THE MONTHS MOVED BY at an accelerated pace, perhaps because home, school, and work were comfortable places for me. Or perhaps it was because I had escaped the oppression of the cult. Now I got to make some decisions for myself, and my opinion mattered.
When I first moved in with Mark and Lillian, they had just welcomed their fifth child, Hannah, into their family. I enjoyed tending her and became a second pair of hands and eyes when Lillian needed to get things done, which was all the time. My older sister rarely lounged around. She busied herself constantly, accomplishing tasks on her to-do list or making sure others did. I developed my strong work ethic from being around her, watching her check off items as she completed them.
I certainly didn’t have a task-oriented personality. Instead, I enjoyed being around people. Still, my chameleonlike nature allowed me to blend in with those around me, so I mimicked Lillian when necessary to garner her acceptance and praise.
I didn’t like watching TV when she was around because we could never just sit and watch an entire TV show. Lillian used commercial breaks to get all of us kids to tidy up the living room or fold and put away the never-ending loads of laundry. I felt compelled to help, though I would have preferred to stay planted on the comfortable couch doing nothing but watching Little House on the Prairie, the only show Lillian approved of us watching. But with two adults, one teenager (me), and —after baby Calvin came along —six younger children, chores beckoned constantly. I quickly came to understand and embrace the phrase “No rest for the weary,” as it characterized my existence.
The tenuous nature of my situation plagued me. I felt tremendous, self-imposed pressure to graduate from high school as quickly as possible. Given the rapidly changing culture I lived in, I never knew if the proverbial rug might get yanked from underneath me, forcing me to live elsewhere. Someplace where I wouldn’t have it so good; someplace I wouldn’t be allowed to attend a private Christian school; someplace I’d have to work longer hours for far fewer dollars; someplace I wouldn’t feel as accepted, nurtured, and loved.
I constantly pondered what life might look like anywhere other than with Mark and Lillian. I never felt secure. I did everything they asked me to do without complaining, without exhibiting a single negative attitude. Mark and Lillian didn’t tolerate bad attitudes in their house, no matter the reason or excuse for them. Lillian was the one who would say something to me if I didn’t comply with her expectations.
Lillian took this so far as to question every expression on my face that wasn’t “pleasant.”
“What’s wrong?” Lillian would ask me regularly.
Even if something was wrong, I denied it. “Nothing.”
We repeated this conversation numerous times while I lived with them because Lillian did not tolerate ingratitude in anyone, least of all someone she was helping. Eventually, I learned to keep a pleasant expression on my face, no matter how I felt inside. Doing so made life easier. It meant I didn’t have to answer uncomfortable questions about negative feelings I might have —some of which I couldn’t understand myself, let alone explain to someone else. I accepted that Lillian had the right to require anything she wanted of me because it was her home.
When I first came to their house, I slept in the room just off of the dining room with Lillian’s girls, which afforded me little peace and quiet. I dressed in the main bathroom that we all shared, which meant I had to carry everything back and forth. During the time I was with them, some of my siblings who were teenagers, too, came to live with us, but most of them left when they couldn’t adjust to Mark and Lillian’s high standards. Lillian strictly enforced the rules, but my other siblings found ways to get around them —and eventually left or were asked to leave. Marilyn was one of them, eventually followed by Lillian’s full siblings, Pablo and Delia.
I toed the line without wavering. From the beginning, Lillian told me that any time I wanted to go back to Denver, they would buy me a plane ticket. I always had the option of going back to live with my mom. That ticket back to Denver became a double-edged sword of sorts, as they used it as a veiled threat to keep me from breaking their rules. The fear of messing up badly enough to be sent back would haunt me for years.
I didn’t know Lillian’s brother Isaac before he came to live with us. He was bipolar, so he would be depressed for a period of time, followed by manic highs. I got used to his mental instability and wasn’t afraid; he just seemed odd to me. He helped around the house and ate meals with the rest of the family, except when he was experiencing depression.
At one point, Lillian and Mark decided to send Isaac to an inpatient facility for treatment. I don’t recall how long he was gone, but when he returned home, he seemed okay for a while. And then tragedy struck. Isaac put a gun to his temple and pulled the trigger, committing suicide in his room. Because the room wasn’t in the main house, but rather an add-on at the back of the garage, next to the washer, dryer, and utility sink, no one knew what had happened until Mark and Lillian’s thirteen-year-old son, Brandon, found him. We were all shocked, but Lillian took Isaac’s death particularly hard. I’m sure she felt responsible for him.
A few weeks later, Mark and Lillian asked me if I wanted to move into Isaac’s old room. Since I was the oldest, it made sense that I would be the one to move. It would give me more privacy, and Lillian would get to have the main part of the house for herself and her family, so I agreed. Mark helped me move my limited belongings into the space. At first it was weird to be there, but I soon found it to be a reprieve from the noise and activity in the house. I still had to traipse back and forth to the bathroom, which was even farther now, but that wasn’t a problem.
To get from my new room to the house, I had to walk through the laundry room, then the garage, then the business office space, which led to the kitchen. Each time I made this trek, I would pause before opening the door that led from the garage to the office in order to stretch my face muscles into a contrived smile, much wider than my normal smile. Once that was done, my face would then relax into a pleasant-looking expression. Since I never knew from day to day —sometimes even hour to hour —what frame of mind Lillian would be in, I found that this preparation kept her questions to a minimum.
Masking my true feelings, unless they were positive, became a way of life for me. Positivity became my self-preservation as I placated my sister.
It seemed to me that Lillian couldn’t help herself. She faced emotional issues, no doubt triggered by the fact that she was born into a family that lacked the guidance and discipline, love and protection that a monogamous marriage would have provided. Many of us left in the wake of Ervil LeBaron’s influence suffered emotional distress as a result. Given our rough upbringing, Lillian wouldn’t entertain the thought of anyone having a bad day.
On many occasions Lillian struggled to hold it together, but she managed, with Mark’s help. He provided her with steady strength. To Lillian, life away from the choke hold of the cult needed to be appreciated and lived to the fullest. Sometimes her incredibly high standards had a negative effect on those around her, but she was motivated by love. She wanted those she cared for to rise to her perfectionistic ideal for their own good.
About a month after I moved into the garage bedroom, I heard a knock on my door late one Saturday night. When I opened the door, Mark was standing there, his face serious and weary.
“Would you be able to help me get the children ready for church in the morning?”
“Of course. But what’s wrong?”
He cleared his throat and let his gaze drop to the floor. “Lillian and I got into a fight about . . . well, that’s not important. Anyway, she left.”
“What?” My heart ached for the two of them, but I couldn’t help but wonder what a separation between them might mean for my future. “Of course I’ll help.”
“She checked into a hotel, hopefully just for the night.” His breath caught in his throat, and he gave another little cough. “I’m hoping this will all blow over —that it’s nothing permanent.”
“I hope so too.”
He gave me a weak smile and said good night.
Lillian had not come home by morning, so I hurriedly dressed and fed the children before church. Though I didn’t relish the circumstances, I got some satisfaction from knowing that Mark was aware he could count on me to be dependable and capable.
Thank goodness, Mark and Lillian worked out their differences. She came back to the house that afternoon.
One of my regular responsibilities was doing the grocery shopping at Weingarten’s grocery store across the two-lane street. The manager and checkout clerks came to know me by name, and when I turned sixteen, the manager offered me a job. I begged Mark and Lillian to let me work there. I desperately wanted to have the experience of a normal job, like several of my friends had. Despite my pleading, they wouldn’t even consider it. I rarely expressed my displeasure with any of their decisions, including this one, but it was a severe disappointment for me. Clearly, they needed me to help their household and business run smoothly.
Each morning, I was instrumental in getting Lillian and Mark’s kids ready for school. After school, I helped with whatever chores needed doing, or I worked for the appliance business —whatever they told me to do. I tried my best to be helpful, regardless of the task. I scrubbed the old tile floor in the kitchen, using a bristle brush to remove dirt and grime from the grout one line at a time. I ironed the kids’ school uniforms after they’d been washed and dried. As much as I detested pressing crisp creases in the girls’ pleated skirts, there was no getting around it.
Each evening, I made and packed sack lunches for the kids who went to school. Initially, when Pablo, Marilyn, and Delia were living with us, I was making a lot of sandwiches. Marilyn, Delia, and I were on the volleyball team, and we had to show up for practice by seven o’clock each morning. One night I forgot to make lunches ahead of time, so the next morning I grabbed a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, a jar of jelly, and a knife, and took everything with me to school. At lunchtime, I stood at one of the cafeteria tables and made sandwiches for everyone in our family. From that embarrassing experience, I learned my lesson and never forgot to make lunches after that.
Lillian enrolled me in a driver’s education class when I was fifteen, agreeing to pay my tuition if I would chauffeur the kids around for them once I got my license. I passed the class easily, and when I turned sixteen I passed my driver’s test easily too. The family celebrated my accomplishment at dinner.
“Anna, we’re very proud of you.” Mark raised his water glass in a mock toast. He glanced at Lillian, who smiled and nodded her head in agreement. He continued, “So proud that we want to propose a deal.”
“What kind of deal?” I knew better than to let my excitement get the better of me.
“Since you’ll be taking the kids to and from school and to their after-school activities, we’ll pay for gas and insurance, and you may drive the station wagon any time you want,” Lillian said.
I swallowed hard to choke back tears of joy. No one had ever given me such consideration in my life. Mark and Lillian were all but giving me the station wagon. More than ever before, I realized that they loved me, appreciated my efforts, and considered me a part of their family.
“I don’t know what to say. Thank you so much!” Having a car meant I could drive myself to the youth activities at church. I craved that time with my friends, that time of worship and learning. To have the freedom to get myself there and back overwhelmed me. I stood and moved around the table to hug Lillian. I was so happy!
Suddenly it dawned on me why they had recently purchased a new Cadillac Seville for themselves. I smiled at the forethought of their win-win proposal.
In addition to paying my tuition at the Christian school, allowing me to live with them rent-free, and now letting me drive the station wagon, Mark and Lillian paid me seventy-five dollars a week to help them run the appliance business and take care of their children. I wasn’t given cash each week. Instead, I kept track of how much they owed me on a calendar hanging in my room. Whenever I needed money, I just asked them for it, explaining what I planned to spend it on. I tried to time my requests when I knew it would be convenient for them to pay me, which meant asking soon after they made cash sales.
After I amassed several hundred dollars on account with them without spending anything, Lillian took me to the bank to open a savings account. I felt so grown up and empowered having a bank account with money in it. I loved watching the balance grow every time I asked Lillian for money and deposited those funds, so much so that I rarely found anything I wanted enough to make a withdrawal.
With Christmas Day approaching, I decided I would send my mom and my siblings some tasty treats as gifts. Lillian had the best popcorn ball recipe, and adding plain M&M’s to it only made them better. Lillian helped me get the large, round tin ready for mailing.
“Do you think they’ll like them?”
“Of course. And I think they’ll be really surprised.” Aside from my annual secret birthday phone call from my mom, we did not stay in touch. Cult members were forbidden from having contact with any family members outside the cult.
That thought made me sad, but I tried to hide my emotions from Lillian since I knew she’d lecture me about not being grateful.
Suddenly, the brown paper bag that Lillian was using to wrap the metal tin fell to the floor. She pushed back her chair and said, “Come with me.”
I got up and followed dutifully behind her as we headed toward her and Mark’s bedroom.
She opened the louvered double doors of her closet, knelt down in front of it, and began rummaging through bags of clothing, boxes, and assorted items.
“What are you looking for?” I couldn’t imagine what would be so critical that she’d stop in the middle of a task. That didn’t seem like Lillian.
She ignored me and kept digging. Finally, she located a flat, gray box. “Sit down. I want to show you something.”
I sat across from her on the floor, my back leaning up against their bed.
Lillian lifted the lid off the box and took out a leather-bound book that was stuffed with papers.
“What is all that?”
“It’s stuff from Dad —letters, his sermons, and other writings.” She leafed through a few pages until she found what she’d been looking for. Her lips moved ever so slightly as she silently read something handwritten on a yellowing sheet of paper. She wiped away a tear before she thrust the letter at me.
The letter was addressed to Mark, written by my dad while he was in prison. I stared at my dad’s handwriting and silently read the letter. This time I couldn’t hide my emotions. My father had promised me in marriage to Mark! No wonder this letter brought tears to Lillian’s eyes.
I felt my own tears begin to flow, but for a far different reason. Dad knew me. He actually knew my name. In the letter, he used my first and middle name: Anna Keturah, even though my middle name was spelled incorrectly. This proved to me that my dad didn’t just know of me —the tenth child of his fourth wife —but he actually knew me.
Thankfully, the meaning and intent of the letter had no influence or consequence in our lives. I couldn’t have cared less that I’d been promised to Mark. After all, my dad was dead, and the practice of polygamy was no longer significant in our lives. Mark and Lillian had both professed their faith in Jesus Christ. As Christian believers, they would never even entertain the idea of polygamy. Prior to their conversion to Christianity, however, they’d both encountered pressure to participate in polygamy but had resisted.
Finding my one true love was my plan, too, and I believed I had already found him. My relationship with David Heyen from school was definitely secretive, much like Kathleen and Jim’s had been. I’d shared many details about my family’s background with David and considered him one of my confidants. Still, I was afraid that if Mark and Lillian knew about us, they would consider my behavior “out of control” and send me packing to Denver.
I sighed as I reread Dad’s letter, then clutched it to my chest. “Why are you showing this to me now?”
“I’m not sure. Getting the gift ready for your mom got me thinking about our lives up to now. I’ve thought about letting you see this a dozen times. I just never found the right time.”
“Do you mind if I keep this?”
“Sure.” Lillian made a distasteful face.
“What? Don’t you want me to have it?”
“It’s not that. I just don’t know why you would want it. It’s basically your father pawning you off to someone who’s already married, in exchange for their monetary support and faithful obedience.”
“I understand.” I nodded, then lowered my gaze once again to the letter in my lap. “But this is the only proof I have that Dad knew who I was. I know he wasn’t a good man —”
Lillian let out a sudden puff of air through her lips and tried to smile at me.
“I just think this shows that buried deep inside him, underneath the madness of his mind, in his heart of hearts, he must have loved all of his kids. However messed up his expression of that was, he still loved us.” I wanted so badly to believe that about him.
The following year, Celia fled Denver and the cult and came to live in Houston with our sister Kathleen and her husband, Jim. Spring Branch Church of God Academy accommodated her challenging work schedule and allowed her to complete the final courses she needed for a diploma. Celia had always been an honor student —sometimes in the top 10 percent of her class. When she left the cult, she was determined not to settle for a GED.
Celia and I graduated together in May 1987. After I crossed the stage, clutching my high school diploma, Mark pulled me into a big bear hug. This man, whose father-in-law had offered me to him as his second wife, had stayed faithful to Lillian and had chosen to act like a father figure to me the entire time I lived with them. That warm embrace encapsulated his gentle fathering, as he whispered words I can still hear today: “I’m so proud of you.”