The Polygamist's Daughter



WE MOVED FROM THE HOUSE on Gulf Freeway located on the south side of Houston to another place on the north side of town. The squat, white, one-story house on West Little York was closer to the main Reliance store, which made life much easier for family members who worked there.

Our move wasn’t the only change that happened. As 1982 began, my siblings and I were enrolled in public school again. Some of the others were happy about going to public school, but I liked the structure and security of the ACE school. Later, when we got pulled out of the ACE school, we no longer went to church at Mark and Lillian’s either. Over time, I began catching snippets of conversations between Mom, Lillian, and Mark that began to make me nervous. Mom’s thinking of moving us back to Denver! I feared she would succumb to the gravitational pull toward Dan Jordan and his manipulative wooing.

On numerous occasions, Mom and others in the family had mentioned that Dan Jordan needed helpers to run Michael’s Appliance. So it wasn’t much of a surprise when we learned that the business had gone under. I wondered if Dawn and Joyce had been forced to work longer hours and actually had to scrub appliances as thoroughly as we had. The LeBaron children and Dad’s wives were the labor force that had made the business a success.

One Saturday evening, my older sister Marilyn and I, along with several other siblings, returned home from working at the warehouse. As I got out of the station wagon, Marilyn was standing rigidly in the driveway, staring at the house.

“What is it?”

“Shhh!” She put her finger to her lips and with her other hand pointed to the car in the driveway.

I recognized it instantly. What was Dan Jordan doing here?

“What should we do?” I whispered.

“Well, we kind of have to go in.” She threw back her shoulders defiantly and marched straight toward the front door.

I followed a few steps behind, a little less defiant.

We entered the house and saw Dan Jordan seated on our couch, deep in conversation with Mom. We remained silent, afraid to address him. We knew our place; we were too far below him for him to acknowledge our existence.

Mom broke the awkward silence. “Girls, Dan has had a long drive, and we need to discuss some business. Please go to your rooms and keep quiet.”

I couldn’t wait to get out of there, so Marilyn and I hurried to our back bedroom. Our other siblings followed suit, heading to their respective rooms. Marilyn placed her purse on the dresser and turned on the radio. I stared at her in disbelief.

“What are you doing? Mom said to be quiet! Don’t you want to listen to what they’re saying?”

“Not really.” She plopped down on her bed, closed her eyes, and rested one arm across her face.

“Well, I do.” I carefully opened the door just enough for me to squeeze through and sat down in the dark hallway. Still, I had to strain to hear the muffled voices coming from the living room.

Dan droned on and on. “We’re very concerned about you, Anna Mae. And about Ervil’s kids, too. I think it would be best if you moved back to Denver.”

I held my breath for Mom’s response.

“I’m concerned too. That’s why I took my children out of the ACE school. But I still worry about the worldly influences they face. I wonder if living here will cause them to make choices that will get them in trouble.”

Dan mumbled something I couldn’t hear.

“You’re right. If I don’t put a stop to this soon, things could get far worse. Sometimes I wonder if we would all be better off back in Denver, surrounded by people who can help keep the kids in line.”

Nooo! I screamed inside. I love it here. I feel so much safer. And we get to eat normal food and make money for a lot less work.

Dan’s voice trailed down the long hallway. “This is what Ervil would have wanted. And as his successor, I’m telling you, Anna Mae, I think it would be best if you and your children came back to Denver.”

I shivered, despite the sticky, humid Houston air. Here we were, once again —Dan Jordan trying to force us to do his bidding. It all made sense. He undoubtedly missed the free child labor that he and his family had benefitted from. And until my dad died, Dan didn’t have the authority to make us do his bidding. Apparently he felt like he did now.

Surely Mom wouldn’t listen to him. Surely she would recall the deplorable living conditions, the verbal abuse, and the long, backbreaking days spent working in the shop. Surely she would remember what a tyrant Dan had been. Surely she wouldn’t subject her children to that again.

But Dan could be very persuasive and intimidating. He was a man who was used to getting his way. And Mom never wanted to rock the boat. She always seemed eager to keep the peace, especially when it came to men of influence in her life. Whenever she made decisions that didn’t benefit her children, she reminded us that it was for our own good. “We have to make sacrifices for the kingdom because we’re God’s chosen people.”

I sat there and listened as the man I hated most in the world deliberately and methodically backed my mom into a corner. Mom proved to be no match for his deft arguments. From my post at the end of the hallway, I could hear the defeat in her voice. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Dan prepared to leave. Once they reached the front door, I couldn’t hear any more. So I got up and hobbled back into the bedroom, my muscles stiff and aching from sitting in that position for so long.

Marilyn still lay on the bed with her face covered, but she looked up when I came in. “Well?”

I struggled to find the right words, to tell Marilyn that our happy life —going to a school that we enjoyed, making decent wages, and eating store-bought food —was going to end. The thought of returning to that horrible indentured life was unspeakable. I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

“We’re moving back to Denver, aren’t we?”

I flung myself on my bed and numbly nodded my head.



A few days later, June and I headed to her new boyfriend’s house when school let out. He lived in a trailer park just down the road from us. When we arrived, June and her boyfriend disappeared and I sat on the living room couch with his friend Andrew, unsure of what to say.

All of a sudden, there was a loud knock on the door. Andrew opened it, and there stood Mom, catching her breath.

I stood and stared at her in disbelief. How did she know where to find us? Had she gone house to house asking for us? Perhaps she saw us walking past our own house after school and became worried when we didn’t come home. Regardless, there she was, standing at the door using the most authoritarian voice and posture that she could. “It’s time to come home, girls.”

“I’ll get June.”

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