as well.
They began shopping her to all of the eligible polygamist
men in Manti, which, come to think of it, was every polygamist man in Manti.
Ginger didn’t mind being shopped. In fact, she played it up.
If sex had held its customary, first-place position in the
TLC at the time of Ginger’s arrival, the average Manti man would have shown
little interest in her. To be blunt, she fell short in the attractiveness
department. She was overweight, generally not pretty anyway, and had some
physiological problems.
Yet sometimes in a polygamist society, sex temporarily slips
to second or third place on the priority list. The occasional usurpers, not
wholly unrelated to sex, are power and money. Ginger lacked attractiveness, but
she represented power, and she had her own money.
The more wives a man had, the more power he held within the
cult. The race was on for every man to acquire as many wives as he could. The
result was an immediate shortage. Single women, already a commodity in the TLC,
now became a rare commodity. An available woman— any available woman—was not to be wasted.
Besides the promise of increased power, Ginger offered the
winner of her hand an unusual financial advantage. Polygamist husbands are
expected to provide for their wives. It can get costly. Because of her
disabilities, Ginger received government assistance. There was plenty for her
upkeep and to spare. From a financial standpoint, the man who added her to his
collection would likely come out ahead. Thus lesser-heeled men who might
normally have shied from seeking an additional wife were taking a serious look
at Ginger.
For Ginger, who had not been sought after in years, this was
nirvana. She flirted with reckless abandon. Severely abashed by my own
paltry-by-comparison physical troubles, I envied her self-confidence.
Jeff felt keenly the pressure to marry again. He was the
head apostle, duty-bound not just to keep up but to lead. Some of the men in
the TLC were already up to three wives. Jeff, with only two, had fallen
embarrassingly behind.
It was clear that Ginger, though not a trophy wife by the
usual standard, would not be available for long. If Jeff didn’t act fast, he
would lose her to another.
Ginger thought Jeff was way cute and made no attempt to hide
her attraction to him. Far from feeling threatened, I had compassion for her.
In fact, I liked her—at first. So did Judith. The more Jeff, Judith, and
I discussed inviting Ginger into our family, the more it seemed to us to be the
right thing to do. Jeff made the final decision. “It’s time for me to add to my
kingdom,” he said.
For some reason, it fell to me to propose to Ginger on
behalf of our family. I invited her on a drive and, on the way, proposed. She
accepted. That was it. No coy giggles, no feigned surprise, nothing. It was
perfunctory, almost businesslike.
Jeff married Ginger in 1996. We threw another big wedding.
They honeymooned in British Columbia, but this time around I experienced no
consummation anxiety. Jeff wasn’t attracted to her, and I knew it. Though we
would never have admitted it to ourselves much less to her, at some level he
and I understood that this marriage was about keeping up with the other
polygamists.
We converted the parlor in our home into a bedroom for
Ginger. I spent days repainting the room in her favorite colors. Yet poor
Ginger was unhappy. At night we could hear her alone in the yard, sighing with
discontent.
Nor was she a joy to have around. She snapped at my
children. She loved Judith but didn’t seem to like me. During disagreements, I
knew I could count on Ginger to take Judith’s side. One evening after dinner I
was alone in the kitchen doing dishes while Judith and Ginger relaxed in the
living room. I complained to Jeff, who in turn asked them to give me a hand.
Ginger accused me of being domineering. Judith nodded in vigorous agreement. I
might have laughed had it not hurt. As you may have gathered by now, calling