Just Keep Sweet (The Compound Series) (19 page)

“Not just him. But I don’t know the other men. They don’t live here.”

“What did your uncle say?”

“He said that if I told you, he’d kill me. And that I deserved it—that I’m not good enough to live on this compound. That I’m retarded and stupid and he’s tired of you making excuses for me.”

“That son of a bitch.”

“Paul!” Sarah recoiled from my choice of words. I didn’t care. My brother abused my son, and I could think of dozens of more colorful terms to use for him.

Isaac ignored our outburst and continued. “He told me I’d be gone in forty-eight hours. Is that true, Mama? Are you going to send me away?”

“No, of course not,” Sarah said, closing her eyes tight to prevent tears. I could feel my own threatening to come to the surface, but my rage kept them at bay. “Paul?”

“No, we won’t send you away.” I looked to Sarah. “Take him to the washroom, get him . . .” I swallowed hard, again keeping my tears at bay. “Get him cleaned up.”

“I don’t know if I—”

“Please, Sarah,” I whispered.

“Papa?”

“Yes, son.”

“I want you. Mama shouldn’t see me there. It’s not proper, remember?”

Isaac knew every rule in our household backward and forward. And he knew that once they reached a certain age, the boys were not to be naked in front of any of their mothers or sisters. The same was true for the girls. Once they reached the age of seven, I was forbidden from assisting with baths or seeing them in any sort of compromising position. That was to be handled by the mothers. No exceptions.

My stomach churned, but I forced my lips into a comforting smile. “Of course. Come with me, son.”

“I’ll get the first-aid kit,” Sarah said, her voice cracking with emotion. I knew as soon as we left the room she would collapse onto the bed and sob.

“No, I’ll get it, thanks,” I said. Then with pursed lips, I gave her a nod, knowing she needed a moment to herself to come to grips with her emotions. Aside from Aspen, she was the most emotional of my wives. Normally I brushed off her sensitive ways, but not this time. No, this time she had every right to scream, cry, and punch pillows if she was inclined.

I wanted to punch a hole in my brother’s face. I wanted to choke the last breath from his body. I wanted to make him
suffer.

An hour later, Isaac was cleaned up, showered, and in fresh pajamas. The ibuprofen I’d given him to help the pain and swelling was easing its way into his system, and he was relaxed enough to go to sleep. I sat next to him, brushing the hair from his droopy eyes.

“Go to sleep, my boy. Papa’s here.”

He yawned and attempted to widen his eyes, obviously fighting sleep. “Don’t go, Papa.”

Isaac was the first of my children to put himself to bed. Even at age five he had no interest in snuggling or listening to stories like his siblings did. He was independent from the get-go. But not tonight. Tonight he needed me, and I had no intention of going anywhere.

“I’ll stay here until you fall asleep, all right?” I asked. “How does that sound?”

“Good.” He yawned again. “Papa?”

“Yes, son.”

“Thank you for believing me.” His words, like always, were matter of fact, but I knew they spoke volumes.

I sat, mouth agape as I stared down at his pale, bruised face. My honest little professor who always said exactly what was on his mind. Aspen once said he had lacked a filter, and I teased that she didn’t either. The two of them were quite the pair.

“Of course I believed you. You’re my son and I love you.”

But I didn’t believe Aspen. I should have believed her. If I had, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

I couldn’t hold the tears back any longer. They were coming. As my son’s breathing evened out, tears streamed down my cheeks. I lowered myself to the floor and rested my elbows on the bed.

“Heavenly Father, help me to protect this boy. Help me do the
right
thing. Give me the knowledge and the wisdom to resist my anger, to resist the urge to kill my brother. Because I want to, Lord. I want to get in my truck and drive to his house. I want to strangle him, beat him to a pulp.” I sniffed, wiping my tears with the back of my hand. “Give me the strength, Heavenly Father, I’m begging you. Please give me the strength to do it the right way. Give me the wisdom, please, Lord. I’m just a man . . . a weak man. Please help me retaliate in the proper way. Show me the way, Heavenly Father. Please show me the way.”

And then, I hung my head and sobbed. I cried for Isaac, for Aspen, and Ruthie. I cried for every child who was dragged into that temple, because in my gut I knew there had to be others. There had to be. Clarence didn’t do things just once. No. And Aspen saw the gentiles walking into the temple months before this night. I cried for all the other victims of our so-called prophet. I didn’t cry out of fear. No. My fear was extinguished the moment my son confessed the name of his attacker.

It was time to make Clarence Black pay. I just had to figure out
how.

Chapter 17

I imagine there are moments in everyone’s life that feel too surreal to process—too heartbreaking, too gut wrenching to accept they are, in fact, reality. When my eyes opened after a few short hours of sleep, I had one of those moments.

Was it all just a nightmare?

And then, like a freight train, it crashed into me and the pain in my chest resurfaced. I thought of my poor boy who’d been put through so much trauma, so much pain. And for what? Was Clarence punishing me through my boy? Or was there something larger afoot? Months ago, Aspen saw gentiles entering the temple. Which meant this had been going on for a while. Months, maybe even years.

Damn it, Paul. Why didn’t you listen to her?

I knew the reason: Clarence. He took away my job as foreman of the new temple project when I dared to ask him about the man standing near the tree—the man who, I can only assume, was one of the same men Aspen saw walking into our temple. The men who brutalized and raped my son.

A rush of anger and sadness overtook every inch of my body. I laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling as I searched my brain for an answer, for a plan of attack.

Aspen. I have to talk to Aspen.

Quickly, I took my shower and dressed for the day, hoping to catch Aspen before she began her daily chores. It was seven thirty, which meant Jeremiah would be waking and would need his breakfast. Maybe I would catch her in the kitchen. The doorknob squeaked when I turned it, and Sarah stirred in bed.

“Paul?” she mumbled, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

“Yes.”

“Is it morning already?”

“Yes, dear. I’m heading down to breakfast.” I nodded, not sure what to say to my wife as I studied the dark circles under her eyes. Her face fell.

“Wait.” She reached her hand out, gesturing for me to stay. “Was that . . . real? What happened to Isaac?”

“Feels like a horrible dream, doesn’t it?”

She nodded, new tears forming in her eyes. “I can’t believe it.”

“Let’s keep this quiet until I figure out what to do, all right?”

She cleared her throat and rose to a seated position on the bed. “Yes, I understand.”

“Do your best to keep sweet and . . . maybe go check on him. I’m sure he could use his mother’s care today more than ever.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll take extra care of him.” She covered her mouth with her hand and pinched her eyes shut. I let go of the door and walked to her, wrapping my arms around her. She pressed her forehead to my stomach and released a guttural sob. The emotions she’d done her best to repress had found their way to the surface.

“My baby.” She choked on her words. “My poor, sweet boy.”

I stroked her hair and used my most soothing voice. “I know, I know.”

I repeated those words over and over until Sarah’s breathing evened out. She pulled away and wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry for getting your shirt wet. Should I get you another?”

I offered her a kind smile and kissed the top of her head. “No, don’t be silly. It’ll dry.”

“What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know, but I promise you I’ll figure it out. He can’t get away with this.”

“He’s the prophet.” She shook her head. “No one will believe us.”

“We’ll see about that.” I kissed her again and left the room. Before heading to the kitchen, I walked to Isaac’s room. I was pleased to see he was still fast asleep, nestled under his covers. His younger brothers were already awake, so I adjusted his curtains to block out as much light as possible before closing the door behind me.

Sleep, my innocent boy. There is safety in your slumber.

When I reached the kitchen, Aspen and Flora were washing dishes and Jeremiah was playing with blocks on the floor with a few of the other toddlers, a small smudge of bananas still on his face. I grabbed a towel before crouching down to greet him.

“Papa!” he yelled, climbing to his feet and wrapping his tiny arms around my neck.

Y
ou have no idea how much I need this right now, little guy.

“Oh, good morning, Paul. I didn’t see you come in,” Aspen said, looking uneasy as she watched me wipe Jeremiah’s face. That expression spoke volumes and right that second, I realized she’d probably looked at me this way for months, only I was too wrapped up in my own resentment at the demise of our relationship that I didn’t see it. I didn’t see
her
.

I’ve failed you, Aspen.

I relaxed my forehead and gave her a warm smile as I scooped Jeremiah into my arms and walked to her. She wiped her hands dry and smiled as our little boy dove into her arms as he often did.

“Ooh, you’re getting big,” she said before kissing him on the forehead. “Did you say good morning to your father?”

“Mmm hmm,” Jeremiah said before he kissed Aspen’s nose.

“Why thank you,” she said with a genuine smile. But her entire expression stiffened when she realized my eyes never left hers. I hated that I made her uncomfortable, that she questioned my intentions. However, I knew it was entirely my fault.

How do I get you to trust me again?

I opened my mouth to speak, to ask her for a moment of her time, but Flora interrupted. “Paul, I need you to have a word with Jordan.”

“Oh?” I asked, surprised at the interruption. I’d almost forgotten Flora was standing a few feet away from me. As always, when Aspen was in my presence, everything and everyone else ceased to exist. My love for her was all consuming.

“Yes,” Flora boomed. “In fact, he’ll be here any minute.”

“What does he need?”

“He thinks he’s ready for another wife.”

“And?” I asked, knowing many men on the compound added another wife within a year of their first. It was a great way to keep him from getting too attached to his first wife and rejecting other women down the road. I never had that problem. Not until wife number fourteen, that is.

“I think he should wait,” Flora said, sounding disappointed I didn’t automatically agree with her. “It’s only been a matter of months. He needs time to settle . . . and so does she.”

Ahh, it all made sense. Flora was being protective of Jordan’s wife. Of course.

Those first wives stick together.

“I’ll speak to him.”

Once I turned away from Flora, I realized Aspen and Jeremiah were gone. I walked down the hall, searching his bedroom and hers, but they were nowhere to be found.

“They went to the park,” Ruthie said as we passed in the hall, her tone dismissive, rude.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

She sighed and smoothed her dress. “I’m bored. Mama doesn’t let me do much these days. And I’m always getting in trouble.”

“Well, keep sweet and you won’t get in trouble. Understand?” Ruthie nodded. “Where are your sisters?”

“Playing in the common room. I’m in charge of them until Mama returns.”

I sent her on her way and glanced at the clock. I still had time before I was needed on site. It was best if I spoke to Aspen in private, so instead of following her to the park, I went in the opposite direction—to my brother Arthur’s home a few doors down.