Sister Wife (24 page)

She smiles at me and holds up her hands, showing me that her fingers on both hands are crossed.

ABIGAIL LOOKS UP
from the stack of paper she's wading through. We're all gathered around the kitchen table, waiting for her verdict. “Well,” she says, “apparently you really can graduate with online courses.”

“Then you'd consider that enrolled in school?” I ask her.

She leans back in her chair. “Yes, I would,” she says. “But Taviana, I simply can't afford these rates.”

“Then I'll just have to work,” I tell her. “I'll get two jobs if I have to.”

“And if I get a summer job,” Jon says, “I'll contribute to her courses too. That is, once I've paid my room and board here.”

I high-five Jon. No wonder Celeste fell so hard for this guy.

Everyone starts talking at once. Jimmy and the boys all have ideas about how I can raise money to pay for the classes. As I look around the table at their faces, I realize how much they care and how badly they want me to stay. I swallow and discover a lump in my throat. I realize, too, how desperately I want to stay, and not just because it keeps me off the street. In just a week these people have become family.

Maybe Craig was right. Anything is possible.

Abigail turns to me. “Well, Taviana, it sounds like everyone's eager to help you out. And I admit it's nice to have another female in the house.”

The room erupts with excited chatter. There is back-smacking and high fives all around. Abigail holds up her arm for attention. We all turn to her. “This calls for a celebration,” she says. “You boys haul out the old barbecue and clean it, and Taviana and I will go into town and buy the ingredients for a feast. How does that sound?”

Chairs are pushed back, and the boys stampede into the backyard. I turn to Abigail. “Thank you,” I say.

She simply nods, but I notice her eyes are bright with tears.

Chapter Twenty-Three

M
artin continues to visit me every night. I'd like to ask one of my sister wives about this, about a rotation, but I don't feel I know any of them well enough yet. Aside from Gail, who still avoids me, everyone has been kind, so I guess they don't mind, but I sure wish it was someone else's turn. I lie there patiently until it is over, refusing to engage in conversation or even cuddling.

I don't dare return to my parents' home, but I asked Norah if she'd visit my mother and tell me how she was. She returned, looking sad, and said that my mother is healing but appears very unhappy. Apparently Daddy is still terribly angry with her. I lie awake at night, after Martin leaves, worrying. How long before he forgives her? My brothers and sisters will all be suffering.

I also toss and turn at night, tormented by my decision to stay here, and yet, even now, I cannot contemplate running away, though all the reasons I chose to stay are
now meaningless. Knowing that I could never come back is just too scary. I've been cut off from seeing my family. I have been sentenced to a life without hope. My heart feels as though it will never heal.

No one pays any attention to me at the Nielsson home, so every afternoon I slip down to the river and balance rocks. Craig was right. Rock balancing does make me feel better, at least for the time that I'm trying to find the rock's point of gravity. When I concentrate on the rocks, I forget everything else, and for those short hours I experience peace.

“Hello, Celeste.”

I look up to find Craig watching me. It's been a couple of weeks since I last saw him. “Hi.”

He looks around the beach. “I see you've found the secret to balancing rocks.”

I feel my skin burn. “I guess I have.”

“No more inuksuk?”

I just shrug. He smiles. “Did you know that the inuksuk was once used as a directional marker?”

“It was?”

“Yep. The inuksuk would point in a certain direction to help travelers find their way, or to mark a place where there was good hunting or fishing.”

“Is that why you build them?” I find myself stacking pebbles in front of me, just as he did the last time we met. This balancing thing is addictive.

He laughs. “No, I just like using things in nature to create art.”

“But don't you worry about people—people like me— coming along and knocking them over?”

“Nothing in life is permanent, Celeste,” he says, smiling. “Besides, the fun is in the building.”

I think about that. “That's not quite true. For me, marriage is permanent. I'll be married for all of this life and all eternity too.” I sigh.

“You're already married?”

I nod. His eyes widen, but he doesn't comment.

Craig wanders about, looking for a rock that pleases him. Finding one, he squats and attempts to balance it on another sharp-pointed one. I find my own rock and go back to concentrating. I put eternal life and marriage right out of my head. We carry on creating our rock art for the remainder of the afternoon. Finally I sit back and admire our creations. There are a couple of dozen rock balances strewn across the beach. Craig sits beside me. For this one moment, the world feels right. In balance.

“May I ask you a personal question?” he says.

Something shifts. Craig has broken an unwritten rule. We don't talk about personal things. The world is no longer in balance. “You can ask,” I tell him, “but I might not answer.”

He nods. “If you're not happy about being married, why did you agree to it?”

I stand up and brush off my skirt. “It's the way of our faith. To refuse the husband you're assigned to is to disobey God.” I reach into my apron pocket, and my hand hits something hard and jagged. I pull it out. It's the arrowhead
that Jon found the first time we met here. It makes me smile.

“What have you got there?” Craig asks, standing beside me.

“An arrowhead.”

“Cool! Where did you get it?”

“Right here.” I pass it to Craig, remembering Jon's words.
So you question your faith, but you're not prepared to do anything about it
. I realize now that Jon did do something about it. I didn't.

Craig turns the arrowhead over and over in his hands. “I don't understand that kind of faith,” he says. “One that makes you unhappy.” He passes the arrowhead back to me, and we make eye contact.

I slide the arrowhead back into my apron and try to think of a way to change the subject. I remember the strange object Craig had in his pocket the last time I saw him.

“What is that thing you carry in your pocket?” I ask him. “The thing that makes a noise?”

“My cell phone,” he says, pulling it out. He hands it to me.

I hold it away from me, afraid of what it might do.

He laughs and takes it back. “It doesn't bite,” he says. “Look.” He flips open the top, and I can see tiny keys and some kind of screen. “It's also a clock,” he says. “I can set the alarm to go off. Sometimes my dad tells me what time to meet him, and sometimes he just calls.”

“Taviana told me about cell phones, but I've never seen one.”

“Now you have,” he says, smiling kindly.

The cell phone suddenly starts playing a tune. I jump away.

“That will be my Dad,” he says. He puts the phone to his ear and listens. “I'll be there in ten minutes.” He closes it and puts it back into his pocket. “I've gotta run,” he says. “The bus is leaving.”

“The bus?”

“Just an expression.” He looks at me. “Will I see you here again soon?” he asks.

I nod. “I hope so.”

We gaze at each other for another moment, and then he turns and disappears down the river.

TWO MONTHS HAVE
passed since I became a Nielsson. Today my mother arrives for a visit. She has Liam with her.

I pour us each a glass of lemonade and join her at the kitchen table, where she sits nursing the baby. My sister wives have discreetly taken their children and moved to other parts of the rambling house.

“How are you doing, Celeste?” Mother asks.

“I'm okay. What about you? Last time I saw you...”

“Was when I was in the hospital.”

“No, I came and saw you the day you came home.”

“You did?”

I nod.

“I don't remember.” She looks puzzled. “Those first
couple of weeks home are just a blur.” She frowns, thinking about it.

“I would have come back again, but Daddy ordered me to leave.”

She nods. “I know. And I haven't been to church services since Liam was born. I'm waiting to hear what the Prophet has to say about my disobedience.”

We sit in silence for a moment. There is so much I want to talk to her about, but I can't find a point of entry into any of the topics.

“Is Martin treating you well?” she whispers.

I nod.

She smiles. “I knew he would.”

“Is Daddy treating you well?” I ask her.

The question startles her. She puts Liam to her shoulder and burps him. “He's still angry.”

“What is wrong with him, Mother?”

“Nothing is wrong with him, Celeste,” she answers crossly. “I was wrong to disobey him, but I was frightened.”

“No, Mother,” I respond, just as crossly. “He was wrong to deny you the medical attention you needed.”

“Your father has perfect faith. He has more trust in God than in medicine and doctors. I crossed the line by agreeing to the surgery.”

I don't answer. I think Daddy just likes to throw his weight around, but I decide it's best not to say anything.

Liam is sleeping in Mother's lap. She clears her throat, and I see she's blushing. “How are your...your husband-wife relations?” she asks.
It takes me a moment to figure out what she's referring to, but when I do, my cheeks grow hot too. I shrug. “Shouldn't Martin be spending equal time with each of his wives?” I ask.

She stares at me, trying to puzzle out my question. “It's entirely up to him, but of course you have to tell him when it's your time of month.”

I nod, and then her words register. My time of month.

I haven't had it since I got married.

The realization slowly sinks in. I feel the blood drain from my face.

“What is it, Celeste?” she asks.

I can only stare at her. Liam begins to squirm, and she offers him her other breast.

“Celeste?” she asks again.

I run to the bathroom and throw up.

I HAVEN'T BEEN
out of bed for a week except to use the bathroom. Norah brings me food and tells me that the sickness will pass soon enough. I don't tell her that there is no nausea, only despair. And fear. I clutch the arrowhead like a drowning person would clutch a life preserver.

Eventually I can't stand my self-imposed confinement any longer. I get up and wander down to the river, just to get out of the house. I find Craig there, building an inuksuk. I sit on a large rock and watch him. Eventually he joins me, sitting on his own rock. Neither of us says
anything for a few minutes, but the silence is comfortable.

“Do you practice a religion?” I ask him, as if no time had passed since our last conversation on the beach.

“Not formally,” he tells me. “Though I identify with some of the nature-based ones that have an earth-centered spirituality.”

I just stare at him. I have no idea what he's talking about. “Who are you anyway?” I ask.

He throws his head back and laughs. “Just me. Directionless Craig.”

“Directionless?”

He shrugs. “I haven't decided what to do with my life. Too many decisions. It makes me crazy. So here I am, balancing rocks.”

“Does that make you sad?”

He tilts his head. “Not sad, no. Just a little frustrated sometimes. My parents are on my case.”

“On your case?”

“They're pressuring me to make a decision.”

I think about that. “In The Movement, we don't have to make decisions. We accept the ones that have already been made for us. We submit to a higher power. Our life is easier in that way.”

I can feel Craig studying me. “You say that with such enthusiasm.”

“Huh?”

He smiles at me. “I'm sorry, I was being sarcastic, but if your life is so much easier, why do you seem so unhappy?”

I have to look away. “I'm different for some reason, but
my sister, Nanette, she's happy.” I think about that. “Well, she was, anyway, until...until just lately. But in general, I think people are happy here because they know exactly what they have to do to get to the Kingdom of Heaven.”

“You don't sound so sure.”

“I told you, I'm different. Something's wrong with me.”

“I think something's right with you.”

“You do?”

He nods. “I think there are some things more important than just being happy.”

“Like what?”

He reaches for a rock and begins a new balance. “Like being free to think for yourself.”

MY DOOR CREAKS
open. Martin hasn't been to visit me since the day my mother was here and word got out that I was pregnant.

“Celeste?”

“Yes?”

“May I speak with you?”

I turn on the lamp by my bedside.

He comes in and sits on the end of my bed. He reaches over and picks up my hand with both of his. “I heard the good news,” he says.

I nod and resist the temptation to roll my eyes.

“It happened so quickly,” he says. “We are truly blessed.”

I just nod again and focus on a stain on the wall behind him.

“You know, don't you, that this means I can no longer lie with you.”

“I know.” I hope my relief doesn't show on my face.

“But we can still cuddle or go for walks together. There is nothing wrong with that. I want us to become closer.”

I have to admire this man, my husband, for his perseverance. Anyone else would have given up on me.