The tension was as thick as the butter that Sara spread on her piece of toast. The smaller children had already been fed and had cleared out of the kitchen while the school-age kids took their turns at the trough. It was going to be a sweltering day and Sara was already perspiring in her long dress. She always lost her appetite on the first day of school. She knew they would endure the usual stares for their clothing, but Sara didn’t care. In less than an hour, she would be free of this house and be able to escape into the world of books.
Her stomach heaved at the sight of so much food on the table. A spoon perched, handle up, in a mound of watery eggs. Little rounded grooves pockmarked the soupy eggs, like an old excavation site. Sara skipped them and took a bite of toast instead.
Mother Marylee returned to the kitchen alone. Sara sensed something was wrong. She tried to push her discomfort aside. It was probably just another lecture about not socializing with Gentiles. Sara glanced at the clock. If she didn’t hurry and get it over with, they would miss the school bus.
“I have an announcement to make,” Mother Marylee said.
“Yes, Mama, you have our attention.” Rachel wiped her lips and placed the napkin on her lap.
“You’ve probably noticed a lot of activity occurring near the meeting hall lately.”
They nodded. Four double-wide mobile homes had been placed in a quadrangle about five hundred feet behind the meeting hall.
“Well,” continued Marylee, “you’ll be attending the new school there. It’s called ‘the Blood of the Lamb Academy.’ ”
Sara returned the toast to her plate, suddenly sick with despair.
“But what about Centennial? I’ve already met my new second-grade teacher. Her name is Mrs. Mackerel,” said Seth. “Like the fish.”
“The prophet has received a revelation.” Marylee’s words effectively ended all dissent. “Now don’t be upset about the facilities. The school will be relocating to the old meeting hall once they finish construction on the new one. In the meantime, these temporaries are quite sufficient.”
“I don’t understand why we can’t go to Centennial,” Sara said. She pushed the chunk of bread into the corner of her cheek.
“The Lord has instructed Prophet Silver to forbid the children from starting this year. If some families can’t or won’t homeschool their children, then the community will provide the Academy as an alternative.”
“But today’s the first day and it’s my sophomore year and what about my job at the library after school? Miss Wiley is expecting me,” Sara said.
“It’s sounds to me as though you’re questioning the will of the Lord,” Marylee said, giving her an icy stare.
“No, ma’am.” Sara dropped her head, batting her eyes furiously to shore up the tears. If she started to cry, she wasn’t sure she could stop. Ever.
“Well I’m glad to hear that. Now I want you to finish up. School starts at nine.”
“Today?” Sara clasped her bottom lip between her teeth, giving it a punishing bite for letting a question pass through.
“It’s the first day of school, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well then, hurry up and eat.” Marylee picked up the pitcher of milk and carried it to the refrigerator. “Oh and Seth, you’ll like this: you may not have a teacher who’s named after a fish, but your very own mother is going to teach your class.”
“Hooray!” Seth bounced in his chair. For reasons unfathomable to Sara, the boys seemed genuinely excited about this.
Sara glanced at Rachel, but she had her head lowered, studying each bite of egg.
Sara’s biggest nightmare had morphed into a dream come true for her mother. Anna was a tall, spindly brunette who looked like an artist but had never pursued anything creative. She had no qualifications to teach, except that she actually finished her sophomore year. Anyone around here with more than a ninth-grade education came from other communities where they placed more value on education.
Sara managed to swallow the piece of toast. The congealed butter sitting on top of her toast nearly caused her to gag. She couldn’t throw it out because nothing was ever wasted in their home. Every bite had to be finished, and anything disposable was used over and over. During the school year, plastic sandwich bags were clipped to clotheslines suspended over the sink. They were scrubbed nightly of peanut butter or mayonnaise and reused the next morning.
“Why are you kids dillydallying? I want breakfast finished, dishes cleared and all of you outside sitting on the stoop waiting for Mother Anna. She’ll be taking you to the school today.”
Mother Marylee opened the door to the fridge and buried her head in it, shuffling food around. Sara saw an opportunity and slipped out the back door.
She sat on the back step, feeling the tears fill behind her eyes. She blinked hard, refusing them freedom. Perched on top of the scarecrow Father Abraham had built for Marylee’s garden, a crow stared straight at her. For a moment, she understood the crow and envied its empty heart. It hurt too much to care. She should pray, but her mind was blank. Rebellion served no purpose. She could only do what she had been taught all her life to do. Obey.
THEIR teacher, Mrs. Gladys, an ancient relic of a woman with enormous jowls and an even bigger behind, sat at the front of the classroom. All the interior walls had been removed, except for the bathroom, leaving one large room lined with rows of brand-new desks. Without air-conditioning the windows were open, allowing an army of flies to come in and out. Strands of stickyfly paper coiled from the ceiling. Sara decided that the demise of the flies would probably be more entertaining than the lectures.
Sara took a seat in the far back corner of the classroom. Much to Sara’s dismay, Rachel had planted herself in the first row. Sara’s only neighbors were the stove and refrigerator, which had not yet been removed. The refrigerator would periodically sputter on, huffing and puffing before shutting off in a final gasp. When it was on, she wouldn’t be able to hear a word Mrs. Gladys said.
The fridge cut off and Mrs. Gladys’ voice pricked at her ears. “Now I know everyone knows the story of Joseph Smith’s beginnings, so we’re just going to touch on it before moving onto the journey from Nauvoo to Salt Lake City. From there, we’ll discuss how the Mormon Church fell into a state of apostasy by failing to uphold the Principle.”
Sara couldn’t believe they were going to rehash the founding of Christ’s one true church. Every kid in there could recite that story.
“Who can tell me how the Book of Mormon was found?”
A cluster of hands shot up. Mrs. Gladys peered around the room. She pointed to a boy of about thirteen with beaver teeth covering his bottom lip. Sara thought she recognized those teeth. He was an apostle’s son.
“Please stand up and tell the class your name so that we can all get to know each other.”
“Noah Jenkins, ma’am.” He stood. “The angel Moroni appeared to Joseph when he was seventeen. He told him that he had been sent by God to locate sacred gold plates where the word of God was written.” He sat back down.
Mrs. Gladys pointed to the girl everyone thought cursed because of a cleft palate. She stood. “I’m Mary Miller,” she lisped. “Joseph visited the hill every year but always returned empty-handed. Finally, during one of his visits, the angel Moroni said that Joseph would have only one more chance to get them.”
Mrs. Gladys nodded to the boy next to Mary. He stood. “Aaron Taylor. Let’s see. He didn’t know why he hadn’t been allowed to get the golden plates. Joseph used to find buried gold and stuff when he looked at these stones called seer stones. One day he was looking at the seer stones, and he saw that the only way he would get the sacred plates would be if he married a girl, Emma Hale, and that she would have to go with him to the Hill Cumorah.” He plopped down hard in his chair.
The next boy stood. “Joseph brought Emma with him when he dug the golden plates from the ground.” He scowled and sat back down.
“And your name was?” Mrs. Gladys asked.
“Adam Silver.”
Mrs. Gladys beamed. He was one of the prophet’s sons. “Well done. And I might add I am so pleased to have you in my class. Give your father my regards.”
Adam grunted and put his head on his desk.
The next boy stood and said, “David Silver.”
“Well now, how many Silvers do we have in here?”
Half the class raised their hands.
Mrs. Gladys would not stop smiling.
Since the prophet had no brothers in the community, all these boys must be his sons. Sara was envious that they could all take their father’s last name. Even the ones who were not from his first wife. The prophet could do whatever he wanted, and he had decided that all his children would bear his name.
David began, “Joseph couldn’t read the book because it was written in Egyptian. So, the angel Moroni gave him glasses called interpreters, and when he wore them, he could read the plates. Joseph wrote and wrote, but then something happened and then the book was lost or maybe thrown out. Joseph was upset.”
“Excellent. Next student, please.”
A boy Sara didn’t recognize stood up. “Benjamin Heinemann. So, Joseph prayed and the angel Moroni returned the plates in 1928.” There were a handful of snickers from the classroom. “I mean 1828. But this time the angel didn’t give him the interpreters, so Joseph wasn’t sure how to read them. Finally, he used his stones that he had called Urim and Thummim. He placed the seer stones in a hat, buried his face in it and told Emma what to write.”
“And what is this book called today?”
“The Book of Mormon.”
The fridge kicked on and began its death rattle. Sara laid her head down on her desk. She noticed that there were packed leaves and twigs in the small space between the fridge and stove where mice probably nested. She closed her eyes and prayed for unconsciousness.
When Mrs. Gladys dismissed them for a fifteen-minute break, Sara used the restroom. The bathroom had a huge hole gouged in the floor in front of the toilet. Weeds thrust up into the opening. She sat on the rust-stained bowl and stared into the hole while she urinated. She finished. The water surged upward, threatening to spill over the top before swirling downward. Exiting the small room, Sara noticed Rachel speaking with some boy she didn’t recognize. Sara was stunned. Rachel never spoke with boys unless they were relatives.
This boy was very tall, well over six feet. He was extremely good looking with flashy white teeth and wavy black hair that grazed his shoulders. It was much longer than that of any of the other boys in the community. Sara swallowed her shock when she noticed his bare forearms. How was that possible? No one in the community exposed their bare arms. How could they when they needed to conceal their sacred undergarments from the outside world? This was not just scandalous, this was sacrilegious. And he wore the clothes of the Gentiles: a black T-shirt and jeans. All the men and boys in Blood of the Lamb wore the same wool pants and long-sleeved button-down shirts, even in the oppressive heat. She had no idea how he managed to pull that off without being driven from the community. His father must be a very important man.
“Oh, Sara.” Rachel spun around. Her cheeks were flushed. “I’d like you to meet Luke. He’s new to the community.”
He held out his hand. The sensation sent a jolt through her. “Nice to meet you, Sara.”
“Same here.”
Luke smiled briefly at her before returning his eyes to Rachel. Never before had Sara felt so jealous of her sister’s beauty. “So, what brought you here?” Sara asked.
“My father began investigating the Principle about a year ago.”
“So, you’re not even from another group?” Sara asked.
“No. We came from Salt Lake City.”
“This must be really different for you,” Rachel said.
Luke cleared his throat. “Yep. In fact, until a year or so ago, we didn’t even go to meetings, church, nothing.”
“How in the world did you end up here, then?” Sara asked.
“My dad started delving into his Mormon roots, and before I knew it, we were spending all our free time attending services back in Salt Lake.”
“How did you find out about our community?” Rachel said.
“Well, Dad had sort of a midlife crisis and decided to look into some of the more fundamentalist groups. Initially, he checked out the True Saints community. Know them?”
Rachel nodded. “Definitely. They’re the only other fundamentalist group besides us who have their own temple. They’re also the largest, and they’re located right on the Utah, Arizona border.”
Sara was stunned that Rachel could speak this much with a complete stranger.
Luke grinned, revealing a dimple on his left cheek that Sara hadn’t noticed before. “You sound like a tour guide.”
Rachel turned crimson. “Well, they’re sort of . . . I guess you could call them our rivals.”
“So, how come your family didn’t join them?” Sara asked. “They’re almost twice as big as us. They’ve got a following of like ten thousand people.”
“Don’t know. But after a little prophet shopping, here we are.”
Rachel gasped and looked around to make sure no one had heard his irreverent remark.
“We had to leave Salt Lake City anyway. Once the mainstream church leadership got wind that my dad was seeking to dump his family into an existence where everyone seemed to be trapped in a pioneer house of horrors, they excommunicated him,” Luke said. “They’re not too happy about polygamy these days.”
Rachel launched into a lecture about how the mainstream Mormon Church had gone astray when they abandoned the Principle and how great it was that his father had returned to the one true faith. Sara just swallowed a forbidden laugh. She’d never heard anyone that brazen. His boldness gave her courage. “Were you as surprised as we were about school?”
“Not really,” Luke said. “I overheard my parents talking. They weren’t happy. We thought I’d be attending the public schools when we moved. But my father really believes in the divine righteousness of the prophet, so here I am.”
Even Sara felt off balance at his obvious hostility. She lowered her voice to barely a whisper. “Why’d they wait ’til today to tell us? Did they think the children of the Blood of the Lamb would rise up and revolt?”
Luke grinned. “It was probably part of the operating instructions from the Almighty: ‘Behold, I commandeth that you not informeth the children until the day of reckoning dawns.’ ”
Sara covered her mouth to keep from laughing. “What grade are you in?”
“I don’t think it matters since there doesn’t seem to be any distinction between grades at the Blood of the Lamb Academy.” Luke marched the name across his lips. “I would have been a senior though.”
“We’re sophomores,” Rachel said.
“Take your seats, please.” Mrs. Gladys clapped her hands together. “We’re going to continue our discussion of the Great Shakedown.”
Everyone shuffled to their seats. Sara excused herself and walked to the rear of the classroom. She didn’t want Rachel to get her hopes up, but something told her that it was already too late. Rachel was falling for this new boy, or maybe it was she herself who was falling.
She plopped into her seat, realizing that no one would ever look at her the way Luke looked at Rachel, least of all her future husband, Uncle Walter. Sara would never experience love, and she would never go to college. That kicked her in the gut.
“Who . . .” Mrs. Gladys’ voice penetrated her consciousness. The fridge was momentarily silent, thereby forcing Sara to hear Mrs. Gladys say, “. . . wants to continue with our discussion of the Manifesto of 1890 that abolished plural marriage?”
Sara sank into her chair. Mrs. Gladys’ voice needled her brain.
She rested her face on her hands and discreetly inserted her fingers in her ears. What about math, science, language arts and social studies? Tears filled her eyes. She allowed them to slide onto the blank page of her notebook. She spent the rest of the period that way, swallowing her sobs and trying to make it through to the next second, minute and hour.
Sara and Rachel met outside at lunch. Rachel gripped Sara’s arm. “Let’s go somewhere to talk.”
“How about over there?” Sara pointed to an abandoned car a few hundred feet away. They walked toward the rusted, 1950s Chevy whose overturned hubcaps served as a hatchery for mosquitoes. Sara kicked them over as she encountered each one.
“This is far enough away,” Rachel said. The seat from the automobile had been removed and was wedged against the rusty frame of the passenger-side door. They settled on the cratered vinyl, avoiding the larger gash, which expelled fetid brown foam from its core. The parched weeds and creeping vines tickled their legs.
“Oh my gosh, he’s coming this way,” Rachel whispered.
Sara knew the only reason they had extracted themselves from the crowd was to talk about him.
They sat in silence as he approached. “Okay if I sit with you guys?”
“Sure,” Sara said.
Rachel scooted to the far end of the seat, forcing Sara to sit on the foam in the middle. She tucked her legs tightly against the back of the seat, hoping that he wouldn’t notice her man-shoes. Luke plopped down next to her, dropping his sack lunch between his feet. Sara could feel heat coming from his leg. Her lip began its tickle, threatening to turn numb.
“Thanks.” Luke stretched his legs out in front of him. “You two are the only people even remotely close to my age who’ll talk to me.”
“I’m sorry,” Rachel said. “Sometimes they’re just afraid of people from outside the faith.”
“They’re worse at the priesthood meetings.”
“They’ll come around,” Sara said.
Luke shrugged. “No worries. I’m just ticking off the minutes.”
Rachel sucked in a big mouthful of air, and Sara laughed nervously. “For what?”
“For my life to begin.”
“And when’s that?” Sara touched her upper lip. Although numb, it hadn’t disappeared. Her teeth were covered.
Luke met Sara’s eyes. “The second I get away from here.”
Sara was amazed at the freedom with which he spoke. “Aren’t you worried about your soul?”
“I’ll take my chances.” Luke opened his lunch sack and pulled out a bag of Doritos. “I was never a good Mormon to begin with. We were practically ex-mos before my dad found religion. Now, I’m supposed to become a good fundamentalist?”
Ex-mos? Sara had no idea how to respond. She frantically searched her mind for something intelligible to say. Thankfully, Luke spoke up.
“Is it just me or is this weird?”
Rachel leaned across Sara to look at Luke. “Weird?”
Luke gestured toward the younger children who made up all four of the remaining classrooms. “There’s like young kids everywhere. And how come there are no girls our age here?”
Sara scratched her ankle. Sweat beaded in the thick mesh of her stockings. “They’re already married.”
“That’s lame.”
Lame?
“And these clothes . . . I feel like I’m trapped on a really bad rerun of Little House on the Prairie only everyone drives cars instead of covered wagons.”
Sara didn’t know what “little house” he referred to, but she did know that her clothes were ridiculous. If he could see her man-boat-shoes, he would definitely find her repulsive. She pressed her lower limbs even tighter against the seat.
“You’ll get used to it and realize how righteous this life is,” Rachel said.
“I’m sorry. I can’t seem to stop saying things that piss people off.”
“It’s going to take a while to adjust. This is all we know, and sometimes it’s hard for us too,” Rachel said. “Please feel free to say anything you want.”
“Thanks.” Luke held out the bag of Doritos.
Sara was tempted to take one, but both she and her sister politely declined.
Luke popped a few in his mouth, turned the bag over and appeared to be reading the label. “Anyway, it’s official.” He swiped his fingers down his pant leg, leaving an orange streak. “My father is getting married on Saturday.”
Rachel smiled. “Have you met your new mother?”
Luke blanched. He appeared to have difficulty swallowing his chip. “This girl . . . she’s like two years younger than me. My father is getting married to a fifteen-year-old! It’s so fu . . .” His eyes met Rachel’s face. He looked back at his chips and popped one in his mouth. He chewed slowly.
“What’s her name?” Sara said. “Maybe we know her.”
He swallowed. “Beulah. I don’t know her last name.”
Rachel looked at Sara. “That must be Brother Jebediah’s daughter. He’s one of the twelve apostles.”
Luke cracked a half-smile. “So you know her?”
“Sort of,” Rachel answered. “She didn’t attend the public school, so we never became close.”
“My mother is really tripping. She cries most of the time, except in front of Dad.” Luke batted at a fly. “I guess he’s punishing her ’cause she can’t have any more kids. Bad news for a Mormon, especially a fundamentalist. It sucks.”
Sara mentally rolled that word around in her head. Sucks. Sucks. She angled her eyes toward her sister, hoping she wasn’t taking offense.
Rachel looked flustered as she opened her sack and removed a sandwich. “Will she live with you?”
“God, no. My mom put her foot down on that one. My dad bought a trailer. Beulah will live there while they start construction on a set of four duplexes. I guess he’s planning for the future expansion of his wife collection.”
Sara cleared her throat. “That’s not so bad. It will make everyone’s life a little easier. Not having to share the same house and everything.”
“If you say so.” Luke darted his hand out, trapping the fly. He held it in his hand. Sara could hear a slight buzz coming from beneath his fist. “So, how many . . . mothers do you two have?”
“Four. And we share one home.”
“That sucks.”
There was that word again. Sucks. Sara glanced at her sister.
“It’s not so bad,” Rachel said. “Having so many mothers around, I mean.”
“With four mothers you must have a lot of brothers and sisters.”
“Only two sisters and seven brothers.”
Luke whistled. “Sounds like your dad did it backward. I think the goal here is to have lots of girls to supply their buddies with brides.”
Rachel gasped and had Sara eaten something, she probably would have choked.
“It’s not that way,” Sara said.
“Then why aren’t there more guys my age around? There are plenty of little boys, but then they hit puberty and just seem to disappear.”
“Sometimes they leave,” Rachel said.
“That’s convenient.”
Sara blanched. She thought of her own little brothers. Her father had no status. She tried not to dwell on their fate, but she worried that they’d be driven out. If her father had something to offer either of more daughters or money, they’d have a fighting chance of getting them into leadership so they could stay.
Luke stood up, walked over to a large pine about fifty feet away and opened his fist. He returned, wiping his hand on his jeans. “Hopefully, it won’t come back.”
Never before had Sara seen somebody catch a fly only to release it. Luke was different from anyone she’d ever met.
As he took his seat, Luke’s leg bumped against hers for a moment. The touch was electric. Sara bit on her lip to keep from gasping out loud. Instead, she pressed closer to Rachel. He didn’t seem to notice or care. Scooping up his bag of chips, he began to crunch on them.
Luke scrutinized the clumps of students lining the trailer. “See? Only four guys around my age. All of them I’ve seen in the leadership. Where do the others go?”
Rachel rummaged around in her sack lunch. “Maybe they’re learning a trade and will return?”
“Doubt it. I think they’re being forced out. Kill the competition. More brides for the old guys.”
“That’s very disrespectful,” Rachel said softly.
Luke peered around Sara to make eye contact with Rachel. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I stepped over the line.”
“It’s okay.” Rachel smiled. Sara knew the impact Rachel’s smile had on someone. If he wasn’t in love with her at first sight, he would be now. She could change the course of a river, alter the spin of the earth on its axis and drive away all darkness from the deep recesses of space with one quick smile. Sara was certain he was hooked.
No point in trying to win his affection. The depression had arrived, locked and loaded. She surrendered to the sensation as the weight of sadness wilted her spine and idled her heart.