Stolen Innocence (19 page)

C
HAPTER
E
LEVEN

THE WORD OF THE PROPHET

Your heart is in the wrong place.

—
WARREN JEFFS

L
ater that morning after I set up the appointment, Mom and Kassandra, under priesthood pressure to convince me that the marriage was the right thing, tried to excite my interests by taking me to prepare for the “fun part”—the wedding.

Together we traveled to St. George to the fabric store, where we browsed through various materials and patterns to assemble the look for my wedding day. What I didn’t know at the time was that even my sisters had gone to Uncle Warren with their concerns about my marriage—and had been directed to encourage me to go along with it. When our visit to the fabric store failed to elicit any enthusiasm in me, we walked around the strip mall, where we spotted a pair of gorgeous white crushed satin shoes in one of the windows. They were so pretty, with a delicate buckle across the ankle and a little heel. Kassandra said they’d be perfect with any wedding dress, but even the glamorous shoes couldn’t lure me into the store.

“I don’t need those shoes,” I angrily declared. It should have been an exhilarating time for me—planning my wedding, picking out materials for a dress, and getting those special shoes—but it felt like I was being asked to design an outfit for my funeral. I was bordering on rude by the time my mother and sister dragged me from the shoe store, where Kassandra had purchased the shoes over my objections, to the Chili’s restaurant. Eating out with Mom and Kassandra was bittersweet. With this terrible event looming over my head, it was hard to relax during what would turn out to be my last few moments as a carefree teenager. I was hurt that I was being pushed in this way, and that no one who could do something about it was listening to me. Most of my sisters had married young, but with the exception of Teressa, they had been allowed to reach the age of eighteen. I didn’t know if any of them could understand what I was going through. They tried to console and encourage me, but it didn’t make me feel any less afraid.

Aware that I would be meeting with Uncle Rulon the following morning, I went through my closet to pick out my best dress when we returned home. A meeting with the prophet, especially on a subject like this, was very important. I wanted to look both pretty and respectful—the image of a perfect priesthood daughter.

The next morning I settled into Mom’s old mustard-colored Oldsmobile and restlessly smoothed my dress. Uncle Rulon’s compound was too far to walk to, and I felt comforted by mother’s company during the short ride. She’d seemed a little withdrawn over the past several days, and while I believed that my situation had a lot to do with it, she had spoken little about what she was experiencing. She tried to assure me that everything was going to be fine, but I knew that inside she was fearful. I appreciated that she was willing to stand by me.

As I sat in the waiting room, I rehearsed what I would say to Uncle Rulon. In the past, when I had been a guest of Kassandra’s or Rachel’s, I had been invited to dine with Uncle Rulon and his family. It was a great honor after the meal when I was welcomed to approach the prophet and shake his hand, but this meeting would be different. This time, it was about me.

The waiting area was busy, with people coming and going. After some time, Uncle Warren finally came out and greeted me. Wearing a wide grin and his predictbale dark suit and tie, he addressed me with a warm, welcoming voice.

“Elissa, how are you?” He motioned for me to follow him into the office.

Exhausted, I quickly sat down in the dark upholstered chair closest to the door. I’d been up most of the night praying, and I felt light-headed from my ongoing fast. Warren sat down at his father’s desk, which faced the wall, and swung his chair around to face me. Now there was no desk separating us as there had been at Alta Academy.

“Tell me what’s going on,” he began in a low, inquiring voice. “What is the issue?”

I hesitated, wondering when Uncle Rulon would be coming in to join us. When he didn’t immediately arrive, I felt obligated to go over my concerns a second time with Uncle Warren.

“Well, I know you’ve told me to get married. And I know you feel like this is a revelation. I don’t think that this is right for me because I feel like I need to have some time to grow up. I’m just not prepared for this kind of responsibility. And I’m not willing to marry my cousin.”

Uncle Warren looked surprised. “Your cousin?”

“Yes,” I said. “You asked that I be married to Allen Steed, who is my first cousin.”

“Well,” he began, wearing a look of confusion that worried me, “have you been praying about it?”

“Yes, I am. And everything is telling me not to do this. Every part of my soul and heart is telling me that this isn’t right for me.”

“Have you told your father?”

“Yes, I’ve met with Uncle Fred several times. And I’ve told him that this is something that I’m not willing to do at this point, that I would prefer to not get married. And he has instructed me to come to you. I need to let you know of my concerns.”

Uncle Warren sat contemplatively for a brief moment. “Well,” he announced, rising to his feet, “the prophet has directed you to do this.”

“I know, but I need to hear it from him,” I replied, my stoic façade suddenly crumbling as I broke into tears. “I need to know that he is aware of the situation and at least ask him if he can give me two years. I just want two years before I get married.”

“Elissa,” he replied, offering me a tissue from the box on his desk, “this is a revelation from God. This is an honor to have the prophet place you in a good priesthood marriage. Are you declining to do this?”

“No,” I said, erasing tears from my cheeks. “I just want you to know where I stand, where I am, and why I feel the way I do.”

As I sat nervously shredding my tissue, I noticed a rainbow of flowers standing at cheery attention in the garden just outside of the expansive bay window. My tissue was in tatters, with small pieces falling onto the floor, as I made my position clear. “If I am going to go through with this marriage, then I need to hear it from the prophet’s mouth,” I petitioned.

Perhaps realizing that I was not going to back down until I saw Uncle Rulon, Warren went to speak with his father on my behalf. I watched as he exited through a second door in the office that opened up to a private hallway in Uncle Rulon’s personal living quarters.

A few minutes later, Warren reappeared in the doorway.

“The prophet has a few minutes to see you now,” he told me. Rising to follow him down the long corridor, I grew terrified of what Uncle Rulon was going to tell me. I was going to meet the most important man in the church, the living embodiment of God on earth, and I was going to tell him that I thought he was wrong about his vision for my future.

Pushing through a pair of lovely French doors that led to the dining room, I gathered my courage. I’d been speaking with the Lord for days, and surely he knew how I was feeling. Now it was up to Uncle Rulon to deliver his verdict on my situation. In the dining room there were two long shiny wood tables draped in colorful tablecloths, and Uncle Rulon was seated at the head of one of them, his plate still filled with food. He wore a gentle smile as he motioned for me to come closer. I could feel his whole body shaking from age as he took my hands in his.

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

I was overcome with emotion as I knelt by his side; I tried to remain calm, but my throat grew tight and tears began to fall. Uncle Rulon had experienced a second stroke and was now hard of hearing, but he seemed to listen intently as I started to tell him my feelings. In my mind, I thanked God for granting me this moment. All this time, I had been fasting and praying to the Heavenly Father for help, and I believed that he’d allowed me to be before the prophet that day.

In a hesitant voice, I explained to Uncle Rulon that I was not trying to defy him or God’s directions for me but that I felt like I was too young to be married. “All I’m asking for is to have two more years to grow up a bit,” I begged. “If nothing else, could you please find someone other than my cousin Allen for me to marry? Allen is the last person I can ever imagine being a wife to. So, please, just if there is any possible way, can things just not happen now?”

A confused look crossed his face as I stared into the prophet’s eyes. “Now, what did you say, sweetie? Will you repeat that, please?” he asked solicitously. I took a deep breath and desperately tried to slow my heart down so I could compose myself as I repeated my worries and concerns.

Just then Uncle Warren leaned down from his towering six-foot-plus height and jumped in on the conversation: “This young lady feels like the place you have found for her to be married is not right and she knows better,” he began.

I didn’t like the way Warren was distorting my words, making it sound as though I was ungrateful and thought I knew better than the prophet. It was disquieting and made me seem more defiant than I was, but I was too frightened to speak up.

“She feels like you haven’t decided right and she wants your permission not to be in the marriage,” Warren continued as I looked up at him in frustration. He was trying to make me feel terrible for even making such a request, for questioning the word of the prophet and God.

Puzzlement swept over Uncle Rulon’s face as he looked up to Warren and back down at me. For a moment he said nothing, and then he smiled kindly. “You follow your heart, sweetie, just follow your heart,” he told me, gently patting my hand.

While he’d not given me a direct answer, his words were clear and relieving. My heart leapt into my throat. Finally, someone was listening to me and going to give me the chance to decide. Rising to my feet, I felt as if a thousand pounds had been lifted off my chest. The prophet had told me to follow my heart; the will of God was for me to listen to my own judgment.

“God bless you, and keep sweet,” Rulon said, smiling, and he turned back to his lunch.

Uncle Warren ushered me out of the dining room and back down the hall. I expressed my relief aloud: “The prophet told me to follow my heart, and my heart is telling me not to do this.”

Suddenly Warren’s pace slowed. “Elissa,” he said, turning his gaze in my direction. “Your heart is in the wrong place. This is what the prophet has revealed and directed you to do, and this is your mission and duty.”

Confusion rocked me. I had just walked out of a meeting with the prophet where he himself had told me to follow my heart, and my heart was telling me that this was not right. Now Warren, who in my mind was only second in command, was telling me that my heart was in the wrong place.

“Well, he told me to follow my heart,” I reminded him. “And my heart is screaming no!”

Uncle Warren looked astonished.

It was like he hadn’t heard a word I’d said. Despite Uncle Rulon’s declaration, Warren remained unmoved. The prophet’s statement was irrelevant; all that mattered was what Warren wanted.

It was dinnertime when I arrived back at Uncle Fred’s house that Saturday evening. Everyone was assembled around the tables. I’d been crying for four days straight, I hadn’t eaten, and I’d barely slept. My life had become so full of drama, and it felt like people were constantly stopping in the middle of meals to focus on me whenever I entered the house. Racing upstairs to my room, I assumed what had become my new position—facedown on the bed in a puddle of tears.

Mom followed me upstairs and sidled up next to me on the bed. “Are you gonna be okay?” she asked, gently stroking my hand.

“No, Mom. I would rather die right now than ever have to go through with this.”

“Lesie, maybe being that it is the Lord’s will, this will work out. Allen can’t be that bad.”

“There is no way I could ever marry Allen and have it work out,” I told her forcefully.

“So, what are you going to do?”

“I would rather die than go through with this wedding.” I could see that my words upset my mother, but at that moment I didn’t care. All I cared about was saving myself from this horrible fate.

I’d been home for less than thirty minutes when there was a knock on the bedroom door. One of Uncle Fred’s wives was there to deliver the message that Uncle Fred wanted to see me. I knew what he was going to say, and I dragged my feet all the way to his office. Another mother was on the couch in his office when I arrived.

“Can’t I just do this alone?” I thought to myself as I assumed my seat.

“Well, how did it go?” Uncle Fred asked, looking out at me from behind his heavy wood desk.

“Well, I was able to see Uncle Rulon, and he told me to follow my heart.”

Uncle Fred grinned. “So, can I tell Warren that there has been a definite yes?”

“No!” I shot back in alarm. “I don’t know. I won’t, I can’t. My heart—everything in me is just screaming no.”

“Are you defying the prophet’s words?”

“No, I’m not trying to defy the prophet, I am just trying to do what is best for me.”

“Well, I just want you to know that if you turn down the prophet’s offer, it’s very likely you will never get married—”

“I cannot,” I interrupted.

“And I could not have you welcome in this house anymore,” Uncle Fred said.

Tears began to pour from my eyes. In all the times I had met with Fred since this mess started, I had always tried to maintain my composure, but now, exhausted, hungry, and defeated, I broke down in front of him. Seeing this opening, he took the chance to exploit it. I felt the world closing in on me. I hated Uncle Fred, and Uncle Warren, and even my mother for putting me in this position. I was fourteen years old with no money and nowhere to go. When my brothers and sister had tested the boundaries of rebellion, they had been shipped off to reform. While that was hard for them, at least it wasn’t permanent. Marriage to Allen wasn’t just permanent, it was infinite—a punishment that would continue through this life and into the next.