Sister Wife (9 page)

I pull back to look at her. “You're good too,” she says with a smile. “And the cheerful one.”

I nod, remembering the pleasant times we spent together. When did all that stop? Things around here are shifting, and it makes me uneasy. It's a good thing she's leaving. Maybe things will go back to the way they were.

Dad clears his throat and Taviana climbs into the cab of the truck. She leans out the window and waves. Her eyes are shiny. We all wave back. I watch as they drive away, wondering if I'll ever see her again.

BACK IN THE
house I settle Mother into bed, and then I gather up the twins and Rebecca. My brothers, Jerod and
Blake, are at school. I've decided not to go this morning. With Taviana gone, I'm needed here. I'll go back after the new baby is born.

Deborah is baking bread today, so I take her children into the living room too. I bring out a box of toys and settle down on the floor. Other children come in and out of the living room, and the morning ticks by in a steady rhythm. At noon I parade the children back into the kitchen and help the women serve them lunch. When I see that everything is under control, I take a tray of food up to Mother's room.

She's lying on her bed, her eyes open, and she smiles when she sees me. “Thanks, Nanette,” she says. She reaches for a sandwich.

“Shall I say the blessing?” I ask.

She withdraws her hand and nods.

“For the food we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly grateful.”

“Amen.” Pulling herself up, she again reaches for a sandwich. “With Taviana gone, I wondered if anyone would remember me.”

“You thought I'd forget you?” I ask, hurt.

“I thought you'd be at school,” she says and then frowns. “Where you're supposed to be.”

“I'll go back to school after your baby is born,” I tell her. “You need me now.”

She studies me thoughtfully. “Maybe that's a good plan,” she says. “It's not like you're learning anything there, is it?”

I shake my head. “I can either help at school or here, wherever I'm most needed. Right now I think I'm most needed here.”

“I'll check with your father, but I appreciate the offer.” She lays her hand on mine. It feels wonderful. We smile at each other.

“How are you feeling today?” I ask.

“Sad.”

“Sad?”

“Yes, sad.” She looks at me, puzzled. “Aren't you going to miss Taviana?”

“Oh that. Yeah.” I try to sound sincere, but even I can hear the lack of enthusiasm in my response.

Mother sighs and pulls her hand away. “I've grown very fond of Taviana, and I ache inside when I think about what may become of her, alone in the world.”

“But Mother, look at the way she was dressed today. She's not one of us.”

She nods. “She was immodestly dressed by our standards, Nanette. But that's what she knows. It's how she was raised. With Taviana I learned to look beyond appearances to her character, and Taviana's is strong and resilient. There's a lot about her I admire.”

“If she's so resilient, she'll be okay.”

“I suppose, but there are so few options for girls out there.”

I let that go. “What I really meant,” I say, changing the subject, “is how are you feeling, you know, with the baby and everything?”

“Oh, about the same,” she says. “Small cramps. I'm tired, but at least there's been no more bleeding.”

“Bleeding?”

“Yes, bleeding. That's why I was put on bed rest.”

“Oh.”

“I think my poor body is telling me that there have been too many babies in too few years.”

“Really?” I reach over to the tray and take a sandwich. This kind of talk makes me uncomfortable, but then I remember Taviana and my vow to become closer to my mother. “I thought it was the will of God for us to have many babies.”

“That's true, Nanette,” Mother says with a sigh, “but generally it's good to wait a year or two between them. Usually that happens when babies are on mother's milk, but I didn't seem to produce enough for the twins, so they had formula. That could be why I'm expecting again so soon.”

“I can't wait to have my own babies,” I tell her.

“Yes,” she nods, though her eyes look sad. “Having a baby is a wonderful experience. Most of the time.”

“I wish it was me and not Celeste that the Prophet is assigning to a husband.”

“Oh dear,” she sighs. “You've just reminded me that I'm soon to lose another daughter.” She leans back and closes her eyes.

“Another daughter?”

“Taviana felt like a daughter.”

“You'll still have me, for another year.” Unless, of course, Father successfully convinces the Prophet to assign me
to my own husband, but I don't mention this to Mother. She's feeling sad enough.

She doesn't open her eyes but says, “Thank goodness for that.”

I reach over and take her hand in mine. This is the longest conversation I've had with her, just the two of us, for as long as I can remember. It hasn't been an especially happy talk, but having her all to myself is a sweet luxury.

“Nanette!” I hear my name being hollered from downstairs.

Sighing, I holler, “I'll be right there.” I turn back to my mother. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

She shakes her head and I tuck the blankets around her, pick up the tray and retrace my steps down the stairs. In the kitchen I find my cousin, Sylvia, sitting in a chair. Our fathers are brothers, and Sylvia is my age, but we've never been close, maybe because Celeste has always been my closest friend. Until recently, anyway.

I take a closer look at Sylvia and see that her hair has come loose from its braid and is flying wildly around her face. Her eyes are wide and shiny, and she looks like she's in some kind of shock.

Deborah has pulled off her flour-covered apron and is stepping into outdoor shoes. She's frowning. “Colleen's in labor and there's some...” She glances at Sylvia. “Some... complications. I need to get over there. Nanette, you and Pam are to stay here with the children. Get them down for their naps. Celeste can...where
is
Celeste?” she asks, glancing around.

I haven't seen Celeste since Taviana's departure this morning. She often goes out to work in the garden, but I didn't see her come in for lunch. “I don't know.”

Deborah sighs impatiently. “When you see her, tell her to...to make herself useful for a change.”

I nod.

“And Lena can also help you when she gets back from the Coopers'. She's with her sister, who is also due soon. Her kids are there with her. When Kelvin gets back, tell him where I am.”

Deborah steps out the door and looks back at Sylvia, still sitting mutely in the chair. “Do you want to stay here, honey?” she asks.

Sylvia shakes her head and seems to come out of her daze. She follows Deborah out the door. Through the window I see them practically running down the road to the rambling house where Colleen, the youngest wife of Uncle Jeremy, lives. She's seventeen, and this is her first baby.

Pam and I round up the children, and one by one we get them into their cribs and settled. Back in the kitchen, I finish cleaning up from lunch, and Pam gets busy with laundry.

I'm sweeping the floor, wondering what “complications” could possibly mean, when I see the truck pull up to the side of the house. When Daddy comes in, he looks around. “Where's Deborah and Lena?”

“At Uncle Jeremy's house. Colleen's having her baby, and there are complications.”

“What kind of complications?”

I just shrug.

He turns and starts back out the door. “Daddy?”

He wheels around to stare at me. “Yes?”

“Celeste has been missing all morning.”

“Missing?”

“She hasn't been here. No one seems to know where she is.”

He studies me for a moment and then hurries back out, and I see him jogging down the street toward his brother's house.

I feel a tug of guilt, knowing I just tattled again, but I'm really getting concerned about her. This disappearing act can only be bad news, and there was something about the way Taviana and Celeste were looking at each other this morning that increased my suspicions.

When the kitchen is tidy, I join Pam in the backyard and help her hang diapers on the line. She's not much older than Celeste and is the quietest girl I've ever met. We've been waiting almost a year for her to announce that she's with child, but so far that hasn't happened. She's looking particularly pale this afternoon. For some reason she was especially attached to Taviana, despite how different they were, and she always gets anxious when there's any kind of conflict in our home.

Just as we're finishing up the diapers, I see Celeste coming through the gate behind the garden. She waves and carries on toward the house.

“Where have you been?” I call out to her.

“In the garden,” she says, without stopping.

Does she really think I'll believe her? I would have seen her if she'd been in the garden. “Father's looking for you,” I tell her.

Now she does stop and swings about to face me. “What did you tell him?”

“That you haven't been seen all morning or for lunch.”

“Thanks, Nanette,” she says. “You're such a big help.”

I don't get a chance to respond because Father's suddenly running into the side yard and jumping into his truck. He begins to back out of the driveway.

I race over, and he rolls down his window. “I'm going back to town to get a doctor,” he says.

“Is she okay?”

“I don't know. It doesn't look good.”

I watch as he drives away. The warm day suddenly feels chilly.
It doesn't look good.
What could have happened? She was looking so beautiful in church just last Sunday. I'd stared at her, fascinated. From the back she looked exactly as she did nine months ago, tiny and slim, her golden braid hanging to her waist, but when she turned you could see her protruding belly. The baby was almost due, and I tried to imagine it folded up inside her, all the little fingers and toes wiggling, the wispy hair, the button nose. How I longed to be with child myself.

But now things don't look good. That changes everything.

I'm lifting Faith out of her crib and carrying her to the diaper change table when I hear a siren. Looking out
the window, I see the ambulance screaming down the road. Pam, who was in the kitchen, races out the front door and directs the driver to the correct house.

The afternoon drags by. Father has returned, parked his truck in the driveway and returned to his brother's house. Celeste is in the kitchen, preparing the evening meal. Pam and I are taking care of the children. School is out, and with no one available to take them to the playground, the older children are racing around the house and yard. I usually enjoy their high spirits, but today I'm irritable and wish they'd all go away.

Just when I don't think I can take it anymore, Celeste calls me into the kitchen. “Look,” she says. “The ambulance is leaving.”

We watch as it drives past our front yard. This time there are no flashing lights or sirens. We continue watching out the window and soon see Daddy and Deborah coming down the road. Deborah is clutching Daddy's hand and leaning on him.

Celeste and I are still standing, frozen to the spot, when the two of them come in the front door. I meet Deborah's eyes. She just shakes her head, sadly.

“What happened?” I find myself crumpling into a chair. “She was so healthy, so beautiful.”

“Sometimes God takes the beautiful ones early,” Deborah says. She sinks into a chair beside mine. Her face is pale and her eyes bloodshot.

“But, but what happened?”

“It seems that something tore inside her,” Deborah
explains. “It caused heavy bleeding. We couldn't make it stop.”

I think about Mother and how she said she too had been bleeding, but I'm afraid to ask if it could be the same thing.

“Was she in pain?” Celeste asks, crying quietly. Lena and Pam have joined us at the table.

“No, not at all,” Deborah assures her. “She never even went into labor.” We sit in stunned silence for a few more minutes. Then Deborah adds, “The doctor who came with the ambulance was able to save the baby, through surgery, but it was too late for Colleen.” She rubs her face. “It's a girl.”

“What if the doctor had been here sooner?” Celeste asks.

Deborah shoots her a scathing look but doesn't answer.

“I'm going upstairs to break the sad news to Irene,” Daddy says, rising from his chair. He looks across the table to Celeste. “And I'll talk to you later.”

As soon as Daddy has left the room, Deborah turns to Celeste. “You are right out of line asking questions like that,” she scolds. “It was in God's hands. How horrid of you to make your father feel worse than he already does.” Her chair scrapes away from the table, and she briskly scoops up Colin, her son, who has been tugging on her dress. She stomps out of the kitchen.

Celeste and I glance at each other. Is she wondering about Mother too? She shrugs and returns to the sink, where she's peeling potatoes. I notice the firm set of her jaw.

I gather up the twins and return to the big room, but I can't find the energy to amuse them. I lie on the floor, and they crawl and totter around me. I think about Colleen, only seventeen and gone. How will her family cope with this tragedy? I know she is with God now, in Heaven, but it is still so sad. I watch as Faith pulls herself up on the coffee table and leans toward a toy on the other side. Not able to reach it, she inches her way around the table, step by step. Colleen will never see her baby take her first steps. Or say her first words.

A fresh wave of sadness washes over me. I feel the need to be with someone, to share the sadness. I consider going back to the kitchen to be with Celeste, but then I remember the coolness that has come between us. And Daddy is with Mother.