Being Magdalene

by Fleur Beale

  Abraham drove us to Sister Priscilla and Talitha’s house, with Mother lecturing him the whole way. ‘My son, you and your wife must make sure you spend Sundays worshipping the Lord. Your father will send you a scripture to study each week.’

  ‘Good of him,’ our brother said, but Mother didn’t hear the wryness in his voice, or else she chose to ignore it, for she went on about the evil of worldly churches and how the people who went to them would be damned for worshipping false gods. He must have been relieved it was a short car ride — if he happened to be paying her any attention, which I suspected he wasn’t.

  She preached the same thing to Talitha the moment we began sewing, but Sister Priscilla put her hand over

  Mother’s and said, ‘Be easy, Sister Naomi. I believe we may trust in the good hearts of our children.’ Mother said no more, but I knew she was offended at not being allowed to speak her mind. I tried to feel compassion for her. I failed.

  All morning, I sewed buttonholes. Mother sewed the wedding scarf with tiny stitches. Talitha used the machine to sew the long seams. Her mother worked on the petticoat and Zillah had the task of doing its hem.

  Rachel came to help the next day. Mother and Sister Priscilla talked with her about the baby, but we didn’t hear anything more about the operation to cut the baby out.

  It took us several days to finish the dress, petticoat and scarf, but that wasn’t the end of the sewing. Zillah and I would have to spend hours each day for the rest of January stitching all the things Faith girls had to have when they got married — table napkins, tablecloths, tea towels and table mats. There was no escape for Zillah — she was a girl and this was what girls were born to do.

  Fifteen

  I WANTED TO WARN Carmel about Abraham’s plans before she heard from somebody else, but I wasn’t quick enough. When we got to the temple on the first Sunday of January, I saw her hovering near the door. She darted forward, seized my hand and dragged me off to a corner. ‘Is it true?’ Her eyes were wet with tears.

  ‘About Abraham?’ I asked, to give myself time. Of course it was about Abraham.

  ‘Is he betrothed?’ She waited until I nodded, then she almost hissed the next words. ‘To Talitha! She’s so old and she’s not even pretty.’

  She was pretty. But her prettiness was a quiet sort, very different from Bernice’s startling beauty. I took my friend’s hands. ‘I am sorry for your pain, Carmel.’

  She snatched them away. ‘I prayed to the Lord. I prayed and prayed. And now I won’t get married ever. He’s broken my heart.’

  ‘Carmel! Anyone would think he’d courted you then abandoned you!’ The truth was he probably didn’t even know her name — he’d certainly never spoken to her.

  My sharp words seemed to have an effect. She put her hands over her face, sniffed twice, then wiped her eyes and gave my arm a shove. ‘Anyway, you’d have been a horrible sister-in-law! Come on, we’ll get into trouble if we don’t join in the dancing.’

  All morning she was in my thoughts. How could she be so heartbroken one second, then joking the next? I watched her as often as I could during the dancing and saw how she giggled the same as always whenever she missed her steps. Had she liked the drama of believing herself in love?

  When I passed Jemimah in one of the chain dances, I whispered, ‘Have you heard anything? About …’ I didn’t dare say Neriah’s name.

  ‘No. It’s like they really are dead.’

  The dance moved us away from each other.

  At morning tea break I collected drinks for my parents from Jewel, who might have become my sister-in-law if things had been different. I wondered about Bernice and Eden who had given their hearts to my brother. They might know by now which of the young men on the list was going to ask to marry them. Perhaps they would be comforted to know Abraham was getting married at the end of the month.

  The betrothal ceremony took place the following Sunday.

  Mother made us both get up early. ‘Magdalene, make enough stuffing for four chickens. Chop the onions finely. And work quickly. There is a lot to do. Zillah, make a batch of pikelets. You know the recipe. Make sure you get it right.’

  She peeled a sinkful of potatoes, her hands moving so quickly they were just a blur. I didn’t try to copy the speed at which she worked — I knew it would end in disaster. I kept an eye on Zillah, helping her when she got stuck. I held up four fingers when she took the flour. Her frown disappeared. I said, ‘Oh, can you not find the baking powder? Somebody has moved it beside the sugar.’

  She grinned as she took them both from the pantry, and again when I said, ‘I think there are four eggs left in the bottom carton.’ I got a beaming smile too when she took the milk from the fridge without needing to be prompted. Of all the womanly chores, it was cooking she was okay with. She said she liked seeing things change from one thing into something different.

  We arrived promptly at the temple in time for worship to begin at ten o’clock. The word Zillah chose for our game was sacred. It was a good one. Elder Stephen uttered it nineteen times in his sermon about the sacredness of the marriage bond.

  But Elder Stephen was in no hurry to begin the ceremony itself, even though Talitha and my brother were the only ones getting betrothed. He gripped the lectern while staring out at us with his usual sorrowful frown. I thought Abraham would be furious, but he appeared relaxed — there was even a small smile on his face.

  Father, though, sat straight and rigid. I guessed he was urging Elder Stephen to get on with it. Mother looked as calm as she always did during worship. She had prayed and her prayers had been answered. All would be well.

  But not if Elder Stephen changed his mind.

  Finally, he started speaking. ‘Brother Caleb, your son Abraham is of betrothal age. The Elders believe Talitha Trueman will make him a fitting wife.’

  Father stood to give the response. ‘As is the custom, I ask my son Abraham to speak his mind on this betrothal.’

  Abraham strode to the stage. All at once, I understood why girls liked him so much. It wasn’t just that he was good-looking — handsome even. It was more to do with how he held himself, looking out at the world with an easy confidence. ‘Father, brothers and sisters. I hold Talitha Trueman in high esteem.’ He looked to where she sat and spoke the next words to her, rather than to all of us. ‘I know her to be pure in thought and deed. She upholds the Rule, and she is good and kind and seemly. I will be honoured if she will accept me for her husband.’

  Zillah leaned in close. We were both relieved. He’d done well. Talitha could be proud of him.

  Elder Stephen went on to the next part of the ceremony, although by the expression on his face it almost killed him to continue. I shivered. He truly hated my family. ‘Brother Ebenezer, as is the custom, I ask if you accept this … man as a fitting husband for your daughter.’

  Those words were a departure from custom, as was the way he spoke. He might as well have said, Only a desperate idiot would let his daughter marry this low life. He should have said, I ask Brother Ebenezer if he accepts this marriage for his daughter. He should have sounded pleased.

  Brother Ebenezer climbed the steps to the stage. First, he turned to Elder Stephen, treating him to a moment’s silent scrutiny that made our leader’s face grow red. Then he stepped to the edge of the stage to speak the customary words. ‘Brothers and sisters, I hold Brother Abraham in very high esteem. My wife and I are honoured to welcome him into our family as the husband of our beloved daughter, Talitha.’

  Wow! That was a departure too. Nobody ever included their wife in these announcements. Nobody ever called their daughters beloved. Elder Stephen looked as sour as an unripe plum.

  We all stood and said, ‘Praise the Lord.’

  The betrothal was official.

  During the lunch hour, people came to our brother to give him their good wishes as was the custom. My stomach hurt as I watched. It should have been a joyful part of the day, but many of them were subdued and almost furtive. Every
one of them looked towards the Elders, but none of the Elders came to wish Abraham well. Only his friends Simeon and Titus and a handful of married men showed they were truly happy for him as they shook his hand.

  I saw Rachel talking to Talitha. My sister’s face was glowing with joy as she congratulated her. She looked so happy. All must be well with her pregnancy.

  Mother fussed over her, but she didn’t seem worried during the long days when we sewed and stitched and tried not to ask to go out into the summer sunshine. I was grateful for the days when Rachel joined us because Zillah was given the task of looking after Hope. We could hear them playing out in the sunshine as we worked our way through the lists of things Talitha and Abraham would need when they were married.

  I learned nothing more about what would happen when Rachel’s baby was born. All she would say in my presence was that the midwife was watching her closely, then she would add, ‘My husband and I pray every day for our child to be born safely. All will be well with the Lord’s grace.’

  Often, I had to unpick my angry stitches.

  Sixteen

  ZILLAH AND I SAW nobody other than our family and Talitha’s during January, except at worship on Sundays when it was almost impossible to have a proper conversation with my friends. Zillah, Luke and I watched the people, and listened when we could do so without being noticed, but the mood of the Faith seemed to have settled again. We picked up no hint of unease, although Mother still preached at us and was always ready to suspect the worst of us.

  ‘Why does she keep doing it?’ I asked Luke one evening. ‘She wasn’t like this with Rachel and Rebecca.’

  But he didn’t know, and I couldn’t ask Father, though he always looked at her with concern. I wondered if he talked to her about it or if he just prayed for her to be calm in her soul.

  Abraham’s wedding was the final Sunday of January. The sewing was finished. Mother, Zillah and I spent the Saturday before the wedding baking cakes, as was the custom for families whose sons would be married the following day. Zillah made a marble cake, her face all concentration as she mixed the colours to a pleasing pattern. I baked an apple cake. It looked good, but I couldn’t remember if I should have used baking powder instead of baking soda. I didn’t try to taste it. Maybe every single Elder would eat a huge slice and die.

  As always on a Sunday, Abraham drove us to church. Father was in a happy mood, for he said to Luke, ‘My son, soon you will be old enough to drive the car for us.’

  Mother was excited too but she showed it by talking and talking about the Rule, immortal souls, salvation, and how Abraham and Talitha would need to spend their Sundays on their knees praying to be spared from the worldly contamination they would be exposed to by living away from the Faith community.

  Carmel was again waiting for me at the door. She pulled me away to whisper, ‘If Talitha doesn’t turn up, you have to tell Abraham to wait for me.’

  I gave her a push. ‘Don’t be horrible! Of course she’ll turn up!’

  Carmel shrugged. ‘You don’t understand. Don’t go off at me.’

  Talitha did turn up. She looked happy too, even though she kept her eyes modestly lowered as seemly girls had to do. Elder Stephen stepped forward to conduct the service. As always, he made us wait for his words. Talitha bowed her head while Abraham stood, relaxed and easy, his gaze never leaving Elder Stephen’s face. I knew, almost as if he shouted it aloud, what his thought was. Mess this up, you old devil, and I’m off.

  Before I could worry about whether my brother would abandon his bride, Elder Stephen began the ceremony. ‘Abraham Pilgrim, who is the woman you take for your wife?’

  Abraham looked at Talitha, not him. ‘I take Talitha Trueman to be my wife. I promise to take care of you. I promise to raise our children to love the Lord and obey the Rule.’

  Elder Stephen actually gave a sniff — of disbelief, I think. He waited a few moments before he went on with the ceremony. ‘Talitha Trueman, do you promise to be an obedient wife to Abraham Pilgrim? Do you promise to love the Lord and obey the Rule?’

  Talitha broke custom by smiling at her bridegroom. ‘I give you my promise.’

  Abraham slid the wedding ring on to her finger. ‘I give you this ring as the symbol of my promise to you and to the Lord.’

  ‘I wear this ring as the symbol of my promise to you and to the Lord.’

  They held hands, waiting for Elder Stephen, but he didn’t lift his arms to give them his blessing. We waited for him to say, ‘The Lord smiles on this union.’ But all he said was, ‘Brother Abraham, Sister Talitha, you are now man and wife from this day on until the end of time. Brother Abraham, you may kiss your wife.’

  He didn’t ask the Lord to bless them.

  Father was pale with shock. Mother looked as if she’d been slapped. Then Talitha’s father called out, ‘The Lord smiles on this union. We ask for his blessing. Praise the Lord!’

  A ragged response followed as only a few of the people dared to speak the words our leader had left unsaid.

  It was the custom for the newly married couple to go around the circle of people to receive their good wishes. Many looked troubled, their voices barely more than a whisper. None of them knew what to make of Elder Stephen’s behaviour. Why hadn’t he given Abraham and Talitha his blessing? I heard the question murmured by those around me.

  But a few of the people — those who were brave, or who were close to Abraham and Talitha — spoke loudly enough for the whole room to hear. ‘I promise to pray for you and support you. I wish you well.’ Talitha’s uncle added his own blessing in ringing tones that Elder Stephen couldn’t ignore. ‘May the good Lord bless you both, Brother Abraham, Sister Talitha.’

  At last it was over. All the people filed out into the sunny day to farewell my brother and his wife as they left for their new lives. Father was driving them to the airport. He had given Luke permission to accompany him to say goodbye, but denied it to Zillah and me. Mother hadn’t asked to go, not that we heard anyway. I wondered if she didn’t like the idea of farewelling them at the airport where worldly eyes would stare at her. As it was, she had to wipe her eyes several times.

  The car disappeared. We hung back to let the people go inside ahead of us. It was good to linger in the sunshine, even for a few moments. But back we had to go and sit through an hour of scripture readings and hymns. Elder Stephen always chose angry readings, but after each one we would stand to sing a hymn. We could endure the readings only because of the singing that broke them up.

  Today he didn’t follow the usual programme, although he began as always. ‘My people, I read to you from Ephesians.’ His voice had more power today, so that the microphone sent his words shooting at us from all around the huge room. ‘For this ye know, that no whoremonger, nor unclean person, nor covetous man, who is an idolater, hath any inheritance in the kingdom of God.’

  My mind tripped up on the word whoremonger. It came up often in his preachings but he never explained what it meant. I knew the meanings of other difficult words in that reading — covetous, idolater, wrath and obedience. He always explained the meaning of those.

  As he always did, he explained the scripture, but now he spoke with such fury that veins popped out on his head. The sight so fascinated me it took me several moments to realise he kept looking at us — at Mother, Zillah and me.

  It’s time to sing. Please — let us sing.

  But today there was no singing between that scripture and the next. ‘My people, be warned by the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah for it is written in the Book of Jude that such cities and all who dwell in them shall perish. The Lord will not be mocked!’ He was glaring at Mother, Zillah and me, his dark eyes burning each of us in turn.

  The people were deeply silent — not a shuffle or a cough. What had we done? How had we brought his wrath down upon us?

  With a sigh, he continued, speaking more moderately now. ‘Two of our young people have chosen to live for an entire year in a modern-day Sodom and Gomorrah. They hav
e chosen to live in a godless, defiled city seething with moral corruption.

  ‘I urge you, my people — examine your hearts! Are you content to let such contamination enter our congregation when the year is up? It will come by stealth — an idea here, a question there. And lo! I say unto you that very soon we too shall suffer the vengeance of eternal fire that the Lord visited upon the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah.’

  Now people shuffled their feet, they coughed and they looked at us, because it was plain he was talking about Abraham and Talitha. He was saying they shouldn’t be allowed to return to us. He was talking about banishment and death and damnation. Zillah squeezed the blood from my fingers but all I could do was breathe and pray not to faint. Mother’s breaths rasped in her chest as if she had to fight for each scrap of air.

  Through the haziness in my head, I heard a strong voice speaking. It was Brother Ebenezer, Talitha’s brave father. ‘Elder Stephen, with respect, I ask you to remember that it is you and the Elders who have given permission for this young couple to marry and live in Auckland for the year. Let us trust in the guidance the Lord gave you about this matter.’

  I couldn’t look up, could do nothing except strive not to bring attention to myself.

  Nobody said a word and the silence dragged on and on until at last Elder Stephen’s voice cut through the fogginess in my head. ‘Stand. We will sing the final hymn.’

  Zillah jerked my arm. ‘Stand up. We have to stand up.’

  The world swirled as I struggled to my feet. I held the back of the seat in front of me, digging into it with my fingers. Dead and damned. The words from Daniel and Esther’s banishment beat in my brain to the rhythm of the music.

  Worship ended half an hour earlier than usual.

  Seventeen

  THE ROOM EMPTIED AROUND us. People filed out. Nobody spoke. The dizziness faded from my head. I put my arm around Zillah and turned to Mother. We had to get out of here or Elder Stephen might take it into his head to come and preach at us. ‘Mother? Are you well enough to walk? Let’s wait for Father out in the sunshine.’