50 Years in Polygamy: Big Secrets and Little White Lies Page 16
Mark and I moved into his aunt (and mother) Aldora’s basement, where he had lived for years just before our marriage. Other than the persistent yelling matches between Aldora and Mark’s father, which were always about another wife, it was a nice place to be. They welcomed us and treated us well.
*****
As a novice expectant mother, I was amazed and obsessed with the mystical creature growing in my womb. Everywhere I went, I carried a large book Doctor Fulton had given me. It was full of detailed photos depicting an infant’s developing stages. I took it with me to church, to the store, to my friends’ houses, and to Mom’s. It was almost as if the book had become another appendage. I was as connected to my “new Bible” as a toddler was to a binky and blanket.
Nearly every night, from the time I was about sixteen weeks along, I dreamed I drew my son out of my womb to cuddle and caress his miniature toes and fingers. I’d kiss his nose, eyes, ears, and torso and talk to him about the wonderful future I envisioned for him. Then I’d gently place him back inside so he could continue to develop.
Without the luxury of modern-day ultrasounds, I described his tiny body, face, hair, and eyes to anyone who would listen.
I also asked Mom what a “mother’s blessing” was. I’d heard about it from other pregnant girlfriends in The Group. She told me they were called “washings and anointings.” Mom and a few other women had been “set apart” (given authority by Uncle Rulon) to carry out this “very special spiritual blessing” for any expectant woman who asked for one.
Of course I didn’t want to be left out—I needed all the blessings I could get.
We knelt in prayer to dedicate the time and space to God. My mother asked Him to guide Aunt Amelia and herself with the right words. I was embarrassed when I was asked to disrobe and wrap a large white towel around me. Then I sat on the edge of Mom’s bed as she instructed me to do.
Starting at the top of my head and moving down to my toes, Aunt Amelia gently washed my naked body one part at a time with a warm washcloth. Every now and then, she rinsed the cloth in a bowl of warm water. It was very quiet; no one said a word. When it came time to wash between my legs, she handed me the washcloth.
Then the process was repeated. This time Mom used consecrated (blessed by a priesthood holder) olive oil. She dipped her hand in a small bowl of oil, and as she anointed each part of my body from head to toe, she verbalized a specific decree on them.
“We bless your eyes so you will always be able to see God’s will in all things and those who are in need of your love and care . . . We bless your breasts and your nipples they will develop adequately so you will be able to nurse your infant without discomfort or pain . . .”
The same procedure took place as I anointed my own female parts. “We bless your womb so all will go accordingly when you deliver this little soul you will soon bring into this world . . . We bless your legs to be strong enough to carry you through your daily duties and walks of life . . .”
Throughout the whole process, I knew I was supposed to feel the Holy Spirit, but with every touch, prayer, and blessing, all I felt was my unworthiness. With all of my heart, I wanted to feel something different than discomfort. All over again, it seemed I was never as good as others. All the way through my “mother’s blessing” I conjured up the good woman Aunt Amelia, Mom, and I wanted me to be.
*****
By November of my senior year of high school, my pregnancy was obvious. In those days it wasn’t okay even if you were married, so I was asked not to attend school. Apparently my pregnancy was a bad example to the other girls whose focus should be their education.
I intended to get ahead on my credits, have my baby in March, and graduate with the Murray High School Class of 1971. But Aldora’s house was near Granite High School; so I signed up for classes three nights a week and planned to graduate from the high school Mark had graduated from.
Our new meeting place, and private school building in Bluffdale, nicknamed The Brown House, was nearly complete. The huge facility–which had been built and funded by tithes and donations—fulfilled a longtime dream of having a Group school for our own children. Uncle Rulon assigned a fairly new convert and his wife, who both had teaching certificates, to be in charge of the school’s rudiments. My childhood desire to be a teacher also came true when nearly all who volunteered were accepted as teachers for a hundred or so “Allredite” children.
My life was inundated with learning and teaching. To make sure our lessons were accurate; Aunt Amelia and I would study, practice, and prepare every single subject before we instructed our 15 second-grade students. After I taught school all day with Aunt Amelia four days a week, I continued my night classes and then slept like a baby.
*****
While living in Aldora’s basement, Mark and I were constantly inundated with guests: our friends, my brothers, his brothers, their girlfriends, and their friends. Being a social person, I enjoyed our company most of the time. The difficult and crazy times were when I was exhausted, and when all the guys, including Mark, would flirt with all of the cute, young girls.
According to my upbringing, God commanded women to accept their husbands’ desire to live the law of plural marriage. Each of us was to be happy, supportive, sweet, and encouraging when it came to our husband’s courting and obtaining other wives.
Still, even the idea of Mark being with another woman, let alone the reality of such a thing, created a throbbing, breath-stealing ache I could barely endure. Even my religious doctrines didn’t take that away. It was unfathomable God would require that kind of sacrifice of women. I thanked Him when that darling, scantily dressed gal who had walked up Dad’s long driveway a few years back with her sister, decided to marry my brother Alan instead of Mark.
*****
My father and his brother reluctantly conceded to the builders of the Fashion Place Mall. Dad gave in when he refused to live behind the giant concrete wall they intended to construct around his property if he wouldn’t sell out. He signed a twenty-year negotiable lease and accepted a lump sum for the huge chunk of Plygville property on 300 east.
With the down payment, Dad purchased twenty-five acres of land in Bluffdale, and started building one of two large fourplexes for his elderly wives, his two most recent wives, and his young children.
*****
In March 1971, after eleven hours of hard labor in my mother- and father-in-law’s basement, I gave birth to Mark’s and my perfectly magnificent eight-pound boy. No one—my mother, Francine, Amy, Doctor Fulton, Aunt Amelia, Mark, or my sisters-in-law (who kept peeking in to check on our progress)—was surprised to see Jake had a petite nose, long dark hair, and deep-set, alert, light blue eyes. All of those features, as well as his chubby, round face, were exactly as I had described.
Never in my whole life had I felt such joy, wholeness, and purpose as I felt that day. I wanted nothing more than to be a perfect mother to my perfect son—and to the other four boys and two girls (maybe three), Mark and I already knew we would have.
CHAPTER 17
A Meal Fit for a Queen
1971–1973
In May 1971, I proudly walked across the stage and received my high school diploma. Though I didn’t graduate before I married, I was pleased to have finished school, not only for myself, but also because of the promise I had made to my father.
My “washing and anointing,” or “mother’s blessing,” proved my incompetence as a servant of God. I was certain those blessings didn’t take effect because I didn’t have faith and the Spirit of God in me.
I wanted and planned to nurse Jake for at least nine months. No matter how hard I tried or how fastidiously I went through the LaLeche routines and followed everyone’s advice, I had to quit. In his stymied efforts to nurse from my painfully torn and raw nipples, he’d end up with more blood than milk in his tiny mouth.
I was so naive. At the maturation class in junior high, the nurse told us you had to have a period before you could get pregnant.
I didn’t realize I could conceive before I had another period. Beyond what other people would think, I was elated to discover that another infant would soon be in my arms. I’d always wanted twins, and I figured one at a time was the best way to have them.
*****
In the fall of 1971, Mark and I rented Dad’s home in Granger (currently West Valley City). In March 1972, eight days before Jake’s first birthday, our son Alan was born in our Granger home. Weighing just six pounds, he had a smidgen of blond hair at the nape of his neck and a round, adorable face like his brother’s. The same good doctor who delivered Jake worked for a long time to get Alan breathing on his own, before he left for another home delivery across the valley.
Shortly after the doctor left, Mark said he was famished and was going out to get some food. While I slept for a couple of hours, Mom took care of the babies and wondered why Mark hadn’t returned with some nutritious food and the fruit juices she’d asked him to pick up for his postpartum wife. Our cupboards were bare, as usual, so when Mark returned three hours later without any food for us, Mom was livid.
“There should be a few bags of beans or macaroni somewhere in the cupboards,” I told her. “I’ve learned a few hundred ways to fix them without much effort.”
Mom called my brother Shane, whose second wife lived close by. She gave him a list of groceries to pick up. When he returned, she got busy cooking. At last, when she brought a tray holding a steak, a salad, and a baked potato with the works, she said, “Here, my darling girl—a meal fit for a queen. And a queen you truly are!” My mother’s cooking was always delectable.
*****
Many times when Mark was at home to eat, he was upset with me for fixing the same kinds of food day after day. If I complained there was no money to buy anything but macaroni, potatoes, or rice, he’d get upset about how hard he worked and how there was never anything to show for it. I reminded him it was because he was excessively generous and soft-hearted. He’d spend or give away most of our money long before enough of it got home to pay the bills, let alone purchase groceries which would cost way more than beans.
Mark was always too charitable, just as my mother and I were. Everyone in the whole wide world was rightfully more important than our own families. We were sure God would bless us for our unselfish attributes, and in some miraculous way we’d get by because that’s all we deserved in His kingdom.
Nearly every day, a couple of my brothers and Mark’s brothers, who worked for Mark, would stop by with bread, milk, and “innards” for their sandwiches. While I prepared their food, poured their milk, and served them lunch, I’d suck in my fat belly and listen to our young brothers with raging libidos discuss “big, beautiful breasts and sexy asses,” and say things like “Gee, how I’d love to have those in my . . .” and “Holy mackerel, how I’d love to take that brunette into the . . .” Mark laughed along with their jokes about the beauties they’d been lusting after for days.
I’d be in tears. In fact, I cried all the time. I couldn’t pull myself together. All day long I nursed Alan and took care of my baby boys. It was impossible to keep up with the laundry, the house, the meals, and the never-ending diaper washing.
The messy cloth diapers had to be washed by hand at least two times and then three or four times in my old single-wringer washer before they’d be white. With each washing, the tub had to be drained and refilled with hot, soapy water. Then the diapers had to be rinsed a couple times with cool water. I had to hang them outside on the clothesline to dry. Laundry days were the same arduous ordeal I’d experienced growing up.
When the diapers were dry, they had to be folded. Meals needed to be fixed and the dishes washed, dried, and put away. Through all of it I tried to stay sane. No wonder Mom cried all the time! I thought.
Mark, I was sure, was disappointed in me and wished he’d never asked me to marry him. With all of my heart, I believed he didn’t love me and wished he were married to a few young, thin, beautiful sexy girls who would fulfill all of his domestic and male desires. Nearly everything he did and didn’t say gave me the impression he would have been much happier without me and two babies to look after.
One cold day in October, I spiffed up the house, packed clothes for the boys and me, and left a “leaving you” letter on the bed. I was sure I’d go to hell, but I was already in hell and imagined Mark was also.
In Santaquin City, nearly two hours south of our home, I pulled into a long, winding driveway trimmed with fruit trees. Since Stuart left The Group and lived quite far away, I was sure no one would think to find us there. He was a friend of Francine’s husband, but had no idea why I was showing up, unannounced at his place with my little boys. Still he welcomed us openly.
As he and I commiserated, Stuart gloomily told me the reason his wife had left him. He said Jon Thomas had convinced her she could never make it to heaven if she didn’t leave her unworthy husband and marry him. I already had my strong opinion of Jon. He gave me the willies whenever I was around him. So of course I sincerely believed Stuart’s sad story.
I told Stuart Mark was as miserably unhappy with me as I was with him, and he’d rather be anywhere but at home with his boys and me.
“Ah, men are just that way. Sometimes they’re jerks and a-holes, but I’m sure he loves you, Sophia.”
I’d already sworn Francine to secrecy regarding my whereabouts, but she called me three days later and begged me to call Mark.
“Everyone is worried about you,” she said. “Mark is going crazy! I can’t stand to see him like this. He’s driven all over the valley the past two days, looking for you and asking everyone if they’ve seen you. He hasn’t eaten or slept since the day you left, and he says he won’t until he finds you. Please call him—you have to give him a chance to talk.”
I called Mark. He asked Dad to drive him down to get us. Dad also brought his new wife and my newest baby sister, Dad’s twenty-second child.
Mark and I talked all the way home, discussing our problems and feelings. He promised he’d try to show me how much he loved and appreciated me. I pledged my love to him and promised to keep up with things better than I had and to be more appreciative of his efforts. “You are my soul mate, Sophia,” he said. “I’ve known we’d be together ever since I first saw you, remember? Don’t ever forget how much I love you—way more than you’ll ever know.”
Why, I wondered, won’t I ever know how much he loves me? It would sure make a difference in our marriage if I knew. I wanted more than anything to believe him and to have everything wonderful between us.
On the spur of the moment, I devised a scheme to guarantee better food on the table and how our bills would get paid on time.
A few days before payday, I let Mark know I’d opened a checking account and filled the cupboards and refrigerator with food. “And by the way, I filled the car with gas, paid the water bill, and bought some glasses. So you’ve got to cover those checks or they’ll throw me in jail. If that happens, you won’t have a wife or a mother around to take care of your little boys.”
The best part of all, it worked. Mark said he appreciated some money management in his life. Every two weeks just before payday he asked me, “How much money do you need me to put in the bank to cover your checks?” For that piece of good fortune, I sincerely smiled.
*****
I rushed to Murray to watch the demolition of the home I grew up in. My father’s basement home, and the later, upstairs edition, the one he built and paid for one step at time, was being bulldozed into a pile of rubbish. While I cried, Dad wiped his tears with his blue-plaid shirtsleeve and reminded us, even though he knew this day would come, it still hurt. Dust, shingles, and drywall powder drifted into the sky in front of us.
Dad’s quiet laughter gave way to some comic relief and another famous Allred pun: “It’s all in the name of progress. I guess modern-day merchants need the Fashion Place Mall so they can maul customers who aren’t in fashion.”
We laughed, even if we didn’t
quite get his humor until later.
*****
One of my many intuitive or telepathic experiences came long before cell phones were invented. Since Francine didn’t have a phone on the west desert ranch her husband had moved her back to, we had already been sending simple, important messages to and from each other on a regular basis.
One gorgeous summer day in July 1973, Mark and I got a neighbor to babysit our little boys so we could walk to the bowling alley a few miles away. About halfway there, my sister Francine sent me a telepathic message. I heard her tell me she was in labor and needed me to be home.
Mark and I turned and ran all the way back home. We hadn’t been in our house ten minutes before William pulled in our driveway with Francine and her youngest children I was going to tend while she went to the hospital; but she didn’t have time to get to the hospital, so I got to help care for Francine and her adorable three- and four-pound twin boys who were born in our home.
While we lived in Granger, I got to watch her twins (the youngest of eight children) quite often, for over a year while Francine dealt with major health issues. As the four boys got older, I was delighted when people would ask how I happened to have two sets of twins.
*****
During the past three years, I had wished Mark would buy me a diamond ring—all on his own accord. I mentioned it, hinted, and asked. A few times over the years, he took me to jewelry stores to daydream and hope some more. One of those times, I felt sure he would purchase one of the rings I fell in love with, and surprise me with it.