Heaven's Harlots: My Fifteen Years in a Sex Cult by Miriam Williams

and often oppressive, perspectives reinforced constantly by everyone around me, my critical thinking capabilities were extremely weakened. The Bible did say,“Be fruitful and multiply.” If God was the one who gave babies, it made sense to ask Him for one. The more I prayed for a child, the more I felt that a baby was what I really wanted in my life.
    Ironically, I was still aware enough to know that a child in the Family ideally belonged to everyone. It wouldn’t necessarily be “mine. ” Sitting in the bathroom, the only room that gave me complete privacy with my thoughts since our bedroom was converted back into the living room every morning, I pondered the imagined happiness of holding my own baby in my arms and the very real threat of having that baby taken away from me and cared for by others. In order to prevent that from happening, I reasoned, I would make sure that I was always in the “child-care ministry.” I even justified my thought processes, which were definitely selfish according to Family ideals. My mother had given me the name “Miriam.” In the Bible story, Miriam was the sister of Moses who watched her baby-brother in the river and suggested to the Egyptian queen who found Moses that she would get a nursemaid—her own mother. In this way, Moses, although destined by God to live in the royal Egyptian palace, was actually raised by his own Hebrew mother. I reasoned that I could be like Miriam and cunningly make sure I would always care for my own child. Few sisters desired to stay in child-care work for long, so I did not foresee a problem keeping a spot. Curiously, I never noticed at that time how I had to work my way around Family policy. The thought of leaving the Family rarely occurred to me in those early years.
    Cal and I tried harder to conceive, and as nature would have it, I became pregnant the next month. The nine months of carrying a child was one of the most joyful times of my life. In my idealistic and naive state, I thought that now I would be fulfilled. Being a mother in the COG carried a certain amount of respect at that time, and extra attention was paid to both mothers’ and children’s needs. I was given a quart of milk a day, as well as extra fruit and vegetables. I could have time to take a nap and could go to bed early. Life was full of comforts now, and I enjoyed it to the fullest, knowing this would not last.
    It was planned that I should have the baby in Troy, New York. All COG girls were encouraged to have their babies at home, and midwives were trained among our group to perform the delivery. There were no midwives among us in the Boston area, but Troy had one sister, Sheriah, who had assisted at a birth. That was good enough training for us.
    We calculated the birth date, and I was sent to the Troy home about two weeks ahead of time. Cal was supposed to come down when labor started, and before leaving, I married Cal in front of a justice of the peace.
    In Troy, I practiced the Lamaze breathing method, as outlined in advice we received from our child-care leaders, to help during labor.
    The Troy home was kept very clean, and since I had been assigned to work in the kitchen, I needed to mop the floor every night. After mopping one night on my hands and knees, I felt the labor pains start around nine o’clock. I went to bed, knowing that the first labor usually takes awhile, and some labor pains could be a false alarm. At midnight, I was sure this was the real thing, so I woke up Sheriah.
    She began preparing the labor room, while I called Cal and started my Lamaze exercises. They put me on the table about three in the morning.
    Sheriah began prepping me by stretching the skin around the opening, but the labor pains were so strong I had to push her away frequently.
    “I don’t think that Cal will make it,” she said. “Your contractions are coming pretty fast and regular. How do they feel?”
    “Hard, very hard,” I said between puffing.
    Another sister who was