Sister Wife (21 page)

The service begins. The Prophet drones on about the many children Mr. Nielsson's wives will bring him and how we are the jewels in his crown. I tune it all out and think of Jon and what it would be like if it were the two of us here, instead of me with his father.

The Prophet becomes silent, and I feel everyone's eyes on me. I look up. Mr. Nielsson tilts his head, waiting. I am supposed to say something but I don't know what.

The Prophet repeats himself. “Your father tells me that you feel you belong in Brother Martin's house.”

I look at Daddy, standing behind Mr. Nielsson. His eyes bore into mine, and he's grinding his teeth. I have been taught the correct response, but my mind is blank. I open my mouth. Nothing.

Daddy clears his throat and looks even fiercer. I rack
my brain for the words I'm supposed to say. The Prophet repeats himself one more time. “Your father tells me that you feel you belong in Brother Martin's house, Celeste.”

It's not too late. I could walk out the door, down the road, and never return. I could be in Jon's arms in just a few hours.

But Daddy's eyes won't let my feet move. I wonder, vaguely, how God feels when one of His children tells a lie in a place of worship. “I want to marry the one the Lord has revealed to be the one for me,” I say, sinking into a pool of total emptiness.

Daddy's eyes close for a moment in relief. I'm sure he was as uncertain as I was that I'd go through with this.

Norah is instructed to place her hands on top of mine, a symbol of welcoming me into their family. Mr. Nielsson places his hands under mine. The final blessing is made, and then the Prophet says, “You may now kiss the bride.”

I steel myself for the inevitable, and Mr. Nielsson leans forward and kisses me gently.

I am now Mrs. Nielsson. The sixth.

A SMALL CELEBRATION
lunch with sandwiches and juice is held in the basement of the church. The wives mingle and the children run around playing tag. I see Nanette at her usual spot, pouring juice. Despite the fact that it is my marriage we're celebrating, I feel completely alone. Pam joins me at the side of the room.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

I shrug. “I guess.”

“I...I know how you feel.”

“You didn't want to marry my father?”

She shakes her head. “I was scared to death of him.”

“And you still are?”

She nods. “Sort of.”

“Me too.” I think about how his eyes pinned me to the spot at the altar. I exhale deeply. Again.

“I saw Taviana yesterday,” I tell her.

“You did?” Her eyes light up.

“I was in the hospital visiting my mother. She heard Mother was there, so she came up to see us.”

“What about your father?”

“He was picking up supplies.”

“How is she?”

“She seemed well. She said she was hoping to get a job at the library.”

Pam thinks about that. “That makes sense. She always told great stories.”

I smile, remembering.

“Did she ever tell you the one about Cinderella?” Pam asks.

I nod.

“That was always my favorite. I think about it when, well, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” I look into her sad face and shrug. “But I don't think we're going to get rescued by a handsome prince.”

We watch as a couple of little boys race past us. One of them is my brother, and the other one, I realize with a shock, is now my stepson.

“Are you worried about...later?” she whispers.

I look at her, surprised. “Not really worried,” I admit. “Just dreading it.”

“It's not so bad,” she says. “And it really doesn't take so long.”

I glance at her and see that she's blushing.

She shrugs. “Maybe it will be better for you. Some women say they love it.”

I WON'T CLAIM
to love it, but I suffered through it, and Martin, as I now have to call him, tried not to hurt me.

When we arrived at his house after the wedding, we had dinner with his family. I was treated like a guest and not permitted to help. I noticed the curious looks from his small children, but they all kept their distance, mostly studying me from behind their mothers' skirts. Four of Martin's wives greeted me warmly and introduced me to their children. Only one, Gail, kept her distance. One of his older boys, who is probably closest to Jon in age, actually winked at me when no one else was looking. I was shocked and quickly looked away.

I stabbed at the food on my plate but couldn't swallow anything. After the meal, Martin took my hand and led me down a long hallway until we reached a room that he said
would be mine. He showed me other empty rooms along the way, rooms that he hoped would soon be filled with our children. This wing was a new addition to the house. Like my own father's home, this one was constantly being expanded as Martin's family grew. It resembled one of the motels along the highway near Springdale.

My room had only one bed and the walls were bare. There was a lamp on a bedside table, and someone had brought over the box that I'd packed my spare dress, nightdress and underclothes in, but that was it. The paint smelled fresh, and the room looked like it had never been occupied.

Closing the door behind us, Martin took me by the shoulders and turned me to face him. He cupped his hand under my chin and lifted my face to his. I wanted to close my eyes, shut him out, yet I didn't think this was a good time to make him angry. I stared at a mole above his right eyebrow, trying to hide the revulsion that he would surely read in my eyes.

He stroked my cheek with his thumb and told me he knew I didn't want to be with him, that he understood but hoped that soon I would grow to love him. His breath was sour, and I turned my face away. Then he began to undo the buttons on the front of my dress. I looked down at his hands and saw that they were trembling.

When it was over, I lay on my bed, naked and numb. Martin lay on his stomach beside me, an arm flung over my chest. I wondered if the rest of the family had heard his groaning or the squeaking of the bedsprings. I thought
about the boy who'd winked and felt my face flush in embarrassment.

I rolled away, curling into a ball, my back to Martin. After a few minutes I heard him get up and felt a blanket settling over me. I refused to look at him. I could hear him dressing, and then I heard the door closing behind him. I'm guessing that he spent the rest of the night with someone who could show him affection in return. I felt myself shaking. I pulled the blanket up, conscious of the burning between my legs. The room was too quiet. I actually missed Nanette's warm body pressed up to mine, her soft breathing tickling my skin.

I had never felt so alone.

MY FIRST MORNING
in the Nielsson kitchen is awkward. By the time I arrive, everyone is busy and there seems to be no place in the routine for me. At breakfast I'm careful not to meet the eyes of the boy who winked the night before, but I can feel his presence across the table and my face burns. I help with the dishes, but when they are done, I don't know what I should do next. All the chores seem to be taken care of. I find Norah nursing her youngest baby in the living room. She smiles kindly when I sit down beside her.

“Are you okay?” she asks gently.

I nod but feel my eyes burning. I blink to hold back the tears.

“He's a good man, Celeste. You'll get used to it.”

Used to it? Is that the best I can hope for? I sigh, thinking of Jon and how I could be with him right now. “Is Gail Jon's mother?” I ask.

She nods but doesn't look at me. “It's not that she blames you,” Norah says. “She knew Jon was restless, but she made it clear that it would be hard for her to have you in the family.”

“She told everyone that?”

Norah nods. “She's very upset about Jon.”

I sigh. It's not like I asked to be in the family. “So, what would you like me to do?” I ask.

“What would you like to do?”

“I'm good in the garden and the kitchen,” I tell her. “I'm not as good with small children.”

She smiles at me. “I like your honesty.”

I think about that. “Well,” I tell her, “if you want the whole truth, I'm really worried about how things are going in my father's home. With Mother in the hospital, Nanette will have her hands full with my little brothers and sisters. Daddy's other wives help out, of course, but they have their hands full too. I'm wondering how they're coping.”

“Then why don't you go over there and see if they need you. I'm sure Martin would understand. He's out in the field with the boys right now, but at lunch we can check with him.”

“Really? Thank you!”

I'm out the door before she can change her mind.

THE CONTRAST BETWEEN
Martin's household and Daddy's hits me hard when I push open the door. I'd left an orderly cheerful atmosphere at Martin's, but here there are voices raised in anger and babies wailing from all corners of the house. The first person I see is Nanette, and she glares at me. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see if you need some help.”

“You don't live here anymore.” She turns and begins to storm down the hall but nearly collides with Rebecca, who has come flying out of the kitchen. “Celeste!” she screams and races toward me, practically knocking me off my feet. I pick her up and hug her to my chest. Then I hold her out and look at her face. Her eyes are puffy from crying, and there are dark circles under her eyes.

I make eye contact with Nanette, who is watching us, arms folded across her chest.

“She's been crying nonstop since you left,” Nanette says.

“I told you I'd come and visit,” I tell Rebecca.

She just presses her face into my shoulder. I can feel her ragged breathing.

“If you really want to help, you can get her out of here for a while,” Nanette says. She rolls her eyes. “She's setting everyone else off.”

“Do you want to go for a walk, Becca?” I ask.

Her head nods against my shoulder.

“Okay,” I tell Nanette. “But isn't there something else that you need help with? The babies?”

“I can handle them,” she says.

“Is there any news?” I decide not to say the word
Mother
in front of Rebecca, but Nanette knows what I'm asking. She just shakes her head.

I place Rebecca on the floor. “Go get your shoes and a hat, then, and we'll go for a little walk, just you and me.”

I watch as she races up the stairs. Nanette has turned her back to me, but she hasn't left the front hall. We listen to Lena and Deborah arguing over the misbehavior of one of Deborah's children in the kitchen. A moment later, Rebecca is scampering back down the stairs with a pair of shoes and her hat. I help her put them on.

“I don't have to be back at...” I am about to say Martin's but change my mind. “At Nielssons' until lunchtime, so if you think of anything else I can do to help, let me know.”

“We're managing just fine without you,” Nanette snaps, her back still turned to me.

I try to think of something to say. I suddenly feel sorry for her, and I'd like to rekindle our friendship, but the gulf between us feels so wide. “I'm sorry everything turned out this way, Nanette,” I tell her. “It's not what I wanted either.”

Her shoulders shrug, but she doesn't answer. Rebecca grabs my hand and starts pulling me toward the door. With a last look at Nanette's back, I step outside with Rebecca.

IT'S A BEAUTIFUL
morning, there's a light breeze and the new leaves on the trees and shrubs still have the lushness
of early spring. Rebecca and I walk hand in hand without talking. It's the first freedom I've tasted in days. I'm no longer a prisoner in my home. I should feel relaxed, but the constant ache of missing Jon plagues me, and the thought of spending the rest of my life and all eternity with Martin weighs heavily on my mind. Before yesterday there was always hope that something would change...that this would not be the way my life turned out. I had my chance to escape...but I didn't take it. I couldn't take it. Now there is nothing to look forward to, ever.

Rebecca leads the way, and soon I realize she's taking me to the playground near the river. Even though I have permission to be here, I still don't want Martin to see me, so we take the long way around to avoid walking past his fields.

At the playground, I push Rebecca on the swings, catch her as she slips down the slide and watch her hang on the monkey bars. Before long, the puffiness around her eyes disappears and her cheeks grow rosy again. Life is so much less complicated when you're four. Or five. Rebecca just had a birthday too. I sit on the bench and look out toward the river.

“Want to throw rocks in the water?” I ask her when she grows tired of the playground. She nods, taking my hand, and we stroll toward the water's edge. The ache of missing Jon intensifies here, the memories are so fresh, yet this place makes me feel closer to him at the same time.

When we reach the river, I glance upstream. The community of inuksuks appears to have grown. I wait until
Rebecca has tired of throwing stones before I take her hand and walk toward the stone people.

“What are those?” Rebecca asks as we approach.

“Inuksuks,” I tell her. I notice that a couple of the balanced rock formations have also joined the community.

“What are they for?” she asks.

“They are just fun to make.”

She wanders between them, and I wonder if she will push them over, the way she does with her block towers at home. She doesn't.

I study the new ones. Two more of them have been created to look like women. I find myself smiling.

Rebecca is studying the tower of balanced rocks. “Do you want to try making one of those?” I ask her.

She shakes her head. “Let's make an insuk,” she says.