Just Keep Sweet (The Compound Series) (5 page)

No, Aspen, you cannot.

Isolated and confined, Aspen chose to learn the art of knitting from Pennie. Together, they sat on the front steps of their home, working on sweaters for the coming winter, per Flora’s request. Aspen had hoped to volunteer to visit the fabric store to choose the yarn since she’d estimated the store was five blocks from the police station. Perhaps she could sneak away to see Jonathan. With a snide rolling of her deep-set eyes, Flora shook her head and insisted she and she alone would select the yarn.

Knit one, purl two.

Aside from knowing where her children were at every waking hour of each day, knitting was the only thing that brought her solace, and so she hung on every word Pennie had to offer when it came to their lessons. The tiny baby-blue sweater for Jeremiah was coming together nicely. In fact, she was quite proud of her ability to learn so quickly.

Their needles clinked softly as the women sat in silence, watching Jeremiah and Ronan play fetch with Scout. With each toss of his tennis ball, Scout would bounce to the edge of the yard, scoop up the ball, and drop it covered in slobber in front of Jeremiah’s feet. And when that happened, Jeremiah and Ronan would dive for the ball, giggling and squealing as they fought over the soaked ball. The winner would toss the ball, and the game would start all over again. Jeremiah’s squeals of delight pulled at the corners of Aspen’s mouth as she studied the dangling yarn hanging against her knees.

“It’s nice to see your smile,” Pennie said, her words soft. Things had been different between Aspen and her only ally. She wasn’t sure if she could trust Pennie after catching her in spy mode, and their relationship had been strained ever since. Aspen fought the desire to rekindle their friendship. She would knit with Pennie, complete family chores with her, but that was it. Nothing more.

“I’m not sure what to say to that.” She shrugged, focusing on her yarn, squinting beneath the afternoon sun.

“It’s nice, that’s all. I know you’re unhappy about Ruthie.”

“I don’t care to discuss it.”

“Aspen, please . . . what can I do? How can I convince you to let me back in?”

Aspen paused, lowering her knitting needles to rest against her tense thighs. “You were never in to begin with.”

Pennie gasped and her lower lip quivered. Aspen glanced in her direction, just in time to see Pennie scoop her knitting needles, drop them in her canvas bag, and run inside their home. She pressed her eyes tight, knowing that was a lie. Harsh words meant to harm.

What have I become?

She sighed, prepared to rustle up the boys and retreat into the home, convinced it would be necessary to mend fences with the only sister wife who attempted to be friendly. The trouble was, she could no longer trust that warmth, that kindness Pennie exuded. For all Aspen knew, she was simply gathering information for the prophet.

“Jeremiah,” she called, rising to her feet. And then she saw her . . . Holly Black, approaching the front gate. She hadn’t spoken to Holly in months, not since the prophet demanded his wife leave the temple after causing a scene. Aspen and Holly had shared a brief conversation regarding her hesitancy to allow Ruthie to marry so young. She’d felt a kinship with the self-proclaimed black sheep of Clarence’s household, but since that day they’d shared nothing more than half smiles across the pews of the temple.

Aspen rose to her feet, glancing back at the boys rolling in the grass, tugging the ball away from Scout. Holly stood before the gate, stray hair falling in front of her eyes. She pushed the strands away and greeted Aspen with a smile.

“Hello, Aspen.”

“It’s nice to see you,” Aspen said, opening the gate and glancing around to see if they were being watched. All was calm and quiet, but that meant nothing.

You can’t trust anyone. Not even Holly.

“You look tired, Holly. Are you all right?”

Holly pushed the stray hairs off her forehead once again, but they refused to stay put. Her cheeks turned a warm shade of rose.

“Yes, I’m sorry for my appearance. You must think I’m downright slovenly.”

“No, of course not, I—”

“I’ve been in the laundry all day . . . and it’s hot down there, with over a dozen washers going at once.” She shook her head and cleared her throat. “Anyway, I don’t mean to complain.”

“It’s fine.” Aspen paused, raising both eyebrows. “Is there something I can help you with? Are you here to see Flora?”

It was common for Janine, the first wife of Clarence, to send the younger wives to relay messages to the first wives of other priesthood members. Many of the first wives sent the rest of the wives on errands such as this—just to assert their power, just to let the other wives know who was
really
in charge.

“No, um . . .” She dug a hand into her deep pocket. “My husband sent me.”

The air in Aspen’s lungs deflated.

Clarence sent her . . . stay calm, Aspen. Whatever you do, stay calm.

Aspen knew how to appear impervious. She kept her shoulders back, her forehead high. “Oh?”

“I know. I was just as surprised as you are. He barely speaks to me these days.” She laughed nervously then paused, bit her lip, and tilted her forehead down, looking at Aspen with conflicted eyes. Aspen said nothing in response, although she knew there had to be a reason he sent Holly, rather than someone in his good graces. There was always a
reason
when it came to Clarence Black. Always.

Holly cleared her throat and pulled a cell phone from her pocket. “Anyway, he asked me to give this to you.”

My phone!

Holly placed it in Aspen’s open palm. Aspen, again, coached herself not to show any evidence of excitement, even though pure elation swept through every inch of her tiny body.

Holly shrugged. “He said you left it at the temple.”

Aspen cleared her throat and nodded. “Yes, indeed, I did . . . at services, I believe. It must have fallen from my pocket. Silly me.”

Relief crossed Holly’s pale face. “Oh, well, that’s good . . . that he found it.”

“It is. Please give him my thanks.”

And tell him he’ll burn for all eternity.

“Of course.” She closed her eyes tight, shaking her head briskly. “I almost forgot. He sent this for you, as well.”

From her other pocket, Holly retrieved a small envelope and handed it to Aspen. Aspen’s heart pounded beneath her thick cotton dress, and suddenly the heat of the sun scorched her neck, the Arizona air dried the back of her throat. A note from Clarence . . . her instincts took over, insisting she glance back at the boys, even though she could hear their blithe giggles and squeals. She thanked Holly, pressing her hand against the gate as an unspoken message for her visitor to take her leave.

Leave me be so I can read. I will not do it in front of you, no matter how long you might stand in my presence.

Holly sighed as she glanced at Aspen’s body language. “Well, I should be going.”

“Yes, thank you for dropping by and returning my phone. I’d better take it inside and charge it.”

“Oh, it’s fully charged.”

Aspen tipped her head to the side, surprised. She’d left her phone at the temple more than a month prior.

Stupid woman, he’s used it. He’s checked your search history, your phone logs . . . everything.

Keeping her composure, she offered a polite smile. “Well, that was thoughtful of the prophet.”

“Thoughtful?” Holly asked with a sardonic laugh. “You and I both know better than that.”

Aspen swallowed hard, narrowing her eyes at her visitor, but she refused to respond. She ignored Holly’s words, despite her building desire for solidarity with one single person on the compound. How she longed to stop being an island within herself. She stared at Holly for a brief moment, then closed the gate and turned away. She caught a glimpse of Holly shaking her head in the background.

I don’t know if I can trust you, Holly. Forgive me.

Aspen placed the phone and envelope into her pocket with trembling fingers. Within seconds, she’d scooped up both boys, ushering them inside. Once they were happily wrestling in the common area under the watchful eye of her sister wife Sarah, Aspen quickened her steps to reach the sanctuary of her bedroom.

When she opened the door, however, she found Ruthie slumped over her desk and digging through her belongings. Her personal, private things. So intent on her deviant behavior, her eldest daughter didn’t even notice her presence. Aspen cleared her throat and Ruthie jumped, placing a hand over her heart.

“You scared me, Mama.”

“What on earth are you doing?” Aspen demanded, crossing the room to leave only inches between herself and her daughter.

“Um . . .” Ruthie looked away, her long brunette braid draped over her shoulder. “Father asked me to find something.”

“To find what?” Aspen crossed her arms.

“He, um . . . he didn’t say . . . exactly. Just . . . something.”

“Ruth Margaret,” she snapped, grabbing her daughter’s left wrist. “How dare you snoop through my belongings? I should whoop you right here and now.”

“I’m sorry, Mama, I—please don’t tell Papa. Please don’t tell him I was here.”

“How stupid do you think I am?” Aspen sneered, peering down at her daughter, who avoided her prying stare. “Look . . . at . . . me.”

“I don’t, I swear it.”

“Who really sent you, Ruthie? You’d better tell me now, because if your father tells me he knows nothing of this, I will spank you so hard your head will spin.”

“Fine!” Ruthie held up one hand, pressing her eyes tight. “It was the prophet.”

“Excuse me?” Aspen’s stomach lurched and her throat burned. “When did he ask you to do this? When were you
alone
with him? When, Ruthie, when?”

“We were never alone, Mama, I swear it.”

“Were you in his house?” The idea of him putting his hands on her baby was more than Aspen could handle. Visions of that horrific bed in the temple spun threw her brain. Feeling lightheaded, she steadied herself with the corner of her dresser. “Ruthie, I want answers, and I want them this instant.”

“After temple on Sunday . . . I promise, Mama. You took Jeremiah to the bathroom, and he pulled me aside to ask a favor. He gave me a cookie and we spoke for just a few minutes.”

“A cookie?”

“Yes, the butter ones that I love so much. Remember, I’d already taken two . . . and you said that was enough . . . to leave more for the other children. Well, he thought I’d like another.”

“So, you betrayed me for what? For him? For a silly cookie?”

The very daughter I’m trying to save is spying on me? Betrayal of the highest order. And for what? To please Clarence? To have an extra dessert she knew I wouldn’t allow?

“No, it’s not like that, Mama. I swear. He’s planning a gift, a tribute to you.”

“A tribute?”

Lies. Nothing but lies and manipulation . . . and she’s too young, too wrapped around his little finger to understand.

“Yes. He said if I could find a journal . . . a diary, something where you shared your thoughts, that he could properly know his future mother-in-law better.”

“And you believe that?” she scoffed, her hands crossed over her chest.

“Of course. He’s the prophet, Mama.”

“You listen to me. There is no journal, no diary. But even if there was, your loyalty should remain to your family, not to the prophet.”

“But that’s not true,” Ruthie said, placing her hands on her hips. “You’ve always taught me that the prophet comes first. Prophet, then parents, then siblings. You’ve said that hundreds of times, Mama. Maybe thousands!”

It was true. Children were taught to pledge their absolute loyalty to Clarence Black . . . their love, their devotion. And as a devoted member of the FLDS, Aspen made sure her children especially followed the expectations of his holy word.

And now it was backfiring in a big way.

“You’re right,” Aspen muttered, breaking their eye contact. Her voice caught in her throat, and she cursed herself for allowing her vulnerability to show.

“But this?” she continued. “Spying on your own mother? This is too much.
Too
much.”

Ruthie rolled her eyes and a deep rumble of anger formed in Aspen’s gut.

“Did you just roll your eyes?”

“I was just doing what I was told!” Ruthie snapped at her mother, stomping her foot. “You’re just jealous.”

Aspen’s lower lip dropped open. “What did you just say to me?”

“He picked me! He never picked you . . . and you’re jealous. Marrying the prophet is the highest honor
any
girl can have, and you never had it. That’s why you can’t be happy for me!”

Aspen grabbed Ruthie by the ear, and the girl cried out in pain.

“Ow, Mama, you’re hurting me!”

Aspen pulled her by the sensitive flesh of her ear, dragging her to her bedroom. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, you clueless little girl.”

Once they’d reached the girl’s bedroom, Aspen released Ruthie, who clutched both hands to her scarlet skin. “You’ve pushed me too far, Ruthie. Stay here until I give you permission to leave. Do you understand?”

With fresh tears streaming down her cheeks, Ruthie threw herself on her bed, clutching her baby-pink comforter, and screaming into her pillow.

“Answer me,” Aspen snapped.

Ruthie raised her face from the pillow and nodded before pressing it back into the cotton fabric. Infuriated, Aspen slammed the door and stalked back to her bedroom. In haste, she locked the door and slid to the floor, placing her hand over her mouth, willing the tears to stay inside her burning eyes, still in shock over her daughter’s words. How could Ruthie possibly think Aspen was jealous of her situation?

Because she’s eleven years old, that’s why.

Because she doesn’t know anything else.

And because you’ve taught her well . . . too well.

The paper inside her pocket crinkled, and she remembered the note from the prophet. Quickly, she removed the envelope from her pocket, ripping it open. Her tears blurred her vision, but she could recognize the distinct penmanship of the prophet. The exact penmanship in the ledger she’d found in his office.