Sister Wife (13 page)

I get my suitcase from the locker and step outside. The spring night is cold so I pull on a hoodie. I consider going back to the park and sleeping on a bench, but I figure the police might patrol there. I don't want to be handed over to social services on my first night here. I turn and walk down the sidewalk in search of an all-night coffee shop where I can pass the hours until the bus depot reopens.

In my former life, before Unity, I spent my evenings working and slept during the day. I usually bunked in with other girls like myself, and we split the rent. With summer coming, I could find places to sleep outside during the daytime...

I give my head a shake, shocked at myself.

A car's headlights momentarily blind me. The car slows when the driver sees me walking down the road, suitcase in hand. The window rolls down. In that instant I'm transported back to Highrock. The man is going to ask
How much
? I'm going to size him up and give him a price. The passenger door will open, and I'll slide in beside him...

“Taviana?” the guy asks.

I'm jolted back to the present. “Yeah.” I peer at the face. He looks familiar.

“Remember me? I'm Jimmy. We met the other night. Jon asked me to look for you, and Hunter told me where you'd be.”

I sigh and send a silent prayer of thanks to Celeste.

Chapter Eleven

P
ain hangs heavy over our home tonight, a massive cloud, ready to burst. Daddy asks us all to meet with him in the big room as soon as the babies have been put to bed. I check in with Mother, but she doesn't feel well enough to make the trip down the stairs. I kiss her cheek and then join the rest of the family. Everyone clutches their hankies.

“Each and every one of us has been saddened by the death of Colleen today,” Daddy says when the room becomes quiet. He's standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, his hands clasped behind his back. Except for my mother and the babies, each of his wives and all their children are gathered on the furniture or sprawled on the floor. The room is crowded, hot and noisy with sniffling.

“She was a girl who made the supreme sacrifice,” he continues in a booming voice, “and she had an unquestioning faith in the Lord. She now resides with Him, in the Kingdom of Heaven. My brother, Jeremy, was most
fortunate to have her assigned to him as a plural wife, and he can now look forward to meeting her again in the next life.” His speech sounds rehearsed and he's staring beyond us, toward the hallway. I turn and peer down it, but there's nothing there out of the ordinary.

“We know that Colleen was so special to God that he didn't make her earthly stay long or painful,” he continues. “She will now assist Him in His work from Heaven, and those of us remaining must figure out how to repent and make atonement for our sins so that we, too, will arrive there.” His gaze returns to the room, and he looks about until he sees me. He glares.

I ignore his glare because I'm thinking about his words. If what he says is true, then it would mean that those who are most special will die young. I assume that
special
means those with unquestioning faith. Those who are pure. That counts me out. I glance at Nanette to see if this concerns her, but she is gazing at Daddy with such reverence that I think she's missed the connection altogether.

“Let us pray,” Daddy says and bows his head.

I close my eyes and listen as my family recites the Lord's Prayer. If Taviana were here right now, she would take my hand and squeeze it. At one time I would have done the same for Nanette. Now each of us is alone.

At the end of the prayer, Daddy begins reciting a familiar-sounding sermon about how we're the one true church, and how we have kept the principle alive. He reminds us that the principle of plural marriage was God's sacred gift to us. Then he goes on about the second coming
of Jesus Christ and how the church must be restored to righteousness. If he thinks he's comforting us in any way, he's fooling himself.

Daddy continues to drone on but eventually notices that his younger children are getting restless, and he wraps it up. “Be sure to remember Colleen's family in your prayers tonight,” he says.

“And Taviana,” I add brazenly.

The flash of his eyes speaks volumes, but I don't care.

THE NIGHT IS
long. Babies cry out, and I hear creaking floorboards as various mothers tend to the smallest children. In our room, Nanette and I are kept busy comforting the little girls. Shortly before dawn, I notice that Rebecca's bed is empty. Alarmed, I check the entire room before padding about the house, wondering where she would go. Eventually I tiptoe into Mother's room and find the two of them snuggled up together, sleeping. I know I should carry her back to her own bed, but they look so peaceful that I tuck the blankets around Rebecca and leave them alone. Like me, the exiling of Taviana is as hard on her as the death of Colleen.

I peek out the window on my way back to bed and notice the sky is beginning to brighten. Knowing that it's almost time to start chores anyway, I decide to stay up and watch the sun come over the mountains. I slip on an old jacket of Daddy's and step out onto the front porch.

The night is still, but as I stand there admiring the shimmering sky, I hear the first bird chirp. It is followed by a second bird and then a third. One by one they welcome the day as the golden, orange and pink hues streak the eastern sky. I sink onto the top step and enjoy the sheer beauty of the sunrise. This is when I feel closest to God, when I truly feel His presence. The stunning display of colors before me is His finest work.

Gradually the colors become bolder, the day lighter, and then the rim of the sun emerges on the horizon, in a valley between two mountain peaks. The chatter of the birds intensifies. The rest of the sun rises more quickly than I imagined it would, and I'm awed as I remember that it's not actually the sun rising but the earth spinning in the universe that creates this illusion.

How I'd love to share this moment with Jon. I know he'd agree with me that God is not in the religious ranting. He is not in the rules, or even in the sacred book. He is here, in the beauty of this divine morning. He is in the music of the birds, in the colors of the sky and even in the goose bumps on my arms. The realization of this makes me dizzy.

I hear the door creak open behind me. Swinging about, I find Pam there, looking as surprised to see me as I am to see her. I move over on the step and pat the space beside me. She smiles shyly and joins me there without a word. We continue to gaze at the miracle in front of us, at the new day unfolding. For a rare moment I feel at peace.

And then the sun is higher, the colors less vivid, and the moment is gone. I glance at Pam's pale face. “Are you okay?”

She nods. “I couldn't sleep.”

“Me either.”

“I'm really going to miss Taviana,” she whispers.

“I know.”

“I wanted to talk to your father,” she says, “and ask him to find a way for her to stay...”

“But you didn't?”

“No.” She sinks a little into herself.

“Why not?”

She looks away. “I'm afraid of him.”

I think about that. “Don't the two of you ever talk?”

“Not really.”

Poor Pam. This was clearly not a good match on the part of the Prophet. Daddy can be so intimidating, and Pam is so shy, so quiet. I make a mental note to spend more time with her. Maybe that will help each of us miss Taviana a little less.

WASHING MY FACE
, I think about the day that lies ahead. The whole community will come out to Colleen's funeral service, and I doubt the Prophet's words will be any more comforting than Daddy's were. I consider staying home to keep Mother company. With all the impure thoughts I've had lately, as well as the lies I've told and the things
I've done, just the thought of entering the church makes me nauseous, but then I change my mind. By going I'll at least be able to see Jon, even from a distance. That thought gives me an instant jolt of excitement.

The chores seem endless. I help make breakfast, do dishes, dress the small children. There is an embroidered and framed proverb on our kitchen wall that says
Many hands make light work
, but I'd say that many hands just mean more people to feed and clean up after.

I guide my little brothers into the church pew while Nanette takes Rebecca and the twins to the child-minding area downstairs. I wait until I see Jon enter the church with his family. They sit in their usual spot, a few pews ahead of us and to the left. When they're settled Jon glances back at me. I smile and nod, and he turns to face forward.

The service is as long and painful as I'd expected. At one point I look across the heads of my brothers to Pam, who is clearly distraught, and no wonder. She is the same age Colleen was. This could just as easily have been her as Colleen. I reach across my brothers and clasp her hand. She squeezes mine back.

It is finally over, and I decide to join the others in the meeting hall after I see that Jon has followed his family downstairs. I keep one eye on him while making polite small talk with other members of the community. I've always hated this kind of socializing. Unlike Nanette, I don't have a set task at these functions. Thank goodness. It means I can usually escape to somewhere quieter.

I glance over at Nanette's serving table and notice that she's having a conversation with Jon's father. There's something about the tilt of her head and the spots of red on her cheeks that seem out of place. He's giving her his undivided attention. Now his hand is on her arm, and he appears to be trying to comfort her. I'd swear there is a flow of energy happening between them, much like the one Jon and I share. Can people stop these things from happening, even though it is clearly wrong? I shake my head and wonder how Nanette and I can be so different. I could never be attracted to an old man like Martin Nielsson. I sigh and wonder how Nanette and I can have grown so far apart in such a short time.

Glancing back at Jon, I see he's been waiting to get my attention. He jerks his head toward the door and then arches his eyebrows. It can only mean one thing. He wants me to leave, to meet him at the river. The usual flutter of excitement stirs up my stomach. I glance about the room, wondering if I can get away with it. Everyone seems preoccupied, still lost in conversations. I figure I should be able to disappear for at least a little while.

I nod and smile. Jon smiles back. A moment later I climb the stairs and start down the road.

Chapter Twelve

“
I
t's a very sad day, isn't it, Nanette,” Martin Nielsson says, picking up a glass of juice from my table after Colleen's funeral.

I nod but can't make eye contact with him. The dreams I've been having about the two of us are fresh in my mind, and to actually speak with him, well, it feels...sinful. Especially today.

“At least the baby has other mothers to care for her.”

I glance around at the women who are clustered in groups. Most of them have red-rimmed eyes or are still mopping at their faces with handkerchiefs. Colleen's tiny baby is being cradled by Ruth, Uncle Jeremy's first wife.

“And I hear Taviana has left Unity.”

“Yes, she has.”

“Is your family missing her?”

“No,” I tell him. “We know that it was for the best. Taviana did not belong here.” I'm proud of my mature response.

When I finally get the courage to glance at him, his head is tilted and he's frowning.

“Don't you agree?” I ask him.

He doesn't answer immediately. When he does, he speaks slowly. “I thought Taviana was an asset to our community,” he says. “Through her, we were reminded that this is a preferable place to live.”

“Father and I believe she was putting impure thoughts into Celeste's head.”

“Oh. Well, that is a problem.”

“And she was prone to telling stories.”

“Stories?”

“Inappropriate stories.”

“I see.”

He stands quietly for a moment. I keep my hands busy by wiping up the spills on the table.

“How is your mother, Nanette? I haven't seen her in church for a while.”

“She's...” What do I say? I can't talk to a man about her health. “She's not too good.”

“Oh dear. I'm sorry to hear that.”

I nod and feel my eyes filling with tears again.

“Nanette, what is it?” Mr. Nielsson is leaning toward me, concerned.

I try to blink back the tears, but it's been an emotional day, and they're so close to the surface. I can feel my lip quivering.

“Nanette?”

I let it spill. “I'm scared that the same thing is going to happen to my mother as happened to Colleen.”

“Oh, Nanette. Your mother has given birth to many children. She will be fine.”

I can only shrug and wipe my eyes. I can't tell him that she too had bleeding.

He reaches out and touches my arm gently. “It's in God's hands, child. He will take care of her.”

“Where was God for Colleen?” I ask, and then, shocked at myself, I drop my face into my hands.

His hand continues to linger on my arm. I pull it away and feel my cheeks burn. He straightens his shoulders and adjusts his shirt collar.

“What has become of your faith, child?” he asks.

I shrug. “Maybe I've been spending too much time with Celeste.”

He regards me thoughtfully. “Spend some time with the sacred book, Nanette, and practice purity. You'll be fine.”

I nod but can no longer look at him. Why did he leave his hand on my arm so long?

“Tragic events like Colleen's death often make us question our faith, Nanette. It is normal. You'll feel better in a few days and be as faithful as ever again. Trust me, child.”

I look up at him and try to smile. He gives me a sad smile in return.