Читать книгу Stolen Innocence: My story of growing up in a polygamous sect, becoming a teenage bride, and breaking free - Elissa Wall - Страница 15

The time is short.

—FLDS PARABLE

It wasn’t until we returned to the house on Claybourne Avenue that we learned Mom had been in Salt Lake City for several weeks, redecorating our house with help from my sister Rachel. It turned out that both my parents had gone to the prophet separately about reconciliation, but in order for my mother and her children to be welcomed back into my father’s home, certain things had to happen. The prophet had directed my parents to be rebaptized and remarried. They’d even gone off to California for a second honeymoon.

Another stipulation was that Mother Audrey and Lydia, Audrey’s youngest daughter and her only child still at home, had to move out. At the time, there was no explanation given for their departure, only that Audrey was to repent from afar. In truth, our problems were never the product of any one individual; they were the result of living in a complicated family with complicated issues under tremendous religious pressures. But in the prophet’s search for a solution to make us all whole again, he decided the only answer was to divide our family once more, this time in a different way.

Many years later, Mother Audrey would confide to me how difficult our departure to the Steed ranch had been for her. It had left her feeling empty and drained, and she worried that something was terribly wrong with the prophet’s decisions for our family. She’d been so elated when she heard that we were finally coming home, but her joy quickly turned to pain again when she was informed that she would now be the one who had to move out.

Audrey faced the challenge of finding a place to stay, and it was only after several phone calls to her children that her son Richard and his wife took her in. She’d have to come to terms with the fact that she and her husband would remain married but live apart. As a believer, she would continue to keep the faith, praying to the Heavenly Father that they would soon be reunited.

For my mother and father this really did seem like a chance for a fresh start. I can still see the look on my mom’s face when Dad returned home one night holding a dozen red roses and a brand-new wedding ring that she’d help to design. It had rubies and diamonds, and Dad had it wrapped in a small box tied with a bow. I lingered in the living room, watching my parents share a few romantic moments, heartened to again see them expressing their love for each other. Mom hadn’t looked that happy in ages, and seeing her like that renewed my hope that everything would work out.

With Craig gone, Travis packed off to reform, and Audrey no longer living with us, the house felt eerily quiet. Emotions were high, and everywhere there was a lingering emptiness. As a result, we eagerly anticipated the upcoming April conference for all FLDS members in Hildale, Utah, and Colorado City, Arizona. This would give us not only a chance to see Travis but the opportunity to get our family back on track.

The April conference was just one of many annual events that required the entire community—including those of us who lived in Salt Lake City and Canada—to travel down to Short Creek. The FLDS does not celebrate traditional Christian holidays such as Christmas and Easter. We had our own events to observe throughout the year, three of which took place in the summer months. The first was on June 12, commemorating the birthday of our former prophet Leroy Johnson. Throughout his life he would gather the people together on his birthday and serve them all watermelon. People so dearly loved and respected him that after his passing they continued to gather on this day to remember him. This was followed by Independence Day on July 4 and Pioneer Day on July 24, with the traditional Pioneer Day parade. Of these events, Pioneer Day was by far the biggest community celebration, as it marked the day in 1847 that Mormon pioneers first settled in the Salt Lake Valley. The summer gatherings were followed in the fall by Octoberfest or Harvest Fest, in which members would all gather in the “crik” to help harvest the potatoes and other crops on which many of us would rely throughout the winter months.

Of all these yearly occasions, the April conference was the most sacred, and the people would come to the twin towns for religious teachings. For the men, this was also the time for the priesthood ordination meeting. During this important meeting, male members of the community learned their worthiness and whether or not they would be honored with an elevation to a higher level of priesthood. Young men are ordained into the priesthood at the age of twelve, when they become priesthood deacons and gain admittance to the sacred male- only priesthood meetings. As they get older, they can rise to higher levels within the church, so long as they have their father’s recommendation. Once a man reaches the age of eighteen, he can attain the level of church elder, at which point he can have a wife and family through a revelation from the prophet.

Because of the celebratory nature of all these gatherings, I had always associated southern Utah with joy and togetherness. Our time there was always marked by jubilation and relaxed fun. When I was a child, those events gave me the precious freedom to run around and play with the other children at the park. I also loved going to the zoo at the center of town that had been created by Fred Jessop, the bishop of Hildale/Colorado City and a beloved figure in our community. The zoo was home to many exotic animals, including zebras and llamas, and he built it so that children wouldn’t have to leave the community to enjoy such amusements.

Uncle Fred, as he was known, owned an enormous white house perched atop a small hill overlooking the community and visible from most parts of town. Like the Jeffs compound in Salt Lake City, Fred’s house was vast enough to accommodate a birthing center for the local FLDS community, but Fred Jessop didn’t have any biological children of his own, as a childhood disease had rendered him sterile. Instead his children came from the wives of husbands who had lost the priesthood, and had been reassigned to him.

Since he was so involved with the community, I had always had a good feeling about Uncle Fred. Though I didn’t know him personally when I was younger, I would hear stories of his life. From the little that I did see of him, he seemed to be a kind and loving man who had the people’s best interest in mind, a man who represented all the good things about the community.

Short Creek was a place where we didn’t feel strange or outcast. It was the only place I knew where I was free to socialize and roam about the town. There was a deep sense of unity in knowing that we all believed the same things and didn’t need to feel ashamed in one another’s company. Back in Salt Lake, outsiders would scoff at our long dresses and unfashionable hairstyles, but down in Hildale and Colorado City, everyone looked and acted just like our family did. The twin towns felt like home to everyone; there everyone knew one another by name and many were related by blood or marriage. If anything could ease our troubled family, it was a trip to Short Creek. As the car jam- packed with Walls made its way toward southern Utah for the April conference that year, I was optimistic about our chance to heal our family’s wounds and assuage my own overwhelming loneliness.

Unfortunately that year’s conference weekend was not what I had hoped for. When I first arrived, my anxiety seemed to disappear as friends and relatives greeted me. Together we had fun and began to relax, and for the first time in months, I felt at ease. But one day, with spring-flushed cheeks glowing from hours of play, I walked into a room to discover Mom sitting in a corner, crying. I asked her what was wrong, and through tears she said that she had seen Travis and heard the truth of what was happening to him. The family that had taken him in felt that he was corrupting their children and disapproved of a group of boys he’d befriended. Like Travis, many of his new friends were struggling with the teachings of our faith and finding ways to rebel. At this point, Travis had somehow gotten his hands on a car, and to escape the oppressive atmosphere in the house hold, he began sleeping in it.

Mom didn’t feel it would be appropriate to share many of the details with me, but her devastation was clear. This was the second time I had seen her crying like this, and memories of the day we left Craig on the side of the highway flooded my mind. Later, I would look back on this occasion and wonder whether Mom was crying solely out of love and regret for her sons’ pain or for the dual failure that the situation represented. A priesthood mother is expected to raise her children to be virtuous and good, and if a child strays, it is viewed as the mother’s fault. Mom was heartbroken enough to share her true feelings with me, and somehow I understood what that meant. I hadn’t yet finished the fifth grade, but it was in this bitter moment that I witnessed the continuation of my family’s unraveling.

In the end, it appeared Travis’s resentment of his circumstances at the reform retreat proved too great to endure. Shortly after we’d returned home from the April conference, we heard that he finally left Short Creek and moved into a house in southern Utah with some friends who had also left the church. Most were lost and searching for a way to make life work outside their religious upbringings. When I heard he was with them, I was pleased because it sounded like they’d formed a kind of family bond that would help them get through whatever rough times they would face. My parents, on the other hand, sensed that he was living with a bad crowd, but they could not access him and control his actions; Mom was consumed by worry—and Dad by frustration.

In early summer of 1997, our family was invited to join many of the Salt Lake members on an organized camping trip to Bear Lake, Wyoming, which would be one of just a handful of times that the people in Salt Lake organized their own community event. For much of my life, playing in the water had been off-limits because Dad felt it was too dangerous. On several occasions, I was told that the Devil controlled the water and swimming for pleasure would prevent the Lord from protecting us from him.

Because of this teaching, I was excited but also a little scared at the prospect of spending a few days at the lake. When I asked if the Devil would be in the water, I was told that because the prophet had approved of the trip the water would be blessed. This completely set my mind at ease, and upon our arrival, I splashed and played in the water in my long dresses to my heart’s content. At night we stayed in tents on the beach and the sound of water lulled us to sleep.

At one point during the festivities, my attention was drawn to another group of children in swimsuits frolicking in the water. They were not from the FLDS, but they too were with their families on vacation. Like a scientist, I paused to study them. I was curious because I had been taught that outsiders were evil, but at first glance they didn’t look that way to me. The longer that I looked at them, the more I came to realize that they looked nothing like I had imagined. Of course, I had seen non-FLDS strangers before—after all, we were a small minority in Salt Lake City. But I had never really studied them, to see how they acted and how they treated one another. These kids looked so nice. Sure, they were dressed in modern styles, but I found their clothes attractive as opposed to immodest. Secretly, I envied their bare legs, their sense of freedom, and the fun in their style. My ankle-length blue dress may have matched my blue eyes, but suddenly it no longer reflected how I felt inside.

As I watched them eat, laugh, and play with their families, I realized that those kids actually seemed similar to us, and that the only difference was their clothing. Even from far away, I could tell that there was love in this family’s eyes, that they cared for one another and would care about us too. I was young enough to still believe what I had been taught, simply because it was all I knew, but seeing that family gave me a shocking new point of view about the church’s teachings. I didn’t say anything to anyone. I kept it to myself.

Later on in life, I would realize that standing there and watching those kids was the first time I ever questioned FLDS teachings, even if it was only subconsciously.

Unfortunately for me, the excitement of our trip to Bear Lake was tainted by my chronic illness. My tonsils were so infected that they’d ruptured and infectious fluid was circulating through my system. My father finally realized that the severity of my situation required a visit to the doctor and was advised that surgery was in order. Doctors told my parents that I would need my tonsils and adenoids removed, as well as surgery to reconstruct my collapsed nasal passage.

Unaware of what was to come, I enjoyed all the attention I was receiving in the hospital. I had only been to the doctor a handful of times, once for a tetanus shot, another time for ear tubes, and another to treat my Lyme disease. I was given a gown to wear, and seeing my parents worrying over me made me feel cherished, like for that moment I was the only one of their children who mattered. Before my surgery, an anesthesiologist administered a shot to put me to sleep. It hurt so much, and I remember the burning sensation traveling up my arm. Suddenly, my arm went numb, and I drifted off to sleep.

When I awoke, it was a day and a half later. My parents had been keeping vigil at my bedside. Through an error, I’d been given an adult dose of anesthesia, and it had nearly cost me my life. I was told that at one point I had “coded” on the operating table. While I remembered waking up once and feeling as though I couldn’t breathe, I had no idea that my heart had actually stopped and I’d been rushed to a nearby children’s hospital for intervention. After all of that, my tonsils were never removed. My condition had been too grave to perform the surgery, and it would be weeks before another doctor would operate. In the days after I recovered consciousness, I suffered repeated mini- seizures that terrified my mother. True to form, my parents used this near-fatal accident as evidence for why we should avoid doctors and conventional medical care.

As my health slowly returned, our family settled into a routine, and at first it appeared that with Mother Audrey out of the picture, life would be more manageable. But in time it become obvious that, as long as there was more than one woman in the Wall home, the situation was unsustainable. Mother Laura was allowed to stay and continued to live in the house with her newborn son. Because it was her first child, Mother Laura seemed like a mother bear with a newborn cub. She wanted her space and decided that things in the house needed to be done her way. To make matters worse, she exerted a lot of influence over Dad, causing him to dole out punishments to my brothers Jacob, Justin, and Brad. All three boys were constantly in trouble with Mother Laura, who appeared to expect my father to prove his love by “correcting” their behavior.

Mother Audrey’s absence had done little to change the explosive atmosphere. In fact, things got even worse. From what I could see, Mother Laura used Audrey’s absence to extend her influence over the family, and suddenly what had once looked like a solution created a bigger fissure in our disjointed family. Even more bothersome was how paranoid and worried Dad had seemed to become. Losing his family had been devastating, and now with pressure from the priesthood to shape up our home, he was becoming stricter toward my siblings in an attempt to regain his tentative grasp on all of us. My mother was no exception, and she too was under constant surveillance. Worried that she would again go to the prophet, Dad grew anxious each time he saw her talking on the phone, and eventually it got to the point where she could only talk to Rachel and Kassandra when he was not around.

That September, I was back at Alta Academy, entering the sixth grade, but by then the school had become yet another source of unhappiness. For many years, Warren Jeffs had been teaching that boys and girls shouldn’t associate; as I had learned back in the second grade, we were to treat each other as “snakes.” But this year, his teachings became increasingly rigid, and he decided to physically separate the two sexes into different classrooms and different buildings on the compound. The curriculum for the sixth-grade girls’ class was wholly unlike that of the sixth-grade boys. Our scheduled recess times and grade-level activities were different, and there was no longer a time during the school day when the boys and girls had any contact. Warren told us that the separation was “the will of the prophet and God,” but it seemed to make little sense.

As we advanced into higher grades, the religious aspects of our education, which had always been present, became all-consuming. Little by little, Uncle Warren had been removing traditional age-appropriate curriculum and replacing it with teachings from the church, as well as many of his own. While for years the church had openly taught us to hold prejudices against anyone whose skin color didn’t match ours, now Warren’s language became even harsher. He taught us that nonwhite people were some of the lowest, worst sinners on earth and that association with them was one of the most disobedient things an FLDS member could do.

In addition, he had rewritten our coursework to fit his designs. Books by authors outside the church were destroyed and replaced with church-approved ones. Subjects such as science and current events became less important, and instead the focus was on our religious teachings. Unapproved pictures were removed from textbooks, and anything that had to do with evolution or human anatomy was excised. In fact, anything that did not conform to our strict religious teachings and beliefs was removed from the lesson plans, and pages of books that dealt with conflicting subject matter were simply ripped out.

One example of this slow conditioning process was the evolution of the school paper, the Student Star, which was later renamed Zion’s Light Shining. What had begun a number of years before as a fun school newspaper filled with lighthearted stories, school announcements, and other items of interest had transformed into yet another vehicle for strict religious indoctrination. Warren had taken hold of the newspaper and revamped it to include sermons and teachings from past prophets and church leaders. Nothing could be printed without his seal of approval. Interestingly, it was not actual scripture but his interpretation of various scriptures that made the paper. Soon it became an integral part of the learning process at Alta Academy and a major part of the curriculum. We were required to read it from front to back and be tested on its content.

Through these and other methods of indoctrination, Uncle Warren was slowly cultivating a generation of loyal followers. Most of us had attended Alta Academy since our youngest years. Almost everything that we knew about the priesthood had come from him. Warren had shaped our vision of the religion and the world; and we had learned only what Warren wanted us to. The students who passed through Alta Academy were taught to fear and obey Uncle Warren as more than just our principal. He was the person with the closest connection to the prophet, and as such we soaked up his every word.

Over the years, the prophet had gradually put Warren in a position of authority over the people. “Warren speaks for me” is a phrase that I heard many times from Uncle Rulon’s lips. The wheels had been set in motion, and the FLDS people had begun to look to Warren as one with the prophet in authority over them. As Uncle Rulon aged and grew more feeble, it was natural that the people accepted Warren’s words as his father’s and became accustomed to the slow transfer of power. We all wanted to be saved and we knew that following the prophet and Warren was the only way to make sure we would be.

The scope of Warren’s extended power became quite apparent in 1998 when he took us one step closer to Judgment Day with a startling announcement: he was closing Alta Academy, and his father was selling the property. Together they would relocate to the prophet’s other home in southern Utah. The year 2000 was rapidly approaching, and soon Zion would be redeemed in the new millennium. They began requiring select families in Salt Lake to move with them to southern Utah, so that our people would be united and “lifted up” to heaven when the end of the world came.

This directive tapped into one of the most fundamental aspects of our religion. “Time is short” had long been a kind of mantra for the leaders of the church. For years, the people had been instructed to stay worthy and prepare because the end of the world was near. We believed that any day destruction would cover the land and only the pure and righteous would be saved. Everyone who was not a “worthy” member was wicked and would not be saved. If we were not faithful in the prophet’s eyes, we would be left behind to be destroyed.

That May, the final graduating class at Alta Academy walked out the doors of the building and the school was closed for the last time. Through the summer, Michelle’s husband, Seth Jeffs, and several other church followers worked diligently to copy and distribute the school’s curriculum, so that families who stayed in the Salt Lake Valley could homeschool their children. Over the next few years, more and more families were commanded to make the three-hundred-mile move. The communities of Hildale and Colorado City became flush with an influx of people.

Despite Uncle Rulon’s declining health, everyone in the FLDS believed he would live for hundreds of years, even after he suffered a stroke in the summer of 1998. As one of Uncle Rulon’s wives, my sister Kassandra was living in his home when the stroke occurred and was one of a few people who knew the reality of his condition. Kassandra later told me Rulon was at his compound in Hildale attending a family gathering when he was found slumped forward in a chair. Thinking he had just dozed off, those around him left him alone until they realized something was terribly wrong. Uncle Rulon was carried to his room, and Warren was contacted immediately.

When Warren arrived in Short Creek, the paramedics were called and it was determined that Uncle Rulon had suffered a stroke. Later Kassandra was with Rulon at the hospital where tests were run to determine what part of the brain had been affected and how severely. Initially, Rulon did not remember any of his wives or the other familiar faces around him, reverting instead to the memories of his childhood.

As Uncle Warren came to see the extent of his father’s impairment, he began directing his father’s care and regulated the people who had access to him. Nothing would happen to Uncle Rulon without Warren’s knowledge and approval. To justify his behavior, Warren led Rulon’s wives to believe that as the prophet’s son, he would have heavenly inspiration concerning those who were “faithful” enough to be in Uncle Rulon’s presence. Someone who did not have enough of the “Spirit of God” would hinder his recovery process. Warren even controlled which wives were faithful enough to room with the prophet after his return home from the hospital.

As Uncle Rulon’s conditioned stabilized and started to improve, Warren arranged to have him taken back to Salt Lake City so that he could oversee the recovery until the family’s move to Short Creek. Concerned over how the people would receive the news of his father’s deteriorating health, Warren continued to monitor access to the prophet, directing all the women in the house not to permit anyone to see Uncle Rulon, instructing “We cannot let these people see the extent of Father’s stroke.”

Shortly after Uncle Rulon returned to Salt Lake City, there was to be a monthly priesthood meeting at Alta Academy attended by some of the most senior church elders. Among them were the “Barlow Boys,” Danny, George, Sam, Louis, and Truman, all faithful and well- respected priesthood fathers. Before the meeting, it was customary for this group of patriarchs and elders to greet Uncle Rulon in his private quarters at the compound, but fearing that the men would discover the severity of his father’s condition and his inability to carry out his duties as prophet, Uncle Warren told some of his brothers to stop the visit. Kassandra overheard Warren issuing a directive to his brother Isaac: “Do not let them see Father. Tell them he’s resting. If we let them see how severe he is, we will have a problem on our hands. We must tell them that our father is doing fine. The Lord will take care of him, and they need to lend their faith and prayers.”

When Warren eventually allowed people to see Uncle Rulon, only a select few family members were permitted to visit with him alone because Warren was always there. Uncle Warren told people that God had inflicted this stroke on his father as a means of giving the prophet some time to rest. He was ill but would be renewed, Warren said, and the unquestioning faith and prayers of the people were the only things that would heal him. We truly believed that if we were faithful enough, he would be made young and strong again.

Unbeknownst to us, in the immediate aftermath of his stroke, Uncle Rulon was barely able to move and had to be assisted in everything from dressing to eating. Although he improved enough to attend and preside at countless meetings and continued to make it known that Warren spoke for him, he never fully recovered and would struggle with his memory for the rest of his life. Warren took over his father’s appointments. Anyone trying to get in touch with or see the prophet would have to go through him. Knowing his father was unable to handle any church responsibilities, Warren also took over conducting church meetings and priesthood dealings, giving him complete control of the operations of the church.

It appeared as though Uncle Warren had been preparing himself to fill this role for years. He was not Uncle Rulon’s oldest or youngest son, but he had worked hard to position himself as his father’s natural successor. Even as a teenager, long before Rulon was prophet, Warren had opted out of playing with the other kids, instead going out of his way to spend time with his father, which was considered a very honorable thing to do. When he became principal at Alta Academy, he would counsel with his father closely, and their relationship evolved from there with Warren becoming Rulon’s eager right hand, the son who could always help the prophet get things done.

Being the head of Alta Academy, Warren led us to see him as a figurehead, and by the time of the stroke, people already knew that if they couldn’t approach Rulon, Warren would be the next person to talk to. Out of respect for his role as the prophet’s son, the people blindly listened to and obeyed Warren. All of the faithful trusted him and believed that he was merely speaking on behalf of his father, our prophet and God. No one would dare to suspect otherwise, and Warren used that confidence to his advantage as he began manipulating us and making it impossible for us to see the rise of a new and unforgiving power.

Before the mid-1980s, authority in the FLDS had been divided between the prophet and a priesthood council, but a disagreement over who had the authority to arrange marriages had put an end to this shared hierarchy, ceding all power in the church to the prophet. The dispute came about because a number of council members had been arranging marriages at the same time—sometimes unwittingly promising the same young woman to more than one man based on claims of revelation.

Leroy Johnson, the prophet at the time, balked and said that was not acceptable, insisting that all marriages should be arranged by him. The council members objected. Ultimately Uncle Roy won the argument and assumed sole authority over the priesthood and placement marriages. It was a historic event in our church and marked the beginning of the doctrine of one man rule.

Dismayed, some council members who favored a more traditional leadership structure left the FLDS to form their own church that came to be known as the Centennial Group. For church members, this was a pivotal period and resulted in what has come to be known as “the split.” Those who left our church to form the new group were deemed apostates and were no longer considered “worthy” by the FLDS. Uncle Rulon and members of his inner circle strongly discouraged even casual contact with members of that sect, which established itself about a mile from the Crik.

The danger of course with the post-split power structure was that all control over the FLDS people resided with the prophet. This did not prove to be a major issue during the waning years of Uncle Roy’s life, but with Rulon and Warren at the helm it held a great many risks.