Sanctuary. Brenda Novak

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      “FIND ANYTHING you like?” Hope asked, getting to her feet to take the stack of clothes Faith had carried into the dressing room several minutes earlier.

      Faith bit her lip as she regarded the maternity jeans, T-shirts and jumpers Hope had selected for her to try on. “No, not really.”

      “Why not?” Hope asked. “Nothing fit?”

      The voices of people passing the store in the mall outside droned in the background. By the time Hope had shown Faith around the garden and the house, then taught her how to use the microwave, dishwasher, washing machine and dryer, it was nearly noon. Activity at the mall was just beginning to peak.

      “Everything fit,” Faith said. “It’s just that…well, I thought maybe I’d rather sew a few items for myself.”

      Hope nearly groaned. Not more of the dowdy dresses that would instantly mark her as belonging to a polygamist community. “Faith, what’s wrong with these clothes? They’re comfortable and practical and—”

      “They’re too…stylish,” Faith replied. “I don’t want to be vain, Hope. It’s not right.” She spoke in a whisper because the saleswoman hovered close by—but not because she wanted to help them. The moment they’d entered the store, the woman had watched them with contempt and the kind of curiosity one typically felt when viewing something fascinating yet distasteful, like maggots on meat. No doubt Faith’s appearance had given them away. Colorado City and Hillsdale, a large polygamist community straddling the Arizona-Utah border, was less than an hour’s drive away. The people of St. George saw more than their share of polygamists, some of whom lived right in town. The women were especially easy to spot because they typically wore pants beneath the voluminous skirts of their dated dresses, along with a pair of old tennis shoes.

      But familiarity didn’t necessarily breed acceptance.

      “A little style never hurt anyone,” Hope insisted, and turned to challenge the saleswoman’s stare.

      The saleswoman crossed her arms, as though she had a right to gawk at them.

      “Maybe we should go somewhere else,” Faith said.

      Protectiveness, and pride, wouldn’t allow Hope to leave just yet. She’d been away from Superior long enough to understand, to a degree, the woman’s fascination, but such rudeness was inexcusable. “No, we have as much right to be here as anyone. Pick out a few things.”

      “I don’t want anything. I just need some fabric and—”

      “We’ll get you some fabric and you can sew as many dresses as you like. Just pick out something you’d want if you weren’t worried about everything the church taught you.”

      With a frown, Faith delved into the stack and came up with a plain pair of maternity jeans. Then she grabbed a top off the rack that resembled something an eighty-year-old woman would wear—an eighty-year-old woman with no taste.

      “I said pick what you’d want if you weren’t worried about the church,” Hope said in exasperation, and selected a denim jumper and a cap-sleeve periwinkle blouse. “This okay?”

      Faith shrugged.

      “Good enough.” Hope piled the rest of the clothes on the chair in which she’d sat and carried the ones she planned to purchase to the cash register.

      The saleswoman took her time sauntering over. “This everything?” she asked, her voice flat.

      “For now,” Hope replied.

      The woman started scanning the merchandise, but paused to glance over at Faith. “Disgusting,” she muttered.

      “Excuse me?” Enough was enough. “Did you say something? Or were you simply proving that you’re as small-minded as I suspected from the start?”

      “It’s okay, Hope,” Faith murmured at her elbow, obviously embarrassed.

      “It’s not okay with me,” Hope replied.

      The woman’s jaw dropped. Usually polygamists visited the mall in groups, stuck close together and ignored the whispers and derision they encountered. Hope had seen them scurrying about, sometimes pausing to gaze longingly in a store window that sold merchandise they’d never permit themselves to buy. In the past she’d always tried to ignore them because she didn’t want to acknowledge her roots. But being with Faith revealed her as surely as a sign hanging overhead.

      Something mean and ugly flashed in the other woman’s eyes. But a second salesperson, who must have been away at lunch or on break, walked into the store, and the woman ringing up Faith’s clothing immediately changed her attitude. “I didn’t say anything,” she said, her attention now strictly on what she was doing.

      Hope paid for the clothes, grabbed the sack and, with Faith scurrying to keep up, stalked out of the store. She had half a mind to complain to the manager. Except she knew that causing a fuss wouldn’t do anything to help her sister. Faith had been taught to turn the other cheek, even when confronted with ridicule. Hope, on the other hand, believed that valuing herself as an individual and setting boundaries for others who didn’t set boundaries for themselves went farther toward fostering respect.

      She’d become a master at setting boundaries, especially with men.

      “Is everything okay, Hope?” Faith asked. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

      Hope СКАЧАТЬ