Wife Number Seven (The Compound, #1)(54)

Chapter 19

I’d read the pamphlets from Tiffany at least seven times each. I knew my due date by heart, and the day my period was “due” but according to my lies, never arrived. Each morning I skipped breakfast, instead opting for crackers and water, clutching my belly as I nibbled on the bland, salty excuse for a meal, wishing I were eating with the family. Brenda would cook her famous French toast and my stomach would growl in defiance, demanding the feast the rest of the family was enjoying.

“You need to keep up your strength, girl,” Leandra would say each morning with a slight roll of her eyes. Rather than argue with her, I kept sweet, nodding and gesturing to the crackers on my plate.

Brenda and Aspen helped me with my morning chores each weekday before I pretended to muster the energy to walk to Jorjina’s house several blocks from our home. I pushed the guilt down, knowing how horrified my sister wives would be at my betrayal, knowing that this was a means to an end. These lies released me from my obligations to Lehi; they allowed me to lay with Porter, to experience bliss that was unimaginable to me just months earlier.

I was falling in love. And I’d do almost anything to keep that love intact. If necessary, lying would just be the tip of the iceberg.

Porter was quickly becoming the most important person in my existence. And the idea of losing him made me physically sick. I couldn’t let that happen.

As long as he wanted me, I would be his.

“Take an umbrella today,” Aspen said from across the expanse of the dining room table. “It’s misty this morning.”

“Thank you,” I replied. “I will.” I rose to my feet and carried my uneaten crackers to the sink. Joseph, one of Leandra’s older boys, took the plate from my hands and patted me on the shoulder. I thanked him and retreated to my bedroom before leaving for Jorjina’s home.

Aspen followed me, but I pretended not to notice. She’d been more protective than usual since I’d revealed my pregnancy to the family. And as deceptive and deplorable as it was, I knew what I had to do. Acting as though I was oblivious to the footsteps behind me, I walked to my bedroom, closed the door behind me, then entered my private bathroom and closed that door.

I leaned over the toilet as tears built in my eyes, knowing what I needed to do. Without thinking, knowing that if I dwelled on my actions, I might avoid them, I forced my index finger to the back of my throat. My paltry breakfast made its way into the toilet as I retched while clutching the plastic seat. When the heaving ceased, tears of humiliation and shame streamed down my cheeks.

As she always did, Aspen knocked softly on the door. “Can I get you anything? Are you okay?”

“No.” I cleared my throat and flushed the toilet, moving to the sink to splash cold water on my face. “I’ll be all right. Just need to brush my teeth.”

I’d hoped that Aspen would be gone by the time I stepped into my bedroom, but she was seated at my vanity, her hands placed neatly in her lap, her auburn braid hanging in front of her chest. “It’s a good sign, you know.”

“I know,” I said, acknowledging my supposed morning sickness.

“The sicker you are, the healthier the pregnancy. You should feel better when you get to twelve weeks. That’s how I was with every one of my children. It’s like clockwork.”

I knew what that meant—two more months of this routine. Two months of deception, forcing myself to skip the food I enjoyed, to vomit the food that I hated, and to lie to my husband and sister wives.

But that didn’t change a thing. Two months, two years . . . it didn’t matter. It was a means to an end. And I was determined to see it through.

“Your eyes look awful. Maybe I should go to Mrs. Black’s home today instead of you.”

“No, no.” I reached out to pat her shoulder. “I’ll be all right. It doesn’t last long.”

A weak smile crossed my lips as Aspen’s hand covered mine, squeezing gently. “I’m here for you. You know that, right?”

To say that I was struggling to understand Aspen’s behavior since announcing my pregnancy would be a gigantic understatement. She’d always been protective of me; this was nothing new. But now I felt as if I’d reached some new level of sisterhood with Lehi’s sixth wife. I felt like she’d developed claws and wasn’t afraid to use them if anyone were to put me in harm’s way. It was as if she’d adopted me as one of her own. A mama bear and her very own grown-up cub.

It was strange, but it felt nice. And awful, because it was based on a lie.

“Thank you, though, Aspen. I do appreciate all of your help.”

“I know you do.” She stood, smoothed the wrinkles from her dress, and retrieved my wicker basket from the corner. “I’ll take care of this. Give my regards to Jorjina.”

“I will.”

? ? ?

The rain we’d received made our unpaved, normally dusty roads damp and muddy; the slop sucked at my sneakers with each step. Luckily my umbrella shielded me from the downpour that had developed as I walked, but my once pristine sneakers were the color of the mud beneath them. I sighed, knowing that Lehi would rather I wash my shoes dozens of times before replacing them. I was so busy focusing on my shoes, however, that I almost missed the man staring at me from the unfinished construction project to my right.

Burt Jameson.