Wife Number Seven (The Compound, #1)(61)

That was more than ten years prior to the present day in her kitchen, where the young Brinley had turned a ghostly pale and closed herself off to Jorjina. Her heart ached, knowing that the friendship she had attempted to build with the girl was in jeopardy, knowing there was absolutely nothing she could say to make Brinley trust her intentions.

None of the other young women had recognized, or even suspected, that the prophet was using Jorjina to learn their secrets. After several weeks, each of them had become comfortable enough to entrust Jorjina with their deepest private thoughts and emotions. And each time, it pained Jorjina to then share that information with her son.

Luckily, many instances were minor—nothing to cause a reassignment or discipline of any kind. Because of this, Jorjina and the prophet had been able to continue the underground method of retrieving information about families in question. She thought for sure when Burt Jameson’s wife, the girl who constantly burned her eggs, was reassigned to the Cluff household, that this job of hers would come to a screeching halt. She’d assumed that Rebecca would inform her new sister wives that Jorjina was, in fact, the person who had revealed her secrets to the prophet. But that hadn’t happened.

Rebecca, a tall woman with a full head of auburn hair, had been kind and well-intentioned with Jorjina, and they’d built a friendship on the surface. For some reason, Jorjina never felt fully comfortable with Elder Jameson’s third wife. But regardless of that, she’d done her best to fulfill her duties to her son by encouraging Rebecca to share the details of her life while they walked through the vacant park on a lonely Wednesday afternoon. Rebecca had arrived that morning with bloodshot eyes, her vulnerability hanging from her sleeve. Over the years, Jorjina had developed quite the “poker face,” as her late husband had called it. Rebecca, however, had none.

That day, Jorjina knew the time had come for her to learn the secrets of the Jameson household. And so she pushed for Rebecca to confide in her. She made no promises of keeping said secrets; she couldn’t handle telling outright lies. But she attempted to make Rebecca as comfortable as possible as they walked through the park, the sun shining brightly above them as they made their way along a winding path.

“You know you can talk to me, dear,” Jorjina had said. Rebecca bit down on her lower lip and Jorjina knew she wanted to talk, to release her pent-up frustrations and emotions.

“It’s just, well, my sister wives dislike me.”

“How could they dislike you? You’re such a sweet girl,” Jorjina said sweetly.

Rebecca shook her head abruptly. “They do, and it’s my fault. It’s completely my fault. I ruined their family the moment the prophet pronounced us man and wife.”

Jorjina had taken Rebecca’s hand in hers and stopped walking. “Talk to me, dear. You’ll feel better, I promise.”

It wasn’t a lie, not technically, anyway, but it felt like one. A wave of guilt rolled through Jorjina. She didn’t want to do this anymore. Destroying lives was not her chosen path in life.

“Burt and I . . . we have this . . . connection. It’s magical, when we’re together. I’m sure that sounds ridiculous, but—”

“No, not at all. Walter and I had the same thing. He was taken with me, and I enjoyed that. I cherished it.”

“I do too. But my sister wives, they won’t talk to me, they won’t look at me. I’ve been married to Burt for twelve years, and I feel like I’ll never truly be part of the family.”

“Is it that bad?”

Rebecca shrugged her shoulders. “The worst part is . . .” She hesitated before wiping her misty eyes. “That I feel like his mistress.”

“Bite your tongue, girl,” Jorjina had said with wide eyes. She hadn’t expected anything as serious as this.

“It’s true, I do. Yes, we’re married. Yes, I was revealed to the prophet as the third wife, but what he feels for me, he doesn’t feel for them.”

“Has he told you this?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And how do you know he doesn’t say this to all of you, as a way of making you feel special?”

Jorjina knew of men in their community who told little white lies to their wives, “secretly” revealing them to be his favorite in order to keep them all content within the confines of their plural marriage.

“I know because . . . because, the other wives have accused me of stealing his time, stealing him away from them, from their hearts.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He doesn’t want to sleep with them anymore. He makes excuses, tells them he’s tired or not feeling well.”

“Oh, that does sound serious.”

“They’re angry, they both want more children. They feel cheated out of their life’s purpose.”

“Does Burt understand that what he’s doing is wrong?” Jorjina pressed, needing to get all the pertinent information before reporting back to Clarence.

“He doesn’t care. He says I’m the only one who matters to him. He’s even mentioned leaving the compound . . . just us and our boys.”

“Oh my.” Jorjina’s jaw dropped. Clarence had suspected favoritism, but defection? No. Even Clarence would be surprised when Jorjina divulged the secrets of the Jameson household.

Rebecca pressed her hand to her mouth. Jorjina changed tactics, suspecting that Rebecca knew she’d told her too many of their secrets.