To: Abbottsville Fourth Ward and the wonderful people who read my blog
From: Donna Banta
Subject: Another excerpt from my soon to be released novel, The Girls From Fourth Ward
Ever wonder why Bishop Loomis was mysteriously murdered? The shocking "true crime" story begins five years earlier.
Excerpt from The Girls From Fourth Ward:
The twelve-year-old swept the wedding gown into her arms. She
caressed the white silk, then held the beaded bodice against her spare chest.
Her friend appeared, already dressed in a plain square-necked ivory sheath. Another
twelve-year-old stood half-zipped in a generic confection reminiscent of the
plastic bride atop the wedding cake. The three struck a classic pose in front
of the lavish salon mirror.
Sister Carrie Zimmerman captured their image with a
click of her camera. Scarcely twenty and heavy with child, her new role as
Beehive teacher taxed her strength. Nevertheless, “Sister Z,” as she was known,
felt buoyed by this giddy event. The girls exuded the heady excitement of their
new phase. Seventh grade, Beehive class, and a glimpse of the ultimate goal in
the mirror before them. The Beehive’s bridal dress-up party at Souter’s Formal
Wear was an annual tradition in the Abbottsville Fourth Ward.
Jill Spencer, in the square neck, zipped Betsy
Miller’s dress, while Sarah Renfro swished her beaded gown to a dressing room.
“Look happy, Jill. It’s your wedding day,” said
Sister Z.
Jill possessed an incredibly fresh smile, startling
to those only acquainted with her dour composure. Betsy, on the other hand,
could rarely be seen without a smile. Then there was brainy Sarah, shy like a
new fawn, the last one into the fitting room. Sister Z wasn’t sure which was
sweetest.
Three other Beehives joined them. Debbie Mitchell
and Francie Lake were eighth-graders, anxious for their fourteenth birthdays
and promotion into Mia Maid class. They feigned disinterest, without even a
glance at their reflections. Then seventh-grader April Newsome, who was new in
the ward, emerged in a whimsical combination of antique lace and flighty
diaphanous layers. Sister Z was not surprised to see April in the most
sophisticated dress on the rack, nor was she surprised by how well it suited
her. Her family had just moved to Abbottsville from the big city of San
Francisco.
“Can I wear it with garments?” April asked the
mirror.
Sister Delores Souter, a plump, effervescent sort,
chortled her reply. “Yes indeedy. I’ve selected only garment friendly dresses,”
she said, referring to the sacred underclothes that the girls would wear upon
marrying in the Mormon temple.
“I thought we had to wear long sleeves in the
temple,” said April.
“You do,” said Sister Souter. “But the temple
workers can give you sleeve extensions.”
Sarah stepped from behind the curtain with arms
across her breasts. “This is ridiculous. I can’t fill out this top.”
“Oh, don’t worry dear,” Sister Souter said. “You’ll
blossom in no time, and be bursting at the seams.”
The girls expressed polite amusement over this. But
Sister Souter, who took great pleasure in her own wit, tittered all the way to
the stockroom.
Sister Z continued to play paparazzi. They have so
much ahead of them, she mused from behind her lens.
“Now for the veils!” Sister Souter trotted back into
the room, her hands resembling colossal gauze mitts.
The room was a squall of white mesh. The first
choice was never right. They each tried several. Eventually the lace settled,
and the girls gathered before the mirror, adjusting their crowns.
“Sister Z,” said Betsy, “where did you meet Brother
Z?”
“At Brigham Young University.”
“See,” said April. “The best marriages start there.
It’s the gold standard.”
“My LaRue met her sweetheart at the BYU,” said
Sister Souter. “And,” her tone turned triumphant, “that’s where I met Brother
Souter.”
Sarah nodded. “The smartest boys from the best
Mormon families go to BYU.”
“And then make loads of money,” Betsy added.
“BYU,” Jill said. “It’s a no-brainer.”
“Not a no-brainer,” said Francie. “It’s super hard
to get in.”
“Why not go to Utah Valley State?” Debbie asked.
“They accept everybody, and it’s right next to BYU.”
Sarah yanked up her oversized bodice until it nearly
met her chin. “Culturally it’s miles away.”
“Utah Valley State is for losers. Do you want to
spend your eternity with a loser?” said April.
Sister Z decided to take advantage of a teaching
moment. “Girls, you don’t have to go to BYU. In fact, you don’t have to go to
college at all. The man you marry doesn’t need to be smart or rich or from BYU.
He only needs to be worthy to marry you in the temple.”
The Beehives nodded, visibly awed by the reference
to the sacred temple ceremony.
Sister Zimmerman adopted the countenance of a solemn
child. “Heavenly Father’s most righteous spirits are lingering in the
pre-existence, waiting to be born into the one and only true church. They are
to be your sons and daughters. If you do as the Lord asks, and magnify your
calling as wife and mother, you will be exalted in the eternities to the
highest level of the Celestial Kingdom. This is Heavenly Father’s plan for you
and it begins tonight.”
The girls looked down and fingered their gowns.
Sister Z continued. “I know Joseph Smith was a
prophet, who spoke directly with God. I know Gordon B. Hinckley is a living
prophet who guides and directs our church today. And I know that The Church of
Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the one and only true church on the face
of the earth. I leave these things with you, in the name of Jesus Christ,
amen.”
“Amen,” they repeated.
Sister Z brightened. “Change your clothes and we’ll
go for ice cream.”
They flew like fairies to the dressing rooms. Sister
Souter bustled behind to collect their gowns. But Sister Z could only sink
into a chair and stare out the window. Across the street, girls worked at the
barre in the Abbottsville Dance Studio. More young women practiced volleyball
in the gym at Sally Ride Junior High. Some sipped milkshakes at the local
Foster’s Freeze. Others were glued to TV or computer screens. For most girls in
Abbottsville, the future was a mystery, a fuzzy picture that would sharpen with
time. But for the girls in Fourth Ward, it was already all figured out.
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