Lena Jones 02 - Desert Wives

with God.”
    I wondered where Hester’s cynicism came from, and then I remembered. She’d probably attended public school, maybe even gone all the way through high school. Desiree had probably dropped out when she’d married, maybe even at fourteen. Cynical or not, though, Hester was right. The best way to strong-arm people into doing anything you wanted was by convincing them you spoke for God.
    Catching my expression, Hester added, “Once our husband made up his mind, he never changed it. A couple of years ago when we were allowed to watch certain TV programs, he decided that purple dinosaur, Barney, had been sent by Satan to tempt children into believing that their own feelings and ideas were important. It upset him so much he drove into town for a stuffed Barney toy, and had each child in Purity tell it, ‘Satan, I renounce you.’ It was all pretty silly, if you ask me, but he didn’t think so. After every child renounced Satan, he made Margaret, who was only three, burn it on the trash heap. The poor little thing just sobbed and sobbed because she’d believed Barney was her birthday present. I tried to tell him he was breaking her heart, but he didn’t care.”
    Even Desiree looked uncomfortable at this, but true to her nature, she tried to explain it away. “Sometimes the Path of Faith is hard.”
    Hester vented a bitter laugh. “One of our husband’s favorite sayings. He used it to make us do things we didn’t want to do and threatened us with hellfire if we defied him.”
    In a flat voice, Desiree quoted someone, probably the Prophet. “A wife should be a willing servant to her husband, for he is her only pathway to God. Without her husband’s guidance, she will never find Heaven.’”
    Hester didn’t buy it. “Maybe that’s true, maybe not. He used that same argument with the Circle of Elders, too, when they wanted to take a different course than the one he’d ordered. In the end, I’m not sure they were convinced he spoke for God’s interests, either.”
    I had one more question. “I know the Circle is having trouble with Brother Davis, and I’ve got a pretty good idea how that’s going to turn out, so what happened when the Circle ran afoul of Prophet Solomon?”
    “They had to do what he ordered, of course,” Hester said. “After all, the Prophet is God’s mouthpiece. And you don’t go against God—until his mouthpiece gets assassinated, that is.”
    Desiree gasped.
    I almost did, too. “Sister Hester, are you telling me you think one of the Circle shot Solomon? And might now be after Davis?”
    She didn’t back down. “Do you really think that shot at Davis the other day came from some fool hunter? Our men handle guns better than that. I think Purity’s new prophet had better watch his step and stay away from that canyon. I also think he’d be smart to chop down that mesquite grove around his house so nobody can use the cover to sneak up on him.”
    Desiree looked appalled. “That’s a wicked thing to say!”
    Hester grunted. “Tell me that in a few months, dear, but you mark my words. Unless Davis drops his reforms, he’ll never live past Christmas.” Then, as if believing she’d gone too far, she made a big show of checking her watch. “We should go back in now. Recess is over.”
    As we herded the children back into the classrooms, I reflected on what I’d just learned about Solomon. Take away the religious cant, and the portrait that emerged was that of a totally self-serving man. While I’d heard no tales of outright physical cruelty on Prophet Solomon’s part, he’d manipulated his wives and children, and the entire compound.
    But someone had seen through him.
    Just after recess it began raining steadily. While the parched kitchen gardens probably rejoiced, the rain increased the dangers of flash flooding. Saving myself about a half hour by taking Paiute Canyon’s dogleg to the graveyard was no longer wise, so I decided to leave earlier than planned. As soon I as noted Desiree didn’t know the difference between an adjective and an adverb, I excused myself from her English class and splashed across the muddy compound to Saul’s. I borrowed a raincoat and scarf from a suspicious Ruby and, telling her I loved walking in the rain, began the slow, wet slog across the desert.
    Although the nasty weather guaranteed there would be no hunters around to pry into my movements, the price for such privacy came high. The overland road to the graveyard added two