Wife Number Seven (The Compound, #1)(13)

“Hello, Samuel.” I handed him a cookie, still warm from our kitchen.

A lopsided grin lit up his face when he saw my gift. “Good morning,” he said after taking a bite of the cookie. Samuel was tall with skin tanned from months spent standing in the warm Utah sun. His eyes were deep brown, like a bar of chocolate my father had purchased for me once at the local candy store.

“Samuel, I-I have something I must ask, and I’m afraid I need your discretion.”

Samuel paused, looked around him, and dug his teeth into his bottom lip, licking at the chocolate that was left behind. “What is it?” His tone was gruff with a hint of impatience.

“Years ago, you had a friend. I know that you two spent time together. He’s gone now, and I hoped you might know where I could find him.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“Porter . . . Porter Hammond.”

“He’s dead to me, and to all of us. You know that, Brinley. What do you want with him?”

“He took something from me,” I said, and Samuel’s eyes widened with curiosity. “And I need to get it back.”

“I can’t help you.”

“Samuel, please.”

He closed his eyes and sighed. “He lives with his cousin on Wilson Avenue. Some apartment building above a coffee shop.”

“Thank you, oh, thank you, Samuel.” I popped up on my toes, hopping up and down.

“Calm down. Act natural, would ya?”

“I’m sorry,” I said, looking back down at the ground. “Do you know his cousin’s name?”

“Travis. Charlie Travis, I think. He might go by Chuck now. He’s like ten years older than me. He was kicked out a long time ago. That family’s no good. Don’t get involved with them, Brinley. The prophet would not be pleased.”

Trepidation consumed me. Would Samuel tell the prophet about our conversation?

“I won’t say anything,” he whispered, “but this conversation never took place. Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes.” I nodded my head, breaking eye contact. “We won’t take up any more of your time. Thank you, Samuel.”

“You’re welcome.”

I pulled Rebecca by the hand, and we walked out of the gates of the compound and toward town.

“Hey,” Samuel called after us just as our sneakers hit the paved street of the outside world. “Tell him hi for me.”

Shocked by his words, I turned to look Samuel in the eye, noting the sadness that had taken over his expression. And I knew, in that moment, that he missed his friend.

“Okay,” I said. “I will.”

? ? ?

Rebecca and I walked in silence toward Wilson Avenue. There was only one coffee shop on that street, the one that most outsiders seemed to be addicted to. Oddly enough, it had a green mermaid on the window, but the mermaid that didn’t match the name. I didn’t pretend to understand the people living in the outside world; they constantly surprised me.

But what I knew was this: they were not the chosen. They were bound to hell for not following the one true and righteous path of celestial love and plural marriage. They spent their days serving themselves rather than our Heavenly Father, and for that I had been taught to pity them, to feel superior in my righteousness. And as curious as they made me, that feeling of superiority was always with me.

It was with me when a car sped past us, its speakers loudly thumping the oddest of music—if you could call it that—through the open windows. It was with me when mothers used curse words in public and near the innocent ears of their children. And it was with me whenever I witnessed public displays of affection between a man and a woman. Once I even saw two men holding hands while walking down the street. After getting past my immediate shock, I had to take a moment to say a prayer for their souls, knowing it was pointless. I knew where they were headed, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Rebecca finally spoke when we reached the red door to the apartment above the coffee shop. I sighed at the significance of the color of the door. Somehow it seemed fitting that the lost boy who was now living a life of crime would live in a building with a red door—the one color that is forbidden in our community.

“I have to know what’s happening before you ring that buzzer,” she said, her breathing ragged and fast. “Who is Porter Hammond? Is he the one who took your purse?”

“Yes. He stole it from me on the street. But when I fought back, he yelled at me. And I recognized him. I have to get my bag back.”

“But Lehi told you it was okay,” she objected. “He even replaced the money. Do you have something special in the purse?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand. What could possibly be so important that you would risk seeing him again after what he did to you?” Rebecca blinked rapidly, her voice shrill and urgent. She was obviously terrified.

I was too, but I couldn’t let her know that. I had to remain calm. I had to get my purse. For her, for me, and for Burt.

“Please, trust me. He won’t hurt us, I promise. He’s not a bad person. But this place,” I said, gesturing to the buzzing of the town around us, “it’s obviously hurting him, making him desperate.”

Before Rebecca could object, I pressed my shaking finger to the gray button beside the name Travis in white block letters.