One day in late November, long after we had settled into a routine, Mitchell returned from ministering. He had that kind of evil look that I had come to know so well. Lustful. Entitled. Excited. “The time has come,” he announced. “The Lord has prepared us. We are ready. I must go forth and obtain another wife.”
My stomach dropped into my lap and I felt the blood begin to pound in my head. Another wife. Another victim. The thought made me want to scream.
Mitchell looked at me, waiting to see how I’d react. I stared at him in shock. What did he expect me to do? Smile and clap my hands? Agree with him? Encourage him? Did he think that I was like Barzee? Did he think that I was going to say it was okay! I couldn’t meet his eyes, I was so angry! And in that moment, he knew he couldn’t trust me. Which was perfectly fine with me. I hated this man. He was the devil. I didn’t want to be trusted by him.
All of us were silent for a moment. Clearly, this was news to Barzee. But she didn’t react. I thought it was incredible. It was as if Mitchell had come home and announced that he was going shopping.
Hey, I think it’s time I got a new robe.
Hey, I think it’s time I got a new wife.
It seemed to be about the same thing to her.
He watched me carefully, seeing the anger in my eyes, then went on. “She has to be a Mormon. And young and pure. I want her to be like you, Shearjashub.”
I cringed at the name. They had started calling me Shearjashub again shortly after we’d moved to California. They knew I hated it. But they thought it would help me forget my old life and my home.
“I’m going to visit all the Mormon churches in El Cajon until I find her,” Mitchell concluded. “Then I’ll have to find out where she lives. Meanwhile, we’ll prepare the same as we prepared for you, Shearjashub.”
You might prepare! I won’t prepare a thing! I thought.
“Why do you have to go all the way to El Cajon to find a wife?” I asked.
Mitchell looked at me as if I was stupid. “First of all, it needs to be far enough away that none of the searchers will stumble into our camp. Second, there probably aren’t any LDS churches any closer than that. Like I said, she has got to be a Mormon. So that is where I will go.”
The next Sunday, he got ready to go hunting.
I remember watching him search through the fire swamp for normal clothes that he could wear. Apparently God could command him to move mountains, part the seas, or call down fire from heaven, but He couldn’t help to hide his identity when He sent his servant out to steal a new wife. That being the case, Mitchell knew he couldn’t be kidnapping girls in his white robes. He would be way too easy to remember. Way too easy to identify. And it wouldn’t do to show up in church dressed as an ancient prophet. Mormons weren’t going to go for such a thing.
So he searched through our meager belongings for something normal that he could wear.
Over the past couple months, as Mitchell had wandered here and there around the city, he had stumbled on several deserted homeless camps. Rummaging through the junk and clothes that had been left behind, he had salvaged a few moldy blankets to hang in the trees around our camp. (Most of the little wormy things had fallen off the trees and we weren’t hidden as well as Mitchell had wanted us to be.) Along with the blankets, Mitchell had scavenged some ragged khaki pants and an old purple shirt that was so faded it was the same color as the pants.
Mitchell came out of the Altar of Immanuel with his new clothes on. He had cleaned himself up as best as he could, tying his hair into a ponytail and twisting his beard into a braid that was wrapped right up to his chin.
I watched as he checked his clothes. Then he pulled the blanket back and walked out of the camp.
All day long, I waited for him to come back. My mind was in a panic, horrible thoughts racing through my brain: What will I do if he comes back with another young girl? What will I do when he tries to rape her? Will I be able to stop him? Will I be able to stand up to him and Barzee? Will the girl trust me? Will we be able to escape together?
Then I had the most sickening thought of all: What if I don’t do anything? What if I just step aside and let him do to her what he did to me?
I couldn’t stop the horrible thoughts going through my mind. By the time the sun went down, I was so sick with worry and lack of food that I almost didn’t have the strength to stand.
A couple hours after sunset, we finally heard the sound of someone winding through the fire swamp. The blankets were pushed aside and Mitchell was standing there.
I immediately recognized the smug look on his face.