Hmm. I wasn’t sure I believed that was why he homeschooled. Isolation was still a form of social control, no matter how benign it seemed. I was sure that not every branch of Mormonism that continued to practice polygamy was as bad as the FLDS, but I wasn’t sure any polygamy could really be less than oppressive to the women involved. And so far, Stephen Carter wasn’t disproving my theory in any way.
Approaching the front door, Stephen lowered his voice, as if to keep Joanna from hearing he was talking about her. “We first met Joanna because she had been doing some gardening for our neighbors, the Perezes.” He gestured south of the main house, though I couldn’t see what neighbors he meant. The property was too big, covered in trees and hills. “Carolyn met her first, when Joanna came up to offer some of her roses. But then Joanna gradually came to visit the house more and more often, bringing little Grace with her. It was Rebecca who insisted that something had to be done about the young woman. Then we helped her find a lawyer and the rest is history.” He smiled widely.
“It sounds like you had no choice in the matter,” Kurt said skeptically.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. But it really isn’t about my choice. That’s why living the Principle is the highest law. We put everything about our lives in God’s hands and expect that He will do what is best for us,” Stephen said. He stepped up and put the toy down on the front porch.
“How old was Joanna when you married?” I asked, wondering if Stephen was breaking the law here. Statutory rape was still criminal, even if you called it marriage.
“Eighteen years old,” Stephen replied, giving me a canny look as if he knew what I was thinking. “That was in 2014.”
Eighteen—so he’d just barely avoided marrying a legal minor. It still seemed all too close to breaking the law to me, though.
At that, Stephen knocked on the door, and called, “Joanna, it’s me!” He let himself in, and we followed.
Joanna poked her head out from the kitchen. “Come on in here,” she called.
The first thing I noticed was the overwhelming smell of roses in the home. Once inside, I saw that on nearly every surface, there were beautiful fresh-cut red, white, pink, and yellow roses of all different sizes. I hadn’t seen these kinds of flowers anywhere on the property.
Stephen took us into the kitchen, which had a hole where the dishwasher should have been and no flooring other than cement. Joanna was carrying one of her children on either hip as she maneuvered between what looked like a secondhand stove and sink. Both children were dressed from neck to wrist to ankle in tops and skirts with leggings underneath that I couldn’t help but think were completely inappropriate for the summer. The house wasn’t air conditioned, so they were sweating onto their mother, who wasn’t doing any better. I did notice that both girls had the same blue eyes as Stephen, though their hair was darker than the other children’s, like Joanna’s.
A slightly older girl was standing by the table, dressed in the same long clothes, up to her neck, past her ankles and wrists, so that she had to push up her sleeves constantly and she seemed to struggle not to trip over her skirt. She also wore a huge white apron that must have been her mother’s. She was rolling out sugar cookies. I guessed that she was Grace, the daughter from Joanna’s first marriage.
Like her daughters, Joanna wore a loose, long skirt and a long-sleeved, high-necked top. I guess Joanna was used to dressing like the FLDS, so she kept it up even after she had left them. Her dark hair was loose down her back and she wore no makeup. She was very thin and she looked painfully young to be the mother of three children. But except for the fact that she didn’t meet anyone’s eyes directly, mine, Kurt’s, or Stephen’s, she didn’t seem to be afraid of Stephen.
“Joanna, this is Kurt and Linda Wallheim, Naomi’s in-laws to be,” Stephen said.
“Grace and I made these for you,” Joanna said without acknowledging our names, though it seemed less from rudeness than simple distractedness. She gestured at a finished plate of sugar cookies on the table. Had she made them or had the little girl? They were all irregular shapes, but when I bit into one it tasted flaky and sweet.
“Thank you. This is delicious,” I said, winking at Grace, who had looked over at me. But she did not respond to my friendly gesture, she simply turned back to her work.
“We made them for you because the Spirit whispered to me while I slept that we would have two visitors today,” Joanna told us earnestly. The surprise must have been evident on our faces because she added, “I also knew in advance when lightning struck a tree in the gully. And when the mail didn’t come last week.”
“You know I don’t like it when you talk about premonitions,” Stephen said, his tone mildly corrective.
“They aren’t premonitions or any such nonsense,” Joanna said, and her voice sounding older—almost chiding toward Stephen, which wasn’t what I’d expected at all. “They’re real promptings from the Holy Spirit of Christ.”