Chapter 19
I’d read the pamphlets from Tiffany at least seven times each. I knew my due date by heart, and the day my period was “due” but according to my lies, never arrived. Each morning I skipped breakfast, instead opting for crackers and water, clutching my belly as I nibbled on the bland, salty excuse for a meal, wishing I were eating with the family. Brenda would cook her famous French toast and my stomach would growl in defiance, demanding the feast the rest of the family was enjoying.
“You need to keep up your strength, girl,” Leandra would say each morning with a slight roll of her eyes. Rather than argue with her, I kept sweet, nodding and gesturing to the crackers on my plate.
Brenda and Aspen helped me with my morning chores each weekday before I pretended to muster the energy to walk to Jorjina’s house several blocks from our home. I pushed the guilt down, knowing how horrified my sister wives would be at my betrayal, knowing that this was a means to an end. These lies released me from my obligations to Lehi; they allowed me to lay with Porter, to experience bliss that was unimaginable to me just months earlier.
I was falling in love. And I’d do almost anything to keep that love intact. If necessary, lying would just be the tip of the iceberg.
Porter was quickly becoming the most important person in my existence. And the idea of losing him made me physically sick. I couldn’t let that happen.
As long as he wanted me, I would be his.
“Take an umbrella today,” Aspen said from across the expanse of the dining room table. “It’s misty this morning.”
“Thank you,” I replied. “I will.” I rose to my feet and carried my uneaten crackers to the sink. Joseph, one of Leandra’s older boys, took the plate from my hands and patted me on the shoulder. I thanked him and retreated to my bedroom before leaving for Jorjina’s home.
Aspen followed me, but I pretended not to notice. She’d been more protective than usual since I’d revealed my pregnancy to the family. And as deceptive and deplorable as it was, I knew what I had to do. Acting as though I was oblivious to the footsteps behind me, I walked to my bedroom, closed the door behind me, then entered my private bathroom and closed that door.
I leaned over the toilet as tears built in my eyes, knowing what I needed to do. Without thinking, knowing that if I dwelled on my actions, I might avoid them, I forced my index finger to the back of my throat. My paltry breakfast made its way into the toilet as I retched while clutching the plastic seat. When the heaving ceased, tears of humiliation and shame streamed down my cheeks.
As she always did, Aspen knocked softly on the door. “Can I get you anything? Are you okay?”
“No.” I cleared my throat and flushed the toilet, moving to the sink to splash cold water on my face. “I’ll be all right. Just need to brush my teeth.”
I’d hoped that Aspen would be gone by the time I stepped into my bedroom, but she was seated at my vanity, her hands placed neatly in her lap, her auburn braid hanging in front of her chest. “It’s a good sign, you know.”
“I know,” I said, acknowledging my supposed morning sickness.
“The sicker you are, the healthier the pregnancy. You should feel better when you get to twelve weeks. That’s how I was with every one of my children. It’s like clockwork.”
I knew what that meant—two more months of this routine. Two months of deception, forcing myself to skip the food I enjoyed, to vomit the food that I hated, and to lie to my husband and sister wives.
But that didn’t change a thing. Two months, two years . . . it didn’t matter. It was a means to an end. And I was determined to see it through.
“Your eyes look awful. Maybe I should go to Mrs. Black’s home today instead of you.”
“No, no.” I reached out to pat her shoulder. “I’ll be all right. It doesn’t last long.”
A weak smile crossed my lips as Aspen’s hand covered mine, squeezing gently. “I’m here for you. You know that, right?”
To say that I was struggling to understand Aspen’s behavior since announcing my pregnancy would be a gigantic understatement. She’d always been protective of me; this was nothing new. But now I felt as if I’d reached some new level of sisterhood with Lehi’s sixth wife. I felt like she’d developed claws and wasn’t afraid to use them if anyone were to put me in harm’s way. It was as if she’d adopted me as one of her own. A mama bear and her very own grown-up cub.
It was strange, but it felt nice. And awful, because it was based on a lie.
“Thank you, though, Aspen. I do appreciate all of your help.”
“I know you do.” She stood, smoothed the wrinkles from her dress, and retrieved my wicker basket from the corner. “I’ll take care of this. Give my regards to Jorjina.”
“I will.”
? ? ?
The rain we’d received made our unpaved, normally dusty roads damp and muddy; the slop sucked at my sneakers with each step. Luckily my umbrella shielded me from the downpour that had developed as I walked, but my once pristine sneakers were the color of the mud beneath them. I sighed, knowing that Lehi would rather I wash my shoes dozens of times before replacing them. I was so busy focusing on my shoes, however, that I almost missed the man staring at me from the unfinished construction project to my right.
Burt Jameson.
I’d managed to dodge Burt since starting my job with Jorjina Black. Lehi had staked his claim with me on our initial walk to the house, and since then, Burt had stayed away from me.
But today was the exception.
“Miss Brinley,” he called from the covered porch of the partially built home. Before I could trudge through the muddy road to turn the corner, he’d hoisted himself over the railing and made his way toward me.
“Elder Jameson, please.” I shook my head furiously, pinching my eyes tightly as the rain pounded around me. “I-I can’t speak to you. It’s not right.”
“I’m sorry. I promise I won’t ask about Rebecca.”
I stared at him in confusion, until I remembered their four children.
“How are my boys? Are they all right? Are they adjusting?”
Burt Jameson had seven other children to support with his first two wives, but I knew that didn’t change the love he felt for the children he shared with Rebecca.
“They’re well.” I bit my lip, determined not to become emotional. “They struggled a bit in the beginning, but they’re doing better. They really are.”
“That’s good.”
He shifted his weight, his boots sloshing in the mud. The rain poured down, pasting his graying hair against his skull. Nervously, he raked his fingers through the long strands, pushing them away from his forehead. His pale skin had aged rapidly since the last time we’d spoken. I knew he was miserable. But I also knew there was absolutely nothing I could do about that. Rebecca had made her choice. Yes, it was the wrong one, but she’d made it.
Rain dripped from his bushy eyebrows as he lifted them at me and asked, his voice cracking, “Is he good to them?”
I knew what my answer should have been. It should have been an honest representation of Lehi Cluff’s paternal role. He’d screamed at each of the boys, had slapped their faces on occasion. He’d even given the eldest the silent treatment for several days after a disagreement. His treatment of Burt’s sons was deplorable.
That was the honest answer. But I’d caused enough trouble already.
And the truth was, telling Burt about the pain his children were dealing with wouldn’t change a thing.
Not one thing.
So, I kept sweet. I harnessed my emotions and told a lie to make Burt feel just a tiny bit better.
“Yes, he is. I’m sure that they love and miss you every day. But they’re thriving, Elder Jameson.” When he sighed at my response, I said it again. “They’re thriving.”
He closed his eyes and nodded as raindrops streaming from his forehead to his caterpillar eyebrows, down his crooked nose and landing on his parted lips. “Now, I must go.”
“Wait, plea—”
“Elder Jameson, I have to go. This isn’t right.” When he didn’t move, I said what I needed to say to change his position. “And the prophet is expecting me.”
When I said that word prophet, Burt took a step back. That word carried power—power and fear and responsibility. Burt glanced around us, taking in our surroundings before stepping to the side to let me pass.
“Good-bye, Miss Brinley. And thank you.”
“You’re most welcome,” I whispered, turning my face before he could see my lips tremble.
I stepped quickly through the mud, my heart thudding inside my empty chest as I made my way to the home of Jorjina Black.
? ? ?
“You’ll catch your death! Get inside!” Jorjina whooped, her frail arm holding the screen door open for me.
“I’m sorry about the mud.”
She shrugged off my apology. “You’re the one who has to clean it. Why should I worry?”
A clever wink let me know she was only teasing. I’d come to depend on that wink. Jorjina’s sense of humor wasn’t what you’d expect from our version of royalty. She was clever and quick-witted, even sarcastic at times.
I’d noticed that when the prophet joined us for tea, checking in on us from time to time, her demeanor changed. She stiffened in his presence and refrained from her normal clever remarks. Those were the mornings when her eyes lost their luster, their youthful glow.
She was different around her son. And if Jorjina Black couldn’t be herself around the prophet, what chance did the rest of us have?
Luckily, the prophet hadn’t joined us in several days. It was just Jorjina, me, and a cake that was waiting to be baked.
“Clarence told me your news,” she said casually while stirring the chocolate batter.
“Oh.” I paused, not sure how to respond to that. I’d come to enjoy my time with Jorjina, and didn’t want her to send me away.
“I hope you’ll still continue on. For as long as possible, that is. I’ve gotten quite used to you.”
She winked. And my lips curled into a satisfied smile.
“I’ll stay as long as my husband will allow.”
It was the truth. When my fake pregnancy reached its inevitable end, I’d be able to continue my work with Jorjina. Over the past weeks, my time with her had become my escape. A few afternoons per week, she’d insist I leave her alone, that I’d allow her to rest in private. For this reason, I’d started to carry my cell phone inside my brassiere, beneath my long underwear and dress. It was undetectable, but allowed me to contact Porter whenever the opportunity arose so we could be together.
We’d make love in his bedroom, and then he’d stroke my hair and sing me songs as I laid my head against his chest. It was heavenly.
And then as the dinner hour approached, I’d dress and return to the comforts of Jorjina’s home.
She never asked me where I went. Part of me wondered if she knew, if she had some sort of mind-reading abilities. Porter said that was ridiculous, but then showed me websites that listed people who called themselves “psychics,” claiming to be able to predict the future and read minds. It astounded me.
One afternoon, Porter had to work late, but I still had to leave Jorjina’s home as was expected of me. I couldn’t return home, or Leandra would certainly tell Lehi about the breaks I was given by Jorjina, and the time I had with Porter would certainly become a thing of the past.
So instead, I’d walked to town and sat in the coffee shop below his apartment. I’d used some of the money Porter had given me months earlier in the drugstore to purchase a cup of tea, and I’d sat in the corner, watching the patrons as they sat nearby.
I’d grown used to the way that my dress, lack of makeup, and hairstyle had attracted attention. It no longer fazed me and I was able to blend in as best I could. And so, for those two hours, I’d sipped my beverage and watched the people around me. I watched people type furiously on their tiny computers. I watched as husbands and wives talked about their children. And I watched as a large group of women argued the merits of homeschooling.
In a word—I was fascinated, completely and utterly fascinated by the tiny shop and the people it attracted. If I could have stayed there longer, I would have. I’d make myself comfortable in my tiny booth, nibble on a muffin, and watch the world pass by.
That was the only time I’d ever visited that coffeehouse, but I started to imagine myself there with Porter with my hair up in a loose ponytail, wearing shorts and a T-shirt rather than my heavy, oppressive dress, and I’d have a purse with an embroidered owl strung across my chest.
That daydream filled my thoughts as Jorjina brought me back to the present.
“That makes me happy. I like you, dear.” Jorjina’s thin fingers stroked the top of my hand in a kind, maternal fashion. “And I hope you’ll be here for as long as you can.”
“Me too.”
“But I’m a realist. I know that in several months you’ll have a little one to attend to, and that son of mine will replace you with another inadequate and unfriendly woman who will burn the eggs.”
I chuckled as I poured the batter into the greased pans, shaking my head. “I’ll teach her, if you like. So she gets them just right.”
Jorjina paused, leaning her body against the counter. “You’d do that for me?”
“Mm-hmm.” I nodded emphatically. And it was the truth.
“Well, how about that,” she whispered, staring off into space.
“I’m sorry?” I asked, confused.
Her brow knitted for just a slice of a moment. Before I could react, she shook her head briefly before looking me dead in the eye. “Oh, nothing. You’re just growing on me, is all.”
I wanted to be comforted by her words. But I wasn’t. All of my stolen moments with Porter seemed in jeopardy. I felt on display, exposed and vulnerable.
Could it be that my “honor” of working for the prophet’s mother was nothing but a ruse? Was Lehi spying on me? Was the prophet?
My heart raced as I placed the cake pans in the oven, avoiding my employer’s gaze as I set the timer. Then I turned to the window to focus on the rain that continued to pour from the sky.
Jorjina’s shoulder brushed against my arm as she moved to stand next to me, and placed her hand on top of mine. “You’re safe here.” Her eyes were solemn, pleading. “I promise you. No matter what.”
She squeezed my and nodded, urging me to believe her. But I couldn’t, and I struggled to compose my features. I had no idea what to believe.
Could I trust her?
Could I trust anyone?
When I was younger, everything was simple. I knew my place in the world. I knew my role, my duty, my destiny within our community.
But that was no longer my reality. I was breaking every rule, challenging every belief that I’d once held dear. And the woman I’d grown attached to over the past several weeks was sending me mixed messages, confusing me.
And I had no idea what to do.
My brain told me to hide everything inside, not to trust, not to feel.
Keep sweet, keep sweet, keep sweet.
And my heart . . . that part of me wanted to believe in her, to believe that she’d grown as attached to me as I was to her. My heart wanted so desperately to believe that someone knew my secrets and supported me just the same, someone inside the compound, someone living the life I was expected to live.
But was that even possible?
And was I a fool to believe that the mother of the prophet himself could be that person?
Mentally I chastised myself, a similar refrain running through my mind:
I’m a silly girl.
A foolish girl.
A stupid girl.
And yet my heart continued to win, no matter how much my brain raised cautious pleas.
I could no longer stifle the screams.
They were coming.