The YFZ raid sparked much controversy about the modern Mormon Church, whose members were understandably frustrated that people across the nation wrongly associated their beliefs with those of Warren Jeffs. After I came home, I did my own research to discover that there were no beds whatsoever in the modern temples of the Mormon Church. In fact, Mormon temple ceremonies had undergone a series of changes within the past century, each time more deeply honoring an individual’s privacy. It was Warren who had taken something sacred and twisted it for his own pleasure.
Feeling like the stress of the raid and its aftermath was eating me alive, I decided to try yoga. As it became a daily practice, I began to feel a peace come from within. Yoga helped me to prepare for Natalia’s first surgery. We had applied and qualified for a special program at Shriners Hospitals in Salt Lake City, and by some miracle, Dr. Siddiqi was to be the main surgeon for the series she needed! He actually donated two surgery days a month to Shriners. Recognizing a divine hand in the process, I was able to take a deep breath and let go of Natalia’s tiny hand as she was wheeled away for the first surgery.
Though Natalia recovered without incident, Ben and I still fought regularly. Whenever he thought I was getting a call from out of state, he would grow icily cold. We both knew it was time to get away or our marriage would not survive. We scheduled a vacation with a friend and her family for a few days on the California coast.
Diana was stunningly beautiful. She had escaped the FLDS with the young man she chose to marry. Had they not left on their own, he would have likely joined thousands of lost boys, and she would have been given to an older, elite member.
Early one morning, Diana and I went for a walk down the beach while everyone else was still sleeping.
“How do you feel about all of the men being indicted in Texas?” she asked.
I bowed my head, unable to look at her. A month before, with no support from Ben, I’d flown to Texas to testify in front of a grand jury, which would determine whether any criminal indictments would be issued against FLDS members. For my safety, law enforcement didn’t want anyone besides Ben knowing I was there.
“It’s very upsetting to me,” I said, my voice cracking. “Men that I loved for so many years—some of them all of my life. Men that I respected, and looked up to…”
“And now?” she asked cautiously.
Unsure about what I could legally share, I told her only what had been made public. “After all the evidence I’ve seen, and more on the way… I’m so disgusted, so sad and angry! Every day more evidence comes to light. It’s very sobering for all of our people.”
Since the grand jury, I had been in a depression, and I hadn’t sought out the names of men being indicted. But Ranger Nick Hanna had called me after the grand jury to let me know they were indicting twelve men. He’d been reading hundreds of “confession letters” that Warren had collected to manipulate his people.
“Becky,” he had told me somberly, “there’s some very sick, criminal behavior going on among these people. It may not be in every family, but it’s rampant. We’ve gathered some pretty damning evidence that the governments of Canada, Utah, and Arizona would be mighty interested in.”
Late that fall, I began to feel that something was drastically wrong with my body. The base of my spine was tight and I was experiencing enormously painful spasms. The ache became incessant, getting in the way of normal functioning with my kids and work. One day I felt a large growth at the base of my spine, and my doctor was unable to offer an explanation, which only added to the stress of the situation.
In December I was subpoenaed to meet with Matthew J. Smith, Mojave County special attorney, regarding the Arizona case against Warren. Despite the fact that I was in so much pain I could hardly move, I was deposed in Salt Lake City to answer questions from Warren’s attorneys. He was expected to stand trial in Arizona early the following year. Smith warned me about defense attorney Mike Piccarreta, and I dreaded facing him. I had asked some friends at the holistic heath center to say a prayer for me. I was deeply touched by the prayer e-mailed to me:
… May they be strong and peaceful, may they destroy ignorance and not people, may they create not conflict but light, love, and understanding… May the judges and all involved have the clarity to hear Truth clearly… May the anger and pain in the room be removed. May you see each other as you are.
I hoped I could remember these words instead of the painful feelings I’d had during the early part of Warren’s trial, my hands balled into fists as his lawyers questioned my integrity and my morals, and continually insinuated I had slept with Ben before I left the FLDS. I wrote “LOVE” on my hand as a visual reminder to keep me grounded, no matter what. Although Warren wouldn’t be there, I still dressed in red. I may have been forced into the deposition, but I was a woman of free will.
Despite Smith’s advice, I was unprepared for Piccarreta and the other defense attorney, Richard Wright, to act like spoiled children, throwing tantrums and not abiding by any modicum of polite behavior. It was appalling. I had to take an oath to “tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God”—but the lawyers were bound by no such vow. With no judge or jury in the room, opposing counsel could apparently say almost anything they wanted to a witness.
As soon as Piccarreta asked a few preliminary personal questions, he jumped right into forbidden territory: “Now, have you had any contact with law enforcement in Texas in regards to the FLDS or the YFZ ranch?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss any participation that I have had in any investigation going on in Texas.”
“Why is that?” he probed.
“I’m not at liberty to say anything about that.”
The assistant attorney general of Arizona backed me up, but Piccarreta wouldn’t stop trying to get me to talk about Sheriff Doran, Brooks, CPS, money from Texas, and more. I stood my ground.
“Can you answer this—do you know Rozita Swinton?” I was mad. The woman who’d posed as Sarah Barlow had nothing to do with Arizona, only Texas.
“I do not.”
“All right. Did you not have any communications with Rozita Swinton either before the search or after the search?”
“None whatsoever.”
When Piccarreta finally began to focus on Warren’s criminal trial in Arizona, I was open and very, very honest with him. I shared FLDS teachings about marriage, Rulon’s health, Warren’s power plays, Elissa’s marital problems and abuse, as well as Warren’s edicts for her to go home and obey her husband.
I could tell by the look on his partner Wright’s face that he was not happy with my answers, which must have been fairly damning. Piccarreta asked me about my personal life up until 2002, when I left the FLDS.
“You didn’t want to marry Warren?”
“Hell, no,” I answered before I could stop myself. We covered some details about Elissa’s life after my departure, and Piccarreta asked if I’d read Elissa’s book.
“No.”
“Have you read any of the books from—that people have written that have left other religions and have been critical of the religion they left?”
“I’m grateful for lessons I’ve learned. Warren has been one of the greatest teachers of my life…”
Wright’s eyes widened, and he grabbed a notebook and pencil. The room went silent.
“I’ve learned some incredible lessons from that man, more so what not to be and how not to treat people.”
I couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction when Wright hurled his pencil so hard onto the table that it bounced and clattered onto the floor.