Annie looked around at the women. “Why are you all looking at me like that? I’m a little worried. I thought being the PW would be a little more fun, but it’s a lot of angst. So many things can go wrong. Snowden hasn’t called back. We need to have those law officers out of here and on their way to wherever they’re being taken before we head for the compound. No loose ends. And still no calls from Myra or Charles. It’s almost midnight in London, so I guess we won’t hear anything until tomorrow.
“Someone call Lizzie, she should have checked in by now.”
Nikki whipped out her cell and hit the speed dial. She spoke for a few minutes, then listened for a good five minutes before closing the phone.
“Before I report on Lizzie, I have a question, Annie. I know we’re flying by the seat of our pants on this one, but we all need to know how we’re going to get out of that compound once we…uh…finish our work there.”
Annie looked stupefied for a minute. “Girls! Girls! The same way we arrived here. The crop dusters! But, just as far as Salt Lake City, then it’s the Gulfstream the rest of the way. Now, no moaning and groaning.” She had no idea if that was feasible or not, but she didn’t want the girls to worry about their exit. Maybe she’d have to go to Plan B, or maybe C, or even D. “What’s the latest from Lizzie?”
“In thirty minutes, Miss Jennings will have her interview with a reporter from the Daily Herald. Supposedly the paper’s ace reporter. The plan is she’s to call the FBI and lodge her complaint about the pregnant girls. She’s going to give her real name and tell them she’s being represented by Lizzie. Her friends are going to show up at the Holiday Inn and back up everything she said. I’m sure the headline will read something like, THE ONES WHO GOT AWAY. Bert will be in the Provo field office and take the call. He’ll apply for the federal warrant around six tomorrow morning. The way things seem to work around here in regard to the polygamists, it could take as long as six hours before a judge signs off on it. That means we have until dawn or a little after to get in and get out of there.”
Isabelle started to giggle. “Tell me again what we’re going to do when we get there?”
The Sisters looked at one another and laughed.
Chapter 12
Lizzie ushered the women into a small conference room she’d booked at the last second. Seven people plus the reporter and the photographer were more than the single room that she’d reserved could hold. Out of the corner of her eye she looked over at Marion Jennings and the other five women she’d invited to participate in the interview. The words “cream of the crop” ricocheted inside Lizzie’s mind. The prettiest of the pretty. The chosen ones of the Prophet. His to do whatever he wanted with. She didn’t think one of them was past eighteen, except possibly Marion Jennings. None had a birth certificate, and after hearing Marion’s vague references to what had been going on in the world the year she was born, Lizzie wondered whether Jennings was even that old.
Lizzie felt her stomach start to scrunch up. She wasn’t sure what she could do for any of them. In the end it would depend on what they wanted her to do, she decided.
A knock sounded on the door. “Refreshments,” she said at the women’s startled looks. “It’s just some soft drinks, fruit, and pizza. I thought you might be hungry. We’re going to be here a while.”
Lizzie knew that if she ate anything, she’d get sick. What was wrong with her? No case had ever gotten to her like this one had, and she wasn’t even sure what the case was going to turn out to be. She signed the bill and took her seat at the head of the conference table. Where to start? What to say? More to the point, how to say it?
“I’m Elizabeth Fox. I know Marion has told you who I am, but let me tell you again. I’m a lawyer. I can practice law in every state of this country except for South Dakota. I’m willing to work with you to help you in any way I can. I know other people who can help you once we get past the legalities of…of whatever you all decide you want me to do. Money for my time is not an issue. Other people are paying me to help you. People who care about all of you. We have a little time before the reporter and photographer get here, so let’s make use of it. We’ll do it one by one, each one of you telling me your story. The device in the middle of the table will record everything you say. I want you, one by one, to acknowledge that this session is being recorded. I also want you to understand this is all privileged. That means no one else will ever hear it unless you each give your permission. If you understand what I just said, go one by one, say your name, and say you agree to having this interview recorded, then give today’s date, and the time and the location.”
When the young women were finished, Lizzie, for the benefit of the recording, also introduced herself, gave the date, the time, and the location. She thought Marion seemed the bravest, the one least nervous, so she said, “Marion, you go first.”
“My name is Marion. I think my last name is Jennings, but I’m not sure. Our mothers said last names were not important. I was married to the Prophet, Harold Evanrod. By my best calculation, I was thirteen when I was given to him. I was sewing my wedding dress when I was twelve. I remember that because it was the day I got my first period. One of the mothers took me aside and said that was my milestone, and it was time to start my wedding dress. At the time I didn’t even know what that meant other than if I did what I was told, I would not be damned to hell and would have eternal salvation.
“We had group mothers. We had our natural mother for our first year or so of life, then we were given over to another mother for a few years and on and on it went until we reached the time when we got our periods. That’s when life as we knew it totally changed. We were no longer children. There was no more playtime. That year until the anniversary of that period was spent in teaching us, through the group mothers, how to act and behave once we got married. The indoctrination was so intense I would go to bed at night and cry.
“School stopped. No further friendships were allowed. We were told we had to worship the Prophet, to grovel if that’s what he wanted. We were taught to be subservient, never to look the Prophet in the eye, always keep our eyes downcast. We were to do nothing to make ourselves attractive, or to be noticed. Our sole lot in life was to have babies and nothing else. It was intense mind control. I didn’t know that then, but I know it now. It was a life of fear and pain. We were to speak in a slow, soft manner and not ever to question our husband. We were told there would be other wives, and we were not to be jealous because jealousy was the sin of sins. They never used the word ‘sin,’ but somehow I knew even back then what it meant.
“They had boxes, cartons, actually, of ovulation test kits. All the wives had calendars, and we were to mark the days so our husband could pick one of us. Then when we missed our first period we were to mark it down on the same calendar. That was so the Prophet, in each woman’s case, knew not to bother her again until the baby was born. Ten months after the birth, the calendars started up again. That was my life.
“After the birth of your third child, you were put up for something like an auction, and the Prophet decided who was to take you off his hands. Not your children, just you. Then the same thing started all over again with the calendars. I was to go to someone I think was my step-brother. He drooled, and his eyes didn’t focus clearly. And he had three ‘celestial’ or ‘spiritual’ wives at that time. I lied on my calendar, and at that point tried to figure out a way to leave. It was a given that I couldn’t take the children, so I had to leave them behind. I naively thought that when I got to the outside, someone would help me and I could get a lawyer. But it didn’t work out that way. I had never had any money, so I went to the nearest church and begged them to help me. They did. A very kind, caring family did everything they could for me, then they put me in touch with these other young women, and we all became friends.
“Somehow word leaked out to the HOE that there was a group of women who were going to make trouble, so the pastor of that little church moved us all to the East.”
&n
bsp; “How did you get away from HOE, Marion?”
“I walked out to the gate and climbed the fence and ran like hell until I couldn’t run anymore. I think I walked twenty miles before I found that church. I was so exhausted I couldn’t stand up, and I was dehydrated from the sun. But I survived. And so did my friends.”
“Aside from the Prophet, how old were your husbands?” Lizzie asked the others.
“They were old, they were all old. Here on the outside you would call them grandfather types. No one got a young husband,” said a young lady who had the girl-next-door look written all over her. “None of us knew what a movie, television, computer, or telephone was until we climbed those fences and ran away.
“In some ways, the outside people were afraid of us because we were so naive and dumb. We didn’t know any better, but I think we all learned real fast,” the girl next door said.
“What about the boys?” Lizzie asked.
A fiery redhead reared up. “They were treated like animals and made to work until they dropped. I had a brother who died in there. There were too many boys, so they kicked about two hundred of them out into the world. They have a cemetery where all the babies who died are buried, and there are a lot of them.”
“What about doctors and dentists? Who delivered your babies?”
“There’s a doctor in Sienna who lives on the outside. If there was a problem, he came to the compound,” Marion said. “He was a dentist, too. If it was a natural birth, the mothers could assist—they were all midwives, so they knew what to do. Instead of paying the doctor, he was given a wife and had two rooms in one of the buildings. As time went on he acquired many wives. And it was the same with the sheriff, who is also the judge. The sheriff had his very own house on the compound. He had a real wife on the outside and a house there, too. The same thing went for the deputies.”
Lizzie’s mind raced. “How many children were you expected to have?”
“As many as you could. Or until you’re all used up,” a dark-eyed, dark-haired young woman said. “When that happened, or if you had too many miscarriages, then you were sent to the long building where the other older women were. There you did laundry, cooked, cleaned, and worked in the gardens. They were tired women, weary, and they hated one another. They pretended to pray; they read old sermons and the books the Prophet said would grant them eternal salvation. Personally, I think they were all just waiting to die. I hated them. I didn’t want to be one of them.”
Lizzie turned the tape over and pressed the PLAY button. How could something like this go on in the United States of America?
“What’s the purpose of those ugly dresses and those awful hairdos?”
The young women all laughed, but the laughter didn’t reach their eyes. Lizzie thought she had never seen such haunted eyes in the whole of her life.
“The funny thing is, you don’t even own the dresses. You are not allowed to own anything,” Marion said. “The dresses are pretty ugly and reflect the old times, when life was supposed to be simple and just. The older women wear darker colors and the younger ones wear the softer pastel colors. I always wanted a yellow one, but it wasn’t to be. Yellow to me was a warm, golden color, a free color. We are told to let our hair grow because a husband likes a woman with long hair. Supposedly it was a sign of purity. Actually, we were forbidden to cut our hair. That was the first thing I did when I left.”
“Let me tell you what this is all about now.” Quickly, Lizzie told them all about Pearl’s experience, without mentioning names. “Those girls are minors. What was done to them is against the law, but I’m sure you all know that by now. Do any of you have any idea why fourteen young girls, one who might be mentally challenged, were being transported to the HOE compound? Where would they be coming from? Why would so many be moved all at one time?”
“Something must have happened wherever they were living. They would never move them otherwise,” Marion said. “I would guess, and it’s just a guess on my part, that some outsider figured out what was going on and called in a complaint. Or, it could be as simple as too many welfare filings. That happened once or twice while I was still at the HOE, but I don’t recall the details. I just know a lot of activity went on, and the Prophet was livid that he and his people were being questioned. Enormous amounts of money pour into that compound. I wish you could see the Prophet’s house and how he lives.”
Lizzie nodded. “I’m going to ask a question of all of you. Tell me honestly what you think. How many of the women in that compound would willingly leave if they had the chance?”
The young women all looked at one another. They shrugged as one. Marion went first.
“In my opinion, none of the older ones. They’re hard, mean, bitter women. They would be afraid they’d be damned to hell. I think all of the younger ones would leave if given the chance. The most vulnerable are the twelves to sixteens. Remember, they have been brainwashed. They think that all the people outside the compound gates are evil and work for the Devil. They’re taught early on that the greatest thing of all is eternal salvation and that only staying within the compound and obeying the Prophet will earn that for them. Then you have to factor in the children. It’s the best answer I can give you.”
Lizzie addressed another question to all of them. “How do you like life outside the compound?”
The answers ranged from “wonderful” to “scary” to “exciting” to “challenging.” When she asked if any of them would willingly go back, they all said no but clarified they would return if they could get their children. But not to stay.
Lizzie nodded to show she understood.
She then started questioning the other women, whose accounts of their life on the compound didn’t differ one iota from Marion Jennings’s account.
“Did we help you at all, Miss Fox?” Marion asked.
“Yes, you did. I hope you are as forthcoming with the reporter, who should be arriving any minute now. If you hear me object to something, do not, I repeat, do not answer that particular question. I’ll lay down the ground rules before we start, and we’ll be taping everything you say again so later there will be no doubt about your answers. Your pictures will be taken, just so you know. By the way, is there a hospital or clinic in the compound?”
“There’s a birthing station. After all,” Marion said bitterly, “that’s what it’s all about, procreating, isn’t it?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I would call it a breeding farm, and the women are nothing but broodmares,” Lizzie said. “Ah, I think our reporter is here. Are you all ready for this?”
The women nodded and straightened their shoulders.
Lizzie leaned across the table and lowered her voice. “Someday, somehow, your children will know what you’ve done to get them back. I promise each and every one of you that I will try my best to make that happen.”
Lizzie pushed back her chair and walked over to the door. She opened it to see a young woman in her midthirties, she guessed, followed by a photographer. She introduced herself, then looked at the reporter square in the eye and didn’t say a word. The reporter returned her look and gave a slight nod. Lizzie walked back to the table, knowing that the young women sitting around the conference table were in good hands and believing implicitly that the power of the written word had no equal.
Chapter 13
On the walk back to the old barn, where the sheriff and his two deputies were tied to a rusty snowplow, Jack stopped and motioned for the others to come closer. “You guys know we’re winging this whole thing by the seat of our pants, right?”
Harry, Ted, and Espinosa nodded.
“All of us need to understand we’re going to be reacting on the fly at whatever comes our way. That’s not a good thing. A good thing is a plan, and we don’t really have a plan. Right now we’re relying on some guy named Avery Snowden, Charles’s right hand, or so we’re told. I think it’s pretty safe to say he doesn’t really know our capabilities, and we don’t know his. I just know that Murphy’s La
w is going to rear up and bite us on the ass.”
“Once we leave here, are we coming back?” Ted asked.
“I don’t think so. When we leave here, the grid goes on. Snowden or his people are supposed to take care of that trio in the barn. I’m not sure how soon that’s supposed to happen. At least that’s what Maggie said in her last phone call. I’m assuming the removal will be by air or out across the prairie somehow. She said when it happens, she’ll confirm. If it doesn’t happen the way Maggie set it up, then we are in some real deep shit because those guys are loaded for bear and can identify all of us.”
Espinosa crowded closer. “Jack, those three guys are not official law enforcement. They’re on the Heaven on Earth payroll. It’s the same thing as hiring three private dicks, giving them guns, a uniform, and cruisers. That means they answer only to the guy they call the Prophet. So, where’s the deep shit you’re talking about?”
“Sooner or later someone is going to notice that the station they work out of is empty. Some sterling citizen is going to call somebody who has some real authority. By morning, the Daily Herald will be in everyone’s hands. The media will descend on that little station, and we all know,” Jack said pointedly as he looked at Espinosa and Ted, “how the media will dog it to death.”
Espinosa licked at his lips. “Yeah, I get it. So then, what’s our next move?”
“We are going into that barn and talk nice to our guests. We need them to tell us how they get into that compound when they go out there. The road leading to the actual compound is approximately two miles long. The buildings and the people can’t be seen from the gates. I saw a picture of the gates, and they have some kind of special locks on them. I don’t want to have to smash through them since that would then allow the media vipers to follow us in. Maggie said there isn’t a single NO TRESPASSING sign. I don’t get that part, but if she said there aren’t any signs, we have to go with that. It’s in our favor because that means we aren’t technically trespassing if there are no signs. Capisci?”
Under the Radar Page 11
