His being thirteen years older than me made no difference to either one of us. We were inseparable. He loved me in a way I’d never been loved before—fully and unconditionally. I could be my silly self, and Glen thought it was wonderful. With him, I didn’t have to curb what so many others unflatteringly described as my light-mindedness. He never reprimanded me. Instead, I could sing, laugh, talk, cry, or be funny without ever worrying if it was out of line. This man loved me for me.
I was surprised by immense joy. When Glen and I would lie together on the lawn, we’d hold hands. His kisses set me afire. When he held me, I melded to him deliciously. Aunt Rhea’s law of purity seemed to have no application here. I even dared to thank God for letting me experience something so wonderful as Glen’s kisses. I never wanted to be anywhere else but in his arms.
Best of all, we dreamed and planned for the day we would belong to each other and to no one else. Somehow, our love blocked out all my fears of eternal Hell. Heaven couldn’t be better than what I’d found here with Glen, and Hell couldn’t be worse than going back to not having him. I literally closed my mind to God, to the Principle, to everything that might say no to this. When Glen and I were together, I could forget the rigid rules that placed our love squarely out of bounds.
But alone at night, I was haunted by the well-ingrained fundamentalist Mormon dogma. I asked God if he might consider changing his harsh rules, perhaps grant me an exemption. I wanted him to understand Glen, who I thought was as good, if not better, than I. Was it his fault he wasn’t born a Mormon fundamentalist, wasn’t born under the covenant? It didn’t mean he wasn’t a very special person. What I wanted to have with Glen was not plural marriage anyway; I wanted monogamy, exclusivity. Adding another wife would destroy what we were together, spoil the intense two-way connection that so enthralled me. It was unthinkable. No, I did not want God to let Glen become a last-minute child of the covenant. I wanted God to exempt us from the Principle altogether.
I wondered about my supposed premonition that I was going to marry Verlan LeBaron. He was personable and good-looking, and he held the priesthood—all qualifications any obedient woman would want. My beliefs drew me to Verlan, but I was in love with Glen. Perhaps I also saw Glen as a way out of polygamy, a choice that would save me from ever having to think about a husband of mine being off in another room making love to one of my sister wives. I decided I preferred to be Glen’s only wife, to grab joy now and face Hell later, so I consented to our marriage. But I did so with considerable trepidation.
We only told a few people of our plans—mostly those who wouldn’t oppose them. I wrote to my sister Donna and asked her to bring my hope chest to Trout Creek if by chance she came our way. She was one of the sisters living at Short Creek. I had a strong bond with Donna, and I valued her opinion. Though she was devoted to polygamy, I trusted her not to brand me as an outcast if I chose a different path. Perhaps I suspected Donna might try and talk me out of marrying Glen, and if she could do it, I wouldn’t have to face God’s wrath for marrying him.
OUR DAY FINALLY ARRIVED—September 1, 1952. Glen and I and both our mothers were loaded into Uncle Charlie’s old beige Kaiser, ready to leave for Salt Lake City, where we’d be married five days later. Glen’s uncle Charlie, who was paying for the wedding, had just finished rearranging our suitcases in the trunk. As soon as he got into the driver’s seat, he laid his head on the steering wheel. His face was colorless. “I’m sick,” he announced. “Can’t we all get up early and leave tomorrow?”
I was furious. Someone else should drive. Or Uncle Charlie could even stay home. We had so much shopping to do in Salt Lake, so many details to take care of before the wedding and the reception at my brother Richard’s. But since all of it was to be Uncle Charlie’s gift, we pretty much had to agree to go the next day. Mother and I slept at Nielson’s ranch so we could leave as early as possible.
At 4:00 A.M., I was jarred awake by a loud pounding on the door. The pounding continued, so I quickly slipped into my jeans and scampered to the front door before anyone else was disturbed. When I drew back the bolt and opened the door, there stood Donna and her husband, Clyde.
Under a cool, starless sky, the three of us convened in their car for a private conference. I listened intently as Donna revealed a premonition she’d received. They traveled all night to warn me. “Thank God, honey, you’re still here!” she said. “I’ve come to bring you to your senses.” She spoke excitedly. “Irene, God sent us! You must not marry an unbeliever who can’t exalt you. You’re a child born into the Principle. Please don’t give up your birthright. God is counting on you.”
My whole world teetered. I wished I’d never been born a child of God. But since I was, I had to consider if he might actually have gone to all this trouble to warn me not to make a grave mistake. Had Charlie’s sudden illness possibly been God’s doing? Had he really given Donna this premonition? Was this my one last chance to correct my path and serve the Lord?
By now, Glen had come outside and strolled by the car several times, hoping we’d invite him to participate in our conversation. He thought he was included in all my plans, but he also knew what a strong hold my family had on me. He paced a few yards away from us, waiting to be called over to the car.
I watched him while I silently rehearsed the fateful, awful words Donna insisted would end what she called my “predicament.” I couldn’t see myself saying them, not ever. But then here was my beloved sister who’d driven all night to catch me before I abandoned our beautiful doctrine and threw in with the common, monogamous riffraff who would never be exalted. Would I really choose love over God, a selfish life of freedom over a life of noble, god-honoring obedience? Would I really let down Donna and Aunt Rhea and so many others I loved?
Suddenly, I felt ashamed. Of course I couldn’t shirk my duty to God. At any cost, God must always come before love, before my personal feelings. I thought of the words of one of our favorite hymns: “Sacrifice brings forth the blessings of heaven.” If God required that I sacrifice Glen, then I had no right to question it. He was God, after all. And I’d been taught that God’s faithful ones would be tested, like Abraham, whose son God ordered sacrificed on the altar. How had I dared ask for exemption from God’s testing, from obeying his will?
With my heart bursting and paralyzed with misgivings, I got out of the car and walked slowly through the darkness to where Glen waited. He looked at me somewhat angrily as I approached. “What the hell’s going on?” he asked.
My mind whirled. I opened my mouth to deliver my speech, but my tongue froze. My mind went blank. “Glen,” I finally stammered, “I know you won’t understand, because I don’t . . .” I started to cry so brokenheartedly, I couldn’t finish my sentence. I buried my head in his shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably. But these few words had already told him all he needed. My mind had been twisted back around. I’d been reprogrammed in a single, predawn session.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said. “Don’t listen to them.”
I finally managed to say it. “I can’t marry you, Glen, because . . . because you can’t exalt me.” I pushed away from him and shoved the diamond locket he’d given me as a token of our engagement into his hand. Then I ran back to Donna’s car.
I sobbed to Donna, “If you’ve come to save me, then let’s get out of here, now.” Through the trees and tears, I watched Glen, standing there all alone, as we drove out of sight. What in God’s name did the future hold now?
Donna and Clyde took me all the way to Hurricane and dropped me off, along with my now sad little hope chest and my other belongings, at Aunt Rhea’s. She was thrilled to see that I’d been snatched from the jaws of such terrible sin. She assured me their fervent prayers got me back.
Since school had already started in Hurricane, I enrolled in the tenth grade, two days behind schedule. On the second day of class, I picked up a registered letter at the post office and walked the three blocks home before opening it. Shaking so hard I could hardly b
reathe, I tore open the envelope and read Glen’s forgiving note: “Dear Irene, I know that you left against your will. I know that you do love me. I’d crawl to China on my knees for you! I’ll meet you anywhere. I’ll send you money so you can come to Salt Lake. I’ll never stop loving you. Glen.”
I wanted to leave right then and run to him for safety. Then I worried this was just another phase of God’s testing. Somehow I had to erase all thoughts of Glen from my mind.
I didn’t return to school for my afternoon classes. Instead, I sat and cried for hours, unable to do anything else. I was so mad at God. It hurt too much to be obedient, especially since God kept allowing temptation to be thrown in my face. I wished I’d never been born, or at least that I’d never been taught this rigid “gospel.”
At 2:00 A.M., I was awakened once again by an incessant pounding at the door. When I opened it this time, my brother Richard grabbed me and pushed the door wider so my mother and sister Becky could come in. “Get your things, Irene. We’re leaving right now,” he ordered as he charged upstairs.
“I’m not going,” I said, following him up to my bedroom. “I want to stay here and finish school.”
He yanked my clothes from the closet, hangers and all, looking quickly around the bare room. “Where’s the rest of your stuff?”
Aunt Rhea was up by this time, and now I heard her yelling at someone downstairs. When I went to see who it was, I was shocked to find Glen in the entryway with everyone else. He’d come in during all the confusion. “Leave her alone!” Aunt Rhea yelled at him. “You’re nothing but a whoremonger!”
I knew that wasn’t true, but I didn’t dare say anything in Glen’s defense. I cowered before my aunt, afraid she would stop loving me if I crossed her. I didn’t know what to do—go or stay. My heart ached to go and be with Glen, to let him love and protect me. Only my fear of God and Aunt Rhea restrained me.
Then it seemed God intervened. Charlotte, Verlan’s wife, had been trying to fend off a miscarriage, and she just happened to be staying in Aunt Rhea’s other guest room so her mother could tend to her. I suddenly got it into my head that perhaps I could make the correct decision about Glen if I knew what God’s intentions might be for me otherwise. Driven by necessity, I entered Charlotte’s dark room to ask her the burning question point-blank.
I found her already awake, of course, roused by all the pounding and yelling. “Does Verlan plan on marrying me?” I asked her.
She barely had to think. “Yes, of course he does, Irene. We pray about you often, feeling that the Lord is saving you to be a part of our family.”
At that moment, after all the terrible ambivalence I’d found almost worse than either of my choices, this felt like a great relief to me. I patted her hand, thanking her for helping me clarify my agonizing decision. I would go with my insistent family, but I would not marry Glen.
Ironically, unbeknownst to me, Verlan was down in Mexico at around that same time, asking sixteen-year-old Lucy Spencer to marry him. She agreed but said she was supposed to be his third wife, not his second. Though she loved him, he’d have to get a second wife before she’d marry him. It was a strange response, to be sure. But there was little romance and rarely any rhyme or reason to polygamy. By all appearances, I was going to be Verlan’s second wife.
Mother tried to calm Aunt Rhea while I packed my few things and obediently left with them for Trout Creek. I sat next to Glen on the way home, but I rejected his advances. I even refused to hold his hand, though it hurt to be so cold to him. As we drove, Mother and Richard got right to the point. They both wanted me to marry Glen. Richard had joined the LDS Church, and he said I should join, too, and then get sealed to Glen in the Mormon temple. As far as the Principle went, they both claimed that other wives could simply be sealed to Glen by proxy, after his death, and that way I could be his only wife during our earthly lives together. But their advice came too late. I already had my answer. I knew what God was going to make me do. So I rode along in silence, loving Glen, but vowing to do my duty to Verlan and God.
When we finally stopped for breakfast, I got the opportunity to tell Glen the truth. While the others went inside, he asked me to stay in the car to talk with him. Trying to keep my voice from breaking, I said, “I can’t marry you Glen, because God wants me to marry someone else.”
“Who is it?” he asked, astounded, almost angry.
With a lump rising in my throat, I whispered shamefully, “It’s my brother-in-law, Verlan.”
“Your brother-in-law?” he blurted out in disbelief. Then, despairingly, he asked, “Has he ever kissed you?”
“No.”
“Has he ever told you he loves you?”
“No,” I answered defensively. “You’ll always be the love of my life.”
At that, he took me in his arms, and tears came to his eyes. “Please, Irene, don’t let them talk you into this. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life!”
“I have no choice, Glen. God wants me to do it.” We clung to each other, crying, neither of us willing to let go.
I would live to regret not listening to that anguished prediction of his. Turns out, when I’d finally heard a real premonition, I completely failed to recognize it as one.
GLEN PROVED TOO GREAT a temptation for me that fall. If I didn’t get away from Trout Creek, I thought it likely I would change my mind. My brother Douglas’s October wedding in Salt Lake was a good excuse to leave. Aunt Beth, another of Mother’s sisters, invited me to stay with her in nearby Murray during the festivities. She was always willing to make room for me despite having her own brood of twelve.
During my stay at Aunt Beth’s, Charlotte and Verlan came up twice from Provo to see me. The first time, the three of us went to a movie; the next, we went to the park for an afternoon picnic. During these outings, Verlan spoke no words of love or commitment to me. And certainly, he never touched me. Everyone just seemed to take it for granted that I’d marry him. Compared to the wonderful candidness and sensitivity Glen always showed me, this made me feel like a toddler being dragged around by her father and mother. It left me empty inside, alone.
What I wanted was for Verlan to express his feelings for me, to assure me I would really be loved as a woman. I wanted a kiss, anything that might convince me this would be okay. I guess I didn’t yet believe God would actually make me choose between love and obedience. If I trudged up the mountain and lay my sacrifice upon the altar, if I pulled back my knife arm and was truly willing to plunge it in, maybe, just maybe, a voice would tell me it had all been nothing more than a horrible test. I held out hope that if I obeyed God by giving up Glen’s love, he would reward me with Verlan’s love to take its place.
But neither Verlan nor God offered me any such words of love or assurance. Verlan didn’t even speak to me about the logistics of our getting married—when, where, by whom. I thought maybe it was because he held the priesthood, and he was righteously trying to let God lead, make all the arrangements. As for a touch that might spur me on, I knew that believers weren’t to even kiss until they were married. What did I expect from Verlan at this point? I kept quiet about my growing uneasiness. God would work things out in his wondrous way.
THREE MONTHS LATER, MY mother insisted I return with her to Trout Creek. She’d heard rumors I’d been seeing Verlan, and she meant for that to stop.
“No way do I want you in that family,” she told me. “Verlan may be nice enough, but there’s insanity in that bunch. You have to think about that, Irene! I’ll never accept him or allow you to marry him.”
So I went home again, more confused than ever. Mother kept praising Glen to me, reminding me of how I’d be his only wife. I wouldn’t have to suffer as she had. She even tried to entice me with worldly riches. Someday, she said, Glen and I would probably inherit the whole Nielson ranch.
For his part, Glen gave me a respectful berth. He didn’t come around the house, and when I saw him at the post office, he barely talked to me. I knew it was sadness and
hurt as much as kindness holding him back. It made me love him all the more.
Soon I started going over to the ranch to watch wrestling with him on television. I said we could only be friends, but he couldn’t maintain his detachment with me right there on the couch beside him. He would tell me how he loved me, how he loved God, too. He said he could make me happy, and that God would surely want that. “No one is ever happy in polygamy,” he said. I had to admit, the last part seemed true. I could see, on those evenings, that Glen and I had no choice but to run off together before anyone could stop us.
And then I would go home, and the panic would set in. God had shown me just what I was to do. He hadn’t only put Glen off-limits; he’d put me on another path altogether. What would happen if I willfully refused to go down it?
One night, desperate to end the turmoil to which I’d been subjecting us both, I agreed to elope with Glen. Ely, Nevada, was just four hours west of us. We could get married there. Mother would gladly go along to give her consent. But I had trouble convincing Glen I would really go through with it. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” he said.
I promised him we’d do it “the day after tomorrow.”
The next day was my sixteenth birthday. I went to get the mail, and as I sorted through the stack of letters, I found one for me with Charlotte’s return address in the corner. The handwriting on it was unfamiliar; it had to be Verlan’s. Oh God, what are you doing to me now? I tore the envelope open and read this simple verse: “Extra special birthday wishes, joy and smiles the whole day through, happiness forever after, all for extra special you!—Verlan and Charlotte.”
I read it over and over. Was Verlan trying to tell me something between the lines? Did he really think I was “extra special”? Was he “joyful and smiling” because he thought I’d be his? By “happiness forever after,” was he actually offering to one day pull me through the veil of death and make me a goddess with him for all eternity? If he did not mean any of these things, why had he personally signed the note? I was plunged again into indecision.
Shattered Dreams Page 6
