Favorite Wife (47 page)

As the days passed, I found myself carrying on a silent conversation with the Lord at every opportunity. I begged Him to open my eyes to His Word and His will, and to help me stop questioning the church because of what I'd read. I needed to accept the fact that He was in control. But if the Doctrine and Covenants were true, why was He so partial?

Lillie had left Los Molinos on an extended visit to her mother in San Diego. I sorely missed her companionship, and found myself withdrawing from the other family members and the residents of Los Molinos. Day after day I spent alone with my children, finding little in life to look forward to except for my time at the piano. Our diet was more meager than ever, as the family garden was through bearing for the year. We lived on ground wheat bread, beans, and rice. Lillie had left her chickens for me to care for, and the luxury of having a few eggs partially made up for her absence.

As the weeks passed and my abdomen grew huge with my third pregnancy, my loneliness and confusion consumed me. How I needed someone to talk to! Mentally I journeyed throughout the colony, my thoughts resting on each woman as I searched for someone who would spare me her wisdom and friendship. Irene, who was pregnant with her twelfth child, had her own problems and spent her spare time with her best friend, Betty Tippetts. Beverly and Lucy each had tiny new babies and were too depressing to be around. Charlotte was aloof. The rest of the colony women were so bogged down with their many children and chores, and so filled with worry and cares, that none of them could meet my need. The only bright spot on my horizon was the fact that Kim had turned Verlan's marriage proposal down flat.

As I went about my lonely days, I continued my habit of talking to the Lord. I constantly asked Him to strengthen and guide me, to help me accept my lot in life, and not be bitter.

One day, word came to Los Molinos that Ervil, weary of dodging the law, had gone to the authorities in Ensenada and turned himself in, expecting to clear his name of masterminding Joel's murder in a rapid manner, and go free. But to his consternation, several of our people promptly arrived to bear witness against him, and he was arrested and thrown into the Ensenada jail.

We were all ecstatic. Certain that justice would be served, everyone in Los Molinos said fervent prayers of thanks. Verlan and the other men determined to double their efforts in catching Joel's actual shooters, Dan Jordan and Gamaliel Rios, in hopes that they could make a clean sweep of the Lambs of God's leadership, and douse Ervil's evil purpose forever. I celebrated along with everyone, yet I knew that nothing could ever bring Joel back, or my beloved Chynoweths, for that matter. As the weeks passed and we settled back into semi-normal life, melancholy once again engulfed me.

One cold, December afternoon I had the best surprise—my brother Ross, along with his wife, Bobett, and their baby son, Jared, drove into my yard. They had come to San Diego on vacation from their home in Utah, and decided to drive on down the peninsula to see me. Thrilled, and determined that they wouldn't see how cheerless my life in Los Molinos had become, I enthusiastically showed them the town and drove with them to the beach. But as the afternoon turned to evening, I became plagued with embarrassment. I had no eggs left, no beans or bread cooked, and nothing else to feed my guests but one small sack of pasta. Verlan Jr. had sent no money for the family this week.

Verlan was in town after another long absence. He'd arrived just the day before, and though I knew he was in an important meeting with some of the brethren, I quickly, unobtrusively, sent Irene's son Brent with a note. I had company, I told him, and I was in desperate need of grocery money. His scribbled reply was for me to make do with what I had.

I resolutely pulled out the Mexican pasta and sent Brent to Beverly's to beg a can of tomato sauce for seasoning. Using the last of my ground wheat, I mixed bread dough and fried some scones. As I dished up the small portions to my guests, I tried to hide my embarrassment.

Ross and Bobett were effusive in their praise for the wonderful meal. It was so delicious, they reassured me—such light, wonderful scones and such flavorful Mexican pasta!

We visited until the wee hours. Ross updated me on all the news of my older brothers and sister who lived in Utah. My mother had returned to Colonia LeBaron because Grandma Susie was finally well again. Ross also informed me that Jay had taken a second wife, Karen, the daughter of one of the church brethren. And Fara, at seventeen, had become the plural wife to a relatively new member of the church.

I had mixed feelings about this news from our sister-colony. How could I be so out of touch with my own family—as though Los Molinos was on a different continent! I should have known these things without my brother from Utah having to bring the news from Colonia LeBaron to me. Our mail system here was pathetic, taking at least a month, and more often, the letters didn't arrive at all. As Ross talked, the feeling of dejection and of being ostracized from the planet overwhelmed me.

So Jay had finally done it, he'd joined the ranks of polygamy, and Carmela was getting a taste of having to share her husband. And Fara, my saucy little sister, was now a plural wife. I should be happy for them, but instead I felt they had nailed themselves to a cross.

Ross wanted to know the details of Joel's death and Ervil's part in it, and about Aunt Thelma and Uncle Bud. In spite of Ervil's incarceration, Ross appeared worried about our safety and suggested more than once that the children and I should return to Utah with them for a lengthy visit.

I reluctantly declined. Oh, how I wished I felt free to discuss my new and growing questions where the church was concerned! But I knew he would leap into the opening with heated arguments against the Church of the Firstborn. He would demand that I leave it behind—and I wasn't prepared to turn my back on my life's beliefs.

An answer for the turmoil in the church would come, I just had to have faith and be patient. As hard as it was to see the purpose of my being here, I was still Verlan's wife and my job was to be supportive.

As much as I enjoyed the time with my brother's family, I was relieved to see them go. I had no food left except beans and whole wheat. Besides, having the happy, carefree couple here caused me to wonder more than ever about the existence I'd chosen. The children and I stood at the edge of our yard, smiling and waving until they were out of sight, but as we trudged back inside, the hard lump in my throat melted into a stream of despair and poured down my cheeks.

“Verlan, would you please explain this to me?” I demanded one January afternoon. I thrust my open Bible into his hands and pointed at First Timothy, third chapter. “Bishops and deacons shall be the husband of but one wife,” I read aloud. “And here, further down, verse five. If anyone does not know how to manage his own family, how can he take care of God's church?” I glanced at him and raised my eyebrows.

He read it slowly, grinned and shrugged. “In the first place, this was written way before God gave the New and Everlasting Covenant of marriage to Joseph Smith. We're in the latter days now, and we've been commanded to live plural marriage.” He readjusted his pillow, snapped the book closed, and set it on the nightstand. “And as to the other verse, what are you trying to say? Don't you think I manage my family well?”

“No, I don't,” I said dryly. “You're never here to do it. When you're not out running around for the church, you're marrying other women and traipsing off to Nicaragua. I don't call that good management.” I pulled my nipple from my newest daughter's mouth and laid her down on the bed.

“Well, I'm here now,” he said with a chuckle. “So stop trying to make me feel bad.” He tickled baby Jeannette's plump toes and blew on her bare tummy. She rewarded him by grabbing a firm hold on his large nose and yanking as hard as her seven-month-old fingers could.

“Ouch!” he whined, pulling loose. “I'm being attacked by two girls at once. That's not fair.”

I grimaced. “I suppose you thought it was fair for you to marry Helen Leany. What did you have to offer an elderly widow like her? Companionship, maybe?” I yanked my arm from his roving fingers.

“She needs someone to look after her. Darn it, Susan, why do you have to question everything I do? I owe it to Theron to take care of his family, don't you think? He gave his life to the church; that's the least I can do.”

“Oh, yes, Sir Verlan to the rescue. Again.” I bounced off the bed and stomped out of the room to check on Melanie and James. I needed to get their things together to take to Irene's. She was leaving for Nicaragua with Verlan tonight, and I'd agreed to help Donna take care of her kids.

Nicaragua was Verlan and Floren's latest project. Before Joel had died, he had talked of going south, and Joseph Smith and other early Mormon leaders had foretold the time when the saints would move into Central and South America. The men had made two scouting trips down there so far, with the last trip doubling as Verlan and Helen's honeymoon. They were impressed with the land and intrigued with the thought of how well goats and cattle would do on such abundant vegetation, and also they were excited by what foods could be produced in such a moderate climate. Land was cheap, and government officials had made it clear that the LeBaron people would be welcomed.

I was appalled at the whole thing. Here we were, finally settled in Los Molinos, with Verlan's dream of having a home for each of his wives a reality. And now he was chasing another whim. Life for Verlan was always better and greener over the distant hill.

Verlan was taking Irene with him on this trip, to get her support for a move south with some of his families. Well, they could go and explore the jungle to their heart's content. I would never go. In fact, I'd made up my mind that as soon as they returned I would leave Los Molinos for good. Verlan was practically never around, and with the Chynoweths gone, there was nothing left here for me. If Verlan wanted to see me, he could just come to Colonia LeBaron. With or without Verlan's permission, I was going home.

C
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HIRTY-
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IX

A
s soon as Irene and Verlan returned from their six-week trip to Nicaragua, I began to pack my bags. Verlan didn't battle my decision to move to Colonia LeBaron—he was much too occupied with the preparations to move Irene and Lucy South. Also, after almost a year's incarceration, Ervil's case had finally gone to trial in Ensenada, and of course Verlan was in the thick of it. Reports from the courtroom were phoned in to Colonia LeBaron on a daily basis, the details passed throughout the colony. Several of our people were absent, and now in Ensenada to witness against Ervil. Other than a wild rumor that his followers were raising money in the hope of purchasing his release, things were looking good for a long sentence. God was smiling on us again.

Once Ervil was imprisoned, Verlan would head south with Irene and Lucy's families. I could hardly believe they were actually planning to move—and to a jungle, so far away! The trip would take six days of driving around the clock, plus numerous borders to cross to get to Matagalpa—the small Nicaraguan village close to the piece of land Verlan had bought.

I wondered if he'd lost his mind altogether. What could possibly be the purpose of starting a new colony thousands of miles from civilization? Who would ever want to move there, and what was wrong with finishing and improving the two colonies we'd already started? We had plenty of land already—we should be concentrating our efforts in the mission field and fill the land we already had. We were supposed to be saving souls—wasn't that more important than starting a new venture and raising goats? I was aghast that Irene had gone along with it. Lucy, yes, she would do anything Verlan asked without question, but Irene? According to Verlan, this new dreamland of his was in the middle of nowhere. Who would Irene visit with besides Lucy? Well, it wouldn't be me. Maybe Verlan could sweet-talk the two of them into moving into a bamboo hut and starting over from scratch, but the Lord Himself would have to order me take my tiny children into the wilds. My soul longed for the tree-shaded, peaceful streets and green fields of my childhood, and that was where I would live.

Within two weeks, Charlotte loaded the children and me into Verlan's pickup, hauled us to Colonia LeBaron, and dropped us on my parents' doorstep. Once again, my mother wasn't there to welcome us. Grandma Susie's health had gotten worse, and Mom would be staying with her indefinitely.

Maria and Dad had given up on their farming project and moved back to the colony. They were living at Mom's. With six children now, they no longer fit into Maria's two-room adobe out back. Dad promptly offered me the use of the vacant house. He was glad to have us home, but scowled at the mention of Verlan's name.

“He couldn't even manage to bring you here himself, could he now?” he snapped. “He just ships you back here and expects us to find you a place to live. He sure didn't have any problem marrying you, but that's where he thinks his responsibility ended. Guess he's too busy running around the countryside. Well, don't worry, honey, I'll see that you're taken care of.”

Dad bustled around for two days, taking me to Casas Grandes to buy groceries and fill my butane tank, and finding me odds and ends of furniture and household items to get me by. I had nothing, as Verlan had insisted I leave everything in my house for some other needy family to use. Dad even talked Harv Stubbs, my sister Rose Ann's husband, into loaning me a fridge. He was attentive and considerate, and determined to tuck the kids and me under his wing. It felt wonderful to have someone looking out for us, and I didn't know how to thank him enough.

I learned immediately upon arriving at the colony, that Debbie Bateman had indeed divorced Ervil! She had just remarried. She was now the third wife to Ritchie Stubbs, Harv and Lane's half-brother. What wonderful news; I couldn't wait to see her and find out how her new life was going.

Grandma LeBaron was looking a bit better than the last time I'd seen her. She was still teaching piano, she told me, but only to a handful of students now. They helped her temporarily forget her dear son Joel, and her precious son Ervil. She kissed my children and fed them bread and honey, and she wanted to know all about Verlan and the other girls. I didn't want to talk about them, and I left as soon as I could. Being around Grandma made me feel guilty.

My sister Fara was living in El Paso with her husband John and his first wife, Robin. Fara was doing well—Dad told me—and seemed to fit right in with her new family. They were planning to move to Colonia LeBaron soon.

My youngest sister, Mona, had been staying with Dad and Maria, but to my delight, she immediately hauled her few belongings across the back yard and announced that she was my new roommate. At sixteen she was a shy girl with immense, dark-lashed cerulean blue eyes and long, honey-blond hair, and a soft little chin that quavered at the slightest harsh word or look. She was in her junior year of high school, and caught the bus at the highway every day to Buenaventura. She was so homesick for Mom and deliriously happy about having me home again.

Jay had moved Carmela and his new wife Karen to the acres of land he'd purchased twelve miles from the colony, parcela land. As the other American men had done, he'd secured it in Carmela's name, because she was a Mexican citizen. He'd built two homes and was planting pecan orchards. He already had several acres of baby trees that his wives took care of during the week while he worked in New Mexico. Carmela had three children now, and Karen, a slim, attractive blond, had a baby daughter. Carmela confided in me that Jay was in the process of courting another Mexican girl, Luz Vila, the daughter of one of the colony residents. Carmela was incensed about it. “He doesn't even have time for us, Susan!” she declared in exasperation. “He's only home on the weekends, and he has so much work to do, with the orchards and all. We hardly see him . . . I just don't know what to do.”

How well I understood! I nodded in sympathy and bit back a nasty comment regarding my brother's increasing lack of devotion to her, his childhood sweetheart, as he became more and more important in the bishopric of the church. Carmela didn't need to hear that from me, and I certainly didn't want to begin my new life with a negative attitude toward my darling sibling. I felt wonderful being away from Los Molinos and all my sister-wives and heartache, and even to be away from Verlan and the constant reminder of how topsy-turvy my own emotional life was.

I knew my spiritual life was suffering. I still prayed every day, but my prayers were perfunctory words that I no longer felt in my heart. I couldn't feel close to a God who was so solidly aligned with his sons, and who valued his daughters only as vessels for bearing more sons. I tried not to be angry, but I couldn't seem to control my feelings. Maybe someday I could accept it, but for now, I didn't want to think about it. All I wanted was to relish the associations of my family and friends, enjoy raising my children, and keep all thoughts of plural marriage and what it entailed far away. Verlan's new wife, Helen, his cousin Theron's widow, lived across town, but I hardly saw her except at church, and I'd managed to steer clear of her even then. I had three lovely, healthy children, and that was plenty for me. I didn't need Verlan anymore. The others could have him. Just as long as his three boys working in San Diego kept my twenty dollars a week coming, I would be just fine.

On November 9, 1973, Ervil was sentenced to twelve years imprisonment by the Ensenada court. Although the sentence seemed ridiculously short for such a crime, we at the colony rejoiced that justice was finally being served, and we breathed a sigh of relief. Our joy was short-lived, however. The following month on December 14, a higher court in Mexicali, Baja California, ordered Ervil's release. Lack of evidence was the reason given for the change of verdict, but bribery was of course suspected. Dismay and apprehension once again reigned throughout the church. So much effort on the part of Verlan, Sigfried Widmar, Ossmen Jones, and the others, and all for nothing! Ervil again roamed free.

The sound of someone knocking woke me from a sound sleep. I pulled my robe around me, hurrying to see who needed me at this hour. I glanced out the kitchen window as I unbolted my door. The first whispers of a rosy, late December dawn were creeping across the sky. The year 1974 was fast coming to a close.

Joel LeBaron Jr. pushed the crack of door I was peering through further open, and unbidden, stepped inside. Even in the poor light I could sense the fear and horror in the brown eyes of the late Prophet Joel's twenty-two-year-old son. Joel Jr. had been only twenty when his father was killed. The past two years had matured him into a true leader among us.

“The Ervilites just attacked the Los Molinos colony!” he rasped. They shot people . . . some are dead . . . burned the whole town . . . Grab your kids and find a hiding place, they're headed here next . . . ”

“What?” My heart leaped into my throat. My body began to tremble as his words sank in. The past year since Ervil's release had been one of constant foreboding. We lived each day expecting another disaster, and now it had happened. I grabbed Joel's icy hands, needing the human feel of his closeness. “Oh, my God!” I moaned. “Who's dead? Who, do you know? Charlotte and her kids are still there . . . and Ester . . . Oh, Joel . . . Who . . . who all, how bad is it, and how do you know the Ervilites are headed here?”

“I don't know the details . . . just that thirteen or more are wounded and at least two are dead . . . Alma's wife Luz called from San Diego. They're all certain Colonia LeBaron's next . . . We need to be ready!” He squeezed my hands, then pulled away from my frantic fingers.

“Find a spot out in the peach orchard, or somewhere. Take water and blankets, and a gun if you have one . . . The cowardly bastards threw cocktail bombs on the houses, so we need to expect the same here. I've got to go—and warn the others.”

Within minutes, Mona and I had the children bundled up and our necessities thrown together, and we headed out into the frosty predawn. We scurried around the barn and chicken coop, then ducked through the barbed wire at the back of Dad's lot.

“Run! Run!” I gasped, pushing at Melanie's back. I clutched James's hand and half-dragged his small body across the uneven ground. We had to make it to the trees. They wouldn't find us in the trees. Mona raced next to us, baby Jeannette bouncing up and down in her arms.

Our rushing steps through the frozen underbrush crashed in my ears, and I cringed. The early morning silence seemed ominous, and I darted a quick look behind us. Halfway through the orchard, I found a tree with a particularly large ditch bank around it. We dropped a blanket and hunkered down under the low, frost-covered branches, then covered up with a heavy quilt.

“What's happening, Mama?”

The terror in my oldest daughter's eyes mirrored my own fear. She was so little, so helpless. How could she ever comprehend that her own uncle wanted to kill us?

Mona's gaze met mine for an instant. Then she buried her chalk-white face against Jeannette's blanket-wrapped body and slumped against the tree trunk.

My voice quivering, I whispered, “All of you be very, very quiet. Be real good and don't worry! We have to stay here for a while, so let's just get comfortable and take a little rest.”

I peered over the ditch bank. I could just make out the back of Dad's barn through the bare trees. Dad and Maria had gone to El Paso on business, and their kids were staying at Maria's parents' place across town. Oh, why weren't they here with us!

Thoughts of Los Molinos, Verlan's families, and the others there—bloody and dying—God, please, let them be okay, just let them be okay, my mind chanted. Just let Charlotte and the kids, and Ester and her little ones, the Tippetts, the Babbitts, the Castros, the Zarates . . . Please Lord, please! Don't let them be dead or hurt!

Thank God I had decided to leave . . . And, oh! Thank God that Verlan and the others were in Nicaragua! He would have been their prime target.