Though I continued listening as she and Dan discussed arrangements, I can’t recall another word they said.
After the two of them finished talking and hung up, I quietly hung up the phone. I stared at a blank wall, thinking, How will the rest of the family react to this startling news?
Mom’s voice rang throughout the house. “It’s time for church. I need everyone in the cars now.” I could hear the strain and urgency in her voice.
I broke out of my trance and headed out the door. My siblings and I got into two vehicles to drive to Lillian and Mark’s house, about thirty minutes away. Even though I was bursting inside, I knew better than to say anything. My lips were zipped, but I felt anxious, wondering what would happen to us. I knew that Mom was waiting to tell everyone when we were all together. She was somber, never taking her eyes off the road, obviously sorting through all the implications of Dad’s unexpected death.
When we arrived and walked into the converted garage that transformed from a schoolroom to a church on Sundays, it was filled with the usual volume of talking and laughing. I looked down the hallway from the garage to the kitchen, and I could see Mom deep in conversation with Mark and Lillian. Mom held Lillian’s hands in hers, and Mark kept nodding his head as Mom spoke, all three of them stone-faced. Then Mark and Mom took turns hugging Lillian before the three of them headed into the garage and took their seats in front.
Moments later, after the last few stragglers had arrived, Mark, the leader of our Houston faction of the cult, announced to the group, “Anna Mae just received word that Ervil died during the night. Prison guards found him in his cell this morning. They believe he had a heart attack.” After a few initial gasps, people began whispering to others seated near them.
Since I didn’t know exactly how I should respond, I figured I could take my cue from other family members. I glanced around the room to gauge people’s reactions. There were some tears, sobs, perhaps even wailing. I was still in such shock from overhearing the news just a half hour earlier that I was swirling in my own anxious world. I bit my fingernails and if I did shed a tear, it was out of empathy for my mother rather than grief.
Though my mom was Dad’s fourth wife, she was the one listed on his death certificate. The state of Utah needed someone to take possession of the body, someone who had enough money to pay for something other than a pauper’s grave.
Mom had somehow managed to save money through the years, so she paid for Dad’s body to be transported from Utah to Houston. Money was pooled for him to be buried, and a grave marker was ordered bearing the words “Beloved Father” above my dad’s name, date of birth, and date of death.
On the day of the funeral, my sisters and I giggled and laughed as we were getting dressed, until Mom sternly admonished us for not showing proper reverence for the occasion.
Reporters showed up for the service in hopes of interviewing family members, but Mom angrily asked them to leave. Although I don’t remember seeing him, I’m sure that Dan Jordan was there among the large group of family mourners assembled.
After the service, we drove to the cemetery for the graveside service, led by a police escort on motorcycles. As I stood by the grave, I did my best to stand still and be respectful, but a foreboding question taunted me: What is going to happen to us?
I looked around at my family. Mom was in front, crying softly, certainly shell-shocked and sad but remaining stoic, whereas other sister-wives were weeping and wailing loudly. Most of my siblings seemed detached, wanting it all to be over with. Celia was the exception: She sobbed the most, grieving the loss of our father. Kathleen’s emotions would catch up with her later when she realized that no one was taking care of us. When the cemetery workers finished filling in the grave, I placed flowers on the small mound of earth, with others following behind me.
Things returned to our version of normal pretty quickly, although I could see that, at times, Mom seemed lost. Dan Jordan was in charge now, and she needed to take instructions from him. How that would affect all of us would become clear over time. For now, we were no longer on our knees praying every night for Dad to be released from jail. Once the initial somberness of his death passed, the collective mood of our family seemed lighter.
Within days of the funeral, I attended my first-ever wedding. While my father was in prison, Rena had visited him and courageously announced she was divorcing him. Because she was never married to him legally, there were no documents to be filed. Rena had fallen in love with John, an outsider. It was a new experience for me to watch a man and woman holding hands and being affectionate to one another, not to mention laughing and flirting. It stirred up longings within me to have that kind of relationship in my life someday.
IN ADDITION TO WORKING at Reliance Appliance, Megan, June, Virginia, and I were also permitted to babysit for people outside the family. All of us girls were experts in child care. After all, we’d looked after the babies of our older sisters and the many sister-wives since we were in grade school. We knew how to feed, change, clothe, bathe, and, most of all, keep the children entertained.
I especially enjoyed watching the baby of a couple who lived in a mobile home nearby, because the baby was well-behaved, the couple paid me well, and the job also offered perks like watching TV and helping myself to snacks while I was there. The Grants played in a band, so I stayed there until late into the night. Their home wasn’t anything like the homes I’d seen and lived in. Mrs. Grant had gone to great lengths to decorate the trailer with cute furnishings and tasteful art and décor.
On many occasions after I put the baby to bed, I’d wander around their house, snooping. Dozens of family photos hung on the walls of the living room and the long hallway to the bedroom. The couple looked so happy in all of them —from their wedding pictures to a photo of them holding their newborn. In my mind, they embodied everything I considered normal, though I’d never experienced normal to have a truly accurate picture. The couple had a waterbed, which they allowed me to sleep on after I put the baby to bed. What a luxurious experience! They must be rich, I thought. I ran my hands over the coordinating furniture, took in the bright warm colors, and fantasized about someday having a home and family like this.
December arrived, and the weather in Houston remained relatively mild. One particular Saturday, Mrs. Grant had asked me to come over early in the afternoon to babysit while she and her husband went out for dinner. I took my school notebook with me to take advantage of the peace and quiet while the baby slept. At 7:15, I heard the Grants’ car pull into the driveway. I quickly rubbed my eyes and gathered my things as they came in the door.
“How did everything go?” Mrs. Grant asked before she handed me several dollar bills rolled up together.