The Polygamist's Daughter
Anna LeBaron
THIS MEMOIR WAS written from memory, with many details corroborated by close family members. Some names have been changed for the privacy of the individuals; some scenes have been recreated to the best of my ability; and some of the events described have been compressed for brevity. Various details not known to me at the time of the events have been added to the story to give context to the reader.
Except in certain circumstances when the words were seared in my mind, the dialogue is not verbatim. It is, however, in keeping with the spirit of the events surrounding them. The same is true of the people. I describe them to the best of my recollection, based on my age at the time these events occurred, our circumstances and experiences, and my impressions of them at the time.
I also want to make it clear that my father took the basic tenets of Joseph Smith’s teachings, including polygamy, that had been practiced for generations in my family and radically twisted them. My father promoted an extremism that shattered so many lives. The modern-day LDS Mormon church officially disavowed polygamy in 1890.
Within these pages, I tell my story. I hope one day the others involved will tell their own.
FOREWORD
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WE ALWAYS MEET people somewhere in the middle of their stories. I met Anna LeBaron somewhere around chapter 34 of the book you are holding, and I had no idea of the unfolding story that I would become a part of.
Her narrative begins with “At age nine, I had forty-nine siblings,” and ends with “He knows my name. He knows my story. And He has set me free.” What happens in between is a shocking and powerful account of a young woman becoming herself, while others wanted her to be anything but herself.
Starting as someone who was just one among scores of siblings, Anna has emerged as a one-of-a-kind human being. For someone who was surrounded by demands to obey, comply, serve, and disappear, Anna has done an amazing job of “showing up.” If you were to meet her now you would be taken by her kindness and her generosity, by her smile and her positivity. And you would never guess the specifics that you are about to read.
I first heard about Anna’s journey during a series of conversations between us. I watched her fight, and I watched her learn. I watched her pursue fearlessly (or at least it appeared that way from my chair) the kind of truth that would make her free. I watched her write her story in her heart, not knowing that one day she would write it for your eyes.
But she almost couldn’t help it. It is consistent with the generosity of her life that if she found hope, she would also do whatever it takes to give it to others. If she found life, she would do whatever it takes to offer it to others.
Prepare to encounter situations that few of us could actually imagine. Fleeing in the dark of night, pursued by the FBI, protected by SWAT teams, and traumatized by multiple murders in her family —all of these experiences were part of Anna’s life in the cult. But that is not the real story here. While those details may keep your eyes open, the real story will keep your heart open.
The real story is about a child born to an evil tyrant, a child who endured far more than just fatherlessness —she endured wickedness. And yet, this young woman, in the darkest of conditions, found the light of fatherhood to be real and profoundly healing.
Her discovery unveils a fundamental truth for every human soul: Regardless of your circumstances and your family history, you are made for more. You are more than the sum of your experiences and more than the sum of your humanity.
Anna’s story meets you in the middle of your story. If you find nothing else in The Polygamist’s Daughter, you can find the hope that you, too —whether now or later —can breathe the words of Anna’s friend in the last chapter, “She has overcome!”
Bob Hamp
Founder of Think Differently: Counseling, Consulting, Connecting
Author of Think Differently Live Differently
PROLOGUE
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AT AGE NINE, I had forty-nine siblings.
I didn’t play hopscotch with my school friends at recess or watch The Brady Bunch on television with my siblings. My mother didn’t pack my school lunch and my dad didn’t give me a hug at the door, wishing me a good day. Instead, my parents, who were on the run from federal authorities, abandoned me in Mexico for about a year, leaving me with a family I didn’t know. A family that included a man named Rafael.
I was fed each day and had a foam pad to sleep on at night. But I found it difficult to sleep in this strange place, so far from my mom. Why couldn’t I stay with her and the rest of my family in the United States, instead of in this dingy, dusty apartment south of the border?
Even though I had grown up in polygamy, I had no idea of the truth.
I was auditioning as a potential wife for Rafael.
My father, the notorious Ervil LeBaron, had promised Rafael several of his daughters in marriage. If Rafael, a recent convert to my father’s polygamist sect, was still in favor with him when we girls reached marriageable age —typically fifteen —it would happen. My sisters and I were pawns to be auctioned off to the highest bidder, those followers willing to do whatever my father asked, no matter what it involved.
I understood from watching my mom, along with her twelve sister-wives and my countless siblings, that no one was allowed to question my father’s authority. So, like the others, I obeyed.
And even though this life made my stomach ache, I never said a word.
“WHAT WILL WE DO without you?”
I stood in the driveway of our Dallas home, clinging to my mother as the sun rose higher in the sky, and begged her through my tears not to go. I couldn’t imagine life without my mother. So great was my grief that I barely noticed her two sister-wives saying good-bye to their own children.
We had been living there only a short time, having moved yet again on short notice. I’d be sent off to school that day with no explanation as to why my mom had to leave —again. Usually she left without notice and would come back in a few days, or sometimes weeks. This time was different. She didn’t know when she would be back.