I couldn’t wait any longer. “Hannah, we’re wasting time. I need to find Delilah.”
She gave me a strained look but nodded. “Well, first let’s talk about what happened in Alber. Things worsened after you left, Clara. The girls the prophet married off became younger and younger, until they were in their mid-teens. He sealed them to men anywhere from twenty to eighty. Some of us in town complained, but nothing changed until the authorities moved in and made arrests.”
“Max explained that,” I said, trying not to sound impatient.
“For some families that changed little. Their men had nothing to hide. They stayed and kept their houses, supported their families. Everything was good,” she said. “But other husbands fled, afraid that they could be the next arrested. That left a large number of families with no means of support. Many of the women lost their property and their homes. Those in the worst shape brought their children and moved into my shelter. Others salvaged what they could and relocated to the trailer park, where they’re homesteading on county property—hunting and farming in the foothills.”
“Still intent on living the principle.”
“Of course. It’s part of their religion. It’s all they know,” Hannah said. “This is what I’m trying to get to: the conditions here are dire, so many have moved on. The biggest exodus has been the teenagers, mainly boys but some girls. They know there’s nothing for them here. They left their families for the outside world, hoping to find jobs and start new lives.”
“I can relate to that,” I said.
“Yes, you can,” Hannah paused a moment and gave me a wan smile. I noticed the web of wrinkles around her lips and thought about how hard she’d fought for so many years. “I remember that day.”
“As I always will.” We had shared memories, but I needed to move the conversation along. “Hannah, you were telling me about the teenagers leaving.”
“Yes. I’m laying this out for you so you understand why there’s doubt. Why I can’t say for sure what’s happening here. If there’s anything happening… to the girls.”
The anxiety I’d strained to keep under control ever since I’d heard about Delilah’s disappearance swelled in my chest. “Girls? Plural?”
Hannah expelled a deep breath. “Yes. Girls.”
At that moment, I wished I hadn’t eaten any of the pot roast. It wasn’t sitting well with the conversation.
“There are two I’m worried about. Two girls I suspect something bad happened to.”
I dreaded where this was going. “Delilah isn’t the first to disappear?”
“I don’t think so. Do you remember Eliza Heaton? You might have had her at the school, as a student.”
“I do. Her dad runs the hardware store. She must have been seven or eight when I left.”
“Eliza’s dad did run the hardware store,” Hannah said. “He passed away a couple of years ago. Eliza lived in a trailer with her mothers, brothers and sisters. A tight family, despite the dad being gone. Eliza’s mom, Alma, and her sister-wives keep those kids together. They work hard. A little more than a year ago, they opened a quilting business. They sell to the shop in town, plus a couple of high-end gift shops in St. George.”
“Tell me about Eliza.” I needed to keep Hannah on track.
“It was five months ago. Early spring. Eliza was seventeen, a good kid, smart as a whip. Dedicated to her family. I never saw that girl when she wasn’t carrying one of the little ones on her hip, a brother or sister. She loved to read. I’ve got a library at the shelter, one filled with a lot of the books I used to funnel to you when you were a girl. Eliza loves Jane Austen, just like you did. She called her ‘my dear Jane.’ I was searching the used book stores for Mansfield Park for Eliza when it happened.”
“What happened?” I had my notebook open, and I wrote down the gist of our conversation, putting stars in the margin next to those things I considered of possible importance.
“Eliza was gone.”
“Gone?”
“Disappeared,” Hannah said. “She stopped coming around. I asked about her around town. No one seemed to know anything. Some of the folks looked numb to all the teenagers leaving and shrugged, like, well, another one’s moved to the city.”
“Did you talk to her family?”
“Yes. Her mothers claimed that Eliza ran off to Salt Lake. They said I had no reason to worry.” Hannah smoothed out her white paper napkin and began absentmindedly folding it, once then twice on the diagonal, turning it into a small triangle. She looked at her handiwork, and then tossed it on the table.
“You don’t believe them?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“For the past year, I saw Eliza at least once a week, most times twice.” Emotions tended to embarrass Hannah, but she didn’t wipe away the tears pooling in her eyes. “She wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye.”
“But maybe—”
“I don’t think so,” Hannah said, leaving just the slightest room for doubt. “I know that girl like I knew you at that age. I don’t believe she ran away.”
Our talk went on, and Hannah recounted a second mysterious disappearance, that of sixteen-year-old Jayme Coombs. This girl I didn’t know. The Coombs family had come from another rural town and settled in Alber the year after I left. Like Eliza, Hannah befriended Jayme, loaned the girl books and hired her to work around the shelter. “I didn’t need her help. The women who live in the house do chores and make repairs. But Jayme’s family is dirt poor, and she needed money. Jayme organized shelves, helped with the canning. Once I hired her to dig a section of yard and put in a pumpkin patch. If I couldn’t afford to pay her with money, I gave Jayme canned goods, soap, a bottle of shampoo. She was grateful. They had nothing.”
“This time, too, you suspect something because she didn’t
