wives, but wouldn’t let them walk all over her, not like Pennie.
“Thank you, Mother Pennie,” Ruthie muttered, looking down at her feet. But that wasn’t what she wanted to say. She wanted to roll her eyes, to kick the dirt, and tell Mother Pennie to mind her own children and leave her alone. But Ruthie knew better.
Mama was sitting in Ruthie’s bedroom with Susan and Beatrice, playing with blocks. As soon as Mama saw her, she pressed a finger over her mouth to “shh” and pointed to her sleeping brother in his bed. Ruthie nodded and waited in the hallway. Mama hopped to her feet and met her outside the door.
“Walk with me,” she hissed. Ruthie hated when Mama used that tone—it was like a mean whisper that always made her stomach twist. Right in that moment, she wished she did have a mother like Pennie . . . because with a mother like Aspen, you couldn’t get away with anything. Not even a quick trip to the prophet’s home on a Tuesday morning.
“Where have you been?” she asked when they reached her bedroom. Her mother closed the door behind them and studied Ruthie, looking at her from head to toe. “You disappeared after breakfast. You were supposed to help Mother Flora with mopping.”
Ruthie opened her mouth to speak but said nothing. She couldn’t decide if she should tell the truth. It was getting harder and harder to mention the prophet in Mama’s presence. On the other hand, she almost always knew when Ruthie was lying. Punishments were so much worse whenever lying was involved. And frankly, having a bar of soap on the end of her tongue was something she really didn’t want to do . . . again.
“Speak, child.”
“I forgot about the floors. I’ll apologize to Mother Flora.”
Mama relaxed her forehead a little bit, but her hands stayed on her hips.
“That’s a start,” she said. Her voice was almost normal, no more hissing. “But where did you go? You know you’re supposed to get permission before you leave. And none of the other mothers had any idea where you’d gone.”
Ruthie swallowed hard, prepared to answer.
“Well?” Mama demanded, her voice raised.
Ruthie flinched but answered. “Janine needed me.”
Mama opened her mouth and narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me? You’re not married yet, girl. You don’t run errands for that woman. No. And why didn’t she ask my permission? Why didn’t I know about this?”
“She sent Loretta, the youngest wife. She came to the door this morning when you were feeding Jeremiah.”
“And what was so important that she sent another sister wife to summon you?” Mama’s words were covered in sarcasm, something they were normally expected to avoid. But Mama was unique, different. Always had been.
“She needed my measurements.”
Ruthie didn’t have to finish the sentence. Mama knew what she was talking about. Her face turned pale as she stared at Ruthie. She whispered under her breath, “It’s starting.”
Unlike other times when Mama was angry and irritated whenever Ruthie’s upcoming wedding was mentioned, she seemed sad. And it broke Ruthie’s heart. She loved Mama, despite her bad attitude toward the prophet. Ruthie wondered if it would end once she saw how happy her daughter was as his wife.
I can only hope . . .
“Mama, please, it’s the most beautiful dress, really it is. I would have asked you to come with me, but I knew . . . I knew you wouldn’t want me to go.”
“Of course I wouldn’t want you to go!” she yelled. Ruthie hated it when Mama yelled because all she wanted to do was yell right back. And then she’d get in trouble for her terrible attitude. “That man will never have you in his clutches, do you hear me? Never!”
“One month, four days, thirteen hours,” Ruthie spat.
Mama closed the space between them, her nose almost touching Ruthie’s forehead. “What did you just say?”
She was hissing again.
“One month, four days, thirteen hours.”
Mama looked like she was going to be sick.
“Thank you, Mother Pennie,” Ruthie muttered, looking down at her feet. But that wasn’t what she wanted to say. She wanted to roll her eyes, to kick the dirt, and tell Mother Pennie to mind her own children and leave her alone. But Ruthie knew better.
Mama was sitting in Ruthie’s bedroom with Susan and Beatrice, playing with blocks. As soon as Mama saw her, she pressed a finger over her mouth to “shh” and pointed to her sleeping brother in his bed. Ruthie nodded and waited in the hallway. Mama hopped to her feet and met her outside the door.
“Walk with me,” she hissed. Ruthie hated when Mama used that tone—it was like a mean whisper that always made her stomach twist. Right in that moment, she wished she did have a mother like Pennie . . . because with a mother like Aspen, you couldn’t get away with anything. Not even a quick trip to the prophet’s home on a Tuesday morning.
“Where have you been?” she asked when they reached her bedroom. Her mother closed the door behind them and studied Ruthie, looking at her from head to toe. “You disappeared after breakfast. You were supposed to help Mother Flora with mopping.”
Ruthie opened her mouth to speak but said nothing. She couldn’t decide if she should tell the truth. It was getting harder and harder to mention the prophet in Mama’s presence. On the other hand, she almost always knew when Ruthie was lying. Punishments were so much worse whenever lying was involved. And frankly, having a bar of soap on the end of her tongue was something she really didn’t want to do . . . again.
“Speak, child.”
“I forgot about the floors. I’ll apologize to Mother Flora.”
Mama relaxed her forehead a little bit, but her hands stayed on her hips.
“That’s a start,” she said. Her voice was almost normal, no more hissing. “But where did you go? You know you’re supposed to get permission before you leave. And none of the other mothers had any idea where you’d gone.”
Ruthie swallowed hard, prepared to answer.
“Well?” Mama demanded, her voice raised.
Ruthie flinched but answered. “Janine needed me.”
Mama opened her mouth and narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me? You’re not married yet, girl. You don’t run errands for that woman. No. And why didn’t she ask my permission? Why didn’t I know about this?”
“She sent Loretta, the youngest wife. She came to the door this morning when you were feeding Jeremiah.”
“And what was so important that she sent another sister wife to summon you?” Mama’s words were covered in sarcasm, something they were normally expected to avoid. But Mama was unique, different. Always had been.
“She needed my measurements.”
Ruthie didn’t have to finish the sentence. Mama knew what she was talking about. Her face turned pale as she stared at Ruthie. She whispered under her breath, “It’s starting.”
Unlike other times when Mama was angry and irritated whenever Ruthie’s upcoming wedding was mentioned, she seemed sad. And it broke Ruthie’s heart. She loved Mama, despite her bad attitude toward the prophet. Ruthie wondered if it would end once she saw how happy her daughter was as his wife.
I can only hope . . .
“Mama, please, it’s the most beautiful dress, really it is. I would have asked you to come with me, but I knew . . . I knew you wouldn’t want me to go.”
“Of course I wouldn’t want you to go!” she yelled. Ruthie hated it when Mama yelled because all she wanted to do was yell right back. And then she’d get in trouble for her terrible attitude. “That man will never have you in his clutches, do you hear me? Never!”
“One month, four days, thirteen hours,” Ruthie spat.
Mama closed the space between them, her nose almost touching Ruthie’s forehead. “What did you just say?”
She was hissing again.
“One month, four days, thirteen hours.”
Mama looked like she was going to be sick.
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