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  “Alva, get some fresh cotton cloths from the linen closet. And the washtub,” Sister Cora ordered. She began massaging Rita Mae, and I was happy to leave the heavy scent of sweat and fear that filled the room. Marianne trailed behind me.

  “Come on, pretty baby, help cousin Alva with the cotton for Mommy,” I said. Why did they bring Marianne to the birth? I thought. She couldn’t understand what was going on except that her mother was in trouble and everyone was nervous. She didn’t need to be there witnessing her mother’s suffering.

  As I climbed on the step stool to retrieve the clean linens, I heard a stirring of activity from the bedroom. “Hurry, Alva! I think the baby’s coming!” Sister Cora called out.

  I ran back with the cloths, almost colliding with one of Rayanne’s daughters carrying a large pot of boiling water from the kitchen. Rita Mae cried out in pain, arching her hips and drawing her knees up. In a gush of milky, blood-streaked fluid, the baby’s head began to emerge.

  “Push, hard now,” Sister Cora directed, but as much as Rita Mae pushed, the baby did not move any farther. Just the very crown of the head was visible and Rita Mae was hovering at the edge of consciousness, covered in sweat. Sister Cora rolled up her sleeves and reached for the baby, sliding her hands around the scalp and giving a light tug. I knew this was not good, that the baby should move out easily now. I prayed that this would not be a stillborn baby, that we would not have to bury another tiny body in a small white coffin.

  “It’s not coming,” Sister Cora said.

  “I’m not losing another one,” Donald Dean said as Rita Mae shuddered and gave a quick thrust, pushing the baby out a few inches more.

  Marianne began to cry and Sister Cora barked at me, “Take Marianne out of here!”

  I was only too happy to oblige, leading Marianne away down the hall and toward the front porch. As I pushed open the screen door, we heard Rita Mae scream once and then fall into silence. I saw the fear in Marianne’s eyes and pulled her onto my lap to comfort her.

  On the walk back home, Sister Cora was quiet, her sweater wrapped tightly, her arms crossed. Rita Mae had not regained consciousness, even after the other girls and I had stripped the bed and rinsed the bloody sheets in the washtub, but the baby had been born alive. As we left, Donald Dean had thanked Sister Cora and assured her, “We’ll pray for her recovery. But be pleased that she’s done her duty to the Lord, Sister. One child is worth ten of the mother.”

  I didn’t try to talk with Sister Cora. We walked side by side, locked in silence and our own thoughts. I tried to push from my mind the image of Rita Mae, unmoving and limp.

  Just remembering the metallic smell of the blood and the stickiness of it on my hands made my stomach queasy and nauseous. What would happen if I were weak in childbirth like Rita Mae? What if I were unable to give Joseph John a baby a year as the prophet expected? What if I fell from favor like my father’s lesser wives, and ended up pushed aside and living on the leftovers of Joseph John’s love and attention? It was a fate too terrible to imagine.

  I resolved to seek my mother’s counsel once my marriage was arranged. I would pray to the Lord to make me fertile and abundant. I would learn the secrets that had made my mother the favorite, how to please a man and hold his affections, and I would put them to use.

  The next morning I was to work in the community garden with the other teenagers under the watch of my father’s cousin, Uncle Luther. The boys and girls work in separate rows, but Uncle Luther is often too distracted to be strict with the rules. Every Saturday we till the soil and mix in mulch, coaxing vegetables to grow in the sandy ground under a shade canopy. Each family in Pineridge plants their own vegetable garden as well, but none is abundant given the withering heat. The community garden is to help those who have little or no harvest from their home vegetable patch.

  After baking the bread and tending to my younger siblings, I bathed and changed into a good work dress, a pretty shade of green that I hoped would set off my eyes. I braided my damp hair and snuck a dab of my mother’s petroleum jelly to put on my lips and eyelashes. I knew vanity was a sin of pride but I also knew Joseph John would be there and I convinced myself that God would not begrudge me a little extra shine.

  Like he did every Saturday, Joseph John would be safeguarding the spot beside him especially for me. We would be able to whisper about our plans safe from Sister Emily’s eagle eye. Supervising the youngsters was Uncle Luther’s only responsibility, since his mind wandered and he was prone to walk off.

  When I arrived at the garden, sure enough, I saw Joseph John seated with a spade, working on a row of root vegetables, an empty spot in the row beside him. My heart quickened, wondering if he had spoken to his father about our marriage yet.

  “I have something to show you, Alva. Something big!” Joseph John said as I settled in to work.

  “What is it?”

  He reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out a folded envelope, handing it to me. “Go ahead, open it up,” he said with a smile.

  I unfolded the paper inside and saw the letterhead of Brigham Young University. My eyes scanned the page:

  Dear Mr. Hilliard,

  We are writing to inform you of your acceptance into Brigham Young University for the coming school year.

  I beamed at Joseph John. He was going to college! I handed the paper back to him and he quickly pocketed it. Two rows over, Wendy Callers was looking at us intently, her eyes narrowed into little slits. Joseph John dropped his voice to whisper, “I want to have the prophet marry us before I start school in the fall. I’m going ask permission to have you come with me to Provo as my wife.”

  My heart thrilled at the idea of it! To go and live as a proper married couple, to take care of Joseph John while he pursued his studies, would be a dream come true. I doubted, however, that my father would agree to it. More likely, we would wed and I would remain within the community for a few more years. Either way, I would be one step closer to adulthood and doing my duty to the Lord and my husband.

  Wendy Callers moved next to me, clearly trying to eavesdrop, and Joseph John took that as his cue to move away to another row of the garden. Wendy’s eyes followed him.

  “What was that Joseph John showed you?” she asked.

  “It was just the figures for the algebra he’s been teaching me. There were some problems I couldn’t figure out,” I fibbed, tossing a skinny radish into a basket.

  “It didn’t look like figures to me.”

  I just smiled at her as I rose and took my basket to follow Joseph John. I would not let Wendy Callers and her snooping ruin my happiness at our good news.

  CHAPTER THREE

  WHEN I RETURNED HOME THE NEXT DAY AFTER school I was surprised to find a stranger sitting in the living room with my mother, Sister Cora, and Sister Emily, sipping a cup of apple tea. She was a woman, around Sister Susannah’s age, dressed in Gentile clothes. Her blond hair was short and smooth, as shiny as satin. She wore a wedding band and a sparkling diamond ring and a braided gold bracelet. I hung back in the doorway, watching her with her sparkly jewelry so unlike anything worn by the women in Pineridge. Mama spotted me and called me into the sitting room.

  “This is my oldest daughter, Alva Jane,” she said proudly. I shook the woman’s hand gently and took a seat at my mother’s feet.

  “This is Brenda Norton. She and her husband, Jack, are joining the community,” Sister Cora explained.

  Sister Cora’s tone was polite but I could see the caution in her eyes. Outsiders were rare within our compound walls.

  Mrs. Norton broke into a big smile but there was a lackluster quality to her eyes, as if the top half of her face did not agree with the bottom. I nodded politely but I still felt uncertain about her. Almost everyone in Pineridge had been born into the Brotherhood of the Lord, the true religion, and the principle of plural marriage. I had met outsiders before, of course, when I accompanied Sister Cora into town for supplies. But I had never spoken to one beyond making a
simple purchase. It’s strictly forbidden. Mrs. Norton was the first outsider I had ever met inside the walls of Pineridge.

  “Jack and I want a more traditional way of life,” Mrs. Norton said. “We both feel a lack of religious integrity in the mainline Mormon Church. Too many covenants have been broken. It’s important to be a living example of the scriptures.”

  “Amen to that,” Mama affirmed, as she reached out to smooth some wayward pieces of hair into my braid.

  Mrs. Norton continued, “Living The Principle is something we both felt we needed to fulfill God’s plan for us.”

  Sister Cora smiled. I have heard the sister wives discuss how couples that have never followed the true religion and have lived in monogamy often don’t understand the necessity of plural marriage to their salvation. They have problems adjusting to it. Sister Cora reached out and took my mother’s hand in hers, which surprised me since their dislike of one another was so strong. But I understood she was putting on a good face for an outsider, something we had all been taught to do.

  “The Principle at work is a blessing and a joy. In our family there are seven sister wives and the love among us is a salve to the daily trials of a woman’s life.” Sister Cora nodded knowingly at Mrs. Norton, who responded in kind.

  Sister Emily interjected, “What kind of work does your husband do?”

  “He’s a contractor. Uncle Kenton seems to have a lot of plans that Jack can help out with. I work at the Bank of Utah. I was at the branch in Provo but I just switched to the Moab branch when we decided to come to Pineridge.”

  I turned to look at her. “No women here have jobs,” I said.

  Most don’t have time for anything more than keeping their houses, sewing the family’s clothes, cooking, canning, baking, raising the children, and other duties. Plus the outside world is filled with temptations and subversive ideas meant to lead a woman away from her godly path. I’ve heard the prophet say it a hundred times.

  Sister Cora shot me a hard look as Mrs. Norton said, “Well, I’ve been working at the bank since I got out of BYU and I have quite a good position. So I plan to stay on as long as they’ll have me.”

  I gasped, unable to hide my surprise. I had only met a couple of women who had finished public high school and never met any who had gone to college, especially BYU where Joseph John would be going in the fall.

  “You went to Brigham Young University? What’s it like? Is it very big?” I asked her.

  My mother put a hand on my shoulder, a signal for me to stop talking. “Forgive my daughter for her inappropriate questions, Mrs. Norton. She doesn’t meet many people outside the community and she doesn’t know what is proper conversation among women.”

  I felt the color rise to my cheeks.

  Mrs. Norton smiled. “Oh, I don’t find her questions inappropriate at all, Mrs. Merrill. I think it’s normal that a young girl would be interested in college life and things like that.”

  I don’t know where Mrs. Norton got her ideas from, but in Pineridge girls don’t think about college. That was only for the boys and very few of them went that far in their education. Even though my daddy sometimes talked of me going to the community college for a year, I didn’t believe it would happen. I couldn’t imagine going to a university myself, sitting in rooms full of strangers and Gentiles, boys and girls all mixed up together.

  “Maybe girls on the outside are interested in those things, Mrs. Norton, but here in Pineridge there’s no use in filling their heads with ideas that lead them away from their duty to God,” Sister Emily said.

  Mrs. Norton looked flustered for a moment and then Mama asked, “How many children do you and your husband have?”

  Mrs. Norton set down her teacup. “We don’t have any yet.”

  I looked at her closely, figuring her to be in her late twenties. Having no children at that age was unheard of, unless there was something wrong, like with Sister Sherrie after Orton’s birth. That must be why she had a job; she had nothing else to do. I felt pity and then a stab of anxiety. What if I turned out to be like Brenda Norton, childless with a tight smile and a hollow look to her eyes?

  Sister Cora smiled reassuringly at Mrs. Norton, “God has his own timetable for all of us on our path to salvation. Your time will come, dear.”

  Mrs. Norton looked as if she would burst into tears. She checked her watch and I saw that her hand was trembling. “I really should get back. Jack must be done touring the temple with your husband,” she said. She looked around as if she didn’t know which sister wife to direct her words to, which made me smile inside.

  My mother rose and put an arm around Mrs. Norton’s shoulder as the sister wives accompanied her to the door. “I’ll send Alva around to help you get accustomed to Pineridge and all our funny ways,” she said, crinkling her nose playfully. “She’s a good girl and an example of the Lord’s work in the Brotherhood, free of the vices that afflict so many young people today.”

  When Mama and Sister Cora started down the path toward the front gate with Mrs. Norton, Sister Emily caught my arm. “What do you think you’re doing, asking about her job and college?” she said.

  “I was just making conversation.” Sister Emily was always in a foul temper and today was no different.

  “You don’t know anything about that Brenda Norton. She could be a fake, sent to get information on the Brotherhood. And you, just talking a blue streak like you were grown!”

  I pulled my arm away from Sister Emily’s bony grip. I didn’t care if I got in trouble for being willful. I ran out to join my mother and Sister Cora. As I got there, Wendy Callers approached, with a fresh pound cake wrapped in a checkered towel.

  “This is for you, Sister Cora,” she said sweetly.

  “How lovely is that? A pound cake and it’s still warm!” Sister Cora said, “Mrs. Norton, I’d like you to meet Wendy Callers, another fine young girl in our community. This is Brenda Norton; she and her husband will be moving into the old DeLory house.”

  Mitch DeLory had argued with the prophet last year and been expelled from the community. His wives and children had been reassigned to another man, but the house he built still stood empty because DeLory had gotten a lawyer and tried to go to court just to stir up trouble.

  “I can’t get over how well brought up the girls are here,” Mrs. Norton remarked.

  “We keep sweet, no matter what!” Wendy said with a smile.

  I took my mother’s hand while we all stood together and waved as Mrs. Norton passed through the front gate. Then Wendy asked, “May I speak to you in the kitchen, Sister Cora?”

  I paid no attention when they headed inside. I was watching Mrs. Norton disappear down the block with her sleek hair and her pretty blue suit. I felt a little nervous about visiting with her, if Mama was telling the truth about me helping her learn the ways of the community. But it would give me the chance to ask her about Brigham Young University and life in Provo without Mama and the other sister wives listening in.

  I entered the house and headed toward the back porch where we were to haul the rugs for summer cleaning, but I stopped outside the kitchen when I heard Wendy Callers’s voice.

  “And it’s not the first time I’ve seen Alva Jane talking in secret like that with Joseph John. We all know he’s sweet on her and she seems to feel the same.”

  Sister Cora clucked her tongue disapprovingly and then Sister Emily dropped her voice to say something I couldn’t hear, but I got the gist of it. Wendy Callers was tattling, trying to make trouble for Joseph John and me! Even though my temper flared, I was happy to hear her say what my heart knew to be true, that we were sweet on each other. I considered running into the kitchen to defend myself but I knew Sister Cora wouldn’t take kindly to eavesdropping.

  Besides, Wendy was wasting her time tattling to Sister Cora. My father was the rod and the rule in our house and once he agreed to my marriage with Joseph John, there was nothing any of them could do to stop it. Even if Sister Cora was always looking for a way to
make me and Mama look bad, I had done nothing wrong. I walked past the kitchen door and nodded to Wendy, paying her idle gossip no mind.

  It was still dark outside when I arose the next morning and padded silently to the bathroom to get ready for a busy day. Along with my regular chores at home, on Friday afternoons I work in the Pineridge store, helping Mr. Battle, whose eyes are starting to go bad.

  The night before, my father had come home from the council meeting and announced that the prophet had decreed that today there would be baptisms of the dead. Baptizing in death those unfortunate souls who did not find the true religion while they were alive is one of the most important rituals in Pineridge. It is the saints’ responsibility to complete God’s work and make sure that every soul is baptized into the Mormon faith.

  Many times I have helped my mother and the other sister wives pore over registration lists from Catholic and Protestant parishes and Jewish synagogues to find the names of those who have died unsaved. Today in the temple, the saints would line up and climb the gilded steps on either side of the large baptismal font, which sits atop statues of twelve oxen, gathered into a circle to represent the twelve tribes of Israel. Each saint would stand before the prophet and other council members to offer him- or herself as a proxy to be baptized for the lost soul, immersed in the holy waters.

  I knew it was a responsibility and an honor to save those locked in a death prison by their misguided faith, but I wished it didn’t have to be today. Baptism of the dead sometimes took hours, depending on the fervor of the prophet and the revelation he had received. With that and my work at the store, there would hardly be time to stop by Mrs. Norton’s like Mama had asked me to, to see if they were really moving in today.

  Downstairs I could hear Mama preparing the loaf pans for the daily bread making. Perhaps I would make an extra loaf today to take over to Mrs. Norton, along with some of my mother’s butter. Mrs. Norton probably didn’t know how to churn butter and would need someone to show her how. If she didn’t sew, she’d also need someone to help her make some proper dresses. She certainly couldn’t continue wearing those modern clothes in Pineridge. There was a lot to teach her and it looked as if it would fall to me. I didn’t mind. Industriousness is a virtue and I knew God would reward me for it.