by Fleur Beale
I sat in my usual place between Luke and Zillah. She squeezed my hand, giving me a grin to remind me: solemn. I tried to slow my breathing, tried to think of Bernice and Eden, tried to stop being terrified of judgement and punishment. I would pray for Neriah. Our leader would forbid it, but I would do it when we had to stand while he prayed for those he deemed worthy.
As he always did, he made us wait for his words while he gazed out at us with his sorrowful expression. His eyes settled on me. Pain gripped my stomach. It was hard to breathe. Mother leaned past Luke to glare at me. Why wouldn’t she believe me? Father knew I hadn’t transgressed. Lord, help me.
At last Elder Stephen began speaking. ‘My people, today is a most solemn occasion.’ Zillah squeezed my hand. ‘Your Elders have prayed over the names of the young people who will carry a future generation along the path to salvation. It will be my sacred duty to tell you those names once I have brought you the word of the Lord.’
I closed my eyes. His punishment would be sneaky and mean. For the first time, I paid attention to his words, but there was nothing in the dreary sermon that meant trouble for me. At the end, he paused the way he always did before he began on the betrothal announcements. It was a longer pause than usual. People stirred in their seats. Children scuffed their feet on the floor. Fear brought the pains back to my stomach. Please, Lord, make him die.
He began speaking again. ‘My people, it is my heavy duty to tell you of a most grievous and distressing transgression by one of our congregation.’
I slumped in my seat. Luke held my arm and Zillah’s hand crushed mine. Mother glared at me and let out a hiss of anger.
‘My people, our erstwhile brother Jedidiah virtue has left the Faith. Worse than that, he has taken his hapless wife and children with him. From this day forward we will not speak their names. They are dead to us — dead, doomed and damned.’
He stopped to let the shocked murmuring grow quiet. I kept my eyes closed, praying he’d say no more. Please, Lord, help me. You are my strength and salvation. Of course he said more. The people were so quiet I could hear the buzzing of an insect. I prayed for it to be a wasp. I prayed it would sting our leader dead.
He wound up by repeating, ‘We will not utter the names of any of that accursed family ever again. It is a sin to do so. It is against the Rule.’
Again we had to wait until he sighed and began the betrothal announcements. I let myself relax. He wasn’t going to punish me. Abraham had saved me. I let Elder Stephen’s words about the sanctity of marriage pass over me but, even so, I couldn’t help noticing how he seemed determined to make a drama out of something that held no surprises. We all knew the girls would be those who worked in the kitchen on worship days, and we knew the boys would be those like Abraham who were eighteen years old.
Zillah clutched my hand tightly as Elder Stephen began reading the list of the young men. ‘Brother Simeon, you have the permission of the Elders and the Lord to choose a wife.’
‘Praise the Lord,’ we all said.
He went on through the list. Titus.
‘Praise the Lord.’
Noah.
‘Praise the Lord.’
Joab.
‘Praise the Lord.’
Philemon.
‘Praise the Lord.’
‘Brothers, you may each choose a wife from Sisters Eden, Bernice, Mercy, Adina and Jewel. Praise the Lord.’
He hadn’t read out Abraham’s name. He had left my brother’s name off the list. He wasn’t punishing me. He was punishing Abraham for helping me.
Five
MY BROTHER’S FACE WAS furious. Mother was trying not to cry. I guessed Father was praying to the Lord. Luke took my hand. He didn’t look upset — if anything, he looked thoughtful.
When we stood to go to lunch, Zillah tugged me down to her level to say, ‘That’s good, isn’t it? Abraham won’t have to get another house. He can still live with us.’
It wasn’t good, but now wasn’t the time to try to explain. Philemon was a whole year younger than Abraham. He was also Elder Stephen’s grandson. That could be the reason, though I didn’t believe so. This was Abraham’s punishment for saving me. It was lucky my brother hadn’t given his heart to any of the girls — I would think of that and pray it would give me strength, for I knew people would be glad to have a topic they were allowed to gossip about during the lunch hour.
I was right — on every side I caught whisperings of my brother’s name. But, obedient as always, nobody spoke the names of Neriah or her family. I didn’t want to listen to Mother — she’d be sure that leaving Abraham off the list was a mistake. She’d want Father to go to Elder Stephen and tell him. I didn’t want to be around when she realised it wasn’t a mistake.
Instead, I searched for Jemimah, and found her sitting huddled on a chair in a corner. I knelt in front of her and took her hands. ‘I’m still going to pray for her. She asked us all to.’
‘We’re not allowed to.’ Her voice was choked from crying.
I whispered, ‘I still pray for my … for Rebecca.’
She looked at me with hope in her face. ‘You’re not scared you’ll go to hell? You’re not scared of breaking the Rule?’
I chose my words carefully. She didn’t know about Daniel and Miriam. ‘I believe the Lord loves us. I don’t believe he wants us to suffer. I pray for my sister to live a good and godly life. I pray for her to be happy. I’m going to pray for Neriah too.’ I tugged her to her feet. ‘Come on, let’s get something to eat before the men guts it all.’
Carmel joined us. ‘No wonder N— our friend, was crying. It’ll be weird without her.’ She shook her head at the men piling their plates high. ‘Look at them! You’d think they never got a decent feed in their lives.’
Jemimah said, ‘I’d better go and help Mother. See you at school tomorrow.’
We watched her go. By the look of it, her mother had been crying too — Neriah’s mother was her sister. I knew how it felt to lose a sister.
‘Hey, Magdalene what’s up with that betrothal announcement?’ Carmel tipped her head to the side, her eyes sparkling.
I didn’t want to think about it. ‘Dunno. Only the Lord knows what goes on inside the Elders’ minds.’
She leaned in close. ‘Well, I’m glad — and you can tell your brother that.’ Then she ducked away, her face flaming.
I stared after her. She was my age — a few weeks off thirteen and still a whole year and a bit away from betrothal age — yet she’d already decided who she wanted to marry. One of us was seriously weird, and I truly didn’t know if it was her or me.
Luke drifted up beside me. ‘Don’t frown, little sister. It’ll be best if we can both look calm and accepting of the will of the Lord.’
Obedient as always, I did as he bid me. ‘Luke, I’m too young to be thinking about who I want to marry. Aren’t I?’
Now it was his turn to frown, then his face cleared as he turned to follow Carmel’s progress back to her family. ‘She gave you a message for Abraham?’
‘Yes! And so did Bernice and Eden, not that it’s any use now.’
Luke grinned — something he rarely did. ‘Looks like the way to attract girls is to ignore them.’ His face grew serious. ‘Come on, we’d better see if we can calm him down. Father’s just winding him up even more.’
I didn’t want to be anywhere near trouble, but I cringed at the thought of being left by myself where I’d be a target for curious questions, so I let him tow me along to where Father was talking earnestly to Abraham. We arrived in time to hear our brother’s furious whisper: ‘I’m not staying, Father. This is the end. Finish. First it’s no to the electronics course — fair enough. Worldly education, blah blah. But this is too much. I’m leaving.’
It was my fault. If he hadn’t rescued me from Elder Stephen, his name would have been on the list. Now he was going to leave. Dead to us, damned and doomed.
I was a transgressor, a bringer of trouble. It all pressed on me, squeezing
and hurting. My head was fuzzy.
The next thing I knew, I was lying on the floor with something wet on my head and Zillah pulling at my hand. ‘Wake up, Magdalene! Don’t die. Please don’t you die!’
‘I’m not —’ I shut my mouth and my eyes. I couldn’t be sick, not here with so many people staring at me.
Arms went under my knees and shoulders, lifting me, and I heard Abraham say, ‘She’s not well. I’ll take her home.’
‘Zillah,’ I muttered.
‘Zillah, you come too. You can look after her in the car.’
I waited for Father to tell Abraham off, or for Mother to tell me to pull myself together, but Abraham was walking away and I heard nothing except avid questions from the people.
In the car, I kept my eyes shut, content to let Zillah stroke my hair as I lay on the back seat. ‘Are you dying, Magdalene?’
‘She fainted, Zillah. That’s all. She’s not dying.’That was Luke’s voice.
‘Luke? Father let you —’ I still couldn’t get enough breath into my lungs.
Abraham answered. ‘Father thinks Luke will be better at persuading me to stay than he would be.’
Zillah burst into a noisy howl. ‘You can’t leave! You’ll be dead to us and I love you, Abraham. I love you and I love Luke and Magdalene and Hope.’
None of us tried to hush her or comfort her. Maybe Luke thought the same as I did — that her distress could be the one thing to make our brother stay.
I didn’t want to be carried when we got home. ‘I’m all right.’
‘You’re white as your bloody blouse,’ Abraham said. ‘Zillah, that’s enough noise. Make a pot of tea. Luke, get us all some food.’
Zillah hiccupped into silence and filled the kettle. ‘A bloody blouse would be all red, Abraham,’ she said as she carried the teapot to the table.
It made us laugh. Abraham gave her braid a tug. ‘Little monster.’
Luke set bread, cheese, pickle and slices of cold corned beef on the table. He made me a sandwich. ‘Eat that and drink your tea.’
None of us talked while we ate. Zillah looked as if she wanted to ask a million questions.
I was the one to break the silence. ‘Abraham, it’s all my fault. He’s punishing you, isn’t he? You shouldn’t have helped me.’
‘Don’t talk such rubbish, Magdalene Pilgrim.’ He thumped the table. ‘That old bugger’s been after our family ever since Rebecca left. It’s not your fault he’s losing his mind.’
Luke said, ‘He’s right, sis. It’s probably lucky our esteemed leader had no idea Abraham didn’t particularly want to get married.’
Abraham scrubbed his hands through his hair. It was too long, as always — another reason for the Elders to shun him. ‘That’s not the point, Luke, as you very well know.’
Zillah said, ‘Well, I think it’s good! I don’t want you to go away. I want you to stay here for ever and ever.’
He laughed, but I said, ‘You’d better explain. She needs to know, Abraham. Don’t let her think you’ve died if she wakes up one day and you’ve disappeared.’
He gave an impatient shake of his head. ‘You worry too much, Magdalene.’
‘With good reason,’ Luke said, staring directly at him. ‘She knows what it’s like to be kept ignorant — to try to work things out and get it all wrong.’
‘What?’ Zillah asked. ‘I don’t understand what you’re talking about. Tell me!’
‘Thanks, bro,’ Abraham said.
Please don’t tell her about Miriam and Daniel and Esther. Not today. I can’t deal with anything else today. I’d be the one who’d have to answer her questions for ever after, to try to explain again and again. I’d have to live every day dreading she’d speak to Father about our lost brother, sisters and cousin. She did need to know, but not today, not yet.
Luke gave me a fleeting smile, then took hold of Zillah’s hands. ‘How much do you remember about Rebecca?’
‘She was nice. I can remember her because Rachel looks like her.’
‘Can you remember what happened the day they said she was dead?’ Luke asked.
She turned to me, her eyes wide. ‘You cried and cried, Magdalene. I remember that.’
I envied my sister her fractured memories, for the rest of us would never forget the full horror of that dreadful day.
‘I’ll tell you all about it,’ Luke said. ‘It’s dangerous though, Zillah. We’re not supposed to talk about Rebecca.’
She nodded wisely. ‘I know that, because Magdalene tells me all the time. I’d have to learn a hundred psalms and only have bread and water for years.’
‘Zillah! I never said that!’ But I was smiling.
Luke rolled his eyes. ‘All right, then. You know Elder Stephen was going to marry Rebecca?’
‘Yuck,’ said Zillah. ‘He’s too old and too mean. Is that why she died?’
‘Pretty much — except she didn’t die. She ran away, and the police stopped the Elders from bringing her back and making her marry him.’ He stopped, waiting to see what she’d ask next.
But Abraham started talking. ‘You were in the nursery, Zillah, so you didn’t see all the Elders leap out of their seats like wasps were stinging them.’ She giggled as he acted it out, then he went on, ‘They took off and we were all sitting there with everybody asking, What’s happening? What’s wrong? But I was hoping like hell Rebecca’d come to her senses and run away.’
Zillah frowned. ‘But why did you hope like hell, Abraham?’
I gasped. ‘Zillah!’
She shushed me. ‘Don’t worry, Magdalene. I only say that to Abraham. Why did you hope that? It made her be dead to us and damned for ever, didn’t it?’
‘That’s what the Elders say,’ Luke said. ‘But we don’t believe it. Mother and Father do, though, and so does everybody else.’
‘Does Rachel think that? Does Rachel think she’s dead and damned?’
The boys shrugged, but I decided to tell her the truth, or what I thought was the truth. ‘She says she believes in the Rule and the Rule says Rebecca’s dead and damned. But she knows Rebecca’s still alive and I reckon she prays for her not to be damned.’
Abraham whistled. ‘Go, Rachel!’
The three of us watched him, the question we were desperate to ask unspoken.
He got up from the table to walk to the window, rubbing his hands through his hair. I guessed he didn’t want us to see his face — he didn’t want us to see he was going to leave.
First Miriam had gone, then Daniel and Esther, and we’d not seen Rebecca again after we’d left her here in this house four years ago, dressed in her wedding gown with Mother’s own white wedding shoes on her feet. I couldn’t endure it if Abraham became dead to us too. I put my head down and wept.
Six
LUKE PUSHED ONE OF Father’s handkerchiefs into my hand. ‘Mop up, chicken. Crying isn’t going to help.’
His words stung. I straightened up, cut to my heart that he didn’t understand. ‘Nothing’s going to help! And don’t tell me to pray to the Lord. I prayed and prayed for Rebecca and now she’s dead to us and —’
Zillah flung her arms around my waist and hugged me tight while Luke took back the handkerchief and scrubbed my face with it. ‘Hush, Magdalene, you’re upsetting Zillah.’
I obeyed and even managed a wobbly smile. ‘I’m okay.’
Abraham swung around from the window. ‘Look, I don’t know what I’m going to do yet. But I promise I won’t disappear without telling you. All right?’
We heard the challenge in his voice — like it had better be all right because it was all he could promise. Luke and I nodded, but Zillah said, ‘Don’t go, Abraham. I don’t want you to go, and Magdalene doesn’t and Luke doesn’t.’
None of us said Father and Mother wouldn’t like it. I thought about that — and about how, when Zillah recited the names of who she loved, it was always Abraham, Luke, me and Hope. Sometimes Rachel, but not very often. I’d never once heard her say she loved ou
r parents.
‘I’m going for a walk,’ Abraham said.
‘Me too!’ Zillah ran at him to catch his hand.
Luke stood up. ‘Let’s all go. I don’t want to be here when the parents get home.’
Abraham gave a snort of exasperation. ‘Bloody kids! I’m warning you — any moaning and I’ll throw you in the sea.’
He bundled us into the car. We’d need towels if we were going to the beach. There was no time and, truly, I didn’t care. He drove the car hard, swinging us around the corners. None of us spoke.
‘Out you get,’ he said when he pulled up. ‘I’m going for a run. You lot can do what you like.’
Zillah grabbed his hand. ‘I want to run too. Wait for me, Abraham. Don’t go without me.’
I shut my eyes, praying he wouldn’t yell at her, praying he wouldn’t just run and run and never come back, then I heard her laugh. I opened my eyes in time to see him swing her on to his back and take off.
Luke pulled me along. ‘Let’s run too, Magdalene.’
I let him tow me as far as the sand. ‘You go, Luke. I don’t want to run.’ I gave him a push.
He didn’t need persuading, and tore off down the long beach after the others. I watched them growing smaller in the distance, then I walked until I was by myself, away from other people. There weren’t many around. It was December, but the day was cold with a sharp wind cutting the air.
I sat on the sand, watching the flat, grey sea.
‘Magdalene!’ Abraham’s voice made me jump. ‘Great heavens, girl! What are you doing?’
I looked down at my hands. They were dark with sand. I seemed to be sitting in a hole. I must have dug it, but I couldn’t remember doing so.
The boys took my arms and hauled me out. ‘You’re wet through,’ Luke said. ‘You’ve dug down to the water — with your bare hands.’
Had I? Why couldn’t I remember?
Zillah grabbed hold of my hands. ‘They’re bleeding! Magdalene, your hands are bleeding.’
I couldn’t feel them.
