{"product_id":"escape-isbn-9780767927574","title":"Escape","description":"\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eNEW YORK TIMES\u003c\/i\u003e BESTSELLER\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e• The dramatic true story of one woman’s life inside the ultra-fundamentalist American religious sect featured in \u003ci\u003eKeep Sweet: Pray and Obey\u003c\/i\u003e—and her courageous flight to freedom with her eight children\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWith a new epilogue by the author • “\u003ci\u003eEscape\u003c\/i\u003e provides an astonishing look behind the tightly drawn curtains of the FLDS church, one of the most secretive religious groups in the United States. A courageous, heart-wrenching account.”—Jon Krakauer\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWhen she was eighteen years old, Carolyn Jessop was coerced into an arranged marriage with a total stranger: a man thirty-two years her senior. Merril Jessop already had three wives. But arranged plural marriages were an integral part of Carolyn’s heritage: She was born into and raised in the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (FLDS), the radical offshoot of the Mormon Church. Over the next fifteen years, Carolyn had eight children and withstood her husband’s psychological abuse and the watchful eyes of his other wives, who were locked in a constant battle for supremacy. Carolyn was miserable for years and wanted out, but she knew that if she tried to leave and got caught, her children would be taken away from her. In 2003, Carolyn chose freedom over fear and fled her home with her eight children. She had $20 to her name.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eEscape \u003c\/i\u003eexposes a world tantamount to a prison camp, created by religious fanatics who, in the name of God, deprive the followers the right to make choices, brainwash children in church-run schools, and force women to be totally subservient to men. Against this background, Carolyn’s flight takes on an extraordinary, inspiring power. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eNot only did Carolyn manage a daring escape from a brutal environment, she became the first woman ever granted full custody of her children in a contested suit involving the FLDS. And in 2006, her reports to the Utah attorney general on church abuses formed a crucial part of the case that led to the arrest, and later the conviction and sentence, of their notorious leader, Warren Jeffs.“Though Jessop’s circumstances were unusual—and particularly harrowing—her memoir will appeal to many women who have left abusive relationships.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Riveting, compulsive reading.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eElle\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“A fascinating story.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Washington Post\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eCarolyn Jessop\u003c\/b\u003e was born into the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, a group splintered from and renounced by the Mormon Church, and spent most of her life in Colorado City, Arizona, the main base of the FLDS. Since leaving the group in 2003, she has lived in West Jordon, Utah, with her eight children. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eLaura Palmer\u003c\/b\u003e is the author of \u003ci\u003eShrapnel in the Heart\u003c\/i\u003e and collaborated on five other books, including \u003ci\u003eTo Catch a Predator\u003c\/i\u003e with NBC's Chris Hansen. She lives in New York City.\u003cb\u003eEarly Childhood\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I was born in the bitter cold but into warm and loving hands. Aunt  Lydia Jessop was the midwife who brought me into the world on January 1, 1968, just  two hours after midnight.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Aunt Lydia could not believe I’d survived. She was the  midwife who had delivered babies for two generations, including my mother. When she  saw the placenta, she realized that my mother had chronic placental abruption. Mom  had hemorrhaged throughout her pregnancy and thought she was miscarrying. But when  the bleeding stopped, she shrugged it off, assuming she was still pregnant. Aunt  Lydia, the midwife, said that by the time I was born, the placenta was almost completely  detached from the uterus. My mother could have bled to death and I could have been  born prematurely or, worse, stillborn.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But I came into the world as a feisty seven-pound  baby, my mother’s second daughter. My father said she could name me Carolyn or Annette.  She looked up both names and decided to call me Carolyn because it meant “wisdom.”  My mother always said that even as a baby, I looked extremely wise to her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I was  born into six generations of polygamy on my mother’s side and started life in Hildale,  Utah, in a fundamentalist Mormon community known as the FLDS, or the Fundamentalist  Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Polygamy was the issue that defined  us and the reason we’d split from the mainstream Mormon Church. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My childhood memories  really begin in Salt Lake City. We moved there when I was about five. Even though  my parents believed in polygamy, my father had only one wife. He owned a small real  estate business that was doing well and decided it made sense to use Salt Lake as  a base. We had a lovely house with a porch swing and a landscaped yard and trees.  This was a big change from the tiny house in Colorado City with dirt and weeds in  the yard and a father who was rarely home.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But the biggest difference in moving  to Salt Lake City was that my mother, Nurylon, was happy. She loved the city and  delighted in having my father home every night after work. My dad was doing well,  and Mom had enough money to buy plenty of groceries when we went to the store and  even had some extra for toys.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e There were soon four of us. I had two sisters, Linda  and Annette. I was in the middle–Linda was eighteen months older than I and Annette  two years younger. My baby brother Arthur arrived a few years after Annette. My mother  was thrilled to finally have a son because in our culture, boys have more value than  girls. Linda and my mother were very close. But my mother always seemed very irritated  by me, in part, I think, because I was my father’s favorite.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I adored my dad, Arthur  Blackmore. He was tall and thin, with large bones and dark, wavy hair. I remember  that whenever we were around other families I thought I had the best-looking father  in the entire world. I saw him as my personal protector and felt safe when I was  in his presence. His face lit up when I entered the room; I was always the daughter  he wanted to introduce when friends visited our house. My mother complained that  he didn’t discipline me as much as he did my sister Linda, but he ignored her and  didn’t seem to care.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e We only lived in Salt Lake City for a year, but it was a happy  one. Mother took us to the zoo and to the park, where we’d play on the swings and  slides. My father’s business was successful and expanding. But he decided we needed  to move back to Colorado City, Arizona—a tiny, nondescript FLDS enclave about 350  miles south of Salt Lake City and a stone’s throw from Hildale, Utah, where I was  born. The reason we went back was that he didn’t want my sister Linda attending a  regular public school. Even though she would technically be going to a public school  in Colorado City, most of the teachers there were FLDS and very conservative. In  theory, at least, religion is not to be taught in public schools, but in fact it  was an integral part of the curriculum there.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e When we returned to Colorado City,  my father put an addition onto our house. There was more space to live in, but life  became more claustrophobic. Mother changed. When we got up in the morning, she would  still be sleeping. My father was on the road a lot now, so she was home alone. When  we tried to wake her up, she’d tell us to go back to bed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She’d finally surface  midmorning and come into the kitchen to make us breakfast and talk about how much  she wanted to die. While she made us hot cornmeal cereal, toast, or pancakes she’ d complain about having nothing to live for and how she’d rather be dead. Those were  the good mornings. The really awful mornings were the ones when she’d talk about  how she was going to kill herself that day.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I remember how terrified I felt wondering  what would happen to us if my mother killed herself. Who’d take care of us? Father  was gone nearly all the time. One morning I asked my mother, “Mama, if a mother dies,  what will happen to her children? Who will take care of them?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I don’t think Mother  noticed my urgency. She had no idea of the impact her words had been having on me.  I think she felt my question arose from a general curiosity about dying. Mother was  very matter–of–fact in responding to me: “Oh, the children will be all right. The  priesthood will give their father a new wife. The new wife will take care of them.” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e By this time I was about six. I looked at her and said, “Mama, I think that Dad  better hurry up and get a new wife.” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I was beginning to notice other things about  the world around me. One was that some of the women we’d see in the community when  we went shopping were wearing dark sunglasses. I was surprised when a woman took  her glasses off in the grocery store and I could see that both her eyes were blackened.  I asked my mother what was wrong, but the question seemed to make her uncomfortable  and she didn’t answer me. My curiosity was piqued, however, and every time I saw  a woman in dark glasses, I stared at her to see if they were covering strange, mottled  bruises.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e What I did love about my mother was her beauty. In my eyes, she was gorgeous.  She dressed with pride and care. Like my father, she was tall and thin. The clothes  she made for herself and my sisters and me were exquisite. She always picked the  best fabrics. She knew how to make pleats and frills. I remember beaming when someone  would praise my mother for her well–mannered and well–dressed children. Everyone  in the community thought she was an exceptional mother.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But that was the public  façade. In private, my mother was depressed and volatile. She beat us almost every  day. The range was anything from several small swats on the behind to a lengthy whipping  with a belt. Once the beating was so bad I had bruises all over my back and my legs  for more than a week. When she hit us, she accused us of always doing things to try  to make her miserable. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I feared her, but my fear made me a student of her behavior.  I watched her closely and realized that even though she slapped us throughout the  day, she never spanked us more than once a day. The morning swats were never that  intense or prolonged. The real danger came in late afternoon, when she was in the  depths of her sorrow. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I concluded that if I got my spanking early in the morning  and got it out of the way, I would basically have a free pass for the rest of the  day. As soon as Mama got up, I knew I had a spanking coming. Linda and Annette quickly  caught on to what I was doing, and they tried to get their spankings out of the way  in the morning, too.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e There were several times when my mother spanked me and then  screamed and screamed at me. “I’m going to give you a beating you’ll never forget!  I am not going to stop beating you until you shut up and stop crying! You make me  so mad! How could you be so stupid!” Even though it’s been decades, her screams still  echo inside me when I think about her. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I remember overhearing my mother say to  a relative, “I just don’t understand what has gotten into my three daughters. As  soon as I am out of bed every morning, they are so bad that no matter how much I  warn them, they will just not be quiet until I give them all a spanking. After they  have all gotten a spanking, then everything calms down and we can all get on with  our day.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e When my mother beat me, she would always say she was doing it because  she loved me. So I used to wish that she didn’t love me. I was afraid of her, but  I would also get angry at her when she hit me. After she beat me she insisted on  giving me a hug. I hated that. The hug didn’t make the spanking stop hurting. It  didn’t fix anything. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I never told my father about the beatings because it was such  an accepted part of our culture. What my mother was doing would be considered “good  discipline.” My mother saw herself as raising righteous children and felt teaching  us obedience was one of her most important responsibilities. Spanking your children  was widely seen as the way to reach that goal. It wasn’t considered abuse; it was  considered good parenting.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Some of the happiest times for me would be when we would  have quilting parties at home. The women from the community would spend the day at  our house, quilting around a big frame. Stories and gossip were shared, there was  a lot of food, and the children all had a chance to play together. Quilting parties  were the one time we had breathing room. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Once I was playing with dolls with my  cousin under the quilt when I heard my aunt Elaine say, “I was so scared the other  day. Ray Dee was playing out in the yard with her brothers and sisters. Some people  from out of town stopped in front of our house. All of the other children ran into  the house screaming, but Ray Dee stayed outside and talked to the out–of–towners.”I was born into a radical polygamist cult. At eighteen, I became the fourth wifeof a fifty year old man. I had eight children in fifteen years.","brand":"Crown","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303364841701,"sku":"NP9780767927574","price":18.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780767927574.jpg?v=1767726350","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/escape-isbn-9780767927574","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}