Chapter 35
She offered me a pained grimace in confirmation, and then she was gone. I opened my mouth to call after her, but no sound came out. Guilt rushed through me. Was abandoning Jacob abandoning her? Doubt heavy as lead stopped my feet.
I wrung my hands.
“What if the others won’t leave with me now that he’s home?” I whispered to myself.
Prudence, who still thought of her husband as her savior. Flora, who only waited for his call to obey. And Abby, who’d known all along and never left.
I buried my face in my hands, allowing my held-back tears to flow freely.
My quiet sobs echoed off the entry walls.
Months ago, I’d stood in this same place, greeting the women who were my new family.
We struggled and disagreed, always a thick, invisible chain around our necks binding us together.
Our fates entwined for eternity, held fast in Jacob’s hands.
I could run now and try to sever that chain, but would that only tighten his grip on theirs?
I pressed my palms against my burning eyes. Panic heaved in my chest, and I struggled for air. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t forsake my sister wives to this fate. Opening my eyes, I wiped the tears and the room came back into clear focus. If only my resolve would follow suit.
I took a step toward the stairs.
Suddenly, a blur of darkness and a stream of fractured light descended on me.
I screamed and scrambled desperately backward.
A crash shattered through the clammy air.
Shards of glass and metal volleyed at me, ripping my nightdress as they scattered across the entryway.
I stood paralyzed, my heart in my throat.
The chandelier lay smashed into a thousand pieces at my feet. It had missed me by only inches.
I’d nearly been crushed.
Momentarily, I was cocooned in silence. And then the world exploded.
Doors slammed. Walls whispered in hideous voices. The floorboards refused to stay even beneath my feet.
Prudence came running down the upstairs hallway.
“What happened?” she cried, her eyes widening as she took in the mess.
We looked up. The place the chandelier had hung from was now an ugly cracked hole. New fissures twisted across the ceiling like a spider’s web. Like it had rotted and finally gave way.
The house wasn’t finished with its dangerous revelations.
“It’s all right.” I tried to keep my voice calm so as not to alarm her. “The chandelier simply fell.”
“Simply fell? Hazel, you could’ve been killed!”
The faint light returned, just behind Prudence, who was leaning over the railing. The specter—Sariah—hovered out of her sight, holding my gaze. Her expression was serious. It dug into me.
“But I’m fine,” I said, speaking to both of them.
Splinters of glass cascaded from my nightdress as I moved around the wreckage to the stairs. Glass crunched beneath my feet in sickening pops. My mind hummed, trying to piece together the shards of this mystery.
Sariah commanded this house. Sariah kept this house silent. Sariah made the chandelier fall. But I didn’t think she wanted to harm me; I doubt she would’ve missed if so. No, she used the house as her voice where she had none, and she wanted me to know something.
“Hazel! What happened?” Jacob’s footsteps crunched through the debris behind me.
“Nothing.”
“The ceiling is breaking, Jacob,” Prudence said. “Should we be concerned?”
Sariah’s face tightened. Yes, she seemed to say. She glared down at Jacob for a moment, then, instantly, she faded from view.
Jacob leaned back to inspect the broken ceiling. “There’s never anything to be worried about here. Go back to sleep.”
A laugh came from the shadows and Abby slinked forward.
“Oh yes, all is well. I’ll remember that when the house caves in on us,” she said.
“Go back to sleep, Abby,” Jacob growled.
“Shouldn’t we help to clean this up?” Prudence asked.
“It’ll keep till morning. Go on, dear. We’ve had a long day.”
She bit her lip, then reluctantly turned on her heel and strode back down the hallway, lit only by the faint moon from the windows at the end. Abby made no signs of retreating, watching her husband with an intense stare.
Jacob ignored her and snapped to me, standing on the other side of the broken chandelier. My lungs cinched tighter.
“Brother Smith left. Said he had something to do. In the middle of the night.”
“Oh?”
“Thought you might want to know.”
“Why would I …?” I trailed off.
And suddenly, Sariah’s message became perfectly clear—Jacob knew.
He didn’t break his pleasant, almost too-casual look as he watched me, probably waiting for a reaction. For a confession.
This was what Sariah wanted to tell me. She warned me in her loudest shout that I shouldn’t stay here with Jacob. I needed to get us all out of here before something worse than a crashing chandelier harmed us. And I needed to keep Jacob as distant as possible.
I yawned.
“I should go to bed.”
“I’ll join you.”
“Perhaps you should first make sure there’s no danger here from the chandelier?” I suggested with a soft, pleading expression.
He hesitated, his eyes narrowing.
“I’ll help you. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to our children,” Abby said, slowly walking to the staircase.
“Of course,” he said at last. “Anything to protect my family.”
I took the stairs slowly, feeling every step measured by Jacob’s careful gaze. As Abby passed me on the stairs, she grasped my hand briefly but didn’t look at me. Her hand was cold, but her hold was firm.
Was she trying to help me too?
As soon as I reached my door, I threw myself inside, shutting it tight. I likely had only a few minutes before he came up. Even if Abby was attempting to distract him, it wouldn’t last all night.
And what would he do to me once we were alone?
I staggered to the bed.
This couldn’t be how my story ended. Trapped in a monstrous house, the fifth wife of a dangerous man, tied forever to him and his other wives in a tangled mess.
And what would happen when Jacob determined I was no longer of use to him, like Sariah? I thought about my nightmares, all the blood. I felt more certain than ever that Jacob had murdered her.
Would my family spend the rest of their lives wondering what became of me, while apostles acted as gods and found more wives for my destroyer? How could it be that our Creator cared more for the satisfaction and increase of men than the broken and torn bodies of women?
“Sariah?” I spoke into the quiet room.
Her light gathered softly beside me. It stung my eyes, but I refused to close them. I trembled, my chest beginning to heave with the weight of a panic. The cacophony of worries and fears didn’t dissipate, but I waded through them. They were not a weakness. I was not a weakness.
“Tell me what I can do. There must be a way to escape this, to escape him.”
For the first time, the ghost’s despondent face warmed. She understood.
“Perhaps if you can tell me what truly happened to you, I can piece something together.”
She tilted her head, considering me, then nodded slowly. Lifting her hand, she stretched toward me. Scant inches vibrated between us. Though I felt nothing, her fingers brushed over my forehead.
I blinked. Sudden drowsiness overtook me, making it hard to keep my eyes open.
I let out a staggered breath as my knees plunged to the floor.
Was I dying? I tried to scream, but my mouth didn’t obey.
My body slumped against the bed. Sariah’s brilliant face was the last thing I saw as my eyes drooped closed.
A clang startled me. I poked my head up, trying to recall what had happened. I was on my knees leaning against my bed, but the dark of night had given way to brilliant day. Light poured through the window, the golden glow suggested it was already late in the afternoon.
My heart thumped with distrust as I took in the room.
Its usual musty odor had dissipated, instead a sweet lavender and vanilla sharp enough to coat my tongue.
Cheery blue curtains, without a stitch of fraying, rippled in the breeze from the open window.
A vibrant floral bedspread was neatly tucked into the mattress.
I brushed my fingers across it. I’d never seen this linen before.
Fresh yellow flowers sat in a vase on the table, and the large armoire was a stunning spring green, no chipping paint or scratches. This wasn’t my room, but also, it was.
I seemed to only think of standing and then at once I was up on my feet. From this vantage the room was even more splendid, welcoming even. Every spot shined and sparkled with the obvious care of an attentive owner.
A noise caught my attention. At the table across the room, a woman sat humming to herself as she worked.
She hunched over a tray of bright colors and a jar of water and brushes.
Her hair was stunning red tucked tight in a bun on the back of her head.
A few loose strands hung at her ears to frame her face.
Her dress was a fern green, giving her body the illusion of a spring flower sprouting to life.
Abby?
No sound came from my throat.
She didn’t appear to notice my presence. I drew closer to the table to watch her work. She didn’t stir from her painting. I reached a tentative hand out toward her, but she went on as if she didn’t see it. I was invisible.
I’d never known Abby to paint, or to appear so light and joyful.
She dipped her brush in the jar and tapped it before selecting the next color from the palette. I looked over her completed watercolor drying beside her. My pulse jumped. There, in the corner of the paper, was her artist signature. And it didn’t say Abby.
Sariah.
At last, here she was in her full splendor—Sariah, the second wife.
The woman who stalked my nightmares couldn’t have appeared more different. Her cheeks were no longer hollow, nor her eyes haunted. Her low hum of “Come, Come, Ye Saints” was cheerful and her movements carefree. At this moment I witnessed, Sariah was very much alive. Radiant.