“Mrs. Wall helped them to write the note. Becky, it was her idea.”
Irene? That hit me hard, at the pit of my stomach.
That night, I told my father. He became very upset and stayed away from his first wife for two or three nights, but she never apologized. While her plan had fortunately backfired, the dagger remained in my heart, made worse by the fact that Carl Keate was sent to Canada for the summer by his strict and angry father, and Sandra was told never to speak to me again. She was pulled out of Alta “to care for her grandmothers,” and although she had never taken her education for granted, she was not allowed to return to graduate.
From that point on I lost my heart for school, a place where I had no friends and many tormentors. Devon Johnson and Gregory Jeffs were very cruel. Every time I walked into a room, they gagged and dry-heaved. When Devon corrected my paper, he scratched out my name and wrote “Rectal Wall.” I didn’t even know what that meant. With only twenty students in our class, I had to see them every day, and they made it a living hell. My one reprieve was when the girls had Home Economics and the boys had Woodworking.
Mr. Jeffs forced me to be in Math, where both Gregory and Daniel were my classmates, so I started staying home. I got all my classwork done, but I didn’t have to put up with their hurtful behavior. I felt like Christine, with no hope for the future. I would not have returned to school had Mr. Jeffs not called my home and ordered me back.
That year our principal turned up the heat on our Priesthood lessons. He seemed obsessed with Armageddon, and he quoted the Prophet as saying it would happen at any moment. We had to be prepared. Our thoughts and actions had to be of the utmost purity so that we could inherit the earth.
We did not know our Priesthood History was vastly different from the world history and American history taught in other schools. Ours was dictated by lessons from the Bible, the Book of Mormon, and our modern-day Prophets. Beginning with Adam and Eve, then Aaron and Melchizedek, as they were both instrumental in the special Priesthoods of the church, we then skipped to the Romans and Jews in Christ’s time. Touching somewhat on Christ’s ministry, his crucifixion, and his resurrection, we studied the principle of plural marriage. Even Jesus Christ engaged in plurality, at least as far as the history taught by Mr. Jeffs. Not only had Jesus been married, but he first appeared to his wives when he rose from the dead, as explained in the Bible, even before his beloved disciples.
Following Christ’s resurrection, the Great Apostasy covered the earth in ignorance and blackness, including the ensuing “Dark Ages.” Mr. Jeffs’s lessons included many terrible details of the Spanish Inquisition and the methods of torture contrived as well as the total corruption of churches and governments. Skipping several centuries deemed unimportant, we studied Columbus coming to America for the purpose of a New World where the gospel of Jesus Christ would finally be brought back in its fullness. We were taught that the United States was the Promised Land as foretold in the Book of Mormon, and that in 1820, God and Christ visited fourteen-year-old Joseph Smith in a sacred grove of trees, with a message of the truthfulness of the gospel. This visitation would begin the restoration of the gospel on the earth.
Later Joseph received a visitation from John the Baptist, who conferred upon him the authority to baptize; and one from Peter, James, and John, who conferred upon him the authority to organize the Church in 1830. In the early 1830s, Joseph quietly instituted the principle of polygamy, although it would not be publicly discussed and upheld until 1852. After Joseph and his brother were martyred in Carthage Jail in Carthage, Illinois, all authorities and keys were granted to Brigham Young, who was succeeded by John Taylor. In 1890, the document that denounced plural marriage precipitated our falling out with the mainstream Mormon Church.
Mr. Jeffs reiterated the words of our Prophets that the Mormons had sold out to the federal government by not adhering to God’s commandment of plurality. That was when our people followed the true order of God and obeyed our own Prophets: after John Taylor, there were John W. Woolley, Lorin C. Woolley, John Y. Barlow, Leroy S. Johnson, and finally Rulon T. Jeffs.
In fact, said Mr. Jeffs, the entire history of the world had led to this one point—to Rulon T. Jeffs becoming the Prophet of the church! This was why, Mr. Jeffs explained, it was so vital to listen to the Prophet. Fathers and husbands must choose to obey him and none else. Wives must obey their husbands who were faithful to the Prophet and none else. This was the correct order of the family. In this way, we could not go wrong.
“You only get to Heaven through the living Prophet in your time. Because of this great power our living Prophet holds, he is everything to us.”
While teaching this period of Priesthood History in the Americas, Mr. Jeffs focused primarily on the corruption of government. For example, during the United States Civil War, Mr. Jeffs emphasized how it had not only been improper but immoral for Lincoln to have fought for the rights of slaves. Mr. Jeffs had a particular dislike for blacks and considered them lower than whites. In his view, the result of the Civil War was a major loss for mankind.
Just as I observed in my classmates, there was some haughty, arrogant part of me that wanted to believe that we retained some kind of mental and spiritual superiority over others. But a deeper part of me cringed every time my principal ridiculed others. I couldn’t help but think of The Hiding Place, and how the Nazis referred to the Jews as disposable.
That book was at the front of my mind as our class began to focus on the World Wars and the atrocities one people could commit upon another—even within their own ranks. As we reached World War II, Mr. Jeffs made us pay particular attention to Hitler and the Holocaust. With great fervor, he spoke in detail of the events surrounding this colossal period in history, and forced us to watch films portraying the thousands who died of malnutrition, starvation, and exhaustion. It served as a warning to us that governments regularly lied, terrorized, and exterminated people like us. Although I had always been fascinated by history and geography, Priesthood History quickly became my least favorite class.
It was about to become much worse.
On the twenty-eighth of February, 1993, the United States Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms waged a siege on the Branch Davidian ranch near Waco, Texas. Officials had attempted to serve a search warrant, but a ferocious gun battle erupted, resulting in the deaths of four ATF agents and six Branch Davidians. The people barricaded themselves inside the ranch, and a standoff between authorities and the Davidians began.
Rarely had I seen our principal as animated as he was by this siege. Mr. Jeffs brought a big-screen television into our eleventh-grade classroom, and every day we would watch news coverage of the fifty-one-day siege. Pacing back and forth in front of the television, pointing out teams of ATF agents in intimidating SWAT gear with long-range rifles, Mr. Jeffs made sure we understood the gravity of what was taking place. He said that this surely was the sign of Armageddon that our Prophets had been warning us of.
Every morning when we gathered for Morning Class during the siege, Mr. Jeffs waved the headlines in front of the whole student body, describing what was happening to the Davidians, blow by blow. One morning I remember him being particularly theatrical.
“See how the government seeks to destroy these people because of their beliefs?” he ranted, still pacing. Then he stopped and, with great dramatic flair, looked slowly over the students, holding up the paper. “Beware! Because we are next!”
I saw the frightened looks upon the faces of the tiniest children, and knew they were reflected in my own. Everyone looked afraid, even the teachers. Principal Jeffs made us stand repeatedly, and pledge to stand by Christ, the Work, and the Prophet, “even if our hearts are to be ripped from our bodies!”
It was my heart that felt so sick for those people. For nearly two months we watched in trepidation and fear, praying for a peaceful ending and deliverance. Mostly we prayed for ourselves, while we listened for the sounds of helicopters overhead and men with assault r
ifles climbing the fence onto Uncle Rulon’s estate. The tension at the school kept us at a breaking point. After listening to so much news commentary and the taped sermons of their leader, David Koresh, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something eerily familiar about their leader, whom I found creepy and terrifying.
Fifty-one days after the standoff began, a second assault was finally launched, during which a disastrous fire broke out and destroyed the compound. Seventy-five of the Branch Davidians died in the fire. Accompanying the announcement was footage of the charred and smoking bodies of twenty children and two pregnant women. I couldn’t help it—I ran out into the hall and retched.
Though I tried to block it out, the voice of Warren Jeffs echoed in the room behind me.
“This is just a test case! What they will do to us will be much, much worse.”
CHAPTER 5
Matchmaker, Matchmaker
Though I continued to struggle with Mr. Jeffs, my sister Christine got along incredibly well with him. We all had to, but she was always animatedly saying, “Mr. Jeffs said this” and “Mr. Jeffs said that.” Christine’s health had improved considerably, and she was preparing to go back to teaching at Alta Academy when she was strong enough. She had finally stopped the compresses, and her skin and eyes had some color back in them again. She was still frail and weak, but she had returned from the jaws of death.
One night when Mom and Dad went out and we barricaded ourselves once more in our mother’s room, we were watching the video Fiddler on the Roof. We’d all seen it many times and most of us had it memorized. Watching Christine smiling and singing, I felt a chill. The words made sense to me like they never had before—and I didn’t like it. The last few months, the practice of arranged marriages had exploded within the FLDS, taking place one after another. Gone were the days when young men and women had any say in whom they married. God was our matchmaker.
We were at the part where the Jewish sisters were singing “Matchmaker, Matchmaker,” the two youngest ones scared to death about their future. In their marriages, they were “stuck for good,” but in the FLDS, we were stuck for all eternity. The Prophet, upon hearing the word of God, told us who was to marry whom. As for women, we were told over and over that enduring life here on earth meant that we would be happy in the eternities. That raised all sorts of questions inside of me.
“What happens if I marry someone I don’t like?” I asked Mr. Jeffs, who didn’t seem to like the fact that I could often quote scripture and the Prophets as well as he did.
“You’ll grow to love him.”
“But if I don’t like him, it won’t matter to him, because he’s promised to have hundreds, even thousands, of wives in the eternities. You have said that as his wives, we all must serve him, whether we like it or not.”
“If you honor his Priesthood, you’ll grow to love him, Becky,” he growled, and then dismissed me.
For the last four years, I had worked hard to become a worthy woman of the Priesthood. I hoped that meant that when the time was right, I would be married to a righteous man whom I not only loved but respected. At that time I would have to accompany my father to turn myself in or “check in” regarding marriage. However, I did not have to worry about checking in with the Prophet for several years. After all, Christine was six years my senior and not yet married. Although some of the girls had started marrying a bit younger, like during earlier decades within the church, my father would not permit that for us. He made it clear he wanted us to experience a bit more of life before we married, and even though it was essentially up to the Prophet, a father could hold some sway, however minuscule, over his daughter’s future.
One day Dad came home from a Priesthood luncheon with several leaders and said to Christine, “Uncle Rulon asked after your health.” I was surprised, but my brothers all said, “Ooo-ooooh! He’s getting ready to marry you off!” Christine blushed profusely, but the table was cheery.
Uncle Rulon had taken another young wife, and fireworks went off among the people. No one dared say it aloud, but fathers began to wonder, What if my daughter marries the Prophet? It was sure to affect their standing in society—something consistently on the minds of all FLDS members, especially fathers. Mine was no exception. He had made sacrifice after sacrifice for Uncle Roy, and then for Uncle Rulon, and it had all seemed in vain. Now with business going well again, Dad prepared to make another attempt at a political coup.
One day, he asked for my help on a project. I had studied calligraphy and was often asked to make use of my skill. Dad had recently paid off our home’s mortgage, and he wanted me to prepare a beautiful document to sign the deed over to the Prophet and to the church. Joseph Smith had introduced the Law of Consecration in 1831, in which members were asked to voluntarily consecrate their property to the church. The church would then allow us stewardship over the property to provide for our needs, but it was a concrete way for Dad to show his dedication to the Prophet. As he still had only two wives, he had to prove that he was worthy of Celestial Glory.
I worked hard to produce the documents on parchment paper, and they were beautiful. Papers in hand, our family dressed in our best and headed off for a special appointment with our Prophet. I had never had much interaction with Uncle Rulon except to shake his hand on Sundays, so I was a little nervous as we entered the mansion. Several of the Prophet’s local wives greeted us warmly and chatted with us until it was our turn. Because he was meeting with our entire family, Uncle Rulon came out to greet us, and we sat in the large living room together.
Our Prophet had a strong, angular jaw with a broad, high forehead and a surprisingly full head of hair, now nearly white. I noticed right away that he was very different from Uncle Roy. Despite his extreme age and the wrinkles around his eyes and his jowls, Uncle Rulon was an imposing presence and held himself with great authority. He reminded me so much of Grandfather Steed; he could be jolly or stern, and he was definitely used to commanding others.
Dad proudly produced the deed and we chatted for a while, before the two men went into Rulon’s office alone. I waited uncomfortably with Mom, Irene, and my siblings until Dad was finished. When he finally walked out, I noticed that my father’s face looked jubilant.
Soon after that Dad had another private meeting with Uncle Rulon. The next thing we knew, he was taking Christine to see the Prophet for an appointment. It was late April and Christine was wearing a cream lace dress, looking exceptionally pretty.
When they arrived home, Dad tried to gather the family together, but Christine stayed outside, walking around the yard. The floodlights were on, and I watched her through the window, singing to herself and dancing among the flowers. She looked like a maiden from a storybook, twirling in a meadow. Only one thing could make her that happy.
When Christine finally sashayed inside, I turned to see my father grinning from ear to ear.
“Our Christine’s getting married!” Dad announced, beaming at her and then the rest of the family. Then he paused for dramatic effect as everyone clamored around him, dying to know whom Christine would belong to. Finally he couldn’t wait and he burst out:
“She’s marrying Uncle Rulon, the Prophet!”
There was a stunned silence, and then a burst of cheers. We all thought she would marry Mr. Jeffs. But Rulon? I could not help but cringe inwardly. Our Prophet was eighty-four years old! While it was not unusual for an FLDS young lady to marry a much older man, my stomach churned inside of me. Something didn’t feel right.
Christine, however, didn’t seem bothered one bit. In fact, she was beaming as brightly as Dad, and went about her evening chores humming and smiling, so very happy. I prayed she might remain so.
The following week, Christine married Rulon Jeffs. She had already made her wedding dress the year before during her time of illness, as it was a passive activity and had seemed to bring her hope. It was not unusual for a young girl to have a wedding dress in her dowry, as this was the biggest preparation of her life.
The following spring, I graduated Alta Academy with honors, having the highest number of credits earned by a student up until that time. I was to take the summer off, but I would be back in the fall, this time as an eighteen-year-old, to teach younger children. We went on our annual Wall camping trip deep in the heart of the Uinta Mountains, but when we arrived home, we were stunned by two visitors standing by the utility sink: Irene’s daughter Sheila and her husband, Orrin Steed, Uncle Woodruff’s son.
Orrin, who had a penchant for laziness and stirring up trouble, was not among the Steed boys I adored and respected. There he stood, with the stem of a red rose between his teeth, rubbing his hands together in triumph. He had come to claim Victoria as his wife. Beautiful, exquisite, sweet Victoria, who had always been so very nice to me growing up, had also been the butt of her sister’s unkindness. Surely the Prophet would not allow this man to have her!
Later on, we found out that Orrin had gone to see the Prophet with an agenda.
“I had a dream that Victoria belongs to me,” he had reported. The first time didn’t work, but he went to see Uncle Rulon three or four more times. Finally the Prophet said he would “take it up with the Lord.” A few days later, after more prodding from Orrin, he told him, “Okay, go get her.”
I couldn’t help the thoughts raging through my head. Victoria was a good Priesthood girl who had played by the rules—and for this?
I had to go outside. I couldn’t handle it. I was walking in the yard when I overheard voices in Irene’s bedroom.
“Aren’t you happy?” Sheila asked Victoria.
The Witness Wore Red: The 19th Wife Who Brought Polygamous Cult Leaders to Justice Page 7
