Favorite Wife (4 page)

“Oh, Thelma!” I howled. I reached out as far as I could, my shoes on the very edge of the mud. Still I couldn't reach her. As she struggled to pull her feet free, fear crossed her face. “Get me! Susana, get me!” she wailed, panic showing in her black eyes. “My feet won't come out!”

“Give me your hands,” I ordered.

I pulled hard, but the heavy mud sucked at her feet and held fast. Suddenly the slippery bank gave way and I plunged, ankles and elbows deep, into the ditch.

Thelma wrapped her arms around my neck, her fingers catching in my hair and pulling strands of it down around my shoulders. I yanked her free, her shoes leaving wide black streaks on the pink material of my new dress. I carefully backed out of the ditch, sat Thelma down on the grass, and dropped down next to her.

“I hope Daddy whips you!” I gritted. “I ought'ta blister your butt myself till you can't sit down. Just look at me!” I wiped at the mud on my ankles and arms, then cleaned my fingers on the grass. My shoes were caked and dripping.

“I didn't mean to.” Thelma sniffed and dabbed at her eyes. Picking up the hem of her dress, she wiped her nose then rubbed her shoes against the grass. Huge tears slid down her brown cheeks.

The side door of the church grated open, startling me. “Hey, you're needed in here.” Dale Leany blinked against the bright sunlight. A smothered giggle suddenly escaped him as his eyes focused on us. “Wow,” he drawled, “what happened to you two?”

Without waiting for an answer he ducked back inside.

Panic gripped me as I rose to my feet. It was closing hymn time, and I was supposed to play the piano! I gazed down the road toward home, wishing I were safely in my room and away from all these people. I scraped my shoe soles hard against the grass as I pondered what to do. Why didn't they just start singing without the piano? Dale stuck his head back out the door.

“Hey, hurry up! Everybody's waiting for you. Comprende?” he growled.

I hesitated at the open doorway, searching the congregation for someone capable of taking my place at the piano. But there was no one in sight, and I could see Anna Mae, the song leader, standing impatiently on the stage. I shoved the loose strands of hair hanging about my face behind my ears, took Thelma's hand, and walked into the building. The people standing on either side of us stared as we trudged up the aisle. As we passed Lane and Estela, I held my head high, then shoved Thelma in Maria's direction and walked on to the piano. Anna Mae's wide face broke into a startled grin. Behind her, the men on the stage made an effort at hiding their amused looks as they watched me take my seat.

“Come, Come Ye Saints” was a hymn I knew by heart, but as I pounded out the first chords I hit more wrong notes than right ones. Somehow I managed to get through the song and sit still through the final prayer, but I wanted desperately to cry.

As soon as the final Amen was said I sensed movement on the platform. A hasty glance confirmed that Verlan LeBaron, smiling widely, was heading straight for me. I stood up and bolted out the back door of the church.

The sun shone bright and hot as I scurried up the road toward home. My braid had come loose, and I yanked the strands apart so that it cascaded down my back in heavy rippling waves. In a matter of seconds the back of my neck felt wet and sticky. I mopped at my forehead then dabbed angrily at my eyes. How could this have happened, today of all days? Was I cursed? Maybe I was too vain, and this was God's way of taking me down a peg. Whatever, Verlan LeBaron by now must consider me an awkward, clumsy little girl. He would never look at me again.

Behind me I could hear the usual noises of church adjourning. Children shouted and grownups called to one another. Engines started—everyone was going home, doubtless to discuss over the dinner table the spectacle Susan Ray had made of herself in church today.

Someone behind me was calling my name. “Wait up!” Lane puffed as he jogged toward me.

Oh, great. I reluctantly slowed my pace and allowed him to catch up. With a quick sweep of his green eyes he surveyed my red nose and slumped shoulders.

“Hey! Don't act so shook up,” he said briskly, handing me a hanky. “A little mud never hurt nobody. You honestly don't look that bad.”

“Oh yes I do,” I sniffed as I wiped my nose. “I'm so mad at Thelma I could strangle her. Just look at my new dress!”

He shrugged, grinned, and grabbed my hand. “It'll wash. Come on, I'll buy you a paleta.”

Ahead of us under a black walnut tree, the little man from the neighboring city of Casas Grandes stood with his ice cream cart. He came every Sunday in good weather and peddled his frozen treats. “Paletas,” he sang out as we approached. I peered into the cool interior of the white cart and selected my favorite, a lime-flavored Popsicle. Lane chose an ice cream bar, then dropped a peso into the man's brown palm. We sat under the walnut tree on the ditch bank and ate the cold treat. I looked up after a particularly large, cold bite to see the little muscles around Lane's mouth twitching.

“Good, huh?” he said gravely.

“Lane Stubbs, what are you laughing at?” I demanded.

“Oh, nothin'.” He licked his ice cream. “Actually, I was admiring that cute pug nose of yours.” His smile wrinkled up his cheeks in small furrows as his eyes touched my face, throat, and hair.

“My nose is not pug!” I retorted. His roving looks made me tingle uneasily and caused the blood to rush to my face. I wiped my hands on my muddy skirt and began to rise. “I—I need to get home,” I stuttered. “Thanks for trying to cheer me up.”

“Wait! I—”

Suddenly behind us a woman's cold voice said, “Lane.”

Estela stood over us, her small son on her hip. Mahogany eyes blazed at Lane. Her fists were clenched, and my insides turned icy.

“Estela,” Lane murmured as he stood up. His voice sounded nonchalant and totally relaxed. “Susan and I were having a paleta. Would you like one?”

“What I would like is for my husband to take us home from church!” Estela's voice was high and unnatural as it followed Lane to the ice cream cart. “We've been waiting for you, and we're sick of waiting! You take us home. And you stay away from her,” her glance bristled with hatred.

Lane calmly selected a paleta, walked to his wife and handed it to her. “Here,” his voice was even, “Eat this and behave yourself. I'm going to walk Susan home, then I'll come back for you and the baby. Now go on.”

Estela stared at the Popsicle in her hand. Suddenly she threw it, hitting Lane in the chest. “You eat it!” she shrieked. “Or feed it to your scroungy little girlfriend. Don't bother coming for the baby and me. We won't be there. We'll be at home, and I'll be packing!”

With the baby bouncing on her hip, she dashed back up the road, past my father and mother, Maria, and my little sisters as they trailed toward us. They all turned to watch her and Dad shook his head. “Come on, kids, don't stare; it's rude,” he cautioned.

My insides shook with guilt and with embarrassment for Lane. What a scene his wife had caused! She had a lot to learn and a lot of accepting to do if she planned to stay in the colony.

“Just go on and take her home, okay?” I whispered. “I'll talk to you later.”

“Yeah, I probably should. I'm sorry about all this,” he whispered back.

“What was that all about?” Dad asked as my family circled us. He knew, of course. But he wanted to see how Lane was handling the situation.

“My wife's a mite jealous of your daughter here, Vern,” Lane grinned apologetically. “I guess she didn't appreciate me buying Susan a paleta. Well, we'll see ya later.” With a wave of his hand, he strolled after Estela.

Daddy watched him go, then turning to me, he wagged his head and whispered, “I could'a warned you this would happen; I seen it coming.” He scratched his leg, grinned, and shrugged. “Well, that's what you're in for, honey, when you start flirting with married men. You might as well sharpen up your claws if you plan on chasing that boy. That Estela woman is full of piss and vinegar, and I wouldn't count on her giving you a warm welcome if you're thinking about joining the family.” He solemnly shook his head again, his eyes twinkling.

I fumed inside. What made him think I was the one doing the chasing? I wanted to straighten him out and tell him that Lane was pursuing me, not the other way around. But I kept my mouth shut.

“Daddy, can we have a paleta?” Ema and Thelma danced eagerly in front of us. Soon the whole family, Mom and Maria included, were taking their turn selecting from the little cart.

“How in the world did you and Thelma get all muddy?” Mom asked me as she waited her turn. “Just look at your pretty new dress! Goodness, Susan, can't you be more careful?”

Jay had caught up to us, and he looked at me and snickered. “What, were you kids making mud pies during church?”

I bit back a sharp retort and instead mumbled a quick explanation. But it was drowned out by my father's boisterous laughter. I glared from one member of my family to the other, then turned on my heel and stalked up the road.

As Fara and I hauled the water in from the well, heated it on the stove, then washed the dishes after lunch was over, my thoughts returned to Lane. His roving, intimate glances today had made me uncomfortable. He was getting serious, and I wasn't ready to think seriously about anyone. I enjoyed our flirtation, but because of it he was having big problems at home. He'd made it plain that he was willing to go through the fights with Estela to see me. But he would expect me to seriously consider marriage. Of course, if the end result were a new wife to add to his family, the problems with Estela would be worthwhile for him. But if I was just dating him for the fun of it, I was out of line. You just didn't date a married man for the fun of it, not in Colonia LeBaron. In fairness to both Lane and Estela, I needed to break it off.

C
HAPTER
T
WO

S
lamming the door of his old green pickup, Lane Stubbs ambled to the front porch of my parents' five-room adobe house. He appeared tired and discouraged, and he hadn't bothered to clean up before coming to see me. His white shirt and baggy pants were stained with black grease. I was dreading this meeting. Two weeks had gone by since I'd seen him, not since the letter I'd made Franny deliver. I'd written that I didn't want to cause further problems with his wife, so I didn't plan to date him anymore.

“After he read it, he just sat there, all slumped down on his tractor seat,” Franny had glared at me accusingly. “Jeez, I hated seeing him like that! I don't think you even liked him all that much; you were just goofing around, and now you've broke his heart.”

“Francisca, that's exactly what I'm trying to avoid!” I exploded. “Yes, I liked him, but I'm not ready for a—a marriage commitment, or anything! I'm too young! I don't know how it happened, but somehow this whole thing's gotten out of hand.”

“Well, he wants to talk to you,” Franny said primly. “He's still got it bad for you, and I hope you've got enough sense to make a clean break.” She'd sniffed and walked to the door, saying over her shoulder, “You should've told him in person, instead of being such a chicken and sending him that stupid letter. Can't believe I even agreed to take it.”

She was right; I shouldn't have sent it. Now, opening the screen door, I stepped out into the shade of the front porch.

“Hi, Suze,” Lane's gruff voice sounded apologetic. “I guess Franny gave you my note.”

I nodded, fidgeting.

He pushed long locks of blond hair from his eyes and peered through the screen door behind me to see if anyone was in the living room. Satisfied, he turned back to me. “I hope you're not mad, but I need to talk to you. Can you leave now?”

I nodded, stuck my head inside the house, and hollered, “Mom, I'm going to play practice. Be back around six.” I didn't wait for an assent. If she hadn't heard me, she would figure it out.

He opened the pickup door and I climbed onto the worn leather seat. I wet my lips nervously, knowing that before me loomed a sticky, uncomfortable situation, and that I had no idea how to handle things.

He backed the old truck around and we putted down the road. I cranked the window down so the breeze blew on my hot face, then I glanced at Lane. He sat stiffly; his mouth stern as he guided the truck down a side road, parked beneath a cottonwood tree, and turned the engine off. Then he slumped over the wheel, his moody green eyes distant and thoughtful.

“I don't know what you think there is to say,” I began impatiently, wanting to get this over with.

“Now, Suze, just hold on a minute and let me say what's on my mind.” He reached for my hand, and I reluctantly allowed him to rub my palm with the tips of his rough fingers. “I know you're young. Hell, you're a kid, really. But you don't act like a kid, and you sure don't look like a kid.”

He swallowed a time or two, then turned in the seat and searched my eyes. “All I've ever wanted in life was to do what's right,” he continued soberly. “I want to serve the Lord and raise up a righteous posterity. Maybe I don't show it all the time. Maybe I get sidetracked, but if we can find some laughs and happiness along the way, why, so much the better. Life here is hard enough.”

He stared at my fingernails. I sat quiet and miserable, waiting for him to proceed. Suddenly he pulled my hand to his lips and kissed my palm, pressing it against his half-open mouth. The sensation was disturbing in a strange, thrilling way, and I hastily pulled my hand free and tucked it into my lap. “Don't,” I snapped.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. His face instantly turned crimson, and leaning his head against the window, he watched a cow graze in the rich, green pasture seemingly out of place in the midst of all the cactus and mesquite bushes. “Whose cow is that, do you know?” He muttered suddenly.

I glanced at the Guernsey, startled. “It's the Leanys', I think. Why?”

“They'd better keep an eye on her. She's takin' in that alfalfa pretty fast. If someone's not careful, she'll founder.”

I fidgeted. I had to do something to move this situation along. My thoughts raced.

Abruptly he faced me again, his eyes bright with determination. “I realize Estela's the problem, Suze, and I can understand how it's affecting you. But she's getting better with each passing month. She's beginning to accept the gospel; she really is. Deep in her heart she knows it's right. She just needs a little time is all.”

I studied my hands, ashamed to see the pleading in his eyes. Estela wasn't the only problem. Franny was correct; I had led him on. Somehow I had to make this right. I had to find the proper words, so that he wouldn't hate me and so that we could still be friends. I wanted to remember all the fun we had shared—the movies, the long talks, and the cavorting at the colony square dances. Not this, this bare glimpse of his heart, when I didn't know how to return the feelings.

“Please don't say anymore,” I gulped. “Lane, didn't you understand my note? I don't feel right about this. For one thing, I'm too young . . .”

He put his hand under my chin and tipped my head up so that I had to look at him. “Don't say that,” he groaned. “This is right; I know it is. I know it because I—because I love you. I guess I didn't realize it until I got your letter. Oh, you just don't know—the past two weeks have been hell.” Tears filled his eyes. He sniffed them back then wiped them away. “I realize you're young. But you're so strong, and you're grounded in the church. With you behind me, Estela will soon get the picture. Don't get me wrong; I love her, Suze, I do. But I won't let her be a stumbling block when it comes to doing what Joel has taught me is right.”

Rough fingers reached for my face again and he forced me to look into his earnest eyes. “We're meant for each other; I just know it,” he whispered. “Don't tell me no! You can take all the time you want to think about it.”

My throat felt tight and dry. His eyes were so intense they made me physically weak. I slowly nodded, detesting myself for giving in. “Okay, I'll think about it.” I pulled away from him and repeated dazedly, “I'll think about it.”

He heaved a relieved sigh and dropped his head onto the steering wheel. I sat stiffly, my mind in a whirl. Oh Lord, I thought wildly, why didn't I just tell him the truth? What am I doing! I've never been more sure of anything—I'll never love Lane Stubbs!

Of course, I knew of other girls in the colony who had married men without being in love. The brethren had assured them that the proper feelings would come, if they married a righteous man of the priesthood. But I would never do such a thing. Anger flashed over me, and my thoughts raced back three weeks.

My friend Carmela, a fifteen–year-old Mexican girl, had walked me home from school. She and my brother Jay had been in love for months. I'd been so excited at the thought of Carmela joining our family—but with tears streaming, she'd told me that her stepfather, Alma LeBaron, had forbidden her to see Jay again. “But why?” I had asked, shocked.

“He told me that he's raised me to be the plural wife of a worthy man, not to marry some young kid who hasn't proved himself,” she'd sniffed bitterly. “He has someone all picked out for me, too. And he's fifty, if he's a day.”

“But what about Jay?” I'd shouted. My brother was just as good, and just as worthy as any old man in the church! I wanted to personally make sure Alma realized it, and I told Carmela so. Didn't love count for anything?

Sighing, I pulled myself back to the present. What about Lane's love for me? Did that count? He was a fine enough man, and I cared about him. But I knew that, unless God or the prophet told me to do otherwise, when I married someone it would be someone I truly loved. Someday Lane would find a plural wife, someone willing to help him build his family properly. Meantime I had to find the courage to tell him no. Soon.

“We had better go,” I said abruptly. “We'll be late for practice.”

By the time we pulled up in front of the church, Lane seemed back to his old self. He raced me to the door and caught me around the waist just before I opened it. I laughed with him, but even to me my levity sounded hollow and forced.

Three benches filled with colony teenagers were discussing the play for the upcoming church conference. They turned to stare at us as we tiptoed into the coolness of the building. Esther LeBaron Spencer, the only LeBaron sister who was a member of the church, stood behind the pulpit, her play manual open before her. She stopped speaking and waited until we took our seats. She looked hot and uncomfortable in her flowered polyester dress. Her graying hair curled moist around her neck.

She glowered at us. “As I was saying, if you want to have an active part in the play, you will make an effort to be on time at the practices. Now, our operetta this year is called
Welcome to Gay Havana
,” Esther rattled on and on.

My sister Fara, sitting on a rear bench, raised her eyebrows at me and darted a look at Lane. Franny glared disapproval as she scooted over to make room for us. “What are you doing?” she growled into my ear. “I thought you were breaking up with him!”

“Shh! I'll tell you later.” I glanced at Esther. She looked up at us, briefly hesitated, and then continued outlining the play.

Few people in the colony had tried harder than Esther Spencer had to bring a touch of culture to our pioneer-type existence. She had made up her mind years ago, when the church was first started, that the young people of the colony wouldn't be deprived of whatever refinement she could teach them. She organized plays, piano concerts and talent shows for us to participate in, giving us something special to perform during our church's semiannual conferences, something to show the visiting investigators of the church that just because we lived in Mexico and practiced polygamy, we weren't ignorant or illiterate.

“Let's give the adults something to smile at!” Esther said in conclusion. “And during these hours together in practice, let's have some good, clean fun!”

Lane rolled his eyes, his face a mask of seriousness. Franny suppressed a giggle. Esther was staring pointedly at the left end of the first bench where a girl named Debbie Bateman sat. Fresh from California, Debbie's legs were crossed, giving a full view of her thighs. Her short, tight skirt rode high on her hips. The huge wad of gum in her mouth popped and cracked as she watched Esther. Gossip had it that Debbie's parents had accepted Ervil LeBaron's offer to bring her to the colony, the plan being to get her away from her wild friends in California. And Esther, who took a maternal interest in all of us, was afraid that Debbie's foul mouth and worldly experience would be a bad influence. Debbie was well aware that Esther, as a charter member of the church and a sister of the Prophet Joel, considered herself an authority on spiritual matters. So the new girl made a point of annoying her at every opportunity. With Debbie here, I knew that play practices would become interesting, indeed.

Jay and Carmela sat close together on a rear bench, paying little attention to the rest of us. I could sense the strain between them, and Francisca noticed it too. “Are they just going to let that mean old Alma dictate to them?” she whispered. “He's not her real father. How can he order her not to marry Jay?”

I shrugged and sighed. I had enough problems of my own to worry about at the present.

“Do you suppose Esther will tell Alma that they're sitting together?” Franny breathed into my ear.

“Oh, my Lord, I hope not!” I glanced at Esther. Being Alma's sister, she was no doubt aware of the situation. Didn't Jay and Carmela have enough sense to be discreet if they were going to disobey Alma's orders? I would have to talk to Jay when we got home, make him see he was being foolish.

As we walked out into the sunlight, I turned to Debbie and whispered, “Don't let Esther upset you, okay? She's old fashioned and not used to someone from the states.”

“Don't worry about it,” she said, shrugging. She glanced over at Lane. “So. You and Lane back to makin' it?”

I stared at her in confusion. Debbie chuckled, her hazel eyes snapping. “Don't look so shocked. It's not like he has VD or anything.”

“What's VD?” I almost hated to ask.

“You don't know what VD is?” Debbie shouted. “This place really is the end of the world, isn't it? VD, dummy, is a disease people get who have lots of sex . . .”

Esther was suddenly behind us, and she dropped her heavy hand on Debbie's shoulder. “Okay, young woman, you can hold it right there,” she snapped. “You're not in California anymore, and we don't talk about such things here in Colonia LeBaron. You're a member of God's True Church now, Debbie. You need to remember that.” Esther looked her up and down, from her long brown hair and slanted eyes, dark with makeup, to her bare legs and high-heel shoes. “You need someone with a stern hand to take control of you and straighten you out.”

Shaking her head, Esther marched past us. Francisca, Debbie, and I stared after her, then Franny glanced at me, her green eyes smoldering.

“That old bag don't know it yet,” Debbie muttered, “but she hasn't seen the last of me.” She tossed her long brown hair. “Let's go see if anyone is going to Casas to the movies tonight. Sue, is Lane going?”

The “Casas” she was talking about was Casas Grandes, the city forty miles to the north, where most of our people shopped. The small Mexican city boasted of several markets, gas stations, banks, a hospital, and two theaters where mostly American films, captioned in Spanish, were shown. Other than two villages, one on either side of the colony, and another little town twenty miles to the south called Buenaventura, our colony lay surrounded by miles upon miles of desert. Chihuahua City, a bustling metropolis, lay almost four hours to the south. The border towns of Juarez and El Paso were four hours to our northeast.