Bringing Elizabeth Home (8 page)

By morning I had suffered what my doctors would later tell me was a mild nervous breakdown. I was in my deepest despair—feeling totally and completely helpless and unable to save my missing daughter. I was unable to function in any capacity, let alone offer security to Lois and the children. I needed sleep. I wasn't thinking clearly—I wasn't making good decisions. They sedated me when I checked in, but I kept right on crying. I just couldn't stop. I knew more than anything how much Lois and my family meant to me. Regardless of how bad things felt in that moment, I had to get back to my family. I asked for an ecclesiastic blessing. My father came to the hospital with my bishop. The bishop gave me a blessing that I would be able to cope with things and that I would have the strength and wherewithal to get through this nightmare. I had received many blessings in my lifetime, but I was in real pain and in dire need to feel the comfort that only God can give. During my blessing, I felt that God spoke to me. The Lord wanted me to be home with my family. I realized that life wasn't always going to be sweet, but I knew in my heart that everything was going to work out. I got out of the hospital bed, pulled myself together, and went home.

At that point, Lois's strength was the glue that held our family together. Our marriage had always been strong, but after I came home from the hospital, we knew that our connection had to get even better. Between the press outside our door twenty-four hours a day, the invasive line of questioning from the police, and the pressure we were both feeling from Elizabeth's absence, the stress could have torn us apart. We were on the edge all the time. This experience brought out the best and the worst in all of those involved. Lois and I learned how to depend on each other for our individual strengths. When nothing tests you, it's hard to know how you'll react in a time of crisis. Up to this point, we had lived a pretty good and easy life. But the situation in which we found ourselves brought out the differences in our personalities and backgrounds, and we learned what each of us was truly made of, our strengths and our weaknesses.

The searches continued with teams made up of a fascinating cross-mix of the people who make up our city; doctors, students, tourists, construction workers, teachers—everyone seemed to offer some assistance. The one lead we were able to provide was based on what was missing from Elizabeth's bedroom—a description of the red silk pajamas and the running shoes she wore that night. The shoes were size eight, white with blue trim, and with an unusual pattern on the soles.

On Saturday, Lois and I faced the media once again, standing at each other's side. We knew in our hearts that Elizabeth was still alive. My brother Tom spoke on behalf of the family, echoing our belief that Elizabeth was still alive out there. He pleaded for people to check their basements, check their homes. Someone knew something—of that we were certain.

“If you can hear us, we love you, Elizabeth. We haven't forgotten about you.
We won't stop until you come home.”

Lois choked those words out as she faced the cameras one more time. It was painful to have to make such remarks. Why had we been targeted? We were still so perplexed about the nature of the crime.

At eleven o'clock that morning, police gave out a composite sketch of a man they wanted to talk to who had attended a number of Elizabeth's harp concerts shortly before she disappeared. We had never seen the man they were seeking, nor did his description fit that of anyone we knew. By the afternoon, that lead had proved to be yet another dead end. Police had found the man, but after questioning him, they were convinced he knew nothing about Elizabeth's whereabouts. We were so hopeful that he was the kidnapper. This was just the first of many in a cycle of ups and downs. There would be numerous leads in the months to come that would turn out to be nothing. There was a disfigured body of a young girl found near the Great Salt Lake, bear bones that were discovered outside of Heber, and a desert mound that turned out to be buried garbage. Every time we heard the news of a new clue, our hopes were raised, only to be flattened as each one proved to be unfounded.

Soon after,
America's Most Wanted
aired its first piece on Elizabeth's disappearance. As its name implies, the show highlights unsolved criminal cases, fugitives, and missing children. The show's host, John Walsh, was contacted in an effort to enlist his help and support in Elizabeth's kidnapping case.
America's Most Wanted
camera crews had been around our home since the news first broke, so we were hopeful that John would want to help in any way he could.

Soon after the segment aired, tips started pouring in to the show's phone lines. Walsh reported the latest information from the police that Mary Katherine had feigned sleep during the kidnapping and that the kidnapper didn't know she had seen him. Until just before the airing of
America's Most Wanted
that night, the police and I had publicly indicated that Mary Katherine had been directly threatened by the kidnapper, which was incorrect. John was a great help through the many months of the investigation, and we are very grateful for all he did to help our family bring Elizabeth home.

Chapter 11

L
OIS

If the Latter-Day Saints will walk up to their privileges, and exercise faith
in the name of Jesus Christ, and live in the enjoyment of the fullness of the Holy Ghost constantly day by day, there is nothing on the face of the earth
that they could ask for, that would not be given to them.

—BRIGHAM YOUNG

W
HEN ELIZABETH WAS TAKEN,
I couldn't see beyond that day. I truly believed that she'd be home, in her own bed, by nightfall. But our lives were turned upside down. Our home had been sealed off as a crime scene, and our children were not allowed to come home. The children stayed at my mother's for the first several weeks. She has a wonderful big yard with swing sets and lots of things for the children to do and lots of cousins for them to play with. I think the whole situation was confusing for everyone. Our youngest child, William, didn't comprehend that Elizabeth had been kidnapped. He thought she was having a very long harp lesson. Charles understood the severity of the situation. All the children had suffered a shock to their system in one way or another. While Elizabeth was missing, Mary Katherine prayed that no harm or accident would come to her family. She never once gave up hope for Elizabeth. She collected things she thought Elizabeth would like during the nine months. She'd go to birthday parties and save her goodie bags. She and Elizabeth used to keep scrapbooks together, and Mary Katherine pressed on with that hobby by keeping scrapbooks of letters she received and letters she wrote to Elizabeth. Before Mary Katherine came home from Lois's mother's, we felt it was important to redecorate the girls' bedroom to help Mary Katherine feel more comfortable in that space, since the police had taken most of the bedding and a box full of items from the room. The room was the same, but with a few new items. Mary Katherine always left one side of the room for Elizabeth. She never—not once—took something of Elizabeth's and said, “This is mine now.” She asked to borrow something of Elizabeth's as if her big sister were away for the weekend.

My mother was in mourning for her husband. Maybe, in some small way, having the children around was helpful for her, because it took her mind off the situation of Elizabeth being missing and her husband being gone. Meanwhile, Ed and I stayed in our home with Charles and the FBI as investigators searched our home for clues.

As one day stretched into two and then a week, and finally, months and months, my whole attitude changed. A box of Kleenex never seemed big enough to capture all of my tears. Each tissue would just disintegrate. I was able to handle the situation to some degree because of my testimony in Jesus Christ and a loving Heavenly Father. Without that knowledge, I doubt that I would have been able to get up every morning. I hadn't given up hope. There was a chance that Elizabeth was still alive and that we would find her.

For all the obstacles and disappointments we encounter in life, and as painful and difficult as some of our tests of endurance are, they are catalysts to greater understanding. They offer power, peace, comfort, healing, and strength to face the daunting task of climbing a mountain as big as Everest. This is part of life's journey.

The mind is an amazing machine. It can take us to faraway places, shield us from harm, and sometimes even play tricks. When Elizabeth was gone, she was always in our thoughts. Not a single day or minute slipped by without our wondering where our daughter was. Was she safe? Had she eaten? Was she warm? Was she frightened? What was she thinking? What terrible atrocities had she been subjected to? If we had let them, our minds could have wandered to the most terrible and unthinkable scenarios. We chose to put our focus and attention into channeling that negative thought into positive. We did that through daily prayer and reading scripture. Looking back on it, the scriptures we read all took on a new and more powerful meaning. When life is going along smoothly, the ritual of reading scripture doesn't have the same impact as it does when you are in the midst of a crisis. We found ourselves deepening the level of our spirituality. We wanted to search and ponder and pray harder than ever before, and we did just that. We had to do everything within our power to make ourselves worthy of the blessings we were asking for. What good is asking for something and then doing nothing to make it come to pass? Nothing good happens without hard work. You have to do your part.

We visited the Temple the week Elizabeth was kidnapped. We were both exhausted and had no time to let our guard down and decompress. We had been going for days without any sleep. The Temple was the first place where we both felt as if we were protected from the outside pulls of the investigation. The Temple is a place of worship, and it felt so good to be there. We were married in the Temple. It is a very meaningful place to us. For those few hours, life felt normal and we were at peace. The weight had been lifted from our shoulders, though we were painfully conscious that our ordeal was far from over.

Keeping that sense of peace wasn't always as easy as we would have wished during the months Elizabeth was missing. The investigation was intrusive to say the least, but the mess left behind after investigators rummaged through our home was indescribable. We've all seen movies in which a house is dusted for fingerprints. Have you ever given a thought to that becoming a reality in your home? When the police and FBI combed our home inside and out, seeking any clue that might help their investigation, they covered the house in graphite, which is a dark gray—almost black—powderlike substance. How could we bring our children home and make the house look normal when there was graphite everywhere? The carpets needed cleaning, but whom do you call to get graphite stains out? We called our regular carpet-cleaning service, who had cleaned all of the carpets in our home just before Elizabeth was kidnapped. We felt comfortable having this service come into our home—as we've used them many times in the past and trusted the workers to be honest and upstanding. The service was so generous and kind—they came and cleaned the carpets free of charge.

The police came and went for what seemed like days. They urged us to look around for anything that might be missing. If you have teenagers, you will understand when we say we were uncertain about how to look in Elizabeth's bedroom to see if anything was out of place! Two young girls sharing a room doesn't exactly add up to neat shelves, drawers, and closets. As far as we could tell, only her running shoes were missing.

Getting through those first few weeks was critical. All I wanted to do was curl up into a ball and hide under the covers in bed. If I ignored the reality of the situation, I became useless as a mother and wife. My children needed me—and I wanted to be there for them as their mother. After Elizabeth was kidnapped, no one really knew what to say when they'd see me. If I went to the store, there would be so many well-intentioned people who wanted to offer me comfort and condolences. “How are you, Lois?” There was no answer to that. What could I say? I appreciated their efforts. When it was too hard to face going out of the house, I often called on family and friends to run these errands for me.

There were lots of friends who helped in so many ways, but one friend in particular became very important to me while Elizabeth was gone. I believe that she was absolutely guided to help me in the way that she did. It became increasingly difficult for me to function and perform the daily routines of running a home and looking after five children. I don't know how she first heard the news that Elizabeth had been taken, but she found me around ten o'clock that night at Ed's parents. She came up, knocked on the door, walked in, and threw her arms around me and held me. She had the right words at that moment, which offered me some comfort that Elizabeth was being watched over and protected. She had an optimism that helped me cope. She never waited for me to call and ask for help—she somehow instinctively knew what needed to be done. I couldn't tell anyone what I needed. I was numb and unsure myself what needed to be done. It was wonderful to have a friend I could talk to. She was completely removed from the whole situation because she wasn't family, and she could listen without any judgment, regardless of what we talked about. I think that most people simply didn't know the right thing to do—and looking back, I'm not sure there was a right or wrong answer to that.

We believe we were guided and directed in everything that we did during the investigation. There were no coincidences. Everything unfolded in its chosen time. We had switched into survival mode. Our world had stopped when Elizabeth was kidnapped. Everybody was there for us—so when we started to think about Elizabeth, about who was there with her and wiping her tears, it was too much to absorb. I often wondered if I had been crying for Elizabeth or for my own pain. How could I separate the two? Obviously, the tears were for our daughter. We had thousands of people helping us try to get Elizabeth back—and she had no one. We had volunteers hanging posters and donating food, lining up press conferences, and doing anything else they could do in the effort to help. No one was physically there to help Elizabeth or take care of her needs, though I knew our Heavenly Father was aware of her situation.