Chapter 7
The door croaked as it opened onto the spacious kitchen. A long brown table took up the center of the room, surrounded by shelves of dry goods and a large iron stove. At the far end of the room was a dark-bricked hearth hung with drying herbs.
Someone cleared their throat. The pregnant wife—Prudence, I recalled—sat at the end of the table closest to me, her face fixed in a tiny smile. The tall wife—Flora—loomed right behind her, staring down her nose as I stood in the doorway.
Words dried on my tongue. My hands twitched in my skirts as silence stretched between us. They’d been here all morning, but never heard me calling through the house. Or they’d been ignoring me. Where was Jacob to anchor me through this new storm?
“Good morning.” Prudence’s soft voice at last broke through the quiet.
“Yes, good morning, Sister,” Flora grumbled. She didn’t bother to hide her disdain, tutting her tongue audibly.
“Good morning,” I said.
Prudence waved me in. “What is your name again, Sister?” There was a warmth lining her tone and her faint British accent was charming.
“Hazel,” I said, praying my voice gave off some kind of confidence.
“Nice to meet you formally, Sister Hazel.” She coaxed me another pace into the kitchen, but I stood unsure if I was welcome at the table or if I should remain standing until told otherwise.
“I’m Prudence, and this is Flora.”
Flora promptly turned on her heel to the sink.
“I’m pleased to meet you formally.” My eyes dipped to Prudence’s protruding stomach. She must’ve been close to bearing her child, and the thought cracked at a place unexpected within and let out a hum of jealousy. I did my best to ignore it and the uncomfortable thoughts that came along with it.
“I was looking for Jacob, but I see he’s not here,” I continued, feeling sillier by the moment.
“Yes, Jacob usually leaves early to get about his work on the property or at the mine. It’s not unusual for him to be gone for days at a time,” Prudence said.
Days? Had he left me already to fend for myself with his wives?
“But today, I imagine he’ll be back around dinner.”
I exhaled. Being useful would distract me until then—from unwanted feelings, from being sinfully idle, from the ridiculous thoughts that the house watched my every move.
“May I help with something?” At least this room didn’t appear to be in complete disarray, though it was sparse for serving a large family.
Flora scoffed from the sink. “You could’ve helped if you’d been up as expected.”
“Forgive me for oversleeping,” I said. “This certainly isn’t how I intended to start things off.”
“I should hope not.”
Prudence jumped in. “Sister Flora, she must be tired after all the … excitement. She only arrived last night.” Her words came out sweet as honey.
My hope rose. Maybe she meant to be kind to me.
“Don’t worry another moment about it, Sister Hazel.
We’re glad you’re well rested after your busy day yesterday.
Wedding days are quite the production, are they not? ”
“Oh yes, it was very … interesting.”
No one acknowledged the unspoken truth about the previous night—my wedding night. Fractured pictures conjured in my mind, a paralyzing jumble of skin, mouths, and bright-hot sensations.
“For a fourth wife? I doubt it.” Flora’s cold tone cut like a knife.
Prudence grimaced. “Flora, please—”
“Please what? You should care the most, Sister Prudence. You’re no longer his newest wife.”
“Unlike you, I care nothing for position over others, Sister Flora, so you can stop your tirade.” She appeared surprisingly unphased by the tension brewing around us, and by Flora’s menacing stare, but it tore at me.
Every household had a hierarchy of wives.
It was an inevitable but unspoken reality of polygamy, with the older wives typically ruling over the newest, though sometimes the wife with the most children took that place.
Either way, there was always a superior or a favorite.
Mother had been Father’s favorite, much to Aunt Emma’s chagrin.
I couldn’t yet sense what stakes were at play in my new home, but the strain between the two women struck me with uncertainty.
How could these women allow such discord to take root in their hearts?
“It’s not my intention to cause any extra strife,” I said. The impulse to immediately begin bailing water out of a sinking boat was innate.
Prudence shifted again in her seat. “No, and we would never think it of you.”
“But you didn’t know I was coming and—”
“And why should we?” Flora said. “Marriage is between a man and his wife, not his wives.”
My shoulders drooped. This woman’s manner was practical, but laced with unrestrained anger. She wasn’t one I wanted to fight with ever. She also appeared to be working the hardest.
Behind us, the door closed with a thud, but before I could swivel toward the sound, an arm draped across my shoulders.
“Well, she’s here now, isn’t she? No reason to spend another moment fretting over it.” The unnamed wife from the night before leaned against me.
Her strawberry hair was braided neatly down her back, and her dress was a vibrant pink floral.
Her unconventional attire stood in stark contrast to the dark hues and tight hairstyles of the rest of us.
From so close, I could see thin lines of worry etched across her face, but they did nothing to detract from her beauty.
Her grip was tight, her fingers digging into my skin.
It was both soothing and frightening at once, and I again didn’t know what to think of her. Of any of them.
“I realize that scoundrel of a husband didn’t properly introduce us last night. He’s so silly, teasing me like that.”
Had Jacob not named her on purpose? But that wouldn’t make any sense.
“My name is Abigail. Though you may call me Abby as he prefers. The others do.” Another knot loosened in my chest. “Instead of chiding her, Sister Flora, give her some bread. I’m sure she’s starving.”
As if on cue, my stomach gurgled in agreement. I hadn’t eaten since the luncheon yesterday and even then, I managed to only nibble on the spread.
“If she’d been on time—”
“She’d have gotten a full meal, yes. So, she’ll just have to manage with some bread until dinner.” No smile traced Abigail’s lips, but she spoke confidently, unquestioningly. She pushed me to the table.
Flora seemed to consider her words with annoyance, then bent over and retrieved a scrap of bread from a bowl.
Glaring at Abigail, she plopped the morsel onto the table and then went back to her original task.
Abigail was clearly the leading and first wife, but it didn’t appear Flora entirely agreed with her position beneath her.
Whether that meant that Abigail was unfairly domineering or Flora was jealously ambitious, I wasn’t certain, but the last thing I needed was to make an enemy of either.
I rubbed my palms down my skirt. “I don’t need this much fuss. I’m fine, truly.”
“Nonsense. Eat.”
I didn’t dare look up as I took the piece of bread and popped pieces into my mouth as if I were being force-fed. Anything to end this tension that clawed at me.
“Good. Now, I’ve just got the children started on their morning reading. Prudence, why don’t you have Hazel help you with hanging the washing after she’s finished eating. I’m sure you young women have much in common.”
Abigail’s eyes flicked down to Prudence’s stomach.
Her instructions were met with only silence and her face drooped into a scowl.
“You all act as if you’ve just been invited to a funeral. Cheer up.”
She teased out a loose curl from her hair and her lips ticked up into a queer smile. It was beautiful, but cold. “Just because your husband found someone new to fondle doesn’t mean we have to be so rude. Grow up, children.”
I kept my eyes set on the grain of the wood in the table as the door crashed behind us, signaling Abigail’s departure.
No one spoke, or dared to breathe loudly, for some time.
I wished I could disappear into the floorboards altogether.
We all knew the realities of marriage, but I’d never heard anyone speak of it so plainly.
Still, if Abigail was the first wife, I wanted to make a good impression and follow her word. A good plural wife was helpful and cheerful—not quarrelsome.
“Don’t start by making a habit of siding with Abby, Sister Hazel. She’s ridiculous, as you can see,” Flora said as if she could sense my thoughts.
“At least she is kind to me,” I said, louder than I intended. I quickly picked at my bread to hide my red-hot cheeks.
Flora laughed. “You’ll find that kindness has little to do with usefulness.”
The bench scraped across the floor, striking through the conversation and moving me with it. “Let’s get started on the washing, Sister Hazel.” Prudence avoided my eyes as she spoke.
I followed her out the door, eager to leave behind the suffocating presence of Sister Flora.