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  Sarah and Rebecca shared a quick glance, and by some silent agreement Rebecca took the canned beans from Sarah, while Sarah beckoned for us to follow her upstairs. We walked down a hallway of closed doors, stopping at a linen closet so Sarah could take out new sheets and a couple of quilts.

  “We buried the cat on the mountain, over by the scrub oaks,” Kurt told her as Sarah stacked sheets in the crook of her elbow. “Whenever Talitha is ready, we’ll be happy to show her the spot.”

  “I’m sure knowing that will change everything difficult in her life,” Sarah said with clear sarcasm.

  In a contest of least happy Stephen Carter wife, Sarah was beating out even Carolyn for first place. And she didn’t have pregnancy hormones as an excuse. I wished the woman could overlook her own discontent for her daughter’s sake at the moment.

  Kurt offered to help carry the quilts, but Sarah refused the assistance. “I don’t need a man to help manage the simplest tasks of my life, thank you very much,” she said tartly. She led us to the third floor and stopped in front of a door. “Here,” she said, opened it, then stepped back to let me enter first.

  It was not a typical guest room with a double bed and bland furnishings. This was clearly one of the boys’ bedrooms, cluttered with football paraphernalia and cramped by childishly short bunk beds, and I couldn’t help but think that Sarah had brought us to the least comfortable room she could as some kind of revenge. For interrupting her routine? Or did she think we were Stephen’s allies against her in some way?

  I gritted my teeth and decided not to make a fuss over this. Maybe they didn’t have a guest room that was any better than this. With so many children, they must not have much extra space. And it wasn’t as if I wished that Stephen had given up any of the adult bedrooms he shared with his wives. That would have truly made it impossible for me to stay under his roof.

  I looked around the room, amused by the masculine decorating. There were several signed footballs covered in protective plastic domes and signed posters of famous BYU players, including Steve Young and Ty Detmer. I wondered if Stephen was nervous about letting his sons play in a room with so many valuable items.

  Sarah had begun to strip the beds of blankets and sheets.

  “Can I help?” I asked, secretly guilty she was changing the sheets when I wasn’t at all sure Kurt and I would ever use them.

  “It’ll be faster if I do it myself,” Sarah said. She was practiced at the maneuver, as I had never been when my boys had had bunk beds. It was always the upper bunk that was tricky. I felt like I needed eight arms to get everything to lie flat.

  “This is Stephen, isn’t it?” Kurt said, pointing to a photo of a younger version of Stephen in football gear that looked like it had been taken in the ’80s.

  “Yes. In his college days,” Sarah said.

  “How interesting,” I murmured in hopes that she would say more.

  A big cowbell sounded in the kitchen as Sarah was pulling the second comforter taut across the bed. “Dinner time,” she said, and walked out of the bedroom without any further fanfare.

  “I need to see Talitha again tonight,” I said, when Kurt and I were alone.

  Kurt looked around the room, as if measuring it against the mental image he had of our own master bedroom. “I understand that. Maybe you could sneak away during dinner,” he suggested.

  “Good idea,” I agreed.

  “I’ll see what I can do to cover your absence with Stephen,” Kurt said. “But there is no way I’m staying in this house overnight. I’ve never in my life felt so certain that Satan held sway over the spirit of God in a specific location before. You feel it, too, don’t you?”

  “Mmm,” I said. So he hadn’t changed his mind. I wasn’t going to argue that the Carter compound had a good spirit about it, but I couldn’t leave until I assured myself that Talitha was in no physical danger. The rest I would have to figure out later.

  Was there any way I could get Stephen to send her to live with me and Kurt? Our marriage wasn’t perfect, but it had to be better than this. But then what about all the other children here, and the wives, too? It was too easy to have my attention fractured. I’d only promised to stay long enough to figure out if Talitha was being hurt. I couldn’t fix everything in every family in the world. I wasn’t even sure I could fix my own.

  I remember Kurt telling me after about six months of being bishop that he’d finally learned that important lesson, that people had to solve their own problems and were only resentful if you tried to tell them what they were doing wrong. Of course, he’d meant adults, not vulnerable children.

  “At least no one is starving to death here,” I said, as the smell of the roast pork wafted toward us.

  Kurt grunted at that and together we walked down to the dining room. The table was really two long wooden tables put together, with a handmade white tablecloth stretched over both. The cloth was all one piece, and had been elaborately cross-stitched with names, a kind of seating chart for the table. There were three real wooden dining room chairs, a few folding chairs, a piano bench, a worn picnic bench, and a long wooden church pew jammed against the wall.

  Stephen took one of the wooden chairs and directed me and Kurt to the other two, while Sarah and Rebecca sat on folding chairs. I felt guilty about taking Rebecca’s and Sarah’s spots, leading them to take Esther’s and Lehi’s, and on down the line until the five youngest children shared the space of three on the church pew. Kurt tried to stand to insist that Sarah come back to her normal spot, but she refused with a stubborn glee.

  Brigham reached in to stick a finger in the bowl of mashed potatoes. Rebecca slapped at his hand, but not before he’d already gotten a hunk of it into his mouth.

  Sarah made a sour face, but she didn’t seem to feel any obligation to participate in the child management, even of her own children.

  I saw Lehi—I think that was his name; the embroidered names were no help because of the mixed up seating arrangement—twist one of the girl’s fingers very roughly, for no reason that I could tell. “Maddie is a baby, crying like a baby,” he taunted.

  Madeleine twisted her mouth to stop herself from crying, and the oldest boy, Nephi, resolved the situation with a threatening finger at his brother. Or half-brother. Whatever the relationship was.

  I couldn’t help but think that this could easily be my own boys if they’d had so many younger siblings. There were so many odd things about this polygamous group that bothered me, and then a moment like this, that seemed just so—ordinary.

  Rebecca clapped her hands loudly. “Manners in front of our company, please,” she said. She pointed at Lehi and Brigham, then mimed a smile to Madeleine with fingers at either side of her lips. Madeleine responded by making a false smile that seemed all too much like Sarah’s.

  I looked at Sarah. Even if she had been in charge of dinner preparation, she didn’t seem to be looking after the children at all. I couldn’t tell which ones were hers and which ones were Rebecca’s based on anything other than my memory of what Stephen had told me. As far as their responses to maternal authority, Rebecca seemed the mother of them all.

  Then Stephen Carter stood and stared balefully around the room, the children going absolutely quiet. He bent his head and closed his eyes for prayer. Kurt and I bowed our heads, too, but in that moment, I felt Kurt was right about the spirit of God being pushed away. I felt only a cavernous spiritual darkness here.

  Stephen began his prayer with a long list of things he was grateful for, including every child in the room and the two wives who were present. He was grateful for his “abundant wealth,” for “our election and calling being made sure,” and for God’s “saving us from the wrath of hell which so many others must face.” The prayer went on and on.

  After, there was a period of chaos as serving platters were passed and I noticed that Rebecca was still trying to maintain some control, however
badly. I probably could not have done any better in her place.

  But I had my own plans, so I ate a small portion of potatoes, roasted pork, and green beans quickly. Then I refilled one of the nearly empty serving plates, stood, and announced I would take it to Talitha.

  I could see Stephen was about to object, but Kurt spoke up. “Please pardon Linda. She has no more children of her own at home, and has been so unhappy not to be able to mother anyone. I would be very appreciative if you would let her do this.”

  I was grateful for Kurt’s intervention. For all his dislike of Stephen, Kurt knew how to handle an arrogant man when he was determined to do it. I wondered how many men in church he spoke to like this, men who were not so different from Stephen.

  Sarah glanced up at me, as if about to ask if I knew where I was going, and then seemed to decide she wasn’t going to help me.

  I could manage without her. I hurried upstairs. I wasn’t exactly sure which room was Talitha’s, but with no one else around, I felt less intrusive opening doors and peering inside. I held the plate full of food in one hand like a waitress and turned doorknobs with the other, calling out “Talitha!” quietly as I went.

  After searching the second floor with no luck, I went up to the next floor. The fourth door on the third floor, a couple of doors past the bunkroom where Kurt and I were supposed to spend the night, opened to a room covered in pink and white frills. There was lace everywhere, and the carpet was a dusky shade of rose. Talitha’s small figure was obscured by the pink blanket. Long blonde hair splayed over the pillow.

  I set down the plate of food on the dresser—white with pink stenciled designs. Then I moved to the bed and put a hand to Talitha’s forehead, which was warm, but not hot. She didn’t rouse to my touch and was breathing very deeply.

  Had Stephen Carter given her drugs to make her sleep this heavily? Had he hurt her physically after he’d left us in the backyard with the cat’s body? Her face seemed swollen with crying, but I couldn’t guess if she had any other physical harm done to her since I couldn’t see her arms and legs under the blanket.

  Why didn’t they teach us in Relief Society about how to spot signs of abuse, or how to know when to call DCFS without worrying about doing more harm than good?

  Reluctantly, I lifted the blanket and saw that Talitha was wearing a short nightie that left her legs mostly bare. Still asleep, she tugged at the blanket, probably because she was cold. But her legs were pale and unbruised as far as I could see. No cuts, no scars except for one line on her calf that was probably from a perfectly natural fall. But how would I know for sure?

  “Talitha?” I whispered, next to her ear.

  She stirred and moaned something, then tried to turn over.

  I shook her shoulder gently. “Talitha, I need to talk to you. Can you wake up a little?”

  Her eyes opened again, and I saw that they were rimmed with red. I didn’t know if that was a result of drugs or the crying.

  “Do you remember me? My name is Linda Wallheim. My son is marrying your sister, Naomi.”

  No response.

  “Did your father punish you?” I asked. I needed her to tell me the truth, but she still might not know me well enough to do it. It was a Catch-22, where she knew Naomi too well to tattle on other family members and me not well enough.

  “I’m hungry,” said Talitha, tucking the blanket around her legs tightly, ignoring my question.

  “Well, lucky for you, I brought this.” I offered her the plate of food I hadn’t really been sure she would eat. “Do you want me to help?” I asked. “I could feed you.”

  “Like a baby?” she said, making a funny face.

  “Or cut the pork for you?” I tried again.

  She shook her head. “I can do it myself.”

  She sat up and ate very carefully, asking for a napkin, which I had happened to bring, and using it to wipe her lips after nearly every bite. It took her quite some time to get through the food, her hands moving slowly.

  She had such a big personality packed into her tiny body, I thought with a smile. Naomi had described Talitha as innocent and carefree, but I wasn’t sure that was true. At times she seemed burdened by some invisible weight; and at other times, she seemed wonderfully bright and engaged.

  When Talitha was finished eating, I took the plate.

  She smiled at me and said, “Do you know where my cat is?” She looked at me with wide eyes and heart-breaking earnestness.

  I felt my heart lurch. “Lucy?”

  Talitha nodded. “My father doesn’t like her to be in the house, but sometimes I sneak her in.” She pointed to the open window behind my head. “She knows which window to come in, and I don’t let her go into any other rooms.”

  I hesitated a long moment. Her disorientation made me more certain that Stephen had given her drugs. “You don’t remember what happened to Lucy this afternoon?” I asked softly. “Lucy’s gone, sweetheart. She died in your arms.”

  Her mouth rounded in a silent “No.” Then tears filled her eyes and started to trace small waterfalls down her cheeks. “I thought it was a bad dream,” she got out, half-choking. “I was hoping it was just a bad dream.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. I reached out my hand for her to hold, but I don’t think she noticed, and I let it fall away. I was glad that she had at least been able to enjoy her dinner before she remembered. “My husband found a very nice spot for her grave on the mountain, behind the house. You’ll be able to visit her every day if you want. She’s wrapped in your own baby quilt. Your mother gave it to us,” I said. “It was pink and yellow.” Maybe it hadn’t been as cruel as I’d thought at the time to choose that particular quilt. I spent a moment reconsidering my view of Sarah, but then pushed it aside. She wasn’t important now.

  Talitha sniffled, tears dripping down her face.

  “Maybe in the morning, we can show you where she’s buried,” I suggested.

  She seemed unable to talk.

  I waited until the sobs subsided. “Talitha, I’m worried about you. Is there anything you want to tell me about? Is anyone here at home hurting you?” I felt uncomfortable asking so directly, but I had limited time and had to press the issue.

  Talitha looked away and didn’t answer.

  “I promise not to tell your mother and father,” I said. “You can trust me. Naomi sent me. She asked me to make sure you were all right. She’s worried about you, too.”

  Talitha tucked her arms and legs together under the blankets, and pushed her head into the pillow.

  “I heard you crying out. Do you remember that? After your father took you inside?” I tried to get her to look me in the eyes. She wouldn’t. “Did he hurt you?”

  Nothing.

  “Talitha, you don’t deserve to be hurt. You have to tell someone if you need help.”

  I felt sick, my stomach twisting. Was God warning me to stop, or was this His signal that I was right to worry? Sometimes I wished that instead of the Holy Spirit, God would use flash cards. Straightforward instructions on what to do next. Turn left. Turn right.

  “I want Naomi,” Talitha finally said, her voice small. “She’s always gone. But she’s the only one who really loves me. She’s the one I talk to.”

  “Naomi will be here in the morning,” I said, patting her arm to reassure her. That was what she’d told me, anyway. “All right? You can tell her everything then.”

  “Really? Tomorrow?”

  I nodded.

  “Then I just have to sleep and I will see her,” she said, and closed her eyes. It seemed she was almost instantly asleep.

  I tiptoed out of the room after that and texted Naomi on the way back downstairs to let her know that Talitha’s cat had died and that she was waiting for her. Maybe Naomi would know the right thing to say to her sister.

  I thought about what I’d seen of Stephen and Talitha.
I thought about the way she’d reacted when I asked if someone was hurting her. How could I know for sure if she was safe or not? Naomi had asked me to see to this. I couldn’t just walk away and tell her she had to take care of it herself. Somehow, I had to find out more information. And that meant—I had to stay.

  I took a deep breath, preparing myself for what I would have to tell Kurt. I didn’t think there was any way I could convince him to stay with me, and I knew it was a bad time in our marriage to lay out an ultimatum. But Kurt and I were grownups. Talitha was just a child. When it came to a choice between our welfare and hers, she always had to come first.

  Chapter 12

  I walked the empty plate back to the kitchen, where Kurt met me.

  “Nephi, Leah, hi! Good work!” I said to the two children who were finishing up the dishes. I was pleased I’d remembered their names. I was tempted to chat with them, just to put off the fateful conversation with my husband. But there was no point in stalling. Kurt and I were going to argue, and I might as well do it now, before I got more tired and more likely to say something terrible to the man I still truly loved.

  So I pulled Kurt, who had been standing on the threshold, into the dining room, which was now empty.

  “How is Talitha?” he asked.

  “She seems to be well enough,” I said. “But she’s asking for Naomi, and I’d like to make sure I’m here when Naomi and Kenneth get here tomorrow morning.” Was there any chance he’d agree with me?

  Kurt’s arms were folded across his chest and his face was expressionless. There was my answer. No.

  “Linda, I told you that I’m not staying here overnight,” he said. “Are you incapable of listening to me anymore?” His voice was uncharacteristically loud, enough that one of the children (I think it was little Rachel) stopped at the bottom of the stairs, gave him a wary look, and then went tiptoeing up.