When —or more likely, if —anyone actually paid us for the work we did in the appliance warehouse, we kids quickly learned how to manipulate the soda machine in the break room. After inserting the quarter that Linda gave us, we could reach up into the space where the cans come out of the machine and grab multiple cans. With a really deft hand, we could empty out the entire row of soda cans. We drank so much soda we made ourselves sick.
During the summer of 1979, authorities finally found my father in Mexico and arrested him for ordering the hit on Rulon Allred. Dad was extradited to Salt Lake City, Utah, where he languished in prison awaiting his trial. I don’t recall how I found out about his arrest, other than seeing pictures of him in newspaper clippings. One photo of him in handcuffs that appeared in the National Enquirer after the Mexican police finally caught up with him haunted me every time I looked at it. Though I recall thinking, Wow, my dad’s in jail, his arrest didn’t affect our day-to-day lives —except I did notice that my mom and the other sister-wives seemed more fearful for their own safety and were more protective of their children.
Mom explained to us that Dad was persecuted for doing God’s will, and every night she made us kids kneel down together in a tight circle to pray for his release. But neither our father being a prophet nor our prayers stopped authorities from trying, convicting, and sentencing him to a life sentence in a Utah prison for the death of Rulon Allred. Years later, I would learn much more about his evil actions and the many mob-style hits he ordered for anyone who attempted to leave his church.
The days dragged by, and one particularly boring afternoon when we kids were home alone, someone suggested we watch The Exorcist on TV. I managed to make it through about half of the movie before fleeing, terrified, to a back bedroom. I knelt beside the bed, shaking uncontrollably, as I sought relief from the torment of satanic scenes and begged God to keep demons from possessing me. Moments later, I heard footsteps. Celia and Hyrum had followed me and now stood there with ashen faces. Seeing the look of panic in my eyes, Celia rushed to my side.
“My poor Anna!” She wrapped me in her arms and stroked my hair. “We never should have watched that awful movie.”
I closed my eyes as she soothed me, but as soon as I did, horrific images from the movie flooded back into my brain. I bolted upright. Hyrum stood there, hands in both pockets, with hair disheveled and panic in his eyes.
I stared at them. “Why in the world did we watch that? I’ll never be able to sleep tonight. Maybe ever again.”
Hyrum nodded.
“I’m sure we’ll be fine, but I know what we can do to take away the spirit of the devil. Let’s read the Bible out loud together,” Celia said.
I saw through Celia’s attempt at bravery on our behalf. “How do you know that will work?” I pressed my lips into a tight line.
We continued to debate whether the devil could also possess us, just like the young girl in the movie. I desperately wanted to close my eyes to shut out everything around me, but when I did I ended up battling the onslaught of horrible images. I grabbed fists full of hair and plopped backward on the floor.
Finally, Celia stood up. “Hang on. I’ll be right back.”
I looked quizzically at my brother.
When Hyrum shrugged, I buried my face in my hands.
Seconds later, Celia returned with a Joseph Smith translation of the Bible, the only Bible we were allowed to read because it was translated “correctly.” She held it out to us like a peace offering. “I think this will help.”
We looked doubtful.
“Well, it couldn’t hurt,” Celia said, smiling.
She sat down cross-legged in front of us and began reading from the book of Psalms. The words had a calming effect on us all. After we each read a chapter or two of the Bible, I finally started to believe the devil wasn’t going to try to enter my body and possess my soul. At least not that night.
Not long after school started, the restriction of being cooped up together at home began to wear on my siblings and me. We began to get on each other’s nerves. We fought over silly things and one-upped each other every chance we got. Card games sometimes ended prematurely because there were arguments about the rules. I think our discontent was partially due to being around other normal kids who lived in homes with a mom and dad and brothers and sisters. I had no trouble making friends at school, but I knew better than to talk about them at home. We weren’t allowed to make friends with outsiders.
Roller-skating was big at the time, and many of our classmates went to the roller rink on Friday or Saturday nights. We never went because it cost too much and the music they played was worldly. But one Friday at school, my friends invited my step-sister June and me to go with them to the rink. I was thrilled to be asked, but I didn’t want to admit that we didn’t have enough money to pay our own way, so I didn’t commit either way.
At lunchtime, I caught up with June in the cafeteria. “Some of my friends are going roller-skating tonight and invited us to go with them. I want to go so bad. But how can we go without any money?”
June shook her head, but she gazed beyond me as if lost in her own thoughts. “You know what, though? I have an idea. Tell them we’ll figure it out so we can go.”
“Really? But how?”
“We’ll work something out.” With that, she turned and carried her tray to the other side of the cafeteria to eat with kids in her class.
That afternoon when we got home, June and I formulated our plan. We needed $2.25 each for admission and to rent skates, but when we pooled our resources we came up with only fifty cents between us.
“Where are we going to get the other four dollars?” I didn’t want to be negative, but I knew Mom wouldn’t give us the money, and she wouldn’t give us permission to go if we asked.
“Let’s ask people in the neighborhood,” June suggested.
“You mean beg for the money?” I stared at her, frowning. “No, thanks. I had enough of that when I lived in Mexico.”
“We’re not begging. We’re just asking if they can help us out. You never know. Someone might want to help us.” June stuck out her bottom lip and looked at me with puppy-dog eyes.
“Okay, but we can’t tell anyone what we’re doing. I don’t think Mom would approve.”
We bundled up against the winter cold and started going door to door. The awkwardness of flat-out asking for money was quickly overcome by our eagerness to go roller-skating. June and I took turns with our opening pitch. “We want to go roller-skating tonight, but we don’t have enough money. Can you help?”
Several neighbors in a row said no. But our boldness and persistence paid off —literally —when a neighbor across the street answered the door, disappeared for a moment, and came back with four one-dollar bills and three quarters.
I was surprised at this stranger’s generosity, and we thanked him profusely. We wouldn’t even need to use any of our own money! To this day, I can picture the front porch of that house and the kindness in the man’s face.
June and I skipped back home, and I called my friend. Later, we sneaked out and walked to my friend’s house. Her mom drove us to the rink, dropped us off, and picked us up several hours later. I reveled in the fun of the entire evening, a night my mom never found out about.