Wife Number Seven

by Melissa Brown

  “I know,” I said, acknowledging my supposed morning sickness.

  “The sicker you are, the healthier the pregnancy. You should feel better when you get to twelve weeks. That’s how I was with every one of my children. It’s like clockwork.”

  I knew what that meant—two more months of this routine. Two months of deception, forcing myself to skip the food I enjoyed, to vomit the food that I hated, and to lie to my husband and sister wives.

  But that didn’t change a thing. Two months, two years . . . it didn’t matter. It was a means to an end. And I was determined to see it through.

  “Your eyes look awful. Maybe I should go to Mrs. Black’s home today instead of you.”

  “No, no.” I reached out to pat her shoulder. “I’ll be all right. It doesn’t last long.”

  A weak smile crossed my lips as Aspen’s hand covered mine, squeezing gently. “I’m here for you. You know that, right?”

  To say that I was struggling to understand Aspen’s behavior since announcing my pregnancy would be a gigantic understatement. She’d always been protective of me; this was nothing new. But now I felt as if I’d reached some new level of sisterhood with Lehi’s sixth wife. I felt like she’d developed claws and wasn’t afraid to use them if anyone were to put me in harm’s way. It was as if she’d adopted me as one of her own. A mama bear and her very own grown-up cub.

  It was strange, but it felt nice. And awful, because it was based on a lie.

  “Thank you, though, Aspen. I do appreciate all of your help.”

  “I know you do.” She stood, smoothed the wrinkles from her dress, and retrieved my wicker basket from the corner. “I’ll take care of this. Give my regards to Jorjina.”

  “I will.”

  • • •

  The rain we’d received made our unpaved, normally dusty roads damp and muddy; the slop sucked at my sneakers with each step. Luckily my umbrella shielded me from the downpour that had developed as I walked, but my once pristine sneakers were the color of the mud beneath them. I sighed, knowing that Lehi would rather I wash my shoes dozens of times before replacing them. I was so busy focusing on my shoes, however, that I almost missed the man staring at me from the unfinished construction project to my right.

  Burt Jameson.

  I’d managed to dodge Burt since starting my job with Jorjina Black. Lehi had staked his claim with me on our initial walk to the house, and since then, Burt had stayed away from me.

  But today was the exception.

  “Miss Brinley,” he called from the covered porch of the partially built home. Before I could trudge through the muddy road to turn the corner, he’d hoisted himself over the railing and made his way toward me.

  “Elder Jameson, please.” I shook my head furiously, pinching my eyes tightly as the rain pounded around me. “I-I can’t speak to you. It’s not right.”

  “I’m sorry. I promise I won’t ask about Rebecca.”

  I stared at him in confusion, until I remembered their four children.

  “How are my boys? Are they all right? Are they adjusting?”

  Burt Jameson had seven other children to support with his first two wives, but I knew that didn’t change the love he felt for the children he shared with Rebecca.

  “They’re well.” I bit my lip, determined not to become emotional. “They struggled a bit in the beginning, but they’re doing better. They really are.”

  “That’s good.”

  He shifted his weight, his boots sloshing in the mud. The rain poured down, pasting his graying hair against his skull. Nervously, he raked his fingers through the long strands, pushing them away from his forehead. His pale skin had aged rapidly since the last time we’d spoken. I knew he was miserable. But I also knew there was absolutely nothing I could do about that. Rebecca had made her choice. Yes, it was the wrong one, but she’d made it.

  Rain dripped from his bushy eyebrows as he lifted them at me and asked, his voice cracking, “Is he good to them?”

  I knew what my answer should have been. It should have been an honest representation of Lehi Cluff’s paternal role. He’d screamed at each of the boys, had slapped their faces on occasion. He’d even given the eldest the silent treatment for several days after a disagreement. His treatment of Burt’s sons was deplorable.

  That was the honest answer. But I’d caused enough trouble already.

  And the truth was, telling Burt about the pain his children were dealing with wouldn’t change a thing.

  Not one thing.

  So, I kept sweet. I harnessed my emotions and told a lie to make Burt feel just a tiny bit better.

  “Yes, he is. I’m sure that they love and miss you every day. But they’re thriving, Elder Jameson.” When he sighed at my response, I said it again. “They’re thriving.”

  He closed his eyes and nodded as raindrops streaming from his forehead to his caterpillar eyebrows, down his crooked nose and landing on his parted lips. “Now, I must go.”

  “Wait, plea—”

  “Elder Jameson, I have to go. This isn’t right.” When he didn’t move, I said what I needed to say to change his position. “And the prophet is expecting me.”

  When I said that word prophet, Burt took a step back. That word carried power—power and fear and responsibility. Burt glanced around us, taking in our surroundings before stepping to the side to let me pass.

  “Good-bye, Miss Brinley. And thank you.”

  “You’re most welcome,” I whispered, turning my face before he could see my lips tremble.

  I stepped quickly through the mud, my heart thudding inside my empty chest as I made my way to the home of Jorjina Black.

  • • •

  “You’ll catch your death! Get inside!” Jorjina whooped, her frail arm holding the screen door open for me.

  “I’m sorry about the mud.”

  She shrugged off my apology. “You’re the one who has to clean it. Why should I worry?”

  A clever wink let me know she was only teasing. I’d come to depend on that wink. Jorjina’s sense of humor wasn’t what you’d expect from our version of royalty. She was clever and quick-witted, even sarcastic at times.

  I’d noticed that when the prophet joined us for tea, checking in on us from time to time, her demeanor changed. She stiffened in his presence and refrained from her normal clever remarks. Those were the mornings when her eyes lost their luster, their youthful glow.

  She was different around her son. And if Jorjina Black couldn’t be herself around the prophet, what chance did the rest of us have?

  Luckily, the prophet hadn’t joined us in several days. It was just Jorjina, me, and a cake that was waiting to be baked.

  “Clarence told me your news,” she said casually while stirring the chocolate batter.

  “Oh.” I paused, not sure how to respond to that. I’d come to enjoy my time with Jorjina, and didn’t want her to send me away.

  “I hope you’ll still continue on. For as long as possible, that is. I’ve gotten quite used to you.”

  She winked. And my lips curled into a satisfied smile.

  “I’ll stay as long as my husband will allow.”

  It was the truth. When my fake pregnancy reached its inevitable end, I’d be able to continue my work with Jorjina. Over the past weeks, my time with her had become my escape. A few afternoons per week, she’d insist I leave her alone, that I’d allow her to rest in private. For this reason, I’d started to carry my cell phone inside my brassiere, beneath my long underwear and dress. It was undetectable, but allowed me to contact Porter whenever the opportunity arose so we could be together.

  We’d make love in his bedroom, and then he’d stroke my hair and sing me songs as I laid my head against his chest. It was heavenly.

  And then as the dinner hour approached, I’d dress and return to the comforts of Jorjina’s home.

  She never asked me where I went. Part of me wondered if she knew, if she had some sort of mind-reading abilities. Porter said that was
ridiculous, but then showed me websites that listed people who called themselves “psychics,” claiming to be able to predict the future and read minds. It astounded me.

  One afternoon, Porter had to work late, but I still had to leave Jorjina’s home as was expected of me. I couldn’t return home, or Leandra would certainly tell Lehi about the breaks I was given by Jorjina, and the time I had with Porter would certainly become a thing of the past.

  So instead, I’d walked to town and sat in the coffee shop below his apartment. I’d used some of the money Porter had given me months earlier in the drugstore to purchase a cup of tea, and I’d sat in the corner, watching the patrons as they sat nearby.

  I’d grown used to the way that my dress, lack of makeup, and hairstyle had attracted attention. It no longer fazed me and I was able to blend in as best I could. And so, for those two hours, I’d sipped my beverage and watched the people around me. I watched people type furiously on their tiny computers. I watched as husbands and wives talked about their children. And I watched as a large group of women argued the merits of homeschooling.

  In a word—I was fascinated, completely and utterly fascinated by the tiny shop and the people it attracted. If I could have stayed there longer, I would have. I’d make myself comfortable in my tiny booth, nibble on a muffin, and watch the world pass by.

  That was the only time I’d ever visited that coffeehouse, but I started to imagine myself there with Porter with my hair up in a loose ponytail, wearing shorts and a T-shirt rather than my heavy, oppressive dress, and I’d have a purse with an embroidered owl strung across my chest.

  That daydream filled my thoughts as Jorjina brought me back to the present.

  “That makes me happy. I like you, dear.” Jorjina’s thin fingers stroked the top of my hand in a kind, maternal fashion. “And I hope you’ll be here for as long as you can.”

  “Me too.”

  “But I’m a realist. I know that in several months you’ll have a little one to attend to, and that son of mine will replace you with another inadequate and unfriendly woman who will burn the eggs.”

  I chuckled as I poured the batter into the greased pans, shaking my head. “I’ll teach her, if you like. So she gets them just right.”

  Jorjina paused, leaning her body against the counter. “You’d do that for me?”

  “Mm-hmm.” I nodded emphatically. And it was the truth.

  “Well, how about that,” she whispered, staring off into space.

  “I’m sorry?” I asked, confused.

  Her brow knitted for just a slice of a moment. Before I could react, she shook her head briefly before looking me dead in the eye. “Oh, nothing. You’re just growing on me, is all.”

  I wanted to be comforted by her words. But I wasn’t. All of my stolen moments with Porter seemed in jeopardy. I felt on display, exposed and vulnerable.

  Could it be that my “honor” of working for the prophet’s mother was nothing but a ruse? Was Lehi spying on me? Was the prophet?

  My heart raced as I placed the cake pans in the oven, avoiding my employer’s gaze as I set the timer. Then I turned to the window to focus on the rain that continued to pour from the sky.

  Jorjina’s shoulder brushed against my arm as she moved to stand next to me, and placed her hand on top of mine. “You’re safe here.” Her eyes were solemn, pleading. “I promise you. No matter what.”

  She squeezed my and nodded, urging me to believe her. But I couldn’t, and I struggled to compose my features. I had no idea what to believe.

  Could I trust her?

  Could I trust anyone?

  When I was younger, everything was simple. I knew my place in the world. I knew my role, my duty, my destiny within our community.

  But that was no longer my reality. I was breaking every rule, challenging every belief that I’d once held dear. And the woman I’d grown attached to over the past several weeks was sending me mixed messages, confusing me.

  And I had no idea what to do.

  My brain told me to hide everything inside, not to trust, not to feel.

  Keep sweet, keep sweet, keep sweet.

  And my heart . . . that part of me wanted to believe in her, to believe that she’d grown as attached to me as I was to her. My heart wanted so desperately to believe that someone knew my secrets and supported me just the same, someone inside the compound, someone living the life I was expected to live.

  But was that even possible?

  And was I a fool to believe that the mother of the prophet himself could be that person?

  Mentally I chastised myself, a similar refrain running through my mind:

  I’m a silly girl.

  A foolish girl.

  A stupid girl.

  And yet my heart continued to win, no matter how much my brain raised cautious pleas.

  I could no longer stifle the screams.

  They were coming.

  Chapter 20

  “I think she knows.” My words came out in a harsh whisper as I inhaled deeply, out of breath from running to town.

  After leaving Jorjina’s, I was desperate to talk to Porter. Once I’d passed Samuel and the other guards at their small tower, I’d run the rest of the way to Porter’s apartment. Without knocking, I let myself in, knowing the door would be unlocked. Inside his living room, I paced back and forth, fretting and working myself up into a panic while Porter stared at me in confusion.

  “Knows what? About you and me?” His forehead wrinkled as he attempted to keep me rooted to one place, but I couldn’t stop moving.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  I shook my head sharply, hugging myself as I strode from the door to the couch and back again. “No . . . she knows. She knows.”

  “Brin, slow down.” Porter pressed the palms of his hands on my shoulders. “Talk to me. Tell me what happened.”

  “I’m in trouble.” I brushed past him, my head spinning. “So much trouble.”

  “You’re safe here,” he said, his voice stern, and a chill ran down my spine.

  “That’s exactly what she said. Word for word.” I stared at Porter, trying to process what Jorjina had meant by those words. The world was closing in on me, and I was certain I was being punished for all my sins against Heavenly Father, for my transgressions against my husband.

  “The prophet’s mother?” he asked.

  I nodded, finally standing still, staring him in the eye. “She said I was safe with her.”

  We stood in silence.

  “She knows, Porter. I feel it in my bones.”

  “Okay, stop.” He walked to the couch and sank into the cushions, then placed his head in his hands. “So, what . . . you think she’s, like, telling the fucking prophet everything you’re doing? You think she’s some sort of spy?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.” My chest felt heavy and I struggled to breathe, then the room began to spin around and around. I was having a panic attack.

  Porter jumped up and caught me just as my legs gave out, keeping me from tumbling down to the dirty carpet. He wrapped his arm around my waist and led me to the bedroom.

  “Lie down, put your feet up.”

  I closed my eyes and attempted to slow my breathing. Porter sat next to me, clutching my hand in his.

  “Stay here . . . with me.”

  My eyes opened quickly, and the panic accelerated within my chest. “I can’t.”

  Porter pursed his lips and looked away. “Brin . . . what is it you see in me? I mean, what is this about?”

  Despite the pressure in my chest, I sat to face him. “I don’t understand.”

  “I mean, what do you see in me?” He peered at me wide-eyed, his expression distressed and vulnerable.

  “I—”

  “That’s what I was afraid of.” He stood and took my place pacing the room.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, still confused.

  “Is this just a game to you? Am I a game?”

  “How can
you say that to me? You’re everything! Absolutely everything!”

  I moved to the edge of the bed, trembling. How could he think that? Every morning I started the day with thoughts of Porter. Every night when I prayed to Heavenly Father, I prayed for Porter—for his happiness, his well-being, his health, and the strength to conquer his addiction.

  “Then why won’t you stay? I’m offering you a place to be away from all of them, and you won’t take it.”

  “I’m not ready.”

  “Why? Why not?”

  “Because I’m married! I can’t just stay here and never go back.”

  Panic filled my chest at the thought of leaving behind the only life I knew for a man I’d only known for a few months. Yes, I was falling for him. Yes, he was constantly on my mind and in my heart. But how could I know that he was ready to commit to me? To provide for me? That was a huge burden to carry, and I couldn’t expect that of him. Not yet.

  “He’s not your husband, Brinley. No matter what the prophet ‘revealed.’ He has one wife and that’s Leandra. You’re not bound to him unless you choose to be. Period.”

  He was right. Legally, Lehi had no claim to me. It was a celestial union, a marriage of faith. And clearly mine was fading fast. I stared at him, acknowledging how correct he was with that statement.

  Porter’s eyes bore into mine, and part of me wanted to unbraid my hair, to strip myself of my long, heavy dress, and make myself at home in his apartment. But I knew I couldn’t do that.

  “I risk everything to come here. You have to know this isn’t a game.”

  Porter looked away and crossed his arms in front of his chest, building a wall between us.

  “Porter, please.” My fingers grazed his elbow and he flinched at my touch. When I gasped, he closed his eyes tightly. “You’re everything to me. You could never be a game.”

  “What do you see in me?” he asked, his voice small. His body seemed to crumple into itself. I’d never seen him like this.

  “You’re kind and you’re strong,” I began, stroking his shoulder with my fingers. “You protect me and you make me laugh. I never laughed before I met you.”

  “I believe that.” He chuckled under his breath. “What else?”