Wife Number Seven (The Compound, #1)(40)

But as she aged, we saw less of Jorjina—and most of us forgot about her. I, however, was about to become more than reacquainted with the woman. I was chosen to care for her and would do so to the best of my ability.

“We’ll leave in one hour. Can you be ready by then?” Lehi ran his fingers through his disheveled morning hair, turning to look me in the eye. I could smell the foul odor of his breath when he turned my way to speak. Desperately trying to be inconspicuous, I held my breath and nodded, biting my bottom lip.

“All right then.” He stood, stretched his arms toward the ceiling, and left the room.

Exhaling a large blast of air, I ran to my closet and turned on the phone, thrilled to see a couple of texts from Porter.

P: I hope today goes okay. Be strong, they can smell fear. ;) I miss you like crazy.

P: Oh, and flip off the prophet for me. I hate that *.

A giggle left my mouth as I texted back.

B: What does flip off mean?

I rose to my feet and stood with my back to the wall as I stared down at the small screen, hoping I’d get a response. I didn’t have much time to wait as I needed to bathe and prepare myself for Jorjina Black’s company.

P: I have so much to teach you, Brin.

I rolled my eyes, but a smile bloomed on my face. He was right; he had a lot to teach me. And the more we talked, texted, and saw each other, the more willing I became. With each passing day, it was getting easier to imagine myself in the outside world . . . no long hair, no braid, no long dresses with long underwear beneath.

Freedom.

Could I do it? I wasn’t sure.

But I was warming up to the idea. The voice in my head had started out as disjointed whispers, so unconnected that they didn’t make any sense. But those whispers were coming together, becoming more cohesive, clearer and louder in my head than ever before.

From a whisper to a scream.

I was waiting for the scream.

? ? ?

Dust collected on my already dirty sneakers as Lehi and I walked to the new home that had been constructed for Jorjina Black.

“Remember what an honor this is,” he told me.

“I will.”

“At all times,” he said pointedly.

I nodded my head in submission, focusing on the dust covering my shoes.

“The prophet will give you specific instructions. You must obey them, no matter what.”

I frowned in confusion. Of all of Lehi’s wives, I knew I was one of the more submissive women in our home. What would make him think I would disobey any directions given to me by Jorjina or the prophet?

As I pondered the meaning behind Lehi’s words, I almost missed the eyes on me.

Almost.

Burt Jameson stood on the porch of the house he and his crew were constructing. He clutched the railing, his knuckles white as he stared in our direction, a pained expression on his unshaven face. New creases in his forehead and bracketing his mouth telegraphed his sorrow and despair. He wasn’t far away but I couldn’t acknowledge him, no matter how much I wanted to ease his pain, to beg him to move on as Rebecca clearly had with her new husband.

But I couldn’t.

When we approached his building site, Lehi pushed his shoulders back and stiffened. From the corner of my eye, I could see Lehi deliberately lift his chin. And for the first time in three years, he took my hand in his, and turned his head toward Burt. Burt’s mouth opened in response, then he turned away, walking back to his crew and his work.

My throat turned dry as I stared at Lehi’s clammy hand clutching my fingers, and I wondered what he knew. Was he simply reminding Burt of his control over his wives? Or was there more to that display of possession?

Lehi maintained his grasp on my hand even as we approached Jorjina’s grandiose home in the center of the compound. The prophet had spared no expense on the residence of his mother. Lush gardens surrounded the thin brick walkway that led to the elegant French doors on the front porch. I’d never seen a home with such a fancy entryway. Apparently, when your son was the prophet, you could have whatever you liked.

A young man scrubbed at the beveled glass of the doors, making them shine. I couldn’t help but wonder how he had come to deserve the honor of scrubbing Jorjina’s windows. Cynical thoughts such as these were popping up more and more.

The whispers were growing louder.

“Good morning, Elder Cluff,” he said, bowing his head slightly and stepping back to give us access to the doorbell. Lehi didn’t respond to the boy, he simply cleared his throat and pressed his finger to the button.

The prophet opened the door and met us with an expressionless face. He looked older since I had seen him last—wrinkles had formed at the creases of his dark eyes, and his hair seemed thinner. He was not a tall man; in fact, Lehi towered over him in height.

Yet the prophet’s willowy frame belied the power he carried in our community. The irony of his appearance was not lost on me.

Since marrying Lehi, my interactions with the prophet had been limited. I was accustomed to hearing his sermons each morning over the loudspeakers, but it had been quite some time since he’d visited the Cluff household. And I suspected Lehi preferred it that way. Visits from the prophet usually meant trouble for a man or his wives.

Like Burt and Rebecca.

The prophet didn’t smile, but greeted us from the door. His voice was a soft monotone, lacking emotion. “Welcome. Mother has been expecting you.”