A similar situation had taken place within the FLDS. Before Uncle Roy had passed, a falling out had occurred among the people regarding one-man rule. Those who followed Uncle Roy Johnson and then Rulon were subject to rule by that one man, who acted “only in the name of God, doing God’s will.” Now, as Rulon’s health deteriorated rapidly, Warren acted more boldly in the name of his father. Respected Priesthood men were still being given little or no access to the Prophet, and Rulon was rarely making appearances at church. Questions were being asked among our people. What really is happening? everyone wondered.
Rulon’s business had always been conducted in a fairly open manner, at least to insiders of the FLDS hierarchy. Now, however, much was happening behind closed doors. My sister-wife Mother Noreen had been Rulon’s personal secretary for years in Hildale, always taking care of his needs. Abruptly, Noreen was replaced by Nephi, Warren’s brother. Nephi said he was Rulon’s new secretary, but it was obvious to us in the Jeffs household that Nephi was reporting directly to Warren.
One day early in the year 2000, Nephi came into the dining room and whispered something into Warren’s ear. Warren turned to us.
“Uncle Dan Barlow, Uncle Joe Barlow, and Winston Blackmore are demanding to see Father,” Warren said. The room went deathly quiet. “You are witnessing the suffering of the people for a Godly purpose. God knows more than we do why Father is having to be silent for so long as he communes with God. Say nothing to the people. Say nothing.”
With Rulon’s deteriorating health, we were back under near house arrest. Some could sit for long periods of silence at the feet of our sick husband while Warren taught us incessantly. Others struggled like I did. I did my best to hide my unrest and kept as low a profile as possible. When I had been very busy with the operettas, I had been given a pager so the Prophet’s sons could get messages to me and Christine. I never gave mine back, keeping it hidden in my pocket. Besides the phone in my room, it seemed my only connection to the outside world, and I carefully protected it. Aside from my immediate family, Nephi was the only one who knew about it. I don’t know why, but he turned a kind, blind eye, probably liking the fact that he could reach me if no one else could. I used the pager to send messages to the people I loved—my sisters, my mother, and my friend Samantha. During church services and my now-infrequent visits to Mom, I observed an extreme sense of discontent among the people. Warren could no longer silence their questions. He resorted to other means to keep our minds preoccupied with the work of God.
In the midst of the unrest, the marriage rate among our people suddenly skyrocketed. Since Rulon’s stroke, Warren had sanctioned and performed only a couple of marriages each weekend in the name of his father. But by the late fall of 2000, Warren began performing as many as twenty marriages or more per week!
At first, the weddings were a great cause for celebration. Our people thrived on such unions, and as we knew all the families involved, it seemed a joyous time. For my sister-wives and me, still fasting frequently for long periods and rarely allowed out into the community, observing the marriages had become our only means of entertainment. Each morning we would race out to the front window to see which couples were being wed—most often celebrating with them in our hearts and with great hopes for their futures.
As the marriages increased so rapidly, however, the girls over twenty were snapped up quickly, and the marriages of younger girls began to take place. One morning I looked out to see Sophia, a vibrant, beautiful senior in high school whom I’d directed in multiple operettas and who was immensely talented on the violin. My sister-wives clapped and cheered as they saw who her husband would be. To my chagrin, I saw that it was Louis Barlow. Yes, she would be set for life as far as standing in the community and riches, but Louis was well into his seventies! I had to turn away.
Shortly before she exchanged vows with Louis, I was able to slip out and give her a hug. She cried a little in my arms. These life-changing rites of passage should be joyous for all the people involved. All I felt was deteriorating faith. It didn’t take long to get to girls as young as twelve. Stories began running rampant among the FLDS about Jesus’s mother Mary being twelve when she became pregnant. In a very twisted way, it became almost a sign of “holiness” to justify a wedding for one so young. With hundreds of these girls being married off, I could not help but feel dread and horror.
Some marriages were deliberately staged to breed out rebellion. For example, my uncle Frank Steed had a daughter, Kimberly, who had been getting into trouble for going to parties. I was shocked when I saw that as a teen, she was given in marriage by her father to none other than Jonathan Roundy—the local police officer and staunch FLDS member—the very officer who had arrested her for going to a party! The Priesthood found this amusing and I overheard several snide comments about my cousin among the men in the Jeffses’ home—that she was a feisty animal needing to be put in her place, and now all her rebellion would be bred out of her from one strong enough to hold the reins.
Even more disturbing to me, I couldn’t help but see that powerful men in the church were suddenly much less outspoken against Warren following their marriage to some very young lady—so young that the outside world would prosecute the men were they to get caught.
I realized Warren was skilled at creating not only collaborations but collusions. To justify such a change in marriageable ages, Warren explained, “We’ve got to take care of the people,” as if he was protecting our way of life from the government. That was a lie. For decades, even generations, the FLDS had not allowed many underage marriages, usually waiting until a girl was close to eighteen. Warren blamed Utah and Arizona, which had begun enacting stricter laws regarding bigamy and underage marriages. Warren actually placed his people under greater condemnation due to these new laws.
We became worried since the marriages were being performed in Rulon Jeffs’s home. The Prophet’s son stirred the paranoia, saying if discovered we might have to go into hiding. Everyone became hush-hush about the marriages taking place. Soon, Warren had all the couples secreted across the border to Caliente, Nevada, where the underage laws were much less strict, and where Uncle Merrill could use his Caliente Hotel as a quiet place to perform the marriages away from prying eyes, especially when very young girls were marrying much, much older men.
While I had realized some time ago that matches were not ordained by God and certainly not whispered into the Prophet’s ear, that message was still being taught to all of the young FLDS girls. What I saw were the wealthiest men giving the most money in tithes accumulating the largest number of young wives! Warren couldn’t give their Prophet back to these men, but he could raise their standing and make them happy by passing out young women like candy.
Warren even used this tactic to pacify his own father. Whenever Rulon would start to question what was happening with his authority, he would suddenly get a new bride! Our ancient husband found it difficult to be cantankerous when he was distracted by a fresh, young bride for a time. Warren was accumulating more wives as well, ones with really good looks or really good standing, or both. They also seemed to get younger and younger.
To keep the gene pool fresher, teen and preteen girls were smuggled in from Canada to the United States and others back again in Rulon’s camp trailer, equipped with a bathroom so they would never be seen in public. We did not know all the details, but from time to time as news came in, I couldn’t help but see the “one-for-you-and-two-for-me” Priesthood transactions, as the men in power and standing in both the United States and Canada were definitely the ones accumulating. Even the most loving fathers found it difficult to say “My daughter is too young to marry” when Warren made a trade. Most men were unable to resist a new young wife, who could be molded to their desires before she got a mind of her own, as well as the promise of higher standing in the community and in Heaven.
Even though Warren said he was only the voice of the Prophet, no one wanted to tell him no. Very soon, they wouldn’t dare to.<
br />
During that year of 2000, the U.S. Census was being taken. Warren decided our people should take its own, as our records were of earthly and Heavenly consequence and should not be left in the hands of the Gentiles (generally, we did not share accurate records with them, anyway). We included vital records such as baptisms, marriages, family records, bishops’ records, and Priesthood ordinances as well as births. Several of my sister-wives were heavily involved in inputting data into the Jeffses’ computers. I helped create one of the templates, and when the ladies became overwhelmed by thousands of records pouring in, I helped to sort them.
Joyful news spread among the people that we were now ten thousand strong! We were following the Lord’s commandment to multiply and replenish the earth. It seemed a sign from Heaven to lend us confidence that we were indeed the Lord’s people, and I strived to feel that confidence. However, over 60 percent of our population was under the age of sixteen (compared to 20–31 percent in surrounding areas), which meant that Warren had to keep thousands of young people under control.
Local police cracked down on socializing to the point that girls and boys were not allowed to gather under any circumstance except at church and work meetings. While we all knew that local authorities were under the thumb of the FLDS church, I witnessed firsthand how authorities bent the law for those on the “Prophet’s errands.” I had a lead foot and got caught speeding dozens of times. However, I never received a ticket, because no officer would want Rulon to hear about it. It also went the other way. For example, my brothers and other young men no longer in Warren’s good graces were often pulled over, bullied, or even arrested for no real reason. Rodney Holm, a local police officer sworn to duty in both Utah and Arizona, was pleasant and soft around Rulon and Warren, but I had seen him menace and humiliate others. He had been a naughty kid himself, but now he used his badge to enforce Warren’s wishes. Rodney and his sidekick, Helaman Barlow, another local policeman, broke up gatherings where FLDS teens were just trying to hang out like normal kids.
I knew a boy named Brian Steed very well. Besides the fact that he was my first cousin, I had been the pianist for their senior class program and had worked with him in three operettas. Although he constantly clowned around, deep inside he was a good, hardworking boy. One Friday evening I drove to the grocery store in Colorado City to pick up a few things, and I waved to Brian, who was in the parking lot chatting with some friends.
When I came out, I saw that Rodney and Helamen had dragged him out to the center of town, bright police lights flashing, as the officers made a big, animated show of cuffing him and throwing him up against their car under the pretense of checking him for a DUI. After hours had passed they had to let him go because they had nothing to hold him on, but the humiliation had been wrought. Years later, Brian would lose his life, and it would break my heart to see his name added to the long list of FLDS boys and young men who had overdosed on drugs or taken their lives.
Males were not the only ones to pay the price for living under such a rigidly controlled police state. Under Rulon and then Warren, local police officers would rarely interfere when a father or brother forced a runaway teen or bride back home. There was nowhere safe to report exploitation or maltreatment. From the girls I knew, often the abuse—and the public and private humiliation—became worse after returning home. It was little wonder that few women tried to leave or report it. It certainly didn’t seem safe to report it outside of the community either.
My sister-wives and I were fully aware that our people were not exactly law-abiding citizens when it came to federal and state laws. Our people had a passive-aggressive, rebellious mentality against government that showed up nearly every day, in nearly everything we did. Whenever possible, we went only to FLDS doctors or those who agreed not to keep medical records on us, and we paid cash for their services.
Sometimes our ways held serious consequences, like the unnecessary deaths we hid from the government. Although Merrill’s and Lyle’s boys often boasted of direct OSHA violations, our boys were well-trained with tools, and I hadn’t thought much about safety on construction sites until a child died on a worksite. We all grieved for him and his family. It had happened more than once, but everyone kept it quiet to avoid inevitable prosecution.
Every year, with every incident that could incriminate us in the eyes of the outside world, it seemed more and more important to keep our records safe from prying eyes.
CHAPTER 11
Another Child Bride: Breed ’Em and Break ’Em
Though the church leadership was well-protected by local law enforcement, it seemed apparent that state and federal governments were starting to crack down on our people. Warren said we were being harassed, and nearly every Sunday in church, leaders reported on the growing external pressure we were facing from lawsuits, depositions, and tax fraud investigations. The United Effort Plan, or UEP, which had originally been set up by church officials in 1942 to control homes, some businesses, and land within the towns of Short Creek (and eventually all other FLDS enclaves), was part of living the United Order, or the Law of Consecration—the same law under which my father had signed his Salt Lake house over to the church. Loyal families did not own their own homes but rather lived in them by special invitation of the church, which owned the land. The Prophet, as president, had total control over the homes on the land and therefore all temporal, earthly blessings regarding the people.
Those at odds with the Priesthood, especially those at odds with Warren, would find themselves with no house to live in. The few brave enough not to leave when ordered to discovered they had no running water, electricity, or gas with which to sustain their families. If they still stayed, a visit from the “God Squad” usually did the trick.
Uncle Fred ran his house in much the same way, and he decided the fate of each young person under his roof with cold disregard for their wishes or needs. After my brothers were banished or escaped, Fred decided my little sister Elissa, only thirteen, was ready for marriage. When it was announced it would be to Allen Steed, I was even more appalled. Allen was not only our first cousin; he had been exceptionally cruel to Elissa the winter she was young, sick, and vulnerable on the Steed ranch. I couldn’t see that he had matured much since then.
Elissa spoke with Uncle Fred several times to beg him to see reason and give her just two more years before marrying. However, he was adamant she be plucked immediately. Allen had done a lot of work for Uncle Fred, and Elissa seemed to be his reward. Fred also wanted Elissa safely married off before she could rebel as our brothers had. When she pointed out that Allen was her first cousin, Fred admonished her, “These things make no difference in matters of the Lord!” Though bloodlines among the people were usually considered in regard to marriage, if the Prophet directed it, it was believed God would honor the union. Biological and scientific issues would not come to pass as long as the couple had “enough faith.” Christine, Mom, and I were highly disturbed at the whole situation, but as women we had absolutely no say.
The ceremony was to take place almost immediately following her fourteenth birthday, and Warren had already directed me to help Mom make Elissa’s wedding dress. As a last resort, she made an appointment to see the Prophet, which meant that she would talk to Warren and only shake Rulon’s hand. The day she came to visit Rulon, I was the head cook, and I greeted her in the driveway, hugging her and wishing her luck before returning to my duties. I was in the dining room with Rulon when Warren strode through the French doors and brusquely asked if Elissa Wall could shake our Prophet’s hand. Rulon motioned for her to come in. I watched Elissa kneel before the Prophet, taking his hand, but pleading with her eyes and speaking softly to him, with Warren’s narrowed gaze locked on her. I held my breath. I could tell it hadn’t gone well in Warren’s office.
“I’m trying to be a good girl and do what I’m told,” Elissa told Rulon. “But I need more time.”
Rulon smiled and patted her hand.
“Follow your heart, s
weetie,” he said. “Just follow your heart.”
Elissa looked at me and our eyes both filled with relief. Warren looked livid.
After lunch, Elissa went back to Uncle Fred’s to tell him what the Prophet had said and ask again for more time. He refused, very unhappy that she questioned his authority. He threatened that if she rejected this blessing now, she might not ever get another chance to marry—ever! For a girl in Uncle Fred’s compound with nowhere else to go, this was a crushing pronouncement. Women were not allowed to live out on their own. This meant if she did not marry she would always be a ward of another man and shamed for her rebellion.
Christine and I made another appointment with Rulon to plead for more time, but when we arrived, Warren was already there. A chill ran down my spine.
Rulon sat while Christine and I kneeled at his feet and recounted Elissa’s story to him. He seemed very surprised that Fred was asking Elissa to marry her own first cousin. He started to become upset, at which point Warren stepped in.
“Uncle Fred has asked that this marriage happen, Father.”
“Oh,” replied Rulon.
“But Father, she just turned fourteen!” I exclaimed.
Rulon looked at me in surprise. “What the hell is Fred thinking?” he bellowed, and looked at Warren.
“Well, Father, he’s insisting that this go on. He’s asked that this happen, and we want to support him in that.” Within moments it was clear to me what was happening. Warren obviously needed to keep Fred as a political ally. Rulon’s eyes became clouded with confusion as Warren kept on, and within minutes, Rulon backed Fred again.
My family was crushed and I was outraged, but Mom and I finished Elissa’s wedding dress, having been admonished by Fred and Warren to make my little sister happy in “her decision.” Knowing that we had done all women were allowed, I did my best to convince her to be joyful at the “will of God,” as I was told to say. At her fitting in my mother’s room at Uncle Fred’s, I struggled to pin the lace precisely into place onto the dress, as Elissa’s body heaved with great sobs. I was crying inside. My only consolation was that Allen was not old like my husband and so many others. I did not like him, but I told her that they might perhaps grow to love each other. Silently I prayed that he would treat her well.
The Witness Wore Red: The 19th Wife Who Brought Polygamous Cult Leaders to Justice Page 15