Favorite Wife Page 3

  Someone behind me was calling my name. “Wait up!” Lane puffed as he jogged toward me.

  Oh, great. I reluctantly slowed my pace and allowed him to catch up. With a quick sweep of his green eyes he surveyed my red nose and slumped shoulders.

  “Hey! Don’t act so shook up,” he said briskly, handing me a hanky. “A little mud never hurt nobody. You honestly don’t look that bad.”

  “Oh yes I do,” I sniffed as I wiped my nose. “I’m so mad at Thelma I could strangle her. Just look at my new dress!”

  He shrugged, grinned, and grabbed my hand. “It’ll wash. Come on, I’ll buy you a paleta.”

  Ahead of us under a black walnut tree, the little man from the neighboring city of Casas Grandes stood with his ice cream cart. He came every Sunday in good weather and peddled his frozen treats. “Paletas,” he sang out as we approached. I peered into the cool interior of the white cart and selected my favorite, a lime-flavored Popsicle. Lane chose an ice cream bar, then dropped a peso into the man’s brown palm. We sat under the walnut tree on the ditch bank and ate the cold treat. I looked up after a particularly large, cold bite to see the little muscles around Lane’s mouth twitching.

  “Good, huh?” he said gravely.

  “Lane Stubbs, what are you laughing at?” I demanded.

  “Oh, nothin’.” He licked his ice cream. “Actually, I was admiring that cute pug nose of yours.” His smile wrinkled up his cheeks in small furrows as his eyes touched my face, throat, and hair.

  “My nose is not pug!” I retorted. His roving looks made me tingle uneasily and caused the blood to rush to my face. I wiped my hands on my muddy skirt and began to rise. “I—I need to get home,” I stuttered. “Thanks for trying to cheer me up.”

  “Wait! I—”

  Suddenly behind us a woman’s cold voice said, “Lane.”

  Estela stood over us, her small son on her hip. Mahogany eyes blazed at Lane. Her fists were clenched, and my insides turned icy.

  “Estela,” Lane murmured as he stood up. His voice sounded nonchalant and totally relaxed. “Susan and I were having a paleta. Would you like one?”

  “What I would like is for my husband to take us home from church!” Estela’s voice was high and unnatural as it followed Lane to the ice cream cart. “We’ve been waiting for you, and we’re sick of waiting! You take us home. And you stay away from her,” her glance bristled with hatred.

  Lane calmly selected a paleta, walked to his wife and handed it to her. “Here,” his voice was even, “Eat this and behave yourself. I’m going to walk Susan home, then I’ll come back for you and the baby. Now go on.”

  Estela stared at the Popsicle in her hand. Suddenly she threw it, hitting Lane in the chest. “You eat it!” she shrieked. “Or feed it to your scroungy little girlfriend. Don’t bother coming for the baby and me. We won’t be there. We’ll be at home, and I’ll be packing!”

  With the baby bouncing on her hip, she dashed back up the road, past my father and mother, Maria, and my little sisters as they trailed toward us. They all turned to watch her and Dad shook his head. “Come on, kids, don’t stare; it’s rude,” he cautioned.

  My insides shook with guilt and with embarrassment for Lane. What a scene his wife had caused! She had a lot to learn and a lot of accepting to do if she planned to stay in the colony.

  “Just go on and take her home, okay?” I whispered. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Yeah, I probably should. I’m sorry about all this,” he whispered back.

  “What was that all about?” Dad asked as my family circled us. He knew, of course. But he wanted to see how Lane was handling the situation.

  “My wife’s a mite jealous of your daughter here, Vern,” Lane grinned apologetically. “I guess she didn’t appreciate me buying Susan a paleta. Well, we’ll see ya later.” With a wave of his hand, he strolled after Estela.

  Daddy watched him go, then turning to me, he wagged his head and whispered, “I could’a warned you this would happen; I seen it coming.” He scratched his leg, grinned, and shrugged. “Well, that’s what you’re in for, honey, when you start flirting with married men. You might as well sharpen up your claws if you plan on chasing that boy. That Estela woman is full of piss and vinegar, and I wouldn’t count on her giving you a warm welcome if you’re thinking about joining the family.” He solemnly shook his head again, his eyes twinkling.

  I fumed inside. What made him think I was the one doing the chasing? I wanted to straighten him out and tell him that Lane was pursuing me, not the other way around. But I kept my mouth shut.

  “Daddy, can we have a paleta?” Ema and Thelma danced eagerly in front of us. Soon the whole family, Mom and Maria included, were taking their turn selecting from the little cart.

  “How in the world did you and Thelma get all muddy?” Mom asked me as she waited her turn. “Just look at your pretty new dress! Goodness, Susan, can’t you be more careful?”

  Jay had caught up to us, and he looked at me and snickered. “What, were you kids making mud pies during church?”

  I bit back a sharp retort and instead mumbled a quick explanation. But it was drowned out by my father’s boisterous laughter. I glared from one member of my family to the other, then turned on my heel and stalked up the road.

  As Fara and I hauled the water in from the well, heated it on the stove, then washed the dishes after lunch was over, my thoughts returned to Lane. His roving, intimate glances today had made me uncomfortable. He was getting serious, and I wasn’t ready to think seriously about anyone. I enjoyed our flirtation, but because of it he was having big problems at home. He’d made it plain that he was willing to go through the fights with Estela to see me. But he would expect me to seriously consider marriage. Of course, if the end result were a new wife to add to his family, the problems with Estela would be worthwhile for him. But if I was just dating him for the fun of it, I was out of line. You just didn’t date a married man for the fun of it, not in Colonia LeBaron. In fairness to both Lane and Estela, I needed to break it off.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Slamming the door of his old green pickup, Lane Stubbs ambled to the front porch of my parents’ five-room adobe house. He appeared tired and discouraged, and he hadn’t bothered to clean up before coming to see me. His white shirt and baggy pants were stained with black grease. I was dreading this meeting. Two weeks had gone by since I’d seen him, not since the letter I’d made Franny deliver. I’d written that I didn’t want to cause further problems with his wife, so I didn’t plan to date him anymore.

  “After he read it, he just sat there, all slumped down on his tractor seat,” Franny had glared at me accusingly. “Jeez, I hated seeing him like that! I don’t think you even liked him all that much; you were just goofing around, and now you’ve broke his heart.”

  “Francisca, that’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid!” I exploded. “Yes, I liked him, but I’m not ready for a—a marriage commitment, or anything! I’m too young! I don’t know how it happened, but somehow this whole thing’s gotten out of hand.”

  “Well, he wants to talk to you,” Franny said primly. “He’s still got it bad for you, and I hope you’ve got enough sense to make a clean break.” She’d sniffed and walked to the door, saying over her shoulder, “You should’ve told him in person, instead of being such a chicken and sending him that stupid letter. Can’t believe I even agreed to take it.”

  She was right; I shouldn’t have sent it. Now, opening the screen door, I stepped out into the shade of the front porch.

  “Hi, Suze,” Lane’s gruff voice sounded apologetic. “I guess Franny gave you my note.”

  I nodded, fidgeting.

  He pushed long locks of blond hair from his eyes and peered through the screen door behind me to see if anyone was in the living room. Satisfied, he turned back to me. “
I hope you’re not mad, but I need to talk to you. Can you leave now?”

  I nodded, stuck my head inside the house, and hollered, “Mom, I’m going to play practice. Be back around six.” I didn’t wait for an assent. If she hadn’t heard me, she would figure it out.

  He opened the pickup door and I climbed onto the worn leather seat. I wet my lips nervously, knowing that before me loomed a sticky, uncomfortable situation, and that I had no idea how to handle things.

  He backed the old truck around and we putted down the road. I cranked the window down so the breeze blew on my hot face, then I glanced at Lane. He sat stiffly; his mouth stern as he guided the truck down a side road, parked beneath a cottonwood tree, and turned the engine off. Then he slumped over the wheel, his moody green eyes distant and thoughtful.

  “I don’t know what you think there is to say,” I began impatiently, wanting to get this over with.

  “Now, Suze, just hold on a minute and let me say what’s on my mind.” He reached for my hand, and I reluctantly allowed him to rub my palm with the tips of his rough fingers. “I know you’re young. Hell, you’re a kid, really. But you don’t act like a kid, and you sure don’t look like a kid.”

  He swallowed a time or two, then turned in the seat and searched my eyes. “All I’ve ever wanted in life was to do what’s right,” he continued soberly. “I want to serve the Lord and raise up a righteous posterity. Maybe I don’t show it all the time. Maybe I get sidetracked, but if we can find some laughs and happiness along the way, why, so much the better. Life here is hard enough.”

  He stared at my fingernails. I sat quiet and miserable, waiting for him to proceed. Suddenly he pulled my hand to his lips and kissed my palm, pressing it against his half-open mouth. The sensation was disturbing in a strange, thrilling way, and I hastily pulled my hand free and tucked it into my lap. “Don’t,” I snapped.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled. His face instantly turned crimson, and leaning his head against the window, he watched a cow graze in the rich, green pasture seemingly out of place in the midst of all the cactus and mesquite bushes. “Whose cow is that, do you know?” He muttered suddenly.

  I glanced at the Guernsey, startled. “It’s the Leanys’, I think. Why?”

  “They’d better keep an eye on her. She’s takin’ in that alfalfa pretty fast. If someone’s not careful, she’ll founder.”

  I fidgeted. I had to do something to move this situation along. My thoughts raced.

  Abruptly he faced me again, his eyes bright with determination. “I realize Estela’s the problem, Suze, and I can understand how it’s affecting you. But she’s getting better with each passing month. She’s beginning to accept the gospel; she really is. Deep in her heart she knows it’s right. She just needs a little time is all.”

  I studied my hands, ashamed to see the pleading in his eyes. Estela wasn’t the only problem. Franny was correct; I had led him on. Somehow I had to make this right. I had to find the proper words, so that he wouldn’t hate me and so that we could still be friends. I wanted to remember all the fun we had shared—the movies, the long talks, and the cavorting at the colony square dances. Not this, this bare glimpse of his heart, when I didn’t know how to return the feelings.

  “Please don’t say anymore,” I gulped. “Lane, didn’t you understand my note? I don’t feel right about this. For one thing, I’m too young . . .”

  He put his hand under my chin and tipped my head up so that I had to look at him. “Don’t say that,” he groaned. “This is right; I know it is. I know it because I—because I love you. I guess I didn’t realize it until I got your letter. Oh, you just don’t know—the past two weeks have been hell.” Tears filled his eyes. He sniffed them back then wiped them away. “I realize you’re young. But you’re so strong, and you’re grounded in the church. With you behind me, Estela will soon get the picture. Don’t get me wrong; I love her, Suze, I do. But I won’t let her be a stumbling block when it comes to doing what Joel has taught me is right.”

  Rough fingers reached for my face again and he forced me to look into his earnest eyes. “We’re meant for each other; I just know it,” he whispered. “Don’t tell me no! You can take all the time you want to think about it.”

  My throat felt tight and dry. His eyes were so intense they made me physically weak. I slowly nodded, detesting myself for giving in. “Okay, I’ll think about it.” I pulled away from him and repeated dazedly, “I’ll think about it.”

  He heaved a relieved sigh and dropped his head onto the steering wheel. I sat stiffly, my mind in a whirl. Oh Lord, I thought wildly, why didn’t I just tell him the truth? What am I doing! I’ve never been more sure of anything—I’ll never love Lane Stubbs!

  Of course, I knew of other girls in the colony who had married men without being in love. The brethren had assured them that the proper feelings would come, if they married a righteous man of the priesthood. But I would never do such a thing. Anger flashed over me, and my thoughts raced back three weeks.

  My friend Carmela, a fifteen–year-old Mexican girl, had walked me home from school. She and my brother Jay had been in love for months. I’d been so excited at the thought of Carmela joining our family—but with tears streaming, she’d told me that her stepfather, Alma LeBaron, had forbidden her to see Jay again. “But why?” I had asked, shocked.

  “He told me that he’s raised me to be the plural wife of a worthy man, not to marry some young kid who hasn’t proved himself,” she’d sniffed bitterly. “He has someone all picked out for me, too. And he’s fifty, if he’s a day.”

  “But what about Jay?” I’d shouted. My brother was just as good, and just as worthy as any old man in the church! I wanted to personally make sure Alma realized it, and I told Carmela so. Didn’t love count for anything?

  Sighing, I pulled myself back to the present. What about Lane’s love for me? Did that count? He was a fine enough man, and I cared about him. But I knew that, unless God or the prophet told me to do otherwise, when I married someone it would be someone I truly loved. Someday Lane would find a plural wife, someone willing to help him build his family properly. Meantime I had to find the courage to tell him no. Soon.

  “We had better go,” I said abruptly. “We’ll be late for practice.”

  By the time we pulled up in front of the church, Lane seemed back to his old self. He raced me to the door and caught me around the waist just before I opened it. I laughed with him, but even to me my levity sounded hollow and forced.

  Three benches filled with colony teenagers were discussing the play for the upcoming church conference. They turned to stare at us as we tiptoed into the coolness of the building. Esther LeBaron Spencer, the only LeBaron sister who was a member of the church, stood behind the pulpit, her play manual open before her. She stopped speaking and waited until we took our seats. She looked hot and uncomfortable in her flowered polyester dress. Her graying hair curled moist around her neck.

  She glowered at us. “As I was saying, if you want to have an active part in the play, you will make an effort to be on time at the practices. Now, our operetta this year is called Welcome to Gay Havana,” Esther rattled on and on.

  My sister Fara, sitting on a rear bench, raised her eyebrows at me and darted a look at Lane. Franny glared disapproval as she scooted over to make room for us. “What are you doing?” she growled into my ear. “I thought you were breaking up with him!”

  “Shh! I’ll tell you later.” I glanced at Esther. She looked up at us, briefly hesitated, and then continued outlining the play.

  Few people in the colony had tried harder than Esther Spencer had to bring a touch of culture to our pioneer-type existence. She had made up her mind years ago, when the church was first started, that the young people of the colony wouldn’t be deprived of whatever refinement she could teach them. She organized plays, piano concerts and talent shows for us to participa
te in, giving us something special to perform during our church’s semiannual conferences, something to show the visiting investigators of the church that just because we lived in Mexico and practiced polygamy, we weren’t ignorant or illiterate.

  “Let’s give the adults something to smile at!” Esther said in conclusion. “And during these hours together in practice, let’s have some good, clean fun!”

  Lane rolled his eyes, his face a mask of seriousness. Franny suppressed a giggle. Esther was staring pointedly at the left end of the first bench where a girl named Debbie Bateman sat. Fresh from California, Debbie’s legs were crossed, giving a full view of her thighs. Her short, tight skirt rode high on her hips. The huge wad of gum in her mouth popped and cracked as she watched Esther. Gossip had it that Debbie’s parents had accepted Ervil LeBaron’s offer to bring her to the colony, the plan being to get her away from her wild friends in California. And Esther, who took a maternal interest in all of us, was afraid that Debbie’s foul mouth and worldly experience would be a bad influence. Debbie was well aware that Esther, as a charter member of the church and a sister of the Prophet Joel, considered herself an authority on spiritual matters. So the new girl made a point of annoying her at every opportunity. With Debbie here, I knew that play practices would become interesting, indeed.

  Jay and Carmela sat close together on a rear bench, paying little attention to the rest of us. I could sense the strain between them, and Francisca noticed it too. “Are they just going to let that mean old Alma dictate to them?” she whispered. “He’s not her real father. How can he order her not to marry Jay?”

  I shrugged and sighed. I had enough problems of my own to worry about at the present.

  “Do you suppose Esther will tell Alma that they’re sitting together?” Franny breathed into my ear.

  “Oh, my Lord, I hope not!” I glanced at Esther. Being Alma’s sister, she was no doubt aware of the situation. Didn’t Jay and Carmela have enough sense to be discreet if they were going to disobey Alma’s orders? I would have to talk to Jay when we got home, make him see he was being foolish.