Favorite Wife (7 page)

I picked myself up from the grass. My knees felt rubbery as I stood next to Mom and Jay and watched the white pickup back out of the driveway.

Mom was the first to speak. Her voice shook, “I don't know how this all came about, but I would like to personally fill that man's butt with bird shot for having the nerve to bring a gun over here, onto our property, and threaten my son with it. How dare he! I wish your father were here! He'd have something to say to that self-righteous . . .”

“Mom,” Jay interrupted quietly. “He did warn me. As wrong as he is, at least he warned me in advance. Oh, damn, I don't know what to do. I can't just stand by and watch her marry Hector! I can't believe that's God's will. Alma's wrong! I only wish Joel were here to tell me what to do.” He choked, turned away from us, and stumbled into the shadows. He leaned against the house and sobbed.

Mom turned and glared at me. “And just what part did you play in this? Why in the name of heaven are you involved in this stupid fight with Alma?”

“Jay is my brother and Carmela is my friend!” I said fiercely. “That makes me involved. Jay wanted to talk to her and I invited her over, that's all.”

“I asked Susan to bring Carmela over here,” Jay's voice sounded hollow. “None of this is her fault. I'm sorry, Sis. Did he hurt you?”

I shook my head. “What are you going to do?”

“Leave it alone for now, I guess. I'll think of something. You two go on to bed. Mom, I'm really sorry about this,” Jay walked back and put his arms around us. We hugged for a moment, and as I felt the tears on his cheek, a horrible hatred filled my soul like I had never known before. I wanted to yank Alma's thin hair out, tear his eyes out, and scratch his face.

“It'll be okay, Jay,” I whispered in his ear. And then Mom and I walked across the street and left him alone in his and Carmela's little dream house.

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

T
he rest of the month swiftly passed, filled with school and church activities, piano lessons and play practices. The early spring leaves on the cottonwood trees had matured to jade colors. Roses and painted daisies were blooming, and summer heat and freedom were just around the corner. The three-room adobe building that served as a school for the colony's elementary and middle school grades was stifling in the desert heat. Our government-paid Mexican teachers were as anxious as their gringo students were for the summer break.

Jay went back to New Mexico with Dad to work. I knew it was because he couldn't stand to be in the colony with things the way they were with Alma and Carmela. In school, Carmela was distant and withdrawn. I ached for her.

As for my own life, I harbored the secret of my dream like a hidden treasure deep in my heart. I had finally confided in my mother about it, but other than her and me, no one knew but Grandma LeBaron.

Francisca begged me to tell her what was going on with me. “I know you're not telling me something important,” she complained. “I tell you everything. It's not fair.” Francisca had fallen in love over the past month with Alma LeBaron's oldest son Alma D. She was crazy about him. Alma D. had been gone for the past six or eight months, working in Las Vegas. He'd come home with fancy new clothes and a brand-new red Chrysler sedan. He was taking Franny out every few nights and spending lots of time with her, which made her too busy to have much time for me. So I found myself thrown together more and more with Debbie Bateman.

Debbie was so different from the girls I had grown up with. For the first few months of her life in the colony, she was full of Babylonian ideas about men and life in general. Yet as the weeks passed, it seemed to me she was becoming a bit ashamed of her wild ways and was honestly trying to become one of us. She was wearing less makeup and had stopped wearing her mini skirts. She'd moved in with Ervil's wife, Anna Mae, and seemed to really enjoy being a member of Anna Mae's busy household. At play practices, Esther Spencer had noticed a difference in Debbie too. For the past few weeks she'd gone out of her way to be nice to her and make her feel a part of our group.

Lane had kept pretty much to himself since the day I had told him I didn't love him. He barely nodded to me when we were in the same room. I knew we had lost for good our special friendship. In a way, it made me sad.

Conference was almost upon us, and I was filled with nervous excitement about it. I knew I would get to see Verlan again. I could hardly wait to see what he looked like. Of course, I basically knew. But when I would try to imagine his face before me, I couldn't seem to get it in the right proportions. I would be seeing him through different eyes, now that I planned to marry him someday.

The meetings would take place on a three-day weekend. Six hundred people from all over the western United States and Mexico would be gathering to Colonia LeBaron to hear the Prophet Joel and the other leaders preach and outline their plans for further missionary work. Each evening there would be a social event. Friday night would be the play, and Saturday night we would have a big square dance. Sunday evening would conclude with the young people's Fireside or spiritual lesson.

My father's sister, Thelma Chynoweth, her husband Bud, and their three unmarried children were coming from Utah. I hadn't seen my Chynoweth relatives since I was a small child. They would be staying at our house, and I was delighted at the thought of getting to know them again. Due to my father's insistent ministry, they had joined the church a couple of years ago, and their oldest daughter, my cousin Lorna, had become Ervil LeBaron's fifth wife shortly after that.

Aunt Thelma, Uncle Bud, and their kids arrived late Thursday night, and Mom and Dad scurried around, carrying lamps back and forth as they bedded everyone down. I could hear the adults visiting until the wee hours of the morning.

The following day dawned full of clouds and rain, and I hurried through my chores outside so I could take a bath and dry my hair before the ten o'clock meeting. While Mom made wonderberry pancakes in honor of our company, Aunt Thelma bustled around the kitchen, setting the table, straining the milk for me, and talking nonstop.

Aunt Thelma didn't look a thing like my father. She was above average height and had kept a trim, firm figure for being in her fifties. She had perfect skin, laughing blue eyes, and exceptional white teeth. Her light brown hair was just beginning to show a little frost. She wore large pearly earrings and carefully tailored clothes. Elegant was the word for Aunt Thelma.

Uncle Bud was a jolly man, and immediately I loved him. When I looked at his face, kindness and goodness barely stayed hidden behind the smirk of a lighthearted tease. I was soon to find out Uncle Bud teased the people he loved until they wanted to pinch him.

“You're going to have to watch this girl, Vern,” he mumbled between bites of pancake as he reached over and gently yanked on my carefully pinned up hair. “She's going to steal all those men's hearts at meeting today. How old are you now, Suze? About twenty-three?”

“Now, Bud, don't you start in on her,” Aunt Thelma interrupted. “I was the same way when I was her age. We Ray women mature early, and not just in looks. She may only be fourteen, but she could give any eighteen-year-old a run for her money. Couldn't you, Susie?”

I managed a tight smile and excused myself from the table.

Cousin Mark, the boy just older than me, grinned and winked at me as I walked past him, and I fumed. I hated being treated like a child. I was grown up, whether Uncle Bud thought so or not. Hadn't God given me a revelation about whom to marry?

As I walked down the hall to my room, Uncle Bud was keeping it up. “Yep, Vern, you're going to have to oil up the old shotgun because of that little blond.”

“Speaking of shotguns,” Dad's deep voice boomed down the hall, “we had a little run-in with a shotgun here about a month ago. I tell you, Bud, some of these LeBaron men think they're above the law.”

I propped my bedroom door open a bit so I could eavesdrop. Dad went on and on about Alma's visit to Jay and just what he thought about the whole thing. As they talked, I fixed my hair where Uncle Bud had pulled it loose from the French twist. I had on my favorite pink dress, but as I examined myself in the mirror, I pulled it off and changed into the blue and gray dress with the full skirt because Jay had told me it matched my eyes. Also, I was afraid Verlan would recognize my pink one.

Dad's voice carried well down the hall, and suddenly I heard him say, “You know, Bud, those LeBaron men are all so different. But in some things they're like peas in a pod. Take Ervil now; just like Alma, Ervil thinks he can run people's lives.”

Dad's voice abruptly dropped in volume. Whatever else he was saying about Ervil LeBaron was being muffled. I hurried to the door and stuck my head out, but the conversation was being carried on in a whisper. I lingered for a moment, but Dad's voice remained too low. Whatever he was discussing now was a secret, and it sounded like Dad was unhappy with Ervil again. Bud's oldest daughter was one of Ervil's wives, and what was Dad doing ragging on Ervil to him? I wished I knew more about what was going on.

I closed the door and took one last look in the mirror. Today of all days I wanted to look my best. Staring back at me was a five-foot-five-inch young lady of medium build, with high cheekbones, a clear complexion, and big blue eyes fringed with dark, curly lashes and brown, even brows. Thick, ash-blond hair, pulled up in a mature style, definitely made me look eighteen. My dress was belted snug around my waist, and my bosom pushed hard at the fabric. I might not steal all the men's hearts today, but there was one man's heart that I hoped would at least skip a beat or two. I put just a dab of Mom's perfume behind my ears, picked up my Bible and Book of Mormon, and walked into the kitchen.

“Are you guys ready?” I called to Jay and Mark as they combed their hair at the mirror above the washstand by the back door. They certainly looked ready—a couple of lady-killers, all dolled up in their suits and ties. I whistled my admiration. Mark's hair curled long over his collar and glistened with blond highlights. He'd inherited Aunt Thelma's perfect, white smile and Uncle Bud's hazel eyes, complete with the constant twinkle. He wasn't very tall, but his muscular body sported a golden tan.

Next to Mark, Jay's serious persona seemed especially grave. He looked his best, with his dark brown hair all plastered down and his nicest clothes on, but his dark blue eyes were thoughtful and distant. I ached for him.

“I will certainly feel proud to walk to church with the two best-looking guys in town,” I declared, smiling brightly.

Jay grinned self-consciously. Taking my books, he tucked them under his arm, then bent his other elbow and held it out to me in a gallant gesture. “Ya don't look too shabby yourself, Sis,” he eyed me up and down.

“You kids run along,” Mom said from her seat at the breakfast table. “We're just going to finish our last cup of coffee then we'll join you at the church.”

“Save us a seat,” Aunt Thelma sung merrily after us.

As Mark, Jay, and I walked out the door, I hesitated momentarily, looking back at the lovely picture my Uncle Bud and Aunt Thelma made, seated with Mom and Dad, drinking the forbidden coffee in a cozy family group around the table in our kitchen. That memory would come back to fill me with haunting sadness in the years to come—tragic years that changed one of these loving, God-fearing people into an accomplice to murder.

I knew Verlan would sit up on the stage with the rest of the leaders. The thought filled me with a glowing, tingling pride. My future husband was a man of such importance, and the more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea. The Prophet Joel, of course, led the church; then came Ervil, the church patriarch, then Verlan's position was next in prominence. The President of the Twelve Apostles! Marrying me, Susan Ray.

I chose a seat four benches back, not too close to the front but close enough so he would be sure to notice me. I wondered if he had brought any of his wives with him from Baja. I hoped not. I wanted him to have plenty of time to look around.

The church building was full already, people hurrying about, shaking each other's hands, laughing and crying—all the things people do who haven't seen their friends and relatives for months. I sat quietly and watched the goings-on around me, and waited expectantly to see a certain tall man in a business suit walk in. I leaned back on the hard bench and imagined how it would be when Verlan arrived. He would see me sitting here all alone, and he would walk over to me. I would be studiously reading my Book of Mormon, and he would reach for my hand and say, “Well, hello, Susan. I was hoping to see you today.” And he would smile at me with that intimate look in his eyes. I knew that look by heart, because I had thought about it for weeks.

The benches were filling up around me. Mom, Dad, and Maria walked in and sat down with Uncle Bud and Aunt Thelma. Mark traipsed in and walked straight to where I was sitting. “Scoot over,” he demanded. “I want the aisle seat.”

“Too bad. I got here first,” I grinned and moved my knees so he could get by. “Where's Jay?”

Mark motioned with his head toward the door. “He said he needed to wait for someone, but I got tired of that hot sun.” His hazel eyes shifted around the room as he spoke. “Wow!” he suddenly whispered, “who's that?”

Debbie Bateman, shining like a golden angel in her creamy yellow dress, was seated with her parents who'd come from California. She waved to me, her eyes resting fleetingly on Mark. I had always been the kind of person to enjoy playing matchmaker, and I recognized a perfect opportunity. Debbie didn't hesitate when I motioned for her to join us.

“Hi!” she said as she approached our bench, her smile flashing flirtatiously at Mark. He slid over to make room for her to sit between us, and in a matter of moments the two of them were completely ignoring me. I continued my search of the crowded room. Esther Spencer was fighting her way down the middle aisle with Grandma LeBaron leaning on her arm. Grandma's fine hair had been done up into fancy curls, with strands of silver gleaming among the soft brown. Her silky maroon dress rustled as her feet slipped across the concrete floor.