Eden
With little more than two hundred dollars to her name, there was no way Eden could afford to spend money on a cheap motel. The YWCA wasn’t an option either. She didn’t want her name on any public organization’s list. She walked to the library and found an available computer. She sat down and panicked.
She hadn’t used a computer in over ten years. Porter hadn’t allowed it. At the time she was so head over heels in love with him she considered the notion quaint. She’d never used the internet much anyway. She would be one of those “back to the earth and nature” women. Now, gazing at the monitor, she could see the ten years she was absent were tantamount to centuries in internet time. She had no idea how to navigate beyond the simplest commands.
She tapped a lot of keys and managed to find Google. She entered “boarding house Chicago.” A restaurant called the Boarding House, which had closed, popped up on the screen. So did several places that offered wedding venues. Ironic. Once she was free of Porter and had her children back, she would never marry again. Next, she tried rooming houses. More useless information. She scrolled down the page and clicked to the next. Sandwiched between “roomy houses for sale” was a banner for a shelter for female victims of domestic violence. Was that the answer? The cop had thought so, despite her denials. She clearly was a battered wife. Perhaps it was time to face it. Maybe they’d let her stay there for a day or two until she could make a plan.
She clicked on the banner and a list of shelters popped up. Eden was surprised there were so many in Chicago. Then again, Chicago was the third largest city in the country. She began to examine them one by one. They seemed to be scattered all over. As she read about them, though, she realized some didn’t provide actual shelter; they were simply counseling and job referral centers. She would want a job, but for now, she needed shelter. She bit her lip. How did they decide whether to take someone? Would they want to see bruises or scars? Hers had mostly faded now. Except for the scar on her thigh. How would they figure out whether she met their criteria?
The cops on the street had told her not to go south. She clicked on two whose directions indicated they weren’t on the south side. Kate’s Place was on the northwest side, and Fresh Start was in a suburb called Evanston. Eden recalled that Northwestern University was in Evanston. She got some paper from the reference desk and wrote down both addresses, then checked the subway map of Chicago she’d taken while strolling through the underground. She could take the Brown line, which went northwest, or the Purple Line, which went directly to Evanston. Either way, she’d have to transfer to a bus.
Should she call before or just show up? If she called, they might tell her they were full, but they might suggest another shelter. Of course, they might suggest another place anyway if she just showed up. She would take that chance.
Two hours later she arrived at Kate’s Place. She’d taken the Brown Line to Rockwell and walked a few blocks to a residential neighborhood called Ravenswood. It was filled with row houses and small buildings, many of which looked to have been remodeled. Mothers or nannies pushed baby carriages and strollers down streets while children skipped alongside. Signs directed her to different neighborhood parks. The sun shone brightly, but she could see from the buds on the trees that they would supply a lovely canopy over the street during summer. There were lots of dogs, too.
Eden felt at home. She could imagine herself in an apartment or room. It would be perfect for Teagan, Sariah, and Elijah. She bit her lip to keep a sob from rising. Best not to think about them right now.
The shelter had no sign in front, so she found the place by its address. A three-story row house off Lawrence Avenue, it blended in with the other homes on the block. She rang the bell. The door was opened by a middle-aged African-American woman in sweat pants and a T-shirt.
“Hello,” Eden said tentatively. “I was wondering whether you might have a spare bed for a night or two.”
The woman raised her eyebrows. “And you are?”
“Um, Lisa. Lisa Hubbard.”
The woman grunted as if she knew Eden was using an alias. “Why don’t you come into the parlor, and we’ll chat. I’m Kate.”
Eden smiled, not only at Kate’s use of “parlor,” a word she hadn’t heard since her grandmother used it decades earlier, but also at Kate’s friendly demeanor. She had a good feeling about this woman. “Thank you.”
A conversation ensued with Kate asking Eden questions. However, Eden’s answers were cut short by a constant interruption of small children toddling in to ply Ms. Kate with their own barrage of questions and chatter. “When is snack?” “Bailey hit me.” “Why can’t we have cookies?” “When is Mama coming home?”
Kate must have been a saint in a prior life. Nothing ruffled her. She answered each child with patience and sometimes a dry sense of humor that even a child could understand. Eden wished she been that kind of mother. She’d been so afraid of raising Porter’s ire that she’d let the children rule the roost. What were they were doing now? Were they at the Church school? Did they miss her? Her eyes filled.
“Where are your children, Lisa?” Kate asked quietly.
“They’re at home.” She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “I couldn’t risk bringing them. Yet. I want to get settled, then go back for them.”
“Where is home?”
Eden told her the truth. That she was part of a Fundamentalist Mormon sect in Nauvoo, Illinois.
“Really? I don’t think we’ve ever had a Mormon here before. Although I shouldn’t be surprised. Domestic violence is universal.” Kate shushed the children. “Now, little ones, I need to talk to Lisa.” An older black teenage girl came into the living room and corralled the children to what might have once been a dining room but was now clearly a playroom.
“Thank you, LaRonda.” Kate turned back to Eden. “Tell me about it.”
Eden poured her heart out. “I didn’t know much about Mormons before I met Porter. We’ve been married about ten years. Now I know too much.”
“How’s that?”
“First of all, it’s um—very strange. It was founded right here in the US. Have you heard of John Smith?”
“Name sounds familiar.”
“He founded Mormonism about two hundred years ago. He claimed an angel led him to some golden plates hidden in the dirt somewhere in New York. The plates had writing on them, but it had to be translated. Smith claimed he did that and published the Book of Mormon, which, he said, tells the religious history of an ancient American civilization compiled by a prophet-historian named Mormon. It became the Mormon bible. Later, Smith went to prison and, in fact, was killed. But the religion exploded in growth.”
“Sounds like a scam to me,” Ms. Kate said. “Do they call themselves Christians?”
“Yes and no. The official name is Church of the Latter-Day Saints. They say they are Christian, but their beliefs aren’t any Christian beliefs I know. You probably know that some Mormons are polygamous. In certain sects, men can have lots of wives, but wives can only have one husband. The Church was supposed to stop the practice decades ago, but there are still Mormons still do it. Including Porter. I discovered after we married that I was wife number two. And now he’s eyeing number three.”
“Oh my god. I have heard of those crazy-ass people. They’re out west, right? In Utah or
something?”
“Most are. But there are a few splinter groups in different places. Nauvoo was once the home base for Mormons. But they were kicked out of Illinois, and that’s when most of them went west. But you can find Mormons pretty much anywhere, and a small group of Fundamentalists—they’re the extremist wing—decided to come ‘home’ to Nauvoo.”
“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.”
Eden hesitated. “As far as the polygamy goes, it’s basically a lot of old men screwing really young girls and claiming it’s their religious duty to do so. It is horrific. There’s quite a lot of incest, too.” She paused. “Ms. Kate, I’m terrified that my little girl Sariah, who’s only eight, will be one of those young girls in a few years. I have to get her out of there. My boys, too.” She explained how boys were expelled when they were teenagers. “It’s sad. I fell head over heels in love when I met Porter.” She went on to describe her passion, her conversion and wedding, the three children’s births, and the gradual demise of her happiness. “Now I actually hate him.”
“When did the beatings start?”
“About five years ago. Porter says every Mormon husband beats their wives. To remind them who’s boss. He’s become violent and cruel.” She let out a strangled laugh. “And Mormons claim they’re all about family and peace.”
“How often does he hit you?”
“At least once a week.”
“It probably turns him on.” Kate snorted.
Eden was pensive. “I never thought of it that way.”
“Uh-huh.” It wasn’t a grunt. More of a knowing sigh, as if Kate had heard it before. “When did you get here?”
“This morning on the train. I don’t have much money. I was hoping to find a job and then a room or apartment. I found your place after I realized I didn’t have enough for even one night at a hotel.”
“What can you do?”
Eden let out a breath. “Not much. I got married right out of college. I did waitress one semester at the Olive Garden. And I’m good with numbers. I thought about going into accounting.”
“Well, that’s one mark in your favor. Restaurants are begging for help. So many people have walked out during Covid.”
“Really?” Her knowledge about Covid was limited. All she knew was that she was supposed to wear a mask indoors. Most Mormons didn’t.