Wife Number Seven (The Compound, #1)(12)
I imagined Burt loading his belongings into his truck, waiting for Rebecca and the boys in the middle of the night. Rebecca would gather them, still sleepy in their pajamas, and I would help. I would hold their hands and whisper, “Don’t worry, everything’s going to be all right. You’re going to be a family again.”
We’d take them to where Burt was waiting. He’d hug me and thank me for giving her the note, for making this possible. I’d wave as they drove into the blackness of the night. And my heart would no longer mourn their loss. My heart, although committing a wicked sin, would delight in the love that would fill the cab of that truck.
I had to get that note.
I couldn’t be the reason they weren’t together. That sounded silly, of course. Rebecca had never admitted to me that she’d had contact with Burt, or that she wanted to leave the compound. But I knew he owned her heart. I knew she yearned for his touch, his attention, his affection. I knew Lehi would never even scratch the surface of the wall she had built around her heart.
She would lay with him; she would obey him. But she would never love him.
As I watched Rebecca soothe her son, the prophet’s morning devotional boomed through the loudspeakers of the compound and streamed into her open window. His soft, monotone voice was meant to soothe, to seep into our self-conscious, but the words were filled with such heavy meaning, such responsibility and obligation.
In our home, we were required to stop our daily duties whenever the prophet gifted us with a devotional. Rebecca sat on the bed with her son, her arm wrapped around his shoulder. I stood with my hands linked in front of me, staring at the carpet.
“Good morning, sons and daughters of Zion,” the prophet proclaimed. “Behold this beautiful day our Heavenly Father has given us. As you embark on your day, remember your duties. You are here to do the will of your prophet . . . and you will be happy. Sweet, willing obedience is the road to happiness. Keep sweet, do the will of your prophet, and find your happiness.”
As the prophet’s words continued, my gaze drifted from the carpet and landed back on Rebecca, back to the imaginings of my brain. And in my imaginations, she would no longer belong to Lehi Cluff, or to the prophet. She would be free. Like that bird sitting on the wall outside my bedroom window. She’d fly through her life with the man she loved, raising her boys in freedom.
And then she’d go to hell. She’d burn for all eternity. The fires of hell would swallow her whole, her and her children. She would damn them, she would destroy them, she would sentence them to an eternity of misery.
Wake up, Brinley. Your thoughts are sinful and Rebecca is where she belongs.
If the prophet knew of my vivid imagination, I would most certainly burn too.
? ? ?
Later I asked Rebecca agreed to accompany me into town, under the guise of visiting the pharmacy I was unable to visit the day before. I hadn’t yet told her about the note, but knew that if Samuel was on duty I would have to tell her the truth, or at least a portion of it.
Against my better judgment, I asked Rebecca about her children as we walked, about how the boys were coping.
She looked away and muttered, “They’re doing their best, I promise.”
I sighed, realizing that Rebecca was merely following the mantra of our church, “keeping sweet.” When faced with adversity, we were expected to push negative feelings down, to rise above and not let our emotions take control. Mind over heart. Every. Single. Day. It was exhausting, and I didn’t want that with Rebecca. I wanted us to trust each other.
Abruptly I stopped on the dirt road and turned to face her head-on. When she looked at me questioningly, I met her gaze and said softly, “You don’t have to do that with me.”
She nodded. “It’s hard. They miss him.”
“And you?”
“Of course I do too. But he’s no longer my husband. I have to move on with Lehi, with our new family. It’s our Heavenly Father’s will.”
“I understand,” I replied, taking her hand in mine. She squeezed it. And when we reached the clearing and I was able to see Samuel’s full head of golden hair, I squeezed it back.
“Listen, Rebecca. You’ve trusted me with your true thoughts. Now I need to trust you with mine. Can I do that? Can I trust you?”
Rebecca’s forehead wrinkled as she glanced around us, focusing finally on Samuel. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open as she put two and two together, coming up with the wrong answer.
I shook my head, denying the accusation in her eyes. “Please, I need to have a conversation with Samuel. Will you keep that conversation between the two of us? If not, I have to ask you to go back home and allow me to have it on my own.”
“I can’t let you do that. Lehi said you needed company—”
“I have to do this,” I said with renewed strength. “Now, tell me the truth. Can I trust you?”
Rebecca swallowed hard. “You’ve been my only friend since I joined the Cluffs. And for that, I owe you so much. So, yes . . . yes, I will. You can trust me with your true thoughts, my sister.”
Hearing Rebecca call me her sister was overwhelming in the best way possible. We’d connected just as much in her heart as we had in mine. I could only hope that by day’s end, she’d still feel the same.
When we approached Samuel, he silently nodded as a simple greeting. Samuel was not yet married and still expected to see women as the enemy, as manipulative snakes who would attempt to claw at his regard for the prophet and for our Heavenly Father. His eyes were narrowed and cautious as he peered down at us.