Stephen Carter put his hands on the shoulders of each of his young sons as he introduced them. The older two, Joseph and Aaron, whom Rebecca had mentioned, weren’t there, since they were at the U. The ones still at home were Nephi, Lehi, Brigham, and Ezra. All good Mormon names from The Book of Mormon or after modern prophets. Nephi was a little older, but the other three looked all around the same age of eight, and very much alike. I recognized Brigham as the young boy we’d met at the gate, who had opened it with the key for us and then disappeared.
The girls were Esther, Leah, Rachel, Talitha, Madeleine, and Hannah—biblical names, since so few women were actually named in The Book of Mormon. Ruth, whom Rebecca had mentioned before, wasn’t here. The others ranged in age from toddler (Hannah) to what looked like nearly fully adult (Esther and Leah). But they must still be in their teens, or they’d have gone off to college, wouldn’t they? Were some allowed to go and others not?
But I set aside my other questions to focus on Talitha. She was blonde, but not as fair as the others, and her smaller cheekbones and darker eyes set her apart. I noticed she seemed to pay very careful attention to her father, but I could see no visible bruises or signs of injury. She clung to a mangy striped cat, which was missing patches of fur and looked like it had seen much better days.
“What’s his name?” Kurt asked Talitha, bending down to offer the cat a hand to be sniffed. He was hissed at instead, and he put his hands up in a gesture of surrender I doubted the cat understood.
“It’s a vicious thing,” said Stephen.
“It’s not an it. She’s a cat and her name is Lucy,” Talitha said pertly.
If I hadn’t had Naomi’s prompting, I couldn’t help but think I would have gravitated to Talitha of all the children in any case. She was bright-eyed and I loved that she spoke back to her father. But it also might be a reason she among the children drew his particular wrath—if she did.
“Well, Lucy seems to like you a great deal,” Kurt said to Talitha. “And that’s a hard thing to manage with a cat. They’re usually pretty standoffish.” I appreciated that Kurt was paying attention to the girl.
“Not Lucy. She loves me,” Talitha said. “We’re family.”
“An animal can’t be family,” Stephen said shortly, interrupting the exchange. “If you don’t mind coming to see the other wives,” he said, beckoning for me and Kurt to follow, “they’d all like to meet you.”
I gave Talitha a smile as her father led me and Kurt away—we had many people still to meet, but I would seek her out again as soon as I could. She returned my smile shyly, hugging Lucy to her chest.
From one high point on the property, Stephen pointed out all four of his houses rather grandly: the main one on the gravel road; the flat rambler on a green hillock where I learned Carolyn, the musician, lived; the small blue house, almost entirely obscured by a thick curtain of trees, which was Jennifer’s home; and the unfinished house in the gully, where the newest wife, Joanna, lived with her children.
It was a relief to be out of doors in the beautiful summer sunshine, especially this close to the mountains where there was a breeze, but I felt a little guilty leaving Talitha behind. I told myself that I needed to see the whole picture here, not just one household. But the truth was, I was also hoping to regain some sense of balance before I could focus on the task Naomi had set me.
We went to meet Carolyn next. I estimated her to be somewhere in her thirties. She had lank, strawberry-blonde hair that fell into her face and she made no attempt to hold it back. Her skin was tinged with gray pallor, and she held her hands over her bulging pregnant belly.
“This is Linda and Kurt Wallheim. They’re to be Naomi’s mother-and father-in-law,” Stephen said.
“Nice to meet you, Carolyn,” I said, and offered my hand.
Carolyn moved closer to Stephen, as if for protection. Her handshake to me, when prompted by Stephen, was limp. She wouldn’t touch Kurt at all, however, and I couldn’t help but wonder what the story was behind that.
“Carolyn is our musician,” Stephen said. “She brings the song of the angels to our whole family. Though she was never formally trained, I think it’s amazing how much she has learned through her sheer commitment.”
“We’d love to hear you play sometime,” I said, trying to sound kind and encouraging.
Carolyn shook her head and made a dismissive sound.
“She becomes a little emotional when she’s expecting,” Stephen said. “It’s hard for her to play and not to hear all the tiny mistakes she makes. But in a few months, all will be well, won’t it, my love?” He patted her shoulder and left his hand resting there.
He hadn’t called either Rebecca or Sarah “my love.” What did it mean that he’d used it with Carolyn?
“Tell them about our children together,” Stephen prompted.
Carolyn spoke in a quiet monotone, as if reciting. “Elizabeth is thirteen. She plays piano, like I do. Jonathan is eleven and I think he’s going to end up on a French horn, but right now he’s learning trumpet.”
“He needs to practice more before we invest in another instrument,” Stephen said.