by Fleur Beale
‘Yes, I’ll go to the library, Zillah. I want to read what people say about the Bible. I want to find out what they say about the Lord.’ He spoke so calmly, even though he knew what he was planning to do was a dreadful, wicked sin. He was watching me, a small smile on his face. ‘Magdalene?’
I didn’t say anything for ages. Too many ideas were bashing against each other in my head, so in the end all I said was, ‘Why?’ I thought some more. ‘You want to know for a reason, don’t you? What is the reason, Luke?’
Our brother quietly and calmly sent yet another shock wave through our lives. ‘There are places you can go to learn about the Lord. I want to go to one of those when I’m old enough. They’re like universities. I want to study at one of those. I want to find out what’s true.’
He would leave us. Our parents would lose a fourth child even if the Elders didn’t banish him.
Zillah said, ‘You’ve told Abraham, haven’t you? He knows you want to go to the library. He knows why and he’s helping you, isn’t he, Luke?’
‘Yes. When Daniel told the Elders he wanted to be a doctor, that’s when I started thinking about what I wanted to do. That’s when I began studying the Bible and really trying to understand it.’ He pulled a face. ‘I always tried to talk to Abraham about bits I didn’t understand. That’s why he arranged for me to use the computer at his work. You can find out a lot with a computer, but it’s not enough.’
All I could say was, ‘When do you leave? For Auckland, I mean.’
‘Early. Before you get up.’
Zillah didn’t say another word. Tears rolled down her face. Luke took out his handkerchief. ‘I know, little sister. I know.’ He wiped her face. ‘I’ll send you a postcard.’
He wouldn’t be able to write anything real on it.
To me, he said, ‘He’s right about being careful, sis. Elder Stephen’s not going to give up on trying to punish us. He’ll be watching for any tiny slip-up.’
And he would jump on it and blow it up into a major transgression. I wished Luke wasn’t going. Two weeks was such a long time.
Nineteen
LUKE WAS GONE. THE house felt empty and frightening. Mother stayed in bed. Father shut himself in the study.
We set about doing the usual Saturday morning chores. ‘We should wash all the sheets,’ Zillah said.
But Mother was still lying in hers. For one shocking moment, I imagined myself ripping them out from under her. ‘We’ll leave her. She’ll be cross whatever we do. We’ve got enough work anyway.’
My sister’s mouth fell open. ‘Magdalene! You’re really, really angry!’
I flopped down in a chair, stuck my elbows on the table and scrubbed my eyes with my knuckles. ‘Yeah. How ungodly and unseemly and —’
‘Iniquitous?’ she asked.
‘Yeah. I’ll burn in hell for sure.’
Zillah leaned against me. ‘Can I come too?’
‘Sure.’ I hugged my arm around her. ‘We’ll give that old Satan a really hard time.’ I got to my feet. ‘Let’s do the beds together.’
We worked all day. Father drove us to the supermarket to buy the groceries for the week. We’d never done it without Mother before, but he waited in the car as he always did.
Mother still didn’t get up. We carried food and drink to her, and she ate everything we put on the tray.
Zillah said, ‘She’s better. She should get up and help us.’
But she didn’t and Father seemed content to let her stay in bed for ever.
That night, I went to bed at the same time as Zillah. I was tired and I didn’t want to spend the evening by myself with the mending basket.
We were woken in the dark of the morning by Mother shouting at us and pulling our bedclothes off. ‘Get up! It is Sunday. Wicked girls — lying in bed when you should be preparing the food.’
She flew out the door, her braid whipping behind her. Zillah opened her mouth, but I held up my hand. ‘Don’t say it! I know it’s not fair. I know we’ve worked and worked. I know we’re not wicked.’
She hurled herself at me, clinging as if for her life, but she didn’t say anything. I stroked her head, wishing for a different life, or at least that I could say the words Luke had given me, but I couldn’t feel the truth of them — the Lord wasn’t being my strength or my salvation.
I found other words. ‘Zillah, you’re a good girl. It’s not our fault Mother’s like she is. It’s Elder Stephen’s fault. He’s making mischief because he’s still angry about Rebecca.’
‘I hate Elder Stephen!’
‘Yes. But we’d better get dressed.’ I sought for something to give her comfort. ‘Let’s not wear our petticoats. Elder Stephen would have a fit if he knew.’
She gave me a weary smile.
Out in the kitchen, Mother had the pantry doors flung wide and her head was flicking from side to side as she scanned the shelves. ‘Did you not think to get in the supplies for today? How can you be so thoughtless!’ She strode to the table, where she jabbed her finger on a piece of paper. ‘There! How are we meant to make all that without the ingredients? Answer me that!’
I read where she pointed. Couscous salad. Coleslaw. Banana bread.
We couldn’t answer her, but right then Father entered the room. We stared at him. He never appeared at this time on worship mornings. He went to Mother and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘My dear wife, be easy in your heart. The people know you have been unwell. There is always plenty of food. Our contribution will not be missed. Go and rest some more.’ He steered her from the kitchen.
Zillah and I collapsed on to chairs. So many things were going round in my head — probably my sister’s too. I turned to look at her. Her shoulders were slumped and her bottom lip was trembling. I started talking. ‘Thank you for working so hard while Mother’s been in bed. I’d have been really stuck without you. You’re good and kind and —’
Father’s voice broke into my words. ‘That is true, Zillah. For both of you, my dear daughters. I thank you both for your hard work. You are good and godly girls.’
I struggled to understand. He never said things like that. And he hadn’t scolded me for shortening my words.
‘Go back to bed. I will call you when it is time to prepare for worship.’
‘But Father, Elder Stephen …’ He would punish us. He would say we should have prepared the food if our Mother could not.
Father said, ‘Of course he will not punish you. You are good girls. He has no reason to do so.’ With that, he left the room.
Into the silence, Zillah whispered, ‘He thinks we’re godly.’
I said, ‘He hopes we are. But he knows we’re good, and he knows we’ve been working hard.’ It was difficult to believe, though. ‘How about I make hot chocolates and we’ll drink them in bed.’ That was forbidden.
She leapt up and headed for the fridge. ‘We’ll put two teaspoons of chocolate in.’ She grinned at me. ‘We’re not very good, are we, Magdalene?’
I set the pot on the stove. ‘I think the nice Lord likes us to be a little bit bad. He likes it when we have fun.’ I hoped.
It was raining when Father woke us again. Mother was twitchy in the car on the way to worship. She started talking about salvation and how we had to keep our feet on the path. Father let her speak for some moments, but then he said, ‘My dear wife, be at peace. Have faith and trust in the wisdom and compassion of the Lord. Our children have good hearts. The Lord has them in his hand.’
For once I was deeply glad of the Rule. Women must obey their husbands. Our mother would not speak further now that Father had told her not to.
Carmel and Jemimah walked up to me when we got out of the car, both of them huddling under the one umbrella. ‘Good morning, Sister Magdalene,’ Jemimah said. ‘The Lord in His mercy has sent the rain today.’
‘Do you wish to share our umbrella, Sister Magdalene?’ Carmel asked.
The two of them looked at me, their faces solemn, but their eyes were full of mischief
.
‘Thank you, sisters,’ I said. ‘But I will share this one with Zillah.’
The four of us walked into the temple — four good and godly girls.
When it came time to dance, Mother sat with Rachel. It was plain to see that she had no energy for joining in.
I didn’t enjoy it either. Only a few of the people looked into my face when they took my hand in the chain dances. Only those few smiled at me. When Brother Ebenezer took my hand, he whispered, ‘Courage, Magdalene. All will be well, I promise you.’
I wanted to believe him.
All during the singing I dreaded what Elder Stephen would preach about. Zillah hadn’t given me a word to listen for, but she squeezed my hand when he said iniquity.
Another good choice. His sermon was all about the iniquity of the world, the iniquity of those who chose a worldly life, the iniquity of those who allowed worldliness into their hearts.
We counted seventeen iniquities and I refused to believe any of them applied to Abraham and Talitha.
We didn’t get the chance to speak to Rachel until the lunch break. She smiled when we hurried to her. ‘I am well, my sisters. I have told Mother and Father we want you all to come to our house for dinner this evening.’
Unlike Mother, she seemed to be at peace. Saul too looked relaxed and not bowed down with worry the way Father was. I was desperate to know what they thought about Elder Stephen and his strange behaviour. I wouldn’t ask. I knew what they’d say. ‘Have faith, dear child.’ I’d just get angry and I didn’t want to be angry with Rachel. Instead, I thought about how good it would be not to cook dinner that night.
Twenty
RACHEL HAD NEWS FOR us. ‘My family, the midwife says I need to go into hospital to wait for my baby. She wants me to go in a week from tomorrow.’
Mother’s face went white. ‘Rachel! It is too soon! That will still be a whole week before the child should arrive.’
Saul took my sister’s hand. ‘It is to keep her and the baby safe, Mother Naomi. The specialist has explained everything to us. It is necessary and right.’
‘But …’ Mother glanced at Zillah and me, and snapped her mouth shut in a tight line.
‘We have prayed about it, Mother,’ Rachel said. ‘We believe the hand of the Lord has guided our decision.’
Zillah said, ‘Will you take Hope to the hospital with you, Rachel?’
The adults seemed relieved to turn their minds to an easier topic, but it was Saul who answered her, not our sister. ‘No, but I will take her to visit each day. My mother will care for her.’
Mother stared at Rachel, tears in her eyes. It should have been her — but I knew why our sister had chosen Saul’s mother instead.
Father said, ‘It is wise. It is good of you both to spare your mother at this time, Rachel.’
Mother said no more. She didn’t say another word, not even in the car on the way home.
That night, in our bedroom, Zillah said, ‘We’d have been the ones looking after Hope. Rachel should have let us. We couldn’t go to school if we had to look after her.’
In the morning, Zillah got ready for school without saying a word. I found myself wishing she’d still fight against it. I didn’t want the life squashed out of her but I could see it happening day by day.
Mother was in the kitchen. ‘You are well again, Mother?’ I asked.
‘Praise the Lord,’ she said. ‘Magdalene, you must stay home this morning.’
I waited for her to say more, but when she didn’t I said, ‘All right, Mother. Please tell me why?’
She sniffed. ‘Your common sense should tell you. You picked all those tomatoes and just left them. Today you will make relish and think about the sin of waste.’
Before I could stop myself, I shouted at her. ‘And you should think about the sin of sloth!’
‘Magdalene, apologise to your Mother,’ Father said. ‘When you have finished what she has asked you to do, you will go to the discipline room.’
I jumped up, throwing my serviette on to my plate so that I wouldn’t throw it at Mother. ‘Not being grateful is a sin too. So is being mean and unfair and that’s what you are, Mother. You’re not fair!’
I fled to the bedroom. Why had I said those terrible things? I should have kept my mouth shut — I’d had enough practice at choking back what I wanted to say.
I sat huddled on the bed, my head on my knees. I was so cold.
Somebody put a blanket around me. ‘You won’t be made dead, will you, Magdalene? Promise you won’t die.’
I lifted my head and tried to smile at my little sister. ‘Father might kill me. Then I’ll really be dead.’
She put her arms around me. ‘He won’t. I won’t let him.’ Then she said, ‘Mother might though.’
It made me laugh and I felt better. ‘Thanks. That’s a great comfort.’
Father appeared in the doorway. ‘Zillah, it is time for you to leave for school. Magdalene, to the kitchen. At once.’ He didn’t wait to make sure we obeyed. He knew we would.
I got off the bed. ‘Zillah, be careful today. Remember what Luke said about Elder Stephen?’
‘I hate Elder Stephen.’ She didn’t promise to be careful and I knew better than to insist. Besides, I was too tired.
But there was no escape for either of us. I went with Zillah to the kitchen. ‘I apologise for my unkind words, Mother.’
I hoped she’d apologise too, or that she’d thank us both or just say something kind. She didn’t even look at me — simply pointed at the basket of tomatoes.
Father drove away in the car. He could have given Zillah a ride to the bus, but he probably didn’t even think about it. I said, ‘Mother, I will accompany my sister to the bus stop. She should not walk by herself.’
Still my mother didn’t speak to me. She turned to Zillah. ‘You are eight years old. That is quite old enough to walk by yourself.’
I kissed my sister goodbye, watching her till she disappeared around the corner.
I made the relish. It took all morning and my mother didn’t speak a single word to me. My life weighed heavy on me. I wanted to sleep for a week. I wanted Mother to bring me tasty morsels. I wanted her to tell me I was a good girl. I wanted her to love me.
When she left the kitchen I made a sandwich and ate it. I cut a slice of ginger cake and ate that too. I made a hot chocolate with three teaspoons of chocolate powder and drank it before she saw it.
There would only be dry bread and water in the discipline room.
Mother came back to the kitchen just before midday. She still didn’t speak to me and she seemed to be preparing a picnic — sandwiches, boiled eggs, ginger cake and nectarines.
Father came home. ‘Are you ready, wife?’
For answer she tied on her headscarf and picked up the basket.
‘Father, please, where are you going?’
‘We are going to visit your sister.’ At least he wasn’t bearing a grudge.
Rachel. Of course. She would be in the hospital by now. I longed to see her, but it was useless to ask. Anyway, there was Zillah to think about.
He said, ‘I have left the psalm for you to learn, Magdalene. Stay in the discipline room until I call you for prayers tonight.’
‘Yes, Father.’ No, Father.
They left me alone in the house, with a psalm. I checked the time. 12.45. Where was Zillah? She should be home.
I watched the clock tick away five more minutes — still no sign of her. I ran from the house, leaving behind the shining jars of relish and the psalm.
Sharon’s house was closest. I went there. The bus could be late. Sharon mightn’t be home either. I knocked on the door, calling, ‘Praise the Lord,’ as I walked inside. The family were at lunch.
‘Sister Magdalene!’ Brother Elias said. ‘Is something wrong?’
Yes, something must be wrong, because Sharon was sitting at the table looking good and godly. ‘Sharon, do you know where Zillah is? Did she get off the bus with you?’
The kid’s eyes nearly fell from her face. ‘She did not come to school, Sister Magdalene. I thought she was ill.’
Dear Lord, where is she? I ran from the room with Sharon’s mother calling after me, ‘Your headscarf, Sister Magdalene! Wait, I will lend you one.’
My headscarf? That was all she could worry about when my sister was missing? I ran before she could tie me up with it.
Where would Zillah go? She wouldn’t run away without telling me. Think, Magdalene. All at once, I knew where she’d be — at a school, a proper school. I began running again. There was one in the next block over from where we waited for the bus in the mornings. Please, Lord — let her be there. Let her be safe.
The playground was empty when I got there. I followed the signs to the office. A woman behind a counter looked up, her face breaking into a smile when she saw me. ‘You’ve come for the little Faith girl?’
I leaned against the counter, relief making me weak. ‘She’s here? She’s safe?’
‘My dear child! You’ve gone quite pale. Yes, she’s perfectly safe and well. We’ve been trying to … but Mrs Solomon will tell you. She’s our principal.’ She pointed to a door across the foyer. ‘That’s her office. She’ll be relieved to see you.’
Why did I have to talk? I just wanted to grab Zillah and take her home before Mother returned. But I was used to doing what I was told. I knocked on Mrs Solomon’s door.
The woman had a kind face. She stood up and came to greet me, her hands out to take mine. ‘You are the sister of our mystery pupil? Welcome. Please, sit down.’
‘Thank you, but I really need to take her home.’ She didn’t understand.
She settled herself in one of the armchairs and gestured at the other. ‘Sit, my dear.’
I obeyed. ‘Please …’
‘Don’t worry — we’re not trying to keep her, although we’d love to. What a bright little thing she is!’ She frowned as if trying to think how to say something difficult.
‘Just tell me. Please!’
‘If you hadn’t come, we were thinking we’d need to tell somebody in authority about her. We’ve been trying all morning to ring the Faith school but none of the businesses we contacted would give us the number.’
