My Story (11 page)

I sat on my bucket and listened to them fight about me, wishing I could be somewhere else.

They screamed at each other for a while but eventually settled down. After they had a chance to cool off, Mitchell approached his wife, all humble and submissive. He never said that he was sorry, but he was certainly groveling and acting like a child.

Then I saw something I had never seen before, but would see again.

In an act of contrition, Mitchell asked if she wanted him to give her a blessing, kind of a special prayer that is anointed on her head. Her body language seemed to soften and she nodded yes. Mitchell put his hands on her head and started to pray. Using his authority as a prophet, he reminded her that he was God’s servant. He had been called by God. But just like Moses needed Aaron, he needed her as well. She was his strength and wisdom. She was smarter and more worthy than he. While he was forced to go into the world, she was to be his rock and salvation, his source of his spiritual strength. He told her that she was the one who made it possible for him to lead the world out of sin and oppression. He needed her. God needed her. She was the great one, not he. He told her that she was a friend and companion to Mary, the mother of Jesus, and Mary Magdalene. She was a friend to all the great women in the history of the world. Her position in heaven was assured. Finally, he reminded her that she needed to be patient when he was weak. He would try to be better, but she would always be greater than he. She needed to show that by her patience when he did wrong.

When the blessing was over, I stared at them, dumbfounded. Barzee was beaming. She was eating it up.

I thought it was the strangest thing that I had ever heard—and I had heard a lot of strange things over the past few weeks.

*

Sometime during the second week, I begged him once again to let me go with him to get some water. It seemed that he and Barzee had already talked about it and made a decision. Without saying anything, he walked to where my cable was padlocked to the longer cable anchored between the trees. He pulled out the key that he kept on a string around his neck and unlocked my cable. Holding tightly, he gave it a brutal tug to remind me that I was still under his control. I didn’t care. I was overjoyed at the prospect of getting out of the camp. And I hadn’t entirely given up on the idea of trying to get away. I knew there might be an opportunity to run.

And I had another secret plan.

I used to read Louis L’Amour Westerns all the time. It seemed the old trackers could track a rattlesnake across a rock. I suspected there would be mud around the spring and I intended to leave as many footprints as I could. If I could leave some trace behind, the searchers might track me back to the camp. At least, that was my hope. It wasn’t a lot, I know that, but when you don’t have a lot to cling to, you hang on tight to what you have.

We started down the side of the mountain. There was no trail and we had to cut our way back and forth between the scrub oaks and pines. It was steep and difficult to travel. The weeds were high; thistle, dyer’s-weed, June grass, an occasional patch of dying sunflowers. Mitchell held the cable and walked in front of me, Barzee always just a few steps behind. Whenever we were about to break out of the cover of the trees and move into the open, Mitchell would stop and take a look around, listening and looking, his head cocked to the wind. Standing on the edge of the trees, he always pulled the cable short, forcing me to stand beside him. We’d stand there until he was satisfied, then he’d continue to lead me down the mountain.

Halfway down, he turned to cut across the mountain at an angle instead of heading straight down.

A small meadow spread before us, and for the first time I had a chance to really look around. I realized that we were in one of the canyons that cut east of my house. Looking west, way down to where the sides of the canyon came together, I could see a small portion of the Salt Lake Valley. I was startled for a moment. We weren’t that far from my home! Looking down on the valley, I could see the dark outlines of tall buildings, roads, and freeways. Though all of the details were lost in the distance, the city didn’t seem that far away. I looked up at the blue sky. Not a hint of clouds or rain. The sides of the mountains were mostly dry now, though there were occasional patches of weeds that dotted the canyon with spots of green. The south face of the canyon—the one opposite me—was scattered with trees and outcroppings of rock.

Looking at the rocky slope that lay below us, I realized a couple of things. First, it was going to be very hard to climb back up the mountain, for it was steep and hard-going. Second, Mitchell had been very smart in where he had placed his camp. Because it was halfway up the side of the canyon, there was no easy way to get to it from either the top or the canyon floor. And it was high enough up in the mountains that no one was going to stumble upon it unless they knew exactly where it was.

Turning, I looked back toward our camp, but it was completely hidden among the trees. In fact, I saw no trace of any human passing, for Mitchell had been careful not to ever walk the same path so as not to make a trail.

I only had a minute to look around before Mitchell tugged on my cable to get me moving again. We continued down the mountain. The ground turned bare and started to get very rocky as the terrain became steeper and more exposed. We continued at an angle, the slope far too steep to hike straight down. After a while, we had to use our hands to keep from sliding. It was treacherous and we were going very slowly. Eventually, it got so steep that Mitchell had to let go of my cable. He wasn’t worried. It was obvious I could not escape, and he needed both hands to keep from sliding. Afraid that I would trip on my cable, I coiled it up and held it in my left hand, using my right to keep from falling as we slowly worked our way down.

Over the coming weeks, I would learn that they called this part of the trail the crucible. And that’s exactly what it was: a severe test created by a miserable and exhausting trail. The crucible was steep and dangerous. It was on the side of the mountain that faced south, directly into the summer sun. No trees to provide any shade. Steep and rocky. It was difficult for any man to hike along the crucible, let alone a fourteen-year-old girl, let alone a girl who was dragging a steel cable and carrying a thirty-pound container of sloshing water.

I grew to hate the crucible. And I hiked it many times.

Eventually, we scratched and clung our way down to the bottom of the canyon. Here, there was a small spring that seeped out of the canyon floor. For a moment, Mitchell seemed to take a look around, listening for the sound of any voices. He stared up and down the stream as he listened, then looked around the soft earth for any signs of any footprints. Barzee waited patiently while he did his security review.

It was cool in the shade, and the stream was tucked inside a pretty glade. It flowed gently downhill, gathering a little more water out of the aquifer as it descended, but it was never more than a trickle meandering across the soft ground. Along the stream, the trees were green and full, lots of hardwoods, pines and oaks. The grass along the stream was thick, with peppermint and watercress mingled in.

“We’re going to bathe,” Mitchell told me. I had mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, I was so filthy that the thought of getting clean was more appealing than I could imagine. On the other, the thought of getting undressed in front of him sent a sickening shiver down my spine. Mitchell lifted up one of the rubber containers we had carried with us and nodded at me. “Take your clothes off,” he commanded. I froze, the words cutting me to the core. I flashed back to the first morning in the tent when Barzee had commanded me to take my pajamas off. When I didn’t move, Mitchell took a step toward me, the bucket in his hand. Knowing I couldn’t fight him, I pulled the linen robe over my head and dropped it on top of the nearest shrub. Mitchell moved me toward the center of the little stream where the mud was thick and squished between my toes. I stood naked as he dipped the bucket in a pool of standing water and poured it over my head. I nearly went into shock, it was so cold! The water washed over my hair and down my body. He handed me a rough bar of soap and a squirt of all-natural organic shampoo and told me to wash up. He only gave me a couple seconds. Another bucket of ice-cold water and that was it. My weekly bath was through.

Shivering, I moved to a spot in the sun to dry off while he and Barzee washed themselves. When they were finished, we put our dirty robes back on, then I helped to fill the water containers, working carefully to leave as many footprints in the soft mud as I could. Above the spring, on the north side of the mountain, there was a dusty patch, and I tried to leave my footprints there as well. But we only stayed at the stream for a couple of minutes. Mitchell was anxious to get back up to our camp. So we quickly filled our water containers, then headed up the side of the mountain again.

It was hot, exhausting work. The summer sun bore down. A hundred yards up, I was already dirty and exhausted. I held two one-gallon plastic containers of water and they sloshed heavily in my arms. Up we climbed, my cable dragging behind me. I don’t know if Mitchell had decided I wouldn’t run off or if he was only getting sloppy, but after a while I picked it up and carried it myself. Up we climbed, then we turned to our right. The crucible lay before us. Steep mountain and sharp rocks. I didn’t know how I would do it. Climbing. Slipping. Barely catching my fall. The water felt like a load of heavy sand in my arms. It grew heavier and heavier. We stopped every five or ten minutes to rest. Across the crucible. Farther up the mountain. As we climbed, I looked ahead of us, not knowing for certain where our camp was. Late that afternoon, we finally stumbled into camp.

Before I even had a chance to sit down, Mitchell walked over and locked my cable with the padlock again.

I was thinking that, you know, maybe he would leave me uncabled for a while. Maybe he trusted me, at least a little. Maybe he would give me a few minutes without being cabled to the trees. But that wasn’t to be the case.

At least I can dream, I thought as I listened to the click of the padlock being snapped again.

A little more than a week into my captivity, we ran out of food. Up to that point, we hadn’t eaten well, but we had enough to get by. And I hadn’t given a lot of thought as to where our food had come from, or where any more food was going to come from in the future. I just didn’t think about it. It was obvious Mitchell and Barzee had been in the camp for a long time. They hadn’t starved. They had to continue eating in the future. Surely they had a plan.

But then we ran out of food. The coolers were completely empty. Nothing in the plastic containers. No raisins. No tortillas. No crackers or apples. Nothing at all to eat.

In my church, on the first Sunday of the month, we fast for twenty-four hours, then take what money we would have spent on food and give it to the poor. It’s a day of fasting and prayer and giving, which is a good thing. But I guess I’m just a baby. It was always really hard for me to go hungry.

So even though I was used to going a day without eating, it was very discouraging to be trapped in the camp without any food. I’m the kind of person who has to eat every three hours or I feel miserable and become a little cranky. And I don’t think I’m alone. Most of us don’t realize, or we forget because we don’t have to do it very often, how quickly we feel hungry and how badly we want to eat.

We went a morning without eating. And then a day. And then another. I was getting really hungry. All of us were. It was miserable. My belly hurt. Then I started to wonder, What’s going to happen? Is he going to go and get us some food? How is he going to get it? How long is it going to take?

About midmorning, Barzee and I were in the tent. She was teaching me how to patch our robes, which was a good wifely duty and one I had to learn. To do this, she had brought out new robes for us to wear while we mended the linen ones. (Initially they had been a whitish light-beige color but now they were more brown than beige.) The new robes were made from gold sheets that we had to pull over our heads, then secure with a clasp and tie with a sash. The material was cheap and flimsy, but the sheets were not well worn, making them the finest clothing in the camp. They were awkward and ugly, though, with sleeves that fell to our sides in huge triangles, giving them the appearance of an African muumuu. All morning we sewed and patched away, getting the linen robes into fine shape. But it was hot and miserable. And I was getting so hungry. It was the only thing that I could think about.

Finally, Mitchell poked his head into the tent and announced, “I’m going to go down to Babylon to plunder.”

At first I didn’t know what he meant.
Babylon? Plunder?
But then I got really excited.
Going down to Babylon
. I was smart enough to figure that one out. He was going down into the world. He was going to get us food.

But that wasn’t the only thing that made me happy. This meant an entire day without him. I wouldn’t get raped. I wouldn’t get abused. I wouldn’t have to listen to him tell me how he was going to kill my family. I wouldn’t have to listen to him tell me how grateful I should be that he had saved me from the world. I didn’t know which was more exciting, a day away from him or the possibility of getting food.

Watching him get ready to leave, I felt like a little girl on Christmas morning. My mouth began to water at the prospect of finally having something to eat. My heart raced as he put on his boots and picked up his pack.
Yes
, I wanted to say.
Go down to Babylon and get me food!

But how was he going to get it? What did plunder really mean? I looked at him, confused. But Mitchell didn’t offer to explain, which was unusual, for he was always searching for something new to talk about. It turned out that it didn’t matter. I would learn about plunder soon enough.

Then another thought popped into my mind. Maybe he would bring me some news of what was going on with my family. Maybe he would tell me about the search efforts. I could picture him using the news to torment me:
Esther, they were so close. So close. And yet so far away.
Maybe he would bring me news of the world, anything at all to break the boredom. Or better yet, maybe someone would follow him when he came back to our camp. Maybe someone would stumble upon us while he was gone. Maybe someone would catch him while he was down in the city. I knew all of these things were extremely unlikely, but I couldn’t keep the thoughts out of my mind. He was going to the city. He was exposing himself to society, other people, maybe even the police. That had to be helpful, I just couldn’t figure out how.