Just Keep Sweet (The Compound Series) (20 page)

Clarence was the firstborn son of my parents, and I was the third. Between us, though, was my brother Arthur. My mother always stated that Arthur was a combination of Clarence and myself. Clarence would sneer, knowing my mother was referring to his darkness. I would grin, knowing she was referencing me as the light, the positive side of Arthur’s persona. When I was a boy, I looked up to Arthur, often emulating his mannerisms and behavior to the point of his annoyance. When I was really upset, really hurt, or angry, I knew who I could go to. It was Arthur, always Arthur.

In fact, Arthur was the one person in the world who I trusted at the age of fourteen when I wasn’t so sure that plural marriage was for me. I’d always been a passionate person, and the idea of having to divide my affection amongst several wives was overwhelming to me. If I was honest with myself, I liked the idea of having one woman—just one woman to fall in love with, to dote upon, to adore. And so, I went to Arthur, who was sixteen at the time, and poured my heart out. Arthur listened, he nodded, and when I’d finished, he peered into my eyes.

“You want some advice?”

“Yes, please,” I said eagerly. I didn’t want to disappoint my parents, and the idea of leaving the compound made me sick to my stomach.

“Trust.”

“Trust who?”

“Trust Father, trust Heavenly Father. Just trust, Paul. You didn’t choose this life, none of us did. It chose us. Just trust. When I was thirteen, the idea of more than wife was overwhelming too. But I’m sixteen now—I’m a man. And I’m ready. One day you’ll be ready too.”

“Really?” I asked, feeling relief for the first time in weeks. “You really think so?”

“I know so.”

I never told another soul, and Arthur had kept my secret. My father passed away without ever knowing his beloved son had questioned the entire foundation of our faith. And I owed that to Arthur. If I had entrusted Clarence with that secret, I’d probably be single and living on scraps somewhere in Colorado City.

Arthur and I weren’t as close as when we were children, but I knew he could be trusted. And it was that trust that brought me to his front stoop. He was an esteemed member of the priesthood and a bookkeeper for several small businesses in Colorado City. When our father died and Clarence became the prophet, Arthur requested to keep the books, but Clarence refused him. It’d always been a sore spot in their relationship and because of that, Arthur seemed to keep the prophet at arm’s length. I could only hope that he would not only listen to what I had to say, but that he would help me, to be a much-needed ally as I prepared to challenge my eldest brother. No matter what, though, I was confident he could be trusted.

I was greeted by his first wife, Delilah.

After the obligatory pleasantries were exchanged, she waved me down the hall. “He’s in his office.”

“As usual,” I added, and Delilah giggled.

With a brief knock, I entered the office of Arthur, who was hunched over his large oak desk. He looked up, pushing his glasses back to the top of his nose. His brow pinched in impatience, and I knew I was interrupting his focus.

“Paul, surprised to see you here.”

“Yes, sorry I didn’t call first, but it’s . . . well, it’s important.”

“That’s fine; have a seat.” He scratched the back of his head and closed his laptop. With a forced look of concern, he took a quick sip of his coffee. “What’s going on?”

“I have reason to believe that Clarence is abusing his power as prophet.”

Arthur laughed. He
laughed
.

My stomach clenched. “Is that funny?”

“Sorry, brother, it’s just . . . of course he is. He always has. If this is a shock to you, then I’m not sure what to say.”

“Of course he’s always been a little drunk on power—”

“A little?” Creases formed in the aging skin of Arthur’s forehead. “He’s a manipulative snake.”

“I had no idea you felt this way.”

“Then you haven’t been paying attention.”

“I need your help, Arthur. Isaac came home last night—Clarence attacked him. He and a few other men, gentiles.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Arthur rose from his seat and shook his hands in front of his body. “Attacked?”

“Yes. They assaulted him in the temple.”

“Why? What happened?”

“I don’t know. Clarence lured him inside, and then Isaac was kicked or punched so hard he blacked out. The pain woke him up.” I swallowed hard, unable to continue.

“The pain? What do you mean?”

“Yes, they . . .” I could feel emotion climbing from my stomach. I cleared my throat. “They violated him in the most repulsive way.”

“Oh sweet Heavenly Father.” Arthur turned away with one hand over his mouth, the other gripping the window frame. “Are you
sure
?”

“Isaac doesn’t lie. Not ever.”

He stood, facing the window, and sighed. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know, but I can’t stand by while he abuses the children . . .
our
children. If it happened to Isaac, it can happen to anyone. They’re
all
easy victims.”

“True.” He nodded, turning back to me and returning to his seat.

“I just—I can’t wrap my mind around this. I knew he was power hungry, manipulative, all of that—but I didn’t think he was diabolical,” I continued. “I didn’t think he was capable of
this
.”

Arthur nodded, staring off into space. “I didn’t either. You know how I feel about Clarence, but this is impossible to process.”

“I need your help,” I said. “He has to pay for this—for what he’s done.”

“And what do you expect
me
to do? He’s the prophet, Paul. He can do whatever he pleases.”

“You can’t mean that.” I stared at him, my mouth hanging open in shock.

“Look, his actions are deplorable. He’s a monster, I
know
. But I love my family, and I’m not about to risk my life, my job, my wives and children because something happened to Isaac. Sorry, but it’s the truth.”

“Your children could be next.”

Arthur tilted his head to the side, looking irritated. I had to find his weak spot. I had to give him a possibility—a powerful one. Arthur’s wives had given birth to almost a dozen girls before his family was graced with a boy—his oldest, Timothy, was his pride and joy.

“Timothy turns sixteen next month, does he not?”

Arthur stalked toward me and pointed his finger square in my chest. “You bite your tongue, Paul. Timothy is
nothing
like Isaac.”

I recoiled. “Do you think that matters?”

He tilted his chin upward. “Maybe it does.”

“So, because my son is different, you think he deserved this? That he had it coming? Is that what you’re saying?”

“No, absolutely not.”

“It sounds like that’s
exactly
what you’re saying. Isaac isn’t the typical kid, therefore he deserved the evil that lurked in the shadows. He deserved to be taken advantage of and abused. Do you hear yourself, Arthur?”

I was yelling. I never yelled.

“Back off, brother,” Arthur warned. “This is a fool’s errand; you have to know that. No one can bring Clarence down,
no one
.”

I shook my head. “Everyone has a weakness. Believe me, I’ll find his . . . with or without your help.”

“You want some advice?”

“No.”

Arthur ignored my response. “Take care of your boy; help him forget. Take care of your family and walk the straight and narrow.”

“And then what? Clarence gets off scot-free? Where’s the justice there?”

“There is no justice for our kind.” Arthur’s tan nostrils flared. “You should know that by now.”

I was stunned silent. I ran my hand through my hair, attempting to process his words.

“We live and die by the will of the prophet. Your life, your home, your wives—he’ll take it all away. Are you prepared for that? Because I’m not. No, I’m going to keep my head down, do my job, and love my family. I suggest you do the same.”

He opened his laptop and returned to his work. “You can see your way out.”

“May the Lord have mercy upon you, brother. And I hope you never have to walk a day in my shoes, to comfort your boy after he’s literally walked through the pits of hell.”

“Enough, Paul!”

“And you’ll know that you allowed it to happen, that
you
welcomed Clarence and his evil into your child’s nightmares. That you turned your back on every single child of this community. That your complacency was your greatest sin.”

“Out!”

“I’m ashamed of you,” I said with tears brewing in my angry eyes. “For the first time in my life, I’m embarrassed to call you my brother.”

With a harsh slam, I left my brother Arthur alone in his office. I sent a quick text message to the men waiting for me at work, knowing that without Arthur’s help, I still needed an ally. I left his home with determination in my step as I made my way across the dirt roads of the compound. Aside from Aspen, there was only
one
other person on this compound whom I could depend on.

My mother.

Chapter 18

Jorjina could see the agitation in Paul’s eyes before he opened his mouth to speak. She knew her boy, the slight tilt of his eyebrows, the lines forming above his normally peaceful brow, the slight flaring of his nostrils. Something had happened and he was seeking her counsel. She couldn’t help but wonder if it had something to do with Clarence.

It always came back to Clarence.

Each night she prayed to Heavenly Father and to her loving, departed husband, Walter. She prayed that Clarence would somehow restructure his priorities—that he would care a little less about himself and a lot more about the people of his community, the people who sought him for guidance, the thousands of souls who believed he was, indeed, the one and only mouthpiece of God.

But she knew better.

When her husband passed, the prophet had died. And he had yet to be replaced. She knew she wouldn’t live to see the day when a true prophet would once again lead their people—someone worthy of the reverence bestowed upon him. She knew it was wrong to wish for the demise of her oldest son—she knew that. However, it didn’t change anything. Clarence was a selfish, manipulative human being, always had been. And she knew that for the greater good, his time as prophet would have to come to an end.

But nothing . . . not his calculating ways as a child nor his devious mind games as the prophet could have prepared her for what Paul revealed to her about Clarence. Not a thing. She listened to her third-born son as tears streamed from his eyes, as his cheeks turned red and he hung his chin toward his chest. Nothing could have prepared her for this. Not only was Clarence manipulative, overbearing, and vindictive—he was a rapist, a criminal, and an absolute abomination.

With one hand covering her mouth, the other squeezed the hand of Paul as he told the story of his son, of what happened to him at the temple. Of the pain he endured, the embarrassment, the shame.

Poor, sweet, innocent Isaac.

She wanted to cry, in fact she wanted to sob, to scream up to the heavens at Walter for allowing this to happen to her grandson, to all of the innocent lives of the compound who’d fallen victim to Clarence and his gentile friends. In her gut, she knew Isaac wasn’t the only one. No, there were others who endured their pain in silence, knowing they had no one to believe them, to support them. They were all alone.

And she remembered a conversation with Aspen months before, when Aspen told her about Clarence and the gentiles entering the temple. She knew something was off—something was wrong, but other than suggesting that Aspen and her children leave the compound, she hadn’t done anything else with that information. In her heart, she never imagined they were doing something like this behind the sacred doors of the temple. She’d entertained the idea of late-night gambling or even that Clarence was involved in some sort of drug scheme, but the rape and abuse of children? Never.

“So,” she said, clearing her throat and inhaling deeply, not allowing the tears to come. “What do we do?”

Paul sighed, hanging his head, his shoulders relaxing. His eyes raised to meet hers. “You believe me?”

Shock ran through her brain. “Of course I do.”

“And you want to help me?”

“Paul, how can you ask me that? Yes, absolutely.”

“I’ve just come from Arthur’s house,” he said, pausing before shaking his head back and forth.

Jorjina raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t surprise me. Arthur’s been conditioned to worry about Arthur. Clarence did that.”

“He doesn’t realize that his kids could be next . . . if it hasn’t happened already.”

Jorjina shook her head, pressing her eyebrows tight. “Even if it did . . .”

Paul recoiled in disgust. “He’d ignore his own child? No, I can’t believe that.”

“I know my sons very well—believe me when I say that Arthur will
never
challenge Clarence. No matter what.”

“Then we have to do this without him.”

“Paul, you need to take your family and go.”