painting baseboards for Hope House, Lauren and I take Hope to the playground. We buy ice cream at the concession stand, and then Hope takes my hand and leads me to the place on the beach where she often builds inuksuit with Celeste. It’s the same stretch of beach I came to on the day I first arrived in Springdale. I remember the generous truck driver, how he gave money to a total stranger. I’ve been trying to pay it forward, as he asked, but it sure took me a while to get to it.
It’s also the same beach where I tried to rebuild a relationship with Celeste. The weeping willow is huge now, and its branches sweep low over the beach. So many times it has provided me with shade and cover.
I’m impressed by how many inuksuit are here and that no one has come along and knocked them down. It reminds me of a scene back in Unity, that last spring before I fled. There’d been an entire community of them on the beach, some created by Craig though we had yet to meet him. Together, Lauren, Hope and I build another one before it’s time to take her back to Abigail’s, where she’ll sleep for one last night.
Jimmy and Matthew are squeezed into a crowded corner of the kitchen, eating from paper plates piled high with food. Bowls and trays of food cover the table and all the counter surfaces. I fill a plate with potato salad, half a tuna-salad sandwich and a couple of Taviana’s muffins and join them. “I’d say the Hope House opening is going well.”
“No kidding,” Jimmy says between bites.
“And Tavi’s muffins are as good as ever,” I say, snagging another one off the tray.
Through an ad in the local newspaper, the whole town of Springdale was invited to the grand opening of Hope House. Everyone we knew personally was asked to contribute food. They haven’t let us down. There are also huge bouquets of flowers and balloons throughout the house. Someone from the local newspaper is milling about, taking pictures.
“Did you ever imagine this day would actually come?” I ask Jimmy.
He shakes his head. “All I initially wanted was to write a paper and get 90 percent or better. Who knew my idea could be made real? Not me. Now let’s hope that the girls and women come.”
“Build it and they will come,” Matthew says.
“Field of Dreams,” Jimmy replies.
I have no idea what they’re talking about, though I’ve heard this line spoken a few times lately. “Speaking of hope,” I say, trying to redirect the conversation, “have you seen our little guest of honor?”
“Oh yeah,” Jimmy says. “She’s dressed in her princess best and making the rounds. I’m afraid we’ve turned her into a little celebrity, and the attention has gone to her head.”
Matthew and I laugh. “It’ll be short-lived,” I tell him.
“Hope-fully,” Jimmy replies. “Pun intended.”
“She may never really know what Celeste rescued her from,” Matthew says. “Marriage at age fifteen. No education. Sister wives. Babies before she’s fully grown herself.”
“She’ll figure it out,” Jimmy says. “As she gets older.”
“Did anyon
e hear from Selig?” I ask, changing the subject.
They both shake their heads. All of us have been trying to locate him, but without any luck. It’s like he simply vanished the day he stepped onto the highway and put out his thumb. I figure that in this case, no news is bad news. If he’d landed on his feet he would have let us know. Abigail did her best for all of us, but in some cases, like his and almost mine, it was not enough.
When everyone’s had a chance to mingle and eat, Alex directs us all onto the front lawn. “We have a presentation to make,” he says.
This is news to me. I follow the crowd outside and see that Craig is rallying the crowd around the strange tarp-covered structure. When Alex is satisfied that everyone is there, he whistles to get the crowd’s attention. The chatter dies away.
“Welcome, everyone, to the grand opening of Hope House!” A cheer goes up. It takes a moment before he can get the crowd quiet again. “We have a lot of people to thank today,” he continues. “And we have an unveiling.” He glances at the covered structure. “But first I’d like to introduce you all to the girl that Hope House is named after. Where are you, Hope?”
Alex scans the crowd. Hope breaks through the mob and runs up to him. Jimmy wasn’t kidding. She really is dressed as a princess. I recognize the costume from Halloween. Her lips and face are sticky with the chocolate someone’s given her. She beams up at her surrogate grandfather, who takes her hand and turns her to face the crowd. Another cheer goes up.
“Hope’s mother, Celeste,” Alex says, “chose this girl’s name because she felt her baby daughter was going to provide hope to both her and other young mothers and girls in their community. Celeste wanted her daughter to have the kind of choices that she didn’t have and a good education. Five years ago she made the brave decision to start a new life for herself and her young daughter here in Springdale.” Alex hoists Hope onto his hip. “Jimmy, will you join us up here too?”
Jimmy moves through the crowd and stands beside Alex and Hope. His neck is crimson, and he looks at his feet.
Alex continues. “Jimmy met Celeste and Hope and saw the need to provide other girls and women like them with a place to turn to when they felt ready to leave their community. He researched the kind of support they would require and, well, got the ball rolling. That’s how Hope House was first conceived, and in only three short years we have raised funds and established a home and refuge for these girls and women. Many services are now in place for these girls, and we look forward to welcoming them.”
There’s another loud cheer and more clapping from the crowd.
Alex puts Hope down and pulls a sheet of paper and his reading glasses from his shirt pocket. He begins to read from the list of private donors and local companies who helped renovate and set up the home. “We are a work in progress,” he concludes, putting the list away. “We have charitable status and have set up a board of directors to overlook the running of Hope House. I’m hoping,” he says with a grin, “that some of our young people from Unity will agree to sit on this board.” His eyes meet mine. I think of Selig and am more sure than ever that I want to work to make a difference for both boys and girls leaving Unity.
“And now for the unveiling,” Alex says. “One of our founding supporters, Craig Brandt, will take over from here.”
Craig now steps up to address the crowd. Unlike Jimmy, he looks completely relaxed.
“Six years ago,” he says, his voice clear and steady, “I was a high-school graduate with time on my hands.” The crowd grows still, listening to his story. “I had no sense of direction or purpose. I often hung out at the river, both here and upstream, near Unity, building inuksuit and rock balances. I met Celeste on the beach, and we began creating inuksuit together. I explained to her how they were originally used by the Inuit people as directional markers. People made them to let those who came behind them know that they were on the right path. The inuksuit also signified safety, hope and friendship.
“Around that same time,” he continues, “I met Jon while building inuksuit on the beach here in Springdale.” He finds me in the crowd and smiles. “It was through my conversations with both Celeste and Jon that I began to discover my own life direction, which was to return to school—theology school. Soon Celeste had Hope and followed the direction that her own heart told her was right for her.
“So, Hope,” he says, looking down at her, “I thought that an inuksuk at the front door of Hope House would be a perfect symbol to welcome girls who are choosing their life direction. Do you want to help me uncover it?”
Hope nods solemnly.
Craig begins releasing the bungee cords that hold the tarp down. When they have been placed aside, he holds the tarp on one side, and Hope holds it on the other. “One, two, three, lift!” he says.
The crowd cheers again.
The inuksuk is about seven feet high and built out of bricks. It’s sturdy and strong, and even though it doesn’t have a face, it looks friendly.
The live band resumes playing, and the formal part of the reception comes to an end. Children go back to playing games on the lawn, and their parents return to chatting with their neighbors.
Feeling deeply moved, I remain where I am, staring at the inuksuk, remembering all it took to get to this day. Celeste joins Craig beside it. She must not have known about it either. She’s wiping tears from her face. Then she puts her hand in his, and he leans down to kiss her. It dawns on me that they’re a couple and probably have been for a while. I don’t know how I could have missed that.
A hand closes over mine. Lauren is beside me. “You okay?” she asks.
“Way more than okay,” I say, putting my arm around her.
The crowd has gone. A small group of us have stayed behind to clean up. I find a child’s picture book on a shelf in one of the bedrooms and lead a freshly bathed Hope into the living room so I can read her the story. It took a while, but I’ve come to value books, all kinds, and I want to be here to tuck her into her new bed. She snuggles up beside me on the couch, but after a few pages I realize her attention is not on the book, but on a car that has pulled up outside the house. Through the window I watch as a woman in a long, Unity-style dress steps out of the car and then reaches back inside to release a small child from a booster seat.
“Celeste,” I call, without moving. “I think there’s someone here you might know.”
Celeste comes into the living room and watches as the woman takes bags out of the trunk. The driver doesn’t get out to help her and pulls away as soon as she has gathered all her things. “Oh my god!” Celeste says, her eyes wide. “It’s Pam!”
She runs out the front door, followed by Taviana. We watch as they take turns hugging the woman, and then Celeste and Taviana pick up the bags and lead her and the child inside. “This is my father’s fifth wife, Pam,” Celeste says. “She heard about Hope House from Taviana and—” Celeste is too choked up to continue.
“And now she’s here!” Taviana declares. She wraps her arm firmly around Pam’s waist. “Let me show you around.”
Hope has stepped up to the little girl. They look so much alike, they could pass for twins. They gaze at each other for a moment and then, without saying a word, Hope reaches for the girl’s hand and leads her down the hall.
I figure they must be cousins, but it gets so complicated in those families that I can’t be sure.
“Build it and they will come,” I mumble.
Craig looks at me. “Who was that driving?”
I can only shrug. “Someone who didn’t want to be seen helping a girl leave Unity.”
Craig thinks about that for a moment. “Have you ever heard of the underground railroad, Jon?”
I nod. I read about it in one of my history courses. There was no real railroad, only an underground organization of people willing to help black slaves escape to freedom by offering safe houses and secret routes. I realize what Craig is getting at.
“Do you think?” I ask.
“I have ho
pe,” he says, grinning.
Acknowledgments
With heartfelt gratitude to the members of my writing group—Diane Tullson and Kim Denman—for their never-ending support and encouragement. As well, my early readers gave me tremendously thoughtful feedback. Thank you Beryl Young, Deborah Hodge, Aaron Rabinowitz and Linda Irvine. Sara Cassidy, scrupulous editor, taught me how to tighten prose, and she put countless hours into fine-tuning the story. Thank you, Sara! And, as always, I am grateful to Orca Book Publishers, a collection of the nicest, most professional people you’ll ever meet.
Although this is a work of fiction, I relied on many sources to help me better understand the plight of the lost boys of polygamy, but these three books were particularly invaluable in my research.
Lost Boy: The True Story of One Man’s Exile from a Polygamist Cult and His Brave Journey to Reclaim His Life, by Brent W. Jeffs with Maia Szalavitz, Broadway Books, 2009.
The Secret Lives of Saints: Child Brides and Lost Boys in Canada’s Polygamous Mormon Sect, by Daphne Bramham, Random House, 2008.
Stolen Innocence: My Story of Growing up in a Polygamous Sect, Becoming a Teenage Bride and Breaking Free of Warren Jeffs, by Elissa Wall with Lisa Pulitzer, HarperCollins, 2008.
Shelley Hrdlitschka is the author of eleven novels for teens, including Sister Wife, which was nominated for a Governor General’s Literary Award. She lives in North Vancouver, British Columbia. When she’s not writing, she can be found hiking, snowshoeing or hanging out with the two grizzly bears at the Grouse Mountain Refuge for Endangered Wildlife. For more information, visit shelleyhrdlitschka.ca.
ANOTHER NOVEL
ABOUT THE PEOPLE OF UNITY
9781551439273 PB $ 12.95
IN THE ISOLATED RURAL COMMUNITY of Unity, the people of The Movement live a simple life guided by a set of religious principles and laws that are unique to them. Polygamy is the norm, strict obedience is expected, and it is customary for young girls to be assigned to much older husbands.
Lost Boy Page 15