“Yes, come in.” I sat on the edge of the bed, awaiting my punishment, staring at the beige carpeting below my feet.
“Leandra told me what happened.” He cleared his throat and placed his hands in the pockets of his cardigan sweater.
“Yes, sir.” I still couldn’t look at him, terrified that another panic attack would swarm my body and mind.
“You must have been frightened.”
I nodded, biting my lower lip to prevent tears.
“I’m so relieved you weren’t hurt.” He began to pace across my small room, back and forth, back and forth. “The outside world can be a terrible place. People will do anything to get what they want. I guess you learned that the hard way.”
Again, I nodded as he cleared his throat once again. I knew what was coming, knew what my punishment would be. Devastated, I deflated before his eyes.
“From now on, you may not go into town unaccompanied.”
There it was. My heart crashed into my belly. It was over. It was done. I would forever be trapped in this cage of a home. Tears stung at the corners of my eyes, demanding to be released.
“I’ll speak to the prophet. Perhaps one of the guards will be able to escort you into town each week.”
Amazed, I instantly perked up. I wasn’t being punished. Lehi was still allowing me to go into town. I wanted to praise the Lord above right then and there, but knew better than to let my true feelings be known.
“Thank you,” I said, tamping down my enthusiasm. The last thing I needed was Lehi questioning my motives for visiting town. Especially since I needed to go . . . and soon.
And then it hit me. Lehi said that one of the guards would escort me, and Samuel was one of those guards. He was Porter’s best friend years ago before Porter left the community. Perhaps he knew where I could find him.
I smiled inside at the thought of retrieving my bag, my secret, and Rebecca’s letter.
“I’m happy to see you smile. It’s been a while,” Lehi muttered, kissing the top of my head absentmindedly.
“Thank you, Lehi,” I said. “And I’m so sorry about losing your money.”
“Don’t worry about that.” He glanced back at the closed door before returning my gaze. In a half whisper, he said, “Here, take this.” He placed a twenty dollar bill in the palm of my hand. “When you’re ready, you can go to the pharmacy. I have something I’d like you to purchase.”
Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved a folded piece of paper and handed it to me. His cheeks reddened slightly as I opened the folded advertisement. The model looking back at me had lips the color of a ripe plum, deep and dark. Her lashes were long and the color of night. I stared at the paper in my hand, its edge ragged, obviously torn from a magazine.
We weren’t allowed to have magazines or books or television. Newspapers were forbidden to everyone but the prophet. My eyes widened and met Lehi’s, silently asking where it came from. But the lack of connection between my husband and me prevented him from understanding my body language.
I paused a moment, then asked, “Um, where did—”
“On a job site. An obstetrician’s office. We’re remodeling the waiting area.” He shrugged, apparently not embarrassed or upset with me for asking, which was a relief. I didn’t want to anger him when he was being kind to me. “It made me think of you, and I’d like you to buy this.”
“The lipstick?” I croaked, attempting not to shudder at the sultry nature of the shade.
“Yes. And anything else from Leandra’s original list that you would like to wear.”
I didn’t want to wear any of it, but I nodded and hid my disgust. We’d only been married three years, and already I’d grown tired of his treating me like a doll. Maybe I could love him if he saw me . . . the real me. Not the painted face he insisted upon.
“I’ll speak to the prophet this evening,” he said. “Perhaps you can go into town tomorrow.”
“But—” I interrupted, hoping he wouldn’t become angry with me.
“Yes?”
“If you’re sending someone with me, they’ll know”—I gestured to the advertisement in my hand—“about this.”
“Oh. Well, let me handle that. I’ll specify that they should wait for you outside any store you visit.”
“Yes, sir,” I muttered, masking my elation at the possibility of tracking down Porter. I could only hope the prophet wouldn’t assign someone to accompany me, that I’d be able to ask one of the guards myself.
And I would ask Samuel.
Perhaps there was hope for me yet.
Chapter 6
Sunlight streamed inside my small bedroom, rousing me from sleep. I sat up and glanced out the window, struggling to focus my sleepy eyes on a tiny bird perched on the ten-foot wall that lined the Cluff property. Its beak pointed to the sun as if it were bathing in the glow of its warmth.
Propping myself up on one arm, I watched the bird, a desire building inside me to take on the day ahead. To bathe in the glow of the sun. To thank the Heavenly Father for my blessings. But something in the pit of my stomach wouldn’t allow that.
The memory of my missing purse.
The loss of my pills, and the letter for Rebecca.
My cage.
My reality.
Wiping sleep from my eyes, I noticed the yellow sheet of notebook paper lying on the nightstand.
Brinley,
I have spoken with our prophet. He is unable to spare any of the guards from their posts at this time. The outsiders have been especially sneaky as of late. However, you have my permission to ask one of your sister wives to accompany you into town if you are comfortable.
Blessings,
Lehi
Rebecca. I would ask Rebecca.
She would keep my secret. She would be invested in finding Porter, if I was brave enough to tell her about the letter addressed to her inside the bag.
But what if we found Porter, the bag, and everything inside it . . . everything except for her letter?
She’d hate me, despise me. And I’d lose an ally in my family. No, I couldn’t tell her. Not until I knew I could give her that letter. With new determination in having a plan, I walked to Rebecca’s room and tapped on the door.
“Come in, please,” she said.
The door creaked as I pushed it open. She looked up, her weary face brightening as I entered the room.
“Good morning, Brinley,” she said, tying the laces of her youngest son’s sneakers. His face was red, tears streamed down his cheeks. He’d been sleeping in bed with her the last few nights, missing his father like crazy, refusing to acknowledge Lehi. He missed Burt. They all did, including Rebecca.
But unlike her sons, Rebecca was obligated to hide her sadness, her mourning, her grief. She was required to obey the prophet’s revelation and honor Lehi as her true husband—even when he slapped her oldest son across the face when he refused to call him Father like the rest of Lehi’s brood. Even when he sent all four of her children to bed without supper because they wouldn’t look him in the eye when he spoke.
They were unable to cope, but that didn’t matter to Lehi. They were expected to fall into line and obey. Lehi had to demonstrate to the prophet that he was worthy of this choice, of this reassignment. If the boys acted out, his standing with the prophet would be lessened. And he simply couldn’t have that.
Watching their struggle pulled at my heart, knowing that their father loved them—all of them—and wanted to be with them. I had to find that note. I just had to.
I knew it was wrong of me to have such thoughts, to want Rebecca and her boys to reunite with the man whom was deemed unfit to have them in his life. But there was this part of me, a tiny bit of resistance in my spirit that captured the portion of my brain that held my imagination. And I imagined. Oh, did I imagine.
I imagined Burt loading his belongings into his truck, waiting for Rebecca and the boys in the middle of the night. Rebecca would gather them, still sleepy in their pajamas, and I would help
. I would hold their hands and whisper, “Don’t worry, everything’s going to be all right. You’re going to be a family again.”
We’d take them to where Burt was waiting. He’d hug me and thank me for giving her the note, for making this possible. I’d wave as they drove into the blackness of the night. And my heart would no longer mourn their loss. My heart, although committing a wicked sin, would delight in the love that would fill the cab of that truck.
I had to get that note.
I couldn’t be the reason they weren’t together. That sounded silly, of course. Rebecca had never admitted to me that she’d had contact with Burt, or that she wanted to leave the compound. But I knew he owned her heart. I knew she yearned for his touch, his attention, his affection. I knew Lehi would never even scratch the surface of the wall she had built around her heart.
She would lay with him; she would obey him. But she would never love him.
As I watched Rebecca soothe her son, the prophet’s morning devotional boomed through the loudspeakers of the compound and streamed into her open window. His soft, monotone voice was meant to soothe, to seep into our self-conscious, but the words were filled with such heavy meaning, such responsibility and obligation.
In our home, we were required to stop our daily duties whenever the prophet gifted us with a devotional. Rebecca sat on the bed with her son, her arm wrapped around his shoulder. I stood with my hands linked in front of me, staring at the carpet.
“Good morning, sons and daughters of Zion,” the prophet proclaimed. “Behold this beautiful day our Heavenly Father has given us. As you embark on your day, remember your duties. You are here to do the will of your prophet . . . and you will be happy. Sweet, willing obedience is the road to happiness. Keep sweet, do the will of your prophet, and find your happiness.”
As the prophet’s words continued, my gaze drifted from the carpet and landed back on Rebecca, back to the imaginings of my brain. And in my imaginations, she would no longer belong to Lehi Cluff, or to the prophet. She would be free. Like that bird sitting on the wall outside my bedroom window. She’d fly through her life with the man she loved, raising her boys in freedom.
And then she’d go to hell. She’d burn for all eternity. The fires of hell would swallow her whole, her and her children. She would damn them, she would destroy them, she would sentence them to an eternity of misery.
Wake up, Brinley. Your thoughts are sinful and Rebecca is where she belongs.
If the prophet knew of my vivid imagination, I would most certainly burn too.
• • •
Later I asked Rebecca agreed to accompany me into town, under the guise of visiting the pharmacy I was unable to visit the day before. I hadn’t yet told her about the note, but knew that if Samuel was on duty I would have to tell her the truth, or at least a portion of it.
Against my better judgment, I asked Rebecca about her children as we walked, about how the boys were coping.
She looked away and muttered, “They’re doing their best, I promise.”
I sighed, realizing that Rebecca was merely following the mantra of our church, “keeping sweet.” When faced with adversity, we were expected to push negative feelings down, to rise above and not let our emotions take control. Mind over heart. Every. Single. Day. It was exhausting, and I didn’t want that with Rebecca. I wanted us to trust each other.
Abruptly I stopped on the dirt road and turned to face her head-on. When she looked at me questioningly, I met her gaze and said softly, “You don’t have to do that with me.”
She nodded. “It’s hard. They miss him.”
“And you?”
“Of course I do too. But he’s no longer my husband. I have to move on with Lehi, with our new family. It’s our Heavenly Father’s will.”
“I understand,” I replied, taking her hand in mine. She squeezed it. And when we reached the clearing and I was able to see Samuel’s full head of golden hair, I squeezed it back.
“Listen, Rebecca. You’ve trusted me with your true thoughts. Now I need to trust you with mine. Can I do that? Can I trust you?”
Rebecca’s forehead wrinkled as she glanced around us, focusing finally on Samuel. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open as she put two and two together, coming up with the wrong answer.
I shook my head, denying the accusation in her eyes. “Please, I need to have a conversation with Samuel. Will you keep that conversation between the two of us? If not, I have to ask you to go back home and allow me to have it on my own.”
“I can’t let you do that. Lehi said you needed company—”
“I have to do this,” I said with renewed strength. “Now, tell me the truth. Can I trust you?”
Rebecca swallowed hard. “You’ve been my only friend since I joined the Cluffs. And for that, I owe you so much. So, yes . . . yes, I will. You can trust me with your true thoughts, my sister.”
Hearing Rebecca call me her sister was overwhelming in the best way possible. We’d connected just as much in her heart as we had in mine. I could only hope that by day’s end, she’d still feel the same.
When we approached Samuel, he silently nodded as a simple greeting. Samuel was not yet married and still expected to see women as the enemy, as manipulative snakes who would attempt to claw at his regard for the prophet and for our Heavenly Father. His eyes were narrowed and cautious as he peered down at us.
“Hello, Samuel.” I handed him a cookie, still warm from our kitchen.
A lopsided grin lit up his face when he saw my gift. “Good morning,” he said after taking a bite of the cookie. Samuel was tall with skin tanned from months spent standing in the warm Utah sun. His eyes were deep brown, like a bar of chocolate my father had purchased for me once at the local candy store.
“Samuel, I-I have something I must ask, and I’m afraid I need your discretion.”
Samuel paused, looked around him, and dug his teeth into his bottom lip, licking at the chocolate that was left behind. “What is it?” His tone was gruff with a hint of impatience.
“Years ago, you had a friend. I know that you two spent time together. He’s gone now, and I hoped you might know where I could find him.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Porter . . . Porter Hammond.”
“He’s dead to me, and to all of us. You know that, Brinley. What do you want with him?”
“He took something from me,” I said, and Samuel’s eyes widened with curiosity. “And I need to get it back.”
“I can’t help you.”
“Samuel, please.”
He closed his eyes and sighed. “He lives with his cousin on Wilson Avenue. Some apartment building above a coffee shop.”
“Thank you, oh, thank you, Samuel.” I popped up on my toes, hopping up and down.
“Calm down. Act natural, would ya?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, looking back down at the ground. “Do you know his cousin’s name?”
“Travis. Charlie Travis, I think. He might go by Chuck now. He’s like ten years older than me. He was kicked out a long time ago. That family’s no good. Don’t get involved with them, Brinley. The prophet would not be pleased.”
Trepidation consumed me. Would Samuel tell the prophet about our conversation?
“I won’t say anything,” he whispered, “but this conversation never took place. Do you understand?”
“Yes, yes.” I nodded my head, breaking eye contact. “We won’t take up any more of your time. Thank you, Samuel.”
“You’re welcome.”
I pulled Rebecca by the hand, and we walked out of the gates of the compound and toward town.
“Hey,” Samuel called after us just as our sneakers hit the paved street of the outside world. “Tell him hi for me.”
Shocked by his words, I turned to look Samuel in the eye, noting the sadness that had taken over his expression. And I knew, in that moment, that he missed his friend.
“Okay,” I said. “I will.”
• • •
Rebecca and I walked in silence toward Wilson Avenue. There was only one coffee shop on that street, the one that most outsiders seemed to be addicted to. Oddly enough, it had a green mermaid on the window, but the mermaid that didn’t match the name. I didn’t pretend to understand the people living in the outside world; they constantly surprised me.
But what I knew was this: they were not the chosen. They were bound to hell for not following the one true and righteous path of celestial love and plural marriage. They spent their days serving themselves rather than our Heavenly Father, and for that I had been taught to pity them, to feel superior in my righteousness. And as curious as they made me, that feeling of superiority was always with me.
It was with me when a car sped past us, its speakers loudly thumping the oddest of music—if you could call it that—through the open windows. It was with me when mothers used curse words in public and near the innocent ears of their children. And it was with me whenever I witnessed public displays of affection between a man and a woman. Once I even saw two men holding hands while walking down the street. After getting past my immediate shock, I had to take a moment to say a prayer for their souls, knowing it was pointless. I knew where they were headed, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
Rebecca finally spoke when we reached the red door to the apartment above the coffee shop. I sighed at the significance of the color of the door. Somehow it seemed fitting that the lost boy who was now living a life of crime would live in a building with a red door—the one color that is forbidden in our community.
“I have to know what’s happening before you ring that buzzer,” she said, her breathing ragged and fast. “Who is Porter Hammond? Is he the one who took your purse?”
“Yes. He stole it from me on the street. But when I fought back, he yelled at me. And I recognized him. I have to get my bag back.”
“But Lehi told you it was okay,” she objected. “He even replaced the money. Do you have something special in the purse?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t understand. What could possibly be so important that you would risk seeing him again after what he did to you?” Rebecca blinked rapidly, her voice shrill and urgent. She was obviously terrified.
Wife Number Seven Page 4