Lena Jones 02 - Desert Wives

either. Judging from the way Beauty cringed away from Beast’s kiss, she detested him. Not that Beast noticed—or cared. When he finally came up for air, I saw a look of utter self-satisfaction on his face.
    The romantic interlude over (was Beast trying to make his other wives jealous?), the group resumed their hurried pace toward the garden. For a minute I thought about following them, then decided not to. The whole scene was too depressing.
    Instead, I walked behind the group of trailers to the livestock pens, clucking at the chickens, mooing at the cows. Still calling sweet nothings to the baffled livestock, I rounded the corner of a shed and saw a boy of about fourteen throwing flakes of hay into a goat pen.
    “Shouldn’t you be in school?” I asked, before I remembered that Saul had told me not to speak to anyone until I’d been spoken to, and definitely not to challenge any male, however young.
    The boy jerked, dropping the hay outside the pen, which made the two goats inside bleat in irritation. Then he caught himself, scooped up the hay and threw it into the pen.
    “Sister, you shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.” His voice began as a baritone but finished as a soprano.
    I would have smiled, but the expression on his face was a study in despair. “Sorry about that. I’m Lena, Brother Saul’s new wife.”
    His voice rocked and rolled for a moment, then settled down in the alto range. “I’m Brother Meade Royal. Pleased to meet you, Sister Lena. And not that it’s any concern of yours, but I’m taking a little time off school this week.” With his pale blond hair and vivid blue eyes, he was a younger version of the Valkyrie I’d seen being so unpleasantly mauled.
    I pointed toward the rusty trailer. “You live there?”
    He nodded. “Me and my mom, we just moved in. My father’s…” A sniffle.
    Boys his age never want you to see them cry, so I studied a ground squirrel scampering in a zigzag pattern across the ground.
    After a few noisy gulps, Meade regained control. “My father died and Mother had to get married again. Brother Vern had a spare trailer so the Circle of Elders gave her to him.”
    Royal
. “Was your father Prophet Solomon, by any chance?”
    “Yeah. He was murdered. The police caught the woman who did it.” He looked ready to howl with grief.
    What a life. “I’m sorry, Brother Meade.”
    He thrust out his chin. “Why be sorry? Father Prophet attained the highest level of Heaven and we should be jubilant.” However, reciting the party line didn’t keep a tear from slipping down his cheek.
    I wanted to hug the poor child, but since he was trying so desperately to act manful, I restrained myself. No wonder he wasn’t in school. His mother probably thought goat-tending would be more therapeutic than algebra, a pretty good judgment call in my estimation.
    His mother’s hasty remarriage didn’t seem like such a good judgment call, however. Saul said the Circle of Elders encouraged widows to remarry as soon as possible, but this was overdoing it. Solomon had been dead, what, a little over a week? For that matter, why did a woman as beautiful as Meade’s mother plummet from being the wife of a wealthy prophet to the wife of a trailer dweller?
    I had started to question him further when the crack of a rifle shot echoed across the compound and made me jump half out of my Reeboks.
    Brother Meade walked over and patted my arm. “Don’t be scared, Sister Lena. It’s all right. That’s just the men hunting down in the canyon. Fried rabbit’s delicious. If you’ve never had any, you ought to try it.”
    I like a nice steak, but the thought of nibbling on some cute little bunny depressed me. “I think I’ll give it a pass. Well, Brother Meade, it was nice meeting you. Maybe I’ll see you later at the community meeting. I’ll be at the first session, how about you?”
    “Yeah, first session.” I returned to my walk, leaving him with his goats. The warming day made me long for Paiute Canyon’s deep shade. Purity’s flat terrain, bordered by the glaring Vermillion Cliffs, served as little more than a heat sink for the sun’s rays, and by the time I wandered back to the central dirt circle, sweat stained the underarms of my long-sleeved dress.
    Apparently the day wasn’t too hot for the few tow-headed toddlers who began filtering from their hotel-sized homes to play with the battered toys littering the grounds.
    Threading my way through them, I noticed that