Lena Jones 02 - Desert Wives

my father.”
    His hand left my lower thigh, and a moment later, I felt fingers unbuttoning the front of my high-necked dress. For a brief second my treacherous mind gave me a vision of Dusty’s face, but after a brief hesitation, I willed the vision away.
    “Yes, Prophet Davis,” I whispered. I didn’t have to fake the passion in my voice.

Chapter 19
    Saul left for court the next morning the same time I left for school. My disgust at the weak curriculum only slightly eclipsed my self-disgust. How could I have responded to Prophet Davis’s caresses, even for a moment? Certainly the man was handsome, and certainly, he knew his way around a woman’s body, and certainly, it had been a long time since Dusty—that unfaithful devil—had touched me in the way Davis had. But damn!
    What would have happened if I hadn’t suddenly remembered the gun strapped to my other thigh and pulled out of his arms, making a fake-shy excuse? Worse yet, what would have happened if I hadn’t been wearing my gun at all? Would I, like the old Sinatra song put it, have gone all the way?
    I trotted across the compound amid a flock of giggling, long-skirted girls, cursing myself silently. Perhaps the stress of living at the compound had blurred the boundaries of my past and my present, sent me back to my lonely teenage years when I’d gone too far with too many high school boys just for the temporary ecstasy of feeling needed. Later, in an ASU psychology class, I’d learned sexually abused girls often became promiscuous, so I’d forgiven myself. But that was then and this was now. I was no longer a vulnerable teenager seeking acceptance in the sweaty back seats of muscle cars. I was a grown woman with better sense.
    Supposedly.
    I hurried to the first class. During the previous day, I’d recognized two teachers as Solomon’s widows. Hester, a thin-faced woman only slightly younger than Ermaline, taught math, and Desiree, a plump teenager little older than her students, taught English. I spent the morning taking notes in case Davis checked up on me, then sought out the two teachers during recess.
    We sat beneath the school yard’s only tree, a struggling cottonwood whose puny branches looked like they might fall on our heads any moment. The older children stood around talking, while the younger ones played on the swings and slides. Rebecca, bless her, never once looked my way.
    I broke the ice by asking about Rosalinda’s baby. “Just beautiful!” And Hanna’s baby? “Doing poorly.” Then, after making a few diplomatic comments about the school and expressing Davis’s interest in it, I began to draw the women out. They were Solomon’s widows, after all, and we’d cooked biscuits side by side.
    “Given the materials you have to work with, I think you women have done a fine job,” I said, holding up the ragged textbook I’d put aside to take to Davis. “I’m just surprised that Prophet Solomon, with all his resources, didn’t allot more money to the school. I mean, he seemed so concerned about every little thing here in Purity.”
    Hester gave me a sour look. “I wouldn’t say
every
little thing.”
    Some jealousy there, perhaps? I wondered how long it had been since Solomon had visited Hester’s bed. Not in years, I bet.
    “Well, you know what I mean. He really cared about the compound, so I’m sure he kept an eye to the future of its young people.”
    Hester shrugged, making the shoulder seam of her ill-made calico dress slip further down her arm. I wanted to tug it up, but refrained. “The only time we ever saw him was during meals and at Prayer Time. He didn’t really have a lot to say to us about anything. Except God and children, of course.”
    Desiree, younger and still willing to make allowances for neglectful behavior, nodded sympathetically.
    “But didn’t Prophet Solomon design the school’s syllabus?” I asked. “What could be taught and what couldn’t?”
    “Sure he did,” Hester said. “Problem was, he designed it around the things he found interesting, not the skills our young people might need as they established their own families. For instance, I wanted to take some of the children into town and teach them how to shop frugally, but he wouldn’t allow it. He didn’t want them out of the compound, not even for a minute.”
    “But Sister Hester,
God
told him the trip would be a waste of time!” Desiree protested.
    That sour look again. “Everything our husband said and did originated