Favorite Wife Read online

  Returning to the present, I glanced up for a moment. On the platform behind the pulpit sat Brother Joel, his legs crossed at the knees, a Bible opened on his lap. He’d been away from Colonia LeBaron for a few months, and his followers were excited to have him home. We looked to him to lead us to heaven.

  Next to Joel, and looking tanned and elegant in a white shirt and gray tie sat our church patriarch, Ervil LeBaron. The tallest of the five lanky brothers, he stood six foot five, and every inch of him exhibited self-assurance and an electrifying magnetism. Fascinated, I studied him as the congregation finally stood and began singing the opening hymn.

  Ervil’s cool, blue-gray eyes roamed the crowd on the hard wooden benches—the very benches my Grandfather Ray had built before his death. His bold glare hesitated, sizing people up and measuring their abilities and their weaknesses. What exactly his job as patriarch consisted of, I wasn’t certain, but I did know that he was a master at preaching from the books that our church considered scripture.

  These books consisted of the Holy Bible; the Book of Mormon, considered by Mormons as the history of a family from Jerusalem who became the very first inhabitants of the Americas; the Doctrine and Covenants, a series of God-given revelations to Joseph Smith; and, the Pearl of Great Price, more revelations to Joseph Smith. We had other books also, histories of latter-day prophets and presidents, such as the Discourses of Brigham Young. One of this leader’s most famous teachings was the Word of Wisdom, from which derived the Mormon belief that for health’s sake, caffeinated drinks shouldn’t be consumed, nor should we partake of pork, smoke, or use liquor. Our church members adhered to these teachings. My own father, however, paid little attention to the Word of Wisdom. He still smoked occasionally, and he and my mother both indulged in their morning coffee habit.

  Latter-day Saints Mormons in Utah considered Brigham Young to be Joseph Smith’s true successor, but our church considered him to be only a great leader, pioneer, and man of God. We believed Joseph Smith’s true successor to be Joel, our own beloved prophet.

  Ervil’s eyes watched me, and I swallowed and looked nervously back at my music. He was a hell and damnation preacher, and everybody here knew he considered his elder brother Joel to be a simple man and a weak leader. The adult members of the church observed an ongoing power struggle, over matters that I didn’t understand. I had heard Dad, Mom, and Maria discussing the situation many times. Just the sight of Ervil caused me uneasiness.

  Next to Ervil and sharing his hymnal stood Verlan LeBaron, the youngest of the five LeBaron brothers. Verlan held the lofty position of President of the Twelve Apostles of the church. I hardly knew Verlan. I’d been only eight or nine when he moved his five wives and two dozen kids away from our colony. They’d gone to a Mexican town in the mountains for a few years, then recently on to Los Molinos, our church’s brand-new sister colony starting somewhere out on the Baja California peninsula.

  It was rare to see so many of the LeBaron brothers all in the same place. Usually they were scattered around on missions, or in Baja, or somewhere taking care of the Lord’s business. It was a special day indeed for us here in Colonia LeBaron.

  After the second hymn I returned to my seat. “Whew,” Francisca whispered as she relinquished a squirming Thelma to my care. “She is such a handful! I can’t keep her quiet—how do you do it?”

  I reached for Thelma’s arm and squeezed hard. With my meanest look, I glared into her black pupils. She stared back at me, her will as strong as my own, but finally her eyes watered and she blinked. She relaxed with a sigh and sat in a dejected heap. I shot Franny a triumphant look and settled back for Joel’s message. As an up-and-coming young woman of the church, I really needed to pay attention.

  “My dear brothers and sisters,” the prophet began, then hesitated as Apostle Hector Spencer translated his words into Spanish. “It’s so good to be back among you again,” Joel paused and waited for Hector to echo his words. “Although most of my families are in Los Molinos, my heart reminds me Colonia LeBaron is still home.” He searched the congregation for his first wife, Magdalena, smiling into her dark eyes. Magdalena’s features softened in appreciation at the compliment that her husband, a man with four other wives, had given her in front of the congregation. She looked steadily back at him as he continued. “I’m pleased to tell you that Los Molinos is progressing beautifully. We have two fine adobe buildings up. The largest one we’re using for a combination church-schoolhouse, the other one for a tool storage building. Meanwhile our people there are getting by in tents and a few trailers. All ten families are working steadily to erect homes so that the living conditions will be more comfortable. They send their love and prayers to you.” Joel cleared his throat and opened his Bible.

  “Will you all turn with me to the Book of Revelation . . .”

  I listened to the latter-day prophecies, but the talk soon bored me, and I craned my neck for another look at Lane. He and his wife had an aisle seat a few benches back, his straight, longish blond hair in sharp contrast to Estela’s raven mane. I grinned at him and he gave me a wink, but before I could turn around, Estela’s angry glare caught mine and made me shiver.

  I instantly stared at the prophet behind the pulpit, but his long, dry speech could not penetrate my mind. Obviously Estela still refused to willingly share Lane. She’d even left him and gone home to her parents for a few weeks when he first started paying attention to me. But she’d come back, and if I were to spend any more time with him, it would be with the knowledge that Estela was on the warpath. Well, there was plenty of time for her to get used to the idea. I wasn’t ready for marriage yet, although I had thoughts of it. A few of the girls my age were already engaged, but I planned to finish school and to have some fun before I settled down to have my family.

  “Hey, Sue,” Francisca whispered in my ear. “Guess who keeps staring at you? Verlan LeBaron! He’s been ogling you for the past two minutes.” She smirked, her green eyes shining wickedly. “I wish I could read his mind, don’t you? What would an old man like him be thinking?” She boldly looked him up and down.

  Startled, I glanced up. Oh, there was no doubt that Brother Verlan’s questioning gaze was fastened on my face. A slow, intimate grin softened his lips as I stared back at him, and I hastily glanced away. My cheeks burned. I’d seen that look before, that hungry, devouring look in the eyes of the eldest LeBaron brother, Alma, the church bishop. My sister Rose Ann’s husband had also smiled and eyed at me with that suggestive, almost physical familiarity.

  As a young woman of the church I had the privilege of selecting my husband. It was my right, as it was the right of all the single girls. Unlike the men, we women only married once, so naturally we got to choose which of the men we wanted to be our spiritual head. I had to make sure I chose a man who was devoted to God and the church, and as the wife of a godly man, my place in heaven would be secure. Brother Ervil had preached that just last week.

  Ervil followed Joel to the pulpit and opened with his views of the recent assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. Then he proceeded with a lengthy, windy discourse about people’s civil rights. As he spoke his high-sounding words that I didn’t recognize, Ervil batted and nabbed at a stray fly that buzzed around his head. Finally catching it in his fist, he squished it with his fingers and tossed it aside.

  I stole another glance at Verlan. He wasn’t watching me now, so I ignored Ervil and stared at Verlan. Of the five LeBaron brothers, I had always thought he was the best looking. Wide shoulders and a slim waist complemented his long legs. Brown hair feathered from a receding hairline, the slight graying at his temples adding to his appeal. Dreamy lashes rested against his cheeks as he looked at his book. His nose was a bit large, but I decided that it fit the rest of his frame perfectly. He appeared businesslike and prosperous in his brown serge suit and shined loafers.

  I tucked my ragged tennis shoes under the bench so they wouldn�
��t show. Good shoes seldom turned up in the sacks of clothes Dad brought us from the states, and I was glad that all Verlan could see of my clothing was my new dress. With my blond hair braided and pinned up, I knew I looked at least sixteen.

  What, in reality, did I know of Verlan LeBaron, besides the fact that he had five wives? According to Dad, next to the Prophet Joel, Verlan was the most righteous man in the church. Rumor had it that he readily lent a hand to anyone in need. He was honest in his dealings with others, completely self-sacrificing, and his wives supported their husband in every way. As the President of our church’s Twelve Apostles, and head of the missions to the world, Verlan LeBaron was a staunch, dedicated man of God.

  “How old is Verlan, Franny?” I whispered idly as I observed him. “Do you think he’s over forty?”

  Francisca considered for a moment, then whispered, “No. Alma’s the oldest LeBaron brother here, then the Prophet Joel. Then Ervil, and Mom told me Ervil is forty-one. He’s older than Floren—and Verlan is the baby. He must be thirty-something. Why?”

  “He’s gorgeous, don’t you think? And so tall. I just love mature men.”

  Francisca snorted, “Mature? He’s not mature, he’s OLD. I’ll never marry an old man like him! I’m gonna be the first wife to someone my own age. What’s the matter with you, Suze, don’t you want to have some fun in life?” She glared at me, then whispered into my ear again, “You think you’re a live-in babysitter now; just what do you think you would be if you married someone with a hundred kids like Verlan has? I can’t believe you’re even thinking about him.”

  Francisca was right—Verlan LeBaron was awfully old, but in heaven it wouldn’t make a particle of difference. This life on Earth was just a tiny speck upon the vast screen of eternity, and in eternity, he wouldn’t be old. Verlan would be a certain admission to the highest of the three heavens.

  A sudden blur to my right was Thelma jumping off the bench. In an instant she scooted past me and escaped down the aisle. I darted after her, lifted her squirming, chunky body, and planted her bottom back on the seat. “You little brat,” I hissed in her ear. “You hold still or I’ll spank you when church is out!”

  She glared at me. “I’ll tell Papa if you do,” she retorted. She would, too, and I would be the one in trouble. Darling little Thelma was the apple of my father’s eye. I sighed and handed her a pen and some paper. “Here, honey, draw me a horse.” She eagerly took the paper and began to scribble.

  Without even looking, I felt Verlan’s attention focused on me again. I glanced up, directly into clear, sparkling, aqua-colored magnets. The beginning of a smile tipped the corners of his mouth, and I couldn’t help it, I grinned back at him. My whole body tingled as Thelma, the congregation around me, Lane, Estela, everyone melted into a gauzy fog. Now it was Brother Paisano’s voice droning on and on in Spanish, but sounded far away and made no sense. All I could see were those calm eyes, surrounded by long, silky lashes, and his smile that suggested more to come. I could hardly breathe, and I felt shaky and hot as I forced myself to look away. I had to get back to reality and stop staring at this near stranger and remember who he was, and his age. I had to think of Lane and how much I liked him. Anyway, I was probably imagining that such an important man was interested in me. My brother Jay always said I had the wildest imagination of anyone he’d ever known.

  I glanced across the aisle at Maria, Mom, and Dad. Maria was taking in every word brother Paisano said and furiously nodding her head in agreement. Devoutly religious, Maria often tried to correct my father’s view of the scriptures, causing heated arguments between them at home and amusing my unassertive mother. Maria was opinionated and had a fiery temper, but just as Verlan’s wives did, she and my mother got along with one another.

  Thelma tugged on my arm. “Susie, I have to go to the outhouse,” she announced out loud.

  “Shh!” I squeezed her arm and glanced quickly around us.

  “I have to go ca-ca, come and take me,” her high-pitched voice rose with each word.

  Francisca snickered. The Jensens, seated in front of us, turned around and stared. “Go on, Susie,” Franny whispered merrily. “Take her so she can go ca-ca.”

  With face flaming, I hauled Thelma down the long aisle, past a widely grinning Lane, and out the door.

  “You little loudmouth,” I scolded when we were out of earshot. “Why couldn’t you whisper to me?”

  “I did, but you didn’t hear. And I had to go bad.”

  We raced down the path to the outhouse, and I waited while she went inside. “There’s no paper, Susie,” she hollered after a moment.

  “Shit.” I said the bad word out loud as I looked around, hoping to find a scrap of paper in the weeds. Suddenly the outhouse door opened a few inches. Thelma’s small brown hand reached out, picked up a smooth rock, and disappeared inside again. That’s improvising, I thought, shuddering.

  As we hurried back to the church, Thelma suddenly let go of my hand. With a cry of delight, she darted toward a huge robin that busily scratched and pecked at the bank of the irrigation ditch, some twenty feet from the side of the building.

  “I want a bird! Oh! I want a bird!” she hollered. In a flurry of color, the robin flew up and landed in the cottonwood tree on the other side of the ditch. Thelma dashed up the bank and stopped just short of the thick mud layering the bottom.

  “Thelma, now you behave yourself!” I commanded, glancing at the open side door of the church. “You can’t have it, it’s wild. Come on, we have to go back to the meeting.” I reached for her hand, but she shrugged me away.

  “Susie, go get me that bird!” she ordered.

  I reached for her again, my anger choking me as I grabbed her dress. The flimsy material ripped away from my fingers when she sidestepped, and before I could grab her, she walked into the ditch. Gluey, gray slime rose up above her ankles.

  “Oh, Thelma!” I howled. I reached out as far as I could, my shoes on the very edge of the mud. Still I couldn’t reach her. As she struggled to pull her feet free, fear crossed her face. “Get me! Susana, get me!” she wailed, panic showing in her black eyes. “My feet won’t come out!”

  “Give me your hands,” I ordered.

  I pulled hard, but the heavy mud sucked at her feet and held fast. Suddenly the slippery bank gave way and I plunged, ankles and elbows deep, into the ditch.

  Thelma wrapped her arms around my neck, her fingers catching in my hair and pulling strands of it down around my shoulders. I yanked her free, her shoes leaving wide black streaks on the pink material of my new dress. I carefully backed out of the ditch, sat Thelma down on the grass, and dropped down next to her.

  “I hope Daddy whips you!” I gritted. “I ought’ta blister your butt myself till you can’t sit down. Just look at me!” I wiped at the mud on my ankles and arms, then cleaned my fingers on the grass. My shoes were caked and dripping.

  “I didn’t mean to.” Thelma sniffed and dabbed at her eyes. Picking up the hem of her dress, she wiped her nose then rubbed her shoes against the grass. Huge tears slid down her brown cheeks.

  The side door of the church grated open, startling me. “Hey, you’re needed in here.” Dale Leany blinked against the bright sunlight. A smothered giggle suddenly escaped him as his eyes focused on us. “Wow,” he drawled, “what happened to you two?”

  Without waiting for an answer he ducked back inside.

  Panic gripped me as I rose to my feet. It was closing hymn time, and I was supposed to play the piano! I gazed down the road toward home, wishing I were safely in my room and away from all these people. I scraped my shoe soles hard against the grass as I pondered what to do. Why didn’t they just start singing without the piano? Dale stuck his head back out the door.

  “Hey, hurry up! Everybody’s waiting for you. Comprende?” he growled.

  I hesitated at the open doorway,
searching the congregation for someone capable of taking my place at the piano. But there was no one in sight, and I could see Anna Mae, the song leader, standing impatiently on the stage. I shoved the loose strands of hair hanging about my face behind my ears, took Thelma’s hand, and walked into the building. The people standing on either side of us stared as we trudged up the aisle. As we passed Lane and Estela, I held my head high, then shoved Thelma in Maria’s direction and walked on to the piano. Anna Mae’s wide face broke into a startled grin. Behind her, the men on the stage made an effort at hiding their amused looks as they watched me take my seat.

  “Come, Come Ye Saints” was a hymn I knew by heart, but as I pounded out the first chords I hit more wrong notes than right ones. Somehow I managed to get through the song and sit still through the final prayer, but I wanted desperately to cry.

  As soon as the final Amen was said I sensed movement on the platform. A hasty glance confirmed that Verlan LeBaron, smiling widely, was heading straight for me. I stood up and bolted out the back door of the church.

  The sun shone bright and hot as I scurried up the road toward home. My braid had come loose, and I yanked the strands apart so that it cascaded down my back in heavy rippling waves. In a matter of seconds the back of my neck felt wet and sticky. I mopped at my forehead then dabbed angrily at my eyes. How could this have happened, today of all days? Was I cursed? Maybe I was too vain, and this was God’s way of taking me down a peg. Whatever, Verlan LeBaron by now must consider me an awkward, clumsy little girl. He would never look at me again.

  Behind me I could hear the usual noises of church adjourning. Children shouted and grownups called to one another. Engines started—everyone was going home, doubtless to discuss over the dinner table the spectacle Susan Ray had made of herself in church today.