Burgundies, navy blues, & hunter greens had been replaced with shades of cream, ecru, & chartreuse. It was as if the royal richness that was David had been replaced with the plainness & blandess of Mother.
Modern art that looked like shards of broken glass & felled raindrops had been replaced with several of Greg Olsen’s paintings, & the place began to more resemble a Mormon temple than a museum.
Mother had put off the natural woman to put on the spiritual; in her eyes, the 2 entities could not co-exist, for one would always rule over the other.
The Church cautioned against forbidden fruit, yet they dangled it in front of me, tied up in the most attractive packaging.
I had never heard David thank God for anything before, save that night in the hospital, & I wondered, if, in his own way, he was changing, too.
The sky was pitch-black, the clouds that floated across it a grayish purple, sailing past as if I was in a time machine, watching the many moons go by. It was cool, but not cold, yet I felt a chill, a foreboding, as I approached the house.
The Schafer home reminded me of the Cleavers’ house in “Leave it to Beaver.” The hedges surrounding the front porch had all had a crew cut, whereas ours grew like wild ferns. Our home on Harrington Court made me think of an aging Southern belle.
Though the new elders were polite, they were distant, & weren’t the friends we had known in Elders Johnson & Roberts.
When Sister Corbin & Sister Kyle left the area, we received one piece of correspondence from each–a wedding invite & a postcard of a broken engagement. It was the last we had ever heard from them.
Elder Johnson still said hello to what he referred to as “the new Dalton family” through the grapevine, or the grapes of wrath known as the elders. Wariness had replaced openness with them, at least towards us, despite Mother & David’s morally married state. I only hoped Elder Johnson would still think of us once he got back home.