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  But my children would do no such thing, for I would be Joseph John’s first and legal wife. My children would bear their father’s name, they would have birth certificates, and I would have a proper marriage license. How I prayed that my monthly cycle would begin soon! As Joseph John explained how to calculate the algebra problems in the textbook, I allowed my mind to wander. How wonderful to live with Joseph John as husband and wife, to touch his hair, to feel his hands around my waist.…

  I quickly shook such wicked thoughts away. What had come over me? I looked up to see Sister Emily watching, always watching. In league with Sister Cora, Sister Emily was always looking for a way to undermine my mother’s position, and everyone knows that a woman’s children are a reflection of her obedience to God’s will. Sister Cora’s oldest son, the first Eldon Ray Jr., as well as his brother Lamont, had run off and left the community—a source of great shame upon her.

  Now my brother was called Eldon Ray Jr. and as my mother’s oldest daughter, I knew that the other sister wives were hoping to catch me in some trespass. Normally I was careful to be very good at all times. I felt the heat of embarrassment rise to my face as I imagined Sister Emily reading my thoughts about Joseph John. I focused my attention on the schoolbook in front of me and kept my head down. I would kneel and pray to the Lord for a pure spirit before supper, to show God that I was worthy of His blessings.

  After class it was time to go back home to help our mothers with the sewing, laundering, and cleaning. We don’t have television, newspapers, or computers, but there is always a lot to do in Pineridge, what with so many children to cook and care for. Except for Rowena, who is still a baby, my younger sisters and I could probably change a dirty diaper, prepare a bottle, and soothe a colicky baby, all with one hand pumping away on the butter churn. We do the women’s work; the boys help in the rock quarry or to build the new livestock barn or other physical labors.

  I fell into step beside my sisters. Laura Jean, Liza, Carlene, Olive, and I walked in a group with Sister Cora’s daughters while the children of the lesser wives hung back. The girls from other families flocked together, keeping a certain distance. I did my best to ignore their tittering as Joseph John ran by with a group of boys, joking and jostling one another. All the girls fancied Joseph John and were jealous of my special friendship with him, even my fourteen-year-old half sister, Leigh Ann, but she was good-natured about it, unlike Wendy Callers or Sharon Paine.

  I smiled to myself, remembering the day last year when Wendy Callers had stopped me outside the temple, her pinched face even more drawn and narrow than usual, her voice filled with bitterness.

  “Just know, Alva Jane, that when Joseph John is ready to take a wife, he’ll choose someone quiet and obedient, not a willful, book-smart girl like you, who holds herself up as his equal!”

  “We’ll see about that,” I’d told her, and even then I wasn’t worried. After all, my father sits on the Priesthood Council. I am a Merrill, not a Paine or a Callers or daughter of any other lesser family. And now Wendy would have to eat her words, when she learned of my pending marriage.

  As we passed the large limestone residence where the prophet, Uncle Kenton, lives with his thirteen wives, Wendy Callers looked longingly after Joseph John and said in a loud voice, “I think Joseph John might be the one mighty and strong that the scriptures foretell!”

  Some girls giggled loudly while others elbowed Wendy for her insolence. It was not for a girl to be speculating on scripture and what God foretold, certainly not in proximity of the prophet, who spoke to God daily. He was so busy with so many important matters, but Uncle Kenton always found the time to watch us returning from our lessons at school. He stood at his open window now, resting his hands on his belly, and nodded as we walked by.

  I wondered if he had heard Wendy’s remark. Better not to look directly at him, not to call attention to myself. With my heart set on Joseph John, I knew it would be wise to avoid being noticed by one of the council members or other middle-aged men in the community. If one of them should have a revelation to marry a particular girl and the prophet agrees, she is sealed and her fate decided. Too many of my friends had been married off to men older than their fathers and I was determined that would not happen to me. Not that I had much to worry about. I was Daddy’s favorite daughter and I knew that my father liked Joseph John, thought him to be a fine boy. I was sure he would approve of our marriage.

  I smiled to myself, thinking of Joseph John seated beside me in the schoolroom and our whispered conversation. Tomorrow would be Saturday and we would have the chance to work side by side in the community garden, which was one of the only places we girls were allowed to mix with the boys, even with an elder keeping a watch over us. Soon there would be no hiding or sneaking off to meet. Soon we would be married for all to see.

  The day was clear and bright, and the flowers were starting to bloom in fragile colors, incongruous against the harsh, unforgiving sun. I took a deep breath and felt the warm, dry air fill my lungs. All was well in the world.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THAT EVENING AFTER SUPPER MY SISTERS AND I worked on mending the boys’ yard clothes while the family sat listening to Sister Emily read aloud from The Pearl of Great Price, the book of revelations of Joseph Smith. Sister Emily’s voice was high and thin as she intoned the words.

  “‘And now it came to pass that when Moses had said those words, behold Satan came tempting him, saying Moses, son of man, worship me. And it came to pass that Moses looked upon Satan and said who art thou?’”

  My oldest brother, Cliff, shifted in his seat on the sofa and I watched him with concern. Lately he had been going off with some of the Paine boys at night and they were known to be a bad influence, missing church and going into Moab to drink and associate with Gentile girls, born outside The Principle. Just today, I’d heard Daddy order Cliff to stay home this evening, and from his tone there was to be no discussion about it. I tried to catch Cliff’s eye but he just stared at his feet. He needed to listen closely to what Sister Emily was reading, what the scripture lesson was teaching us. He needed to get back onto the right path but since his mind was a million miles away, the best I could do was to pray for him.

  There was a knock at the door and Lucas ran to answer it. Outside, Ruby Jaynes, one of Sister Cora’s many grandchildren, stood shivering on the porch. “Grandma, you got to come quick. Mama’s having trouble with the baby!”

  Sister Cora stood and looked to Daddy, who sat reading from an Ogden Kraut book. “May I go to our daughter’s?” she asked.

  Daddy nodded his approval, barely looking up. I knew my mother would go to Rita Mae’s also, since she was skilled in birthing babies. But as the women stood to leave, Daddy stopped Mama with a hand on her arm.

  “You’re not to go,” he said.

  Sister Cora’s eyes flashed in anger as Mama deferred to her husband with a faint smile and moved to the stairway.

  “I have to bring someone with me. Rita Mae’s sister wives are as thick as hammers; they won’t know what to do if there’s trouble,” Sister Cora said.

  “Then take Emily,” Daddy replied. But Sister Cora would not give in that easily.

  “Sister Maureen is the most knowledgeable and experienced in delivering babies, and you know our Rita Mae is not strong in childbirth,” she pressed.

  I knew that it must be Mama’s fertile time and Daddy was going to have relations with her, free from Sister Cora’s oppressive jealousy. The rivalry among the sister wives is part of all of our daily lives. I can’t even count how many times I’ve spotted Sister Cora standing in the foyer listening for sounds of Daddy and Mama in the bedroom upstairs.

  Even Mama, the clear favorite, becomes mean-tempered and impatient if Daddy spends too much time with the other sister wives. When my father returns from his weekly visit to Sister Eulalia’s trailer, Mama always listens for his step on the stairs and whispers to me, “Your father is just fulfilling his duty to the doctrine of plural marriage. You
can see there is no love or desire there.”

  Sister Eulalia is still young but she’s rather slow-witted. Mama has nothing to fear from her.

  Daddy’s fifth wife, Sister Susannah, became heavyset after the birth of her twins, her skin feels clammy to the touch, and her face is always covered with a sheen of sweat. I know she does not hold much attraction for Daddy. He goes to her trailer once or twice a month at most.

  Sister Sherrie, the third wife, is just two years older than Mama but she looks like a dried-up stick of grass, with her bony frame and paper-thin skin. Her eyebrows long ago disappeared and have never grown back. She lives at the very back of the property in the lumber shed that has been converted. She has only one son, Orton, who is now twenty-one and away on his mission. She hemorrhaged so badly in childbirth that she could not have any others. Knowing that she was not doing her duty to the Lord and her husband made her melancholy; she keeps to herself and the other wives let her be. My father rarely visits her, as sexual relations with a woman who is infertile, menstruating, or past her time are strictly prohibited.

  When Sister Mona joined the family, I think Mama was worried since Sister Mona was just sixteen then and quite pretty, with striking black hair and a womanly figure. But Sister Mona suffers with her nerves and is often too depressed even to take care of two-year-old Cindy, so it falls to Sister Emily. Sister Mona is prone to crying and getting so emotional that Daddy’s visits to her are not always happy. I have seen him return from her trailer to the main house in a high temper more than once, cursing under his breath. On those evenings Mama takes it upon herself to soothe his spirit and satisfy his manly desires, as is a woman’s duty.

  Daddy visits Mama’s bed regularly and that translates to power for my mother. He clearly spends more time with Mama than Sister Cora thinks appropriate, especially for a fourth wife.

  Each wife has her designated night with Daddy so that he can fulfill his duties and spread his seed, building up his heavenly kingdom according to scripture. But on off-nights, when Daddy comes back late from council meetings, he often slips quietly into our room and finds Mama behind the curtain she hung to provide him with some privacy. If I am awake, I try to keep my eyes closed and turn to the wall to block out the sounds of their coupling. There is no talk between them, just the sounds of clothing being removed and the squeaking of the bedsprings. Once, when I was younger, the curtain moved and I caught a glimpse of naked flesh, of bodies entwined, and it made me feel unsettled. When that happened I pulled the covers over my head and shut my eyes tight, feeling guilty for having seen something I shouldn’t have.

  My father visits Mama so often that I have grown accustomed to the rhythm of their encounters: the slapping sound of my mother’s flesh and their exertion. Sometimes Daddy’s breath comes so ragged and guttural he sounds like a green horse being broke to saddle. I can’t help but wonder if my own intimate moments with Joseph John will be like that, wordless and urgent? I have learned from my mother that men have strong needs to be met and it is a woman’s duty to fulfill them. After all, the husband is the family priesthood head and it is only through his guidance that wives are exalted and shown the path to heaven.

  After finishing with Mama, my father always returns to Sister Cora’s room to sleep until morning, a respect for her status as his first wife. But Sister Cora still seethes over Daddy’s obvious preference for my mother’s bed.

  I looked up from my sewing to see my mother, Daddy, and Sister Cora, like points on a triangle at the foot of the stairs. It was clear that Daddy would not give in to Sister Cora and allow Mama to go to Rita Mae’s. Even though Mama kept her eyes down, I could see that she was smiling, happy to have another triumph over Sister Cora. Watching Mama disappear silently up the stairs and Sister Cora’s face as she saw the futility of struggling against her husband’s desire, I felt a stab of pity for her. It must be hard to be past an age and time when she could kindle her husband’s affections. Soon Daddy wouldn’t have relations with her at all.

  “So, am I to go alone to Rita Mae’s, then?” Sister Cora tried one last time.

  “Take Alva; it’s time she learned how to birth babies,” Daddy said over his shoulder.

  He was brusque, more so than usual. Lately things had been tense around the house and in the community at large. There had been more council meetings, more precautions taken to safeguard the community. That meant there must be some fear of a raid, of legal action against the Brotherhood by outsiders. It is a constant undercurrent to our lives but at times more palpable than others. Daddy’s tone with Sister Cora was probably a symptom of other distractions troubling him. But my pity for Sister Cora didn’t last long when she grabbed my arm roughly and ordered, “Get your sweater, Alva Jane. I’ll need help and an extra set of hands.”

  I didn’t want to go, I didn’t like going to Rita Mae’s house but knew better than to protest when Sister Cora was angry. Like Sister Cora and Sister Emily, Rita Mae and her sister Rayanne had married the same man, Donald Dean Jaynes, a third cousin of my mother’s. He was known to be difficult and unpredictable and I always felt uneasy when he came into the general store.

  Donald Dean’s first wife had taken her own life and the second one, Juleen, had run off. I had heard the sister wives speaking in hushed tones of Juleen, who had fallen so far from grace after leaving Pineridge that she sold her body to Gentiles to survive. Sister Emily said that Juleen had even been seen in the city with a black man. The punishment for having sexual relations with the Seed of Cain was swift and merciless: God would strike you dead on the spot. I figured that Juleen had suffered just such a fate.

  Rita Mae got on fine but since her marriage Rayanne had become, as Mama described her, “touched in the head.” The last time I had been to visit, Rayanne sat silently in a chair in the kitchen, sorting plastic food containers and lids, placing them neatly in drawers. She had managed to have fourteen children, a sign that she was able to do her duty to her husband, but the other sister wives had to care for them.

  Unlike Rayanne, Rita Mae always had a difficult time in childbirth. Married at fifteen, now thirty years old, she had only five living children. Her last two babies had come stillborn.

  When I was four years old, Mama took me to help with the birth of Rita Mae’s youngest daughter, Marianne. I may have been young but I remember well the fear and tension that filled the room when the baby’s little feet came out first. Sister Cora had pushed and prodded Rita Mae’s belly, trying to shift the baby inside. I was dumbstruck at the amount of blood that saturated the sheets; it had seemed enough to fill a river. When it was over, my hands became chapped and raw from rinsing them repeatedly in cold water.

  Since then I’ve heard of other babies that came backward and Mama says it is because there is something crooked in the mother’s spirit, that her faith is not strong and God is giving her a trial to set her on the right path. The only doctor that a pregnant woman is allowed to see in Pineridge is Doc Levi, who didn’t go to a school to learn about medicine. His father had the gift and passed it on to his son. Besides, Mama has told me many times that the Gentile doctors cannot be trusted. They only want women to have three or four children and they will give you a hysterectomy or some other abomination to render you infertile during an exam. So, what woman who wants to fulfill her duty to her husband and the Lord would take such a risk?

  Little Marianne is as perfect and beautiful as a doll with her blond curls and enormous blue eyes, but she is behind in her mental development. Now at ten years old she is docile and quiet, speaking just a few basic words, easily confused and frightened by things she does not understand. I’ve always had a soft spot for her, perhaps from having witnessed her difficult arrival into this world.

  I hurried, following Sister Cora into the cool night air to make the trek to Rita Mae’s house. The sky was covered in stars, so thick and brilliant it looked as if God had spilled a pile of diamonds across the heavens. I looked up and wondered what it would be like to be swallowed up
among them, floating in their endless, infinite brightness.

  “Pay attention to where you’re walking. The last thing we need is for you to twist an ankle and not be a help to anyone!” Sister Cora chastised.

  I lowered my eyes and walked a few paces behind Sister Cora the rest of the way. We found Rita Mae prone in bed, moaning as the contractions came. Several of Rita Mae’s sister wives and a few young girls, including Marianne, hovered helplessly. Donald Dean sat beside the bed with his sleeves rolled up.

  “How long has she been at it?” Sister Cora asked.

  “Since early this morning, around five,” Donald Dean replied.

  “Has her water broken?”

  “About three hours ago.”

  Sister Cora’s face darkened; three hours was too long to wait. But she held her tongue. No matter how upset she was, I knew that she would not dare to speak up to any priesthood head in the community. Rita Mae looked about ready to pass out. I felt the clutch of anxiety in my throat as Rita Mae reached for her mother’s hand, her breathing hard and shallow. A cousin of Mama’s had died in childbirth and the idea of that scared the spirit right out of me.

  “That’s it, breathe in and out, in and out.… ” Sister Cora spoke quietly. “You have hot water and disinfectant, Brother Donald?”

  “Water’s boiling on the stove. I have the alcohol right here,” he replied, the sweat visible on his forehead.