His face took on the aspect of an angry god. “Those sons-of-bitches. Polygamists.”
His vehemence startled me. Why was he so mad? I knew why I hated them, but most people knew nothing about them, a splinter group who had refused to give up polygamy when the main Mormon church did. Now small pockets of our sect and a couple or three others that had also broken off from the Mormons, or LDS as they preferred to be called, were dotted all over North America, but nowhere so prevalent as in the rural areas of the western states surrounding Utah.
Even those who knew of them just seemed to be amused by the group, or titillated by questions about how the personal relationships in a polygamist colony worked; unless they were aware of the ugly practice of forcing child brides.
Now, cautious because of Russ’s unexpected reaction, I said, “Well, I ran away from Bethel City, down on the Arizona strip. It’s still warm there.”
He was looking at me as if fascinated. “You were able to run away?”
“Yep. Took the Prophet’s car and ran like my ass was scalded, which it has been, several times.”
Russ’s face was a study in conflicting emotions. He didn’t know whether to curse, commiserate, laugh at my matter of fact statement, or ask a question. I took pity on him.
“Look I told you, it’s a long story. I know I don’t sound like someone from a place like that, and that’s because I’m not, not really. Three years ago, I was a wild child. Out of control, Mom said. My mom left my dad over his conversion to the Church, and I was pissed about my family breaking up, so I acted out. Mom finally sent me to Dad to see if he could get me to straighten out.”
“Did I hear a capital C on that Church?” Russ asked.
“Yeah, as far as they’re concerned, it’s the only church, so we say THE Church.”
“So what happened? You’ve been there three years? Did you straighten out?” The speculation in his eyes disturbed me. What was he thinking, that he could take advantage of me if I hadn’t straightened out? And, would I care? The last thought shocked me, so I hastily went on.
“Yes and no. They pretty much tried to beat the defiance out of me, but I just can’t seem to behave.”
“Give me an example.”
“Well, you’ve heard my vocabulary. I lose my temper and start dropping F-bombs. Then the Prophet disciplines me, which both pisses me off and turns me on, and that pisses me off, so it starts all over again.” I hadn’t meant to say that about turning me on. But there it was, it was out there, disgusting as it was. Russ’s expression was almost comical, on the one hand trying to appear as if he weren’t interested in my revelation, but with an even more appraising look in his eyes.
“So, when you said you ran like your ass was scalded, and it has been, you meant…”
“That the Prophet likes to discipline young women by spanking them, bare-assed, with his hand or a little whip kind of thing.”
“And that pisses you off and turns you on?” The look on his face was priceless. It looked like the concept kind of turned him on, too.
“I shouldn’t have said that.” My face was aflame. Now he would know. I was as much a pervert as the men who ruled their Bethel City community with the illusion of religious authority and a shared enjoyment of very young women.
“Can’t unsay it now.” Amusement tinged the observation.
“A gentleman would stop prying.” I folded my hands and tried to look prim and proper.
“Who said I was a gentleman?” He had me there. I froze. Now that I had let slip my worst shame, was he finally going to take advantage of me? I cursed my fuzzy brain and my too-loose tongue, another of the faults that made me the scapegoat of the community. I could never keep my own counsel. Ask me a question, and I’ll give you the answer, no matter how personal or embarrassing it is. You’ve heard of pathological liars? Well, I pathologically told the truth, even when it would get me into trouble. And the uncomfortable truth I was beginning to realize was that I didn’t think I’d mind if he did take advantage. What the hell was wrong with me?
“So you ran away because the Prophet spanked you, or was gonna spank you?”
“No, because he was going to marry me to Elder Jensen.” Maybe if I just answered with as little explanation as possible, he’d get bored and lose interest, and I’d be safe.
“And you didn’t want to marry him?”
“Hell, no! He’s about eighty, for one thing, and he’s already got three wives. They probably want me for a brood mare. I don’t think any of them has had a kid since I got there. I wouldn’t touch his wrinkled old dick with a ten-foot pole.” I shuddered, horrified at the very thought.
Stifling a laugh, Russ said with a straight face, “I see. Well, I don’t blame you. Didn’t your father stand up for you?”
A wave of nausea washed over me as I remembered appealing to my dad. “He was all for it. It would help his position in the Church, and maybe he’d get permission to take a second wife. He’s got his eye on a girl five years younger than me.”
“How old are you?”
“I’m twenty.”
“Your dad wants to marry a fifteen-year-old?” Russ’s face twisted in disgust. I was pretty sure that whatever else he was, Russ wasn’t a pervert.
“They marry them off young in that town.”
“Where are the authorities?” His sharp question made me wonder if he was thinking of riding down there and straightening the perverts out himself. He was big enough to make some trouble, but why would he care?
“Far away, in bigger towns. They raid us sometimes, but the town’s got one road in and one road out and at least three competing sects of polygamists. The lookouts get word to the Prophet and he and the young wives disappear until they know who’s being raided.”
Russ was silent for a few minutes, I guess processing what I had told him so far. “So why aren’t you already married?”
“Told you, I was not quite seventeen and I was acting out when I got there. Mom caught me in bed with a boyfriend, and freaked out, but I don’t know if she told Dad the whole story. Anyway, nobody wanted me until I started to settle down a little.”
“So, if you didn’t want to marry, why did you settle down?”
“The Prophet was liking those spankings just a little too much, if you know what I mean. And it made me sick that I could feel them, um, well, okay, I was liking them a little too much, too. Though, I didn’t want to have sex with him, ew. Anyway, I decided to be good so he wouldn’t have an excuse. But then my boyfriend’s asshole little brother ratted us out and everything changed.”
“Oh, you had a boyfriend. Why didn’t you marry him, instead?” Russ seemed to actually care about the answer.
“Seriously, why do you care about all of this? I’ve said too much already.” I had told him more in half an hour than I’d ever confided to anyone. Wondering if hypothermia caused some kind of need to brain dump, I clamped my mouth shut, determined to give up no more of my privacy.
“I want to know what I’m up against, now that I’ve rescued you. Are there going to be armed gangs of Reformed Apostles looking for that SUV? Tell me what happened.” His look was so menacing that I gave up trying to hold back.
“Okay. First, they ran Johnny out of town. I heard from his older sister that he ended up on the street in St. George. The patriarchs don’t like the young men getting the prime women, see?” I could tell from the look on his face that he did see, and that he was holding back a powerful emotion of some sort. Anger? It looked like anger, but I couldn’t understand why he would be that angry over some theoretical women or girls or a boy that he didn’t even know.
“Then what?”
In for a penny, in for a pound. I might as well tell him the rest of the story. “Then I got the worst beating of my life. That was a couple of months ago. Yesterday, the Prophet told me they came up with this idea of marrying me to Elder Jensen. I just lost it, ran out of the room, jumped in the Prophet’s car and skedaddled. Lucky he had the only fancy SUV i
n town, and the keys were in it. The Prophet never dreamed someone would have the audacity to steal from him.” I held my head higher, proud of my accomplishment. Russ examined my face, then brushed my hair behind my ear.
“Go on. Didn’t they chase you?”
“Yeah, but I outran ‘em. I went south and east on 389, and made like I was headed for Page and then I guess I’d have turned south for Flagstaff. But I think they were too far behind me to see me take 89 north to Kanab. I just kept going right up 89 and then 6 and 50 until I hit Salt Lake. Then I turned east. They’ll never look for me on this road; even if they knew I’d gone north instead of south, they’d figure I was headed east on I70 to get to St. Louis and my mother if I didn’t go to Flag.”
“So where were you going?” Damn, would the man never run out of questions?
“St. Louis. Just not by the route they’d expect.”
“What will you do when you get there?”
“Ask for police protection, I suppose. I’m sure the Prophet is wanted for child abuse or something. He never leaves town where he’s protected. Bet with what I know, I could get Federal help.” It was a thought I’d had for a while, but only now had a hope of putting it in motion.
“Maybe so,” Russ said. He held his hand out for my empty bowl, then got up and washed both of them from a basin that he filled from the barrel behind the stove. Water, good to know. I gave a nervous glance to the oil lamp above my head. Why the hell would Russ hang a fire hazard right above the bed?
He came back to the bed and sat beside me again, stretching long jean-clad legs out in front of him. “So that’s your Prophet’s car that you wrecked?”
“Don’t call him my Prophet. I don’t believe in that crap. But yeah, it’s his car.”
“Do you know if it’s registered?”
“I guess so. Yeah, it has a license plate.”
“Then it won’t be long before they’re looking for you on this road,” he stated matter-of-factly.
“Oh, shit!” My stomach would have hit my knees if I’d been standing. As it was, it bottomed out not too far from where it started. I needed to get out of here, get as far away as possible before that SUV was discovered and the Prophet notified where his car had been found. Russ read my mind, or maybe my face.
“We’re not going anywhere until this blizzard blows over, Kitten. But neither is anyone else. You’re safe for now.”
There it was again. He never did tell me why he called me Kitten. It was time to get a straight answer. “Why the fuck do you keep calling me Kitten?” I demanded, flashing my most dangerous green stare at him.
“Because I don’t know your name, mostly,” he drawled. That brought me up short. Well, why didn’t he say so?
“It’s Charity.”
I didn’t know why he thought that was so funny. He just about rolled off the bed, laughing at my fucking name. I stared at him. “What the hell is so funny?”
“Charity,” he gasped, “that’s rich.”
“What the hell do you mean?” Being laughed at and not knowing why made me feel small and young. I was ready to punch him.
A fresh round of belly laughs ensued. It was quite a few minutes before he gained enough control to talk. “’Cause you don’t got any, babe. You fought me like a wildcat while I was trying to take your cold, wet clothes off of you, even though you didn’t seem to be conscious ‘cause you wouldn’t respond to my questions. And, you’ve been spittin’ and scratchin’ like a little wild cat since you woke up. I think Kitten suits you better.”
For a minute, I glared at him, my back up exactly like the little wild cat he had compared me to. Then I was laughing too. Was I hysterical? I didn’t know. This was such a peculiar situation that I wasn’t sure how to act, or what would be appropriate. Every time he looked at me, Russ broke out into helpless laughter, which set me off. If someone had come in, they would have dragged us both to the loony bin, I swear. Gradually, we both trailed off into short chuckles now and then, and eventually stopped, out of breath and wondering what had hit us.
“So, what do we do?” I asked at last.
“You mean about the guys that’re chasin’ you?”
“Them, or the blizzard, or being stuck here together. Whatever.”
“Sorry, Kitten, I don’t see what we can do about any of it. Going out in that is suicide. At least nobody will be looking for you here until the storm breaks. It could take weeks to find the SUV down in that ditch.”
“How did you find me, then?”
Russ thought for a minute before speaking. “Actually, I saw you go in. But I had to go and get a vehicle with a winch. I tried to get your door open, but it was just the wrong angle.”
“Why didn’t I see you?” Something was odd about this story.
“You were out cold. I hated to leave you, but it wasn’t happenin’”
“I didn’t realize I got knocked out. I was running the engine off and on until I ran out of gas.” I meant for him to understand that I didn’t believe him, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“That’s good. Condition I found you in by the time I got back, I thought you were gone. Probably woulda been if you hadn’t been doin’ that.”
“So, how long did it take you?”
“Coupla hours.”
“Really. I thought I was in that ditch for several hours.” My voice was flat.
“Time plays tricks on you when you’ve hurt your head. Here, come to think of it, I’d better check your pupils.”
I smirked at him. “If I had a concussion, it’d be too late by now. I’ve already been asleep.”
“I think that’s a myth, that you’re supposed to keep someone awake for a possible concussion.”
“What’re you, a doctor now, Mr. Cattle Rustler?” I used my most sarcastic tone. He looked surprised, and then shook his head.
“Nope. Just a cattle rustler.” His eyes were hooded, but again I caught the hint of amusement in his tone.
I was sorry I had reminded him. What if he had a herd of stolen cattle around here? Was I going to be in the way? He could just hit me over the head with something, maybe one of those iron frying pans, and put me back in the SUV to die. No one would be the wiser. I decided to guard my words better for the immediate future. It looked like I was stuck here with him, and the last thing I wanted was to annoy him. I tried to smile at him, but the effect must not have been what I intended, since he cocked his head and frowned slightly. I looked away.
“I’m kind of tired, think I’ll go back to sleep, if you don’t mind.” I ventured.
“Nah, go ahead. I’ll turn in after a while.”
“Um, do you have to sleep in this bed?”
“Do you see another one?”
Okay, so he’d be sleeping with me again. I hoped he would at least keep his underwear on.
§
I woke to the smell of beans and something else. Burnt toast? Russ wasn’t in the bed beside me, and with no external cues, I didn’t know how long I had slept or what time of day it was.
“Hey, Russ?”
“Good mornin’ Sunshine.” Oh, so now I was Sunshine. Well, he could call me whatever he wanted, as long as we got out of here soon.
“So, it’s morning. How long have we been here?”
“Let’s see, you went in the ditch just before dark day before yesterday. So, about forty-two hours, I’d say. Give or take.”
“Don’t you have a watch?”
“Nope. Got no use for one. You don’t have one, either,” he pointed out. That was true, and it was for the same reason. My days were regulated by the older women, including my step-mother, who was only about eight years older than I. It was infuriating. I dragged my thoughts back to the present, intent on staying free from that place.
“So, has the blizzard stopped?” Hopeful.
“Nope.”
“How do you know? There aren’t any windows. Why aren’t there any windows in this cabin?”
“There are. See the little quilts on the
walls?” I looked around, seeing a couple of small, square, thick patchwork quilts that I had dismissed as decor for some reason, even though nothing else decorated the spare little room.
“Yeah?”
“They cover the windows in the winter. Otherwise, we couldn’t keep this place warm. No insulation in a log cabin.”
“So, you, what, looked outside while I was asleep?”
“No need to. Hush a minute and listen.” I did as he said, and perceived a sound that reminded me of a far-away railway train’s whistle. “Hear the wind?”
“Is that what it is?”
“Yeah. Long as that’s blowin’, you can’t see ten feet in front of you. Not safe to be out in it, you could get lost trying to find the road. Best to stay here until it dies down.”
“What is that awful smell?”
Russ laughed, “That’s your breakfast, Kitten, and if you don’t want it, I’ll eat it and be glad for it. This cabin was due for re-stockin’, so the selection isn’t what you might call gourmet.” He brought me a plate with a piece of toast smothered by canned pork’n’beans. Kind of strange for breakfast food, but edible. Yep, the toast was burnt. Guess it wasn’t easy to get it just right over a wood-burning stove. I kept my complaints to myself.
“What are we supposed to do until the storm dies down?”
“Well, you’re gonna rest. You had an ordeal and the best thing under the circumstances is to sleep as much as possible. I’m gonna keep watch while I’m awake, and sleep when I can. Maybe later I can rustle up a deck of cards and we can play gin rummy or somethin’.”
There it was again, that word. Rustle. And, if no one could move in that blizzard, what would he be keeping watch on? Or for? I started thinking again about his unlikely story of seeing my car go into the ditch and just leaving me there while he went for a different vehicle. Couldn’t he have broken a window and gotten me out? He had to have been able to carry me, otherwise how would he have gotten me into his car, or out of it and into the cabin for that matter. But what was his reason to lie, if that’s what it was?
The more I thought about it, the more unlikely it seemed. He had already told me he was a cattle rustler, so I didn’t have any reason to think he was a good guy, but if he wasn’t, why would he rescue me in the first place?
Rustled Page 2