Mother Before Wife (The Compound #2) (17 page)

“Thank you,” Paul said.

He reached out to shake Clarence’s hand, but the Prophet didn’t break eye contact with me. He stared at me while Paul thanked him repeatedly. Then we stood in silence and both men stared in my direction.

“Aspen, we owe the Prophet a thank-you.”

“Where was he?” I demanded, staring at the Prophet and refusing to apologize. I didn’t care if I embarrassed Paul. The Prophet took my boy!

“I found him asleep on my deck. He was curled up underneath the table.”

My son would never do that. You liar!

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Paul said with an exhausted laugh, smoothing down Jeremiah’s blond wisps. “What are we going to do with you, son?”

I glared at Paul, shocked that he would believe such nonsense. I wanted to shake him, to scream in his face,
Wake up! Wake up, you stupid man! Your brother stole our baby to teach me a lesson!

But I didn’t. I remained silent.

“We should get him home,” Paul said. “But please, Clarence. Please come by for dinner tomorrow night so we can thank you properly.”

“That sounds nice,” he said smugly. “I’ll be there.”

Don’t let that monster into our home!

Clarence’s gaze remained fixed on me. “Until then, keep your eye on that little tike. Would hate to see him wander away again. It pains me when any member of my community is lost.”

Phony! False prophet! Kidnapper!

A string of invectives flew through my brain as I carried my boy to the vehicle and held him in my arms. Paul shook his brother’s hand and climbed into the cab of the truck.

When Clarence knocked on the window, Paul rolled it down.

“Drive safely now. I’ll pray that you all have a peaceful and calm night.”

No, you won’t! You want me wide awake, staring at the ceiling, terrified to cross you again.

We drove home. Paul rejoiced at the return of his precious boy, planning a celebration meal to thank his brother, and asked me again and again why I was silent.

“I think you’re still in shock.” He placed his arm around my waist as we walked into the house. Jeremiah was fast asleep, slumped over my shoulder. “Let’s get you both to bed.”

“He’s staying in my bed tonight,” I muttered, pulling my boy closer.

“Yes,” Paul said. “Of course.”

I left Paul to answer the questions of the sister wives and children. The only children I cared about were my own.

When I reached the girls’ room, and after we’d hugged in silence for several minutes while Jeremiah slept, I simply said, “Jeremiah is sleeping in my bed tonight. Would you like to join us?”

“Really, Mama?” Susan asked, jumping up and down. Beatrice grabbed my arm and cried. Ruthie was the only one who hesitated.

“Will we all fit?”

I shrugged. “We’ll make it work. You’re old enough to decide for yourself, but I’d like you there.”

She nodded and followed me to my bedroom.

We climbed into bed, huddled together beneath the warmth of my quilt. I clutched my children, knowing I’d put them all in danger by challenging a cruel and uncaring Prophet. I spent the better portion of the night scolding myself for putting them at risk, but another voice overpowered my doubts and regrets.

It was that voice that spoke the truth.

This was the only way I could protect them, and I couldn’t stop now. I had to harness my anger, my protective nature, and my intellect to bring the Prophet down.

I
had
to. Not only for my children, but for everyone on that compound, because he was betraying us all.

You won’t stop me, Clarence Black. No, you will not.

“Gentiles are incapable of compassion and cannot be trusted. They only care about themselves.”

—The Prophet, Clarence Black

Aspen

I wasn’t a violent person. Or at least, I didn’t think I was until all of this began, until my life spun out of control. Now, it seemed that I wanted to physically harm people on a regular basis, and it was making me question who I was.

At that very moment, it was my husband whose face I wanted to pummel. Instead, I inhaled deeply, closed my eyes, and lifted one finger into the air.

“Stop right there. I’m not having this discussion with you.”

“Aspen, she’s upset.”

“I. Do. Not. Care.”

“You were out of line.”

“No.” I slammed my fist against the wall, horrified that he would take Flora’s side in all of this after she dared tell anyone to “keep sweet” while my baby was missing. “
She
was out of line and I will
not
apologize. Shame on you for even entertaining this.”

He hung his head, shaking it slowly as he stared at the floor. “I have to strive for harmony at all times. You know that.”

Seething, I turned away from him and stared at the wall. “Again, I don’t care.”

Exasperation consumed Paul. He closed his eyes tightly, rubbing at the middle of his knotted forehead.

“I can’t win with you, Aspen. No matter what I do, it’s wrong. No matter what I say, roadblocks are put in my way. It’s infuriating.”

I rolled my eyes and turned to face him once again. “Then perhaps you need to reevaluate your actions, your behavior, and what you choose to discuss with your wives.” I was no longer holding back. “And perhaps you should value your missing child more than your first wife’s hurt feelings.”

He shook his head violently as he jabbed a finger at me. “That’s not fair. You know I was sick to death with worry, just like you.”

“Then why are you here? Why didn’t you tell her to keep her mouth shut? That your son was missing and no one should have to keep sweet in a time like that? Hmm?”

I glared at him but Paul was quiet, puckering his lips as his nostrils flared. He knew I was right, and so rather than admit it, he moved right along to another topic. One that made my skin crawl.

“My brother will be here for dinner in three hours. You should help the other wives in the kitchen.”

“They have it under control.”

“This is for
your
son. You should at least be of help.”

“
Our
son, Paul. Our son.”

Again, he ignored me. He, along with most men in our faith, were not raised to admit when their wives were right during an argument. In some cases, such as with Lehi Cluff, it was impossible for a wife to be right at all. In fact, in Lehi’s home, arguing wives were slapped across the face, even if their opinions were valid or correct.

I was lucky that Paul didn’t act in such a way. At times, he raised his voice, but he never struck me. Lehi would have beaten me bloody by now.

“I invited my mother as well,” he said. “We haven’t seen her for a while, and I know how much you like her.”

“Jorjina?” I asked, brightening.

A small glimmer of pleasure sparked within me at the thought of Jorjina Black visiting us once again. I could tell her that I’d spoken with Brinley, that she was married and content with her decision to leave the compound. I could look forward to a conversation that didn’t center around the Prophet and his glory.

“Yes. Clarence was resistant at first, but he agreed to bring her. Could you at least make her a chocolate cake? It’s her favorite.”

“Sarah’s the baker.”

“I think she’d be touched if you made it. She really likes you.”

His voice was laced with surprise, and I knew why. He didn’t understand my bond with his mother, and that was just fine by me. My cache of secrets was growing by the day, and bonding with his mother over a former sister wife was not only benign, but it was also none of his concern.

“Fine,” I said flatly. “But I’m asking Sarah for her assistance.”

Paul sighed. “Do what you must. How’s Jer-Bear?”

I smiled slightly when he used the nickname Jeremiah’s sisters had given him months ago. I knew Paul loved our son, but I questioned his loyalty. If he knew what I’d been up to with Detective Cooke, Paul would surely turn me in to his brother immediately.

Detective Cooke!

I had to call him, to alert him that Jeremiah had been “found.” But to do that, I needed Paul to leave my room.

“Jeremiah? He’s fine, seems to have forgotten all about it. He’s stacking blocks with B.”

“Why doesn’t he play with Ronan?” His brow creased. “Aspen, don’t punish JoAnna. It was a mistake. It could’ve happened to anyone.”

I couldn’t tell Paul that while I’d stared at the ceiling the night before, willing myself to sleep, I’d wondered if JoAnna had cooperated with the Prophet in taking my son.

Did he coerce her? Threaten her? Promise her something? After all, JoAnna had never been secretive about her desire to be married to the Prophet, and to me, that meant she’d do just about anything to please him. And even though she’d claimed that Jeremiah was taken during a brief diaper change, I wasn’t convinced.

“I’m not punishing anyone. Beatrice wanted time with her brother, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. This was traumatic for the girls too.”

“Of course. You’re right.”

Paul attempted to take my hand, but I kept both of them at my sides.

Please go! I need to call Jonathan.

“You know, yesterday, when you cried in my arms, that was the first time you’ve touched me in months.”

“And?” I said tersely.

His mouth fell open. Apparently Paul wasn’t expecting my unwelcoming reaction.

“I’ve missed you, missed us. Yesterday, as horrendous as it was, I felt like we were a team, like we could get through anything together, just you and me.”

“But it isn’t just you and me. I share you with thirteen other women.”

Paul closed his eyes briefly as he bit his bottom lip. “I know. Sometimes I wish that wasn’t the case.” When he opened his eyes, they were glistening and kind.

The sight of his vulnerability tore me up inside because I didn’t feel the same and I knew I never would. Plural marriage was all I knew. Sharing him was all I was raised to do. And so, because I couldn’t agree with his sentiment or mirror his vulnerability, I simply took his hand.

“We are a team.” I nodded, allowing my expression to soften.

I wanted to comfort Paul, knowing that he’d exposed his true emotions yet again. This poor man had repeatedly ripped his heart from his chest and offered it to me, seeking approval, togetherness, and acceptance. And repeatedly, I’d placed that heart back in his chest, begging him to keep it there where it would be safe.

“I have to get some work done,” he said, “but I’ll be here before our guests arrive.”

“All right.”

As soon as the door closed behind him, I hurried to retrieve my phone from my purse. I had three unread text messages and two voice mails, all from Jonathan.

My heart sank at the knowledge that I’d forgotten to update him the night before. I’d been completely spent, both mentally and physically, and it had slipped my mind as I clutched my children in my arms.

He answered on the first ring. “Aspen? Hello? Is that you?”

There was an urgency in his voice, and guilt filled my heart for making him worry like this.

“Yes, it’s me. Jeremiah’s okay.”

“He is? Oh, thank God. Our squads were out for hours last night, but came up with nothing. Where was he?”

I paused. “The Prophet had him.”

“What?” he yelled into the phone. “What do you mean the Prophet
had
him?”

I was grateful for Jonathan’s indignation. Finally, there was someone who understood my emotions in this horrible scenario. He didn’t expect me to keep sweet or worry about other people’s hurt feelings. His focus and mine were both on my little boy.

“He claims that Jeremiah was found sleeping on his deck.”

“That piece of shit,” he muttered. “We both know that’s complete bullshit.”

I ignored his profanity as my gratitude far outweighed my desire for proper language. If I was honest with myself, there were several moments the night before that I wanted to scream profanity at the top of my lungs. It was tempting but I’d resisted, although it seemed to promise some sort of release, as if the vulgarity of the words would relieve a portion of the despair that claimed my heart and mind.

“I agree, but everyone else is under his spell. They’re worshipping him for his good deeds. My husband invited him to dinner to thank him, and I’m sick to my stomach thinking of having this monster at my dinner table.”

“This is so fucked up.”

I gasped. That was a word I couldn’t tolerate.

“Detective, please—”

“Sorry, but it is. I know you’ve been through hell—I mean, you’ve been through so much in the last twenty-four hours, but I need you to practice.”

The lock! I’d forgotten all about it.

“I will. I promise. I just have to get through this dinner first.”

“Of course.”

“Listen.” I cleared my throat, wishing I could clear my guilt right along with it. “I’m so sorry I didn’t inform you last night that we had Jeremiah back. I was—”

“Don’t worry about that. I didn’t sleep at all, and I’ve never even met him. I can’t even imagine how you must’ve felt.”

“Thank you for understanding.”

“No need to thank me. Just stay in touch, all right? Especially when you’re ready to go back inside.”

My stomach lurched at the thought of going back into the temple, but that was exactly what I had to do.

“I will. Thank you, Detective.”

“Please ditch the formalities, okay? Call me Jonathan. And seriously, don’t hesitate to call if you need anything, day or night.”

I smiled. “All right. Thank you so much . . . Jonathan.”

I hung up the phone, grateful for his empathy. As I tucked it inside my purse, I realized that Jonathan Cooke was slowly becoming the person I trusted most in the world.

The blasphemous thought sent a chill down my spine. Trusting a Gentile more than my own people? My own husband and sister wives? That was unheard of, but then again, my situation was far from normal, and I considered myself lucky to have anyone in my corner.

In that case, I wasn’t about to question our differences. I would only treasure the solidarity that Jonathan provided during that phone call, the genuine concern in his voice, and the compassion he continued to show me during the most confusing time of my life.

• • •

“This is simply delicious, Aspen.”

Jorjina scraped the last bit of chocolate frosting from her plate, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“I couldn’t have done it without Sarah, of course.” I offered my sister wife a grateful smile, and her face brightened.

“Isn’t this marvelous, Clarence?”

The Prophet had barely touched his dessert. Normally, I’d be concerned, knowing how much Clarence Black enjoyed his sweets, but not anymore. In fact, the new Aspen wanted nothing more than for the Prophet to choke on his piece of cake . . . right in front of me, so I could watch with satisfaction.

Keep sweet. Keep sweet. Keep sweet.

“Yes, quite delicious,” he answered, stuffing a small piece into his mouth before washing it down with his glass of milk. A white mustache remained on his face.

Jorjina laughed before retrieving the napkin from her lap and wiping her son’s face as if he were still a child. He rejected her grooming tactic, pushing her hand away. It seemed no one could embarrass our Prophet like his very own mother.

“Mother, please! I’m the Prophet; I can wipe my own mouth!” He pushed his chair away from the table and stormed from the room.

Jorjina waved him away before mischievously grabbing his plate and setting it in front of herself. The rest of the family sat in uncomfortable silence as she poked her fork into Clarence’s enormous slice of cake, licking her lips in satisfaction after each bite.

I suppressed a laugh that was brewing, pressing my lips together in a straight line. Flora glared at me from across the table, but rather than look away from her disapproving eyes, I stared right back.

You don’t scare me, Flora.

After everyone finished dessert, I went to Ruthie’s bedroom to check on her and her sisters. When I saw the Prophet sitting on her bed, my blood boiled. He was seated at the foot of her bed, and she was kneeling on the floor with her hands on his knees, gazing up at him as if he was, well . . . as if he was the Prophet.

After all that had happened recently, all that I had learned, I no longer revered things I’d once held dear. As a young girl, I would have gladly sat at the feet of Clarence Black, if he was willing to give me just a moment of attention. But now, the sight of my daughter in this exact situation made me sick to my stomach.