In the meantime, I was busy preparing for real estate school—my first formal education since Alta Academy—and vigorously studying property laws, which astounded me. I didn’t realize that outside of the FLDS, people had so many property rights! Inside the church, people signed over all rights to land and homes. Warren, still on the run from law enforcement, had recently been removed as the president of the United Effort Plan, which controlled all the people’s property. This meant that he should no longer have control of people’s homes! I hoped this move would eradicate his manipulative power. Instead I was shocked to hear the people considered Warren to be a martyr like Joseph Smith, hanging on his every edict, as they were convinced he was being persecuted on behalf of the church. They became more loyal to Warren, and resisted changes from the UEP.
In Texas, legislators worried that the FLDS might be creating a stronghold in Texas, and sought to increase the legal age of marriage from fourteen to sixteen. I knew this wouldn’t stop underage marriages in the FLDS, but if Texas actually had the guts to prosecute, it might give a little more teeth to the sentence—or at least buy innocent young girls a couple more years.
The media was having a field day with rumors of an April 6 doomsday, and Sheriff Doran called me.
“Becky, people are going crazy here. Can you give me the background of April 6?”
“Well, Sheriff,” I began, “on April 6, 1830, the Prophet Joseph Smith restored the church. For the FLDS, it’s a day of significance, as we were taught that April 6 was the actual birth date of Christ, and the date of his death thirty-three years later. The early church, the modern LDS church, and the FLDS plan significant events like dedications and celebrations on that date. Why?”
“Well, we think Warren’s pushing to have the temple finished by then, although he’s having some hiccups.”
I went online and gasped at new pictures the Mankins had posted of the temple rising high in the desert sky. The massive three-story building rose ninety full feet off the ground. The sheriff informed me that the limestone they had carved from the earth wasn’t strong enough, so they were having exterior slabs shipped in. From the photos he sent I could see that they were brilliantly white, and quite lovely.
Then the sheriff dropped a bomb.
“Becky, I know this might be a lot to ask, but would you speak with an investigator from Arizona?” I felt a sudden chill but tried to brush it away, remembering how hesitant I’d been to contact Sheriff Doran and how phenomenal he’d been.
I agreed, with certain conditions. First, I would not talk about my deceased husband. Rulon was not a perfect man, nor a perfect man of God, but he was dead. Let the dead lie. The second was that I not be forced to talk about my sister-wives. They had been programmed and trained by their families, Rulon, and Warren to keep sweet above all else, and no one could understand what they—and I—had been through. I would not cross that line for any authority.
Within a few minutes during my first conversation with the investigator, however, he moved directly into forbidden territory with questions about Rulon Jeffs and my former sister-wives. When I refused to answer, he tried to force information from me with threats and intimidation. I hung up and refused any additional calls from him or the state of Arizona. The investigator’s behavior epitomized why I had been taught to distrust government.
That February, Ben, Kyle, and I went to Utah for the birth of Elissa and Lamont’s baby, Kyson. It was a joy to be there for Elissa—to show up in the way I knew my mother would if she had been able to—and I was amazed at my little sister’s strength and resilience. Kyson was a beautiful baby, and while he was not born “under the covenant” by FLDS standards, he had been conceived and born in love, and I was glad to see such happiness in my sister’s eyes.
We returned to Idaho. After intensive study, I passed my Realtor’s exam on March 15, 2005. I went out with my classmates to celebrate, but my heart wasn’t in it. I had wanted the flexibility to work primarily from home to be with my son, and real estate seemed like an answer. It had felt good to study again, learn new things, and pass my test. But earlier that day, reports had come in from my family that Uncle Fred had passed away. Missing since his abduction, he had suddenly appeared in a city in Colorado under equally strange circumstances right before his death. Why was it that whenever I was building something in my life outside of the FLDS, something would happen to remind me of my family’s plight? As preoccupied as I was with work, Elissa and I knew Mom would move heaven and earth to attend Fred’s funeral, and we thought it might be our best chance to see her.
As I was heading down for the funeral, Sheriff Doran called to tell me the chief of police in Hildale, Sam Roundy, had called him saying that my mother was in town for Fred’s funeral and had volunteered to clean up her missing person report. My heart flipped over in my chest, but I saw a big red flag. Sam Roundy, a long-standing FLDS member, had escorted both Rulon and Warren on numerous occasions. Would he really let me see my mom? Doran seemed to think so.
“This is your shot,” he said, and I found myself trying not to speed to Short Creek.
“I’m just nine hours away!” I said. “Please let them know I’ll be there.”
“Sam Roundy and Helaman Barlow say they’ll wait for you.”
A few hours later, however, Mom called Elissa to say that she was meeting with a Washington County detective directly to clear up the report. Both Elissa and Sheriff Doran tried to get them to wait until I arrived, but Sam and Helaman pushed to have it happen sooner.
My bubble burst. The FLDS always played these games with the law, especially regarding apostates. I had seen it from the inside, so I didn’t know why I’d let myself believe it would be different this time. After Mom met with the authorities, they determined her well-being to be fine and dropped the case.
The next day, Mom called us to assure me that the situation in Short Creek was changing and that the girls were fine. She begged me to drop the report involving the girls. Ben, Kyle, and I were with Elissa, and she and I agreed that we wouldn’t drop it without talking to Sherrie and Ally in person. Mom received permission for us to meet with her at the park in Colorado City the following day but asked us to come alone.
The next day it was pouring, so when we pulled up to the park, Mom crammed herself into my little Ford Focus with us and our babies. We greeted her joyfully, throwing our arms around her neck. Her hug was genuine, as were her loving comments about the children, but the conversation shifted quickly, as she had to be back soon for Fred’s viewing.
“The sheriff in Texas spoke highly of you, Becky,” she said, looking at me. “I told him that you don’t understand our lifestyle. I said, ‘She’s made her choice… And we’ve made ours.’ ” Mom had not changed. She was speaking for the girls. How could she know what they actually wanted? Sherrie was now only fifteen and Allyson only twelve, though they were as programmed as the rest of us had been. They didn’t know about choice.
“Honey,” Mom said, pleading with me directly, “can you let the others go?”
“No, not until I see my little sisters.”
“They will be safe. No one will touch them.”
“Mom, you know you did everything you could to stop Elissa’s wedding!” I said a little harshly. “You could not stop it, I could not stop it, and Christine couldn’t. If the leaders suddenly decide to marry off Sherrie and Ally, the girls need to know they have options. I will not force them, but I will not stop until at least they know.”
My siblings and I wanted to share a clear message with FLDS leaders: if they tried to marry off our underage sisters, they’d be opening the gates of hell.
My mother’s response was pleasantly neutral, which softened me a bit, too.
“Look, Mom, we might be willing to drop the missing person report depending on how Uncle Fred’s funeral goes tomorrow. As long as we can come and support you, and see Sherrie and Ally…”
Mom agreed but said it was necessary to ask the bishop for permission.
She called us later that evening to tell us that William Jessop, who was presiding over Fred’s funeral, had given permission for us to attend.
Elissa and I were pleasantly shocked. Perhaps things had changed.
The next day, Elissa and I dressed for the funeral in long skirts and sleeves, and styled our hair with a soft pouf out of respect, though mine was a bit short for that style. We arrived early, on the tail end of the morning viewing, so that we could easily get into the funeral without making any waves. When we got to the crowded meeting house, the smell of rain was still heavy in the air. Memories stirred and raw feelings of loss hit me. I still loved so many people in that town. My sister and I walked into the breezeway between the two sets of front doors, and immediately I recognized one of the security guys.
“Randall Rohbock!” I exclaimed softly, as he greeted me with a genuine smile. “It’s so good to see you! Listen, we’re not here to cause trouble. We just want to pay our respects and support our mother.”
He nodded. “It’s good to see you, too, Mother Becky. Do you have any cell phones or cameras?”
I hadn’t even thought about that. I had my cell with me, as did Elissa.
“You know what? We’ll take them out to the car.” He simply nodded, and Elissa and I turned to head back to the car to tuck away our phones.
Suddenly a voice boomed from inside the foyer. “Hey!”
Even before I turned, there was no mistaking who it was. Standing there, arms folded and larger than life, was Willie Jessop, our first cousin, with a veritable army of men surrounding him. Randall shifted uncomfortably at his post.
“Who are you?” Willie said nastily. He knew damn good and well who I was. His sister, our cousin from my mom’s side, had been placed with my father as his youngest wife. Willie had worked for Rulon as his enforcer, had been lead member of the God Squad, and was obviously still doing the same under Warren. People began to gather to watch the spectacle.
“Becky,” I said simply.
“Becky who?”
“Becky Jeffs, once married to Rulon Jeffs.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re the one causing all the problems with them missing person reports! You’re not welcome here!”
“I’m not here to cause a problem, Willie. We’re simply here to pay our respects. At the very least, don’t hold it against my sister. I’m the one who filed the reports.”
“She’s not welcome here, either,” said Willie, turning toward Elissa. I had been calm until then, but I felt the familiar hot fire begin to burn at his callousness toward my sister.
“Uncle William said we could come here,” I countered as the crowd grew.
“He did not,” Willie pronounced, loving the attention. “He would never let you in here!” I took one more look at Willie the henchman and his group of bullies. This was my sign that things had not improved. If anything, they had deteriorated.
We left the building quietly without attending the service or seeing Mom. Elissa and I decided we would not leave Hildale until we’d let Mom know that we’d been barred and therefore would not drop the girls’ reports. We drove up and down the red dirt streets of Hildale and Colorado City, which were largely deserted because everyone was still inside at the funeral.
We returned to see crowds exiting the funeral as people began trudging up the hill to the graveside service. We parked and jumped out of the car, walking quickly up that same hill so that we could see Mom. Around us swarmed thousands of FLDS, in an eerie echo of Rulon’s funeral. Once we reached the cemetery, I spotted Mom in the front, near the gaping hole into which Fred’s casket would be lowered. When she caught my eye and smiled, I looked at her directly, without a nod of reassurance.
During the service, we received several harsh looks. One of my mother’s sister-wives from Fred gave me the most withering glare. I didn’t let it bother me, though. I loved these people. And unlike during my last visit, I recognized now that they could only see from the inside out. I was seeing them from the outside in. I smiled at this woman with great love, despite her confusion and dismay.
When the ceremony wound down, I slipped beside Mom, and she hugged me tight.
“Honey, I’m so glad you could get in!”
“But, Mom, they didn’t let us,” I whispered in her ear. “We tried, and Willie said that William would never let us in. That was my sign, Mom, my answer from God.” A look of panic crossed her face, but I kissed it.
“We want you to know we love you,” I said simply. “This isn’t about you; it’s about freedom.” Elissa and I walked away to leave her and her sister-wives to pay their final respects.
CHAPTER 19
Zion Rising
That night, I called my mother to arrange to see her once more before we left town.
“Honey, why didn’t you give up your phone at the funeral?” she asked immediately. “Willie told the bishop that you and Elissa were combative and refused to give up your phones.”
“Ask Randall Rohbock, Mom. Then you’ll get the truth.”
The next day we met her at the park again. There to greet us was a large, menacing GMC truck with a lift kit, enormous tires, and tinted windows. I had dealt with the God Squad before, and while I refused to be intimidated, it made Mom very nervous. Then a car pulled up beside the truck, and the driver stared over at us. It was my cousin Russell Allred, a son of one of my uncle Richard’s wives. I felt the fire rise up inside of me again, and despite Mom’s protest, I got out of our car and approached my cousin.
“Is there a problem here, Russell?” I asked.
“W-well, hello, Mother Becky,” he said, stuttering a little.
“I know you were sent here to watch us.”
“No, no,” he started to protest, and I put my hands up.
“Look. We’re just here for a few minutes. Who do we need to talk to in order to placate people? We’re not here to cause trouble.”
“Oh no, Mother Becky, it’s not a problem,” he protested. But as I went back to our car, Russell stayed the entire time.
This time the weather allowed us to take the boys to the playground. As she pushed Kyle in a swing, my mother looked at us mournfully.
“Uncle William sends his apology.”
“I appreciate that, thank you,” I replied. “Is the truck part of the apology?”
“I have something for you,” said Mom, changing the subject. She went to her car and brought back some granola. In the FLDS, when someone dies, people not only bring dinners but also bags of granola or bread to assist the grieving family. We could tell she was trying to soften us, as her conversation turned again to dropping the report, and her nervous behavior made me think that she was under orders.
“Thank you, Mom. Please know there would be no problem if we could just have contact with the girls, just once.”
Resignedly but tenderly, Mom reached her hand out to caress my cheek. “I don’t think your story is completely told,” she whispered. Perhaps Mom hadn’t believed all the vicious, ugly rumors Warren had delivered to the people when I left. “God will be the judge,” she murmured, as much to herself as to me. She then glanced over at the truck and sighed quietly. She reached into another bag and presented each child with a gift.
As we drove away from the park and from Short Creek, Kyle cradled the brown teddy bear she’d given him in his arms and hugged it to himself often, naming it “Gramma.” We didn’t know it was the very last time Kyle or I would see his grandmother Wall.
Over the next several months, I learned what it would take to be a Realtor. Very few people in Idaho knew about my background, but my network of professional associates and friends was growing. I found myself enjoying the fullness of friendships that life had to offer. My communication skills flourished, and for the first time since leaving the FLDS, I felt confident enough to speak with people from all walks of life on a professional, if not personal, basis.
Elissa had been maturing as well, building her life with Lamont and the baby in southern Utah. On
e day, she called me with news that made me almost drop the phone. She had finally decided she might pursue a case against Warren Jeffs. I knew it took a lot of courage from her. She was still only nineteen, and she had endured many situations I wouldn’t wish on a grown woman. She asked me to accompany her to meet with Joanne Suder in Baltimore, and I agreed. Joanne gently answered many of Elissa’s questions, but Elissa still felt too scared to take action.
On the way back, we discussed the ramifications of testifying, as well as the statute of limitations, which would run out four years after the first offense in 2001 if charges were not pressed. Elissa did wish to press charges, but for several days she couldn’t gather enough courage to pick up the phone. She didn’t want to cause trouble or hurt our mother, and her fear of law enforcement was deeply entrenched.
Finally Cole called her and said bluntly, “Look, the only way we can stop this from happening to Sherrie and Ally is if you press charges.” I volunteered to find out what she would need to do in Washington County to file. Terrified for herself, but hopeful for our sisters, she agreed.
During that summer, Ben and I watched Kyle grow—which was about all we had left in common. It had become clear to me that although my husband had no desire to rejoin a polygamous religion, part of that culture had stayed with him. He confessed to me he wanted to engage in polyamorous relationships. Soon it became apparent that he didn’t want an open marriage, but rather that he wanted to experience more than one woman for himself. Confused and heartbroken, I shut down inside, and questioned my value as a woman who couldn’t keep her husband satisfied. This hit home several days a week when I would arrive home from work to Ben asking if I had found another woman to bring with me. As I looked around me, I saw a pattern in many former FLDS men, as well as men in mainstream society who jumped from mistress to mistress, or one sexually driven relationship to another. I knew it was not just men, but they often played a more active role in that desire.
The Witness Wore Red: The 19th Wife Who Brought Polygamous Cult Leaders to Justice Page 24