Chapter 6
Sunlight streamed inside my small bedroom, rousing me from sleep. I sat up and glanced out the window, struggling to focus my sleepy eyes on a tiny bird perched on the ten-foot wall that lined the Cluff property. Its beak pointed to the sun as if it were bathing in the glow of its warmth.
Propping myself up on one arm, I watched the bird, a desire building inside me to take on the day ahead. To bathe in the glow of the sun. To thank the Heavenly Father for my blessings. But something in the pit of my stomach wouldn’t allow that.
The memory of my missing purse.
The loss of my pills, and the letter for Rebecca.
My cage.
My reality.
Wiping sleep from my eyes, I noticed the yellow sheet of notebook paper lying on the nightstand.
Brinley,
I have spoken with our prophet. He is unable to spare any of the guards from their posts at this time. The outsiders have been especially sneaky as of late. However, you have my permission to ask one of your sister wives to accompany you into town if you are comfortable.
Blessings,
Lehi
Rebecca. I would ask Rebecca.
She would keep my secret. She would be invested in finding Porter, if I was brave enough to tell her about the letter addressed to her inside the bag.
But what if we found Porter, the bag, and everything inside it . . . everything except for her letter?
She’d hate me, despise me. And I’d lose an ally in my family. No, I couldn’t tell her. Not until I knew I could give her that letter. With new determination in having a plan, I walked to Rebecca’s room and tapped on the door.
“Come in, please,” she said.
The door creaked as I pushed it open. She looked up, her weary face brightening as I entered the room.
“Good morning, Brinley,” she said, tying the laces of her youngest son’s sneakers. His face was red, tears streamed down his cheeks. He’d been sleeping in bed with her the last few nights, missing his father like crazy, refusing to acknowledge Lehi. He missed Burt. They all did, including Rebecca.
But unlike her sons, Rebecca was obligated to hide her sadness, her mourning, her grief. She was required to obey the prophet’s revelation and honor Lehi as her true husband—even when he slapped her oldest son across the face when he refused to call him Father like the rest of Lehi’s brood. Even when he sent all four of her children to bed without supper because they wouldn’t look him in the eye when he spoke.
They were unable to cope, but that didn’t matter to Lehi. They were expected to fall into line and obey. Lehi had to demonstrate to the prophet that he was worthy of this choice, of this reassignment. If the boys acted out, his standing with the prophet would be lessened. And he simply couldn’t have that.
Watching their struggle pulled at my heart, knowing that their father loved them—all of them—and wanted to be with them. I had to find that note. I just had to.
I knew it was wrong of me to have such thoughts, to want Rebecca and her boys to reunite with the man whom was deemed unfit to have them in his life. But there was this part of me, a tiny bit of resistance in my spirit that captured the portion of my brain that held my imagination. And I imagined. Oh, did I imagine.
I imagined Burt loading his belongings into his truck, waiting for Rebecca and the boys in the middle of the night. Rebecca would gather them, still sleepy in their pajamas, and I would help. I would hold their hands and whisper, “Don’t worry, everything’s going to be all right. You’re going to be a family again.”
We’d take them to where Burt was waiting. He’d hug me and thank me for giving her the note, for making this possible. I’d wave as they drove into the blackness of the night. And my heart would no longer mourn their loss. My heart, although committing a wicked sin, would delight in the love that would fill the cab of that truck.
I had to get that note.
I couldn’t be the reason they weren’t together. That sounded silly, of course. Rebecca had never admitted to me that she’d had contact with Burt, or that she wanted to leave the compound. But I knew he owned her heart. I knew she yearned for his touch, his attention, his affection. I knew Lehi would never even scratch the surface of the wall she had built around her heart.
She would lay with him; she would obey him. But she would never love him.
As I watched Rebecca soothe her son, the prophet’s morning devotional boomed through the loudspeakers of the compound and streamed into her open window. His soft, monotone voice was meant to soothe, to seep into our self-conscious, but the words were filled with such heavy meaning, such responsibility and obligation.
In our home, we were required to stop our daily duties whenever the prophet gifted us with a devotional. Rebecca sat on the bed with her son, her arm wrapped around his shoulder. I stood with my hands linked in front of me, staring at the carpet.
“Good morning, sons and daughters of Zion,” the prophet proclaimed. “Behold this beautiful day our Heavenly Father has given us. As you embark on your day, remember your duties. You are here to do the will of your prophet . . . and you will be happy. Sweet, willing obedience is the road to happiness. Keep sweet, do the will of your prophet, and find your happiness.”
As the prophet’s words continued, my gaze drifted from the carpet and landed back on Rebecca, back to the imaginings of my brain. And in my imaginations, she would no longer belong to Lehi Cluff, or to the prophet. She would be free. Like that bird sitting on the wall outside my bedroom window. She’d fly through her life with the man she loved, raising her boys in freedom.
And then she’d go to hell. She’d burn for all eternity. The fires of hell would swallow her whole, her and her children. She would damn them, she would destroy them, she would sentence them to an eternity of misery.
Wake up, Brinley. Your thoughts are sinful and Rebecca is where she belongs.
If the prophet knew of my vivid imagination, I would most certainly burn too.
? ? ?
Later I asked Rebecca agreed to accompany me into town, under the guise of visiting the pharmacy I was unable to visit the day before. I hadn’t yet told her about the note, but knew that if Samuel was on duty I would have to tell her the truth, or at least a portion of it.
Against my better judgment, I asked Rebecca about her children as we walked, about how the boys were coping.
She looked away and muttered, “They’re doing their best, I promise.”
I sighed, realizing that Rebecca was merely following the mantra of our church, “keeping sweet.” When faced with adversity, we were expected to push negative feelings down, to rise above and not let our emotions take control. Mind over heart. Every. Single. Day. It was exhausting, and I didn’t want that with Rebecca. I wanted us to trust each other.
Abruptly I stopped on the dirt road and turned to face her head-on. When she looked at me questioningly, I met her gaze and said softly, “You don’t have to do that with me.”
She nodded. “It’s hard. They miss him.”
“And you?”
“Of course I do too. But he’s no longer my husband. I have to move on with Lehi, with our new family. It’s our Heavenly Father’s will.”
“I understand,” I replied, taking her hand in mine. She squeezed it. And when we reached the clearing and I was able to see Samuel’s full head of golden hair, I squeezed it back.
“Listen, Rebecca. You’ve trusted me with your true thoughts. Now I need to trust you with mine. Can I do that? Can I trust you?”
Rebecca’s forehead wrinkled as she glanced around us, focusing finally on Samuel. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open as she put two and two together, coming up with the wrong answer.
I shook my head, denying the accusation in her eyes. “Please, I need to have a conversation with Samuel. Will you keep that conversation between the two of us? If not, I have to ask you to go back home and allow me to have it on my own.”
“I can’t let you do that. Lehi said you needed company—”
“I have to do this,” I said with renewed strength. “Now, tell me the truth. Can I trust you?”
Rebecca swallowed hard. “You’ve been my only friend since I joined the Cluffs. And for that, I owe you so much. So, yes . . . yes, I will. You can trust me with your true thoughts, my sister.”
Hearing Rebecca call me her sister was overwhelming in the best way possible. We’d connected just as much in her heart as we had in mine. I could only hope that by day’s end, she’d still feel the same.
When we approached Samuel, he silently nodded as a simple greeting. Samuel was not yet married and still expected to see women as the enemy, as manipulative snakes who would attempt to claw at his regard for the prophet and for our Heavenly Father. His eyes were narrowed and cautious as he peered down at us.
“Hello, Samuel.” I handed him a cookie, still warm from our kitchen.
A lopsided grin lit up his face when he saw my gift. “Good morning,” he said after taking a bite of the cookie. Samuel was tall with skin tanned from months spent standing in the warm Utah sun. His eyes were deep brown, like a bar of chocolate my father had purchased for me once at the local candy store.
“Samuel, I-I have something I must ask, and I’m afraid I need your discretion.”
Samuel paused, looked around him, and dug his teeth into his bottom lip, licking at the chocolate that was left behind. “What is it?” His tone was gruff with a hint of impatience.
“Years ago, you had a friend. I know that you two spent time together. He’s gone now, and I hoped you might know where I could find him.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Porter . . . Porter Hammond.”
“He’s dead to me, and to all of us. You know that, Brinley. What do you want with him?”
“He took something from me,” I said, and Samuel’s eyes widened with curiosity. “And I need to get it back.”
“I can’t help you.”
“Samuel, please.”
He closed his eyes and sighed. “He lives with his cousin on Wilson Avenue. Some apartment building above a coffee shop.”
“Thank you, oh, thank you, Samuel.” I popped up on my toes, hopping up and down.
“Calm down. Act natural, would ya?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, looking back down at the ground. “Do you know his cousin’s name?”
“Travis. Charlie Travis, I think. He might go by Chuck now. He’s like ten years older than me. He was kicked out a long time ago. That family’s no good. Don’t get involved with them, Brinley. The prophet would not be pleased.”
Trepidation consumed me. Would Samuel tell the prophet about our conversation?
“I won’t say anything,” he whispered, “but this conversation never took place. Do you understand?”
“Yes, yes.” I nodded my head, breaking eye contact. “We won’t take up any more of your time. Thank you, Samuel.”
“You’re welcome.”
I pulled Rebecca by the hand, and we walked out of the gates of the compound and toward town.
“Hey,” Samuel called after us just as our sneakers hit the paved street of the outside world. “Tell him hi for me.”
Shocked by his words, I turned to look Samuel in the eye, noting the sadness that had taken over his expression. And I knew, in that moment, that he missed his friend.
“Okay,” I said. “I will.”
? ? ?
Rebecca and I walked in silence toward Wilson Avenue. There was only one coffee shop on that street, the one that most outsiders seemed to be addicted to. Oddly enough, it had a green mermaid on the window, but the mermaid that didn’t match the name. I didn’t pretend to understand the people living in the outside world; they constantly surprised me.
But what I knew was this: they were not the chosen. They were bound to hell for not following the one true and righteous path of celestial love and plural marriage. They spent their days serving themselves rather than our Heavenly Father, and for that I had been taught to pity them, to feel superior in my righteousness. And as curious as they made me, that feeling of superiority was always with me.
It was with me when a car sped past us, its speakers loudly thumping the oddest of music—if you could call it that—through the open windows. It was with me when mothers used curse words in public and near the innocent ears of their children. And it was with me whenever I witnessed public displays of affection between a man and a woman. Once I even saw two men holding hands while walking down the street. After getting past my immediate shock, I had to take a moment to say a prayer for their souls, knowing it was pointless. I knew where they were headed, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
Rebecca finally spoke when we reached the red door to the apartment above the coffee shop. I sighed at the significance of the color of the door. Somehow it seemed fitting that the lost boy who was now living a life of crime would live in a building with a red door—the one color that is forbidden in our community.
“I have to know what’s happening before you ring that buzzer,” she said, her breathing ragged and fast. “Who is Porter Hammond? Is he the one who took your purse?”
“Yes. He stole it from me on the street. But when I fought back, he yelled at me. And I recognized him. I have to get my bag back.”
“But Lehi told you it was okay,” she objected. “He even replaced the money. Do you have something special in the purse?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t understand. What could possibly be so important that you would risk seeing him again after what he did to you?” Rebecca blinked rapidly, her voice shrill and urgent. She was obviously terrified.
I was too, but I couldn’t let her know that. I had to remain calm. I had to get my purse. For her, for me, and for Burt.
“Please, trust me. He won’t hurt us, I promise. He’s not a bad person. But this place,” I said, gesturing to the buzzing of the town around us, “it’s obviously hurting him, making him desperate.”
Before Rebecca could object, I pressed my shaking finger to the gray button beside the name Travis in white block letters.
No answer.
I pressed the button again.
“No one’s home, Brinley. Let’s go.” Rebecca crossed her arms in front of her chest, hugging herself tightly, but she still trembled.
It was then that I heard his voice. “What?” he growled through the speaker.
“Um . . . delivery,” I said, my voice cracking. If I revealed my true identity, he’d never let us upstairs. And I was not giving up. Not yet.
“Fine, whatever.”
Buzzz.
Immediately I covered my ears at the dreadful sound. When it finally stopped, I waited for the door to swing open. When it didn’t, I pressed the button again.
“Open the door while it’s buzzing, would ya?”
The irritation in his voice pierced through me and I was mortified. I’d never visited an apartment building before. I had no idea that I was supposed to pull on the door while the intercom made that dreadful sound.
“I-I’m sorry,” I said.
Buzzz.
This time I grabbed the door, finding it unlocked. I glanced back at Rebecca, whose expression remained apprehensive, her fingers still quivering as they rested on her arms.
We climbed the steps of the dingy building, the smell of coffee and pastries hovering in the air. I took a deep breath, enjoying the aroma, wondering what it must be like to enjoy that smell each day. It was a pleasant distraction from the fear that I’d suppressed in my belly.
I knew Porter Hammond wouldn’t hurt me. I knew that in my gut.
But I didn’t know what he’d say, or if he’d even talk to me once he recognized my familiar hairstyle, my old-fashioned garb, and my plain face. Once he knew who I was and that I’d returned to claim what was mine.
When we reached the third floor, his door was left open. My hands shook in trepidation as we approached. I inhaled deeply, attempting to rekindle the bravery I had felt when I pressed the button to his apartment outside the building.
“Leave it on the mat,” he called from inside the apartment. “I’m a little busy.”
“Let’s go,” whispered Rebecca.
“You can stay here if you like,” I said, “but I must go in.”
I stepped onto the welcome mat at the entrance to the apartment. I couldn’t see Porter, but I had a decent view of the living area of the apartment. Sleeping bags were piled into the corner of the bleak room, and a tattered blue couch held several blankets and pillows. A large television set blasted from the living area.
Pots and pans banged in the kitchen, which was to my left. I couldn’t see past the confines of the entranceway, but knew that was where Porter must be.
My lungs heaved as I rounded the corner. Porter was standing over the sink, his hands submerged in suds, a black-and-white apron tied around his waist. If I weren’t so anxious, I would have giggled at his appearance. Men in our compound didn’t assist in the kitchen, or wear aprons, or clean. To me, he looked silly working in the kitchen. That was a woman’s place.
He must have caught me in his peripheral vision because he did a double take, his eyes as round as the pans in his hands. When he dropped them into the sink, soapy water splashed to the floor.
“Holy shit,” he yelled, stepping back. “It’s you.”
I couldn’t find words, so I nodded.
“Look, I don’t have your money, all right?” He grabbed a towel and wiped his arms. “I spent it already.”
He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and sniffed deeply, then reached up and rubbed his eyes, still as bloodshot as when I’d seen him before.
Still, I said nothing. From behind me, I could sense Rebecca inching her way toward the apartment. I imagined she wanted to hear our conversation, to know I was safe.
“So . . .” He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. “Aren’t you gonna say anything? I mean, you stalked me successfully, you might as well talk.” He chuckled into the back of his hand.
This was not the boy I remembered. The outside world had changed him. And not in a good way.
“I need m—my purse,” I said, stumbling over my words. In an attempt to appear strong, I crossed my arms in front of my chest, something Aspen did whenever going head-to-head with Leandra over child rearing or housekeeping.
“Oh, right,” he said, dropping the dishcloth onto the bare counter. He stalked toward me in dramatic steps. “I should’ve known you’d show up here, considering what was in that bag.”
Rebecca didn’t know about my pills. I closed my eyes for a second and tipped my chin up to the ceiling, attempting to stay strong, knowing that one or both of my secrets would soon be spilled.
“You know you’re not supposed to have those,” Porter said. “What would your husband say?”
“How did you know I was married?”
“Oh, puh-lease.” He squinted, tilting his head to the other side. “You’re what—twenty-one, twenty-two? You’re married.”
I said nothing. He was right. In our community, women rarely married older than the age of twenty. And many were married much earlier than that.
His blue eyes were piercing and as many times as I broke our eye contact, whenever I glanced back at him, his stare was still fixed on me. I clutched the fabric of my pocket, twisting and turning the cotton between my fingers.
“Stop avoiding the question,” he said with a sneer. “You’re on the pill.”
Rebecca gasped from the doorway. I snapped my eyes shut and clenched my teeth. I couldn’t even imagine what she must be thinking of me.
A smug grin crossed Porter’s face. “I’m kinda impressed, ya know?”
“What?” My voice cracked as I shook my head in disbelief. “Why?”
“I remember you, Brinley. You weren’t exactly a rebel.”
“Nobody is.”
“Well, they made that next to impossible. Step outta line, look what happens—” He raised his arms and waved his hands, gesturing to the apartment that surrounded us. “So, be careful. It’d be a shame if anyone found out.”
“You wouldn’t—”
“Oh, wouldn’t I? Maybe it’s exactly what I need. I can show my loyalty to the prophet.” He gritted his teeth and walked around me as he spoke. “I’d turn you in, they’d kick you out, and I’d be back at home in my nice warm bed.”
Horrified, I clasped my hands over my ears and squeezed my eyes shut. “Stop, please!”
“Brinley!”
Rebecca stormed into the apartment, a mama bear ready to attack. I turned and waved her back, letting her know I was okay.
“Ah.” Porter adopted a pondering pose, his hand clasping his chin. “So, this is Rebecca. How interesting.”
“Please,” I begged as my eyes stung, threatening tears. “Just give me the purse.”
“Not yet. This is way too much fun.” He waved his hand, dismissing me. “Re-bec-ca. It’s such a pleasure to meet you.”
“How?” Rebecca frowned and rubbed her bottom lip. “How do you know my name?”
“Ask your sister wife,” Porter said, still smiling smugly.
“Brinley?” Rebecca was clearly petrified, and I was sure she must be mentally retracing her steps that morning to find how on earth she’d ended up at an apartment in town with a clearly possessed man . . . a man who knew her name.
“He has a demon inside him, don’t listen.” I turned my attention to Porter. “Please, I don’t care about the money. Just let me have my bag.”
“Fine, whatever.”
He walked to the dining table and retrieved my purse. My stomach settled as he carried it back to me, holding it above his head, teasing me as though we were children. I stood on the tips of my toes, but couldn’t reach it.
“Oh good God,” he said. “You’re not even trying.”
Anger rose within me. I could handle his anger, his disdain for my presence in his home, but that I would not tolerate.
“No.” I shook my head violently. “Do not take the Lord’s name in vain.”
“And what are you gonna do about it? This is my home, not yours, goddamn it.” He slammed the purse on the counter.
Again I covered my ears, attempting to block out his sin. I now understood why people like Porter were exiled from our community. They deserved it. They were not part of the chosen; his actions confirmed that fact.
All the blood drained from my face, but I reached my hand out to take the purse. In that split second, Porter grasped my wrist and squeezed.
“Why are you on the pill?” he demanded. “Seriously, tell me why.”
“Why? Why do you want to know?”
“Because, I remember you. You were the girl with the doll. All the toys were taken away, but you had a doll.”
His eyes narrowed and I felt my defenses slide away and fall at my feet. My stomach flipped as he recalled my first act of defiance.
“It was just a doll,” I said, attempting to downplay my actions.
“No, it was more than that.” He lowered his voice and softly brushed at my wrist with his thumb.
My stomach flipped again in response to his touch. What was I feeling? Fear? Pleasure? I didn’t understand it, but a strange part of my brain didn’t want him to let go.
“And you know it,” he insisted.
I opened my mouth to speak, but couldn’t. He was right. There was a part of me that questioned my faith, questioned the prophet, my husband, all of it. It was as if he could see me, really see me in a way no one else could.
“Seriously, be careful. If they catch you, it won’t end well.”
Gone was his smug demeanor. In its place was a concerned expression, softer, gentler, much like the strokes that continued against the sensitive skin of my inner wrist.
Mesmerized, I nodded. “I will.”
Our eyes were locked as we stood in silence. As he stroked my wrist, I did my best to control my breathing, to prevent him from knowing how fascinated I was by his touch. My cheeks burned, just as they did when Aspen embarrassed me in front of the other sister wives. These foreign sensations overwhelmed and confused me, yet I was consumed by them.
“We should go.” Rebecca placed her hand on my shoulder, snapping Porter and me out of our daze. He blinked repeatedly and released my wrist.
He felt it too, didn’t he?
“Thank you,” I said. “For the purse.”
He nodded, rubbing his red eyes. “Sorry about the money. Gotta eat, right?”
“Right.” I shrugged and gave him one last glance before we walked out of the apartment.
When the door closed behind us, Rebecca turned on me, blocking my access to the stairwell.
“You have so much to explain,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “How did that mongrel know my name?”
“He’s not a mongrel,” I said, surprising myself with my defensive tone and the bite of my words. “He’s just . . . trying to live on his own. Out here, surrounded by evil.”
“He’s a lost soul, Brinley. Now, how does he know my name?”
Unzipping the tattered bag, I reached inside and felt the folded envelope. I pulled it from the bag and placed it in Rebecca’s hands, which shook. Clasping the envelope with one hand, she covered her mouth with the other. The envelope had been opened. Obviously, Porter had been curious.
“What . . . when?” Rebecca’s eyes grew wide and her mouth fell open.
“Yesterday, before it was stolen. I was going to give it to you, I promise. But I didn’t get the chance. Please, please forgive me.”
Rebecca didn’t respond, she was too engrossed in the letter from Burt. Her hands trembled as she read it, one clutching the simple white paper, the other covering her quivering chin. When she finished, she handed the letter to me and dropped to her knees.
“Heavenly Father, please give me the strength to resist. Give me the strength to follow the revelation you have given, and to deny my earthly desires so that I may serve you in heaven.”
I’d heard this prayer every night when Rebecca shared my room. It was her penance, her way of begging our Lord for forgiveness. She loved Burt, she missed him, and for that the guilt was eating her alive.
When she stood, I held out my hand. “May I?” I asked. She closed her eyes tightly and nodded.
My dearest Rebecca,
Every day since you were taken from me has been worse than the one before. Yesterday I was installing drywall at the diner I took you to years ago—when it was just you and me after our wedding ceremony, do you remember that? Anytime I visit that place, I think of my sweet Rebecca.
A song played while I was working, and I asked the owner what it was called. He said it was “I’d Die Without You.” I swear, my dearest, the words could have been taken directly from my heart, from my soul. I miss you and am not sure I can live without you as my wife. My only wife.
Please meet me tomorrow night. Eight p.m. by our tree. There is so much to discuss.
With all the love in my heart,
Burt
“He wants to see you . . . tonight.”
“I can’t do that,” Rebecca snapped. “He’s not my husband anymore. My obedience and my love belong to Lehi now.”
“But you don’t love Lehi,” I argued. “You love Burt.”
“That doesn’t matter.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “None of it matters.”
We walked in silence to the Cluff house. Rebecca never asked me about my pills, and I dared not say Burt’s name again. With each step I took, I was desperate to know the rest of the words to the song Burt mentioned in his note.
And desperate, now more than ever, to feel the intense love that Burt felt for Rebecca. So much love that he felt he’d die without her. I was fascinated, captivated, and wanted their love story to succeed.
And in that desire, I realized one very important thing.
I wanted Rebecca, my sister wife and friend, to sin.
What was happening to me?