The Witness Wore Red: The 19th Wife Who Brought Polygamous Cult Leaders to Justice

by Musser, Rebecca

“Yes. Do you want to see it?”

  “Heck, yeah!” I had only ever seen the Atlantic, and only once, when I had briefly visited Florida with two sister-wives and Warren’s brother Wallace for his business. This was so exciting, I could hardly stand it.

  We parked and I raced to the water’s edge in my long skirt. I took off my shoes and felt the sand and then the water through my nylons. Suddenly, a huge wave came in and I had to pick up my skirts and run! Ben laughed as I kicked the water high, and made a face at the surprising saltiness of the sea. If this was what freedom tasted like, I was beginning to think it was worth it.

  All too soon, we had to get back on the road, stopping only for fuel and to eat. People in the rest stops and restaurants stared curiously at our attire and my hairstyle. As we whipped through the forest between Northern California and Oregon and came upon the most incredible pine trees, I experienced an unexpected stirring in my soul. Even though it was dark, it was like I could feel their ancient presence. Finally, Ben and I pulled into Coos Bay in the middle of the night. It was largely deserted, although the sight of a man washing his car in the chilly night air reminded us this wasn’t Hildale anymore. I was suddenly overcome with anxiety. What would my adored big brother think of me now?

  As we ascended Cole’s stairs where he waited at the top, I tried to hide my shock at my brother’s appearance. His longer hair was unfamiliar to me, but his drawn face and haggard frame made me swallow. His skin was ashen, and his under-eye circles were darker than those of my sister-wives after months of fasting. For the first time, I realized how sick Cole truly was. As he embraced me, I felt something thaw inside and realized that when he disappeared years before, part of me had gone missing, too.

  I introduced Ben to Cole, who graciously welcomed us both inside his apartment, which smelled like wheatgrass. He explained he had to do horrific colonic cleanses, but they were sustaining his life. Given the late hour, he showed us the two separate couches where we would sleep. Gratefully, I slipped beneath the thin blankets and had only a moment to be grateful for safety before I was out.

  The next morning, after Ben and I unloaded the trailer, Cole took us for breakfast. It was so strange to walk into a restaurant where people didn’t know me, didn’t step aside in line in deference to my position, and didn’t open the door for me. My ego wanted to say, Don’t they know who I am? The rational part of me shot back, Of course they don’t!

  Cole couldn’t eat anything on the menu, so while Ben and I ate, he told us his story, including some of the very intensive historical and spiritual research he had done on the FLDS. He felt that our beliefs were not based on any form of truth. Ben and I had already partially come to that conclusion on our own, but Cole’s bold words sounded almost like blasphemy.

  Then he challenged me. “Becky, where do you want to live?”

  I stared at him. “I don’t know. Where do you think I should live?”

  “That’s not my decision. It’s yours. Where do you want to live?” he repeated.

  I turned to Ben. “Where do you think I should live?”

  “Rebecca!” Cole rebuked me. “I’m talking to you! Where do you want to live?”

  I was silent and frightened for a long moment. “Ummm, well, Colorado might be nice.”

  “No, I don’t mean in the States. I mean Fiji… or Australia… or Europe. What would you like to see? Where would you like to go?”

  It was too much for me. I remembered when my sister-wives and I had received a free geographical encyclopedia CD in the mail. I had begged Seth to put it on the computer, but he had snidely declared that women didn’t need to know geography. Suddenly not only was I facing freedom, but Cole was expecting me to contemplate choices and decisions I had never been allowed to make.

  “It doesn’t matter where you are, whether you are part of the Work or not, Becky,” he said. “You need to decide what is okay for you, and what is not okay—regardless of what anyone else is doing. You need to decide your code of conduct, right here and now. If you don’t, this world will shred you.”

  I sat in stupefied silence. My compass had always been set by others. I had witnessed people leave the church without a guiding light or moral code. Almost all of them had fallen prey to drugs, alcohol, promiscuity, or crime. Now that I was out, what was my North Star?

  It felt much too soon and dangerous to go back to Utah, but Ben had promised to return Scott’s truck and the trailer, and Ben was nothing if not an honest soul. That afternoon we drove back, taking comfort in the fact that no one except Scott would expect us to return. Still, as we left behind water, pines, and lush growth for the desert again, fear gnawed at me. It wasn’t a topic of polite dinner conversation, but we both knew that girls in my community had been forced back to their families and some quite literally held captive until they could be “sweet” again.

  During the drive, I became aware of a new tension between us that lasted all the way to southern Utah. Every time Ben moved in his seat, I was excruciatingly aware of the ripple of muscles along his arms and legs, his red hair gleaming in the fading sunset. When he would beam a reassuring smile at me, I felt a little thrill before reality set in. Until Ben had kissed me in the canyon, the only place he held in my world was as a friend. Now when I would look at him or think of him, my head kept spinning.

  As if he could read my thoughts, Ben gave me a mischievous look, then suddenly reached over and took my hand. We sat there, hands clasped in the space between us, the warmth from his suddenly spreading up my arm. I didn’t understand this feeling. I dropped his fingers and looked out the window. Ben glanced at me but didn’t push it.

  Our hearts were both heavy at what we had done. So many people were angry and horrified with us. The calls hadn’t stopped. And it wasn’t as if gold was at the other end of the rainbow: Coos Bay in November was humid and cold, with a chilling wind that had whipped through our bones. But along the way, Ben and I began to talk seriously and decided that no matter what, we were not going to live in Utah. All it held for us now was a dead-end road, a life of misery and manipulation.

  The sunrise was bright and beautiful, and the air warmed considerably by the time we met Scott in St. George to exchange vehicles. Scott brought Ben’s Chevy Blazer and promised to take back the trailer to Reliance Lighting. Then he gave us an update on what the new Prophet was saying about us.

  Using his old tactics, Warren had warned the people that anyone who associated with either of us would be considered traitorous and deeply immoral. Our families were not to contact us—their eternal salvation was at stake. I was concerned for Scott, but he laughed it off. He was on his way out, too, and he knew it.

  Once we said good-bye to his brother, Ben and I realized our mutual exhaustion. Neither one of us had slept well since before the escape. To attempt a trip back to Oregon now was to risk our lives.

  At a small Motel 6 in St. George, Ben paid for a room with cash. Seeing him pull out his lean wallet made me hang my head. We had been using his money for gas, food, and now for a hotel, and I had no resources of my own to contribute, which upset me. We reached our room in silence and I stopped short as I saw that there was just one queen-sized bed. I knew I would be damned to hell for all eternity just for crossing the threshold.

  Ben set down our small bags and approached me gingerly, until he stood right in front of me, blocking my view of the bed. He took my hand in one of his and lifted my chin with the other. I began to tremble, but he held my gaze, and a part of me felt spellbound by his blue eyes as he placed my hands, one at a time, behind his neck. Then he slowly put his hands around my waist. I was suddenly very aware of his wide, strong shoulders. These were not the muscles of a frail old man. His breath grew warmer, and his lips touched mine. An electric shock went down my spine.

  I stepped away. Did I love Ben? I looked at him, and then at the floor again. Perhaps not in the girlish, Disney-movie sense of the word. But what I felt for Ben far outweighed anything I had ever felt for Rulon, and my fee
lings were based on an emotion I hadn’t had for any man in the FLDS: respect. I genuinely esteemed Ben for his kindness toward my mom, his sacrifice in helping me escape, and his commitment to his brother. Finally, I respected him for not forcing himself on me the way I had seen Warren, Jason, Winston, and so many others do to their women; the way Rulon had made me prostitute myself to submit to him, and to keep sweet about it.

  Yes, I realized, I respected Ben. If that wasn’t a basis for love, then I didn’t know what was.

  Ben silently bridged the space between us once more, his eyes pleading.

  Trust me, they said gently. There was a glowing ember that I didn’t want to admit had begun to rise in my own body from the moment I first felt his breath upon my face.

  Our eyes continued the conversation.

  Please don’t hurt me.

  I won’t. I promise. I really do.

  Early the next morning, we left town before most townspeople were up and about. Despite the security I had felt in Ben’s arms through the night, I couldn’t help but feel like a dog running away with my tail between my legs. Was I now everything Warren had told the people I was? Immoral, an apostate, evil? My actions weighed heavily on me, making me feel physically ill. But Ben continued to be kind. Although he had gotten what he had wanted, he didn’t push me away, like I’d seen so many men do once their wives were off duty. Instead, he looked at me with great affection and shyly grinned at me from time to time. He gently took my hand and held it for long periods. Once, he brought it to his lips. My nausea began to subside. The farther we drove from southern Utah, the better I could breathe. It didn’t matter that the air was getting colder. We hadn’t been struck by lightning. The road hadn’t yet cracked open to swallow us whole.

  Ben thought it wise to take a different route back to Coos Bay. We made our way along the coast, taking in giant redwoods, the likes of which I had never seen before. We got out of the car and I began to run between the trees, my feet soft on the padded forest floor. Ben laughed and chased me. He snatched up my hand, and I stared as a patch of sunlight illuminated him. Here I was, in this beautiful place, with a man who wanted to be by my side. My eyes filled with tears. This was what Christine had always longed for: to walk in nature beside the man she loved. Instead, my sister was soon to be one of Warren’s entourage, following him from room to room like a puppy. Christine deserved real love, as did every one of my sister-wives. Ben noticed the change in my mood, but I didn’t withdraw my hand. He kissed me on the cheek, and I smiled at him. Slowly, I was becoming convinced that life would be okay.

  CHAPTER 15

  The Truman Show

  Once back in Coos Bay, we began to explore the gorgeous scenery of the Northwest. The area was full of windy, scenic byways, with breathtaking ridges of pines, slick rock, sand, and sea. The first time I crossed the massively tall bridge and saw enormous piles of clamshells dumped from barges, I was smitten. Chilly air still bit into my bones, but now it felt cleansing. I knew instinctively that it was going to take a lot to heal from my past, and the ocean quickly became my greatest ally. I could get used to the chill, and live each day among the lush foliage and under the sky, which was deep turquoise until the fog rolled in late in the afternoon, muting the colors and details of shops, houses, and even people.

  When I wasn’t at the beach or in the forest, though, I was paralyzed in fear of the outside world. I had no idea how to do my hair, how to dress, and what customs, holidays, or social rituals to follow. I was still wearing long dresses, the only clothes I owned, and poufing my hair, so Cole decided to take me shopping.

  “Buy whatever you want,” he said. With literally no idea what to choose, I ended up with a jogging suit and a shirt in the shocking and once-forbidden shade of red. Afterward, Cole brought me to a hair salon. I was terrified: I had never cut my hair, except to carefully trim the ends. I wasn’t facing the mirror, but I blanched as I saw yards and yards of my rich brown hair hit the ground. The stylist did some things with a blow-dryer before turning me around.

  I gasped. My hair had been chopped to my shoulders, but it was the way she had styled it that took my breath away. When I got home, I shyly walked through the door. I saw appreciation shining in Ben’s eyes. Even though it felt so foreign and naked, I thought perhaps I could live with short hair.

  However, the only product I had ever used was hair spray—and lots of it! The next day, I woke up and brushed my hair, and it didn’t look anything like it had the day before.

  “I don’t have any idea how to do my hair!” I cried to Cole. “Everything I do looks wrong.”

  “Tell you what,” he said, winking at me. “Whatever feels right to you—do the exact opposite. Then you’ll be fine!” He turned away, laughing, but I shut the door on him and silently sobbed. Men didn’t understand that a woman’s hair was considered her glory. Not only was mine gone; it now looked ugly and made me feel that way inside. For days, I cried in private, feeling homesick and missing my mother and sisters and friends desperately.

  In the meantime, our thoughts were consumed with survival. Ben and I couldn’t allow ourselves to wear out our welcome with Cole, and we needed to start earning money immediately. We went looking for jobs around Coos Bay and adjacent North Bend. Two weeks and countless applications later, I finally got a job offer from Elizabeth’s, a fine-dining establishment off Highway 101, and Ben was hired by a downtown restaurant called the Cedar Grill.

  November went by in a whirlwind. Everything was new, exciting, thrilling, and sobering to me. I began reading voraciously, following Cole’s recommendations. I was fascinated by the philosophies of successful people like Stephen Covey, Joe Vitale, and Deepak Chopra. Excitedly, I sat on Cole’s front porch and called my mother for the first time, anxious to share with her what I was learning in life and through books. While she was glad to know I was safe and relieved I had reconnected with Cole, she was negative about everything else, telling me I was trading my salvation for material goods.

  “Honey,” she said, “you’re talking about stuff—only stuff. Do you know what you are trading for stuff?” She was more closed off than I had ever heard her. Warren’s warnings had clearly affected her. I knew she had been ordered not to talk to me, and that I was supposed to be “dead” to her. She risked her FLDS membership and salvation by the very act of communicating with her apostate children. People had been kicked out for less.

  I watched a little television, surprised and often scandalized by how different it was from when we were kids. One night Cole and Ben and I watched an R-rated movie in which a man and a woman had sex, and I became alarmed when they started making noises—loud ones! I didn’t know people did that when they made love. Did everyone in the outside world do that?

  I did take comfort in something familiar when I discovered that Coos Bay was actually a very musical area. Ben caught me dancing across the kitchen one night in pure joy because I had discovered a local teacher who taught the harp—an instrument I had always wanted to play! I began taking lessons and took to it as naturally as I had the violin. It soothed my soul to play such a graceful, ethereal instrument, especially on rainy days—since I had moved from the state with the least amount of rainfall per year to one with nearly the highest. When dull, gray days would begin to drive me insane, throwing myself into my music seemed to magically make life balance out again.

  As November morphed into December, the weather worsened, but my love for Ben only grew. When the two of us talked about life, he used the word us, which was comforting. Cole had noticed that Ben and I were getting closer and was emphatic that Ben was welcome to stay as long as there was nothing sexual between us. Unfortunately, it was a tough promise to keep. We both wished to honor Cole’s request, but we felt magnetically drawn to each other.

  Meanwhile, still weakened, Cole spent his time sleeping, reading, and watching movies. One particularly blustery day, he insisted that I watch a movie called The Truman Show.

  The main character, Truman Burba
nk, is adopted as a baby by a television studio. As he grows, every important person in his life is simply an actor; every part of his life is a set—but he doesn’t know it. Whenever he wants something the production team can’t provide, he’s told that it’s just not available. “Why would you want that?” different characters ask him. “Your life is so perfect the way it is.” When he has inklings things just aren’t right, he finally faces his dread fear of water, and sets off in a boat for the horizon. Barely surviving a violent and horrendous storm manufactured by the producers, Truman discovers the horizon is actually a painted backdrop. Only then does he realize that his entire life has been a complete lie—set up for the camera and the benefit of strangers, the viewers. Full of that realization and the bitter disappointment of his false relationships, he walks off the set and into his new life.

  As the credits rolled, I sat dumbfounded. Within a few moments, though, I rose from the couch and began pacing furiously, not just upset but enraged! The movie was a mirror of my own life. Before every decision I’d ever made, I’d asked myself, What would the Prophet have me say? What would the Prophet have me do? For every question, there had been an appropriate, programmed answer. I was never allowed my own opinion; I had never developed the ability to choose.

  All of my people were like that, too. How had our belief system become so screwed up? I gave myself permission to look deeply at polygamy in a way I never, ever had before. All of a sudden, nothing seemed holy about the structure that must be in place for polygamy to work. Why would God put a roughly equal number of males and females on the earth if he wanted a polygamous society? This structure meant that women didn’t get the time, affection, and validation they so crave. And because only a select number of male leaders are righteous enough to receive multiple wives, not only do an extraordinarily high number of young men get kicked out, but the marriageable ages of girls becomes increasingly younger as demand intensifies.