“It was nice meeting you too, Taviana,” he answers and smiles.
Reluctantly, I let go of his hand and walk toward the road. I hear him close the gate behind me. I start off down the dirt road.
“Taviana?” he calls out.
I swing around, a stupid girlish hopefulness springing to life in my chest. “Yes?”
“You live with Celeste, don't you?”
That wasn't the question I expected to hear. “I do.”
“Will you say hello to her from me?”
I stare at his earnest face a little too long, and he blushes and looks away. So the teenagers in this town aren't completely oblivious to each other after all. “Yeah, sure,” I say, hoping I don't sound as disappointed as I feel.
“Thanks,” he says, his head bobbing up and down.
“And I won't tell anyone about that either,” I say.
He grins. “I knew I could trust you, Taviana,” he says, and he turns and walks away.
I begin walking in the opposite direction, mulling over the realization that there is more going on in Unity than I was aware of.
Chapter Three
D
addy snatches up the tidy stack of shopping lists that have been delivered to us by various cousins this morning. It's his job to drive into Springdale each Saturday and purchase supplies for all our relatives in Unity.
I sit in a rocking chair with whimpering twin babies sprawled across my lap and observe Lena, Daddy's first wife. She's clearly restless and can't wait to get going. When she sees him take the lists, she tugs at the sash of her apron and hangs it on a hook by the door. Lena's the wife who always goes with Daddy to town. There's no point in his taking one of the others and flaunting the fact he has plural wives. The less we give them to talk about, the better.
But Daddy shocks us all this morning. He glances around the bustling room until he sees me, buried under babies. I meet his gaze, but after a moment I feel my face flush. Does he know about my impure rebellious thoughts? I begin humming to the twins and rock the chair more
vigorously to settle them. Then, out of the blue, Daddy says, “Celeste will come with me today.”
It takes me a moment to register the meaning of his words, but as soon as I do, I gather up the babies and hand them over to Nanette and Pam. I make eye contact with Mother, who is large with child again, sitting in an armchair, working her way through the mending basket. She pauses as she threads a needle and looks at me strangely. Is that sadness I read on her face? It doesn't matter. Nothing is going to keep me from spending a morning away from this noisy house. Before Daddy can change his mind, I, too, hang my apron on a hook and slide into a pair of outdoor shoes. I step around the dumbfounded Lena and follow my father out the door, allowing the springs to slam it shut behind me.
Sitting in the cab of Daddy's pickup truck, I marvel at my sudden good fortune. It's a fresh, sunny spring day. I have Daddy all to myself for a couple of hours. I'm away from the house, away from the never-ending chores and cranky, overburdened mothers, who are especially miserable on Saturday mornings when Lena gets to go to town with Daddy. Who knows how they'll feel today when he's chosen his oldest daughter over them. I refuse to think about the stares and rude remarks that are waiting for us in Springdale. The simple pleasure of getting away from Unity and all my younger siblings for a few hours is worth any amount of verbal abuse.
As we bump down the dirt road, I admire the wildflowers that line the ditch. And the sky! Has it ever been so blue? The mountains tower above us on one side
of the road and farmland spreads out across the prairie on the other. We are the chosen people and this is clearly the chosen countryside.
“Celeste.” Daddy's gravelly voice jolts me out of my dreamlike state. He isn't big on conversation, but that is what I love most about him. On those rare occasions when we are alone together, I'm free to lose myself in my own thoughts. That never happens at home, where any private thoughts get lost in the confusion of so many conversations all happening at once.
“Yes, Daddy?”
“I chose you to come with me today because there's something we need to talk about.” He pauses, apparently looking for the right words. In that second, and with a sinking heart, I know exactly what's coming next.
“You'll be turning fifteen on your birthday.”
“Yes, Daddy, I know.”
“And as you know too, Celeste, daughters do not belong to their mothers or fathers. A daughter is only in her parents' keeping until the Elders have determined who she will be assigned to in marriage. Then you will belong to your husband for all eternity.”
I nod but turn to stare out the window.
He continues. “The Prophet has begun asking for the Divine's guidance in determining who is to have you as a wife. Once you have turned fifteen, you can marry. I thought I'd remind you of that.”
There is so much I want to say, but I don't say anything and Daddy doesn't say anything else either. I think he's just
happy to have that off his chest. If he expected an argument from me, he isn't going to get it. Not today, anyway.
I keep my eyes on the passing scenery. Strangely, what had seemed like the makings of a perfect spring day now seem far less full of possibility. The wildflowers are just ugly weeds, and the glare of the sun is forcing me to squint.
OVER THE YEARS
I've grown used to being stared at by the people in Springdale, but today I think it's me doing the most staring. It seems like everyone is out enjoying the first warm weekend of the season. Girls have gathered in groups on street corners, and there is a whole lot of skin showing. Belly button jewels sparkle in the sunlight, and there are all manner of tattoos. Boys and men are walking around without shirts and with shorts pulled down so low their underwear springs out the top. I find I don't know where to look, so, to cover my embarrassment, I just stare at my feet as I follow Daddy from store to store. He gathers the supplies and I trail after him, my arms laden down with packages and bags.
When we finish and everything is stowed in the cab of the truck, Daddy, who is a mechanic, goes off to talk business with some guys at the garage. He tells me he'll be back at the truck in an hour.
An hour? Normally I'd be delighted to have an hour all to myself, but what does he expect me to do in Springdale? It's too hot to wait in the parking lot.
Glancing around, I notice how many curious people there are, watching me. Already I've been asked by a nosy clerk if I'm one of Daddy's wives or his daughter. I decide it's best to get away from the center of town. The river that runs past Unity also runs right through a park at the south end of this town, and I decide to walk over there. Keeping my eyes down, I hurry away.
Unfortunately, the park is also crowded. Families have blankets spread out on the grassy slope, and picnic baskets lie open, filled with the kind of food you'd never see in Unity. There are empty junk-food wrappers being blown about in the breeze, and soda cans are bursting out of the top of the blue recycling bins. Dogs are romping together, and there are young people stretched out on towels, sunbathing, wearing practically nothing at all. Heat rises to my cheeks. Small children are playing at the water's edge. Even here, everyone stares at me. I turn upstream, hoping to find somewhere to be alone.
The river is high and loud with the spring runoff. Rounding a bend, I'm surprised to see another tower of rocks piled close to the water's edge. The beach is deserted here, so I wander over to take a closer look. I'm stunned by what I see. This is not another statue, but a selection of stones that have been balanced, precariously, one on top of the other. It's extraordinary that it doesn't topple over. Someone has clearly spent a lot of time setting the stones at just the right angles to make it work. The highest stone is standing with its widest part at the top, and its point is resting on a smaller stone beneath it, which is, in turn,
balanced precariously on the tip of yet another stone, and so on. It looks so impossible that I reach out to see if it's been cemented together. I lift the top stone off and it comes free in my hand. Amazing. I carefully place it back the way I found it, but it falls off, and then, almost in slow motion, the whole tower crumbles. Shocked, I bend over and attempt to reassemble it, but one by one the stones drop back to the beach.
“That will be seven years of bad luck for you,” a voice behind me says.
I whirl around and come face to face with a young man, his dark eyes shining. His chest is bare, and he's only wearing shorts. He crept up on meâI never heard a thing over the sound of the river.
“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to break it.” I feel tears springing to my eyes. “I only wanted to see if it was cemented together.” I gather up my dress and begin to run back toward the park.
“Hey, it's okay!” he yells. “I was just kidding! I'll build another one.”
I glance back and see him standing there beside the fallen pile of stones, hands on his hips. From this distance, I realize that he's the same person I watched build the little statue near Unity. I turn and run even faster.
PULLING A WET
apron from the laundry basket, I snap it hard and pass it to Taviana, who is hanging clothes on
the line. My morning excursion into Springdale has left me jittery. “Do you believe in bad luck?” I ask her.
She regards me, a puzzled expression in her deep-set brown eyes. “I might have, before,” she answers and takes the dress I'm passing to her.
“Before?”
“Before I came here,” she says.
“Oh.”
“Now I've learned, just like you have, that God determines what will happen to those who are faithful and obedient. It has nothing to do with luck.”
“What about those who aren't faithful and obedient?”
She studies me again. “What's up, Celeste?”
I wonder how much to tell her. I can't get the image of those dark eyes and bare chest out of my head. There were wisps of hair on his chest. Do all men grow hair there? “Today, in Springdale,” I tell her, “I accidentally broke something that belonged to a Gentile boy.”
“You did?” Her eyebrows arch, trying to picture it.
I nod. “And he said I'd have seven years of bad luck.”
Taviana's eyes light up and she laughs, hard, which I find reassuring. Clearly she doesn't believe I've been cursed. Dimples appear in her delicate, doll-like face, which is so different than the faces in our family. Except for Nanette, we tend to have broad foreheads, round cheeks and large blue eyes. When Taviana arrived, her dark hair was cropped short, and even though she's since let it grow out, it's still not nearly as long as ours, which has never been cut.
“Was it a mirror you broke?” she asks, turning back to the clothesline.
“No, why?”
“There's an old saying that if you break a mirror, you'll have seven years of bad luck.”
“You will?”
She shrugs. “It's just an old saying.”
“What other old sayings are there?”
“My mom had plenty. She said you'd have bad luck if you opened an umbrella in the house or if a black cat crossed your path. Walking under a ladder was also bad, unless, of course, you crossed your fingers.”
“Did your mom believe these things?”
“She seemed to.”
“And did you? Before you came here?”
She thinks about that. “Let's just say I didn't take any chances. I didn't walk under ladders or open umbrellas in the house.”
We resume hanging the laundry. “So who was this Gentile boy?” she asks.
“I don't know. I saw this, this beautiful...” I shake my head, unable to find the right words. “This beautiful stone tower on the beach by the river.” I'm getting excited just thinking about it again. “The stones were balanced on top of one another, but not like building blocks. These were balanced in such an interesting way, like on their pointed ends, and you'd swear they'd topple over, but they didn't.”
“I remember seeing some of those on a beach once,” Taviana muses. “They're like works of art, but so...so fragile.
And the builder has to just leave them there, to whatever may happen, like to people whoâ”
“Who destroy them!” I say, interrupting her. “I thought that maybe the stones were cemented together, so I lifted the top one off.”
“Oh no!” she says.
“Oh yes. The whole tower collapsed.”
“Oops.”
“I hadn't seen anyone nearby, but suddenly this...this personâhe was older than me but not a manâhe was just standing there, behind me. He said that for breaking it I would have seven years of bad luck.”
“You
have
been cursed!” Taviana declares.
“I have?”
She laughs again. “We don't believe in curses, Celeste.”
“You're right.” I hand her the last dress in the basket. “But still. I felt terrible.”
“It goes with the territory,” she says. “If he's going to build his art on a public beach, he has to know that it won't last.”
“But it was so...so amazing,” I tell her. “I didn't mean to break it.”
“Get over it, Celeste,” she tells me.
Get over it. I like these strange expressions Taviana has. I'm going to remember that one.
“And by the way,” she adds. “I have a message for you.”
“You do?”
“Yep. Guess who it's from?”
My mind is blank. “I have no idea.”
“I'll give you a hint. He's cute. He has brown hair and a really nice smile.”
I feel my skin burn. Can it be? I gather up the laundry basket and the clothes-pegs, hoping she won't notice my skin.
“I have no idea,” I tell her.
“Really?” she asks, looking sly.
“Taviana. Just tell me what the message is.”