*
Sometime that afternoon, Mitchell explained that from the first time he had seen me, he knew I was the one. He had chosen me. God intended us to be together. He then explained how he had started his preparations to take me, how he had implemented a plan to talk to my parents. Get into my home. Gather up the needed supplies. Convince Barzee it was finally time for him to take a second wife. Prepare their camp way up on the mountain, where he could hide me. All of it was well planned. And certainly it was justified. He had to kidnap me to save me from all of the wickedness in the world. The wickedness of my church. He had to save me from it all. Everyone around me, the entire world, was carnal and sensual and devilish. Which was kind of ironic news, coming from a naked man standing in the middle of the forest with his “new wife” cabled to the trees.
Mostly, I just cried through it all. It was just so humiliating. So painful and so crazy.
I remember thinking my life was over. I’d never make it back home. I’d never see my family. I’d never grow up and go to high school. I’d never date or have a boyfriend. I’d never play my harp again. Never see any of my friends. No high school football games or prom. I’d never go to college. I’d never learn anything more than what I already knew. I’d never get married—really married—to someone I loved. I’d never be free or happy. I’d never know anything beyond the cable and the trees.
I don’t remember saying anything out loud, but I must have mumbled something and he heard me. “You’re worried about going to college,” he sneered. It obviously made him angry I wasn’t grateful. He seemed to grow a bit darker, a cloud passing in front of his face. “You’re in the Lord’s university now.” His voice was sharp and indignant. “He will teach you what you need to know. You will have a degree from God, a degree that is higher than any the world is going to give you.”
I knew all of it was brainless junk. But at that point, all I could do was nod. I was starting to grow a shell, the beginning of my defensive mechanism. Soon I would be like a hardboiled egg. On the outside, he could roll me whatever way he pleased, but I was only going through the motions. I was only being rolled. Nodding my head, I never argued.
Whatever it takes to survive, I thought.
Later on that afternoon, we sat in silence for a while. “Shearjashub is your name,” he said after a rare moment of silence.
I looked at him, dumbfounded. “What?” I answered. Then I remembered he had called me that a couple of times the day before.
“Your name is Shearjashub,” he said again. “He was the first son of Isaiah.”
I stared at him. “You’re giving me a man’s name?”
“It means a remnant will return.”
I didn’t care what it meant; I thought it was completely stupid. I was going to be called by a man’s name. Some unknown offspring of Isaiah. I wondered again if he even knew my real name. “My name is Elizabeth Smart,” I said.
“Your name is now Shearjashub.”
I thought for a while. This was terribly distressing. I realized it was nothing but another of his manipulations, another way to cut me off, another way to separate me from my previous life. I thought for a long time. “Can I choose a middle name?” I asked him.
Mitchell looked at me.
“You and Hephzibah have middle names,” I continued. “You’re Immanuel David Isaiah. She is Hephzibah Elladah Isaiah. I’m just Shearjashub Isaiah. I would like a middle name too.”
He hesitated. “All right,” he finally said. “You can choose a middle name.” He seemed kind of happy. Maybe I was starting to get it now.
I thought in silence. It was hot. My bare skin was dry and dirty. I heard a dull sound way above me—an airplane or something else? I turned back to look at him. “I want my middle name to be Elizabeth.”
His smile turned instantly into a frown. “No! Not Elizabeth. Nothing like that! Not Elizabeth. And not Ann…”
Ann! That was my real middle name. He did know who I was!
“You can choose your middle name, but it can’t be anything like your old name,” he instructed.
It was my turn to be disappointed. He watched me with suspicion as I thought. It seemed he could almost read my mind. “Your middle name has to be from the Old Testament,” he then added.
“Anna was a prophetess in the Bible.”
“It will not be Anna!” he commanded for the final time. He was getting angry with me now. Impatient. Hadn’t he been kind enough already? Did I really want to test him? His anger was always boiling, getting ready to burst through.
I knew that I had pressed as far as I could.