The 19th Wife Read Online Free PDF

is to be realistic.”
    “You’re sure?”
    “I’m rarely sure.” Mr. Heber returned to the other side of his desk. “I’m hoping to get her trial pushed out a bit. Give us some time to figure out what’s really going on out there. She didn’t kill him in a vacuum—that’s the only thing I do know for sure. This wasn’t a simple domestic dispute. I want to put the crime into some context. And meanwhile maybe the feds will finally get off their rear ends and do something about that so-called Prophet. As far as I’m concerned, it’s that cult that should be put on trial, not your mom. And that’s why I’m really glad you called. I could use your help.”
    “Me?”
    “I’d like you to tell me everything you know about Mesadale, walk me through what it’s like out there, what life was like for you, and the Prophet, what’s he like, the church, your dad, the house, his wives, everything about the Firsts you can tell me.”
    “I haven’t been there in six years.”
    “You know a lot more than I do.”
    I guess I could do that. It might help tweezer out the splinter of guilt I’d been feeling since I left my mom behind that slab of glass. “OK, so what do you want to know?”
    “Whatever you think is most important. But I’m afraid not right now.”
    “Not right now?”
    “I want to do this carefully, sit down, go over everything, make sure we cover all the bases. Maureen’s going to take you back to her desk and find a few hours when we can really talk.” He fished a gold-plated golf tee out of a tray and began rolling it around his palm.
    “Are you kidding me?” Elektra stood up and shook out her ears. She needed to pee.
    “I wish I had more time today, but I didn’t know you were in town until a half hour ago. Maureen, take him up front and arrange something, all right? Squeeze him in as soon as possible.”
    In a flash she was on her feet. “Come on, let’s have a look at the old calendar.”
    “Wait a minute,” I said. “I can’t just hang in St. George forever. I’ve got a job in California. A good job”—lie—“and an apartment. We’re living out of the back of my van.”
    Elektra yawned, as if she’d heard it before. Maureen stood in the open door. Mr. Heber flipped some pages on a legal pad. This meeting was so over. “Jordan, we both want the same thing. You’re going to have to trust me.”
    Just one problem: I’ve never been too good in the trust department.

SAN FRANCISCO EXAMINER
    J ULY 21, 1873
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    HELL HATH NO FURY
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    The news out of Salt Lake’s seraglio has caught even our attention. At last Mrs. Young—or should we say,
a
Mrs. Young—has told her husband enough is enough. This one—Number 19, if the numbers can be believed—has filed suit against the Prophet, Supreme Leader, etc. etc. of the Saints. All we can say is: It’s about time. While husband and wife ensnare one another in accusation and counteraccusation, we would like to add two observations to the fracas. One, Brigham Young is a Confidence Man in the grand tradition of the hoodwinkers of the West. A message from Heaven has told him he should possess 19 wives? A message from Heaven has told us we should possess a finer house, a larger income, and at least one day each year free from this esteemed publication, but those minor miracles have yet to transpire. As for Mrs. Young, Number 19, we most respectfully inquire: What did she expect? At the gate of the slaughterhouse, even the squealing pig understands his fate. Could she not smell the blood in the air? Under some Divine plan, it seems Destiny intended these two noble creatures to be united in either matrimony or warfare, if there is a difference. As the battle begins, we shall mount our hill with somber hearts to watch out over the carnage.

THE BIG HOUSE

    That night I couldn’t sleep. Same with Elektra. She kept shifting on the futon and growling at every sound at the Welcome Center—car doors, motorcycles, eighteen-wheelers gasping in