Favorite Wife Read Free Page B

right, as it was the right of all the single girls. Unlike the men, we women only married once, so naturally we got to choose which of the men we wanted to be our spiritual head. I had to make sure I chose a man who was devoted to God and the church, and as the wife of a godly man, my place in heaven would be secure. Brother Ervil had preached that just last week.
    Ervil followed Joel to the pulpit and opened with his views of the recent assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. Then he proceeded with a lengthy, windy discourse about people’s civil rights. As he spoke his high-sounding words that I didn’t recognize, Ervil batted and nabbed at a stray fly that buzzed around his head. Finally catching it in his fist, he squished it with his fingers and tossed it aside.
    I stole another glance at Verlan. He wasn’t watching me now, so I ignored Ervil and stared at Verlan. Of the five LeBaron brothers, I had always thought he was the best looking. Wide shoulders and a slim waist complemented his long legs. Brown hair feathered from a receding hairline, the slight graying at his temples adding to his appeal. Dreamy lashes rested against his cheeks as he looked at his book. His nose was a bit large, but I decided that it fit the rest of his frame perfectly. He appeared businesslike and prosperous in his brown serge suit and shined loafers.
    I tucked my ragged tennis shoes under the bench so they wouldn’t show. Good shoes seldom turned up in the sacks of clothes Dad brought us from the states, and I was glad that all Verlan could see of my clothing was my new dress. With my blond hair braided and pinned up, I knew I looked at least sixteen.
    What, in reality, did I know of Verlan LeBaron, besides the fact that he had five wives? According to Dad, next to the Prophet Joel, Verlan was the most righteous man in the church. Rumor had it that he readily lent a hand to anyone in need. He was honest in his dealings with others, completely self-sacrificing, and his wives supported their husband in every way. As the President of our church’s Twelve Apostles, and head of the missions to the world, Verlan LeBaron was a staunch, dedicated man of God.
    â€œHow old is Verlan, Franny?” I whispered idly as I observed him. “Do you think he’s over forty?”
    Francisca considered for a moment, then whispered, “No. Alma’s the oldest LeBaron brother here, then the Prophet Joel. Then Ervil, and Mom told me Ervil is forty-one. He’s older than Floren—and Verlan is the baby. He must be thirty-something. Why?”
    â€œHe’s gorgeous, don’t you think? And so tall. I just love mature men.”
    Francisca snorted, “Mature? He’s not mature, he’s OLD. I’ll never marry an old man like him! I’m gonna be the first wife to someone my own age. What’s the matter with you, Suze, don’t you want to have some fun in life?” She glared at me, then whispered into my ear again, “You think you’re a live-in babysitter now; just what do you think you would be if you married someone with a hundred kids like Verlan has? I can’t believe you’re even thinking about him.”
    Francisca was right—Verlan LeBaron was awfully old, but in heaven it wouldn’t make a particle of difference. This life on Earth was just a tiny speck upon the vast screen of eternity, and in eternity, he wouldn’t be old. Verlan would be a certain admission to the highest of the three heavens.
    A sudden blur to my right was Thelma jumping off the bench. In an instant she scooted past me and escaped down the aisle. I darted after her, lifted her squirming, chunky body, and planted her bottom back on the seat. “You little brat,” I hissed in her ear. “You hold still or I’ll spank you when church is out!”
    She glared at me. “I’ll tell Papa if you do,” she retorted. She would, too, and I would be the one in trouble. Darling little