The Witness Wore Red: The 19th Wife Who Brought Polygamous Cult Leaders to Justice

by Musser, Rebecca

  “Uhhh… no.” He proceeded to share our story. Michelle was very understanding, but adamant we see a doctor immediately, and within a couple of days, she sent him home with a whole bag of maternity clothes. The next time I came into the restaurant to visit Ben, she greeted me warmly.

  I beamed back at her. Happily, I reported that I had seen a doctor—a female OB/GYN. Michelle shared with me some of her own stories of pregnancy that helped me to realize that there was a lot of “humanness” that takes place during pregnancy and delivery. It felt so good not to feel dirty about the process. Her maternal warmth made me realize how much I longed for nurturing and to talk with my own mother. I worried about the kind of parent I would be. I still seemed to make so many mistakes.

  One night I awoke to such intense nausea I barely made it to the bathroom. In tears again, I glanced into the mirror and pulled my stringy hair back from my face. Abruptly I was overcome with something else—the most incredible sense of déjà vu. It was the same vision I had experienced in my final few days at Rulon’s home, and what I had dreamed several times in the night at least six months before I left. Each time it had seemed eerie, and yet, here it was—the same lights and colors I had experienced, the yellow tiles and linoleum, and the unmistakable Lake Louise turquoise-blue sink! I had never seen these rooms before Ben and I had fled to Coos Bay and then rented that duplex. I thought back to that night trapped in Rulon’s home, feeling like there was no way out, until the moment I had that vision. Something very deep and meaningful permeated my soul. The knowledge that I was not alone… had that been my baby? That was impossible, and yet somehow it seemed very real.

  I placed my hands upon my belly, which was still quite small. I felt a surge of connection, and my heart soared within my chest. Somehow, it seemed, my baby or the universe had sent messages of love and support to me, long before Rulon had passed, long before I knew I’d be a mother. I felt connected again to the larger world, and from that point on, despite the ongoing nausea, I was able to let go of the fear and get excited. To hell with what anyone else thought of my situation! I would be the mother my baby deserved.

  That summer, as my tummy expanded during the last few months of pregnancy, we kicked off Little Ole Opry on the Bay. There I met the most incredible people, like the Houghton girls’ mother, Martha, who sort of adopted me, too. She was the first person to whom I divulged my background and history. I was also privileged to practice and play with local favorites, like Dr. Bob, a chiropractor and passionate drummer, and a lead guitar player named Vinnie, who rocked the house. After leaving the FLDS feeling like I would never have close relationships again, I discovered a whole new kind of community. But at the end of each event at the Opry, I stood on the stage with roses in my arms to major applause, realizing that it felt empty without Ben in the audience.

  While I was making new connections, Ben and I were facing some rocky times in our relationship. In our efforts to save money for our child, we spent a great deal of time apart at our respective jobs, and the differences in our ages and temperaments began to emerge. He had gained a crowd of friends at the Cedar Grill that he partied with after hours, and he began drinking regularly. At first I was invited along, but not only was I pregnant, I also worked early and long shifts nearly every day.

  Shortly after the Opry season ended, we received the news from Ben’s siblings in Short Creek that during Sunday services on August 10, 2003, Warren declared that the people were so immoral that the blessings of the Priesthood had been removed from them. With that, he suspended all further religious meetings, though of course his most “righteous” followers were allowed to continue to show their loyalty by paying extra tithes and offerings. He even planted huge wheelbarrows at the entrances and exits for the faithful to dump their offerings to him—and shockingly enough, they did. After being on the outside long enough to see his manipulations for what they were, I was incredulous that the people would put up with this.

  We all speculated on where these wheelbarrows of cash would be spent, especially since rumors abounded that “Zion” was being created in Colorado or Texas. A few of Ben’s friends and family had stayed in touch, and in May his brother Scott came to Coos Bay with two Short Creek friends to see him. Scott was on his way out of the FLDS, but his friends still had strong ties. In late summer, my youngest brother, Levi, had come to live with Cole and shared more about what was happening in Short Creek. I became worried about the fate of my family under such a dictator, and I continued to be plagued by nightmares about young Ally and Sherrie.

  August 31, 2003, was my twenty-seventh birthday, and although I desperately wanted my child to have his own special day, he had a different idea. I went into an intense and difficult labor, and I was frightened to be surrounded by strange doctors and nurses. I hadn’t realized how much my FLDS beliefs about medical care added to my fear. Due to Warren’s influence and my natural discomfort around even partial nudity, I had only attended two births. One had been highly traumatic, and we had almost lost my mother to excessive bleeding. Ben was just as scared. I had also wanted to have a natural birth without the use of drugs.

  Several hours into labor, my mother called to wish me a happy birthday. How I longed to tell her what was happening, and to have her comfort and advice. Yet I had never had the courage to tell her I was pregnant. Every time I had tried to broach the subject, she had cried and begged me to come back to Short Creek. I would not have my baby’s first days tainted by rumor and innuendo, so Ben simply told her I would call her later.

  In the middle of the labor, Ben asked if he could leave and went with a friend to have lunch, while I strained through hours of labor alone. I recalled that my sister Savannah had gone into labor in her garden while her husband was off gallivanting, and realized Ben was doing exactly what he had seen men do all of his life.

  Finally, our baby decided it was time to come out into the world, and at the moment of his birth, I felt my whole universe shift. Kyle was the most beautiful baby I had ever seen. He had startling big blue eyes and his father’s red hair. As I looked at him, all the terror slipped away. Tearfully, I felt blessed to wrap our fragile newborn in the beautiful new clothes and blankets I’d been given by my Ramada Inn coworkers at a surprise shower they had thrown me.

  I didn’t realize that after such a strenuous labor and delivery I should rest. Upon Ben’s urgent prodding, we went home as quickly as the doctor let us. At home, Ben expected me to cook and clean along with caring for the baby. Amelia visited from Canada to help me out and make sure I got some rest, and I will never forget her great kindness and the risk she took in coming.

  Shortly after she left, Ben’s cousin John came to live with us, and he and Ben expected me to wait on them while they caught up on old times. While in Coos Bay I had been exposed to families in which husbands shared in the domestic duties and child rearing, but I didn’t know how to broach the subject with Ben. He continued partying, often several nights in a row, and never rose to feed Kyle in the night, even when we moved to formula. During the day he helped out here or there, but only if Kyle wasn’t crying.

  Still, for what I knew, it was a joyful existence. Being a new mother and my involvement in Christmas Opry were both great miracles. The music helped me to feel the spirit of the season more than ever before. Any acknowledgment of December 25 had been considered devil worship in the FLDS. Therefore, it felt deliciously scandalous to bring our first Christmas tree home to our sparse apartment and put a few meaningful gifts under it.

  That December, more shocking news reached us from Short Creek: My mother’s husband, Uncle Fred, had disappeared in the middle of the night, taken on a stretcher by an ambulance and surrounded by men who were not in medical garb. Some said he had been called to a “great work,” but no one really knew if that was the case. Warren apparently reported to the congregation a few weeks later that Fred had been released as bishop, saying that Fred was “in agreement” to his release. Yet I wondered about all the others who ha
d begun “poofing,” or disappearing. Were they all “in agreement”? I wanted to know what this meant for Mom and the girls. All we knew was that William Timpson Jessop, then in his midforties, had been named as new “caretaker” for all of Uncle Fred’s wives and children, perhaps because he was a younger, easier candidate for manipulation than Fred had been.

  That January Ben and I decided to visit family members in Short Creek, entering Utah for the first time since we had returned his brother’s truck fourteen months earlier. It was a risk, and we didn’t know the reception we’d receive, but because of our son I felt safe knowing that Warren wouldn’t want me now. Most of all, we desired to introduce our beautiful baby boy to our families, who remained precious in our hearts.

  Ben and I planned to stay in St. George with Ben’s brother Scott and his wife, Holly, who had just left the FLDS. But first, we’d been invited by Jeffy Barlow and his wife, Roxie, to stay with them in Salt Lake City on our way down. After Jeffy had left the FLDS, he’d met and married Roxie, who was a Mormon with a contagious enthusiasm for life. What amazed me was how gracefully she wore makeup and that she had pierced her ears, and yet she didn’t look like a harlot! It gave me a lot of courage to lay aside guilt for taking on some ways of the world. She was surprisingly easy for me to relate to as well. It was nice to feel connected to a young person outside of the FLDS.

  That Sunday afternoon as we hung out with Jeffy and Roxie, enjoying pizza and discussing old times and new lives, we were suddenly inundated with cell calls. Warren had apparently called a special Sunday service in which he’d excommunicated approximately twenty of the most prominent and influential FLDS brethren! Many of the men excommunicated were Jeffy’s blood uncles. The family that had enjoyed special privilege and status since the time of the prophet John Y. Barlow had lost all of its power. Warren had told their wives they were “released” from these men, and Jeffy’s aunts and cousins had been instructed to pack up all of their belongings and leave immediately—not just the church, but their homes owned by the church. Other men were sent to “repent from afar.” I shuddered. More displaced women and children who would be “given” to other, more “faithful” men.

  Another shocker was that Warren had ousted four of his own brothers! Declaring them “deceivers” and “hypocrites,” he said that anyone “darkened” by them would be cast out—another clear message to every member of the FLDS: Warren’s was the only claim on the congregation’s eternal salvation, and every individual was nothing without him. When he called for a vote against the ousting, everyone looked around, but not one soul dared to raise a voice in opposition.

  The next day, as we approached Short Creek, I nearly hyperventilated as I remembered what it was like to have every action driven by fear. Ben was experiencing many of the same feelings. It was strange driving through town—so familiar and yet so foreign to us now. We visited with Mom, Sherrie, and Ally briefly, and it was a balm to my heart to see my mother hold little Kyle. I was grateful that the loving smiles on the girls’ faces replaced some of the anger I had seen when we had left. We were able to stop by to see Elissa next, and my heart sank at the sight of her. It was clear that Allen was still not treating her well. I hoped my presence would show that she could have a beautiful life outside of the FLDS, but I couldn’t force my thoughts or beliefs on her.

  Even though my hair was shorter, I did wear a long skirt out of respect for the people. As we stepped into the grocery store, though, the aisles cleared as if we had leprosy. I was hoping to bridge the gap, especially with Ben’s younger sisters working at the store. When they saw us, however, they turned around and went into the back.

  “We don’t serve adulterous people in our store,” said one man who had been friends of my mother’s family for years. I blinked back tears. The young cashier was very quiet and uncomfortable, but she did allow us to purchase food, and we left quickly.

  Ben’s dad worked in the hardware store behind the grocery on the same block. As we headed back there to see if we could catch him, several local police showed up and followed us around.

  “David is not here,” said one of the officers. “Your kind is not welcome. Leave.” Everywhere we went, people pointed at us, took pictures, or followed us in menacing-looking vehicles. The God Squad had expanded its fleet since we’d been here last. Finally we made it to Ben’s house, where we greeted his parents and many of his younger siblings. We noticed the God Squad stayed nearby.

  At four months, Kyle’s eyes remained as startlingly big and blue as they had at birth. As Ben’s parents held him and played with him, they were entranced.

  “I can’t believe how absolutely perfect he is!” exclaimed Ben’s mother. His father nodded and stared at our son with fascination and curiosity.

  Later, Ben’s brother Wendell informed us that as soon as we’d left, the family had had a discussion about us and Kyle.

  “That child is so perfect and so beautiful,” Ben’s father had remarked, “the only thing I can think is that baby must be Rulon’s boy. There is no other way.” Ben’s mother had nodded in agreement.

  I was furious when Wendell told me. I would have expected Warren to think that, but to hear that Ben’s family was saying this about their very own flesh and blood astounded me. And even had Rulon been able to sire children, he died months before my pregnancy, making it a physical impossibility.

  I had tasted freedom, and to go back and witness the strict manipulation of my people broke my heart. I did not judge them, having once “been” them. But I made a commitment to assert the gift of my independence more strongly within myself. I would celebrate my liberty. I thought of Roxie and her darling earrings, and with a sense of purpose, I got my ears pierced the week after we returned. When I looked in the mirror, though, I saw a fearful and questioning face instead of a triumphant one. Somehow, I vowed, I would find a way to be fully free.

  As winter once again melted into our second spring away from Short Creek, I went to work for Dr. Bob as a receptionist, secretary, and clerk. Although he was incredibly patient and kind, he was floored by my nearly nonexistent life skills. Ben and I paid cash for almost everything and dropped off utility bills in person. I did not know how to balance a checkbook, much less use any kind of basic accounting software. Fortunately, I loved learning, and it was eye-opening for me to see the medical field from the other side. Doctors were not a part of some secret government scheme to poison, falsely impregnate, abuse, or annihilate people.

  Between my work and Ben’s, we no longer had to scrape to survive day to day. Ben began looking for higher-paying construction work he had been skilled in since his FLDS youth. We weren’t wealthy, but we had risen out of lowest hierarchy of survival—food, clothing, and shelter—and I found myself hungry for self-actualization, including the opportunity to educate myself. I looked longingly at college students heading to Southwestern Oregon Community College in Coos Bay. One day, I will join you, I promised myself.

  Later that spring, Michelle asked if I would babysit so she and her husband, Tim, could share some time away together. I was honored she would ask, and excited to spend time with her charming kids. Kyle loved to watch and imitate Gracie, who was two years older.

  “Hey, before we leave,” Michelle said, “I recorded a show for you. Several FLDS women were on Oprah. I thought you might want to see it.” Surprised but appreciative, I nodded.

  When the children went down for their naps, I sat down to watch. Carolyn Jessop, a woman I greatly admired and respected, had escaped from the FLDS and her husband, my uncle Merrill, just five months after I left. She had the courage, intelligence, and miraculous luck to be able to escape with all of her children intact, which I had never seen before. Usually, a woman’s children were kept or kidnapped, used as leverage to bring her back and keep her until she was submissive again.

  Flora Jessop, a cousin of Carolyn’s, had escaped at sixteen from her father’s physical and sexual abuse and a forced marriage to her first cousin. She had been ac
tive for the last couple of years in anti–child abuse work, especially involving women and children in the FLDS. There were other women on stage, too, and I was shocked that several made broad, far-reaching statements implying that sexual abuse and physical abuse were present and pervasive in every single home.

  This was simply not true: I knew for a fact that it did not happen in every single home. There were good FLDS people who cared about the welfare of their children. Abuse was prevalent, and I was glad they had the courage to address it, but I realized that anyone on the outside who watched would think every FLDS person was sick and depraved, and anyone from within the FLDS would turn away from the exaggerations. On one hand, fear and secrecy allowed abuse to continue among our people. That was not healthy and needed to be stopped. On the other hand, trying to break decades of silence through embellishment was wrong, and it detracted from the influence these women could have. The truth lay somewhere in the middle, along with dignity for people inside and outside of the FLDS.

  An electric pulse ran down my spine. I felt an unexpectedly strong sense of determination. If I ever had the opportunity to speak, I promised myself that I would take it and consciously speak only the truth.

  CHAPTER 18

  Missing Persons

  During the spring of 2004, Ben and I started getting calls asking for Mother Ora, my mother’s youngest sister and my former sister-wife, who had disappeared. People thought she might be with us. I was worried. However brutal I’d had it in Short Creek, Ora had been such a strong believer. If she had left, something must be terribly wrong.

  It was apparent that Ora and hundreds of others (like Uncle Fred) were being whisked off to some unknown place in the middle of the night. Diabolically, Warren had created an intense measure of control over the people through that fear and mystery. On strict orders not to reveal their whereabouts or what mission they may have been called to fulfill, the people who poofed left behind confused and frightened family members. Employers didn’t ask questions. Parents did not question, either, obediently submitting their daughters in the hopes their entire family would be rewarded. One of my young, underage cousins from British Columbia poofed in just that way—and left her sisters frightened to the core.