The Chosen One - Carol Lynch Williams Page 0,33

she let my uncle discipline her baby.

“I don’t want to,” I say.

Laura is quiet, looking at her broccoli and noodles. She’s chosen something Asian to eat.

“If I can’t tell you three, who do I tell? Father can’t change it.” My voice grows quiet and I say what disgusts me. “I don’t want to have my uncle’s babies. I don’t even want him touching me.”

“Kyra!” Laura says, her voice shocked.

“We don’t speak of that,” Mother says. Her face turns pink. “That is sacred. Never meant for anyone but a husband and his wife.”

Panic rises in my chest. I grip my fork. “I don’t want to,” I say. “I don’t care if we don’t talk about it. Father was young when you married him, Mother Claire. And still young when you married him, Mother.”

Mother Claire looks away, over my head.

“And Uncle Hyrum is Father’s oldest brother. He’s . . . he’s . . .”

“Horrible,” Laura says. “It’s not fair.”

I hear laughter from another table. Do they know now? I don’t care if they do.

“You’ll learn,” Mother Claire says.

“I won’t,” I say. Then I look all my mothers right in their eyes. “I won’t do it.”

The happy feeling at the table is gone.

“You’ll do as you’re told,” Mother Victoria says. But her voice isn’t strong like Mother Claire’s would be if she’d said this.

I shake my head.

I will not do it, I think.

Ever.

__________

THREE WEEKS AFTER my first kiss with Joshua, the Prophet spoke of marriage during a special meeting for preteens and teens.

“Woman,” he said, “woman is made for man.”

I couldn’t help myself. I looked right at Joshua, my face flaming. He glanced at me, a small smile on his lips, then turned back to the Prophet.

“This is from God,” Prophet Childs said. “This is prophecy. Girls, you are to be a subservient partner to your husband. You and your sister wives will raise a mighty generation of your own children unto the Lord.”

I looked at Laura. She had tears in her eyes. She’s so devoted. So good.

The room was hot. My tights felt like they were strangling my waist. I must have put them on crooked.

“There are men here just for you,” Prophet Childs said.

I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t look at Joshua. Opened them again.

“And here’s the best thing.” Prophet Childs smiled. He smiled and his whole face lit up. His eyes shone in the bright lights of the room.

“Brother Arnold. Brother Bennion. Brothers Hunter, Marshall, and Cox. All these good men, and several others, can give a life to you young girls who are nearing the age for marriage. A life that will exalt you here on earth”—Prophet Childs pointed at the wooden floor—“and in the life to come.” He pointed at the ceiling.

“Boys, they are your example to follow. Like Jesus.”

The Prophet took in a breath. “Girls, you will obey. God has thus spoken.”

BY THE TIME we get home I just have enough time to shower. “Come talk to me,” I say to Laura.

She sits on the toilet while I undress behind the shower curtain and throw my clothes over.

“I don’t know how I’m going to do it,” I say.

“I wish I could go with you,” she says. “Stay with you.”

“Marry him, too?” I say through the hot water. It’s almost funny to be able to tease her like this.

“Never,” she says. “I hope that never happens to me.”

I peer out behind the curtain. “Me, too.” And I mean it. “Me, too.”

Sometimes, two or three sisters will marry the same husband, one after the other. Brother Nelson, one of the God Squad, married all five of Brother Hennessy’s daughters. When Brother Hennessy said something about it, he was told to leave the Compound and to never come back. He had to leave. Without any of his family. They all stayed behind.

_________

“HOW OLD ARE YOU NOW, Kyra?” Uncle Hyrum asks. His thin hands work at a napkin he holds at the table.

“Thirteen,” I say. Mother Claire braided my hair so tight for this meeting, this date, that I feel tears threatening to leak from my eyes. My knees are weak and I’m sitting. What would happen if I stood right now?

Uncle Hyrum nods. “That’s good,” he says.

Aunt Melissa places a plate in front of him. The food is piled high. The room fills with the smell of baked chicken. But Aunt Melissa sure doesn’t look like she cares. Her mouth is thin, like someone took a red pen and made a line where her lips should be.

She goes back