Wife Number Seven (The Compound, #1)(55)

I’d managed to dodge Burt since starting my job with Jorjina Black. Lehi had staked his claim with me on our initial walk to the house, and since then, Burt had stayed away from me.

But today was the exception.

“Miss Brinley,” he called from the covered porch of the partially built home. Before I could trudge through the muddy road to turn the corner, he’d hoisted himself over the railing and made his way toward me.

“Elder Jameson, please.” I shook my head furiously, pinching my eyes tightly as the rain pounded around me. “I-I can’t speak to you. It’s not right.”

“I’m sorry. I promise I won’t ask about Rebecca.”

I stared at him in confusion, until I remembered their four children.

“How are my boys? Are they all right? Are they adjusting?”

Burt Jameson had seven other children to support with his first two wives, but I knew that didn’t change the love he felt for the children he shared with Rebecca.

“They’re well.” I bit my lip, determined not to become emotional. “They struggled a bit in the beginning, but they’re doing better. They really are.”

“That’s good.”

He shifted his weight, his boots sloshing in the mud. The rain poured down, pasting his graying hair against his skull. Nervously, he raked his fingers through the long strands, pushing them away from his forehead. His pale skin had aged rapidly since the last time we’d spoken. I knew he was miserable. But I also knew there was absolutely nothing I could do about that. Rebecca had made her choice. Yes, it was the wrong one, but she’d made it.

Rain dripped from his bushy eyebrows as he lifted them at me and asked, his voice cracking, “Is he good to them?”

I knew what my answer should have been. It should have been an honest representation of Lehi Cluff’s paternal role. He’d screamed at each of the boys, had slapped their faces on occasion. He’d even given the eldest the silent treatment for several days after a disagreement. His treatment of Burt’s sons was deplorable.

That was the honest answer. But I’d caused enough trouble already.

And the truth was, telling Burt about the pain his children were dealing with wouldn’t change a thing.

Not one thing.

So, I kept sweet. I harnessed my emotions and told a lie to make Burt feel just a tiny bit better.

“Yes, he is. I’m sure that they love and miss you every day. But they’re thriving, Elder Jameson.” When he sighed at my response, I said it again. “They’re thriving.”

He closed his eyes and nodded as raindrops streaming from his forehead to his caterpillar eyebrows, down his crooked nose and landing on his parted lips. “Now, I must go.”

“Wait, plea—”

“Elder Jameson, I have to go. This isn’t right.” When he didn’t move, I said what I needed to say to change his position. “And the prophet is expecting me.”

When I said that word prophet, Burt took a step back. That word carried power—power and fear and responsibility. Burt glanced around us, taking in our surroundings before stepping to the side to let me pass.

“Good-bye, Miss Brinley. And thank you.”

“You’re most welcome,” I whispered, turning my face before he could see my lips tremble.

I stepped quickly through the mud, my heart thudding inside my empty chest as I made my way to the home of Jorjina Black.

? ? ?

“You’ll catch your death! Get inside!” Jorjina whooped, her frail arm holding the screen door open for me.

“I’m sorry about the mud.”

She shrugged off my apology. “You’re the one who has to clean it. Why should I worry?”

A clever wink let me know she was only teasing. I’d come to depend on that wink. Jorjina’s sense of humor wasn’t what you’d expect from our version of royalty. She was clever and quick-witted, even sarcastic at times.

I’d noticed that when the prophet joined us for tea, checking in on us from time to time, her demeanor changed. She stiffened in his presence and refrained from her normal clever remarks. Those were the mornings when her eyes lost their luster, their youthful glow.

She was different around her son. And if Jorjina Black couldn’t be herself around the prophet, what chance did the rest of us have?

Luckily, the prophet hadn’t joined us in several days. It was just Jorjina, me, and a cake that was waiting to be baked.

“Clarence told me your news,” she said casually while stirring the chocolate batter.

“Oh.” I paused, not sure how to respond to that. I’d come to enjoy my time with Jorjina, and didn’t want her to send me away.

“I hope you’ll still continue on. For as long as possible, that is. I’ve gotten quite used to you.”

She winked. And my lips curled into a satisfied smile.

“I’ll stay as long as my husband will allow.”

It was the truth. When my fake pregnancy reached its inevitable end, I’d be able to continue my work with Jorjina. Over the past weeks, my time with her had become my escape. A few afternoons per week, she’d insist I leave her alone, that I’d allow her to rest in private. For this reason, I’d started to carry my cell phone inside my brassiere, beneath my long underwear and dress. It was undetectable, but allowed me to contact Porter whenever the opportunity arose so we could be together.