Sister Wife (22 page)

“Inuksuk,” I correct her. “Sure. Shall we make one together, or do you want to make your own?”

“Together,” she says.

We set to work, our skirts tucked into our aprons. By the time we're finished, three new inuksuks have joined the group. Two of them are children inuksuks, which was Rebecca's suggestion. We step back and admire our new creations. These inuksuks multiply almost as fast as the people of my community, I think to myself. The thought makes me smile.

I look down and find Rebecca staring up at me. “What?”

“You look nice when you smile.”

I study her little face, which looks so much happier than it did when I collected her from home. Then I lean down and tickle her ribs. She shrieks and laughs. “So do you,” I tell her.

Chapter Twenty

H
ow can God have let me down like this? I have been obedient. I have practiced purity. And yet I feel I'm being punished.

Watching Celeste being wed to Martin Nielsson yesterday was hell on earth for me, and then last night I tossed and turned in my empty bed, imagining what they were doing together. I knew it was only upsetting me to think about it, but I couldn't get the images out of my head. I wondered if she was kissing him the way she kissed Jon. Why couldn't it be me? My sheets were damp with sweat by the time morning arrived, and I'd hardly slept at all.

I had thought that the one good thing about it all was that Celeste would be out of our home and I wouldn't have to look at her again, but then there she was, standing at the door first thing this morning, looking smug. Part of me, a very small part, longed to ask how he was, if he'd asked
about me and what kissing him was like. The other part of me, the bigger part, wanted to push her outside and slam the door.

“MAY I JOIN
you the next time you go to see Mother?” I ask Daddy at lunchtime.

He doesn't look up from his soup. “You're needed here.”

I dip my bread into the broth and consider my options. As much as I don't want to accept Celeste's offer of help, it would solve this immediate dilemma. “Celeste has been given permission to help out here until Mother comes home. She'd come over while we're gone.”

His head jerks up. “How do you know?”

“She came by this morning.”

He regards me for a moment. “She's a Nielsson now. We can take care of ourselves.”

“Just this once, Daddy?” I plead. “I really want to see Mother.”

“Maybe I could look after the children while Nanette's away,” Pam says very quietly.

Deborah drops her spoon with a clatter. “Oh no you don't, Pam!” she scolds. “Lena and I need you.”

“If I had my own children,” Pam says, still speaking quietly and not looking directly at anyone, “I wouldn't be able to help you. You'd manage. And this would just be for a few hours.”

We all turn to hear what Daddy will say to this.

He's looking thoughtfully at Pam. “Thank you,” he says. Then he turns to me. “Okay, Nanette. You can come with me.”

Deborah abruptly pushes her chair away from the table and begins clearing dishes. I know that when Daddy returns to his office, there will be a scene in here. I glance at Pam. I mouth the words “thank you,” realizing that her offer was a brave one. Deborah will now make her life miserable, just as she used to do to Celeste.

Pam just nods.

DADDY AND I
don't speak much on our way to Springdale. I have only ever left Unity a few times, and I'm shocked as we drive through town. Where is the modesty of these people? I close my eyes and say a quiet prayer as we make our way across the town.

At the hospital, I have to run to keep up with Daddy's long, purposeful strides. He leads the way to Mother's room, but when we arrive, we find that her bed is empty. My heart beats a warning.

“Where is she?” Daddy demands of the first nurse we see.

“In surgery,” she replies and quickly moves away.

“Surgery!” he hollers. He stomps down to the room where a group of nurses are gathered, typing at computers. I trail behind him.

“I demand to see my wife!” he says to the whole lot of them.

“That isn't possible,” one of them says. She comes into the hall to face him. “But when the baby has been delivered, I'll take you down to the nursery to see it.”

“I did not give my consent for surgery,” he says, seething.

“You didn't need to,” the nurse says. I notice a red flush creeping up her neck. “Your wife is legally able to give her own consent.”

“Not in my faith she isn't,” Daddy retorts. “She must have been coerced.”

“It was
her
life that was in danger,” the nurse says, barely able to maintain her control. “Not yours. And she chose to have a cesarean section before something serious happened. If you'd like to sit in the waiting area, I will let you know when she is out of surgery.”

Daddy just stands there, staring down at her. The nurse holds her own. Eventually he wheels about and marches down to the waiting area.

An hour passes before the same nurse pokes her head into the room. “Sir, you have a healthy baby boy. And your wife is resting comfortably in the recovery room. She'll be back on this floor in a couple of hours. Would you like to meet your son?”

Daddy gets to his feet. “No. I'll be back tomorrow to collect both of them.” He pushes past the nurse to get out of the room.

“But Daddy,” I hear myself say. “I want to see the baby.”

I don't know where I found the courage to say it, but there it is, hanging in the air between us.

He glares at me. I can feel the nurse looking from Daddy to me and back to Daddy again. “Then go see it,” he says. “I'll meet you at the truck.”

The nurse and I watch his retreating back. I can tell how angry he is just by the way he's walking. I wonder how he'd be walking if Mother hadn't made it. Like Colleen.

“Follow me,” the nurse says.

We head in the opposite direction. When we reach the nursery, the nurse consults with a woman there, and she points to a bassinet.

“Wash your hands,” the nurse instructs, “and then you can have a little cuddle.”

I do as I'm told and then sink into a rocking chair with my little brother. He is incredibly tiny, his eyes are shut tight and he's wearing a little white cap. I pull him up to my face and inhale the freshness of him, and then I squeeze him tight and rock and rock, enjoying the heat that radiates from him. I pretend that he is my own and kiss his button nose. One arm pokes out of his blanket, and I stroke the tiny wrinkled fingers. They reach out and grip my finger. His strength is amazing. Eventually a nurse comes over, and I have to hand him back, but these few minutes with him have confirmed one thing. I want my own baby.

I THOUGHT DADDY
might ask about his new son on the drive home, but his hands clenched the steering wheel, and he drove so fast I was frightened.

When we arrive, I go into the house, but Daddy strides off down the road. I find the whole family gathered around the table having supper.

“Well?” Deborah asks. “How is she?”

“She's had the baby. It's a boy.”

There's a silence as everyone stares at me.

“Does that mean she's coming home?” my brother Blake asks.

“Daddy says he's going to pick them up tomorrow.”

“That's great,” Lena says. “Maybe life will go back to some kind of order around here.”

“I don't know about that,” I say, joining them at the table with the plate of food that had been left in the oven for me. “Mother consented to her own surgery, and Daddy is very, very angry.”

I see the glances that Lena and Deborah exchange. If I didn't know better, I'd guess that they are happy my mother has been the one to make him angry.

TRUE TO HIS
word, Daddy arrives home with Mother and my new brother, Liam, the next day. She is almost doubled over in pain as he won't allow her any medication. She hardly glances at anyone but struggles up the stairs to her bed. I carry Liam up and place him
in the bassinet that I've prepared for him, right beside her bed.

Daddy stomps about the house, glaring at anyone who gets in his way. In the kitchen, Deborah tells us about the scene at the hospital.

“The doctor said she needed a few more days there,” she whispers, “so they could monitor her blood pressure and check for infection, but Kelvin ordered a nurse to remove her IV, and then he dragged Irene out of bed by her arm and insisted she get dressed. She was crying and told him she wasn't ready to go. A whole crowd of nurses gathered at the door, and the doctor told Kelvin that if he cared about his wife, he would leave her there. Kelvin said something about teaching her obedience and asked a nurse to bring him the baby. Eventually the doctor stormed out of the room, and the nurses stood and watched while Kelvin half dragged, half carried Irene down the hall. I carried the baby.”

“That's what happens when you disobey your husband,” Lena says with a sniff.

We each consider that for a moment. Part of me agrees, but mostly I feel sad for my mother. She's lying in bed, quietly crying in pain. I wish Daddy had just consented to the surgery, and then everything would be better.

Chapter Twenty-One

I
cringe when I hear my door creak open. Martin was with me last night. Shouldn't he be with another wife tonight? Sighing, I fill my head with thoughts of Jon, the way his eyes light up when he smiles, the curls at the nape of his neck, the squeeze of his hand holding mine. I remember the glances we gave each other as I walked the small children past his father's farm. I remember the tears shimmering in his eyes when I told him I wouldn't leave Unity.

None of this takes me completely away from Martin's groping, but it helps to ease the revulsion I feel as his body rubs against mine, his whiskers scratching my skin, the weight of his body pressing down on me. With a loud groan, he's done. After a moment, he kisses my forehead and slips out of the room.

This morning, Norah asks me to hang the laundry on the line as Sarah, who usually does it, is suffering from morning sickness. When I'm finished, I spend a couple of
hours in the garden pulling weeds, so it isn't until the lunch dishes are done that I'm free to go see Rebecca.

As soon as I walk into the house, I sense the tension. Instead of loud argumentative voices, I hear people speaking in whispers. Rebecca, who has been watching out the window, charges into me as soon as I step into the house.

“Mother's home!” she whispers in my ear when I scoop her up.

“She is?”

She nods solemnly. “But she has a big owie, and we have to leave her alone.”

“A big owie? Did she have the baby?”

She nods. “A boy. Liam.”

“Oh.”

“Can we go for a walk today?” she asks.

“We sure can,” I tell her. “But I'm going to go upstairs and peek in on Mother first. Then we'll go.”

“I'll come with you,” she says.

“Not this time, Becca,” I tell her. “You'll be able to visit with her soon.”

Her eyes well up.

I put her down. “I won't be long. You get your shoes and hat on and meet me right here.”

She sighs, wipes her eyes and nods.

I slip up the stairs, grateful that I haven't encountered anyone else. When I step into her room, I find Mother sitting on the side of the bed, her arms wrapped around her middle, hunched over. The baby is in a bassinet beside the bed.

“Mother! What is it?”

She looks up, her face full of anguish. “Oh, Celeste!” she says. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see if I could help out. What's wrong?”

“I'm in such pain.” She bends over again.

“Why?”

“Did no one tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“That I had surgery yesterday, to remove the baby.”

“Rebecca told me you were home with the baby, but I didn't know about the surgery.”

She throws her head back. “Your father is very angry because he didn't give his consent for the surgery, but I had it anyway.”

“Oh.” I sigh. He's been angry a lot lately.

“He made me come home from the hospital early, without anything for the pain.”

“He did?”

She nods and then flops over on her side, still holding her stomach. “It hurts so much.”

I sit beside her and rub her back. A rage begins to build inside me. Why wouldn't he consent to the surgery if that's what she needed? And then to deny her pain medication? Who is this evil man? Not the father I used to cherish. Maybe I just never really knew him.

“Will you help me to the bathroom?” she asks.

With her arm draped over my shoulder, we make our way down the hallway. In the bathroom, she struggles to pull down her underwear, so I give her a hand, trying not to
let my embarrassment show. She hands me her blood-soaked pad to fold up and put in the garbage. I pass her a clean one. Nanette should be doing this. She's better at this kind of thing. Mother hikes her dress up to sit on the toilet, and I look away, but not before I see the angry-looking wound that has been carved across her abdomen. Coarse black threads poke out through the folds in her belly.

Back in her room, the baby is fussing. “Can you try to console him?” she asks, hunched over again. I pick him up and jiggle him up and down, careful not to hold him too close. Babies always spit up on me. His fussing grows more insistent, so Mother sighs and begins unfastening the buttons on her dress. I pass him to her, relieved.

She winces when he latches onto her breast. “Cracked nipples,” she tells me, noticing my frown. She leans back on her pillow and closes her eyes.

I feel nauseous watching her. I don't want to experience any of this.