Favorite Wife (34 page)

The blare of the pickup horn pulled Rhea's eyes from Melanie's face. “Oh! Mama said for me to tend her while you're in town, so you don't have to take her out into the wind.”

“Are you sure . . .?”

“Hurry up, they're waiting,” she grinned. “We'll be just fine. I'm sure I can find everything I'll need.”

Charlotte's brown eyes held a friendly smile as I climbed in next to Irene. “Welcome home,” she said cheerfully. “I want to see the baby of course, but I'll wait until we get back from town. How's she doing?”

“She's . . .”

“Charlotte, I told you, she's just beautiful,” Irene interrupted. “She's the picture of health, and she looks like Donna did when she was a baby. She has the LeBaron eyes.”

It was strange to hear Charlotte visit so freely. And it was even stranger to be buying my own groceries. I followed the two women down the aisles of the small store as we filled our baskets. Irene kept a critical eye on my selections.

“Don't forget baking powder,” she ordered. “You'll need yeast, salt, flour, and oil. No, don't get beans, we have a big sack in the shed, and don't buy potatoes. Joel has a truck-full that somebody donated, and he said to take all we wanted. Don't forget soap.”

The money Verlan gave me went fast. Once we were back home, the women helped me carry my groceries into the trailer. Irene pitched right in and helped me put them away. It was almost dark by the time they left.

An odd type of contentment seeped through me as I finished straightening the kitchen, then paused to admire my neat, clean home. True, it wasn't fancy or snug. The furniture left much to be desired. The wind sung its way in through various ill-fitting windows and the cracks beneath the doors. The only heat I had was to light the oven and leave the door open. But I had my own food—in my own cupboards! If I were careful with my money, I would eventually accumulate the other things I needed.

I picked up my guitar and settled down on the couch, idly plucking at the strings as I looked around me. Well, I thought, I have my own place now, and I have a child of my own, which makes me a respected and valuable part of Verlan's family. I'll be teaching school soon. It'll give me something useful to do, something with which to occupy my time. Yes, Lord, I thought, I have a lot to be thankful for.

Melanie hated the goats' milk Irene and Donna fed her during the hours I spent at school. She fussed and cried, taking days to become used to the taste. Then she settled down and gulped it like a greedy little pig. She was growing fast. Her black hair was becoming lighter every day, her eyes changing shades of blue.

“Irene, I've got to get Melanie some clothes,” I said one Saturday. “She's outgrown almost everything she's got.”

Irene frowned at her hand of pinochle cards, and then glanced at me. “Well, I'd give you some of Verlana's hand-me-downs, but there wasn't many of 'em, and Lucy asked if she could have them for Virginia. Have you got any material? We could make her some clothes.”

I shook my head. “Not a single piece.” I glanced at Melanie as she kicked and squirmed on the blanket, then I said quietly, “D'you suppose Verlan would let me have some extra money?”

Irene hooted. “Are you kidding? I had to sell my gas heater to Betty Tippetts when Margaret got the flu last month, so I would have the money for the doctor. When Verlan came home, do you think he would give me an extra dollar or two for cough medicine? No sir.” Irene shook her head and hatefully threw a queen of hearts on the table, trumping Donna's black ace. “He told me to make onion syrup.”

I nodded, thinking about how tight the money had been since we came back to Los Molinos. There was rarely a spare peso for luxuries such as margarine or colas. I had stopped turning the oven on for heat, as it used up the butane too fast. Eight dollars a week was the amount allotted to Melanie and me, and sometimes it was dropped to five dollars on weeks when Verlan Jr.'s paycheck wouldn't allow more.

Charlotte's oldest son had been working in San Diego for the past four months, sending every possible dollar home to support the family. The thought of the seventeen-year-old boy carrying such a responsibility angered me, yet his father seemed to feel that it was right and just. “It teaches him responsibility, Susan,” Verlan said flatly. “Until he either marries or turns twenty-one, I plan to have him help out. He's agreed to it, so stop feeling sorry for him.”

Well, I did feel sorry for Verlan Jr., living alone in San Diego, working hard on a construction crew to support his father's wives and children. And I knew Lucy's Chad would be expected to do the same as soon as he graduated. Meantime, Verlan was still giving his own hard-earned money to the church.

“Play, Donna,” Irene demanded, breaking into my thoughts. I looked up from my hand, waiting for Donna to lay a card down. But she was staring out the trailer window, following the progress of a blue Ford sedan that was climbing the incline toward us. “Mom, isn't that Lillie's car?” she asked.

“It looks . . . yep. It's Lillie, all right. I wonder how long she's been in town?” Irene's eyes met mine.

Rising discomfort nagged at my chest as the car edged up the hill and stopped in front of my trailer. I hadn't seen Lillie since that night in Ensenada, so many months ago, when she had been snuggled up to Verlan. Irene had said she'd been in Los Molinos a couple of times, but somehow I had missed her. And now she was getting out of her car and was walking toward my trailer on small, feminine feet, each step somewhat hesitant, as though she wondered if she would be welcomed.

Fourteen-year-old Donna jumped up and threw the door open. “Hi!” she beamed, pulling Lillie inside. “My, don't you look gorgeous. When did you get here?”

“Last night,” Lillie grinned. She looked at me over Donna's shoulder, her eyes questioning as she searched mine.

“Hello, Susan,” she said softly.

“Lillie.” I nodded.

She hesitated when I didn't say more, the room suddenly quiet. Shrugging her shoulders, she looked at the floor. “I wanted to come see you,” she mumbled.

I forced myself to stand, laying my cards down on the table. “I'm glad you did,” I lied. “We're playing pinochle . . . would you like to join us?”

I sounded stiff and cold, and Irene kicked my leg to let me know it. It was over between Lillie and Verlan, so I should behave and act nice to her. I managed to smile reassuringly into Lillie's dark blue eyes.

“Did you come down alone?” Irene asked smoothly, scooting over on the couch to make room.

“No, Daddy and Uncle Floren rode down with me from San Diego.”

“Floren?” Irene's face broke into a delighted grin. “Floren's back from Nicaragua? Well, for heaven's sake! Where is he?”

Floren, another of Verlan's brothers, also one of the Twelve Apostles of the Church, had been in Nicaragua for the past year or so. He had been searching for Book of Mormon relics and archeological facts. Verlan had told me of Floren's belief that Central America was the land inhabited by the Book of Mormon people. Being extremely interested in such things, Floren had gone to explore, moving his two wives down to Nicaragua, so that he could spend some time there.

“He's somewhere with Daddy, getting ready to witch a well for Brother Zarate. That I gotta see,” Lillie giggled. “Then tonight Dad plans on taking Floren grunion fishing. Mom and Aunt Gaye are making a picnic lunch to take along. The whole family's going, I guess.”

Irene scooped up the cards that were spread across the table. “Well I think I'll go over and see Floren! How about a ride, Lillie?”

“Sure,” Lillie agreed. Her thin face looked anxious as she turned to me. “Come with us, Susan?”

“I can't,” I said swiftly. “Melanie needs a nap.”

“Oh, come on, Susan.” Donna said, exasperated.

“Come with us!” Irene wheedled. “She'll go to sleep anywhere.”

Out-numbered, I shrugged and nodded. Wrapping a blanket around the baby, I followed Irene to Lillie's car. In uncomfortable silence, I listened to the three of them talk and joke as we skimmed across the small colony in the direction of Jeannine's trailer. The car radio was on—some kind of debate about President Nixon's election to office, and I tuned into the news and ignored the chatter around me. I wished that I could be as friendly as Irene. It wasn't fun to feel resentment and anger, especially toward someone as nice as Lillie.

As we turned the corner by the Zarates' lot, Irene pointed out the window. “Look, there's Floren now! Witching away.”

Word seemed to have gotten across town that something exciting was going on. A dozen or more people stood at the side of Zarates' lot, watching intently as Floren paced across the weed-covered soil with his arms straight in front of his body. As we drew closer, I could see that Floren held what appeared to be two long willows in his hands, stretching them out across the ground.

“What's he doing?” Donna gasped. “Witchcraft?”

“Not exactly,” Irene chuckled. “He's water-witching. Some people can find underground water. Floren can do it, or so Verlan says. He holds green willows out like that, and they cross each other when he walks over an underground stream. Don't ask me how. It's sounds kinda fishy to me.”

Lillie stopped the car next to the fence, and we joined the crowd that had formed. I could see Brother Zarate, shaking his gray head doubtfully as he watched Floren's progress across the lot. “I don't know, Joel,” he muttered. “Is this actually going to work?”

My brother-in-law's sunburned cheeks creased into a smile, and he patted Brother Zarate on the back. “Have a little faith, Benjamin,” he whispered confidently. “Have a little faith.”

I glanced at the huge mound of dirt at the far corner of the Zarate place. It marked many days of effort on the part of the Zarate family to find water on this piece of land. All that digging had resulted in nothing but a dry hole. But watching Floren's antics, I completely understood Brother Zarate's skepticism.

Behind us, observing quietly as Floren paced, stood Steve Silver, and his new wife, Carolyn. Three of Joel's wives, Jeannine, Gaye, and Kathy huddled by the fence, firmly holding on to the collars of several small children. Two of the Castro boys and Brother Zarate's family stood back at the corner of the front yard. Everybody seemed to be holding his or her breath as the minutes passed. Every eye was on the willows held loosely in Floren's hands. Suddenly the willows swung toward each other, crossing in the middle. Floren stopped. With the toe of his boot, he scratched an X on the ground. Then he walked swiftly to the opposite corner of the lot and again began his careful pacing. As he crossed in direct line with the spot he had marked before, the willows slowly swung in his hands. “Here!” he shouted. “Right here.”

Joel, Steve Silver, and Brother Zarate rushed to the spot, examining the ground. Floren's homely, yet arresting face broadened in a happy grin. “There's water down there. Right there, or my name ain't Floren LeBaron,” he crowed jubilantly.

Joel laughed out loud and clapped Floren on the back, then pulled his thin body close for a brotherly hug. “Praise the Lord!” he shouted, “I knew you could find it. Benjamin, get your boys to digging. Now, now,” Joel grinned as he saw the look on Brother Zarate's leathery face. “Remember what I said, Benjamin, have a little faith.”

“Floren, put those sticks down and say hello,” Irene demanded, hastening toward him. Lillie, Donna, and I followed her. I felt a bit self-conscious as I reached my hand out to Floren. I hadn't seen him for a couple of years. I wondered if he knew of Verlan's and my marriage, and if he recognized me.

“Well, hello, Susan Ray,” he said cheerfully, putting my fears to rest. Below Floren's honest, hazel eyes, his grin made deep furrows in his cheeks. “What is this? Is a handshake all I get from my new sister-in-law?” Grabbing my hand, he pulled me into his arms and planted a noisy kiss on my cheek. Then he held me away from him, looking me up and down. “Verlan's certainly got an eye for a good-lookin' woman,” he teased.