Favorite Wife (50 page)

As wives and children ran out to greet him, it reminded me of that day, seven years ago this month, when Verlan had taken me as his new bride to the house in Ensenada. I had been so full of excitement and anticipation then. Now all I felt was a dull dread. I smiled though, and hugged everyone, and pretended to be happy. Charlotte, too, hugged me tight and treated me with such warmth that I was amazed.

Verlan had tried to prepare me for the dwelling, but he didn't do it justice. It was a nightmare. The barn was drafty and had dirt floors. Lucy and Irene and their combined eighteen children lived in it, with all the kids sleeping in the ladder-accessible loft. Verlan had built Charlotte's family a small, four-room house higher up on the hill. Behind the barn was a storage room where we would sleep.

The creek ran around the hill, which was the cleared side of the property. Verlan and the older children took me on a tour of the much larger, jungle side, where we walked single file through the trees, then over a log spanning a rivulet, until we came to a large clearing where Verlan and the boys had planted a garden. The corn was already two feet high, and Verlan was ecstatic when he examined all the growing vegetables.

“This is wonderful!” he shouted. “We don't even have to water it, what with all the rain. Honey, this is the main reason why I wanted to come to Nicaragua. We can grow anything here!”

I tried to be happy for him. But I felt hollow inside, and without a word I started back down the path to the barn. The sky had been blue and sunny on our way to the garden, but now the sky was gray, and the rain came swiftly. I was soaked through as I walked into the kitchen.

Irene's older girls were feeding my children beans and bread at the split-log table. I dropped down beside them and lifted Forrest onto my lap. The open kitchen door allowed the rain to blow in onto the dirt floor, where water puddles had turned into mud. Flies carpeted everything. The girls and I shoed them from the food, but they returned in swarms, and I wanted to scream.

Instead, I handed Forrest to one of the girls and hurried outside, where the rain had become only thin drizzle. The storage room had been cleaned out before we got here, and now contained two beds, a dresser, a small table and chairs, and a gas stove. The floor was packed dirt. My few boxes sat on the bed, and I had just started unpacking them when Irene walked in. She took one look at my face, and silently took me in her ample arms.

“You're going to be okay, sweetie,” she said as I sobbed. “I'm here, and we'll be company for each other. Our life's not so bad. You'll get used to it—I did. At least we don't have to worry about Ervil here.”

I nodded and wiped my eyes; then, pulling away, I sat down. “I don't know how you stand it,” I whispered, my chin quivering. “How have you stood it this long, and what's the point of it all? Oh, Irene, maybe you're cut out for this, but I'm not. I can't bear to have my children here, living like this on dirt floors. Forrest isn't even walking yet. What's he supposed to do, crawl in the mud?”

She pursed her lips and was silent. Then sighing, she pulled out a chair and sat. “Look, we can either make the best of the situation, or choose to be miserable,” she said quietly. “I don't know what the Lord has in mind for us. But I love Verlan and intend to support him in this. I know it's hard! I don't understand it all, either, and I'm not convinced that this will ever be a gathering place. But Verlan's the best we've got for a leader right now, and we need to make his life easier, not harder. So let's find the good things about Nicaragua, and not worry about the little inconveniences. Okay?”

Feeling chastised, I dried my eyes and reluctantly nodded. Life was what you made it, and no one knew that better than I. There had to be some positive things about this place—I just had to quit acting like a big baby and find them.

The following morning Verlan held Sunday school in the barn. In spite of the rain, he sat by the open door so he could see to read the New Testament's Book of Acts to us. Even the children all sat patiently as he droned on, then Lucy went to the piano and we gathered around and sang hymns until we were all hoarse.

The children and I went to our shack after lunch for a nap. Verlan dropped by to lie down for half an hour, then he and the boys went to the garden to pull weeds while the sun was out. By four o'clock it was raining again and it continued until dark. After supper, Irene came over for a game of Scrabble. She'd made fudge, and we played and snacked until bedtime.

The following morning Irene took me to the creek to do laundry. It was easier than I thought it would be; we waded in to the large rocks Verlan had placed in the creek, and with a plastic tub held between us for the clean clothes, we fished the soaking ones out of the sunken reed basket. We used the big rocks for a scrubboard, and once the plastic tub was full of scrubbed clothes, we pulled it back to the bank and wrang the clothes out. Then we hauled them up the hill and hung them on the barbed-wire fence. The trick was to keep an eye on the clouds. Just before it started to rain, we would have to retrieve the still damp clothes from the fence, take them inside, and lay them on the bed to wait until the sun came out again. Then we would rehang them. Sometimes it took two or three times to get them dry—but that was all we could do, Irene said.

Verlan had built a large, wood-fed, brick kiln in the backyard for bread baking which worked quite well. He and the boys were in the process today of building an outdoor, wood-fed stove, for cooking beans and the like.

As Irene and I did laundry, Lucy did the cooking and watched the babies, and Charlotte taught school to Verlan's children. One room of Charlotte's house was the schoolroom, complete with blackboard and primers. Seven-year-old Melanie had become her new student.

We had a corral of goats, two milk-cows and a young bull, and a dozen good laying hens. One corner of the barn held fifty-gallon barrels filled with beans and wheat and corn, and we had several five-gallon tins of oil and honey. With the coming vegetables, Verlan's Nicaragua families were set for a while.

Verlan stayed for two weeks, clearing ground and planting more gardens. In a large, open area, he placed poles and strung clotheslines, planning to eventually build a rain cover over them. He organized the boys and older girls to do the garden work, and put Lucy in charge of this project. Irene and I were left with the bulk of the cooking and laundry to do.

Verlan promised to be back in three months, before my fifth child was born. On the morning he left, the whole family stood outside in the rain. We waved until he was out of sight.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-
N
INE

L
ife in Nicaragua became a series of rain-scattered days, followed by lengthy black nights where, surrounded by my four children, I sought escape in slumber. But the moist air dampened my bedcovers, and small, kicking feet scattered bits of dried mud across my sheets. Sleep eluded me. I awoke each morning worn out and loathing the task of facing another day.

During my daily chores, my plagued thoughts reviewed restlessly the lifestyle Verlan had chosen for us. I tried to reconcile myself to accepting this foreign land, with its strange, half-naked natives and harsh existence. But to settle in for good seemed senseless. I abhorred the thought of raising my children in an environment where they would have little contact with the outside world. They would doubtless grow up to be shy, backward men and women, who would have little choice but to either marry the natives or leave their mother and return to civilization to seek a better life. Either way was unacceptable to me.

As the weeks in Nicaragua slowly turned into months, I desperately yearned for Colonia LeBaron and my own dear relatives. But even more than that, I couldn't deny my growing desire for a husband of my very own, someone to live with, who would be a loving, caring father for my children and a real friend to me throughout my days. My restless body ached for a man's gentle touch.

Deep inside, I had known from my first day in Nicaragua that I would never stay and make it my home. With each passing day my resolve to return to Colonia LeBaron deepened, and soon I was secretly biding my time until Verlan returned and my baby was born. What I would do with my life once I was back home, I wasn't certain. Though I cherished Verlan's wives and adored his many children, Verlan himself had become a driven, exasperating stranger. My desire and longing for him had withered completely.

Irene became my daily companion. We spent our free time reading books together and playing Scrabble and canasta, and lightly joking about how wonderful it would be to have a man around. Irene ruled the kitchen and cooking areas in the barn, and cheerfully washed mountains of laundry in the creek. I tried to be of help to her, but my small children were demanding and my pregnancy was advanced and kept me uncomfortable most of the time.

One sunny day Irene and I went for a long hike. We started up the hilly, winding dirt road, which was thickly bordered on either side by coffee bushes growing amidst the trees. Our destination was the tiny country store on the main “highway,” set among a handful of shacks, which held a few grocery items, including sodas. I'd determined that the bite and fizz of a Coke was long overdue, and Irene heartily agreed.

As we waded through the second creek, two long-skirted native women and several young children traipsed toward us. I tried not to stare at the exposed, dangling, brown breasts of these shy peasants, or at the bare display of the male, preteen's uncovered genitals. Though I'd seen this style before on our journey here, now it was directly in front of me, and I felt myself redden with discomfort. I hastily moved on.

Not Irene though. She greeted the women and stopped to chat awhile, and since I didn't yet comprehend much of the dialect, I rested on the creek bank and waited patiently for the chatter to cease.

Finally Irene joined me and we trudged on. “Oh, Susan, I wish you understood them better,” she exclaimed. “They're such sweet, happy people! They don't live very far from us, just a short walk to the West, through the jungle. The younger woman invited me to come over for coffee tomorrow. You want to?”

Having been ages since I'd tasted coffee, I was desperate for something to break the monotony. “Sure, I'll go with you,” I agreed.

We finally reached the store, purchased two sodas and two American candy bars—which cost a small fortune—and started the long walk back home. Once we reached the creek bank, we sat down to have our treat.

As we rested, I carefully broached the subject foremost in my mind. Irene listened, then finally admitted to me her own despondence. “You're not the only one, Susan,” she confessed. “I hate it here too. I'm sick of being a pioneer, and I'm sure it'll be ages before Verlan can build us decent homes. I'm so tired of his long absences! He promised me that he would be spending most of his time here! But he still has a church to run—and Beverly and Ester will never come to Nicaragua. So even if he eventually moves Lillie and Elizabeth down, he'll still have to travel back and forth. Seven days' drive each way.” She shook her head, popped the last bite of her candy bar into her mouth, and disgustedly threw the wadded wrapper into the creek.

“Nicaragua was a dumb idea, Irene,” I said quietly. “I wanted us to get away today, because I need to tell you in private that I won't be staying. The minute Verlan returns I'm going to ask him to take me back home. Please don't be mad.”

She stared at me, her blue eyes suddenly wary. “Well, he won't get here until right before your baby's due! You've only been here a few months, for heaven's sake! Can't you at least give it a year?”

I took a sip of my soda and stared into the smoothly flowing water beneath my feet. Irene thought I was being a spoiled baby, and that my main problem was homesickness and the lack of decent living accommodations. But it went much deeper than that, and I could no longer hold my tongue.

“Has it ever occurred to you that Verlan, himself, never stays for very long in any of these remote dumps he moves us to? He comes for a short visit, and receives the very best each of us has to offer. We make special food, and wait on him hand and foot, and wash his clothes in the creek—he's never had to stand in the cold water and rub his own knuckles raw on those rocks! And he has a willing wife to snuggle up to every night he's home. How do you think he'd feel if he were the one sleeping alone, knowing that you, or me, were next door with another man? I just wonder how long he'd stand for it. And then within a week or so he's off, to see another batch of wives, where they also give him the very best they have to offer. Have you ever thought about these things?”

Irene sighed. “Of course I've thought about it. Millions of times. But, Susan, that's just the way things are—and we have to accept it. Verlan has his own crosses to bear, don't think he doesn't! He has our huge family to support, and all the problems of the church on his shoulders, not to mention trying to keep so many wives happy! How would you like those challenges?”

“I wouldn't!” I flared. “But he doesn't support his families, his big boys do that for him. And he's brought most of his other problems upon himself! He didn't have to marry so many women; he's done that because he's greedy and he's never satisfied! Oh, he moans around about how he wants to make us happy, and he always says he plans to spend more time with us, but then he turns around and marries more women! Now, I'm sorry, Irene, but that's just plain selfish and stupid, and I can't go along with it.”

She was staring hard at me, her blue eyes flashing fiery missiles in my direction. “So, what are you telling me? Are you saying you're leaving here or leaving Verlan?”

I fidgeted, my hands trembling as I held on to my soda bottle. “I don't know,” I finally moaned. “I don't know what I'm doing! But I've been studying the Scriptures for a long time now, trying to come to grips with things, and they just don't make sense. One book says one thing, and the others say something else. The Doctrine and Covenants says that if women don't accept all the wives their husband takes, they'll be destroyed. But the Book of Mormon in the second chapter of Jacob says polygamy is wickedness and an abomination in the sight of God. He warns all men against it. He calls it, committing whoredoms, and He says for men not to lead women astray and not to break their tender hearts.”

Irene was silent, her wild, red hair sticking out around her face as she stared at the stream. I continued my tirade. “I've also found several places in the New Testament where it says elders in God's Church should be the husbands of but one wife. First Peter, chapter seven, says that a man's wife, wife—not wives—is his partner, and she inherits with him the gift of life. So, which do we believe, that one place in the Doctrine and Covenants that commands Joseph Smith's wife Emma to accept polygamy or be destroyed, or all the other places, in all the other scriptures, that condemn it?”

Irene jumped up and started walking. I followed her, noting her stiff back and quick, angry steps. “You can interpret the Scriptures any way you like,” she shot at me when I caught up to her. “Keep searching and twisting, and you can make them say anything you want. You've been looking for a way out, and you think you've found one! But you're just being rebellious, Susan! You've lost your faith, and if you continue with this, you'll be giving up your eternal blessings. Joseph Smith's revelation is what you should believe, and Joel's testimony, and you should stop feeling sorry for yourself!”

We continued our swift march home in bristling silence. Irene led the way across the stream and up the little hill, and she entered the barn without another word. I walked around to my own little shack, where Lucy's daughter had taken my children. I thanked her and sent her home, then threw myself on my bed next to my napping babies and quietly sobbed myself to sleep.

“Hallo!” Irene called out to the native woman when we walked into the clearing around her ragged-looking bamboo hut, built against a low rock cliff. The woman immediately appeared at the doorway, a tiny, naked boy clutching her skirt. Two other children scurried outside to stare at us. One was a skinny boy of seven or eight who was naked from the waist down. The other child was a small girl with a ragged dress on, whose black hair was a mass of snarls around her thin face. The woman was grinning widely at us; the gap of her missing tooth was partially covered by her brown hand. She immediately waved us inside the gloomy interior of her hut and had us sit on large rocks. These primitive seats circled the larger, flat-surfaced rock that was her table.

I gingerly sat and peered around me. The children were standing in the sunlit doorway, and seemed reluctant to come inside. They stared at us, their eyes huge and round and unblinking, and I smiled and motioned for them to join us but they ignored me. Soon they moved away, out into the yard.

The back of the hut appeared to be a large indentation in the cliff face—sort of a shallow cave, which added enough room to the hut's interior for the family's harvested corn. I stared in wonder at the dried and shucked ears of their food supply. The ears had been stacked, row on top of perfectly neat, crisscrossed row, and woven into a solid, flat-surfaced rectangle about four feet high. On top of this display of workmanship were several empty gunny sacks. The rope stitching had been ripped out of these, and now the opened, rough sacks were the family's covers against the chilly night air. This shocking fact became apparent when the woman laid her naked toddler down on the queen-mattress-sized, lumpy bed of corn, and covered him up with a sack.

As the woman jabbered to Irene, she ground coffee beans between two rocks, poured them into a container of water, and set the concoction to boil over her open fire pit. I tore my eyes away from the family “bed” and examined the rest of her smoky hut. Not a stick of actual furniture was here, only the rock “table and chairs” and the corn “bed,” the fire pit, and odds and ends against one wall. I had seen poverty before in some of the Mexicans' houses around Colonia LeBaron, but nothing compared to this. Yet our hostess was so bubbly and full of laughter, and although I didn't understand much of what she was talking about, I was certain she loved life and considered herself blessed.

She poured the coffee into actual glass cups, and handed us each one. I didn't see any sugar, and I wanted to ask for some, but Irene read my eyes and shook her head. I carefully sipped.

The brew was thick, and so stout I couldn't help but make a face—not like any coffee I'd ever tasted. But I continued to sip at it, hoping the boiled water had killed any germs. I glanced again at the boy on the corn, and wondered how often he peed in the bed.