50 Years in Polygamy: Big Secrets and Little White Lies Read online

  I knew I’d have to work very hard to prove myself.

  CHAPTER 14

  “Independents” and

  My First Love

  1965–1967

  Many of my teenage summer days and nights were glorious. I’d never been so comfortable in my skin, and my slim body seemed to soar. Whenever I danced, ran, hiked, swam, or sailed down the steep sand-dune hills, I was in heaven. Boys were everywhere, and I cherished every minute of their attention and admiration.

  By my early teens, hundreds of families had converted to our polygamous group. Our fairly new garage in Murray was nearly overflowing with new and old members who wanted to attend Relief Society, priesthood, sacrament meetings, and Sunday school there.

  Amy and I stared at two scantily dressed girls, whose parents were new converts, as they walked up our driveway. I leaned into Amy and murmured, “Look at those wicked girls! They’ll probably go to hell for dressing like that!”

  “I know,” she replied. “We won’t ever dress like that!”

  “Yeah, or wear so much makeup.” I said, while deep inside I feared these girls would be our rivals.

  My twenty-pound weight loss seemed to give me value. I suddenly became worthy of love, attention, and a special kind of treatment I’d never known. Aunt Eleanor’s oldest son, Charles, wanted to take me to one of the roller-skating parties he and some of my older siblings went to on a regular basis.

  “I want to show off my beautiful little sister,” he told me. “Invite Amy and Valerie to go with us if you want to.”

  At the party, the three of us pulled our rented roller skates over our heels, laced them up, and then tied them tightly around our ankles as Charles directed us. Then we tried to skate across the floor. Finally, we plopped ourselves down on a side bench and watched everyone else glide around the room like pros. The rink was full of young Independent polygamists. Each one skated around the center poles in the same direction, moving to the music of the fifties and sixties.

  A few minutes later, we found ourselves gawking at an attractive young man who glided around the rink with a familiar-looking pretty, petite blond. They twirled in circles, skating backwards, in between and around everyone else like they’d been skating for years.

  Soon the owner of the S&M Skating Rink announced everyone should clear the floor because it was guys’ choice to ask a girl to skate.

  When the handsome guy we’d been staring at skated toward us, I bent down, pretending I was checking my skates.

  “Do you want to skate?” I heard him ask Amy or Valerie. I was too smitten or shy to look up. I waited for one of my friends to stand up and skate away. They didn’t budge. I could still see his feet right in front of me. “Don’t you want to skate with me?” he asked again.

  Simultaneously Amy and Valerie elbowed my sides. “Sophia! He’s talking to you.”

  I looked up. “Me?”

  “Yeah, do you want to skate?”

  “I don’t know how to skate. I’ve never done it before,” I answered.

  “That’s okay, I’ll teach you.” He grabbed both my hands and pulled me onto the floor.

  Nervous, I lost my balance umpteen times and tried to overcome the interference of my inferiority complex. Royce asked me a million questions as we tried to skate. We laughed together when I fell and when I succeeded. He gave me hugs for support and confidence, and reassured me I was making great progress. Before the evening was over, I was on cloud nine. In one evening I had become an amateur skater, skating pretty good forward and not so bad backward.

  As we were about to leave, Royce asked me if I’d go on a date with him in the near future.

  “I’m not supposed to date yet.” I told him.

  “Yet? What do you mean ‘yet’? How old do you have to be before you can date?”

  “Dad wants me to wait until I’m sixteen.”

  “Sixteen! How old are you?”

  I knew if I told Royce I’d be thirteen in a few months it would end of his interest in me. I wanted to lie through my teeth and be okay with it. But by then the truth had become more and more important to me.

  “I’ll be thirteen in November,” I confessed.

  “No way! You’re kidding me! You’re older than that!”

  “I’m not kidding you. I’m only twelve.”

  “You’re seventeen,” Royce said. “You just don’t want—”

  “I wish I was seventeen!”

  “Listen, Sophia, if you don’t want to go out with me, just say so.”

  “I do want to. I’d love to go out with you, but I can’t.”

  The next morning, after Amy, Val, and I woke up from our sleepover, Charles found me and called me aside.

  “You know what, Sophia? Royce said he thinks you are wonderful and beautiful, but he about keeled over when I told him you were only twelve. He was sure you were at least sixteen or seventeen. He wants to go out with you. Just take things slow and easy, and be careful, Sis, okay?”

  I was totally confused by Charles’ remarks. Royce was going to be eighteen in January. I was sure he wouldn’t wait three years to go out with me.

  The same afternoon, Amy, Valerie, and I found out Royce was in Dad’s yard for the first time that I knew of. He was there “to pick up something from Charles,” he later told us. We primped as fast as we could and made our own excuses to go outside, where we might just bump into Royce.

  Despite the fact that he’d spent the whole prior evening skating with me, I was still insecure about Royce’s feelings. I thought all it would take was for him to see Amy or Val up close in the daylight. Once he became acquainted with their darling personalities, he’d probably fall madly in love with one or both of them.

  As luck would have it, Mom hollered out the window for me to come inside to finish my work. That was the excuse she used, but I knew her real intent was to get me away from the handsome stranger in our yard.

  A few days later I about died of surprise when Royce called. He called me again the same day and didn’t stop calling. In our long conversations, he claimed he couldn’t keep his eyes off me, and he loved my vivacious personality and laugh. “And no, I didn’t want to go out with Valerie or Amy,” he exclaimed. “I wanted and still want to go out with you! You’re the one I’m crazy about.”

  All day long and when I went to bed, my heart rejoiced. Never had I expected someone so handsome and kind to be attracted to me, and I’d certainly never seen myself as having a cute, fun personality. Each day that summer, I had another chance to talk to, listen to, and laugh with someone who really cared.

  At the next Group stomp, Royce showed up with a few of his brothers and his friend Mark. Between dances, Valerie, Amy, and I hung out with these good-looking guys near the back of the dance hall.

  Behind their backs, we goaded the passel of “Allredite” men who hung close by to scrutinize these “wayward Independent polygamous men.” They felt it was their duty to make sure they wouldn’t get out of line with any of “our” young girls.

  The more I hung out with Royce at our house or his—chaperoned by my brothers who were dating his sisters—the more Dad and Mom began to fret. If I fell in love with an Independent polygamist, they worried he might convince me to leave The Group and my family. On the other hand, they thought my brothers who held the priesthood would be able to convert their Independent girlfriends to become part of our group.

  Though Dad was quite concerned, he didn’t forbid me to see Royce, or my sister Amy to see his brother. He didn’t want his children to treat anyone badly. Nor should he totally disregard the possibility that with our kindness and good examples, some of these young men “who don’t know any better” might accept the truth—there is a prophet of God still on this earth. With that heroic possibility, Amy, Val, and I were thrilled to be hanging out with new, unrelated male blood.

  Not much later, the three of us became known in The Group as “those rebellious girls.” We were the naughty ones who opposed the general rules. We left the d
ance hall premises, flirted, and hung out with “malevolent” young men who were just hanging around to steal us young girls away from The Group.

  In October, my brothers took me to a Halloween party held at Mark’s mother’s new home in Salt Lake City. I’d just met Mark at a recent skating party and the dance, so we found ourselves visiting in the basement family room for quite a while.

  Mark told me the pretty blond who was swirling around the skating rink with Royce was his little sister Ann. She was the girl who had lived behind my Aunt Beth’s house a few years earlier. Mark said he remembered my hair was fixed up in pigtails, and how terrified I was of all his brothers who were hanging out in the front room.

  “Do you remember when you came over with my sister Ann? I’m the guy who teased you about using my games.” Then Mark chuckled. “I knew the minute I saw you, you’d be my wife some day.”

  I blushed, turned away from more of his teasing, and went back upstairs to join the costume party.

  About one month after the Halloween party, our new crowd of friends planned a big harvest party to be held in our three-car garage / church.

  “It’s really another excuse, you know,” Royce said, winking at me, “for us to be able to spend more time together. We have to create as many social gatherings as we can so you and I can see each other more.”

  I didn’t tell Royce how frustrated I was when he meandered slowly around the grocery store, choosing a bunch of junk food for the party. He had to stop at his sister’s house, then the gas station. All I was eager for was the party. We had the food, but we were already late.

  “Aw, don’t worry,” Royce told me when he sensed my annoyance. “The party will go on for hours. Besides, this way I have an excuse to keep you all to myself.”

  By the time we got back home, our garage was nearly full of our young friends and relatives, blasting country-western music way too loudly for my sensitive ears. After Royce and I placed the food and drinks on the table, the music was turned off and everyone stopped talking. It must be time for the blessing on the food, I thought.

  I felt like a ditz when everyone yelled, “SURPRISE!” I had no idea who the party was for. To cover my embarrassment, I continued to arrange the food, snacks, plates, and cups on the table. A few minutes later a whole bunch of people gathered around the table and screamed “Happy birthday, Sophia!”

  I looked questioningly at Royce, who was standing right next to me. “Happy thirteenth, beautiful girl!” he said as he hugged me. “This party is for you. Sorry it was a few weeks late, but we didn’t want you to get suspicious.”

  I remembered one simple birthday cake and song for me when I was nine, as well as the morning birthday song and goodies from Aunt Amelia’s family the previous year, but I never imagined anyone would ever care enough to arrange a big birthday party for me. I was so overwhelmed my legs went out from under me, and I began to cry. Royce sat next to me on the floor. He gathered me in his arms and held me until I could contain myself and join in my own party.

  Royce came to our house on a regular basis to see me. We went all over the place with my brothers, other couples, and with large and small groups of friends. We spent time together at the Allred meetings, at Royce’s house for Sunday school, sleigh riding, horseback riding, and on hayrides. Our favorite times were the dances and roller-skating parties, where we had an excuse to touch and hug each other. We hung out together every chance we could. Between the times we saw each other, I missed him. He treated me royally and helped bolster my developing self-esteem. I knew he was meant to be a part of my life. Royce said he wanted to marry me when I was old enough, and he promised to wait for me to make “the right decision.”

  As time went on, I also began to hang out with Mark and my brother Alan, who had become good friends. The three of us became nearly inseparable. More than anything, we loved our long walks. We’d walk, run, and race from Dad’s house through the subdivisions where Mark used to live, and over to Wheeler Farm where Mark kept his horse. We discussed our hopes, dreams, likes, dislikes, friends, families, and heartaches for hours on end. Mark told us of his sorrows when he and his eight siblings lost their mother due to heart failure when he was only twelve years old.

  Mark and I mulled over my relationship with Royce and Mark’s relationship with my friend Valerie, with whom he had been going for quite some time. As much as we cared for our current sweethearts, neither of us believed we were destined to marry them.

  Royce and I continuously debated the differences in our beliefs. As dear as he was to me, I felt he and his father were the epitome of chauvinism, and I knew from the onset of our falling for each other, I shouldn’t marry him. It baffled me, the only spiritual guidance I received when it came to my covenant mate was, I should not marry the guy I loved.

  As with most teens, my next few years were packed with wonderful moments, as well as craziness and heartaches. Royce and I would break up, get back together, hurt each other, disagree, and then start all over again.

  At Wheeler Farm, in one of our favorite spots, Mark carved a big heart on a wide, mature tree that had fallen over a creek bed. When his masterpiece was complete, it said, “Sophia and Mark Forever.” Then, under a huge oak tree, he pulled me close and told me he loved me.

  “I know the two of us will get married someday,” he said. “I’ve known ever since I first saw that scared, little, towheaded blond following behind my sister. I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you this again.”

  “I love you too, Mark,” I told him sadly. “But I don’t think we should marry each other—we’re best friends.”

  “Someday soon you will know it’s meant to be, Sophia. Until then, I’ll wait for you.”

  A few weeks later, on a chilly day at the farm, Mark slid across the car seat and kissed me tenderly on my lips. I’d never felt that feeling before. Finally, I realized what kissing meant to others. No wonder my brothers and their girlfriends smooched so much. Royce’s many attempts to kiss me with his tongue wallowing around in my mouth were nothing but repulsive to me.

  I began to wonder if the good, tickly feeling all over my body was God’s message to me. Was that sensation the burning in my bosom? Did it mean Mark was my covenant mate? He was certainly sure he was.

  *****

  The minor headaches I’d been having nearly every day since I’d fallen on my head when I was younger got worse and worse. My supposed split personality was back in full force. Back and forth, over and over again I changed my mind. My soul knew I shouldn’t marry Royce, yet I missed being with him and got terribly jealous when he dated other girls.

  During all the turbulence, both Mark and Royce often made sure I found out when they dated other girls so I could feel as hurt and jealous as they did.

  The guys said I was a heartbreaker because I’d lead them on and then dump them. Still, I despised myself for not knowing how to control my unreliable emotions. It appeared I’d never love a man enough to marry him. And I was absolutely sure no man would ever love me enough to stick with me forever. The problem with that was, I wanted children.

  The wild child in me often daydreamed of running away to California. I would live with the hippies I saw and heard about on television. They dressed really “cool,” and looked so happy and in love with life and each other. Besides all of that, I was opposed to killing, and they enthusiastically objected to the Vietnam War that was drafting relatives and brothers into combat. At my age, Haight Ashbury communities’ idea of “free love” sounded perfect to me. In the big state of California I could choose an intellectual, good-looking man to father my baby; then we could go our separate ways and live happily ever after.

  CHAPTER 15

  High School Angst

  1967–1969

  I was livid when my sister Francine talked Mom into buying me some training bras.

  “You can’t act like a boy forever, Sophia,” Francine scolded. “You’re going to be a woman someday whether you like it or not.”


  I hated my periods, my breasts, and my slim girlish figure. The only feminine thing I liked about me was my beautiful, long, taffy-colored hair, because it was so easy to manage. My tomboy life would have been especially grand if we had been allowed to wear Levis or even slacks to school. There was absolutely nothing as confining or as tortuous as having to run to and from school in a dress.

  If I was lucky, I might be offered a ride with one of my aunts or uncles who drove their kids to and from school, but I really didn’t mind the walk unless the weather was extremely bad.

  One cold, blustery day after school, I tucked my books inside my jacket and I hurried away from the school. As I approached the sidewalk and began running south on State Street toward home, I heard a male voice calling me.

  From the front passenger side, Frank had rolled down the window. “Get in out of the rain, Sophia. We’ll give you a ride home.”

  I leaned in the window. Valerie and her best friend from school, Ruthie, were in the back seat. Frank (Ruthie’s fiancé) was in the front seat next to the driver, a guy I’d never met.

  When I caught Valerie’s eyes and saw the look she gave me, I knew what I should do.

  “No thanks,” I told Frank. “I’ll walk.

  “Come on, Sophia, we have room. Get in now and Jay will take you home, won’t you, Jay?” Frank quickly pointed at me. “Jay, this is Sophia.” Then he pointed a finger at Jay. “Sophia, this is Jay.”

  “Sure, I’ll take ya home!” Jay said with a wide, friendly smile plastered across his face.

  The nervous look in Valerie’s eyes let me know I had to somehow get out of accepting this ride home. Val didn’t want to deal with “incrimination by association.” If her friends found out her friend Sophia lived in Plygville and was a plyg kid, they’d be suspicious of her as well.