Harrison had an X-ray every day for the next two weeks to make sure the fluid was not filling up again in his lungs. Also, amazingly, we saw that the rib the surgeon had removed was beginning to regenerate. I could see the progression on the X-rays as it grew back into a rib. I asked the doctor if he’d ever seen anything like this before and he said that he hadn’t. But he added that he had seen some amazing things happen when it came to healing in children.
Two weeks later, Harrison and I went home again. He had made remarkable progress. When we’d first arrived I was told we might be there for six weeks, certainly at least three. But he was doing better than anyone had ever expected.
The gladness I felt knew no bounds.
Cathleen Comes Home
Coming home with Harrison from Phoenix Children’s Hospital the second time was a relief at one level, but at another it was the beginning of an even more intense ordeal. Harrison had survived a complicated surgery, but his regime of pain medication was not working.
Harrison screamed almost nonstop. When he went into one of his spasms, he would bite his arms and hands. It was almost a constant effort to keep him from hurting himself. His doctor prescribed a higher dose of Versed, a potent relaxant and anticonvulsant used to treat seizures and as premedication in some surgical procedures. It’s fast-acting and has a short half life in the body.
I could give Harrison three doses of Versed within an hour, but then I would have to wait for two hours until I could medicate him again. He usually calmed down after the second dose, but not always. Sometimes it took three. The IV therapy was finally stopped because the doctors felt it wasn’t helping Harrison enough, and his Port-a-Cath—the direct line into his body that was used for his IV therapy—was removed. I was relieved to see that go because it meant one less risk of infection.
Harrison had a hard time sleeping at night. I gave him chloral hydrate, a strong sedative, but it did not always work. In an effort to wean him off the IV therapy, his doctors had given him a drug to control his neuropathy, but it sent him into major anxiety attacks. For weeks, it felt that I was always on the phone with Harrison’s doctors, constantly juggling medications, adding here, subtracting there, to try and find the balance that would stop the spasms and his screaming.
One day blurred into the next. Despite his feeding tube, which pumped nutrition into him twenty-four hours a day, Harrison had a hard time maintaining weight. He was switched from a high-calorie formula to a lower-calorie one because he had a leak of his lymphatic fluids. Lymphatic fluids are produced by fat, so with less fat in his system, the leak slowed. The fat content of his diet had to be closely monitored until he healed. But he lost weight with the low-calorie formula. I was supposed to try to wean him off the feeding pump and feed him directly because I could get more food into him that way. But when I tried that he’d get sick and throw up.
I didn’t have time to think. I was sleep-deprived and burned out from the relentless stress and fear of seeing my healthy baby boy, who had been just on the verge of walking, reduced to screaming spasms that were stripping him of every ability he once had. His vomiting led to a case of aspiration pneumonia.
Do I call an ambulance today or not? That thinking went on for months. The minute it looked like he was having difficulty breathing I called for help. The local ambulance had to come (even without Merril’s okay) because Harrison was now known to the system and was being watched. I was on the phone with his doctor all the time, and if the ambulance refused to transport us there would have been an uproar.
Finally, Harrison’s doctor in St. George said he needed to go back on IV therapy because he was not improving enough and was still constantly plagued by spasms. With two IV treatments a week, he got a little relief from the spasms. Initially, his doctor felt it wasn’t helping him enough to warrant continuing, but finally she realized that any relief at all was a plus for both of us. So we made regular trips to St. George for IV therapy and frequent trips to Phoenix to see his oncologist. Cathleen volunteered to drive me to Phoenix, which was an enormous relief because it was eight hours away.
I was terribly concerned when I had to leave my other children at home to take Harrison to the doctors. This was the first time in my married life when I hadn’t also had a full-time job. So I was home more, but consumed by the demands of Harrison’s care.
Whenever I could, I would take one or two of my children with me to Phoenix. The playroom at the Phoenix Children’s Hospital was wonderful. There were many activities to engage them and wonderful educators who really seemed invested in the kids.
Merril’s family would never abuse my kids when I was home, and no one was ever sure when I’d be gone. This worked to my advantage—my children were safer overall than they had been for a long time. I think Merril was also wary of upsetting me too much, and so he, too, had backed off, hoping I would stop causing trouble.
Cathleen had become fed up with managing the Big Water Motel in Page. She quit, moved home, and got a job at the grocery store without asking Merril’s approval.
She decided she’d had enough after seven years of being away from her children except on weekends. My success in leaving Caliente made a huge impact on her.
Not only did she move home, she was spending time with me. We were becoming closer after years in which we’d barely spoken. That meant a lot to me but put her in more jeopardy. She was now in direct competition with me for the title of “Merril’s most wicked wife.”
The warfare among Merril’s wives hit new heights that fall when Cathleen did something that was unthinkable: she bought her own washing machine.
This was seen as an act of pure aggression. Cathleen paid for it herself. Unlike Tammy, who gave every dime of her teacher’s salary to Merril, Cathleen kept most of her income for herself.
She made no bones about the fact that this machine belonged to her. She put up a schedule over the machine that showed when either Cathleen or I would be doing our wash. No one else.
Ruth was livid. Barbara was outraged. How dare Cathleen think that she and I could have our own washing machine?
Cathleen was called into Merril’s office. How dare she bring a washer into his home without first asking his approval? What right did she think she had to restrict its use? Cathleen stood her ground. “There are three other washers and dryers for the other wives in the family to use. Carolyn hasn’t been able to wash her laundry in this home for over a year. We both have the majority of small children in your family. I don’t see why this is such a crisis for you.”
But it was. It was a crisis because we did not live in a world that was either logical or rational.
Between us, Cathleen and I had twelve children—my seven and her five. The oldest was my son Arthur, who was twelve. Harrison needed care around the clock and Cathleen was the only one in the family who gave me any support at all.
Barbara and Tammy were having long talks every morning over coffee. It was clear to them that we were operating out of their orbit. We did not engage with them and refused to fight. Rather than play into Barbara’s power game, we focused on improving our children’s lives.
One night after we were both asleep, Merril called prayers. Our children were pulled out of bed and ordered upstairs to pray. Wendell, Cathleen’s son, who was not quite two, was asleep in his crib. He was cranky and fussy after he woke up. Merril told Barbara to take Wendell into the next room and discipline him.
Barbara took Wendell into the room where she had beaten Patrick and let him have it. When Barbara beat a baby she would typically spank him until he was blue in the face from screaming. Then she would stop, order the baby to stop screaming, and start beating him again when the hysterical child continued to scream. Eventually the baby would collapse from exhaustion when he was too weak to cry.
Wendell’s pitiful screams went on into the night. Everyone at prayers was required to wait until Barbara returned. But when she didn’t return, Cathleen’s other children were ordered to bed. None of them dare
d wake up Cathleen to tell her what was happening to Wendell.
Barbara took Wendell into Cathleen’s bedroom and laid him beside her.
Cathleen awoke when she heard Barbara’s voice. “Wendell will grow up and do what his father needs him to do. Wendell will be a good man some day.”
Cathleen bolted up in bed and asked Barbara what she was doing.
Barbara continued stroking Wendell and saying, “Good night, Wendell, you will learn from these lessons how to be a good man.”
Then Barbara left the room.
Cathleen looked at her small son and saw how battered and bruised he was. His clothes were still soaked from his tears and sweat. Cathleen awakened her other children and asked them to tell her what had happened. At first they were too terrified to tell. But she persisted and heard about the call to prayer and the attack on Wendell. Her children told her they saw Barbara take Wendell into another room and heard him screaming after she shut the door.
Cathleen walked into Barbara’s bedroom where she was relaxing.
“Don’t you ever touch one of my children again,” she said.
Barbara sat up in bed and shot back. “Cathleen, you are out of order and you know it. I was only doing the will of my priesthood head. For you to question is pure rebellion.”
“Barbara, we have nothing to communicate about. I’m warning you that you had better never touch one of my children ever again.”
Cathleen left and locked herself into her bedroom. Her room connected to her children’s nursery. She locked the door that led into their room, too.
Barbara went immediately upstairs to Merril’s office and told him what Cathleen had said. She returned to her bedroom. Merril stood outside Cathleen’s room and began pounding on her door.
Cathleen did not respond.
Merril was shouting outside her door. “You’re in serious trouble and if you know what is good for you then you will open this door before I break it down.”
“Do whatever you want. I’m not going to talk to you,” Cathleen replied.
Merril went and banged on the door to the children’s nursery. Cathleen’s children were too terrified to refuse their father’s commands. They opened the door.
He barged into Cathleen’s bedroom and ordered her into his office. “Cathleen, if you are going to challenge Barbara when she acts on my orders, then you will have to face consequences.”
Cathleen refused to get out of bed.
“Merril, I’m not going anywhere with you. You better leave now.”
Merril grabbed Cathleen and threw her on the floor. Her son, Johnson, was sleeping in her recliner and woke up screaming.
“Leave now, Merril. Get out of here.”
Merril threw her back on the floor, but this time even harder.
Her children were screaming from the nursery, “Go with Father, please, please.”
Merril grabbed Johnson from the recliner and threw him into the nursery and locked the door. Johnson was a shy child who had always been terrified of Merril. Merril berated Cathleen for upsetting her children. Cathleen’s daughters were screaming in the nursery. Wendell, who had fallen asleep, started whimpering again.
Cathleen knew she was out of options. “Merril, if you will allow me to take Wendell to Sara, I will go to your office.” Sara was Cathleen’s eldest daughter.
Merril screamed at her for hours in his office. He told her that she was never, under any conditions, to sass Barbara. The next morning when Cathleen awakened me for coffee, her eyes were swollen and red. She told me everything her children had told her about what happened to Wendell the night before.
“Carolyn, Merril can batter me and berate me. But I am not going to allow Barbara to hurt my children. I’m going to see Warren.”
I warned her against that. I told her about the seventeen-page letter I had given to Warren Jeffs documenting Merril’s abuse. I explained how Warren had discounted my charges because I failed to confess my own sins of immorality.
Cathleen latched on to that in the wrong way. She suddenly thought that if she confessed her sins to the prophet, then he would help her.
I felt sick. “Cathleen, that was only an excuse. Warren needed a reason not to help me. The reality is he never intended to. He will do everything he can to cover up Merril’s abuse.”
She was unshakable in her conviction that if she told Warren the truth about her sins, he would respond to her honesty with help and protection.
“I’m going to ask Warren for help. I do have sins.” And she proceeded to tell me about a wrong that she had committed.
I begged her not to confess that wrong to Warren Jeffs. “Cathleen, don’t do it. He will eat you for lunch. If you really want to confess, confess to things like not picking up paper from the floor. Don’t give him anything to use against you.”
But Cathleen was still a true believer. “If I want his help, I need to be honest.”
I knew she was doomed. There was no way she would get any help from Warren Jeffs. Confessing to a sin like that would give him power to condemn her to hell.
Cathleen made an appointment to see Warren. He heard another of Merril Jessop’s wives talk about his abusive behavior toward her.
Cathleen didn’t say much when she came back. She looked spent. She became more obedient to Barbara. Merril told her there would be no forgiveness for her rebellion and instructed her to turn over her small yellow truck to him. She would not be allowed to have her own transportation again. (Some of us had our own cars and vans, but most of us were not allowed to register them and they had no license plates. So if we left the community, we could not travel far without being stopped by the police. Cathleen needed her truck to go back and forth to Page, so hers was one of the few vehicles that was registered.)
Merril also ordered Cathleen to turn over all her paychecks to him. But she told me later she had no intention of doing that. “There is no way I’ll put myself at his mercy financially,” she said. But I knew Barbara would insist that she did.
Cathleen told me that she was going to make amends to Barbara by working on a project with her: cleaning Merril’s office. This was the way they were to learn to love each other again as sister wives.
I told her I thought this was ridiculous. “You have to act like Barbara’a slave to make up to her because she beat your baby?” Cathleen turned and walked away without responding.
The next day I saw Cathleen cleaning Merril’s office. Barbara was sitting in a chair barking orders at her. “Cathleen, I want you to clean the window next, and Father likes his windows cleaned a certain way. Don’t do them the way you usually do.”
Cathleen worked to be perfectly obedient to Barbara. But she still tried to hold on to her money. She was also forbidden to drive me to Harrison’s doctor’s appointments in St. George. Merril said he would take us, which meant I’d have to endure his abuse during the trip. His cruelty knew no bounds. One time I had a cold sore on my mouth and he said it was because I had been speaking lies. God put sores on my face so everyone could see my dishonesty.
Once on the way home we had a huge argument over something Arthur had done. It was a minor incident and Merril was insisting on giving him a ridiculous consequence. (Consequence was an FLDS synonym for punishment.) I told Merril that what he planned to do was abusive and that I would not allow it.
“You don’t have any control over what I choose to do with my son. If you don’t support me, you’re only going to get yourself in more trouble,” Merril said.
“If you don’t quit being abusive to Arthur, I’m taking my children and leaving. I know you think I’m kidding, but I’m not.” Merril told me Cathleen and I had already disgraced ourselves with this kind of nonsense. If I needed to go back to Warren and get reprimanded again, it could be arranged.
“I’m not going back to Warren,” I said. “Warren had his chance to do what he should have done to stop your abuse. One chance is enough, as far as I’m concerned. The next time I’m taking every one of my childr
en and going to the authorities.”
Merril exploded. “If you think of trying something like that, you’ll never see any of your children again. The authorities can’t help a person like you. All of your children will want to be with their father.”
“It doesn’t matter what the children want,” I said. “The state will give them to me. In a court of justice I’ll get the children, not you.”
Merril’s silence didn’t last long.
“Carolyn, you better not start entertaining those kinds of ideas. The consequences you will face if you try something like that will be more than you can endure.”
I knew not to provoke Merril any further. If I was going to escape, I couldn’t flag my intention again. I had given him fair warning. If the abuse didn’t stop, I would leave him when he least suspected it.
Merril reported his fight with me to Warren. Merril was ordered to bring all seven of his wives to a meeting with Warren Jeffs, who was determined to halt the rebellion in our family. Merril’s seventh wife was stealing his car at night and taking long trips to Hurricane. She would not come home until the next morning. When she needed money, she got Merril’s checkbook and wrote checks for whatever amount she needed. She signed his name, took the check to the store, and cashed it. In ordinary times she would have been severely punished, but Merril and Barbara felt Cathleen and I were a much greater threat.
The meeting took place the following week in Hildale in Uncle Rulon’s sprawling house. We assembled in his huge living room with twelve-foot vaulted ceilings and waited there until Jeffs called us into his office. The house was not lavishly decorated; Uncle Rulon was a man of simple tastes. There was some pretty wallpaper and finely crafted woodwork, but for the most part it was functional and plain.
Warren began by telling us we were all married to a good man. If we were interested in salvation, we must remain in perfect obedience to Merril. Barbara asked to speak. “If we see one of our sister wives struggling with her obedience to our husband, what can we rightfully do to help her?” With her sweet voice, Barbara was asking if she could have the right to discipline Merril’s other wives.
Escape Page 32
