Stolen Innocence - Lisa Pulitzer [172]
“First of all, I am not a hostile witness,” Kassandra snapped back.
He went after her a second time, portraying her as negligent for failing to go to authorities when I was first placed for marriage to Allen.
“Now, you didn’t contact the Washington County Sheriff’s Office when Elissa was getting into a marriage that you believed that she didn’t want to get into?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“But you did contact the police in the summer of 2005; is that right?”
“That is correct,” my sister replied.
“And you told police at that time that you believed that there might be a sexual-abuse case involving your sister Elissa; is that right?”
“May I define the difference? When my sister was married, I was married to Rulon.”
Her retort could not have been better scripted, and Bugden snarled in futility. When it was Teressa’s turn, she smiled back at me as she strode to the witness stand, her long blond curls falling just past her shoulders. I remained alert, studying how she responded to the questions. After establishing my sister’s particulars, Shaum asked what Warren taught about our role as women of the FLDS.
“What did he say was your role as a woman, particularly related to your husband or your future husband?”
Teressa hesitated. “That he was basically God to us and your husband is your way to heaven. You were to do what he tells you. He’s your priesthood head.”
When the prosecutor asked her about my state of mind during my marriage to Allen, she told the truth. “There was never a time she was ever happy about the marriage, ever.”
Like Kassandra, Teressa stayed composed during the defense attorney’s cross-examination. But Wally Bugden only asked her six questions.
“State calls Elissa Wall, Your Honor.” Brock Belnap’s soft voice summoning me to the front of the courtroom elicited an intense fear in me that only grew worse as I stumbled down the steps of the jury box. Not only was I extremely nervous, I was also unsteady on my feet as a result of the extra weight I was carrying with my pregnancy. Over the months, I’d grown to trust Brock, and in the days before the hearing, I confided that I would prefer that he conduct my questioning. While I’d come to know Ryan as a thoughtful, polished lawyer, I felt more comfortable with Brock.
“How are you feeling, Elissa?” he asked, smiling at me from the podium to the right of the judge’s desk.
“Pretty good,” I told Brock, focusing exclusively on his reassuring face. “A little nervous,” I blurted out suddenly.
“Looks like you’re pregnant,” he said.
“Very, very pregnant,” I answered, trying to get comfortable in front of all these people who’d come to hear my story.
“Now, do you know the defendant in this case?”
“I do,” I said, glancing at the defense table.
“This gentleman here?” Brock asked me. “Who is he?”
“He is Warren Jeffs,” I said, clearing my throat and trying to adjust my very pregnant frame in the hard wooden chair.
It was at this moment that our eyes locked. As I looked hard at his small, round eyes, an odd sense of tranquility fell over me, as if I suddenly understood that this man no longer had any power over me. Our gaze remained fixed for what seemed a minute, with Warren working to intimidate me with his “death stare,” trying to make it look like it was the glare of God. The entire courtroom fell silent, with neither one of us willing to back down. After several more seconds, Warren shook his head slightly and finally looked away. I was no longer his victim, and with that realization I was liberated.
I tried to remember what the lawyers had told me—listen to the question and pay attention to what is being asked of me. After a few minutes, I could feel myself settling down, and with Brock’s gentle