Stolen Innocence - Lisa Pulitzer [30]
Unfortunately that year’s conference weekend was not what I had hoped for. When I first arrived, my anxiety seemed to disappear as friends and relatives greeted me. Together we had fun and began to relax, and for the first time in months, I felt at ease. But one day, with spring-flushed cheeks glowing from hours of play, I walked into a room to discover Mom sitting in a corner, crying. I asked her what was wrong, and through tears she said that she had seen Travis and heard the truth of what was happening to him. The family that had taken him in felt that he was corrupting their children and disapproved of a group of boys he’d befriended. Like Travis, many of his new friends were struggling with the teachings of our faith and finding ways to rebel. At this point, Travis had somehow gotten his hands on a car, and to escape the oppressive atmosphere in the household, he began sleeping in it.
Mom didn’t feel it would be appropriate to share many of the details with me, but her devastation was clear. This was the second time I had seen her crying like this, and memories of the day we left Craig on the side of the highway flooded my mind. Later, I would look back on this occasion and wonder whether Mom was crying solely out of love and regret for her sons’ pain or for the dual failure that the situation represented. A priesthood mother is expected to raise her children to be virtuous and good, and if a child strays, it is viewed as the mother’s fault. Mom was heartbroken enough to share her true feelings with me, and somehow I understood what that meant. I hadn’t yet finished the fifth grade, but it was in this bitter moment that I witnessed the continuation of my family’s unraveling.
In the end, it appeared Travis’s resentment of his circumstances at the reform retreat proved too great to endure. Shortly after we’d returned home from the April conference, we heard that he finally left Short Creek and moved into a house in southern Utah with some friends who had also left the church. Most were lost and searching for a way to make life work outside their religious upbringings. When I heard he was with them, I was pleased because it sounded like they’d formed a kind of family bond that would help them get through whatever rough times they would face. My parents, on the other hand, sensed that he was living with a bad crowd, but they could not access him and control his actions; Mom was consumed by worry—and Dad by frustration.
In early summer of 1997, our family was invited to join many of the Salt Lake members on an organized camping trip to Bear Lake, Wyoming, which would be one of just a handful of times that the people in Salt Lake organized their own community event. For much of my life, playing in the water had been off-limits because Dad felt it was too dangerous. On several occasions, I was told that the Devil controlled the water and swimming for pleasure would prevent the Lord from protecting us from him.
Because of this teaching, I was excited but also a little scared at the prospect of spending a few days at the lake. When I asked if the Devil would be in the water, I was told that because the prophet had approved of the trip the water would be blessed. This completely set my mind at ease, and upon our arrival, I splashed and played in the water in my long dresses to my heart’s content. At night we stayed in tents on the beach and the sound of water lulled us to sleep.
At one point during the festivities, my attention was drawn to another group of children in swimsuits frolicking in the water. They were not from the FLDS, but they too were with their families on vacation. Like a scientist, I paused to study them. I was curious because I had been taught that outsiders were