A few weeks after the trial, Elissa shared something with me she was not allowed to discuss while it was going on. Apparently when Warren had been caught, several of his Priesthood records as the people’s Prophet were in the vehicle with him, including his journals and audio recordings. While they were preparing the case, Bruce Wisan, who had been appointed legal overseer of the United Effort Plan by the state after Warren was released as head, had said to them casually, “Wouldn’t it be wise for the jury to know we have an audio recording found in Warren’s vehicle upon his arrest of him molesting a twelve-year-old girl?”
I stared at her. “Are you kidding?”
“No,” she said, her face somber. “Judge Shumate said the material was too inflammatory.” She paused, and then said, “We think it was little Merrianne, Uncle Merrill’s daughter.”
Merrianne. I remembered our cousin as a vibrant six-year-old in braids, with rosy cheeks and freckles. She often came to Rulon Jeffs’s home with her older sisters, Maria and Cecilia, two of my sister-wives. With bile in my throat, I recalled Warren paying special attention to her like he had with Sherrie—and how I’d shielded Sherrie from contact with him. Thinking of Merrianne in that predicament made me want to cry. On top of that, he recorded it? I was sick, agreeing with Judge Shumate that the material was inflammatory, but truth was truth. Luckily, Warren had been found guilty without it.
While we were awaiting Warren’s sentence, more details emerged in the media. A video recording documented Nephi’s visit to Warren in prison, during which Warren had actually renounced the mantle of Prophet and given it to former bishop William T. Jessop, admitting to his own “immoral actions with a sister and a daughter.” Warren had tried to commit suicide by running into walls and banging his head against them. He also attempted to hang himself but again was unsuccessful.
Warren was the last thing on my mind on November 20, 2007, the day Warren’s lawyers declared that “Mr. Jeffs resigned as President of the Corporation of the President of The Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, Inc.,” and also the day he was to be sentenced. I was in labor, and the pain was intense, with nothing to alleviate it. This time, however, I had taken classes, I knew how to breathe correctly, and I knew what to expect.
I was not nearly as frightened as I had been with Kyle, and I was so grateful that Ben stayed during the entire labor, especially when I began to grow very weak. The practitioners changed how I was lying to help the baby drop into a more advantageous position. Unfortunately, her feet were tangled in the cord, so she couldn’t drop far enough for me to dilate fully. Hours later, when she was out, I lay back and closed my eyes for a moment, my body trembling violently. Anxious to hold my daughter, I opened my eyes to see Ben, whose face was drained of color. I knew something was dramatically wrong.
“What is it?” I cried. “Will she live?”
“Oh yes,” said the midwife, as she placed the most beautiful, beautiful baby girl into my arms. Natalia Michelle, named in honor of Ben’s old boss who’d supported us so much, had the most incredible blue eyes I had ever seen, very much like Kyle’s and Ben’s. However, a huge dark birthmark completely covered Natalia’s left eye and several inches around it. I gasped. I hoped it had to do with the difficult delivery, a bruise from the pressure—something? But Natalia had a large and definite permanent black birthmark. I cried as I looked at her, feeling both relief that she was here and seemed healthy, and fear about the birthmark.
The midwife was no help, as none of them had any idea what Natalia’s birthmark was. She simply said, “God created her that way. She seems healthy otherwise. God bless you.”
After the midwife and her helpers left, I held Natalia and buried my face in Ben’s chest for a moment. Why did our baby girl have to suffer?
I felt responsible. Crazy or not, today was Warren’s sentencing. We had heard from several friends and family members that Warren was to serve two consecutive terms of five years to life at the Utah State Penitentiary. That meant he would spend at least ten years behind bars, and some speculated he might never get out.
Had Ben’s family been right? Had little, innocent Natalia been cursed because I had testified against him?
I looked into my baby’s sweet face. The irony was that had Natalia been born to Rulon and me “under the covenant of Celestial marriage” in the FLDS, her birth defect would have been considered a mark of innocence and purity, a sign that she was special, blessed, and close to God. It was how the people explained any birth defect, including the recessive gene that resulted in Fumarase deficiency. Those symptoms included severe mental retardation, IQs of 25 or less, missing brain segments, epilepsy, and disfigurement. The occurrence of FD among the FLDS was the highest in the world, especially since the Barlow and Jessop lines carried the gene and there were so many intermarriages.
No doctors seemed to know what Natalia had. It wasn’t until I e-mailed a doctor in California pictures of Natalia that I was able to get an affirmative name for it: congenital nevus—a benign but blood-filled tumor. It was, indeed, permanent.
Over the next two days, I would cry on and off for Natalia, while Ben became aloof and cruel about my sadness.
“What’s the matter, Beck? Do you think just because you’re beautiful everything has to be that way? It doesn’t fit your white picket fence to have a daughter who is not as perfect as you?”
I had to realize that as a man, Ben had no way to understand how much every society I’d known placed value on a woman’s appearance! Even outside the FLDS, there was still major emphasis on it. From airbrushed magazine photographs to music videos to movie stars to professional attire, so much of our daily life seemed based on appearance. How could she survive, much less thrive, in this world?
I was about to the get one of the biggest lessons of my entire life.
Day by day, as Natalia grew, I fell more and more in love with the adorable giant soul inside her little body. And I was not the only one.
Anywhere we went, it was as if she had pixie dust! No friend, family member, or stranger ever left her presence without smiling. After each interaction, she would turn to me, her eyes vibrantly happy. Natalia not only brought miracles—she was one.
At times when I looked at my daughter, I realized I had much bigger dark marks on the inside than she did on the outside. For many years I had hated myself. I’d been going through a spiritual crisis, feeling a vast and lifeless desert inside my soul. For quite some time, I couldn’t even stomach the word God. He was the god that had demanded my total submission, the hell-and-damnation deity ready to smite me and carry me away to Outer Darkness because I had not submitted to my Prophet-husband, and then apostatized. I found it difficult to talk to friends about my spiritual hunger, since every time I opened my mouth some of the crazy things I’d been taught would come out. For example, one day I discovered that what I had been taught about Jesus—that he was a polygamist with many wives—wasn’t taught in other parts of the Christian church, and my face grew hot with anger and embarrassment. It was taking a long time for my FLDS beliefs to become untwisted. I stayed away from doctrinal books and discussions, because it was too easy to get all twisted up again.
It didn’t help that my hope for my people had crumbled, too. Not long after Warren’s admission and video were revealed, he had suddenly rescinded his resignation. Buoyed up by the assurances of the people, who wanted to believe he was a righteous Prophet, he essentially stepped back into the role of Prophet and leader. They refused to see his true self and they stayed enslaved. I felt helpless to assist them.
As I devoured a number of self-help and motivational materials in my early months out of the church, I had come across Deepak Chopra, an author whose work and nonjudgmental outlook inspired me gently and deeply. One day, as I cleaned the house, I listened to another man with a similarly tender, open-minded demeanor. He spoke of having been abandoned by his parents, the other people who had come through for him, and the miracles that had taken place
even under the most difficult of circumstances.
I stopped mopping the floor, with a sudden realization. This man had said the word God at least eight times, and I hadn’t once felt nauseated! Amazed, I rewound the MP3 player on the computer. Not only could I stomach the word God; it felt good and even beautiful to me.
The man’s name was Wayne Dyer. Apparently he was quite popular, but I had never heard of him. I started reading his work, and though he did not become my new Prophet—I would never fall for that again—he seemed to love more deeply, genuinely, and without judgment than anyone I had ever heard. He also had a great sense of humor. Spirituality for me had always been dark, dense, and fraught with fear, but my whole being lightened up just listening to him.
Although my strong will had helped me in many difficult situations, it also caused problems. I was scrappy, stubborn, and still angry at a lot of life. I liked to blame God, Warren, and the FLDS for my people’s misery and my siblings’ grief. My anger and bitterness were poisonous and exhausting. I didn’t want to live my life that way anymore.
What happened next didn’t help. On Valentine’s Day, Sheriff Doran called to say that my uncle Merrill, the bishop of the YFZ ranch, had called him out of the blue to inform him my younger sisters wanted to get their missing person reports cleared up. I was overcome with joy after five long years of wondering and hoping, but I was nervous.
“It seems too good to be true,” I said.
“Yeah, but I explained to Merrill that a family member needs to ID them. I specifically asked if they had any problem with any family member being there. He said, ‘No, Dave, we just want to get this cleared up.’ ”
Quickly I took down all of the details I would need and booked a flight to Las Vegas, the neutral territory where everyone agreed to meet. I gathered some pictures of Kyle and Natalia and snipped a small piece of Natalia’s hair for my mother, knowing I’d see her.
En route to the airport, I got a call from the sheriff.
“Becky, I’m sorry. The FLDS boys are saying if you show up, they won’t. It looks like your dad will have to identify them.”
I hung up the phone and drove home, my heart in pieces.
“What did you expect, Beck?” asked Ben. He had thought it was stupid to go in the first place. I knew that my mom and sisters resented me for pursuing them like I did. In the FLDS, a missing person report was considered an attack on the entire people. But I had submitted it out of love, and I longed for the chance to explain.
I decided to fax the letter that I had written for the girls to Doran, hoping beyond hope that it might reach them. It read:
Dear Sherrie and Ally,
There are so many things I’d like to say to both of you, and I would so LOVE to be able to tell you in person… not one day has gone by that I don’t think of you, send my love and wonder how you are…
I know the situation at hand is hard for you to understand. I’m sure you have wondered why we haven’t stopped looking for you both and Mother… The honest fact of the matter is that I realize that Mom cannot protect you girls—it isn’t in her power to say whether or not you stay close to her, or if you are sent somewhere else, or if you are placed in marriage when it is inappropriate. She could not stop it from happening to Elissa, and it is a grave concern to each one of us.
I realize that you only know what you have been told about the situation—always remember that there are two sides to the story, and what you are being told may not be entirely true. We don’t want to be harsh or hurt you in any way. We want more than anything to have communication with you both, and Mother. This is what we will pursue… I send only love to you—Sherrie, Ally, and Mom. I sincerely hope that you realize and feel the love each of us sends to you… I want you all to know that I am only a phone call away, anytime, any day. I will do anything to help you.
I LOVE YOU SO VERY MUCH!
Later Doran would inform me that he gave my letter to FLDS men to pass to my sisters, but of course they did not.
I held Natalia in the rocking chair for her nap while I cried gut-wrenching sobs, every tear burning like acid. Natalia didn’t stir. When she finally woke and looked at me with her big blue eyes, I thought, how could my mother sever ties with me and my siblings who’d left, when each of us was once a babe in her arms, as Natalia was in mine?
As she fidgeted and I prepared to feed her, I noticed a CD I’d ordered had arrived. The house was too quiet, and I put it on to distract myself.
The narrator, Louise Hay, recounted how her life of unspeakable trauma had been transformed into a joyful existence. I recognized so many echoes of what I had been through: sexual abuse, forced separation of loved ones, success in certain arenas that was tempered by old resentments and pain. I realized how important it was to release those once and for all, but I knew I needed help.
Locals referred me to a nearby holistic health center, where I met an extraordinary older woman, a healer named Jane. When I first stepped into her office, she looked into my eyes and said, “Oh, honey, what have they done to you?” She didn’t even know who “they” were. Over the course of time, I found I could tell her things I’d never told anyone, not even the men from Washington County. One step at a time, her counseling would transform my life—and the way in which I saw the world. And by letting go of the hate, shame, and humiliation, I made room for God.
Along the way, I discovered that I could choose the loving God who honors choices and free agency in our humanity. I also recognized that the difficulties of my journey had been some of my greatest teachers and had made me a much stronger person. Finally, this loving God, the one I’d met on El Capitan and in the hearts of gracious people around me, knew me and loved me for me. The threads of the tapestry he had hinted at on that mountaintop were breathtakingly vibrant and wonderful. I simply needed to learn some additional tools to recognize that beauty and to release the past. Though I didn’t know it then, I would desperately need those tools for the coming months.
Most local physicians had no idea how to treat Natalia’s congenital nevus, but after extensive research, I found Dr. Faizi Siddiqi of Primary Children’s Medical Center in Salt Lake City. He specialized in treating children born with craniofacial anomalies such as cleft lip and palate, hemangioma, and tumors like Natalia’s. He met with us and agreed to take her case, describing the natural phenomenon of what had happened to Natalia in the womb in layman’s terms, which put to rest any thoughts of a curse.
Then came the bad news. It was unlikely this size birthmark would go away on its own, and this type had an unfortunate tendency to become cancerous. Natalia would have to undergo a series of painful surgeries.
When we finally arrived home after the four-hundred-mile trip from the hospital, I got the kids settled, then went straight up to our bedroom and got down on my knees. I did not pray to the god of judgment, hell, or damnation. I prayed to the God who had revealed himself to me in the corners of my opening heart. I asked him to pour love and strength and compassion into me. And, above all, to wrap my baby girl in the arms of his love.
CHAPTER 23
Yearning for Zion
As I picked up the pieces of my life and chose to be strong for my daughter, we had a sudden surprise. Ben’s seventeen-year-old sister Kristin called him, with desperation and fear in her voice.
“Umm, Ben, I need help. Dad is forcing me to stay here and… to get married. Pllll… please, please come get me,” she whispered. She explained that she had sneaked her mother’s cell phone to call him and didn’t know if she’d be able to again. Ben gave her some hasty instructions, and then hung up to call Wendell to formulate a plan.
Ben and Wendell left immediately for the nine-hour drive to St. George. They didn’t know if their sister had been caught on the phone, but it was her one and only chance to escape a forced marriage, so they didn’t have a choice.
The very next day, Kristin and a few other girls were waiting their turn at the orthodontist when she mentioned to her sisters that sh
e had left something behind and slipped outside. Out of sight of the others, she turned the corner to find Ben and Wendell, and ran to the car. The three of them sped north to Salt Lake City, where they spent the night in a motel far off the beaten path before heading northwest to our home.
Ben and Wendell quickly realized that Kristin had been following Warren’s teachings to the letter, and as a result she had very few communication skills. They had to ask her multiple questions to get a single answer, but what eventually came out was very sobering. Kristin’s father often spoke of how happy she would be when she got married, but she was finally frank with him, telling him she didn’t want to. He responded, “Leaving is not an option,” and squirreled her away in a house of hiding in Las Vegas. Wendell knew all about girls in houses of hiding: their strict security, forced disguises considered “holy” to keep the Priesthood safe, and especially the fear with which each girl was controlled. Kristin couldn’t even decide what to eat on her own without severe mental stress.
Ben called me a couple of times from the road, and while I was grateful to know she was safe, we were all scared that the police might come after them. At seventeen, she was still considered a minor, and we didn’t know what her rights were. I had put in some calls to lawyers we knew. Her existence in Idaho certainly wouldn’t be a secret for long, and we were not about to keep her hidden away as her father had done.
That Saturday, I was home with the kids when a police officer came to our door looking for Kristin, who’d been reported kidnapped. His department had been notified by FLDS leaders that we were prime suspects.
“She’s not in my home,” I said carefully. “You are welcome to come in and take a look.” He stepped inside and looked around thoroughly as we introduced ourselves. I decided it was best to hide nothing from him. As I told him about our family’s background and the call we’d received, his eyes grew large. Then I told him that, indeed, we had picked her up so that she would not be forced to marry.
The Witness Wore Red: The 19th Wife Who Brought Polygamous Cult Leaders to Justice Page 27
