I accompanied Brooks up the blinding white back stairs to the temple, going as fast as I could in my heels. Glancing nervously over my shoulder, I realized what an easy target I was this high up. I had no doubt how they would feel about an apostate entering their temple—I was considered even worse than law enforcement. We entered through the split doors to the main floor of the temple, and with more than a little sadness I saw the damage of the battering ram on the heavy oak doors. I also saw the many, many locks that had to be busted open. Warren had certainly not wanted any unauthorized persons to access this place.
Now inside, Brooks first led me over to the left, to a walkway leading to a small building adjacent to the first floor of the temple, with furnaces and a laundry facility inside. There I noticed a laundry list in Mother Paula’s familiar handwriting. She had made it to Zion, and to the temple. The knowledge in the pit of my stomach of what lay in this temple kept me from rejoicing for her.
Back in the main building, just past the elegant foyer, was an assembly hall decorated in soft earth tones with at least two hundred beautifully handcrafted oak chairs spread across it in formation. In one corner, a beautiful white baby grand piano rested; against another wall, an entire column of chairs sat upon an impressive platform behind a banister. Certain chairs were clearly marked for the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve, as outlined in early church doctrine and scriptures. On each side, there were another thirty-five chairs, likely for the Quorum of the Seventy, who, like the Twelve, were to be traveling ministers under the President of the Church. Despite Rulon’s assertion of one-man rule and Warren’s continuation of it, he had nonetheless designed everything on this floor to the strictest standards of the temples of the early church, with quorums. Warren had been preparing for it on a physical, if not spiritual, basis.
Sheriff Doran joined us and we made our way up to the second level, where all of the colors transformed from earth tones to sky blue and white. Two intricate murals decorated opposing walls, one depicting a harmonious scene in the Garden of Eden, the other terrible in its ferocious portrayal of predator and prey. I didn’t care for the latter, but I marveled again at the workmanship of the artist, whom I recognized from Short Creek: “Mr. Rich” Barlow, once a fellow teacher who was related to me by marriage and was Dr. Barlow’s brother.
Different areas of the temple were meant to signify different kingdoms, or degrees of glory—the degrees of Heaven one would earn in eternal life. Christ said, “In my Father’s house, there are many mansions,” and we were taught these mansions or kingdoms were the Telestial Kingdom, the Terrestrial Kingdom, and the highest, the Celestial Kingdom. The scene of chaos was intended to portray the Telestial Kingdom—a step up from outer darkness or perdition, but not so different from what we experienced on earth, while the scene in Eden represented the higher Terrestrial Kingdom, one of peace and harmony with greater light and knowledge. Only in the Celestial Kingdom, with the magnificent light and glory of the sun, would we reside in our Father’s presence and be like him, able to create our own worlds. It was what all worthy FLDS aspired to, and the only way to attain it was through the fullness of the Priesthood: Celestial Marriage. The Higher Law. The Work. Plurality.
I ascended the stunning spiral staircase next to Brooks and was almost blinded by the next level: complete whiteness, in the walls, carpets, and ceilings. We stepped into a room with muted sea-foam carpeting, but even the familiar scriptures on the shelves were bound in white leather with gold lettering: Journals of Discourses. Sermons of Leroy S. Johnson. Sermons of Rulon T. Jeffs. Sermons of Warren Jeffs. In Light and Truth. Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith.
I tried not to gasp. The most prominent feature in the room was a twin-sized Murphy bed that unfolded from a bright white cabinet in the wall. Kitty-corner from it was the President’s desk, and to the right of it was a smaller desk. Chairs surrounded the bed in a profound arc—some taller than others, signifying those in authority. Though Warren had been caught before the whole temple could be dedicated, it was obvious from the disarray that this room had already been dedicated and used.
Yellow crime scene tape kept us from going all the way in, but it took less than a fraction of a second for my brain to determine what this was: a training room.
For a brief moment, I thought I might pass out. This room was all about total submission to your husband, your husband who owns you, mind, spirit, and body. Good God, Warren…, I couldn’t help thinking. How could you? I choked back a tear but regained my composure quickly, knowing it was facts the officers needed, and only facts that could help all the girls and women now.
Brooks and Doran began asking questions. Everything I saw in the room had been hinted at in our trainings, as it had been explained to us by Warren, Rulon, or another of his sons. When Brooks pointed to a lavish crystal decanter of olive oil and a very large, shiny bowl that were prominently displayed in a glass-front cabinet, I was able to answer: “On this floor, and with that size bowl, it could only be for one thing: a ritual known as ‘the second ordinance.’ What you must know is that a first-time temple goer will be washed and anointed, meaning washed of all worldly essence, and anointed or sanctified as one of the Lord’s appointed followers to be worthy to receive the first temple endowment, which is significant, because this is how he or she learns the precise way to get into Heaven after death.
“But way beyond that is the second ordinance, called the Fullness of the Priesthood, which is about a person’s ‘calling and election made sure.’ What this means is that a person has been determined to be ultraworthy in the Lord’s eyes, and he is going to Heaven no matter what.”
They looked at me quizzically.
“I haven’t personally participated in it, but remember how I explained a woman’s hair is considered her crowning glory?”
“Well, my sister-wives Naomi, Ellen, Paula, and Ora all had participated with Rulon, one at a time, in this ordinance. As Mary and another woman did to Christ in Luke, in the New Testament, a wife will wash her husband’s feet, anoint them with oil, then dry them with her long hair. That’s why an FLDS woman is never to cut her hair.”
“And the bed?” asked Brooks. “What do they do there? Pray over you? Cut a cake?” Brooks wanted lightning-quick answers, but not everything felt so cut-and-dried to me. If they were to know anything, it was important that they know everything—that it not be misconstrued. The people I loved would be greatly affected by whatever words came out now.
“We found a woman’s hair on that bed,” Brooks said brusquely, pointing to a black medium-length strand visible on the white sheet. My first thought was that it belonged to Mother Paula, but I realized it might be Ellen’s or Ruthie’s or any number of Warren’s wives. Which one of them had been subjected to what I feared most during my married life to Rulon?
My mind went right back to family classes, where Warren first alluded to this “great blessing” we would receive at our own temple, always leaving more questions than answers. After Rulon’s stroke, however, I remember him saying that as Rulon’s wives, we were the most “well-taught and trained” throughout all of FLDS history, since our people had known relative peace during Rulon’s reign. Warren urged us to prepare ourselves immediately for the second anointing, essentially a second endowment, and to invite angels to be with us from that point forward every time we were “with” our husband. It was to prepare us for something even greater, he said.
One night closer to the end of Rulon’s life, during family class, Warren began to talk about the Fullness of the Priesthood. Rulon, who had lost his mental filter, got so excited he had interrupted Warren.
“Can’t we set up a room in this house for this ordinance?” he cried. “I need to take care of these ladies!”
Warren about fell off his chair—and I almost did, too. Warren had taught us these principles perhaps three times before, but it had always seemed in the distant future! For the duration of that class, however, Rulon kept insisting we immediately set up, bless, and dedicate a room specifically for the “True Order of Creation.” Warren kept trying to shut Rulon up without blatantly telling the Prophet no. My sister-wives and I were dutifully taking notes, and I wondered how many of them were as sick inside as I was. Later that night after class, Isaac came to each of our rooms, asking to see our notebooks, which he took with him. I remembered being relieved, because I figured it meant we truly weren’t ready.
“What we talk about in this home is sacred,” Warren admonished us the next day. “If you are talking about your second endowments, even amongst yourselves, you are forsaking them, treating your endowments lightly, and you will eliminate those blessings.” That was our signal to keep our mouths shut. I was happy to do so, and hoped we would not hear about it again, but that was not the case.
Now I informed the men about what we learned soon after.
“Warren told Rulon’s wives, ‘You are living the Law of Celestial Marriage, but there will come a time that as faithful people, we will have a temple. There you will be taught the Fullness of Celestial Marriage, also known as the Fullness of the Law of Sarah. You will have the opportunity to learn the True Principles of Creation, and true order of creating pure and holy spirits.’ ”
Warren said we would learn how to correct our thoughts, turning away from the carnal to be so pure and holy that angels would surround us so as to help us to conceive a child, also adding there would be certain “positions of intercourse” we would learn.
A look passed between Brooks and Doran, and it only added to the heat I felt in my face as I was reliving the horror of the training. “And if we were really pure,” I added gravely, “then we could act as witnesses for our sister-wives when they received their endowments. That was the Fullness of the Law of Sarah—that not only would we agree to let our husband marry others, but that we would so graciously welcome them into the fold with the purest of hearts as we witnessed their endowment. That meant we had to see our husband having intercourse with other wives, and at some point, we also would be the object of that witness.” I was so embarrassed to say these words that I wanted to cry. I wanted to be sick.
“I’ll be honest with you,” I told the two men, “I prayed that we weren’t ready yet as a people! I for one knew I couldn’t participate. I wanted to be considered by God as pure and holy, and I welcomed more than forty-five wives after me into Celestial Marriage with Rulon. But the thought of having my body exposed to angels was shocking enough. I knew I could not have intercourse in front of earthly witnesses, even if it meant being able to have a child. I kept that thought to myself, but I was horrified.”
There was an awkward silence for a moment; then Brooks murmured to the sheriff, “If Rulon was interested at ninety, then damn well Warren and these guys are doing what we thought they were.” He turned to me, much softer than he had been before. “And that desk?” he asked, pointing to the smaller one.
“Well, the clerk’s desk next to the bed is where the Church Recorder—the designated Priesthood leader ordained to this job—makes a record of the training. According to FLDS teachings, a record of every ordinance must be not only witnessed but recorded and kept safe.” Sure enough, to the right of the clerk’s desk, there was an open white cabinet that held an electronic safe, with a shredding machine below it. Just as Warren had guaranteed that the information on the Fullness of the Celestial Law didn’t leave his father’s home, Warren and his minions had not taken any chances about leaking it to the outside world.
On our way out I looked back at the bed. I hadn’t seen a Murphy bed since Rulon’s last days, when my sister-wife Mary had nursed him around the clock. This bed looked like it was made by the same hands, and I had a very good idea of which craftsman had built it. Did that man have a clue as to what it was for? Did he know who would be victimized by the work of his hands?
Attached to that room was a doorway through which we entered a gigantic assembly room, as blinding white as the third level: white carpet, white paint, white benches, white chairs. Cleverly positioned skylights created the impression of a bedazzling pillar of light, similar to the one in our stories about Joseph Smith receiving his first visitation from the Lord. Across the expanse, three large, round white tables were set up with chairs, and the room was lined with shelves of scriptures, with pure white reclining chairs nearby.
“Now, what do you think of this?” asked the ranger.
It took everything I had not to burst out into sobs.
In the center of the room several chairs had been placed in a semicircle for the witnesses of the ordinance, including the tall-backed chairs to honor the First Presidency. There was a small desk in the corner, again for the clerk or recorder. But it chilled me to see the several chairs in the middle, near something that had obviously been so heavy it had left grooves in the carpet when it was removed. The marks had alerted the team, who’d found it in a storage closet in the hallway and set it up again on the side of the room. Brooks pointed to it, and my eyes darted from the obvious mattress to the retractable rails.
Here it was, in all white with gold hinges: the sacramental, full-sized “Heavenly” bed just large enough for two. There was no mistaking that the white, padded bench on the end was a place for observers to kneel.
Before we descended again, Brooks turned to me. “Until you told the sheriff on the phone about the beds and what they signified, all we could do was speculate—but additional evidence has begun to show up. When Caver secured this floor and called on the radio, ‘Get your ass up here,’ I took one look and cordoned off the crime scene. But I’ll be honest—I let all my guys come up here to see. We’d all felt like shit coming in their sacred place, but I wanted them to see that much more than prayers was going on inside. You are validating exactly what we worried about.
“There are other parts of the temple I need to show you,” he continued. “But first, can you tell me what Blood Atonement is?”
I froze.
Up until my final year in Rulon Jeffs’s home, I had never heard of an ordinance involving Blood Atonement, except in reference to Jesus Christ making the ultimate sacrifice for our sins. One day, however, I had come upon my sister-wife Tammy in the hallway of the Prophet’s home. She was deathly pale and holding a book open with the palm of her hand.
“Have you read this?” she asked me. I glanced at the cover of the book that Warren had suggested we all study: Purity and the Celestial Law of Marriage.
“Only the first few pages,” I told her truthfully. “Why?”
“It talks about Blood Atonement…”
My body had gone cold. All I could picture was the painting of Abraham as depicted in the Old Testament, knife in hand, towering above his son, Isaac, whom he had tethered to an altar as he prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice—to kill his son for God.
Tammy showed me a passage from the book written by our Prophet John Taylor. “Is this the only way for such a sinful person to have all their sins absolved before God?” she asked. I was dumbfounded and unable to answer. Just then, a door opened into the foyer, and we saw Warren’s unmistakable silhouette. Tammy looked over at me, and I nodded. We figured we might as well get our answers, so we approached him and Tammy handed the book to him, open to the page she had been reading. He glanced at it for three seconds.
“Oh yeah,” he said nonchalantly, and handed it back. “This was established in the early part of the church, for adulterers, fornicators, and murderers—anyone who requires a greater sacrifice to reach the highest kingdom. To sincerely repent is not enough to show God their true repentance. This ultimate sacrifice will take thousands of years off of your suffering in the afterlife.” My heart had raced. Warren had already threatened that I would be destroyed in the flesh for not being a “comfort” to my husband. Would this be required of me?
Warren went on to explain that the ordinance would take place in the basement of the temple. “An executioner is ordained to hold this office as an angel of destruction,” he said somberly. “Dressed in robes, he must say specific prayers, and when it is time, he must cut the person’s throat in this specific way.” As I watched him gesture, I could almost feel the cold steel of a blade across my neck.
“It is something we will do again,” Warren said, then looked at me, repeating the words he had said in his office: “The Prophet holds the key to your salvation.” Then he had walked away, leaving me chilled to my core.
I now shared this story with the sheriff and Brooks and told them why it had haunted me. Rumors had spread throughout Short Creek about Blood Atonement. Everyone who had left was disturbed by the number of men, women, and children who’d just poofed into thin air. Obviously most had made their way here onto the YFZ, but some were still unaccounted for. They might have been holed up in houses of hiding across the country, still awaiting the commands Warren still issued from prison. But I knew that other Mormon extremists had used Blood Atonement to excuse the ritual killings of family members, like Ervil LeBaron of the LeBaron family, who had continued to issue death sentences from behind prison walls. I had never been inclined to blow things out of proportion, but I hadn’t thought Warren capable of what I’d already seen in the temple. It worried me that no one could predict what he would do.
I was incredibly relieved to find there was no sign of a place for the Blood Atonement ritual when we canvassed the rest of the temple, including the baptismal font. Although several rooms downstairs were eerily empty, whatever Warren had planned for the future, seeing the beds had been enough for me for one day.
When we left I breathed in drafts of warm, spring Texas air. I would be fine with never going indoors ever again.
Late that day Doran informed me that the court released affidavits from the Texas Department of Public Safety (DPS) detailing information about Sarah Barlow’s blocked calls, and it continued the international media frenzy. She had a pattern of getting paranoid, hanging up, and calling back. She’d cry, “They’re coming! They may be listening… They lock up the phones… I may not have a phone… There’s a guard in the guard tower here on the ranch.”
It sounded all too plausible, especially as she used FLDS verbiage, but suddenly the calls had stopped.
As the officers continued to search the compound for her, Brooks, Caver, and Doran seemed worried. What if they really did have her hidden away in either the temple vault or the temple annex vault? There was only one way to find out.