Escape. Part 2

Ten of us hiked to the mountain-a ragam.u.f.fin band of kids ranging in age from four to eight. But our digging didn't produce much. We got tired quickly and it was very hot. Nor did we eat the fried potato sandwiches because they tasted as bad as they looked-yuck yuck. But we did throw them back and forth at one another. As we were hiking, we told story after story of the things that the spirits of the Gadianton robbers had done when they haunted the community before being expelled by the priesthood.

Even evil spirits have to obey the priesthood. The priesthood is the way G.o.d acts in us, but the power is given only to men. Boys are initiated into the priesthood at twelve by any man in the FLDS who holds the priesthood and has kept his covenants. We believed that the priesthood was the glue that held the earth together. Without its power, the earth would fly apart.

Because of this, one good man in the priesthood could turn back thousands of evil spirits, who would do whatever he ordered them to do. I'm not sure how this squared with all the destruction that was supposed to rain down on our heads. Couldn't the good men just tell the evil ones to scram? But a six-year-old doesn't put such thoughts together. I took it all in as the grand myth and folklore that it was.

While our fundamentalist faith cast a long shadow on how we played, a lot of the things we did and the trouble we stirred up were fairly typical. It was the consequences that were more severe.

One afternoon we got to go back to my cousins' because Mother needed to do some shopping. It felt like a return to wonderland. My cousin Ray Dee was pushing the family cat around in a small doll carriage with a pacifier taped to its mouth. The cat was wearing a ruffled dress. Beverly, another cousin, was congratulating her on her new baby. When we were distracted, the cat leaped out of the carriage and ran for its life. We went looking for it and instead found our cousin Shannon.

Shannon was sitting in the gra.s.s stirring a big bowl of punch. She had cups and pa.s.sed out drinks to all of us. We were having a fine time, savoring our freedom and catching up with our cousins. But it was short-lived. One of the younger boys came running out with the news that Shannon had stolen the punch and that his mother, our aunt Charlotte, planned to spank everyone involved.

Shannon was guilty. She'd gone to Aunt Charlotte and said she needed a package of Kool-Aid for Aunt Elaine, which was untrue. Someone squealed on her when we were spotted out in the orchard drinking punch. Now anyone with punch-stained lips might be spanked.

Shannon said she didn't care if Aunt Charlotte spanked her. "Why?" I said. I hated spankings.

Shannon was very matter-of-fact. "Aunt Naomi's spankings are way too hard. They're so bad, they're ridiculous. Mom's spankings are so soft you have to pretend that you're crying. But Aunt Charlotte's spankings are just right."

I didn't think a spanking could ever be just right. So I asked Shannon what she meant. "It's like this," she said. "You never know how many swats you are going to get from the other moms, but Aunt Charlotte gives you two swats for every year old you are. If you scream really loud, she thinks she's hurting you and doesn't swat as hard."

Shannon's optimism brought a new mood to the orchard. She got about a dozen brothers and sisters together and told them they needed to play the game they always did when they were getting a spanking from Aunt Charlotte.

She ran through the drill. First they had to act extremely sorry for what they had done. Then they had to promise that if Aunt Charlotte would forgive them, they'd never again do whatever they'd done. If Aunt Charlotte still insisted on spanking them, everyone would act scared, start crying, and beg her not to. This sometimes made Aunt Charlotte feel guilty enough to reduce the number of swats.

When it was time to spank those involved in the punch theft, we all trooped inside. I lucked out. Even though I'd had some punch, I got to stay downstairs with some of the others who weren't being spanked. I was surprised by the volume of screaming coming from upstairs. I said to my cousin Jayne, "I thought that Aunt Charlotte's spankings were just right. It sounds like she's killing everyone."

Jayne told me, "They are just trying to make her think she's killing them. If everyone in the room screams loudly enough, then the person getting the swats has less screaming to do and gets a spanking that doesn't hurt very bad. We always do this to Aunt Charlotte."

"What about with Aunt Elaine?" I asked. Jayne looked at me like I was a little bit crazy. "No, we don't need to bother her because you can't usually feel her spankings. And we don't do it to my mother because she doesn't buy the act."

I nodded. Aunt Charlotte probably thought that day that she was giving everyone a correction. But for those involved, this was just another game. Nevertheless, it was a game I had no interest in playing.

Minutes after the spankings ended, everyone marched downstairs, and shortly all of us were laughing and smiling again. It was as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and for us it hadn't.

School Days

I didn't start school until I was six and a half. Finally! I had watched Linda go to school every day, wishing I could go with her. Kindergarten didn't exist in the FLDS because the belief was that children were better off spending another year at home. It didn't do me any good. I was eager to get going. I wanted to learn. didn't start school until I was six and a half. Finally! I had watched Linda go to school every day, wishing I could go with her. Kindergarten didn't exist in the FLDS because the belief was that children were better off spending another year at home. It didn't do me any good. I was eager to get going. I wanted to learn.

There wasn't much stimulation at home beyond listening to my grandmother's stories. Fairy tales were frowned upon, and we had no other children's books at home. There was no public library in town, and I don't remember my mother ever buying us books of our own.

In 1974, a few weeks before school started, when I was counting down the days, I met Laura, who would become one of my closest friends. It was a scorching July day, one of those when the air feels too hot and dry to even want to breathe it in. I was playing paper dolls inside with Linda while Mother was sewing new dresses for our first day of school.

The weather shifted suddenly; the sky darkened and then split apart in a downpour. Linda, Annette, and I stood at the kitchen window, listening to the rain pound the roof of the house and smelling its sweetness through the air conditioner.

After the deluge, we begged Mama to let us go outside, and she said we could as long as we didn't get muddy.

The dirt road in front of our house had turned into a large stream of muddy water. I could think of nothing better than to run and splash in it. Linda read my mind. "Carolyn, don't even think of it. We will all get a spanking if you do!"

When my mother got mad at one of us for doing something disobedient or wrong, usually we all paid a price for her anger. What kept me on the porch wasn't my fear of getting a spanking; it was the fear of how Linda would feel if I got her and Annette in trouble.

A moment later, we heard children's voices and suddenly saw the kids from a new polygamous family that had moved into the community. They'd come from Idaho with three wives and what seemed like two dozen children.

A redheaded girl who looked about the same age as me caught my eye. She came running down the street and with a big jump and splash landed in the middle of the muddy water. All her other siblings followed her. They were laughing and splashing in the mud and having the best time. I was dying to join them but knew I couldn't.

Linda didn't envy the mud ducks at all. She looked stricken that they had dared do this. Daring had nothing to do with it for me. I was frustrated that they could do something I couldn't. Linda went over to talk to them, and it was the by now very muddy redheaded girl who spoke to her first. She said her name was Laura, and then she rattled off the names of her little brothers and sisters.

Laura looked over to us and said, "Why don't you guys get in the mud, too?" Linda told her that our mom would get mad at us if we got muddy. Laura seemed perplexed. What we were saying made no sense to her at all.

When the novelty of splashing around in the muddy stream wore off, we asked her if she wanted to play dolls. She said she didn't have any dolls. I couldn't believe it. "You don't have any dolls? What do you play with?"

Laura shrugged. She didn't need dolls dolls to play dolls. She picked up a crooked little stick from the ground and walked over to Mama's flower garden and plucked a flower. "See, this is her skirt and this little blossom can be her hat." Next she snapped a blossom off a flower and put it on the stick. Then she found another flower to make a skirt. Now the stick girl had a flounced hat and skirt. I was impressed. Laura had taken a stick and made it into one of the best dolls I had ever seen. "All I have to do to change her clothes is pick another flower." I certainly couldn't change clothes as much with my real dolls as she could with her stick ones. to play dolls. She picked up a crooked little stick from the ground and walked over to Mama's flower garden and plucked a flower. "See, this is her skirt and this little blossom can be her hat." Next she snapped a blossom off a flower and put it on the stick. Then she found another flower to make a skirt. Now the stick girl had a flounced hat and skirt. I was impressed. Laura had taken a stick and made it into one of the best dolls I had ever seen. "All I have to do to change her clothes is pick another flower." I certainly couldn't change clothes as much with my real dolls as she could with her stick ones.

Linda, Annette, and I quickly found sticks to make our own dolls. We spent the rest of the afternoon playing with Laura. At dinner that night we talked nonstop about our new friend. In the years ahead, even Mama came to love Laura. She would say that her daughters didn't fight as much when she was around.

The first day of school finally came. My mother took me to my cla.s.sroom and watched while I picked out my desk. She said she was proud that I was starting first grade. The door to our cla.s.sroom opened a bit and I saw one of my cla.s.smates stick out her tongue at the girl in the doorway, whom I couldn't see. Then I heard her exclaim, "Ooh, she has red hair." Laura came in and found a seat, but I could tell she was shy being around so many new people.

Not only were we in the same cla.s.s, but we rode the bus to school every day for the entire year. I was so happy! Having her on the bus helped me feel safe.

The bus scared me because strange things often happened there. One day I was sitting next to Linda when Randi, an older girl in the front seat, began whispering to her friend. She rolled up the long sleeve of her dress, and I could see that her arm looked melted and red. Her friend gasped. It was shocking to see. I was standing up, and Linda yanked me down in my seat and said to be still or the bus driver would hit me. It was not unusual for the bus driver to stop the bus when a child misbehaved. He'd walk back and hit a child so hard his or her face would slam into the window of the bus.

When we got off the bus I asked Linda what could have made Randi's arm look so melted and raw. She seemed uncomfortable and said she didn't know. Later we heard Mom telling the story to our dad, and he said that we were never to be allowed anywhere near that girl's father because he'd heard some stories about the man.

The girl with the melted arm had the longest braid I had ever seen. Her braid hung well below her knees. I had never seen anyone with thicker or more beautiful hair. Everyone who rode the bus admired her braid. But what I noticed about her was that she never looked happy. She didn't have many friends and seemed to prefer to be by herself.

One morning Randi got on the bus and was sobbing hysterically. Her face was red and flooded with tears. She was shaking and gasping for breath. Her sobs came like one big wave after another. When she turned around I realized her braid was gone. Her hair was neatly combed, but her braid had been chopped off into stubble. The chatter and noise on the bus stopped as everyone realized what had happened. All of us were shocked by the awful sight.

The bus driver sat there chewing his gum. If he noticed the weeping child who had just gotten on his bus, he didn't show it. The door closed and he pulled away from the curb as if nothing had happened. I felt sick to my stomach. I couldn't even play on the playground that day. Everything went by in a blur.

After school I was waiting in the bus line with Linda when I saw the school's double doors fly open. The princ.i.p.al of the school came running out, chasing his mentally r.e.t.a.r.ded son, Kendall, who was ten. Kendall was screaming and trying to run away from him. His pants were wet with urine. We could all see the wide circle of dampness. The princ.i.p.al caught up with him and grabbed him. He kicked him so hard that Kendall flew off the ground and landed in a heap on the sidewalk. He yelled at Kendall to get up. Kendall started running away again. The princ.i.p.al kept chasing and kicking him. I was so sickened by what had happened to Randi earlier that day that this overwhelmed me. I could not absorb what I was seeing. In the weeks and months ahead, I would see this again and again. Kendall would wet his pants and his father would beat him. Some of the other children on the playground made fun of Kendall for wetting his pants. Others stood still, shocked to witness a father's brutality and terrified because he was the princ.i.p.al of the school.

That day when the school bus pulled up with the same expressionless gum-chewing driver who scared me so much, I said to my sister that I was not getting on his bus, no way. Linda pulled my arm. "Carolyn, you have to get on this bus." But she wasn't strong enough to pull me past my determination not to ride home on the school bus. Linda gave up. I told her I would run home.

It was about a mile. I thought if I ran fast enough, I could get home before the bus and then maybe Mama wouldn't spank me. I looked at the bus driver again. I wasn't riding on his bus, even if it meant getting spanked. I ran until I couldn't run anymore and then walked until I caught my breath and could start running again.

I dashed into the house just as the bus was dropping off my two sisters. Mother was in the kitchen. "I got home before the school bus, Mama," I said. She said I was silly and asked why I didn't ride home with Annette and Linda. But I never told her.

By now I was in the second grade and I walked to school or ran home for the rest of the year. One day the gum-chewing bus driver hurt Laura's little sister. When Laura got off the bus she said she hated him and stuck out her tongue. She stopped riding the bus after that and walked with me every day.

First grade was the only year I didn't have a violent teacher. It was not until I was in the upper grades that teachers stopped using violence. In the lower school it happened all the time, except in first grade. Most families controlled their children with scripture and a whip. This philosophy extended into the cla.s.srooms, too.

I saw teachers beat students with yardsticks until they broke the yardstick. It wasn't uncommon during a school a.s.sembly for the princ.i.p.al to kick and slap students around onstage for the entire school to witness. He did this to terrify students so that no one would ever want to be sent to the princ.i.p.al's office. When he singled out a student, he chose one whose parents he knew wouldn't complain. It was common practice at school to make an example of one student so others would comply.

Whenever we walked in lines there would be an adult a.s.signed to monitor us with a yardstick. Anyone who misbehaved in the slightest would be cracked on the head.

Control mattered more than academics in the cla.s.sroom. Brutality toward children was the norm within the community, but there were different levels of tolerance among families about the level of violence that was acceptable. But families would never judge one another. Even if a family knew there was severe abuse going on in another family, no one intervened. This was part of the religious doctrine that said no man had the right to interfere with another man's family.

We would hear stories about s.e.xual and physical abuse in other families, but nothing was ever done to stop it. As a community, the feeling was that the outside world was our enemy. Its laws and rules did not apply to us in any way. There was no way that someone in the FLDS would report abuse that they'd witnessed or suspected to the authorities for investigation. Anyone who did that would have been seen as a traitor to the entire community.

Many of the teachers at school were nonviolent and would never hit a child. But there were enough violent ones to make me always feel unsafe at school. But I did love learning. No matter how frightened I was by the possibility of what could could happen, my fears never overrode my desire for knowledge. happen, my fears never overrode my desire for knowledge.

The school was a public school that was funded by the state, but it operated as a private school in fact. Virtually every student was a member of the FLDS community. Religion was taught openly in school, and if a subject contradicted our teachings, it was dropped. It was very common to get textbooks with entire chapters missing because they'd been cut out. We were taught things that were patently false-such as the "fact" that dinosaurs had never existed. In some cla.s.ses, the teachers taught stories from the Book of Mormon. The school got away with this because everyone who worked there back then was part of the FLDS. The state had no reason to investigate because no one ever complained.

I remember learning about s.e.x on the playground when I was in the fourth grade. One of my cla.s.smates announced to the rest of us that her brother was teaching her how to have a baby. She had told him she didn't want to learn, but he insisted. He wanted to show her, not just tell her.

She said he pointed to the parts on his body and told her what he was going to do with them on hers. Then he did it. When it was over, he said this was how her husband would make babies with her. She said she hated it and hated him. We all felt repulsed by the story and said her brother was a big liar. We knew our parents would never do anything like that.

But she said we were wrong. This was s.e.x, S-E-X. When we went back into our cla.s.sroom she got the dictionary and slammed it on a desk. She read us the definition of s.e.x s.e.x and we all felt uncomfortable. Just because it was in the dictionary didn't mean it was true. We felt her brother was wicked, and we talked about this for months. Those with older siblings would come back with more information, so I finally had to conclude that it was true. and we all felt uncomfortable. Just because it was in the dictionary didn't mean it was true. We felt her brother was wicked, and we talked about this for months. Those with older siblings would come back with more information, so I finally had to conclude that it was true.

We were never taught about s.e.x in the FLDS. When we had health education in the fifth grade, the chapters about reproduction were cut out. s.e.x was something a husband was to teach his wife on their wedding night. There were women who married thinking babies came from kissing.

One year Linda had a harrowing experience at school. Her teacher was a man with a reputation for not maintaining order well in his cla.s.sroom. He'd promised Linda's cla.s.s that they could earn a paper airplane party as a reward for doing something well. Whatever it was, they managed to do it and earn the party.

That afternoon the princ.i.p.al, Alvin Barlow, heard a ruckus coming from a sixth-grade cla.s.sroom. He didn't know that this was a planned party, nor did he ask. He stormed into the party and began slapping students across the room and kicking them to the ground. The students in the row closest to the door were his first targets and got the worst of his wrath. Linda watched one girl get her head slammed into her desk.

The princ.i.p.al was halfway down the second row of students before he asked the teacher if he'd given the students permission to misbehave. The teacher lied and said he had not. He feared what the princ.i.p.al would do to him if he knew the party was originally his idea.

This increased Barlow's rage. Linda was so terrified she could hardly move. The princ.i.p.al grabbed the hair of a girl sitting in the row next to hers and slapped her face so hard she hit her head on the desk and got a b.l.o.o.d.y nose. Somehow she managed to run out the door and down the hall to her mother's second-grade cla.s.sroom. Barlow suddenly stopped. Linda said that if he hadn't, she would have been next.

Then all the students were marched down to his office and forced to listen to his sermons for several hours. He went on and on about the Short Creek raid and how many had sacrificed so these students could learn the work of G.o.d. Linda said kids were shaking and crying and had a hard time sitting still. Many of the kids from that cla.s.s went home with bruises all over their bodies and black eyes. My sister was so shaken that she could barely explain to Mama what had happened.

Brutalizing nearly an entire cla.s.sroom of students was going too far, even within the FLDS. By late that afternoon, the princ.i.p.al's office was filled with angry fathers. One man said that if the princ.i.p.al touched his daughter again, he'd come and beat him. The school board called an emergency meeting, and the princ.i.p.al was put on notice that if he ever did something like this again, he'd be fired.

He was never reported to the authorities, though. If he had been, the princ.i.p.al could have served time in jail for a.s.sault and battery. But in our closed society, he only received a warning. He was not only a member of the FLDS; he was the son of a former prophet and the stepson of Uncle Roy. Uncle Roy protected him and told parents in the community that they should support him in the good work he was doing with their children. The princ.i.p.al's status was untouchable because of his ties to the prophet. Anyone who reported him would have been in serious trouble within the FLDS. (He remained in his job until two years ago, when he retired.) Children were seen as property, and physical violence toward them was not only permissible but a way of life. It was preached at church that if you didn't put the fear of G.o.d into children from the time of their birth, they would grow up and leave the work of G.o.d. Abuse was necessary to save a child's soul. The problem with what the princ.i.p.al did, in the eyes of the community, was that he went too far. But not far enough to get fired.

What usually happened when a student was beaten was that the parent a.s.sumed the child had done something wrong. The child was then forced to apologize for what he or she had allegedly done. The teacher or authority figure was always backed in his or her claims.

My mother was outraged by the princ.i.p.al's behavior and told us that if anyone ever tried to hurt us in school, we were to come home at once. She didn't make a connection between her abusive behavior toward us and the beatings that happened at school. Mother managed to think that she was beating us only because she loved us and was trying to make us live G.o.dly lives. She didn't know that our small bodies were unable to distinguish between the two.

For the most part, I was able to learn what was necessary for my daily survival. I had my operating instructions.

I knew that the consequences were high for disobeying my mother. No meant no, and there was never an exception. Asking or questioning would only lead to more trouble. Sometimes my sisters would tattle on me to get me in trouble, and there was nothing I could do about that but get mad.

I learned in school to walk with my arms folded and never hop up and down in line unless I wanted a very hard smack on top of my head with a yardstick. In the singing group in cla.s.s, I knew that if I didn't look straight ahead with my chin slightly up I risked getting whacked on the head.

I knew never to ride the school bus because I would see things that would upset me.

I ate all the food on my plate, even if I didn't like it. If I complained, I'd just be forced to eat more of the food I hated.

I knew never to tease or hit my little brother, Arthur, when he annoyed me because he was my mother's favorite. I also learned to listen to my big sister, Linda. She tried hard to keep me out of trouble.

New Wife, New Mother

I was jumping rope outside our house with my sister Annette when Linda came to tell us our father was going to Salt Lake City to get a new wife. We were all very surprised but happy because we knew and liked the woman he had been a.s.signed to marry. Rosie was our cousin and favorite babysitter. Mama and Rosie had been good friends for years. Rosie used to babysit for us before she started nursing school in Salt Lake. We used to look forward to her coming because she was lively and never mean to us. Rosie's father was my mother's brother, so Rosie was my mom's niece. was jumping rope outside our house with my sister Annette when Linda came to tell us our father was going to Salt Lake City to get a new wife. We were all very surprised but happy because we knew and liked the woman he had been a.s.signed to marry. Rosie was our cousin and favorite babysitter. Mama and Rosie had been good friends for years. Rosie used to babysit for us before she started nursing school in Salt Lake. We used to look forward to her coming because she was lively and never mean to us. Rosie's father was my mother's brother, so Rosie was my mom's niece.

I was about ten at the time and ran into the house as soon as I heard the news. Mama seemed subdued.

Most men in the community waited between ten and fifteen years before taking on a new wife. It was not uncommon for some men never to get another wife. But the men who got the most wives were the men who had the most power in the FLDS. If a man had more than three wives, it was a signal that he was the son of someone of major importance. It was not at all unusual for sisters to be married to the same husband, and it was certainly not unusual for a niece to share a husband with her aunt.

Rose was pretty and popular in the community. She was a good cook and housekeeper and had a reputation as an extremely hard worker. We hadn't seen her much since she started nursing school. It was rare for a woman in the FLDS to get any higher education while she was still unmarried, and highly unusual even after marriage. Rosie lucked out because one of her father's wives wanted to go to nursing school and my uncle decided that Rosie could go, too, since she'd be under close supervision.

I don't know how my mother really felt about my father taking a second wife. All I'd ever heard her say about the possibility was that if my dad got a new wife, she hoped she would like her. I knew our lives would be changing, but I couldn't imagine how.

We stayed behind when my father and mother went to Salt Lake for the wedding. Oddly enough, they came home without Rosie. She remained in Salt Lake to finish cla.s.ses and take tests. We thought she'd be back after that, but Dad bought her a house in Salt Lake so she could start working there.

But Rosie came to Colorado City occasionally to visit. When she did, Linda had to move out of her bedroom and sleep with Annette and me so Rosie could have it. Linda seemed the most wary of Rosie and concerned about the situation. Her fear was that Rosie would steal Dad away from Mom. Linda became the watcher, making note of things that Dad did with Rosie that he didn't do with Mom. He spent a lot of time with Rosie in Linda's bedroom when she visited and certainly seemed happier when she was around.

We all knew how tense my parents' marriage had become. Mom seemed to get a lot quieter once Dad married Rosie. Dad had bought Mama a TV several years before he married Rosie, to placate her. She always complained about not being able to watch TV the way she had when we lived in Salt Lake. It was completely against our religion to have a television set, but my father ignored that and just bought one. The reception was terrible; there were only two channels that were even remotely viewable. But when Dad and Rosie went into Linda's bedroom, we all sat with Mom in the front living room and watched TV.

I remember going to visit Rosie when I went to Salt Lake with my parents. I was impressed that she had her own small house and car. She also had her nursing career. Her freedom and autonomy over her own life made an impact on me. Rosie had more independence than any woman I had ever known.

But her freedom was short-lived. Rosie became pregnant shortly after she married my father, and she moved into Linda's bedroom in our house in Colorado City a month before her baby was born. My mother's sixth child, a boy, was born a few months before Rosie's daughter.

The dynamic in our family shifted. Rosie and my mother were competing for Dad's attention. The two babies were compared to each other all the time. We all watched to see which baby Dad seemed to prefer or spend the most time with. My mother could see how happy Dad was with Rosie, so she worked hard to try to outdo her.

If Rosie cooked a lovely dinner, Mom put twice the effort into the next meal she made. Mama had her ways of doing things in the house that she insisted Rosie follow. Sometimes I'd hear Mom saying to her friends that only she, not Rosie, really understood what Father wanted and how to please him. There would be times when my mother would accuse Rosie of being selfish and not working hard enough to please my dad.

Rosie's daughter was born on her birthday, so she named her Rose. We called her Little Rosie. When she was a few months old, Rosie took a job nearby in Cedar City, working in one of her father's nursing homes. She would take one of us along to babysit, and more often than not it was me. I liked going to work with Rosie. My mother and I had never really gotten along well and it was always a relief to be out of her domain.

Rosie was able to earn more money than almost any woman in the community because she had a nursing degree. I saw what an opportunity that was for her, especially in contrast to the rest of the FLDS women, who usually could hope for nothing better than a job in the community sewing plant.

I was shaken by what I saw at the sewing center when our cla.s.s visited. There were rows and rows and rows of women hunched over machines with endless piles of fabric in front of them. They were making uniforms that were sold to large companies. They looked and worked like slaves on big industrial sewing machines that sewed fast. None of them made much money, and I knew that many of them had more than ten children at home. They made the minimum wage, which was about three dollars an hour, and on top of that were paid for each piece. Any woman who failed to produce enough got fired. The work was deadening, the pressure tremendous, and what they earned was not even enough to buy groceries for their big families, let alone anything else.

I made a vow to myself that I was never going to end up behind one of those sewing machines. No matter what it took, I was going to get an education like Rosie's. I became determined to go to college.

The time I spent with Rosie protected me from my mother's instability. Rosie treated me well and appreciated how much I helped her with her baby. I loved my mother but always had the conflicting feelings of fearing her anger and abuse. Rosie was different. Her stability enabled me to grow. Rosie was deeply religious and believed in plural marriage. She felt that sharing my father with my mother was her only way to G.o.d.

I believed in plural marriage then, too. At nine, I believed what everyone else did-that a man learned to love his wives more with each new wife he was given. My mother and Rosie minimized the deep conflicts that arose between them. We saw little signs of the underlying tension, so I had no reason to believe that plural marriage was anything other than something great. My friends talked about how their mothers had screaming fights with each other and threw things. I never saw that at my home. One day I heard my mother say how much better my father was treating her since he married Rosie.

This made me feel good, even though I could tell my father was happier with Rosie than he ever was with Mom. Being so in love with Rosie made it easier for him to be nicer to my mother. Maybe he did even love my mother more now. I didn't know, but it certainly fit in nicely with what I wanted to believe.

The power struggle in my own family paled in comparison to what was happening within the FLDS. A power struggle that had been brewing for several years broke out into the open in 1978, when I was in the fifth grade. By the time I was in the seventh grade, families were choosing sides and the community was so deeply polarized that we were not allowed to play with our friends if their parents were on the opposing side.

"Are you on the side of Uncle Roy or are you on the side of the brethren?" That was the question, and what was at stake was who would rule the community when Uncle Roy died. It was a power struggle, pure and simple.