Sound Of Gravel, The (14 page)

One year later, I was a happy, healthy second-grader. I was getting better and better at reading and started reading books on my own. My siblings and I spent a lot of time on the school playground, playing tetherball or kickball for hours on the weekends and after school. We had dinner every Sunday night with my grandparents, and Grandma always made a delicious pot roast with vegetables, and blackberry cobbler fresh out of the oven with vanilla ice cream for dessert.

Most of my siblings were thriving too. Matt was on the honor roll every month, and he and Luke had friends at school they were always playing basketball with. Aaron was still Mom’s smartest child. His blond hair and bright red cheeks made him stand out, and he had the kind of personality that attracted attention. His clever comments always made the adults laugh.

Still, at times Mom would reveal a deep dissatisfaction with our lives. Over that year these moments came more and more frequently. She still hadn’t found a church she liked, which bothered her. Mom didn’t agree with the philosophy of the Christian or Mormon churches around us, and she was never an outgoing, social person who had a lot of friends. She said she had no one to talk to about her religious views except Lane, who had started showing up unexpectedly every few months and staying for a few days each time. Mom still didn’t tell my grandparents about his visits. Instead, Mom started complaining about our lives in Strathmore. She’d say that the processed foods we ate and the culture of violence and immorality we were exposed to by watching TV were standing between us and our connection to God.

In March 1981, when John Hinckley Jr. fired six shots outside the Washington Hilton Hotel and almost killed President Reagan, Mom’s concerns about living in the Babylon that was the United States seemed to be coming true. But it wasn’t only the assassination attempt that convinced Mom to leave Strathmore and move us closer to LeBaron, which she’d often spoken of over the previous months, especially after Lane’s visits. “You kids need a healthier environment,” she’d say. “You need a father figure, and we should be going to a church where people believe what we do.” That the president had almost been killed was a clear sign that the long-predicted destruction of the United States was at hand.

“Did you hear about the president, Sis?” Mom asked when I came home from school that afternoon. She popped her head into the living room with puffy, red eyes and a red, sniffling nose. It looked as if she’d been crying. “Someone shot him.”

I nodded. I already knew what had happened. The teacher had brought a TV into my class, closed the mustard-colored curtains, and showed the special news report of Reagan’s near-murder in an endless loop.

That evening after dinner, Mom said she needed to speak to all of us in the living room. My siblings and I piled on the couch and faced her. “I think it’s gonna be time for us to move somewhere closer to Le Baron soon, probably at the end of this school year,” she said as Meri flopped on her lap. The setting sun created long shadows on the brown carpet. “With the president being in the hospital, there’s no tellin’ what might happen to this country next. I’m afraid it’s gettin’ closer to the Last Days, and your Grandfather LeBaron’s prophecies are startin’ to come true. I think you kids need to be close to our people now, to the people who believe the way we do.”

Mom’s confidence that disaster was imminent terrified all of us. She paused and patted Meri lightly on the back, staring at each of us in succession. “Plus, there’s nothing here for you to do but watch TV all day. I want you to learn how to work on the farm and do things that really matter. And you need to be close to your dad. It’s important to have a man around the house.”

Mom continued talking for several minutes, explaining how living in LeBaron would protect us from the doomsday to come. I stopped listening after I heard Lane’s name. To me, going back to LeBaron seemed as bad as staying in California while disaster struck, maybe even worse. But my brothers and I couldn’t protest or ask for further explanation. We just shrugged our shoulders and accepted Mom’s decision. How could we argue when the destruction of an entire nation was at hand?

*   *   *

A DIFFERENT SCENE
played out the following Sunday evening in front of Grandpa and Grandma. We arrived for supper and found Grandpa sitting in his big brown chair with a leatherbound Book of Mormon open on his lap. Grandma was in the kitchen, and the table was already set. I felt an uncomfortable quietness throughout dinner. The air was heavy all through the meal, even when Grandma served her warm blackberry cobbler with huge scoops of melting vanilla ice cream. “Just like Mama used to make,” Grandma always said.

After dinner, we went back to the living room to watch
Hee Haw
on TV. Every week, Grandma would close the heavy, sage-green drapes behind the beige love seat and we’d all gather on the rug and couches. Mom sat in the rocking chair, rocking Meri back and forth quietly, as if waiting for the perfect moment to spring the news on her parents. Grandpa’s eyelids began to hang heavily.

“Are you gettin’ tired, Daddy?” Mom asked sweetly. “Why don’t you go and lie down. Don’t worry about us.”

“Oh, I’m all right.” She’d startled him back to life and he sat straighter in the chair when canned laughter erupted from the TV.

“You all right, Kathy?” Grandma eyed Mom skeptically through her bifocals, the lenses reflecting the images from the TV.

“Oh, I’m doin’ real good,” Mom said unconvincingly, readjusting Meri, who lay in the middle of her chest. “I want to let you guys know that I’ve appreciated all your help.” She cleared her throat. “And that I’ve decided to move to El Paso to live close to the colony again. Lane’s been comin’ to see me and the kids, and we’re gonna try to make our marriage work.”

Neither of my grandparents said anything for a moment, but then Grandpa got up from his La-Z-Boy, turned the TV off, and returned to his seat. I looked at his face, then to Grandma’s. They seemed disappointed but not surprised.

“Well, I—” Grandma stopped and reconsidered her words. “Well, we heard the kids talkin’ about Lane, so we figured he was comin’ around to see you guys.” She fidgeted in her seat. “We figured it was just a matter of time before you went back to that place.”

“Well, we can’t go to the colony right away. Lane’s not makin’ enough money with his trucking business yet, and Meri needs to see all these doctors. We have to figure out what’s goin’ on with her before we move back to LeBaron. But El Paso’s close enough to travel there on weekends and during the summer.”

“But you got everything you need here,” Grandpa said. “The kids are settled in a good school. Meri has a good group of doctors, Audrey’s close by. Now why would you want to uproot everyone?”

“I don’t feel like we belong here, Daddy. I want my kids to grow up around the people who believe like I do, close to the church and close to their dad.”

At this, Grandma folded her arms over her chest and shook her head. “For the life of me, Kathy, I don’t understand why you keep goin’ back to that man. He has all those women and all those kids. How’s he supposed to support all of you too?”

“Well, Mom, we believe that it’s not all about the money, that it’s God’s will for a husband and wife to bring new life into this world even if we’re not rich.”

Grandma met this with a sneer and leaned forward. She knew perfectly well what her daughter believed. “There’s no way that it’s God’s will to have one man bring so many kids into the world that he can’t take care of, Kathy. You’re not even legally married. You’re not his wife, you’re his concubine.” I didn’t know what
concubine
meant, but I could tell the word upset my mom.

“In my church, polygamy is a commandment from God,” Mom said defensively. “I was married in that church, so I’m Lane’s wife whether you like it or not.” She seemed to regret her words almost immediately and turned to Grandpa. “You can’t call yourself a Mormon, Daddy, and just ignore that. Joseph Smith believed in polygamy, he taught that it was the right way to live.”

“Times have changed, Kathy,” he said wearily.

“God doesn’t change His mind, and we don’t get to change His rules.”

Grandma couldn’t take any more. She erupted, yelling, “The Bible says that a man will leave his family and a woman will leave her parents and
the two shall become one
. It doesn’t say three or four or five shall become one.”

“What does the Bible say about Moses and Jacob?
They
had more than one wife.” Mom gave Grandma a ferocious stare, turned, and gave Grandpa the same look. “Daddy, you once believed that Joel was the prophet. You believed in plural marriage. He was a prophet. He wasn’t crazy. You both know he wasn’t crazy.”

“I should have never gotten my family involved with that church or that man.” Grandpa shook his head. “I should have never given you my blessin’ to marry him.”

“You don’t believe that,” Mom spat back.

“But now I see how my daughters suffered, livin’ that way.”

“I
always
knew we shouldn’t get involved in that church, but nobody listened to me.” Grandma’s eyes bored holes in the carpet. “And that ol’ Ervil was definitely a nutcase.”

“We’re talkin’ about Joel, not his brother,” said Mom.

“Makes me sick to think about all those old men bringin’ so many little babies into the world.” Grandma shook her head furiously. “All those children, those little bastards runnin’ round all over the place with no one lookin’ after ’em—”

“Callin’ those kids bastards is callin’ the kids in this room bastards,” Mom fired back. I could tell she was on the verge of screaming.

“Well, if the shoe fits…,” Grandma said.

“Oh, come on now, Tressie,” Grandpa said, trying to pull everyone back from the brink.

“Now, Leo, you know it’s the truth.” Grandma shot him a look that stunned my grandpa into silence.

Mom sprang from the rocking chair. “Ya see? That’s exactly why I have to leave here. No one believes like I do anymore.” She hoisted Meri onto her shoulder, yanked a pink cotton blanket out of the yellow diaper bag, and wrapped the baby in it tightly. “I know I’m right, and in the next life, you will too. And by the way, I’m not askin’ for your blessin’ or permission. I’m just lettin’ you know what I’m gonna do.” Her head pivoted in our direction. “You kids get your shoes on. We’re goin’ home.”

“Now, come on, Kathy. You don’t need to leave,” Grandpa said weakly, looking over at his wife, her eyes ablaze with anger. “Let’s turn the TV back on.”

But Mom was already halfway out the door. “Thanks for dinner,” she called out, pushing us toward the van.

16

As much as I hated the idea of leaving California, I was comforted knowing that we weren’t scheduled to move until school was out, in two months’ time. But two weeks later, Mom announced she was pregnant again, and that meant we’d be leaving as soon as possible.

A few days later, Lane’s white pickup rolled into our driveway. Rather than sporting its usual camper top, the truck was pulling an old wooden trailer. I ran to my bed and dug my head in a pillow as deep as I could. I didn’t want to hear any enthusiasm that might come with my stepfather’s arrival.

It was dark when we had finally packed up our things in the truck. The following morning we embarked on yet another journey. I trudged to the microbus, opened the sliding door, and stepped up into it.

“Ruthie, you come ride with me,” Lane said.

The offer took me by surprise, and I looked up at Mom to save me. Already starting up the van, she smiled and reassured me, “Oh, go on. Go ride with him.”

“I don’t want to, Mom.” My body was frozen in the van’s doorway.

“Don’t be silly. Go ride with your dad. Go on, and stop bein’ a baby.”

I flashed Lane a scowl as I retreated from the van. I was relieved to find Matt already sitting in Lane’s truck, but when I opened the passenger door to get in, Matt told me I had to sit in the middle.

“Ruthie,” Lane said, “Matt needs to sit by the window in case he gets carsick.” Matt got out to let me in, and Lane motioned for me to slide my body to the middle. The seat was cold, the black dashboard was covered in jagged cracks from sun damage, and mud was caked on the rubber mats on the floorboards. I noticed on the floor half an avocado that had long ago turned black, and wilted envelopes containing letters of apparent importance were scattered below the windshield. I rested my left knee against the stick shift as I dug my fingers into the crack of the seat in search of my seat belt, finding only dirt and crumbs in its place.

“It’s broken. The buckle doesn’t work. Here, scoot over this way so I can change gears.” Lane extended his arm around my upper back and pulled me until I was right up against him with both my legs on his side of the stick shift.

We had a late start, Mom announced, and would only have a few minutes to stop and say good-bye to Grandpa and Grandma. As we pulled up along the front yard and parked in the street, I stared at the vibrant pink roses and the orange and yellow marigolds in the front yard and wanted to cry. I swallowed and held back the beginnings of tears. Grandma emerged from the house, her eyes cast down, the tears already spilling. A sob burst from my chest the minute I saw her. I was surprised to see that Matt was crying too, just as hard as I was. He hadn’t complained about leaving as much as I had, but he was clearly just as upset.

I got out of the truck and threw my arms around Grandma’s shoulders so hard I thought I’d knock her down. She steadied herself, and I pressed my crying face into her neck and wanted to disappear into it.

I embraced Grandpa the same way. “Don’t you worry, Sis,” he whispered in a broken voice. “You’ll be all right. I’m sure we’ll be seein’ ya soon.” His eyes were wet and red when I pulled away from him.

Lane kept his distance at the end of the manicured lawn and stared down at his army-green work boots. Mostly he went ignored, but Grandpa eventually looked in his direction.

“How ya doin’?” Lane asked, trying to sound respectful.

Grandpa just nodded.

Within minutes, we were gone, Grandma and Grandpa waving at us through forced smiles and wet cheeks.