what happened to Brother Alex Delango?”
The smell of sage breezes past. “Yes,” I say.
“Do you remember how he lost everything because he dared to contradict Prophet Childs?”
We sit for a moment, the quiet and cool night air between us.
“They took his children and wives and gave them to two other of the brethren. They made him leave, along with Brother Olsen and Brother Adamson. The three of them were run off, all of them losing their families because they crossed the Prophet. Do you remember?”
I nod. “Yes sir.”
“Do you remember how those fathers were to those new wives and children?”
Again, I nod.
The night sky is full of stars. They look close enough to reach. If I didn’t hurt so much, I bet I could touch one. Father and I don’t say anything else. We sit there, quiet. But I know what he’s telling me.
I have to do what they say.
Or he loses everything.
III
Mother Sarah isn’t feeling good again. She’s not throwing up, but her face stays slick with sweat. Her skin has grown pale except for two spots of pink in her cheeks. Her lips are dry. She doesn’t even get out of bed.
But I can only think of myself. I hurt all over. Bruises have appeared on both arms, my legs, and across my back. When did that happen? I can’t remember Uncle Hyrum hitting me anywhere but in the face and head. I have a headache that gets worse when the sun shines in my eyes. I draw the curtains and whisper at my sisters, “Let’s keep it down today, okay?”
Laura, Margaret, and Carolina are quiet. We work together making breakfast and when I go to step outside and work in the garden, Margaret says, “I’ll do your part today.” I would kiss her, but my lips seep blood.
There’s a knock at the door and Mother Claire comes in. She cringes when she sees my face, then glances away.
“I’m here to pin that dress to you,” she says.
I gather the pieces of material Mother cut out. When did she do this? While she was waiting for me to come back from seeing the Prophet? While she was waiting for Father?
I think of her on her knees on the floor, cutting the material for my wedding dress with her scissors given to her by her mother.
“Let’s go, Miss Kyra,” Mother Claire says.
I move to her and she picks up this and that, pinning at my shoulders, under my arms, down the back.
“Stand on the chair,” she says.
I do and she pins up the hem.
My voice comes out low. “I don’t love him,” I say.
Mother Claire is silent.
“Not as an uncle. Not as a husband.”
“You’ll learn,” Mother Claire says.
I look down at her. From here I can see that some of her hair is turning gray. How can that be?
“You’ll learn to love him.” She says this around straight pins she holds between her lips. “If you put your heart in God’s hands.”
“I want my heart where it is,” I say, tapping my chest.
“You’ll learn,” she says.
“We do what we have to do,” she says.
“I did it,” she says.
I look into Mother Claire’s face. She’s worried for me, I can see it. With the back of her hand, she smooths my face where there is no hurt. I close my eyes at her touch.
THAT NIGHT MOTHER GOES into labor. I know without anyone saying anything it’s because of the way I look. Because of what happened to me. I can’t even go in the bedroom with her. Every time Mother sees me, she cries. Mother Claire, petting me, sends me out. She and Mother Victoria take turns sitting with my mother while Mother calls out.
“Something’s wrong!”
I hear Mother say this, hear the words early Sunday morning. Mother Victoria is with her. She mumbles something.
“There’s something wrong with the baby.”
I run to Mother’s bedroom door. Look in at her. Her hair is damp, stuck to her face. The sight of her scares me. Her words scare me.
“What is it?” Laura says. She’s pushed past me.
“Go out,” Mother Victoria says. She’s working between Mother’s legs. The blankets, the covers, are twisted. Mother’s knees are like a girl’s. “Get Father.”
Laura turns, runs.
Mother, her whole face screwed up, looks at me. Just once. She screams.
“Out,” Mother Victoria says.
I run for my tree.
I SAW HER.
Perfect. Hands and fingers. Feet and toes. Red. Skinny. Too skinny. Struggling to breathe.
She gasped for air, that baby, fighting for a moment to live.
“Please, Victoria. Please, Claire,” Mother said. “I’ve