My Story (29 page)

After she drove away, Mitchell walked toward the restaurant. “Let’s eat!” he said. I was shocked. I had thought that we were out of money. We went inside and, for the first time, Mitchell let me order what I wanted. It was the first hot meal I’d had in ages! I ate until I thought that I’d be sick.

After eating, we walked along the highway until it grew dark, then left the road and headed off into the desert to set up camp. When we awoke the next morning, the sun was blazing hot, turning our tent into an oven. I crawled out of the tent, already very thirsty, and started packing up our bags. Looking around, I realized that we were literally out in the middle of the desert. The empty road stretched into the distance, the only indication of civilization that I could see. Nothing but desert and barren hills in every direction. No sign of life at all. I paused to listen. The stillness was absolute.

We started walking. The road seemed to grow gooey from the rising heat. After an hour or two, we ate the last of our food: old carrots mixed with vinegar and a can of black olives. We didn’t have any water. We kept on walking. By noon, I was starting to believe we were committing suicide by thirst.

An occasional car sped by, but none of them stopped or even slowed down. I was as miserable as I had ever felt. But Mitchell seemed to love it. It gave him an opportunity to show his physical prowess. Plus, he loved the idea of suffering for the Lord. I could almost read his mind:
I’m just wandering in the wilderness and waiting upon the Lord. I glory in persecution. For when I am weak, then am I strong.

Finally, some friendly Mexicans picked us up and took us a few miles to where there was a fork in the road. After they dropped us off, we stood at the intersection, waiting for Mitchell to figure out which way to turn. As we waited, a woman in a blue car stopped beside us. She had passed us before, then had gone into the nearest town, bought some hamburgers, turned around, and brought them back to us. I eyed the hamburgers hungrily. Another kind woman. Another saint!

After she left us, we started walking again.

It was at this point that things got a little strange.

As we headed into Blythe, or Brawley, or something like that, an old and cankered Winnebago went cruising by. Looking at the creepy motor home, I was glad it hadn’t stopped. But all of Satan’s children recognize their own and, as I watched the Winnebago speeding down the road, I was distraught to see it pull over, then turn around and come back to pick us up.

It took a long time before the door flew open. Then the driver beckoned for us to climb in. The interior was dark and eerie. I wanted to run away. I started to back up, but Mitchell pushed me forward and forced me to climb on board.

The interior of the motor home was as disgusting as I had imagined. For one thing, it was filthy. For another, every inch of the water-soaked walls was covered with cutouts of naked women. Alongside each picture, the driver had written what he wanted to do to that girl. To call it creepy was an enormous understatement. Mitchell, of course, felt right at home.

The driver looked at us and said, “It took me a minute to open the door because I had to take down some of the cutouts that would have been offensive to the ladies.”

I looked around in disgust.
So this isn’t offensive?
I wanted to say. I shook my head.

“You know that’s why I stopped to pick you up,” he said to Mitchell. “You have these two ladies with you.” He was talking to Mitchell as if we weren’t even there. I felt like one of Mitchell’s cows or something. And the driver never took his eyes off of me as they talked. It was obvious what he had in mind.

They kind of talked around it for a moment, but Mitchell made it clear that it wasn’t going to happen.

The man nodded. Okay. No big deal. They could still be friends.

Soon after that, Charlie, the Winnebago driver, was telling us about a nudist camp that he was heading to. “Want to join me?” he asked. Of course Mitchell did.

Charlie drove us to a secret oasis in the desert where there was a warm spring. He kept staring at me, waiting for me to take my clothes off, but Mitchell wasn’t going to share me even visually. Handing me a large T-shirt and some old shorts, he told me to put them on. The spring felt cool in the hot afternoon and there were lots of naked people around, the vast majority of them old and wrinkled as dry prunes. We sat in the cool water surrounded by palm trees until the sun had gone down. That night we set up the tent outside of the old Winnebago. Charlie tried one more time to make an agreement with Mitchell, but Mitchell continued to refuse.

The next day, Charlie took us to a small town outside of Las Vegas and dropped us off. But he kept turning his motor home around and circling back to pick us up again. Mitchell, wanting nothing more of Charlie, forced us to hide in the bushes along the road. “You’re mine!” he proclaimed. “I’m not going to share you. I don’t care if he gave us a ride!”

I felt my stomach churn. So he wouldn’t share me for a ride. But what if he got a better offer? The thought made me feel sick.

After Charlie had finally driven off, we started walking down the road again.

Another ride from a nice man in another decrepit car left us at another intersection on a nameless road in the middle of the scorching desert. We started to walk again. No water. No food. The day passed with no one else offering us a ride.

The next morning came as hot as ever. We walked and walked, always hoping for someone to pick us up. But the cars kept zooming by. By then, my light skin had been sunburned to a painful cherry red. My cheeks and nose were blistered and bleeding. The sunburn was very painful, and having to carry the heavy bags across my sunburned shoulders only made it worse. Finally, I took one of Mitchell’s undershirts and wrapped it over my head to protect my neck and face.

As evening approached, I was desperate for want of water. I really didn’t know how much farther I could go. Suddenly a white truck pulled over. A young man jumped out and started handing us bottles of ice-cold water. He told us that he had passed us on the road and had gone up to the next town to buy some water, then circled back to give it to us. Another act of kindness! Another saint! A bit more strength to go on.

A few rides and a lot of walking later, we finally made it to Las Vegas. We immediately made our way to the nearest place to eat. While we were inside the Burger King, a lot of the people stared at us, always whispering to each other. Nothing unusual about that. But this was much more than the normal amount of whispering and pointing. Mitchell was starting to get nervous. He shifted anxiously in his seat, his narrow eyes darting around. His hands were always moving, flittering in front of his face. Seeing his growing agitation, I grew nervous too. What if something goes wrong? I thought. What if he blames me? What if he hurts my family?

The moment we finished our food, Mitchell got up and commanded us to go.

As we were walking across the parking lot, a police car drove up. The officers got out and started questioning Mitchell. I couldn’t hear everything they asked, but Mitchell was always calm and cool. “We are ministers for Christ. This is my wife and my daughter.”

One of the officers looked at me. I immediately dropped my eyes.

The officers questioned him a little longer, but there was nothing they could do. There were lots of strange people in Las Vegas. We weren’t the only ones they would stop that day. After a few minutes, they got back into their patrol car and drove away.

Free of the officers, Mitchell was frantic to get out of Vegas. His face was tight with fear, and he croaked in fury as he turned to me. “Once we make it back to Utah, we will go to the upper camp. There, you will stay! You will never leave the camp until the Lord has said it is time to come out.”

Until the Lord said it was time to come out?
I knew that meant forever. I started shaking with fear and dread. That wasn’t the reason I had wanted to go to Utah! I needed to be seen around the city if I was ever going to be rescued. No one would find me on the mountain. I closed my eyes and started praying.
Please God, help me find a way.…

We walked toward a nearby gas station, where a bunch of semi trucks were fueling up. Mitchell went into the truck stop to use the bathroom. While he was gone, one of the truck drivers walked over toward Barzee and asked if we needed a ride. The driver was a little worried when Mitchell came out of the building and he realized that we weren’t traveling alone, but he agreed to take us anyway.

We climbed into his truck. Barzee got in the front seat while Mitchell guarded me in the cab area where the man had his bed. Mitchell asked the man how far north he was headed. The man said he was going to Orem, Utah.

My heart started pounding! I would almost be home!

We rode in silence for most of the way. As night settled, Mitchell told me to go to sleep. The next thing I knew, he was shaking me by the shoulder, telling me we had to get out. It was either very late at night or very early in the morning. We climbed wearily out of the truck and thanked the man.

Inside, my heart was singing! I was back in Utah. I was almost home!

The darkness was full around us. It was biting cold and I realized I wasn’t used to the Utah cold weather any longer. I wasn’t sure where we were, but I could hear the hum of the freeway to my left. The parking lot was dotted with yellow security lights and there was no one else around. I could barely make out the outline of the mountains to the east, dark shadows against the starry sky, their snowy peaks glistening in the night. I thought I recognized the distinctive peaks of Mount Timpanogos, which would put us somewhere south of Provo, but I wasn’t sure. Looking at my surroundings, I felt a rush of joy. It was early March. I had been gone for almost six months. I was so glad to be near my home.

Mitchell looked around, his eyes darting here and there. He was very nervous. It was the first time I had been in Utah without my robes and veil. And this was deep in enemy territory, back in the very heart of the state. He stared at my ridiculous wig, the crooked dark glasses, and the clothes that didn’t fit, then shook his head.
Have I made a mistake in doing this?
the uncertainty on his face seemed to say.

He motioned to a park on the other side of the highway. I thought I saw a sign that read
CAMELOT
, but it was very dark and I couldn’t tell for sure. Mitchell started jogging toward it, picking up speed as he ran.

He is scared!
I realized as Barzee and I followed him toward the park.

We crossed the highway and walked through the gate. As we got closer I was able to read some of the signs. We walked past King Arthur’s Round Table and moved to the back of the park. Picking out a patch of grass beside a gentle river, we set up our small tent. A shiver ran through me from the cold, and I realized that my single blanket was not going to keep me warm.

Before we went to sleep, Mitchell raped me, as he always did.

It would prove to be the last time.

*

Mitchell woke us early. The morning was gray and cold, the grass thick with heavy frost. I could see my breath inside the tent and the sides of the fabric were dripping with condensation from our breathing. My body ached from the cold and being crammed inside the small tent with two adults who would just as soon lie on top of me as give me any room. We climbed out of the tent before it was fully light, Mitchell pushing us to hurry. He wanted to get out of the park before anyone saw that we had been sleeping there. I took the tent down as quickly as I could, but my fingers were icy cold and it was difficult to make them move.

After packing up our gear, we headed out of the park. We walked along the frontage road for a short distance before we came to a convenience store with a McDonald’s inside. Food! I was so hungry! We walked in and placed our order. The woman at the cash register mumbled as she explained that it was hard for her to talk because she’d had her wisdom teeth out the day before. Mitchell kept asking her all kinds of questions, and it was obviously painful for her to answer, so she was happy to hand us our food and get us on our way.

We headed to a booth and stuffed our breakfast down in silence. As soon as we were finished, Mitchell herded us out of the restaurant.

Standing on the sidewalk in front of the store, Mitchell took a look around. It was still early and there weren’t very many cars around. But there was a young man who was getting some gas and Mitchell walked up and asked if we could get a lift. The young man looked at us suspiciously. I knew that we looked like a bunch of dirty vagabonds, but he hesitated only a moment before he said, “Sure. Jump in.”

We climbed into his car. As I got into the backseat, he looked over his shoulder. “Be careful, that door is broken. It might fall off in your hands.”

I could see that the inside panel was barely hanging on, but I got the door shut and we took off. He took us to Orem, but that was as far as he could go. When I got out of the car, the door panel fell off in my hands. “I’m so, so sorry,” I said as I tried to put it back in place.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault.” He laughed.

I fixed the door as best I could, then got out and the young man drove off.

We headed toward the bus stop, which was not very far away. Tons of people were around. Most of them couldn’t keep from staring at us, causing me the usual embarrassment and shame. We climbed on the bus, which was so crowded that many of us had to stand. I kept my eyes down, staring at Mitchell’s feet. He kept very close, never more than a few inches away. His eyes were always moving, darting here and there. Barzee seemed withdrawn, as if she had resigned herself to whatever lay ahead. Since the night the devil and his angels had tortured her by cutting her body in two, it seemed she had lost a lot of energy.

Most of the people on the bus were either students or businesspeople heading into the city and we stood out among the well-dressed crowd. As the bus swayed along, I looked up to see a young man staring at me. I lowered my head again. I could still feel his eyes on me and my heart started racing. So conditioned was I to being alone, and so conditioned to feeling terrified of Mitchell’s threats, that I immediately withdrew from any human interaction, even if it was just a glance.