Mother Before Wife (The Compound #2) (9 page)

The first was sent just days after I moved to Paul’s home, three years ago.

Brinley
: Aspen? Are you reading this? Hello?

The next was sent a few months later.

Brinley
: Just checking. I miss you, Aspen. Please write me if you see this. I’m hoping you’re safe . . . and well. Hug your girls for me.

The last was sent just a few days ago. That meant the phone number still worked!
Thank you, Heavenly Father!

Brinley
: Okay, even though Porter insists you threw this away years ago, I have to reach out just one more time. Porter and I are married now! I know you’ve probably thrown this away, but I had to share my news. I needed you to know that I’m happy. I’m so happy, Aspen. The future is bright, so very bright, indeed. I miss you and think of you often.

I clutched the phone to my chest, tears streaming down my face as I wished I had checked the phone sooner. I was so caught up in my own reassignment that I hadn’t considered the possibility of Brinley reaching out to me through this device.

Shame on you, Aspen.

My fingers shook as I answered her final text.

Aspen
: Hello, sweet Brinley. Was reminiscing with Jorjina Black about you just today. She is my new mother-in-law and misses you as much as I do. I apologize for not replying sooner; I’ve been adjusting to my new life as the wife of Paul Black, brother of the Prophet. We have a son—his name is Jeremiah and he owns my heart. Sending you and Porter much love and best wishes.

I knew my response wasn’t nearly enough. I wanted to call her, to hear her soft voice, to offer her congratulations on her marriage to Porter. But I couldn’t. I was once again too consumed by my own situation. I was in no state to reconnect with her.

Besides, what would I say? What would I ask? I’d abandoned her when she tried again and again to reach out to me through these text messages. If I called her now, it would be for my own selfish gain, not to congratulate her on her happiness. No, that would be unacceptable.

And even if she could forgive me for that, as I know sweet and kind Brinley would, what could she possibly offer me in this confusing and unclear situation?

Nothing. My heart sank as I realized the honest truth.

She was living her life . . . a life that suited her, away from our community, away from the compound. And I was happy for her, possibly for the first time.

I knew in my gut that this wasn’t the time to reach out to my former sister wife. But as I stared at the screen through blurry eyes, reading her messages again and again, a feeling formed within me that even though the time hadn’t arrived, it was looming somewhere in the future.

I just had to wait for a sign.

I placed the phone back in my top drawer and lay down beside Jeremiah, wrapping my arms around him as he slept.

“I’ll do anything to protect you, sweet boy,” I whispered against his soft hair. “Anything.”

“The greatest destiny for a woman is to become a faithful, obedient wife.”

—The Prophet, Clarence Black

Aspen

Each week, thousands of us poured into the old temple to listen to the words of our Prophet and hear announcements given by him and other members of the priesthood. Following the services, the wives of the Prophet treated the community to tea and cookies in the field next to the temple. Children could run and play with their friends while the adults of our community were allowed to socialize with one another for hours before returning to our homes.

I’d never missed a service or post-service gathering. Sunday morning congregation was, for the majority of my life, my favorite part of the week. The Prophet’s words were my solace, my comfort, my peace. Each week, I drank them in like a soothing cup of tea.

But today, they were a harsh pill to swallow, a pill you had to force down with several ounces of water in an effort not to choke it back up. To say I was skeptical would be a gigantic understatement.

For days since Jordan and Bethany’s wedding, Paul had sensed a difference in me. He repeatedly asked what was wrong, but I kept sweet and told him I was fine. I couldn’t let him see my distrust of the Prophet, and I certainly couldn’t avoid services on this pleasant Sunday morning. If I did, he would know.

And so I dressed in my favorite shade of lilac and asked Pennie to braid my hair as I braided Ruthie’s in preparation for congregation. After gathering the other children, Paul and I walked a mile to the old temple with the rest of the family.

We found our seats and prepared for the Prophet’s sermon. I sat stiffly, wanting to take the microphone and announce the Prophet’s threats to the people of my community. But I’d be foolish to even attempt such a stunt. No one would believe me, and my children and I would be banished by day’s end.

Keep sweet. Keep sweet. Keep sweet.

“Good morning, my children,” the Prophet said to the congregants. “It’s glorious to see so many fresh, smiling faces on this lovely day. I’ll begin by giving an update on our new temple. I’ll ask the
new
foreman, Rodney Steed, to deliver the update.”

The congregation applauded, but I cringed as a portly man with gray hair and a hunched posture climbed to the podium and stood beside the Prophet. I turned to see Paul looking down at his lap, ashamed to not be the one standing next to his brother.

“Thank you, sir. I’m pleased to inform everyone that our temple will be ready in just six months. We thank you for your patience. This is a grand endeavor, and one that has had several . . . setbacks. But we’re on track and our team will complete the project very soon.”

“Excellent.” The Prophet retrieved the microphone from Rodney, who left the podium. “This morning, I want to talk about loyalty. We all must strive to be at our most loyal. Loyal to our Prophet, to our faith, and to our community.”

I shifted in my seat as the Prophet scanned the congregation, his gaze landing meaningfully on me.

“Being loyal to your family is not enough. No, you need to strive to put Heavenly Father first, and thus you must trust in the Prophet, for I am the only one to deliver your salvation. Remember that, my children.”

Jeremiah yanked on my sleeve. “Hungwy, Mama.”

I closed my eyes, sighed, and retrieved a sleeve of crackers from my pocket. This child was always hungry. Since he’d turned two years old, I’d made a habit of bringing snacks for him during services. When I didn’t, it was harder to control my spirited boy. Thank goodness my daughters were poised, sitting quietly and attentively.

“Shhh,” I said, passing him the crackers one by one.

Jeremiah munched as the rest of us listened to the Prophet continue with his sermon on loyalty. I was absolutely certain that I had been the inspiration behind this particular topic. Just months ago, the idea of a sermon having been written as an homage to myself for my devotion to the church would have pleased me immensely. But this was nothing to be proud of, nothing to celebrate or revel in. He was sending me a message. A strong one.

“Now, our next topic is blessings. As you all know, Heavenly Father has blessed me with thirty-seven wives. Thirty-seven loyal, selfless, and caring women. I honor and treasure them each and every day. Heavenly Father has been revealing unions to me in the past few months. Congratulations once again to Jordan Black and his new wife, Bethany.”

The congregation offered a round of applause. I turned to see Jordan and Bethany holding hands but looking uncomfortable at the attention.

“It’s been a while since our Lord has given me a blessing, however. And so I prayed, and I asked him again and again, ‘Lord, how can I better serve you? What can I do?’ And last night, Heavenly Father answered my prayers. Let us thank him for his grace.”

“Thank you, Heavenly Father,” the congregation said in unison, but I said nothing.

Again, the Prophet’s eyes found mine. He raised one silver eyebrow and smiled wickedly, tipping his head toward me.

Oh no.

“The Lord revealed that I am to have a new wife. Ruthie, the daughter of Aspen and Paul Black, is not old enough to marry yet, this is true. But Heavenly Father was clear in his revelation. Ruthie, will you join me up front, dear child?”

The air whooshed from my lungs, collapsing my chest, and the temple spun. I couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. How could this be happening? How could he do this?

No. No. No. No. No. She’s just a baby!

My arm shot across Susan’s chest to grasp Ruthie’s elbow. I squeezed.

You can’t take my baby!

“Mama?” Ruthie whispered loudly, rising from her seat. “What are you
doing
?”

“
Sit down
,” I hissed sat her through clenched teeth.

“Mama, no,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Let go of me.”

“Aspen, stop,” Paul scolded, his voice low so only those around us could hear. His eyes were cold, stern, and unwavering.

I was embarrassing him, embarrassing the entire family. And it wasn’t the first time I had done so. That reality crashed into me and I loosened the grip on my daughter, forcing an obligatory half smile as Ruthie jumped to her feet and ran to join the Prophet in front of the congregation.

Flora led the rest of our community in a round of applause and I glared at her, furious. I wanted to scream at her, at all of them. How could they approve of such a union?

She’s too young!
I wanted to shout.
How can you support such a thing?

I stared at my precious girl, beaming from the pulpit. Tears burned my eyes as I fixated on her bashful grin and red cheeks. She was enjoying this. Too much.

“Now, Ruthie, do you understand the revelation that our Lord has revealed to me?”

She shifted her weight from foot to foot. “Um, I think so, sir.”

“Why don’t you tell me what you think the Lord revealed?”

“That we are to be married, sir?” Ruthie stopped fidgeting and looked at up him with stars in her eyes.

Stop it, baby, no!

“And how old are you, my dear?”

“Eleven and a half,” she croaked.

“Yes, and the Lord stated that it’s not time for us to be joined. Not quite yet, anyway.”

His callous smirk made my stomach churn. My fingers trembled in my lap as he took Ruthie’s hand in his and continued to speak.

“But on your thirteenth birthday, you will become my wife, and it will be a glorious occasion. How do you feel about this news?”

The redness in Ruthie’s cheeks deepened and she stared down at her feet. “I—I’m honored, sir.”

“As you should be, dear.” The Prophet nodded, releasing his grip on her hand and smoothing down her hair. “As you should be. The Lord only chooses the most worthy of women to marry the Prophet.”

I couldn’t allow my daughter to marry anyone at such a young age, especially the Prophet. But did I have a choice?

A boulder formed in the pit of my stomach when I realized that I had absolutely no say in the matter. Despite the wrongness of it all, my daughter was engaged . . . engaged! . . . at the tender age of eleven.

A small voice inside me wondered if this had something to do with what I saw, with the man by the tree, with the Prophet’s threat in my backyard as he gripped my arm and warned me that my life could change in an instant. He’d warned me to be careful. And now he’d shown me what he’d do to keep me quiet.

Once again, I was reminded of his power. His absolute power.

• • •

“I need to speak with you. Immediately,” I whispered into Paul’s ear as he mingled with groups of men in our congregation, and he merely grunted and walked away.

I knew he was avoiding me and the inevitable confrontation between us. He knew I was disgusted, confounded, and alarmed by this announcement. He knew that strife was on the horizon, that it would seize our marriage once again, holding us in its darkened grasp.

And we would never be the same.

“Well, well, well,” a familiar snooty voice said.

I turned to see Leandra, my former sister wife, her hand firmly in Lehi’s grasp. My first husband and I hadn’t seen each other since I left his home, and this was not a happy reunion. He glared at me as Leandra continued to speak, her tone snide.

“What an honor for you, dear Aspen.”

Keep sweet. Keep sweet. Keep sweet.

I covered my horror with a blanket of sweetness. “Indeed. An unexpected one, but an honor nonetheless.”

Leandra tilted her head to the side and crossed her arms. “Well, I guess that’s what happens when you marry the brother of the Prophet. You must be so very . . . proud.”

Lehi’s nostrils flared at Leandra’s words. The two of them were desperate for the Prophet’s approval at any cost. If Lehi could have married Ruthie off at the age of eight, he wouldn’t have hesitated if it meant pleasing the Prophet. I could see in my former husband’s eyes—he felt cheated out of this honor, this
privilege
of marrying a daughter off to the Prophet.

We locked eyes, and I ignored Leandra’s words. “You look well, Lehi.”

“Elder Cluff.” He corrected me sternly, insisting I use the formal greeting usually reserved for acquaintances.

“My apologies,” I deadpanned. “
Elder
Cluff. Well, this has been a most blessed reunion, but I must be going. I have to find
my
daughter.”

As I said the words, I searched Lehi’s face for a reaction, but there was nothing. He didn’t miss his daughters, their affection, their smiles. He was a cold and bitter man, and a man I was relieved to no longer call my husband.

“Do come for a visit, Aspen. We simply must catch up,” Leandra called after me as I walked away.

Keep sweet. Keep sweet. Keep sweet.

After searching for several minutes, I found Ruthie below a tree, surrounded by a large circle of girls her age. They were asking questions, fawning over her as if she’d been named royalty.

She has, Aspen. Your daughter will, for all intents and purposes, become royalty when she turns thirteen.

A shiver ran down my spine as I watched her. She was glowing as she fielded questions and a multitude of compliments from the girls who wanted to impress the Prophet’s latest betrothed.

Their excited chatter ran through my head.
Are you excited? You must be so excited! Will you wear a special braid? Did you know this would happen? Will your mother sew a dress? Will you have your own room? The house is so grand! You’re so beautiful, Ruthie; it’s no wonder you were chosen.

I cleared my throat. “Ruthie, dear, it’s time to go.”

Ruthie sighed, and her head tilted back in frustration as her shoulders slumped. “Please, Mama, just a few more minutes. The girls and I were just—”

“No,
now
. We’re needed at home. There are chores to be done.”

“Did you ask the Prophet? Surely, he wouldn’t want me to leave prematurely.” She raised her eyebrows, challenging me as the girls’ mouths dropped open at her defiance.

It’s starting already . . .

With no hesitation, I grabbed her by the elbow, digging my fingernails into the sleeve of her dress, and dragged her away from the crowd of young girls.

“Ow! You’re hurting me!”

“Keep your voice down,” I hissed, keeping my voice low so that those we passed by wouldn’t hear our conversation. “Now, you listen to me. You may be set to marry the Prophet, but you are still my daughter, and you
will
mind me. When I say it’s time to go, you go. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“When we get home, you will go straight to your room, do you understand?”

“But the chores. You said—”

“I know what I said. And I’ve changed my mind.”

“Yes, Mama.”

When we reached her bedroom, I stepped inside with her and closed the door behind me.

“Mama, I don’t understand. Everyone is happy for me but you. Why aren’t you happy?” Tears formed in her eyes.