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.
Insidiously, when men would disappear without their wives or families, people were unsure if they had “made it to Zion” or if they had undergone Blood Atonement, a term Warren bandied about as a holy way for a man to absolve an otherwise unpardonable sin. It was a Priesthood ordinance that involved ritually giving up one’s life at the hands of a Priesthood official. The details had to remain secret, however, because of the ramifications of the law for murder. The mystery surrounding the disappearance and the mention of this ordinance also caused people to be strictly obedient in fear for their lives.
It was this secrecy that compelled me to take action. If Ora was so faithful she had made it to Zion, I doubted her disappearance would have caused such a stir and so many calls. I had to be sure. If the roles were reversed, I hoped she would do the same for me.
In Eldorado, Texas, a tiny town of three thousand inhabitants over 1,100 miles and seventeen hours from Short Creek, Randy and Kathy Mankin, a couple who owned a local newspaper, reported a new FLDS development just north of town. The Eldorado Success had reported that the FLDS had bought land through my cousin, David Allred, and had begun building what David called a “hunting retreat.” Intrigued, Kathy had begun flying over the property to take photos, and from her pictures and the local residents’ reports of bulldozers and construction into all hours of the night, she had deduced that the FLDS was actually building a large, self-sustaining compound. In the spring of 2004, a series of ten-thousand-square-foot buildings sprang up almost overnight on the property. Kathy’s reports had made national news, or Ben and I would probably not have known about it. Warren had kept it so secret that most of the people in Short Creek were clueless about it.
Under a lot of public pressure, David Allred was forced to admit that the land wasn’t ever intended as a hunting retreat but as a small residential compound. He said two hundred members were living there, and that the secrecy had been an attempt to stave off the media frenzy surrounding the FLDS.
The name of the property listed with the Texas secretary of state was YFZ, LLC. The acronym stood for “Yearning for Zion,” the title and line from a church hymn I remembered as being one of Warren’s favorites. People from the local community were very concerned. The Waco tragedy that had occurred at the Branch Davidian compound a decade before was only a couple of hundred miles away. Kathy began an intensive investigation, some of which she and Randy shared with their community. I realized that because of the remote location, and the fact that the local minimum age for marriage was fourteen, Warren had found himself a little spot of Heaven.
I’d heard enough to realize I might find Ora there in Texas. However, tracking her down would mean contacting the authorities. Just the word made me tremble. How many times had I been taught of their wicked cruelty and the genocide they wanted to commit upon my people? I gathered as much courage as I could, and called the Texas attorney general’s office. I got the runaround until someone finally referred me to the Schleicher County sheriff’s office.
“I’m concerned about some people living close to you there…,” I began, being purposefully vague. “I have a family member—one that may be in protective custody. Or at least I hope she is. Her name is Ora Bernice Jeffs, or Bonnie. We called her ‘Ora.’ Would you know anything about her?”
Across the line came the voice of a Texan who knew his business. Although the FLDS were newcomers to this area, Sheriff David Doran had studied up on my people and had even traveled to Short Creek to meet them and talk with local, state, and federal law enforcement. In his measured drawl, he asked me if Ora was FLDS, and mentioned that he had visited the ranch in person in an attempt to establish a relationship with them. “I essentially went out to welcome them and get to know them,” Doran said. “I brought Ranger Brooks Long and a book of Texas law to the leaders there. We said, ‘As long as you keep to these laws, y’all are welcomed here.’ ”
I was impressed by his careful research, and found myself strangely trusting this officer of the law. Having read up on Officer Rodney Holm’s bigamy and sex charges from 2003 that had put FLDS underage marriages in the spotlight, Doran realized Warren was looking for a place away from prying eyes. But he wasn’t ready to believe anything I said at face value.
He was testing me. I wasn’t offended. I was testing him, too.
“I notice there are never any women present when I go out to the ranch,” he said. “But Kathy Mankin and Judge David Doyle and a few others have snapped some pictures during flyovers. If you are at your computer, I can e-mail some and see if you recognize Ora in any of them.” My heart beat rapidly, and I knew I had a choice—to risk or not to risk. It took courage, but I finally gave him my real name and e-mail address.
When I saw the photos, my heart melted. Someone had captured a couple of pictures of women working the ranch garden before they ran inside. In one photo, I recognized Asenath, and in another the beautiful, silvery-white hair of Mother Gloria, poking out of her straw sun hat. How I missed her! It seemed that no matter how much time went by, my heart still longed for my people—and for them to be free.
Gingerly I asked, “Do you ever talk to any of them?”
“We see a few of the men in town,” he replied carefully.
I was sorely disappointed not to discover anything more about Ora’s whereabouts, but I filed an official missing person report with the sheriff. It took an even bigger risk to give out all of the personal information required on a missing person report, but Sheriff Doran gave me his word that anything I said was off-limits to other agencies and investigators.
Some months went by; then Doran called with some additional questions. The Mankins had reported that building on the Texas YFZ compound was continuing at a feverish pace, and people in the surrounding community were increasingly anxious. Then he asked me about a possible temple.
A temple! My mind recalled scriptures as ancient as the Old Testament, concerning the proud and beautiful Temple of Solomon, wherein lay the Ark of the Covenant; the very dwelling place of God. Brought back into Christian practice in the LDS church during Joseph Smith’s time of the Saints, temples had been meant as pure and holy places to seal families together here and in Heaven. I told the sheriff that the sacred ordinances and covenants necessary for FLDS eternal salvation were meant to be made within the walls of a temple, and our people had dreamed of having our very own again. At the thought of such a building sprouting up in the Texas desert, I was actually happy for them. Perhaps a temple could bring the people hope and pride, and be a catalyst for positive and lasting change.
After that conversation, the sheriff checked in with me at least once a month. Although I was always careful with my words, I gave him honest answers. I was careful neither to exaggerate nor to extrapolate from my experiences, and I was open about the peculiarities of my people. Sheriff Doran could tell that I still considered the FLDS my family and loved them. When he gave me news about people dear to my heart, he could hear genuine delight in my voice.
I was grateful for the sheriff’s information, but I didn’t have a lot of time to speculate on what was happening in Short Creek or anywhere else. As soon as Kyle started crawling, Ben and I knew we were in trouble. It was obvious from the trail of scattered home and toy remnants that our son could take nearly anything apart. He was incredibly smart, and it was a full-time job just keeping up with him. Parenthood had been as life-changing for Ben as for me. While it was so rewarding, we were constantly asking ourselves, Are we doing it right?
That summer of 2004, Elissa came to visit. She had finally left Allen and was determined to start a new life. That was a huge step, and her courage made me proud. She had gotten involved with a young man named Lamont in the process of getting divorced from Allen, and she seemed genuinely happy for the first time in years. Cole and I spent some tender time with her and had many candid conversations that were healing for all of us.
Still, as Cole and I learned more details of her situation with Allen, we became bitterly angry. Just as Warren had controlled the intimate activities of his father’s wives, he was controlling what happened in the bedrooms of all his people. Even after I had left he had admonished Elissa to “submit” to Allen sexually, and he didn’t consider Allen’s violence against her to be rape. At the end of her visit, Cole talked to Elissa about pressing charges against Warren and Allen. Law enforcement in Arizona was already putting a lot of pressure on her. She was now eighteen and didn’t have to worry about getting Mom and Dad’s permission, which they never would have granted. Although in our minds it was grossly apparent that someone had to do something, Elissa was reticent, and we couldn’t blame her.
That September, I received a call from my uncle Dan Fischer, from Salt Lake. Uncle Dan was well loved among those who had left the Work, because he had boldly sought to assist those wronged by Warren Jeffs and the FLDS leadership. He had taken in countless lost boys and assisted Carolyn Jessop and her children with their frightening escape. Over the phone, Dan gave me a short update on recent human rights violations in Short Creek and other FLDS enclaves.
“Becky,” he said soberly, “it’s been said that ‘all that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.’ You and I, we know what’s going on among our people. We know who is behind it. He will flourish unless we stand up.”
He was right. But I remained silent on my end of the line. It was one thing to depart from the church, and quite another to stand up to the tyranny of its leaders.
“Becky, when anyone leaves, their hearts are so tender. They don’t want to hurt anyone. When they finally get past their own hurt, and start to live and to educate themselves, they begin to realize the atrocities that happened to them and others. Once they’re in a strong enough position to realize they could do something about it, however, it’s past the statute of limitations.”
I gasped. He was right.
“We have the opportunity to do something,” Dan stated emphatically. “This is not about being hateful toward Warren. It’s about stopping the atrocities.”
Dan told me that Warren had skipped town amid allegations that he had repeatedly raped his nephew, Brent Jeffs, a boy we both knew. He was Ben’s cousin, and I remembered him as a young, sweet kid. Brent had bravely come forward with information against Warren, along with several other young men. Strangely, some of the other accusers had died, either by suicide or under suspicious circumstances. I thought of the young men I had taught and of the young girls who had been hurt by Warren. Reports said that Warren was still sneaking into town to perform marriages, and sneaking back out in different vehicles, making sure his presence loomed large enough to keep some of the townspeople in fear of going to the authorities, and to make everyone feel that they needed to stay on his good side.
I wanted to help but wasn’t sure I had anything that would stand up in court. I was also afraid of being forced into something. Despite my respect for Sheriff Doran, my distrust for all other law enforcement and government officials lingered.
Before we hung up, Dan told me about Joanne Suder, an exceptional lawyer in Baltimore who had successfully prosecuted cases against religious leaders who overstepped their boundaries, namely some officials in the Catholic Church. She was coming to Utah, and he assured me she was very warm and professional. On his assurances, I traveled to Salt Lake to meet with her, and she was everything he had said—respectful, kind, considerate of my rights and desires. She seemed brilliant and exceptionally fair as she asked a lot of deep, probing questions and gave me clear-cut options for what I might pursue to protect my mother and my little sisters.
I had good reason to be worried about them. Shortly before her sixteenth birthday, Amber Jessop, a young girl I had known from Short Creek, simply poofed in the middle of the night. Her sister Suzanne couldn’t get her parents to divulge where she’d gone. Later Suzanne got one call from Amber, saying she was on a ranch in Texas and up early to feed the chickens. “You know that I’ve been married, don’t you?” she said, but wouldn’t reveal who her husband was. That November, Amber called Suzanne again, this time frightened and unhappy. She admitted she was the bride of Warren Jeffs and was in Short Creek. She said she wanted to escape. Suzanne tried to help her, but their parents pressured Suzanne to stay quiet. Local police who didn’t want to cause a stir said because their parents reported that Amber was “fine” they wouldn’t pursue it. I realized nothing had changed in Short Creek, and that made me afraid for my little sisters. Though they didn’t seem in immediate danger, there were times I felt as helpless as Suzanne.
That fall, Ben had visited a town in Idaho, where he saw significant growth and opportunity in construction. He decided we should live there. Before we packed up, however, he asked me to take care of some unfinished business.
On November 7, 2004, Ben and I were married at the Cedar Grill. They had an elegant, winding staircase, which I descended in a lovely white dress, into a room Michelle had decorated beautifully.
I knew I should have been gloriously happy. Still, doubts kept nagging at me. Ben partied almost every night. It made him happy, but since I had no desire to participate, we had drifted apart emotionally.
I pushed these thoughts aside and did my best to enjoy the night’s celebrations. For our honeymoon we went to Newport, Oregon, before returning home to Kyle. Immediately Ben moved to Fruitland to begin working, while Kyle and I stayed in Coos Bay to finish Christmas Opry and to give Dr. Bob time to find a replacement for me to train before I left. As Kyle and I crossed the border into Idaho on New Year’s Day 2005, I prayed it would be a fresh, new start for our family. I gave my close Oregon friends my new number, and with a prayer of hope, I decided to leave it with Sheriff Doran as well.
Late in the evening of January 19, my mother called out of the blue. We had spoken very rarely, as the only safe way for me to contact her now was through Amelia, and that had only happened on one or two rare occasions. She assured us she was happy but could give us no more information. I was so surprised and delighted to hear from her. I readied myself for her usual judgmental comments, but this time her voice was soft and tender. She began talking about Kyle, telling me not to work too hard, and to avoid raising him in day care because he needed his mommy.
Her message seemed especially sweet and nurturing. I had missed being able to throw myself into her arms for comfort when life got hard. I missed our talks and our laughter. I thought perhaps she was finally accepting my choices as a wife and mother and giving me her blessing. I hung up the phone, holding it against my chest for a moment before setting it back in its cradle.
A week later Amelia called me, panicked. She had phoned Uncle Fred’s house, as usual, asking for Mother Sharon.
“Mother Sharon?” a high and sweet voice responded. “There’s no Mother Sharon here.” Amelia had shaken her head, looked at the number, and dialed it again. Once again, she received the same answer, so she had me call.
“You must have the wrong number. We’ve never had a Mother Sharon here,” I was told. Now, that was disconcerting.
Anxiously, Amelia and I both called people who might have known where Mom was, but to no avail. For a couple of very anxious weeks, my siblings and I tried contacting different friends and relatives. Amelia was the only one who could do so without setting off alarms. She tried talking to my mother’s former coworkers and her friends in town, and she even sent some friends to visit “Mother Sharon” at her former home. The FLDS had always been closemouthed, but usually someone would let something slip. But now Mom, Sherrie, and Allyson were all gone. POOF!
I was beside myself with worry. On Valentine’s Day 2005, I filed missing person reports for the three of them. After years of mostly trying to remove myself emotionally from the drama of Short Creek, I now kept my ear to the ground to catch any news I could. I cried many nights, wondering: Were they in one of Warren’s houses of hiding? Had they made it to “Zion”? Were they being auctioned off in political trade for some old man’s pleasure?
From bits of news and scuttlebutt, I gathered Warren was still on the run from Brent’s lawsuit, but many of the people felt that he must be spending a large portion of his time on the YFZ ranch. Authorities in the United States and British Columbia had continued to collect criminal evidence against him. Jon Krakauer, the author who explored Mormon extremism in the book Under the Banner of Heaven, had been quoted in the Eldorado Success saying, “I don’t know whether it will happen in a week or in a month or in six months, but I am confident that a felony warrant will soon be issued for Warren’s arrest, which is going to make him afraid to venture beyond the YFZ gates. It also means, for better or worse, that Eldorado is going to be ground zero in the effort to bring Warren to justice.” To me, those were very sobering words. Texans were not the only ones with lingering nightmares of Waco.
The week before, Sheriff Doran and Schleicher County appraisal district personnel had measured new buildings but were denied access to the temple site. The two new buildings that they documented, one a meeting hall and the other a residence, were each larger than twenty-eight-thousand square feet. All of the homes were built in a very handsome, log-cabin style, while the commercial buildings and trailers were much plainer.
Warren had turned the efforts of the faithful toward building a temple at the YFZ, as he was the only one with the authority to direct such projects. Within days of the New Year, furious and frenzied construction began, often going twenty-four hours a day and using the labor of FLDS members from as far away as Canada. Within one month of what appeared to be dedication of the grounds, the structure was totally up and framed in. Randy Mankin used a photo to determine a rough estimate of the size of the temple foundation, and guessed that it closely mirrored the original Mormon temple in Nauvoo, Illinois.
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.