Keep Sweet Read online

  Keep Sweet

  Keep Sweet

  Michele Dominguez Greene

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events,

  real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places,

  and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance

  to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  SIMON PULSE

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  First Simon Pulse hardcover edition March 2010

  Copyright © 2010 by Michele Dominguez Greene

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction

  in whole or in part in any form.

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  Designed by Mike Rosamilia

  The text of this book was set in Berling.

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Greene, Michele, 1962–

  Keep sweet / by Michele Dominguez Greene. — 1st Simon Pulse hardcover ed.

  p. cm.

  Summary: Alva, not quite fifteen, is content with the strict rules

  that define her life in Pineridge, the walled community where she lives

  with her father, his seven wives, and her twenty-nine siblings until

  she is caught giving her long-time crush an innocent first kiss

  and forced to marry a violent, fifty-year-old man.

  ISBN 978-1-4169-8681-2 (hardcover)

  eISBN-13: 978-1-439-15746-6

  [1. Coming of age—Fiction. 2. Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ

  of Latter Day Saints—Fiction. 3. Mormons—Fiction. 4. Polygamy—Fiction.]

  I. Title.

  PZ7.G84243Ke 2010

  [Fic]—dc22

  2009041827

  For my grandmother,

  Tennessee Greene

  ProLOGue

  “Alva Jane, meet me behind the barn before dark,

  I have something important to tell you.… ”

  I CLOSED MY EYES AT THE MEMORY OF JOSEPH JOHN’S face, flushed with excitement as he whispered those words to me—the words that changed my life forever. Beside the barn washed white by the sun, Joseph John had taken my hand and said the words I had been waiting to hear. His father had agreed to our marriage; he planned to speak to my father and the prophet that very evening.

  I knew I shouldn’t do it, that it was wrong, but I felt a rush of such excitement and joy that I couldn’t help it: I kissed him quickly, my lips brushing lightly over his, feeling their softness and searching as he leaned in to me. And then came Sister Cora’s voice and a rough hand on my collar. I lost my balance and fell headlong into the nightmare I am living now.

  One kiss brought me here, locked in this pitch-black root cellar beneath the barn. I shivered; the evening temperature always drops in the desert. I heard the scurrying of rats overhead and moved away from the corner where I had been crouching. I was unable to lean or lie down, my legs felt stiff, my knees raw. I could feel the welts on my legs and back oozing blood. The sacred undergarments beneath my cotton dress stuck to the open wounds; each movement brought a stinging pain.

  I closed my eyes to block out the vision of Joseph John being forced into Tom Pruitt’s truck, the men pinning his arms behind him. And then my own father, Eldon Ray, in the back stall of the barn, wielding his belt, swinging it overhead and bringing it down upon my back.… My mother holding my wrists in a strong grip, looking at me with eyes shining bright and metallic. Was she suffering with me … or was she satisfied? Whatever she felt, she did nothing to stop my pain, even when I cried out to her.

  Somewhere in the midnight silence, I heard the wild, frenzied cries of the coyotes as they closed in on their prey. The insane yipping and howling echoed off the red rocks and desolate plains of the Utah desert. My heart beat faster and the blood rushed to my head. I knew how the prey felt in that terrible moment: trapped, helpless. I lay on my stomach, pressing my face against the cool dirt floor, letting exhaustion take over. I felt something scurry over my leg but I did not bother to shake it off. Perhaps I will sleep and never wake up; perhaps God will deliver me from the life that lies before me … or restore me to the life I knew just a few months earlier.…

  CHaPTeR ONe

  SISTER EMILY RANG A LARGE COWBELL, CALLING THE children of the Pineridge compound to class in the Zion Academy. From the kitchen window I could see the others running to the schoolhouse in the early morning heat, the air already crisp and dry. I untied my apron, shaking off the flour that covered it, and felt my eyelashes, heavy from the flecks of sugar caught in the tips. I’d risen before dawn, as usual, to help my mother make the loaves of bread for the family.

  Together we make fourteen loaves each day—fourteen loaves of bread for the twenty-nine children and seven wives of my father, Eldon Ray Merrill, the sword and shield of the prophet. The muscles in my arms felt sore but they were getting stronger each day with the heavy kneading and shaping of the dough, which had been slow to rise that morning. I needed to hurry or I would be late to school.

  As I ran to join the other girls, Lee Beth Pruitt called out to me. “Alva Jane, do you have the answers to the scripture quiz from last week?”

  Lee Beth couldn’t remember scripture to save her life and was always asking me for the answers to avoid a knuckle rap from Sister Emily’s ever-ready ruler. I knew sharing the answers was cheating but I felt sorry for Lee Beth, so tall and awkward in her ill-fitting dresses handed down from her seven older sisters. By the time the shoes got to Lee Beth they looked about ready for the scrap heap. It didn’t help things that besides being so gawky, she had a lazy eye that wandered off in its own direction whenever it pleased. The Lord hands out trials to all of us, and Lee Beth certainly had her share of them. I reached into my notebook and took out the homework, passing it to Lee Beth under the disapproving fish eye of Wendy Callers.

  “One day you’re going to get in trouble for that, Alva. Even if Sister Emily doesn’t know you gave her the answers, the Lord will. And how will Lee Beth raise up her children right without memorizing scripture?” Wendy’s voice was high and nasal and as usual, she was sticking her nose into everyone else’s business.

  I didn’t respond, turning instead to catch the eye of my father, Eldon Ray, who was working to repair a rain gutter on the side of our house. He waved, a smile lighting up his handsome face.

  “Have a good day, Gumdrop!” he called out, using my pet name.

  I knew I was his favorite daughter, the most like my mother, who was his favorite wife. When I was younger, he would always bring me back a special sweet treat when he traveled into the city. It was usually a bag of spiced gumdrops. Even now that was I was almost grown, he still brought me something from time to time. Watching him as I walked by, I felt a rush of pride. My father was tall and broad shouldered, still fit at fifty-five. He hadn’t gone fat around the middle or lost his thick wavy hair like so many of the other men in Pineridge. A
nd he truly was a pillar of the community, sitting on the Priesthood Council and helping the prophet enforce the codes, rules, and requirements.

  Here in Pineridge, people live right and proper, according to the scriptures of the Fundamentalist Latter Day Saints. We are God’s chosen people, the upholders of the true faith. Outside our compound, the world is a dangerous place, but inside, everyone is safe and secure under the absolute power and wisdom of the prophet, Uncle Kenton Barton.

  Two years earlier, Uncle Kenton had a revelation that my father was to sell his successful irrigation business to one of Uncle Kenton’s brothers in Salt Lake, and although Daddy obeyed, I knew it was hard on him to become an employee in the company his own father had started. There wasn’t as much money now as there had been before and Daddy had to travel quite a bit to oversee the building of the new FLDS community in Arizona, but those were sacrifices my father was glad to make to fulfill the prophet’s revelations. He was an example of devotion and service and it made our whole family proud.

  I waved back to Daddy and walked with the other girls past the large, lodge-style houses of the other prominent families in the community: the Bartons, the Jaynes, the Raynards. All of our houses were located close to the center of town and the main temple, whereas the lesser families lived closer to the business district, where we had all kinds of stores and our own police and fire departments. As we approached the Zion Academy I looked up to see the gold statue of the angel Moroni high atop the main temple and I felt the comfort of knowing that God’s eye was upon our community.

  Stepping into the schoolhouse, I followed Lee Beth into the girls’ classroom and searched for a seat out of the line of sight of the teacher. Sister Emily, my father’s second wife, has been teaching the classes since I was a little girl, and she is known for her short temper and free hand with punishment. Sister Emily has only four children and has never been one of my father’s favorites. Daddy only married her to gain influence with her powerful family—at least that’s what my mother says. She’s told me the story many times.

  At twenty-three my father had been a new arrival to the Brotherhood, fresh from college, eager to prove himself to the then prophet, Owen Barton, and to the Lord. He had suffered the loss of his parents, who were mainstream Mormons, in a terrible car crash and had inherited valuable real estate in Salt Lake, which he promptly signed over to the Brotherhood. The irrigation company that his father had built was thriving; he was definitely an asset to be valued. He took Uncle Owen’s pretty, big-boned fifteen-year-old daughter, Cora, as a wife. He knew that by also marrying skinny, cross-eyed Emily, Cora’s younger sister, he would curry even more favor with the prophet and be on track to the celestial kingdom when he died. After Daddy’s marriage to the sisters, Uncle Owen took him under his wing. My father’s fortunes had risen quickly and now he sat on the Priesthood Council deciding the fate of the community. He became the trusted confidant of Uncle Kenton, who had inherited the divine priesthood head from his father.

  My mother, Maureen, is Daddy’s fourth wife and has been his favorite since he brought her home as a fourteen-year-old bride. People say that I look very much like her, which is quite flattering since she is widely considered a beauty. We have the same wide smile and freckles, the same eyes as green as a leaf on a tree. Her hair is true red while mine is what they call strawberry blond. And although we wear ankle-length, long-sleeve dresses to cover our bodies in modesty, my mother has a womanly shape, made for childbearing. I hope one day to inherit that from her, since right now I am all arms and legs and gangly as a boy, even though I am nearly fifteen.

  My mother makes pleasing her husband and keeping the covenants the foundation of her life, and with twelve children, she has done her best to honor the prophet’s expectation that a woman give birth to a baby every year after marriage. As a result, even as a fourth wife she has the privilege of living with her children in the main house with Sister Cora and her family.

  Our dining room is not big enough to hold the entire family of seven wives and all their children, so at Sunday dinner, we eat in shifts. Daddy had intended to keep adding on to the house but after he sold the irrigation business, there was never enough money to follow through—which is just fine with me since the house is crowded enough already. Sister Emily and her nine-year-old son, Thomas, live in two rooms on the first floor, next to the storage space. There are no windows but at least they are part of the main house, not like the trailers out back where the four other wives live with their children.

  My siblings and I share a suite of three rooms upstairs with our mother. The boys have their own sleeping quarters, of course. My four younger sisters all share a room, which leaves Olive, Laura Jean, and me to share the large front room with our mother. As the first wife, Sister Cora has four rooms upstairs even though she doesn’t need them, with only three of her six children still living at home.

  I once complained to Mama that it’s unfair that Sister Cora should have a private bedroom to share with Daddy, as well as her own sewing room, when Mama has contributed more children to what will be his heavenly kingdom. But Mama told me that it is not the number of rooms in the house that counts, it is the desire in our father’s heart, and of that, Mama has the lion’s share.

  Mama’s favor with Daddy sometimes makes the other wives resentful and jealous, especially Sister Cora, who is now forty-five and no longer able to be a vessel worn out in childbirth, as scripture requires. At thirty-two my mother has another decade of fertility ahead of her, so no wonder Sister Cora is bothered. Unfortunately, her ill temper is directed at me and all of my siblings as well.

  Settling into my seat at the back of the schoolroom, I felt a flush of excitement. Standing beside Sister Emily, helping her to organize the day’s lessons, was the reason I checked my hair in the mirror before school and made sure I wore my prettiest school dress: Joseph John Hilliard. Long and lean with a relaxed, easy smile, Joseph John stood a good three inches taller than the other boys his age. Now he stood out, the only boy among so many girls, but everyone knew why he was there. He had permission from my father and Uncle Kenton to give me math lessons since I have a talent with numbers. Joseph John outgrew the classes at the Zion Academy long ago and had attended public school since he was twelve. Sister Emily had nothing more to teach him since she herself was pulled out of school at thirteen to prepare for marriage, as many of my friends have been. Everyone knew that Joseph John would go on to college and become an engineer. Now I caught his eye and smiled at the way he beamed when he saw me.

  Although he attended public school, Joseph John still came to class early each day to help the younger children with their numbers and letters. And once a week he went to public school for a half day, an arrangement his father had agreed upon with the prophet, so that Joseph John could do his fair share of work in the community. On that day he was allowed to sit in the back of the schoolroom with me, where Sister Emily could see and hear our lessons.

  Because of my skill with figures, my father had gotten me a job working part-time after school in the Pineridge general store and I was learning how to calculate the accounts. I also was allowed to accompany Sister Cora into town to buy cloth for sewing and other staple items. There was even talk that Daddy might allow me to attend public high school and a year of community college to learn proper accounting skills that I could put to use for the community. That would be exciting, but I would be uneasy on the outside where the prophet says Satan the destroyer is always waiting to claim us.

  With my mathematics book open and Joseph John settling in beside me I felt giddy at his proximity. Sitting so close, I could smell the fresh, sweet alfalfa on his clothes. His hair was a rich brown with streaks of gold from working in the sun of the rock quarry. His denim shirt had the soft, worn feel of work and many washings as it brushed up against my wrist. With our heads leaned together over the book I whispered, “Were you feeding the horses before school?”

  Joseph John tried to suppress a grin. “Why?
Do I smell like one?”

  I kicked his foot under the table. “Not the horses, the alfalfa. It’s nice,” I said, careful to keep my eyes glued to my textbook but still, I saw Joseph John blush slightly.

  Sister Emily passed by and fixed us with her stern, cross-eyed gaze. After she left, Joseph John said, “You know, I had that dream again. About us being married. I know it’s a revelation. So, it’s going to be this month.”

  I felt my heart beat faster but kept my voice steady. “What is?” I asked.

  Joseph John dropped his voice so it was barely audible. “That I talk to my father, about you and me. Getting married. I’m eighteen now, and soon it will be your time.”

  I stared hard at the math figures, willing myself to stay calm, but I felt as if my heart would fly to the sun and come raining down in a million shining, happy pieces. We had whispered about it since we were children and now it was about to happen. I was going to marry Joseph John Hilliard, to be his legal wife and the envy of all the girls in Pineridge! It’s a dream that I had carried inside for so long. Not just to marry the boy I love and who loves me but to be a first wife, a legal wife.

  Plural marriage is one of the foundations of life in the Brotherhood of the Lord; it was canonized forever in Section 132 of the Doctrines and Covenants, one of the most important books of Mormon scripture. Multiple wives are required for a godly man to get into heaven, and the prophet regularly performs spiritual marriages, deciding who should be wed to whom, placing girls to be exalted in plural marriage based on a revelation from God. Most families wait to marry their daughters until the girl begins menstruation, as childbearing is expected within the first year of matrimony. Raising up a righteous seed unto the Lord is a woman’s highest calling and it is only through a husband’s guidance that a woman can attain entry into the celestial kingdom.

  Being the first wife, like Sister Cora, comes with certain privileges, as the first wife is the only wife recognized by law. On state records the other sister wives use phony surnames, often chosen at random from the phone book, in order to qualify for government assistance. The agencies that dole out food stamps and other aid that the community depends on would be loathe to provide it for polygamists; the children of Pineridge know very well that they have to keep their origins hidden from prying eyes and curious Gentiles. My mother chose the last name of Robicheaux on the welfare applications for us, although of course within the community we are known as Merrills, Eldon Ray’s offspring.