Wife Number Seven (The Compound, #1)(56)

We’d make love in his bedroom, and then he’d stroke my hair and sing me songs as I laid my head against his chest. It was heavenly.

And then as the dinner hour approached, I’d dress and return to the comforts of Jorjina’s home.

She never asked me where I went. Part of me wondered if she knew, if she had some sort of mind-reading abilities. Porter said that was ridiculous, but then showed me websites that listed people who called themselves “psychics,” claiming to be able to predict the future and read minds. It astounded me.

One afternoon, Porter had to work late, but I still had to leave Jorjina’s home as was expected of me. I couldn’t return home, or Leandra would certainly tell Lehi about the breaks I was given by Jorjina, and the time I had with Porter would certainly become a thing of the past.

So instead, I’d walked to town and sat in the coffee shop below his apartment. I’d used some of the money Porter had given me months earlier in the drugstore to purchase a cup of tea, and I’d sat in the corner, watching the patrons as they sat nearby.

I’d grown used to the way that my dress, lack of makeup, and hairstyle had attracted attention. It no longer fazed me and I was able to blend in as best I could. And so, for those two hours, I’d sipped my beverage and watched the people around me. I watched people type furiously on their tiny computers. I watched as husbands and wives talked about their children. And I watched as a large group of women argued the merits of homeschooling.

In a word—I was fascinated, completely and utterly fascinated by the tiny shop and the people it attracted. If I could have stayed there longer, I would have. I’d make myself comfortable in my tiny booth, nibble on a muffin, and watch the world pass by.

That was the only time I’d ever visited that coffeehouse, but I started to imagine myself there with Porter with my hair up in a loose ponytail, wearing shorts and a T-shirt rather than my heavy, oppressive dress, and I’d have a purse with an embroidered owl strung across my chest.

That daydream filled my thoughts as Jorjina brought me back to the present.

“That makes me happy. I like you, dear.” Jorjina’s thin fingers stroked the top of my hand in a kind, maternal fashion. “And I hope you’ll be here for as long as you can.”

“Me too.”

“But I’m a realist. I know that in several months you’ll have a little one to attend to, and that son of mine will replace you with another inadequate and unfriendly woman who will burn the eggs.”

I chuckled as I poured the batter into the greased pans, shaking my head. “I’ll teach her, if you like. So she gets them just right.”

Jorjina paused, leaning her body against the counter. “You’d do that for me?”

“Mm-hmm.” I nodded emphatically. And it was the truth.

“Well, how about that,” she whispered, staring off into space.

“I’m sorry?” I asked, confused.

Her brow knitted for just a slice of a moment. Before I could react, she shook her head briefly before looking me dead in the eye. “Oh, nothing. You’re just growing on me, is all.”

I wanted to be comforted by her words. But I wasn’t. All of my stolen moments with Porter seemed in jeopardy. I felt on display, exposed and vulnerable.

Could it be that my “honor” of working for the prophet’s mother was nothing but a ruse? Was Lehi spying on me? Was the prophet?

My heart raced as I placed the cake pans in the oven, avoiding my employer’s gaze as I set the timer. Then I turned to the window to focus on the rain that continued to pour from the sky.

Jorjina’s shoulder brushed against my arm as she moved to stand next to me, and placed her hand on top of mine. “You’re safe here.” Her eyes were solemn, pleading. “I promise you. No matter what.”

She squeezed my and nodded, urging me to believe her. But I couldn’t, and I struggled to compose my features. I had no idea what to believe.

Could I trust her?

Could I trust anyone?

When I was younger, everything was simple. I knew my place in the world. I knew my role, my duty, my destiny within our community.

But that was no longer my reality. I was breaking every rule, challenging every belief that I’d once held dear. And the woman I’d grown attached to over the past several weeks was sending me mixed messages, confusing me.

And I had no idea what to do.

My brain told me to hide everything inside, not to trust, not to feel.

Keep sweet, keep sweet, keep sweet.

And my heart . . . that part of me wanted to believe in her, to believe that she’d grown as attached to me as I was to her. My heart wanted so desperately to believe that someone knew my secrets and supported me just the same, someone inside the compound, someone living the life I was expected to live.

But was that even possible?

And was I a fool to believe that the mother of the prophet himself could be that person?

Mentally I chastised myself, a similar refrain running through my mind:

I’m a silly girl.

A foolish girl.

A stupid girl.

And yet my heart continued to win, no matter how much my brain raised cautious pleas.

I could no longer stifle the screams.

They were coming.



Chapter 20

“I think she knows.” My words came out in a harsh whisper as I inhaled deeply, out of breath from running to town.