“Number one. Sister Kyra. I would like to have you over to dinner. A date so we can get to know each other better. Tomorrow evening.”
He doesn’t even wait for me to answer.
A date?
“And number two, where is the baby from last night?”
Father stands now, loosening his arm from around my shoulders.
“Mariah?” Father says.
“Screaming like that,” Uncle Hyrum says. “And in front of the Prophet. It was too much, Richard. Too much.”
“She’s not even a year old,” Mother Sarah says.
Uncle Hyrum looks at my mother like he could slap her. “Don’t speak, Sister Sarah, unless I’ve spoken to you first.”
Mother says nothing. Looks away from my uncle.
“Get the baby, Sister Kyra. And her mother. You may leave, Sister Sarah.”
“Why?” I say.
He doesn’t answer me, but Father says, “Go.”
And I go.
Mother Claire, mean as she can be, turns white when I tell her Uncle Hyrum wants Mariah. And her.
“Oh no,” she says. “Oh no.”
Mariah is asleep on a blanket in the corner, a small fan turned on her.
“She wouldn’t stop screaming after you left last night,” Mother Sarah says. She bends over, her big belly in her way, and lifts Mariah. “Come here, baby,” she says, her voice gentle.
“What do you mean?” I say.
“I just couldn’t calm her,” Mother Claire says. Her face has gone red now. “No one could. She wanted you.”
We leave Mother Claire’s trailer. I wish I could feel a bit of pride in Mariah’s wanting only me, but this cannot end up good. Not as scared as Mother Claire is.
Mariah has settled back into sleep on her mother’s shoulder.
We go into my home, where Father and Uncle Hyrum stand side by side. I’m not sure where Mother Sarah has gone.
“I saw more than I could bear,” he tells Father. “More than I can bear,” he says to Mother Claire and me and sleeping Mariah.
“She was just tired,” Mother Claire says.
“Do not,” Uncle Hyrum says in such a loud voice that Mariah awakens and begins to whimper, “do not speak to me.”
Father’s hands are clasped and I can see the knuckles are white. Looking at their faces, I can see how these two are related. The same color eyes. The same color hair, same jaw lines. But that is where they change. Uncle Hyrum is a good twenty years older than Father. And a hundred years meaner.
“Strip her down,” Uncle Hyrum says. He talks to me. Me! Father stands near his brother.
At first, I think Uncle Hyrum is talking about Mother Claire. Then I see he means baby Mariah. All the sudden I see he’s here to teach my father to be a better disciplinarian.
“You’re soft, Richard,” Uncle Hyrum says right as I realize why he’s here. “Soft.”
Mariah opens her mouth in a yawn. Rubs at her eyes.
Father says, “Strip her down, Kyra. Do it. Like Hyrum says.”
“Father,” I say. “Please no.”
My father can’t look at me. He doesn’t spank us, like some of the other fathers do. He seldom raises his voice at us. He hugs us, loves us, laughs with us.
“Kyra,” he says after a moment, “please, be obedient. This is an Apostle of the Lord.”
I take Mariah from Mother Claire. I take the baby on my hip. She smiles right at me and reaches for my face.
“Water, Claire,” Uncle Hyrum says. “And ice.”
I take my time removing Mariah’s clothes. My heart thumps.
From the kitchen I can hear Mother Claire filling the tin basin first with ice. Then with water.
“Sweet, baby,” I say. “Sweet Mariah.” I think I’m getting a headache. There’s a pain behind my eyes.
Mariah’s naked in my arms. She pulls at my bottom lip and lets out a gurgle of a laugh.
“Cover her nakedness, Kyra,” Uncle Hyrum says. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. “You know nakedness is an abomination before God.”
I wrap the baby the best I can in her clothing.
“Take her to her mother,” Uncle Hyrum says.
Mother Claire stands in the doorway now. Water drips from her hands to the linoleum.
I jostle Mariah. “No wait,” I say. “Please.”
“Take her in to Sister Claire,” Uncle Hyrum says.
Mother Claire doesn’t move. Neither do I.
“Claire,” Father says. I can almost not hear him. It’s like his voice and body don’t go together. I see his mouth move, but I don’t hear hardly anything.
Uncle Hyrum grits his teeth so loud it’s like he grinds sand between them.
“She’s quiet now,” Mother Claire says. “Look how good she is.”
“Speak only when I speak to you,” Uncle Hyrum says.
Mariah turns to me. Her eyes go squinty with her smile. Her bottom lip is fat and wet. I lean in to kiss her just as she opens her mouth to laugh again. I catch nothing but air.
“Discipline,” Uncle Hyrum says to Father, “is God’s way to raising righteous children. It’s a way you can move up in leadership. I’ve been telling you this for years, Richard.” He shakes his head as if this is the one thing that has kept Father from advancing with The Chosen Ones.
Words jumble in my head. Panic sets in. I can feel it all along my skin, the panic crawling over me. If I run right now, I think, holding Mariah close, maybe, just maybe, I can catch up to Patrick and the Ironton County Mobile Library on Wheels. And he can drive Mariah and me somewhere, anywhere. The words tumble in my head as I try them out to see if they’re possible.
Mother Claire holds her hands out to take the baby. They tremble. She won’t look me in the eye. She won’t look Father or Uncle Hyrum in the eye either. She cuddles Mariah to her chest. Her belly supports Mariah’s bare bottom.
“Deliver the punishment,” Uncle Hyrum says. He glances around the room. I don’t know what he’s looking for. Everyone else has been sent away. But I can see by looking at his face that he’s disgusted with my father. His teeth just work. There’s that empty space where his tooth should be. Will he end up spitting ground teeth into his hand? “You do it, Kyra,” Uncle Hyrum says to me.
I look at Father, my eyes wide. Then I shake my head. “Why me?”
“Just do it,” Uncle Hyrum says.
But this, this I will never do. Ever.
“God and our Prophet teach us . . .”
I won’t listen.
“Kyra,” Father says. He touches my arm. “Your uncle is an Apostle of God.”
“I’ve trained my own,” Uncle Hyrum says. “I know the way. God directs. You’ll do this when you are my wife. You’ll do it now.”
Mariah laughs at her mother.
“Take the baby, Kyra,” Uncle Hyrum says. His voice is sharp as a knife. Filled with anger. But I don’t care.
“Administer the punishment,” he says.
“I won’t,” I say.
“No,” I say.
“Never,” I say.
“Claire,” Father says. “You’ll have to.”
Mother Claire’s eyes fill with tears.
“Richard,” she says. In all my life, I’ve never heard her this upset. She’s new to me. “Richard.”