Stolen Innocence (23 page)

The cameras continued to snap outside of the Honeymoon Hideout, and my extended family pressed me to smile for the photos, saying that one day I would want to look back at this “happy” time. After what felt like an eternity in front of the camera, Uncle Fred congratulated us once again. He said that he was proud of me for doing what the prophet had told me to do, but pride from him felt tainted and ugly—nothing like it would have felt had I heard those special words from my real dad, after a wedding that I actually wanted.

Mom lingered in the hallway as long as she could to help me feel protected and loved. I had caught her crying back at the motel in Caliente, when I’d accidentally walked into the bathroom and found her in the arms of my sister Rachel. I knew this was difficult for her too, but there was no way for her to protect me now. After a few minutes, she finally declared, “I’m going to bed.”

“No, Mom, you can’t go,” I pleaded. She didn’t respond with words, but her eyes spoke her pain. I had no idea what a wedding night entailed and I was horrified at the prospect and apprehensive to go into the room. I watched as Mom faded into her room, closing the door behind her. I wanted nothing more than to trail along like a little girl, but I knew that I couldn’t.

Panic set in as Allen closed the door. I had never been alone with a man before, but here we were in a bedroom, of all places. I had no idea what to say, and an uncomfortable silence fell between us. Awkwardly, I sat down on the bed and cringed as he approached me. He sat down next to me and I quickly scooted over, grabbed my nightgown, and fled down the hall to the bathroom to change. As soon as I closed the door I collapsed, dropping to my knees with my back pressed against the door. I couldn’t even cry anymore; I was out of tears.

I stayed in the bathroom for a long time, battling in my head. While part of me was angry that I’d lost the fight, there was the other side, the faithful priesthood girl side, that was consoled that I had done what I was told to do. I tried hard to convince myself that it was going to work out and that God was watching over the situation. I thought of how hard I’d fought and of all those people who had congratulated me, telling me I was going to be happy someday. All of a sudden, I felt the urge to vomit and bent over the sink in horror. When the nausea finally passed, I stared at myself in the mirror worrying what to do next.

I knew I had to open the door and return to the bedroom, but the only thing I wanted to do was run into my mother’s room and hide in the corner.

“This is what the priesthood told me to do,” I convinced myself. “I have no choice but to do it.”

And with that thought, I took off my socks, shoes, and dress, but that was as far as I would go. I put my nightgown over my tights, my special church undergarments, slip, and even my bra and panties. On top of all this, I wrapped the new pink satin robe tightly around me. I wasn’t thinking that Allen would try to touch me, I just felt safer with all the layers. Even with all my clothes on I still couldn’t imagine being in a room by myself with a man.

It wasn’t just that I was afraid of Allen, I was overwhelmed at the idea of being in bed with him. As a naïve fourteen-year-old girl, I had no idea that people did more than sleep in bed. The truth was that I knew nothing about sex. Absolutely nothing. I didn’t even know that sex existed. It was a word not used in the FLDS culture, and what it described was never discussed before marriage. I didn’t know husbands and wives did it. Growing up in the FLDS, I had no concept of where babies really came from. No one had ever taught me about boys except that they were “poisonous snakes.” I had no idea what Allen expected of me now that I was his wife. All I knew was that I didn’t want him to touch me, period.

Allen was sitting on the bed when I returned from the bathroom. I watched as he rose to go to the bathroom himself, and when I heard the shower running I felt relieved. “I just want to go to sleep before he gets out of the shower,” I thought.

Closing my eyes, I heard him coming back into the room, and I lay perfectly still trying to pretend that I was fast asleep. All of a sudden, I felt him hovering over me, and then his hand on my shoulder shaking me. I clenched my eyes shut, and eventually he gave up, crawled in next to me, hugged me, and then rolled over and went to sleep. It was one of the longest nights of my life. I was drained but too scared to sleep, not knowing what might happen. I tried to fight it, but there were moments throughout the night when I drifted off from sheer exhaustion.

By dawn, I was back in my clothes and out on the terrace to watch the sun rise. Unsure of how to act when Allen woke up, I took off on foot down the road. I walked for hours, up into the dusty heights of the mountains, contemplating my situation. I had taken this rugged path many times before, and there was comfort in the familiarity of the well-worn trail. I hoped to find a resolution, but when I returned to Uncle Fred’s house late that morning, none had appeared. Mom and Allen were wondering what had happened to me. Mom took more pictures that morning. She wanted me to have photos for scrapbooking, and though she had the best of intentions, it was hard for me to pose next to Allen.

That afternoon Fred gathered the three newly married couples in his office to tell us that he was sending us all on a honeymoon and gave each man an envelope of money for the trip. The next morning, we would be joining him on his usual trip to Phoenix to shop for the community storehouse. The thought of going to Phoenix again left me momentarily excited. I’d been there before and enjoyed it. I assumed that this trip would actually result in me spending less time with Allen.

Though this gift was for everyone, it seemed clear that Uncle Fred hoped my spending some time away from the house with Allen would bring me closer to him. For much of the day, Allen tried to be cute and kind, but whenever he tried to hold my hand, I would pull away. When he moved over next to me in bed that night, I rolled to the edge, almost falling off.

I was too overwhelmed and too busy evading Allen’s touch to check in and see how the other newlyweds were doing, but we all came together again for our departure. Everyone could tell that our relationship was not going as well as the others. This was on full display during the ride down to Phoenix, when both Nancy and Lily sat close to their new husbands in Uncle Fred’s Suburban, while I made sure there was an empty seat in the second row between Allen and me.

When we arrived in Phoenix, Fred informed us that he’d gotten us each a hotel room, and the news terrified me. I had envisioned this trip much like the one I’d taken with Uncle Fred in the past, but now I realized that we would be on our own. After our night at the motel in Phoenix, we would be traveling in Texas, New Mexico, and Colorado, stopping in other motels along the way.

After checking into our room in Phoenix, I scurried to the bathroom for a long shower. My plan was simple: I would take as long as possible in the bathroom each night, hoping that Allen would be asleep when I returned. That first night, I had no such luck. When I came out of the bathroom, he was in his shorts. The only thing I could think was, “Put some pants on.” I had never seen a man with so little clothing, except a few in swimming suits, and even that had made me uncomfortable. Now, seeing my husband in his underwear made me cringe.

Allen came over to my side of the bed and sat down beside me. Slowly, he began inching his hand up the back of my pajamas and unhooked my bra.

I whipped around instantly to face him with fire in my eyes. “Don’t touch me.”

“Well,” he said, “we’re gonna have to do it sooner or later.”

I just looked at him blankly. I had no idea what “it” was. All I knew was that I didn’t want anything to do with him.

I moved into the other double bed to sleep that night, but the same thing happened the next night, with Allen touching me even more. Petrified, I grabbed his hand as he slid it down to my lower body. “Please don’t,” I begged, my voice shaking with fear. I had never been touched like that by anyone, and there was nothing about what he was doing that seemed right. He tried to kiss me, and I avoided his lips as best I could.

The next day I continued to avoid Allen when we were out with the other couples. They teased us, trying to get me to kiss my new husband.

“If you kiss him, I’ll give you one hundred dollars,” Nancy’s husband, Tim, offered one afternoon.

“No,” I said firmly. “No, I’m not doing it.”

Tim smiled. He’d been kind to me, and in some way, I felt he understood my hesitation. He was nothing like Lily’s husband, Martin, who was constantly making fun of people. Even as I insisted that Allen not kiss me, my fellow honeymooners managed to snap off one or two shots of him seizing a hug. I hadn’t been expecting Allen to grab onto me at that moment, as he suddenly pulled me toward him and pressed his lips to mine. Even now when I look at the photo it pains me to see how I had to block him with both arms. As he held me in his tight grip and forced me to kiss his sloppy lips, I fought to contain my anger. The only benefit of this disgusting and embarrassing kiss was that Tim considered it legitimate enough to give me a hundred dollars, which was the most money I had ever had at one time. But sadly, it wasn’t mine for long. My “priesthood head” made me give it to him later during our honeymoon.

That forced kiss was the only time I kissed Allen during the honeymoon. I did my best to not even talk to him. To prevent Allen from holding my hand, I found a small paper bag and pencil and kept my hands busy by logging the trip’s events on it. I almost felt bad when Allen started to cry from the teasing he was getting from Lily and Nancy over my reluctance to get near him, but the fact that he continued to touch me in spite of my protests prevented me from having compassion for him.

On the last night of our honeymoon, I woke up to the sensation of my skin being touched beneath my nightgown.

“What are you doing?” I demanded.

“I’m doing what I have a right to,” Allen replied with an air of entitlement. “I’m your husband,” he announced, as if that gave him rights to my body.

“Please don’t touch me” was the only response I could muster. I had no idea why he insisted on feeling my most private areas. It was clear that I would have to be on alert, even at night when I was supposed to be asleep.

The next morning, while we cruised along the highway toward home, I overheard Nancy and Lily whispering and giggling about “physical relations” with their husbands. Even though Allen hadn’t been shy about putting his hands on my body, I didn’t know what they were talking about.

“So,” Nancy whispered with a smile stretched across her face, “have you guys really done anything?”

“What? No,” I replied, baffled.

“Well,” she assured me, “maybe it could happen tonight. We could put a bug in Allen’s ear.”

I was a little frustrated, as the whole conversation flew over my head, but later I would look back at my naïveté with longing.

I was relieved when we returned to Short Creek that Saturday and resumed living next to my mother. Although I had to be alone with Allen at night, I felt comforted knowing that Mom was nearby. I remained scared and couldn’t shake the feeling that had set in when Allen said that he had a “right” to me, like I was his to claim, like someone had just handed me to him and now he could do whatever he wanted. I had no idea what he did want, but I knew that sooner or later, this thing he was trying to do with me was going to happen. And like most things that had happened in my life, there would be nothing I could do to stop it. But I wasn’t about to give up without a fight.

A
couple of weeks after our wedding, Allen’s parents invited us to their home to celebrate his birthday. He would be turning twenty on May 12, and since we had planned a trip to Canada to visit other family members on that day, Allen’s mothers had prepared a nice pre-birthday dinner for us. After dinner, Allen suggested that it would be nice for us to walk back to Fred’s. He was clearly trying hard to make me feel comfortable, and I didn’t know how to treat him, especially after the way he had been touching me. I didn’t want to be with him, but I knew I had been acting mean and I felt bad. I told myself that I had to give this a shot. I was doing my best to fight the feelings of revulsion and find a way to accept Allen as my priesthood head, so I agreed.

We’d been walking for several minutes when Allen directed us to the small school grounds not far from Uncle Fred’s home. There was a big grassy area with some swings, and he suggested that we stop there and talk for a while. We sat down on the grass looking up at the early-night sky.

“Do you love me?” he asked.

I was quiet. It felt okay, sitting on the ground staring up at the stars. It was a beautiful night, and I could see so many constellations. It didn’t make me love him as I was supposed to, but it was the most effort he’d made toward romance since we were married.

I felt Allen get up beside me, and turning to look at him, I was shocked by what I saw: Allen stood in front of me, exposing himself.

“What are you doing? Put that away!” I demanded, closing my eyes tightly.

“This is what I look like,” he announced matter-of-factly.

“I don’t even want to see,” I shouted, jumping up. I ran as fast I could toward home with Allen close on my tail. I’d never seen a man’s penis before, except when changing baby diapers. Tears streamed from my eyes as I tried to understand what had just happened. I raced upstairs to Mom’s room.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Mom asked.

I couldn’t bring myself to tell her. I was too embarrassed, and I thought that she would think I was the most terrible, evil, disgusting person in the world. It was as though I had done something horribly wrong by seeing a man like that. We had always been taught that it was a sin to even touch a boy, let alone see him naked.

“I hate him,” I blurted out. “I hate him! I hate him! I hate him!”

“Who?”

“Allen.”

“Lesie, what happened?”

“I’m not going in that room. I’m not going to talk to him.”

“Did he do something?” Mom asked.