Wife Number Seven

by Melissa Brown

  The prophet took Lehi’s outstretched hand and silently studied his eyes. When the prophet shook a person’s hand, he could see their spirit. He knew if they’d sinned. He knew if there was light, or darkness, in their eyes. That was what my mother had always told me, anyway, and I’d believed.

  I clasped my hands together in dread. Secretly, I hoped he wouldn’t touch my hand. If the prophet knew my sins—what I’d done, the thoughts I’d had about our faith, our community, our way of life—I’d most certainly become an apostate. My disobedience against the prophet and his teachings would give me the title worse than death. I’d be sent away, like Porter, never to return. I’d never see my mother or my sisters, Jessa and Winnie.

  “Brinley, you look well.” The prophet’s eyes devoured me, starting at the top of my coifed hair and skimming across the subtle rise of my breasts beneath my dress, inspecting me all the way down to my sneaker-covered feet. The goosebumps on my skin remained raised at attention.

  Keep sweet, keep sweet, keep sweet.

  Knowing I needed to respond, I murmured, “Thank you.”

  His hand reached for mine and my breath caught. I forced a smile for him and my hand went limp, squeezed between the fingers of the prophet. He paused, hesitating, his hand still gripping mine as he peered into my eyes, tilting his head to the side ever so slightly.

  What does he see?

  “As I’m sure you know,” he murmured as he dropped my hand, turning to walk down a long hallway filled with photos of himself, “my mother is ill. She’s having trouble knowing what is real and what is not. My father passed away years ago, and she’s remained faithful to his memory. But this means she is alone, and I cannot be here with her. The people need me.”

  “Yes, of course,” Lehi replied. The prophet shot a glance at Lehi, then brought his attention back to me.

  “I will need you to care for her each day, and make sure she doesn’t wander into the outside world. Last week she was discovered in town sitting beneath a tree, singing to herself. We’d searched the compound for hours, but were unable to find her. She gave me quite the fright.” Despite the emotion laden in his words, the prophet’s expression remained blank as he spoke of his mother going missing.

  “She sleeps quite a bit, but will need reminders to eat and to use the bathroom. I’ll need you to cook her breakfast and dinner. She sleeps through lunchtime. I’ll provide groceries and necessities for her and will have them delivered every week.”

  I nodded as he listed several other chores needed in the household, then he paused when we heard the creaking of the stairs. A tiny woman, no taller than five feet, appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Her eyes were heavy from sleep, her gray hair tousled but still styled in the expected braid. She walked slowly to the kitchen where we stood.

  “Get out,” she snapped, glowering at me. I flinched, not expecting that reaction from her.

  “Mother, enough.” The prophet’s voice raised slightly, but I assumed it was only to assist her in hearing him.

  “I’m fully capable of taking care of myself, Clarence,” she snapped, and the prophet seemed to cringe at hearing his name.

  I’d never known the prophet’s first name. To me, he’d only been known as “the prophet.”

  “I raised nine boys, I don’t need a nursemaid.” She brushed past me and retrieved a glass from the cabinet. Her fingers barely reached the cabinet’s knob when she raised onto the tips of her toes to choose a glass. She filled it with water at the tap and stood, staring out the window above her sink. “Besides, the last one you brought here was deplorable. Absolutely deplorable. Head completely in the clouds. And she burned my eggs. What proper wife doesn’t know how to fry a simple egg?”

  There had been others?

  Quickly, I glanced at Lehi, wondering why that hadn’t been mentioned. I was under the impression that Jorjina Black’s need for a caregiver was a new one. I hadn’t realized this was a merry-go-round that she and her son were starting and stopping, each time opening a spot for a new rider. I envisioned the prophet welcoming the rider as Jorjina attempted to push them off the ride once it began. Could I withstand her push? Was I being tested?

  When I heard my name leave the prophet’s lips, I snapped back to attention.

  “She’ll be here with you each day. She’ll cook and clean and help you with anything you may need.”

  “Yes, I know how this goes, son.” His mother didn’t bother to turn her body or her eyes to the prophet. She sipped her water and stared out the window.

  The prophet looked to me, his eyebrows raised with expectation.

  Nervously I cleared my throat, then said, “Mrs. Black, I’m happy to be here,” to which she merely grunted in response.

  The brave part of me made the decision to join her at the sink. Without a word I helped myself to a glass, filled it with water, and stood next to the frail woman. She recoiled slightly when my arm brushed hers, and I took a small step away to give her the space she required.

  But then I took a sip of my water and looked out the window to see two small birds sitting on a branch just outside the kitchen. I smiled when I realized that Jorjina was simply studying them, watching them as they chirped and took tiny hops across the branch. Perhaps I wasn’t the only one so fascinated by these creatures. Creatures who, to me, represented freedom in all its glory.

  Perhaps we both yearned to fly free.

  After a moment watching the birds, her face softened. Mrs. Black turned to me and her lips pulled into a half smile.

  “You can stay.”

  Those three words gave me the acceptance I craved in that moment. I’d been given this honor, and intended to fulfill all the expectations that were placed on me.

  “Can you cook eggs?”

  I scanned her face, noting she looked tired. The woman had to be at least eighty-five years old. She seemed frail and shrunken, with liver spots prominent on the pale skin of her hands. My heart reached out to her as I wondered what lay beneath that question, so I spoke with confidence, willing Jorjina Black to give me a chance.

  “Yes, ma’am. They’re one of my specialties.”

  “Good.” She took another sip of water. “I miss eggs.”

  Her tone made me smile. The frankness in this woman’s speech made her different from the other women in our community. I sensed resistance from her in complete opposition to the submission that was expected from women of our faith. But she was the prophet’s mother, and with that came privileges the rest of us couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Jorjina Black didn’t need to keep sweet. She didn’t need to keep herself composed or well-mannered. And there was a freedom to that.

  She’d lived her life. She’d raised her sons. She’d raised our prophet. She had no need to seek anyone’s approval or opinion.

  I wasn’t looking for a new mother figure or even a friend. I just wanted to do my job, and do it well. Little did I know that this tiny woman would quickly become one of the most important people in my life.

  Chapter 16

  Jorjina Black was not what I had expected. I’d spent two weeks assisting her in her home, and each day she managed to surprise me in some way. Her favorite food was chocolate cake. On my first day, after Lehi and the prophet had left us alone, she told me that she expected to have chocolate cake in the house at all times.

  “Deep, dark chocolate,” she said with a sparkle in her eye. “Don’t skimp.”

  I’d never heard that term before, and had to ask her to explain it to me. She shook her head, then looked at the kitchen floor and back at me before explaining the term.

  She believed in the power of exercise, insisting that we take walks each day to “cleanse our minds.” So each morning, after I fixed her breakfast—which usually consisted of eggs and/or chocolate cake and a large glass of milk—we walked several blocks to the open field where children came together to play. We’d take a short rest on the green park bench, and she’d pontificate on the importance of family, the blessings of Heaven
ly Father, and the relevance of polygamy in the modern world.

  I’d nod along, listening intently, hoping for some sort of light bulb to glow above my head, and pull me away from the rising voice that echoed inside: Porter, Porter, Porter.

  But that didn’t happen.

  And after several trips to the park, I started to notice that the Jorjina who spoke in the light of day was a different woman from the Jorjina within the confines of her home. In her house, she was a different woman; she didn’t discuss polygamy, our community, or even Heavenly Father. Instead, our discussions focused on the home. She enjoyed sharing her secret family potluck recipes: casseroles, Hawaiian haystacks, and frog-eye salad. She relished telling me about unexpected ingredients that made her dishes tastier than the standard recipes found in our community.

  “You serve it like this, and that husband of yours will be wrapped around your pinkie,” she joked while placing her latest casserole in the oven. When I didn’t reply, she looked up at me sharply.

  “Interesting,” she said with one eyebrow raised, her lips pressed together tightly.

  “I . . . I . . .” I stammered as I cast about, trying to figure out what to say.

  “Anyway . . .” She enunciated each syllable dramatically, then tossed the oven mitts on the counter before straightening her collar and giving me a wink. “Let’s get started on another cake.”

  Jorjina was on to me.

  She knew I wasn’t in love with Lehi. But then again, there were dozens of wives in our community who weren’t truly in love with their husbands. We all had our own reasons for wanting to please our spouse. For women like Leandra, it was power and control. For me, it was maintaining harmony and avoiding confrontation.

  It was no great effort for me to shrug that off.

  But the hints continued, the heavy-handed statements about love, marriage, and happiness. And I found myself questioning her motives. I wasn’t sure if I could trust Jorjina. As much as I was enjoying her company, I had to remember that she was the mother of the prophet, and my secrets could not be trusted with her.

  “I miss my husband every single minute,” Jorjina said sadly. “He was a good man. There aren’t many quite like him.”

  Her husband was the prophet when I was born. I was nine when the role of prophet had been passed on to his son after Jorjina’s husband suffered a massive heart attack.

  “Even after all these years?” I asked. I didn’t doubt her love for the man she lost, but was surprised that she spoke of him as often as she did. He’d been gone for more than a decade.

  “That’s how you know it’s true. When you think of him all the time, whether he’s with you or he’s not.”

  When Lehi wasn’t with me, I wasn’t affected. Before becoming involved with Porter, I’d craved my time with Lehi, but I didn’t know why. Was I lonely? Confused?

  With Porter in my life, I could never be lonely. When we couldn’t be together, he found ways to communicate with me, to show me how much he thought of me. The way he treated me, felt for me, showed me his emotions was such a drastic shift from my experiences with my husband.

  If I never saw Lehi again, I wouldn’t be sad. In fact, I’d be relieved.

  “You seem lost in thought,” she said as she set the timer for the cake.

  “A little bit.”

  “Sharing is hard. I speak from experience.”

  “It is.” I nodded, but I was lying. I was never jealous of my sister wives. I didn’t care enough to be bothered.

  “Cherish that alone time, dear. It can be so special, and quite enjoyable, I might add.”

  Did she . . . did Jorjina Black just hint about the pleasures of intercourse?

  My mouth fell open as I stared at her. Her gray hair threatened to pull from her braid as she pushed it from her forehead again and again, wiping the sweat from her skin. I had no idea how to respond, so I stood there gaping at her until she chuckled.

  “When you’re with the right man, it does wonders.” She winked. “Oh, come on, dear, I may be old, but I’m certainly not dead. My husband was . . . generous, and we enjoyed our time together very much.”

  She giggled under her breath as she leaned against the counter, studying me. But I couldn’t say a word. Lehi had never been “generous” with me, nor had I ever enjoyed my time with him.

  But Porter was another story.

  His kisses swept me away to another place, another time. I felt alive, revived from my complacent life. If his kisses did that to me, I could only imagine what laying with him would be like. My cheeks reddened at the thought. The temperature of the room rose in seconds, and I found myself wiping the sweat from my brow just as my employer had moments before.

  Sex with Porter. Sex with Porter. Sex with Porter.

  I couldn’t shake the thought from my head.

  I was ready, ready to explore the intensity that being truly intimate with another human being would bring. Like a fool I craved his touch, standing there in Jorjina’s kitchen and wishing I could see him, touch him, and understand what both Rebecca and Jorjina had experienced with the men they loved.

  • • •

  When the cake was cooled, frosted, and placed under the glass dome of the cake stand on her counter, Jorjina turned to me and yawned.

  “I’m going to lie down.”

  “Okay,” I said, wiping the remaining crumbs from the counter into my hand. When I dropped the crumbs into the sink, I realized Jorjina hadn’t moved, and turned to find her staring at me.

  “Ma’am?”

  “Would you stop calling me that? I told you to call me Jorjina.”

  “Sorry.” I hung my head. “Is there something else I can do for you?”

  “Go. Take a break. Leave me be.”

  “I can’t do that, ma—Jorjina,” I said and shook my head slowly.

  “You’re a young girl, go outside. Spend time with your friends.”

  “I don’t have any friends.”

  “Well, perhaps it’s time to fix that. Go.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest.

  Stunned, I opened my mouth but had no idea what to say. I felt like I was being tested, as if this were some sort of trick.

  “I ca—”

  “Don’t tell me you can’t. I’m giving you permission. Let me rest. I’m an old woman, I need my privacy whenever I can get it. Please, Brinley.” Her eyes softened, and her eyebrows drew together in a plea.

  “All right. I-I’ll go home and come back in a little while?” Uncertain if I should leave, my suggestion came out as a question.

  “Yes, I’ll let you make me dinner.” Her chin lifted upward in pride. “Now, go. Leave me be. I’m tired.”

  “Are you sure?” Leaving Jorjina alone like this was risky for me, so I couldn’t help but fret, yet in the next second I wondered if Porter was on a job site.

  Jorjina linked her arm through mine and ushered me to the front door. “Yes, now scoot.”

  When my shoes hit the heat of the pavement, my mind was already racing a mile per minute. I wanted to see Porter, but couldn’t go home to retrieve my phone. If Leandra, or any of the wives, caught a glimpse of me, I could be in major trouble with Lehi and the prophet. No, if I was going to do this, if I was going to take advantage of the freedom Jorjina had afforded me, I had to be smart.

  I would risk it. I’d go into town and attempt to see Porter.

  • • •

  My heart raced as I walked faster and faster to Porter’s building. I climbed the steps two at a time to reach his door, then pounded on it with my fists as adrenaline made its way throughout my body.

  I hadn’t seen him since he’d climbed through my window, and I’d missed him terribly. I’d missed his voice, his lips, the feel of his skin against mine. Jorjina’s words had reverberated inside my brain, permeating my thoughts and desires.

  I wanted the moments she cherished in her memories.

  I wanted to act on my lust, my passion, and feel it reciprocated.

  I needed t
o be desired.

  I needed Porter.

  Not Lehi, Porter.

  I hoped so badly that he’d be home. On most work days, he woke before the sun and was home shortly after lunch. I just hoped I’d catch him at his apartment.

  Porter’s eyes grew wide when he opened the door. Before he had a chance to greet me, I pounced, crushing my lips against his with urgency and need. He responded by wrapping his hand around my braid and pulling me close to him, then deepened the kiss immediately, his tongue stroking mine in delicious movements. My body was on fire as he tugged at my braid, forcing my head back so he could pepper my neck with kisses. I wrapped my arms around his back, clawing at his shirt, wishing I could remove it right there in the entryway of his apartment.

  He pulled away long enough to say one word. “Bedroom.”

  Porter pulled me into the apartment, slamming and locking the door behind us before dragging me behind him to his room. We passed Charlie and a few other guys who sat on the couch, staring off into space, and for a moment I hesitated, worried that Porter might be high. But I didn’t care. I wanted him, I needed him, and that was all that mattered. I wanted his skin on mine, his gravelly voice whispering into my ear, and the throbbing in my private area reminded me of my desire.

  When he’d closed his door behind us, again locking the lock, he closed the space between us and ran a fingertip down my cheek. The sensation sent shivers up my spine—the kind of shivers you crave, that stir desire within you.

  “Brin,” he whispered. “I want you.”

  “Me too,” I replied, my heart pounding.

  I was no virgin, this was true. But with Porter, everything was different than with Lehi. With Lehi, our time in the marital bed was a duty to be fulfilled, a purposeful union between a man seeking to impregnate his obedient wife. But with Porter it was lust, pure desire that demanded to be released.

  And I was ready to release it.