Chapter 23
“How are you feeling?” Jorjina Black asked me. We were sitting at her dining room table, waiting for our cherry pie to finish baking. Jorjina had been hesitant to try my mother’s specialty dessert, claiming that chocolate was the one and only gateway to her heart. But I’d insisted, wanting to share the recipe with someone who appreciated sweets as much as Jorjina did.
To say that I was apprehensive around her would be accurate. I was. But I enjoyed her company, and was feeling slightly relieved that when I’d begrudgingly returned to the Cluff household after my night away, no one seemed to even notice that I’d been gone. Lehi wasn’t waiting for me, and Leandra wasn’t jumping to confront me about my secrets or my whereabouts.
Could I trust Jorjina? I wasn’t sure. But I was required to spend my days with her, so decided to make the very best of it. And that included making my mother’s famous cherry pie.
“I’m fine.” I crossed my hands over my abdomen, as was expected of me. According to the calendar, I was about to begin my second trimester, so I played the part. “My morning sickness is calming down. Hopefully that’s not a bad sign.”
“It’s time. Soon you’ll enter the gorging phase.” She cackled, then took a sip of her tea.
“Gorging?”
“Sure.” She threaded her fingers together, leaning her hands on the mahogany table. “Food tastes exquisite in the second trimester. No more crackers for you, girl.”
I smiled, wishing I could trust this woman. She was so unlike Leandra or any of my sister wives. She felt like family.
But family doesn’t spy on you—or report your behavior to the prophet.
“Listen,” she said, a serious look taking over her face. “I’ve made a decision, and you’re not allowed to object, because, well . . . just because.”
“Okay . . .” I dug my teeth dug into my bottom lip, wondering what she could possibly mean.
Jorjina rose to her feet, removed a wad of bills from her pocket, and held them in the palm of her hand. “Stand up.”
I did as I was told. And when I did, she shoved the money into the pocket of my dress.
“Jorjina, why—?”
She shook her head and grasped my hands. “You’ve been with me for weeks, day in and day out. You deserve to be paid.”
“I can’t accept this.” Pulling away, I dug my hand into the pocket and clutched the money. “This job is an honor, it’s—”
“Stop.” The wrinkles in her forehead deepened, punctuating the severity of her tone. “I want you to have this. I’m an old woman, Clarence takes care of me. I have no bills, no worries, and nothing to spend my money on. I’d like to spend it on you.”
“But . . . but Lehi takes care of me, as well,” I replied, playing along with my role as a happily married woman and mother-to-be.
“He doesn’t need to know about this. This money is yours, do you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t you dare hand it over to Cluff. Promise me.”
Hearing her refer to Lehi that way ran chills down my spine. I was intrigued, to say the least. The expression on her face was sincere, and I could feel her desire to protect me. She reminded me so much of Aspen. They both seemed to want to protect me from harm, to keep me safe.
“I promise.”
Our eyes were locked as we stood there, frozen for a moment. My mouth was agape, and I had no idea what else to say to express my gratitude. I broke our gaze and reached for my chair. But before I had the chance to sit, Jorjina wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug.
“I want the best for you,” she murmured against my hair. “Please believe me.”
“I-I do,” I whispered.
She pulled back, her hands gripping my shoulders. “No, you don’t.” She shook her head hard, her eyes tearing up as she spoke. “You think I’m tricking you. But I swear to you, on the grave of Walter, that I’m not. I want to help you.”
“But why?” I didn’t understand why Jorjina would pledge her loyalty to me rather than her own son.
“I told you I’ve grown rather attached to you and that was the truth. You’re a good girl. And I know that man doesn’t deserve you.”
“Lehi?” I asked.
“Well, yes. Who else would I be talking about?” Her cocked to the side like a bird as her eyes narrowed.
I froze. And my heart raced.
Beep. Beep. Beep. The oven timer broke the tension of the moment.
Quickly, I scurried to the stove, avoiding Jorjina’s prying eyes. She was most certainly on to me. I removed the pie from the oven, then kept my back to Jorjina as I ran water to wash dishes that had piled in the sink.
“Is there . . . someone else?” Jorjina crossed the room and stood next to me as my shaky hand gripped the rolling pin, covered in flour and dried dough.
“Of course not!” I shrieked, still avoiding her gaze. “I’m a married woman. I’m expecting my first child. What kind of person do you think I am?”
As loudly as I protested, though, I was certain she could see through my performance. I clung to my lies, but my burning face and shaking hands gave me away.
“I think you’re a lovely person who is stuck. Stuck with a husband who will never love you. Stuck with sister wives who will never appreciate you. And stuck in a community that will continue to stifle you until the day you die.”
I dropped the rolling pin and turned to face her. “How can you say that? Your husband was the prophet!”
“I know, I know,” she said, pacing the kitchen. “I know Walter would be ashamed of me. I know it.”
“You barely know me, Jorjina.”
My voice cracked as I leaned against the porcelain sink, holding on for dear life. Jorjina stopped pacing and turned to me with her hands on her hips. Her white hair fell from the poof of her bangs, but she didn’t notice. She was disheveled, frustrated, and seemingly desperate for me to hear her.
“I’ve been on this earth for a long time, dear. I know you. I see you for who you are, for what you have to offer this world.”
“To serve the prophet, my husband and Heavenly Father—”
“Perhaps.” She nodded. “But then again . . . maybe this isn’t the place for you.”
The temperature of her kitchen seemed to rise within seconds. The neckline of my dress became damp from the sweat glistening on my clammy skin. I didn’t know what to say, what to believe, who to trust. Did Jorjina think I was damned?
“Why do you say that? Do you think I’m not good enough to be part of the chosen?” I was careful not to raise my voice against my employer, but found myself more confident in demanding the answers I needed.
“No, dear. Absolutely not. If anything, it’s the other way around.”
I gasped. Audibly.
“Things were different,” she went on. “Years ago, when my husband was still with us. He was different. He was kind, he cared for and loved every single person of our faith. He was a man of God, and of his word.”
“What are you saying? That your son . . . that he’s not?”
I knew the answer, just as I was sure most people in the compound knew that Clarence Black was not a kind man, or a loving man. He was not a protector of his people. He was a protector of his role as prophet. But I had to see Jorjina’s face. I had to know her response to that question—it would tell me everything I needed to know.
“Yes.” She hung her head in shame. “That’s what I’m saying.”
“And the money?” I asked, removing it from my pocket. I didn’t have to look at the bills to know that I was holding an outrageous amount of money for a twenty-two-year-old woman of our faith.
“I want to give you every opportunity to go. If that’s what you want.”
“And if it’s not?”
“Then it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I’ve given you an option. And my heart can rest with that knowledge, that I did the right thing.”
Before placing the money back into my pocket, I purposely counted the bills. One by one, I flipped each bill between my fingertips until I reached the end. Jorjina stayed silent, her eyes on me as I counted. The tension in the large kitchen was evident as I raised my gaze to meet hers.
“Eight hundred and seventy-three dollars?” I screeched.
“Yes.” She hung her head. “It’s all I had.”
I placed the bills on the counter. “No, I can’t.”
Jorjina lunged for the counter, snatched up the money, and stuffed it back into my pocket, her nose just inches from my own.
“Yes, you can and you will,” she snarled. “If you don’t, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. Let me help you, Brinley, please.”
My hand wrapped around hers, squeezing hard. “Why? What’s in it for you?”
“Peace of mind? Redemption?” She pulled from my grip and waved her arms wildly in the air.
“Redemption? Why do you need to be redeemed? You’re the mother of the prophet!”
Jorjina stepped back, took in a deep breath, and wiped the sweat from her forehead before she spoke in a calm, soft tone. “I’ve sinned against the women of this community. My behavior was beyond wicked and I need redemption, Brinley. I need it more than you could ever understand. Please, take the money. Take the money and let me rest at night knowing I did all I could to help instead of hurt . . . for once.”
“For once? But—” My jaw dropped as I flashed back to the scene in the kitchen two days prior. Leandra yelling at Rebecca burning the eggs.
Everything was starting to make sense. Everything.
The girl who burned the eggs. The one Jorjina mentioned months before.
It was Rebecca. Rebecca was reassigned after working here, after helping Jorjina.
She was being watched.
Gut instinct told me that Jorjina was telling the truth today. Her confession was clear. Her trembling hands, her tear-soaked face told the story of her regret, but obviously that had not always been the case. She’d been the prophet’s informant for months, perhaps years.
“You’re safe here,” Jorjina whispered. “I swear it. Please, Brinley. You have to believe me. You’re safe.”
“I believe you,” I said, taking her hand in mine. “I do.”
She wrapped her arms around me and sobbed into the crook of my neck, her wails loud enough to wake her cat who slept in a ball on one of the kitchen chairs. He stood, yawned, and glared at me.
I shrugged at the cat as I held Jorjina close to me, murmuring soft words and running my fingers up and down her back in soothing motions. No matter what story her past might tell, I knew she was taking a stand, changing her direction and fighting for me. And I respected her for that. But there was no way I’d reveal my secrets.
I was going to leave the compound. This much was true.
But I was going to do it on my own terms. No one else’s.
Just mine.