love and best wishes.
I knew my response wasn’t nearly enough. I wanted to call her, to hear her soft voice, to offer her congratulations on her marriage to Porter. But I couldn’t. I was once again too consumed by my own situation. I was in no state to reconnect with her.
Besides, what would I say? What would I ask? I’d abandoned her when she tried again and again to reach out to me through these text messages. If I called her now, it would be for my own selfish gain, not to congratulate her on her happiness. No, that would be unacceptable.
And even if she could forgive me for that, as I know sweet and kind Brinley would, what could she possibly offer me in this confusing and unclear situation?
Nothing. My heart sank as I realized the honest truth.
She was living her life . . . a life that suited her, away from our community, away from the compound. And I was happy for her, possibly for the first time.
I knew in my gut that this wasn’t the time to reach out to my former sister wife. But as I stared at the screen through blurry eyes, reading her messages again and again, a feeling formed within me that even though the time hadn’t arrived, it was looming somewhere in the future.
I just had to wait for a sign.
I placed the phone back in my top drawer and lay down beside Jeremiah, wrapping my arms around him as he slept.
“I’ll do anything to protect you, sweet boy,” I whispered against his soft hair. “Anything.”
Chapter 11
“The greatest destiny for a woman is to become a faithful, obedient wife.”
—The Prophet, Clarence Black
Aspen
Each week, thousands of us poured into the old temple to listen to the words of our Prophet and hear announcements given by him and other members of the priesthood. Following the services, the wives of the Prophet treated the community to tea and cookies in the field next to the temple. Children could run and play with their friends while the adults of our community were allowed to socialize with one another for hours before returning to our homes.
I’d never missed a service or post-service gathering. Sunday morning congregation was, for the majority of my life, my favorite part of the week. The Prophet’s words were my solace, my comfort, my peace. Each week, I drank them in like a soothing cup of tea.
But today, they were a harsh pill to swallow, a pill you had to force down with several ounces of water in an effort not to choke it back up. To say I was skeptical would be a gigantic understatement.
For days since Jordan and Bethany’s wedding, Paul had sensed a difference in me. He repeatedly asked what was wrong, but I kept sweet and told him I was fine. I couldn’t let him see my distrust of the Prophet, and I certainly couldn’t avoid services on this pleasant Sunday morning. If I did, he would know.
And so I dressed in my favorite shade of lilac and asked Pennie to braid my hair as I braided Ruthie’s in preparation for congregation. After gathering the other children, Paul and I walked a mile to the old temple with the rest of the family.
We found our seats and prepared for the Prophet’s sermon. I sat stiffly, wanting to take the microphone and announce the Prophet’s threats to the people of my community. But I’d be foolish to even attempt such a stunt. No one would believe me, and my children and I would be banished by day’s end.
Keep sweet. Keep sweet. Keep sweet.
“Good morning, my children,” the Prophet said to the congregants. “It’s glorious to see so many fresh, smiling faces on this lovely day. I’ll begin by giving an update on our new temple. I’ll ask the new foreman, Rodney Steed, to deliver the update.”
The congregation applauded, but I cringed as a portly man with gray hair and a hunched posture climbed to the podium and stood beside the Prophet. I turned to see Paul looking down at his lap, ashamed to not be the one standing next to his brother.
“Thank you, sir. I’m pleased to inform everyone
I knew my response wasn’t nearly enough. I wanted to call her, to hear her soft voice, to offer her congratulations on her marriage to Porter. But I couldn’t. I was once again too consumed by my own situation. I was in no state to reconnect with her.
Besides, what would I say? What would I ask? I’d abandoned her when she tried again and again to reach out to me through these text messages. If I called her now, it would be for my own selfish gain, not to congratulate her on her happiness. No, that would be unacceptable.
And even if she could forgive me for that, as I know sweet and kind Brinley would, what could she possibly offer me in this confusing and unclear situation?
Nothing. My heart sank as I realized the honest truth.
She was living her life . . . a life that suited her, away from our community, away from the compound. And I was happy for her, possibly for the first time.
I knew in my gut that this wasn’t the time to reach out to my former sister wife. But as I stared at the screen through blurry eyes, reading her messages again and again, a feeling formed within me that even though the time hadn’t arrived, it was looming somewhere in the future.
I just had to wait for a sign.
I placed the phone back in my top drawer and lay down beside Jeremiah, wrapping my arms around him as he slept.
“I’ll do anything to protect you, sweet boy,” I whispered against his soft hair. “Anything.”
Chapter 11
“The greatest destiny for a woman is to become a faithful, obedient wife.”
—The Prophet, Clarence Black
Aspen
Each week, thousands of us poured into the old temple to listen to the words of our Prophet and hear announcements given by him and other members of the priesthood. Following the services, the wives of the Prophet treated the community to tea and cookies in the field next to the temple. Children could run and play with their friends while the adults of our community were allowed to socialize with one another for hours before returning to our homes.
I’d never missed a service or post-service gathering. Sunday morning congregation was, for the majority of my life, my favorite part of the week. The Prophet’s words were my solace, my comfort, my peace. Each week, I drank them in like a soothing cup of tea.
But today, they were a harsh pill to swallow, a pill you had to force down with several ounces of water in an effort not to choke it back up. To say I was skeptical would be a gigantic understatement.
For days since Jordan and Bethany’s wedding, Paul had sensed a difference in me. He repeatedly asked what was wrong, but I kept sweet and told him I was fine. I couldn’t let him see my distrust of the Prophet, and I certainly couldn’t avoid services on this pleasant Sunday morning. If I did, he would know.
And so I dressed in my favorite shade of lilac and asked Pennie to braid my hair as I braided Ruthie’s in preparation for congregation. After gathering the other children, Paul and I walked a mile to the old temple with the rest of the family.
We found our seats and prepared for the Prophet’s sermon. I sat stiffly, wanting to take the microphone and announce the Prophet’s threats to the people of my community. But I’d be foolish to even attempt such a stunt. No one would believe me, and my children and I would be banished by day’s end.
Keep sweet. Keep sweet. Keep sweet.
“Good morning, my children,” the Prophet said to the congregants. “It’s glorious to see so many fresh, smiling faces on this lovely day. I’ll begin by giving an update on our new temple. I’ll ask the new foreman, Rodney Steed, to deliver the update.”
The congregation applauded, but I cringed as a portly man with gray hair and a hunched posture climbed to the podium and stood beside the Prophet. I turned to see Paul looking down at his lap, ashamed to not be the one standing next to his brother.
“Thank you, sir. I’m pleased to inform everyone
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