Wife Number Seven

by Melissa Brown

  “I need someone to go into town,” Leandra said as she clipped coupons at the large kitchen table in our dining area.

  That statement was my favorite in the world. I craved it and jumped at any chance to leave the compound and venture out into the “outside world.”

  “I’ll go,” I said as casually as I could.

  Leandra’s eyes never met mine. She reached across the table for a white envelope and handed it to me without looking up.

  “Get the items on the list. There’s cash in the envelope. Don’t be gone too long. We have supper to prepare.”

  “Yes, Leandra.”

  On my way out the door, I stopped into my bedroom to grab my purse. The frayed denim bag that I hid inside an old shoebox in my closet desperately needed to be replaced, but it served more than one purpose for me. The secret compartment of the bag held something precious, something that must stay hidden at all costs. No one in my family knew, and I intended to keep it that way. It was my secret and would continue to be.

  Placing the envelope in my tattered bag, I grabbed a couple of fresh cookies from the kitchen and walked out of our house and through our small gate. The white stone wall that surrounded the property might seem attractive to some, but to me it was ominous, a reminder that I was living in a cage. And even though I was able to leave from time to time when the first wife deemed it so, this was the cage in which I would eventually raise my children, grow old, and in due time, die.

  All within the confines of the Cluff property of the compound.

  When I reached the edge of the compound, I found the only two men I interacted with on a regular basis: our daytime guards. Samuel and Daniel were a few years older than me and were each on their way to being an important part of the priesthood. They spent their days guarding the compound, making sure outsiders did not peep into our property or break into our temple. Whenever I ventured into town, I brought them fresh baked goods. In return, they were friendly and never asked me where I had been if I didn’t return home before sunset.

  Even at a young age, I knew that our temple was grandiose. A large, white, hulking structure, it intimidated those outside our compound. But intimidation can still lead to curiosity. Outsiders were fascinated by our hair, our clothing, our way of life. And although it didn’t happen often, Samuel and Daniel would sometimes be forced to escort snooping outsiders off the property.

  Because of this, many of the homes in our compound were surrounded by walls just like the one that surrounded the Cluff house. It was all I’d ever known, so to me, it was perfectly normal. When I ventured out into the outside world, it fascinated me how people would build their homes so close to a road where thousands would pass by. Didn’t they want their privacy? Didn’t they feel on display? Perhaps not.

  I’d been taught that all outsiders, even those who followed the mainstream Mormon church, would burn in hell when they died. We were the chosen people who were truly living as God commanded—within the doctrine of plural marriage. Our husbands would become gods themselves and rule over planets of their own. They would live an eternal life of paradise. But when I ventured into the outside world, I was always surprised at how friendly and kind the outsiders seemed to be.

  When you were raised to think that everyone outside your community was bound to an eternity of punishment and misery, it shaped your expectations. I’d always expected to see misery upon their sinning faces. I’d always expected hatred to spew from their mouths. I’d always expected shriveled skin, bags under their eyes, anything that would indicate misery of the body, of the vessel God had created.

  But when I went into town to run errands or visit the free clinic, that wasn’t at all what I saw. I saw kindness and common courtesy. I saw children holding the hands of their mothers, just as I’d always done. Only these children were wearing different clothes and had shorter hair, styled in all sorts of ways. Some of the girls wore their hair down so it spilled over their shoulders. Some wore clips or bands around their heads. They looked beautiful.

  Makeup was forbidden in our community. What you saw was what you got. But in town, the women had lush pink lips and gorgeous lashes that curled seductively from their eyes. They possessed a confidence that I couldn’t quite understand.

  The prophet’s words echoed through my brain, reminding me that all of what I was observing was sin. I knew this. But I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like, even for just a day, to live like they do. To wear makeup in public, to choose my own clothing, to cut my hair short or curl it with an iron. I was fascinated. If Leandra or any of my sister wives knew of my obsession with the outsiders, I wouldn’t be allowed to go into town any longer. So I hid it.

  Once I’d purchased everything on Leandra’s list, I checked the hidden compartment of my bag. Only three days left. It was time.

  The free clinic was only a few blocks from the grocery store. As always, my heart raced when I walked through the revolving door of the utilitarian building. I could only hope Tiffany was working today.

  Four years ago, my cousin Tiffany left our community to live on the outside. She had become my confidante, the only person in the world who knew what I had been keeping from Lehi since we married. She knew what I needed and made sure I received it. Every single month.

  My pulse slowed when I saw her, sitting behind the front desk of the clinic, explaining to a young woman how to fill out the forms properly.

  When our eyes met, she smiled and held up one finger. This was our drill. We didn’t say much to each other these days. She knew my reason for visiting. When I first started visiting the clinic, she had all kinds of questions about her siblings, her friends, and the boy she’d had a crush on from afar. But not anymore. She’d immersed herself in the outside world and her curiosity had dissipated. But she continued to help me, and for that I was grateful.

  The patient in front of me hugged her clipboard and walked to one of the many empty chairs behind us. The way clear, I stepped forward.

  Tiffany whispered, “Cutting it close, I see.”

  “It’s been busy at home.”

  “Give me just a minute. I’ll have it ready for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Tiffany walked to the back room, and I listened to the soft music playing through the speakers. That was one thing I looked forward to when stopping by the clinic. Music was forbidden at home, but I loved the soothing melodies that echoed through the clinic. I didn’t know the names of the songs or the people who created them, but I enjoyed them just the same. Every month when I visited it was different, never the same song twice. I wondered how many songs there could possibly be. Hundreds? Thousands?

  My mind drifted, remembering the first time Tiffany had helped me . . .

  • • •

  When the prophet had revealed that I was to wed Lehi Cluff, I’d had a full-blown panic attack, although I didn’t know that was what it was called. Worried, my older sister, Jessa, had taken me to the clinic. Tiffany had taken pity on me and led me to an examination room. While Jessa waited in the reception area, Tiffany had sat next to me, taking my hand in hers, rubbing my back with the other.

  “You’re having an anxiety attack.”

  “What is that?”

  “Your body is reacting to something that scares you. Did something happen?”

  “I’m getting married.”

  “Ah.” She shook her head. “I see.”

  “What? I’m not afraid.” I frowned at her, drawing away. I couldn’t betray my future husband, my family, my prophet.

  “Of course you are,” she said, her voice soft and comforting. “That’s perfectly normal. Do you even know him?”

  I shook my head.

  “Damn them,” she muttered, pursing her lips together.

  “Please don’t—”

  “Listen to me. Are you ready, ready for all of this? You can run away. You don’t have to stay there.”

  “What?” I recoiled. “Where would I go? What would I do?”

&nb
sp; “You could stay with me. I have an apartment above the pharmacy.”

  “No, I—I couldn’t do that. I’m expected to marry Elder Cluff.”

  “Elder Cluff?” She gasped. “He’s old!”

  “He’s not that old.”

  “Oh, Brinley.” She frowned and patted my shoulder. “I can help you. Just say the word.”

  Two months later, I did return to the clinic, but not for an escape. I was looking for a delay. A delay to the inevitable. I simply wasn’t ready for the next step in my commitment to Lehi. But no one would approve of my desire for a delay.

  No one but Tiffany.

  • • •

  “Here you are,” Tiffany said, interrupting my reverie as she placed a small bag on the counter. Quickly, I removed the plastic disk and shoved it into the hidden compartment of my purse.

  “Thank you.”

  “Any problems?”

  I shook my head.

  “Good. My offer still stands, you know.”

  “I’m fine,” I insisted, my head still moving in denial that had become automatic.

  Tiffany sighed. “If you ever change your mind, tell me. Don’t let pride stand in your way.”

  “Thank you,” I said, waving good-bye as I walked out the door of the clinic, and back to the compound.

  Back to my home.

  Back to my cage.

  Chapter 3

  For years I had prayed that sex with my husband would bring me some sort of pleasure, a deeper connection to the man I married. For years I’d asked God to fix whatever it was that was wrong with me, because I knew it must be me. I must be the problem.

  Rebecca said she used to “lose herself” in Burt, overflowing with the passion that built between them before they exploded together. Those whispered confessions of hers late at night made my heart yearn to experience that intensity of emotion. I wanted to lose myself in Lehi, to feel something when he grunts¸ collapses onto my chest, and grows soft inside me.

  But I didn’t.

  All I felt was relief.

  When it was over, he would talk to me for a little while and would ask about my week. It was those moments I craved. Those moments when someone asked me about my day, about my life. It didn’t happen often . . . only when Lehi shared my bed. When he fell asleep with his arm draped over my belly, I was left alone with my thoughts.

  And lately, those thoughts were always about Burt and Rebecca. About their all-consuming love and how desperately I wished I could feel that way for Lehi.

  • • •

  Last night was our first night together since the reassignment. As always, Lehi knocked on my door after making his rounds and saying good night to his other wives. I was sitting, staring into the mirror of my vanity while I touched up my makeup, knowing that Lehi preferred a painted face.

  Although makeup was not allowed in our community, Lehi requested that I wear it privately on the nights he joined me in my bed. Once every week, behind closed doors, I dabbed at my nose with powder, applied scarlet color to my lips, and lined my eyes with jet-black liquid eyeliner.

  That was Lehi’s preferred image of me. The different colors brought out my features and gave me a more exotic appearance. But I didn’t feel like me. I was being painted for someone else . . . like I was a prop, a toy, a possession. It made me feel as if I weren’t a person with feelings, thoughts, or desires of my own.

  “Come in,” I said, watching as my husband cracked open the door.

  “Is now a good time?” he asked.

  Lehi was generally a polite man unless you made him angry, and then he transformed into someone unrecognizable. I’d managed to avoid Lehi’s wrath since joining the family, but had witnessed it directed at Leandra several times when errors were made in his weekly schedule, or the family budget was misused.

  It was then that he’d raise his voice, his face turning the color of a beet. He’d throw things, punch walls, and then retreat to his study to calm down. Leandra was his first wife; they had a history and a unique relationship that I could never quite know, and most of me didn’t want to know. That was their relationship; I was told to focus on my own with him.

  “Yes, of course.”

  I stood up, shifting nervously as I stood barefoot in my long cotton nightgown, hoping that Lehi would approve of my appearance. A grin appeared on his face as he took in the sight of me, and I was relieved to have pleased him. He approached and extended his tanned hand to me, his fingers long and thin, and calloused from hard work. I placed my pale fingers into his palm and he squeezed them tightly, then led me to the bed.

  “I’ve missed you,” he said as he ran his other hand through his brown hair, shot through with silver strands.

  Lehi Cluff was exactly fifty years old when we’d married, more than double my age of nineteen. He had looked older than his years back then, and even more so now. Deep grooves bracketed his mouth and his skin sagged. Dark smudges ringed his eyes, signaling his exhaustion from balancing so many wives and children.

  But I’d listened closely as he’d talked to me late at night when we were alone together. What he didn’t say was as telling, sometimes, as what he did. He’d never admit that this lifestyle, this gateway to the kingdom of heaven, was aging him at a rapid rate. Lehi was a devout elder of the church who believed wholeheartedly in what he’d been taught all his life. He was determined to please the prophet, maintain his place in the priesthood of the church, and die having lived the life he was meant to live.

  Sheepishly, I nodded, knowing Lehi preferred that I allow him to control the conversation until after our lovemaking was over.

  “Thank you for your patience. I’m sure this has been quite challenging.”

  I shook my head and looked at the floor. Guilt consumed me. It wasn’t patience that motivated my cooperation; having Rebecca share my room was a welcome break from my time with Lehi. But I couldn’t let my husband know that.

  “More than anyone, you welcomed Rebecca with open arms. And I appreciate that. As does our Lord. She was meant to join our family. Thank you for seeing that, Brinley.”

  His fingers cupped my chin and guided my gaze so that it met his. His eyes were kind but detached, as if this was a routine he’d memorized years before. Slowly, he unbuttoned my nightgown and guided it to the floor. I turned my neck, allowing him access. Immediately, he placed perfunctory kisses on my skin, then gripped my braid in his hand and guided me to lie on the bed, under the covers.

  Lehi always made sure the covers rested on his back when we laid together, and this night was no different. He nudged my legs apart with his knee and pushed himself inside me. A pinching sensation that I’d grown used to was present at first, but dissipated slightly as I desperately tried to relax and enjoy this time with my husband.

  But I couldn’t.

  Again and again he pushed inside me as I trained my gaze on the ceiling. I crossed my ankles behind his back, and my toes brushed against the crisp cotton sheets. Through it all, his lips never touched mine, his hands never left my neck or shoulders. A need swept over me, a desire to be touched elsewhere, to be wanted by him more, but I didn’t know how. As he pushed with all his might, I gripped his back and waited for it to end.

  With one final grunt, Lehi sank onto my chest, breathing heavily, his exhales hot on my shoulder. I stroked his hair as his body calmed and within seconds, he’d grown soft again. He pulled away from me and sat up, then moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

  “Thank you, Brinley.”

  “Of course.”

  I said that every time. Every single time.

  One of the responsibilities of being a celestial wife of Lehi Cluff was for me to open myself to him physically. It was my obligation, my duty, my role. And I had accepted it.

  But I knew something was wrong with me, something that kept me from enjoying our time together as much as he clearly enjoyed it. Rebecca said that Burt always gave her pleasure in her private areas. She called it a “release.” I’d never found a re
lease, not once. When Lehi was inside me, I didn’t feel the pleasure that Rebecca had told me about. I didn’t feel a buildup of sensations or an eruption of pleasure. Every time he pushed himself inside me, I wondered what to do to make that happen. But I had no idea, which made it all the more clear that I was the problem.

  “Maybe that did it.” Lehi rubbed the back of his neck. He was, of course, referring to the fact that we’d been married three years and I hadn’t yet become pregnant, despite our regular intercourse. There was a reason for that, but it was a reason that he could never know about.

  “Maybe,” I said with a forced smile, and pulled the sheets up to cover my bare breasts.

  “Perhaps Leandra can switch the calendar. I know it’s best for us to be together when you’re ovulating.”

  “I know, and I am . . . right now, in fact,” I lied.

  “You are?” His face lit up slightly and I nodded, lying again.

  The only acceptable reason for sex between two people in our church was for procreation. And after three years, I still hadn’t given him what was expected of me. Obviously the problem did not lie with Lehi. He had twenty-five children with the six wives who came before me. It was me. I was the problem.

  But I simply wasn’t ready. Something was holding me back.

  “That would truly be a blessing,” Lehi said over his shoulder as he pulled his boxer shorts back on.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Please keep me posted. You should know in a few weeks, right?”

  Considering how many children Lehi had already fathered, he knew very little about a woman’s cycle. Perhaps it was because he switched bedrooms every night. Or maybe it was because there were many months that two or even three of his wives were all pregnant at the same time, one further along than the next. It must have been hard to keep up, especially considering that sex between a pregnant woman and her husband was forbidden. They’d succeeded in creating a life. Sex was no longer deemed necessary or appropriate once a woman had conceived. Once the baby is born, though, it was business as usual.