Cold Betrayal

“My first choice would be some of Leland’s meat loaf.”

“Fair enough,” Ali said. “I’ll make sure meat loaf is on the menu.”

“After that,” he said, “I’d like to spend the rest of the weekend having a little quiet downtime with my wife and my dog.”

“Sounds perfect,” Ali said. “That’s what Bella and I are hoping for, too.”

“What’s happening on your end?” B. asked.

She told him about her call from Athena and her subsequent conversation with Sheriff Olson.

“So Betsy says somebody tried to kill her and everyone else says she’s losing her marbles?”

“That’s about the size of it,” Ali agreed glumly.

“What do you think?”

“Betsy didn’t sound out of it to me—not in the least.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I already did it,” Ali replied. “Athena asked me to call and talk to the sheriff, and that’s what I did.”

“Fair enough,” B. said. “Now let it go at that. This is Athena’s problem, not yours—Athena’s and Betsy’s. We already know there’s plenty of bad blood between Athena and her parents. If you get involved with all this, there could be even more spillover. You’re better off not being sucked into the middle of it.”

“Right,” Ali said. Just because she said she agreed with him, however, didn’t mean she meant it. After all, just like her mother, Ali Reynolds had never been much good when it came to minding her own business.

3

Enid Tower sat in the dusty waiting room, dreading the sound of the nurse calling her name. She hated the process of going into the examining room and having to strip off her clothing. She hated the idea of having Dr. Johnson examine her body—of him touching her breasts and her belly with his bony hands and asking probing questions about how she felt.

If he had been just another doctor, that might have been okay, but on Sundays, when Enid had to sit in front of him and his family in church, he was Brother Johnson rather than Dr. Johnson. Sitting in the pew with him right behind her, knowing that he was staring at the back of her neck, always made Enid burn with shame. It was almost impossible to pay attention to the sermon or whatever else was going on in church when someone who had seen her naked and had touched the part of her body that shouldn’t be touched by anyone but her husband was seated in the very next pew.

This time, though, it wasn’t just the examining room Enid dreaded—it was what would come after the examining room. Bishop Lowell always talked about having the courage of your convictions. When the bishop talked like that, he was usually referring to the way The Family lived—apart from everyone else, following their own beliefs and customs no matter what the outside world said or thought about them. Today was the day Enid would test the courage of her own convictions in a way she knew would not meet with Bishop Lowell’s approval.

The baby in her belly seemed to catch her mother’s disquiet and began turning what felt like somersaults. Enid rested her hand on her stomach, hoping that the pressure would quiet her baby girl’s restless tumbling. That’s what Dr. Johnson said she was going to have—a girl—and that was why Enid was leaving. She knew what her life was and what it would be if she stayed in The Family. She didn’t want that for herself, and she certainly didn’t want it for her little girl.

Enid stole a glance at Aunt Edith. The woman was not really Enid’s aunt, at least not as far as Enid knew. Given the way The Family worked, however, she might as well have been, because everyone who lived in The Encampment seemed to be related to everyone else. In this case, the word “aunt” was a reflection of Edith Tower’s marital situation. “Aunt” was how younger wives were expected to refer to and honor the ones who had come before.

The custom was true for Enid and Abigail Crowden, too. They were two years apart in age, had grown up as best friends—doing chores together, playing tag, jumping rope, wading in the water on those rare occasions when the washes ran. For a time they had been Abby and Enid, a pair of inseparable pals with a not undeserved reputation for being a pair of troublemakers.

Then Abigail had married Gordon on her fifteenth birthday—The Family’s age of consent—although they had been betrothed long before that. In the two years since, Abby had already had one baby and was expecting another. Like Abby’s, Enid’s wedding—complete with a white gown and veil—had occurred on her fifteenth birthday. Now, as Gordon’s youngest wife—his newest wife—Enid was forced to address her once beloved friend Abby as Aunt Abigail. She’d had to grieve over losing Abby’s friendship as well, because now that they were wives together, they were no longer friends.

Aunt Edith drowsed, with her head leaning back against the wall and her mouth hanging open. Enid wondered how old she was. Probably not much more than thirty or so, although she looked far older. Her face was swollen. The corners of her mouth turned down rather than up. Because she was missing several teeth, she hardly ever smiled. An angry, forbidding frown permanently adorned her forehead. Oh, and she was pregnant, too, although not as far along as Enid. Aunt Edith’s body was swollen under her shapeless homemade dress, and so were her ankles. Enid had heard Dr. Johnson’s nurse talking to Aunt Edith, warning her in a low voice that if they didn’t get her blood pressure under control, she might end up having to spend the rest of her pregnancy doing bed rest.

Enid tried to feel sorry for her. That was what Bishop Lowell said you were supposed to do—feel compassion toward others. This would be Aunt Edith’s eighth baby, although Enid had heard she had miscarried a couple of times, too. As First Wife, or at least as the eldest of those who remained, she ruled her part of The Family with an iron fist. Aunt Edith kept a willow switch in a corner of the kitchen and wasn’t afraid to use it on the younger wives and on any of the children, especially if there was so much as a hint of back talk or if assigned chores weren’t done to her satisfaction. Enid knew that if Aunt Edith ended up confined to her bed, she would use that confinement as a weapon to dish out misery to others. As the youngest wife, Enid would be a natural target.

Enid understood why Aunt Edith hated her. Aunt Edith may have been pretty once, but years of constant pregnancies had robbed her of whatever good looks she might have possessed. Enid, on the other hand, was still young and beautiful. Right now, hers was the bed Gordon preferred to any of the others. At night he wanted Enid to stand in front of him naked while she let down her hair. Then, after taking his fill of her—according to him, pregnancy was only a problem if you let it be—Gordon liked to sleep on his belly next to her back and with his outspread hand resting on her swollen stomach, as if claiming both her body and her baby’s as his own.

Enid knew the other wives were jealous of the added attention he lavished on her. One morning, after Gordon had gone out to do chores, Aunt Edith had barged into the bedroom and caught Enid standing in front of the mirror, admiring the undulating waves the undone braids had left in her waist-length hair.

Aunt Edith had stopped in the doorway and stared at her. “I suppose you think your hair is beautiful like that, don’t you,” she sneered. “It’s beautiful all right—just like the waves on a slop pail.”

With that, she had turned on her heel, slammed the door behind her, and stormed off downstairs. That evening, Enid had begged Gordon to give her a key for their bedroom. She claimed it was because some of the little kids had been sneaking inside and going through his things, but it was really so Enid could have a few moments of privacy.