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

  Before I was off, I desperately wanted to spend a couple weeks with Mother Nature, reading, writing, listening to the waterfalls, and meditating in our grand Rocky Mountains. It had been way too long. I bought groceries and packed the tent, camping gear, and everything else Anne, Keith, and I would need. I hoped Mark and the rest of our adult kids, (kidaults) and grandchildren would make time to come up as well.

  On Friday, the second day at camp, Mark showed up with a huge surprise. He said he’d bought Diane and me a pop-up camping trailer. Our whole family had wanted some “easier” camping, so I was elated when Mark replaced the old tent I’d set up at Tanner’s Flat Campground with our new-used small but comfortable camping trailer before we settled down for the night.

  On Saturday afternoon, when Mark came up again, he bitterly complained, “I am sick to death of Diane’s disgusting, selfish attitude about you using her trailer!” I tried to dissuade his anger, so we could have peace for the rest of the day, and Sunday before he went down to the city again.

  When he came up on Tuesday afternoon, he was still fuming. “I told Diane I bought the trailer for both of you, but since she’s the one who found it in the ads in the paper, she insists it is hers. She says you always get everything you want, so she should have the trailer for herself. I’ve had nothing but hell to pay ever since I brought the damn thing up here for you to use! All she’s done is scream and cry about the stinking thing. I’m sick of her attitude! I bought it for all of us—but no, she has to be a selfish bitch and keep it for herself.”

  During his tirade, I did my best to stay calm. My anger and resentment toward Diane came from the comments Mark said she’d said about me, more than her desire to be the sole owner of the trailer. I told Mark I didn’t blame her. I knew how she felt. She also loved camping. She would have more opportunities to use it than I ever would. Besides, I knew all along there was no way I would sleep with Mark in that camper after he and Diane slept in it. If only I’d have known that’s how Diane felt before Mark brought it up, I would have refused to use it in the first place.

  By Thursday evening, Mark’s constant agitation was making me livid and sick as well. He wouldn’t let up.

  “I’m sick of hearing about this!” I finally snapped. “Your ranting about all of this has ruined my plans for a calm, quiet vacation. I’ve had enough of it, Mark. I don’t want to hear another word about any of this, ever. What do you expect me to do about it? Why are you telling me all this crap? If the camper is hers or even if she just thinks it’s hers, I don’t want to use it now or ever again. I’m going to unpack tomorrow morning so you can take it to her. I’ll either go home or set the tents back up and stay. I’m sick of hearing about it, and sick of you putting me in the middle of all this crap! Just give her the damn thing and let it be!”

  Mark tried to talk me out of unpacking the camp trailer. I did anyway and stayed a few more days with the kids in our tents. The rest of the family, who came up to visit and to stay, had a wonderful time before we called it quits.

  *****

  Our Thanksgiving celebration was huge. Mark, Diane, and I, all our kids and some of their partners, our grandkids, my brother James, my sister Amy and her husband, other friends and their kids all met in our completely empty, unfinished, basement family room.

  As usual, during our years of family-and-friends gatherings, I enjoyed the company, food, and visiting, just not the responsibility of the long, drawn-out preparations. We’d get it all setup, just to have it over with in a few minutes, and still have to clean up after the huge mess.

  That Christmas, we again decided it would be less expensive to draw names for a family gift exchange. We divided our large and growing family of twenty-one into three age groups: adults, teens, and kids under twelve. Gifts were opened, starting with the youngest child on up to the oldest adults. When Diane opened her movie passes and gift certificate for a motel room, she looked at me, then at Mark. “Ooh, honey!” she cooed, “now you and I can have a romantic night on the town!”

  After Mark opened the road atlas I purchased for him, Diane snuggled into his shoulder. “Oh, baby, now we’ll have directions when we take road trips together.” I thought Diane must still feel so insecure that she wanted to spite me with those little pokes and jabs.

  According to Norma, she thought I intentionally flaunted my affection for Mark in front of her. I was really surprised. I’d always done my best to be the opposite around her. I remember only once carrying out a premeditated plan to intentionally cause Diane some major discomfort. When she had her own car and I was totally dependent on her for transportation, she often left my kids and me stranded and helpless; often without a good reason or any apologies. It was the same when we had to share a car. So, when I had a chance for a payback, I took it.

  She had someplace she wanted to be at a certain time, so I took my time with our car. “As long as you please . . . come on, Sophia . . . hold out a little bit longer,” the imp on my shoulder coaxed. “If you give in now, you won’t have made your point,” the devil had to insist, since my stomach was in huge knots. “Just stay long enough for her to know exactly how it feels.”

  By the time I got home, I was mortified and filled with guilt. When I saw Diane’s angry tears, I knew exactly how she was feeling. I also knew my little shenanigan was a foolish blunder. It served to make me feel like a heap of dung!

  *****

  In the weeks before I left for Cedar City, I reminded my precious mother she couldn’t get sick anymore, “at least for a whole year, until I return in December to help take care of you again.”

  Mom had been deathly ill off and on with congestive heart failure and profuse bleeding. Three times in the past five or six years, our family had gathered to say our final farewells to her. With each recovery, she’d giggle, smirk, and say, “Well, I guess it must not be my time to go yet.”

  She also had severe dementia. While most of her long-term memory was still intact, her short-term memory worsened by the day. No matter how many times I explained my impending absence, she’d ask me repeatedly, “Now where did you say you are going? When are you coming to see me again? Why are you going way down there?” Each time I’d repeat the answers and tell her to stay healthy while I was gone, she’d reply, “Okay, Sophia, I’ll do my best to stay healthy and wait for you.”

  CHAPTER 41

  Following My Dreams

  2001

  My sister Jolie and I originally planned to trade homes for a while. She’d stay in ours while she attended SLCC in pursuit of her nursing degree, and I’d stay in hers while I went to SUU. But by the time I was about to head south, she moved into a room in her daughter’s basement in West Valley City, Utah.

  Jolie didn’t ask me to give her any money for the use of her home, because she wanted a house sitter, and would need the heat running through the winter. But I talked Jolie into at least letting me give her one hundred dollars a month to help with the utilities I’d be using, though she might have to wait until I got a job.

  *****

  I’d often talked with friends about changing my name. I’d always wanted to. My choices, feelings, and beliefs had changed so much I no longer felt the name Sophia fit the new me. I also detested the name Sophia because it was a constant reminder of the mishaps, the name-calling, the abuses, the abandonments, the imperfections, and the ruthless God in Sophia’s life.

  Mark’s and my newly remodeled basement was nearly complete. Alone in my serenely of my beautiful bedroom, I began to meditate. Snow completely concealed the bare tree limbs around the house. The moonlight’s reflection spun off the snowflakes and danced on my lavender walls like stardust. I looked back at where I’d been since birth and where I was going from now on. The only constant about Sophia was her soul and her sincere desire to make better choices in her life. That was it! I would change my name and be thrilled about it. People would condemn me, but I didn’t care. In a new city and school, I could test out a name I’d always loved. I chose to
be called Kristyn.

  *****

  The first week of January 2001, I kissed and double-kissed and hugged my family goodbye. I didn’t know anyone at SUU or in Cedar City, other than one of Jolie’s full brothers, who I hadn’t been in contact for a long time, her ex-husband’s family, and a few more Allred Group people who still lived in the area.

  Driving to Cedar City, I tested and listened to my new name. I said it out loud, softly and quietly. I even yelled it as a happy “KRIS-TYN! KRIS! KRI-STEN!” And I tested it with an angry tone. No matter how I said the name, it couldn’t sound nearly as horrible as I’d heard “Sophia” used before. My name had been used in mean and disgusting ways to spite, hurt or threaten me. The most hurtful sound of my name was when Mark used it in anger or rage. During those times my name was more offensive to me than any four-letter swear word he could ever use.

  Two hundred thirty-five miles south of Bluffdale, I exited I-15 at the golden arches of McDonald’s. My stomach was queasy as I turned west on Highway 56, heading all alone to the middle of nowhere. But my apprehension was accompanied by hope. My longtime goals of becoming an independent woman and a teacher were finally within my reach!

  Two and a half miles west of town, I rolled down the window to read a street sign. The ice-cold January breeze carried the comforting scent of sagebrush. When I pulled into Jolie’s driveway alone in the dark, I took several deep breaths of the fresh air and told myself, “Have no fear, Sophia my dear! Oops—I mean Kristyn dear, have no fear. From this moment on, you are a woman with endless possibilities!”

  I used the code to open the garage. Then I pulled my car in, found the light switches, turned up the thermostat, and began to unload my car.

  Later, in the bedroom, Jolie’s venetian blinds let in shafts of moonlight. I was happy—I knew I was. But when I climbed under the cold sheets and cuddled with my own pillow, I cried myself to sleep. During the night I woke over and over again. Will Keith and Anne be all right without me? Will their dad make sure they are taken care of and their needs met like he promised? Will they be happy—will they miss me? Will they come to believe I’m a shithead mom for leaving them? I wished I’d made them come to Cedar City with me. Already I missed my family so much it hurt. Where are our married kids and grandchildren? What am I doing way down here in this dark, deathly quiet, all by myself?

  On my sixth day in Cedar City and my fourth day of classes at SUU, Karleen called to tell me she was in labor. I attended my literature class without really being there. My first daughter was giving birth to her first baby!

  After my last class, I hurried north. All I could think about was Karleen. She’d married a wonderful Hispanic man and was safe, happy, in love, and having a baby. Wanting to be with her during the delivery, I broke the speed limit all the way back to the Salt Lake Valley. I arrived at the hospital in South Jordan to find she had hours to go before she’d be pushing.

  I tried to be strong, or at least to look like I was. My daughter’s every pain and discomfort were mine as well, so I was grateful I’d somewhat come to terms with her having an epidural.

  Though things were going smoothly for Karleen and her unborn baby, I couldn’t help but worry for them. All the familiar smells and sounds, along with the anticipation, made me reminisce about Karleen’s delivery. The prolonged and excruciating labor that took place previous to her birth at Aunt Amelia’s house almost nineteen years earlier was fresh in my mind.

  Karleen’s handsome husband nudged my shoulder. “Why are you crying, Suegrita? Are you okay?”

  “Just memories.” I hugged him. “I’m so happy my gorgeous girl is with you and going to have a handsome, brown-eyed prince!”

  *****

  Back on the campus at SUU, I was in total awe. There were so many beautiful young women and handsome young men who had recently graduated from high school. Most of them appeared to have the world on a string, expecting nothing but perfection in their lives. Without a friend to hang with or talk to, I felt like an alien among hundreds of personality-plus, techno kids. They must have wondered what on earth this grandma person thought she was doing back in school, particularly when I’d try to fit into one of their youthful discussions. At least, my wizened, hard old sponge of a brain started sending more beta signals every day. I began to squeeze into my brain every shred of information it could possibly retain.

  Never had I expected to feel so lonely I’d actually miss the hustle, bustle, and commotion of our city stomping grounds. Nor did I think I’d long for the messes and the noises. It also surprised me how much I missed the crowds of teens and adults who lived in and frequented our home day and night. My loneliness was the only reason I could come up with as to why I lost nearly fifteen pounds in just over five weeks.

  When I talked to the kids and Mark on the phone nearly every evening, they told me they were doing fine. A couple of times I reminded Mark to finish filling out the Children’s Health Insurance Program papers and get them turned in to Workforce Services so Anne and Keith would have medical coverage while I was in school.

  The few times I talked to Jolie on the phone or when she came down, I asked her for names or phone numbers of her friends, or of people I might meet and hang out with. She ignored my inquiries and went on her merry way as if I didn’t exist. After I moved back home a year later, Jolie apologized. She said she had always been envious of me, and while I stayed in her house those feelings had tormented her again.

  Near the first of February, I found a social club ad in a local newspaper, inviting new members. When I called the number, a guy named Greg told me the group of middle-aged men and woman met on a regular basis to bowl, hike, dance, and meet up for meals, or “…whatever else we decide will be fun.”

  At Denny’s restaurant, I waited for a group of people to come in. At least I should have seen a few people gathering or looking for others. When a husky, black-bearded guy asked me if my name was Kristyn and then sat down across from me, I wondered if I’d been set up.

  “Sorry, gal, but no one else can make it tonight, so I guess it’s just the two of us,” he said, then introduced himself as Greg.

  What the heck, I thought. I’m alone with nothing better to do right now, and I drove all the way into town to get out for a while. I told Greg I was married, had seven kids and thirteen grandchildren; I hike, study and attend college every day and most evenings, but want a social outlet and some activities to attend now and then.

  In less than two weeks, after a few phone chats and a walk in the public park, I let Greg know his expectations were not going to be met. “I won’t be calling you, and don’t you call me,” I said.

  *****

  Nearly every night for three and a half weeks, Mark told me how much he missed me, but his words were getting more and more difficult to believe. After I left for Cedar, he had an opportunity to spend six nights in a row with Diane, yet he wouldn’t spend three nights in a row with me while I was home helping Karleen and the new baby. Whenever I asked, he had one idiotic reason after another to postpone a weekend trip to see me.

  “I’ve been back down here for three weeks now, and you’re telling me you won’t be able to come down until next weekend? Why? What do you have to do that’s so important?” I asked.

  His evasive answers bothered me more than if he’d just flipped me off. Even an honest reason that hurt me would’ve been better than another of his excuses. He tried to make it sound like his concerns were about Diane's feelings. I’d heard his genuine concern about Diane’s feelings enough times over the past twenty-two years to know he wasn’t being truthful about that, either. Also, since he had ninety percent more time to be with Diane after I left, none of his bull made any sense. I didn’t really believe she could justifiably complain about him spending a few days with me.

  For over a year, it seemed Mark’s life had been changing more and more, especially with all of his weird and unexplained absences. He’d begun adamantly proclaiming, stronger than ever before, his time and hi
s life were his own, and what he did with them was no one else’s business but his own. He’d become noncommittal and evasive, and his decisions totally bewildered and frustrated me. What was going on with him? If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought he was having an affair with a third woman. What I really thought I was hearing from him, was coming down to see me was nothing more than a pain in the butt and a drain of his pocketbook. Debating about it only got him riled up, which brought him to more vehement claims of independence.

  Mark finally made it down to Cedar City five and a half weeks after I started school there. He arrived on Friday evening and left Sunday afternoon. I took advantage of his company and didn’t question his evasiveness that had become more obvious since my departure. We made up for the lack of time together, had some long visits, and took a short road trip. I loved the time we had together, and hated him to leave.

  A few weeks later when I answered the phone, I heard a deep voice on the other end of the line say, “Hi, is this Kristyn?”

  “Yes.”

  “My name is Graham,” the man said timidly. “I know this might sound weird, but we have or should I say had a mutual acquaintance in common—Greg.

  “Yes?”

  “Well, Greg said you may want to have a friendship with someone to uh . . . just have coffee and gab with.” Graham hesitated. “Greg says he got too pushy, so you told him to take a hike. He said I might be the kind of friend you are looking for. I am a good friend kind of a guy, and that’s all.”

  When I laughed at his shy but convincing tone and words, he laughed too. “Wow, I’m not really sure what to say. Did Greg tell you I’m married and have . . .?”