Lena Jones 02 - Desert Wives

weren’t so tragic for the young girls involved, it would be funny. I had learned one new thing from the conversation, though. Rebecca’s father sounded more afraid of eternal life in servitude than he was driven by lust.
    The scraping of chairs signaled the meeting had ended. Not wanting to get caught eavesdropping, I tiptoed off the porch and away from the building. Since I was already near Ermaline’s house, I decided to stop in and see how Cynthia was doing. I knocked, but the din of so many toddlers drowned me out, so I let myself in and wove my way through the herd. Some of the children were new to me, but like the rest, they sported various shades of blond hair, from towhead to cotton-white. Three of the palest had pink eyes. Albinos.
    As I watched them, a honey-blond girl of around eight pushed a tiny chair into the path of an albino child, a cherubic looking kindergarten-age girl. Before I could call out a warning, the cherub ran full-tilt right into it and set up an ear-shattering wail.
    I hurried over and picked her up. “There, there. It’s just a bump.”
    Her pink eyes stared straight ahead, unfocused. I realized she was blind.
    “Leave that child alone! She should be getting ready for school.” I turned to see Ermaline standing in the doorway, hands on her hips. Flour dusted the front of her calico apron.
    “She ran into a chair. I don’t think she saw it.”
    Ermaline pursed her lips into a thin, hard line. “Of course she didn’t. She can’t see anything. Which one of the children moved the chair?”
    When I didn’t answer, Ermaline tightened her lips even further. She made no move to comfort the crying girl. “The children have been instructed to be very careful where they put things. Someone hasn’t followed orders.”
    The honey-blond miscreant threw a desperate look at me.
    I smiled at her and held the crying toddler closer. “I didn’t see who it was, Sister Ermaline. It could have been anyone. So much is going on.”
    Another woman rushed into the room, apparently alerted by the child’s squalls. Her hair was as white as the little girl’s, her eyes as pink. But the woman could see.
    “Give Judy to me,” she said, stretching her arms out.
    After giving her a quick kiss on the forehead, I handed the crying girl to her mother, who promptly left the room, the darker-haired child trailing at her heels.
    All through this exchange, Ermaline frowned at me. She knew I lied, but could do nothing about it.
    I continued to smile. “I just dropped by to see how Sister Cynthia is doing,” I said, attempting to keep my voice non-judgmental. Apparently I failed, because Ermaline’s scowl deepened.
    “Cynthia’s fine,” she snapped.
    “I’d still like to see her.” Smile, smile.
    Children flowed around our little Mexican standoff, laughing, whooping, singing snatches of songs, until Ermaline finally unbent.
    “All right.”
    She led me down the hall, never once apologizing for the role she’d played in her daughter’s rape. Like any good polygamist wife, she probably didn’t think apology was necessary.
    Ermaline opened the door to a dormitory-type room holding four sets of bunk beds. Bright posters drawn by children hung upon the walls, along with the
de rigueur
crosses and embroidered religious samplers. A gaily patterned quilt covered Cynthia, who appeared to be sleeping in one of the lower bunks. The bites and bruises on her face appeared even more vivid than the day before.
    I whispered to Ermaline. “I’ll just sit by her bed for a while.”
    Ermaline closed the door, the frown never leaving her face.
    “She’s gone,” I said in a normal voice.
    Cynthia’s eyes opened. “Thank goodness. I’m so tired of hearing her beg for forgiveness.”
    I raised my eyebrows. “Your mother did that?”
    Cynthia nodded, then winced as if even that slight motion had hurt her. “She swears she didn’t know Brother Earl was that bad. And she gave me this.” She pulled a couple of books out from under the covers. I crooked my head to read the title of the first one:
Boot Camp for Your Brain: A No-Nonsense Guide to the SAT.
    “As soon as I get well, she’s promised to send me to live with my Aunt Bess in Salt Lake. Bess left Purity before I was born, but she’s been back to visit, and every time she comes, she’s tried to talk Mother into letting me stay with her so I can attend the University of Utah.” She paused, then added, “So now it’s finally going to happen—once