by Fleur Beale
Lunch hour at the temple would be nearly over. Mother must have missed us by now. Father would know we hadn’t returned. He might have asked Sister Priscilla to look for us. Or he might just be waiting for us to come back. He’d know that if he sent Mother to search for us she’d make a terrible fuss if she couldn’t find us.
At last we saw the hospital ahead of us. ‘Let’s run, Magdalene,’ Zillah gasped. ‘I’m really scared.’
I was too. Scared, exhausted, terrified.
Nobody shouted at us as we ran for the door we’d gone through on Friday. People did look up, though, their mouths dropping open when they saw us. We ran past them to the desk.
‘Please, is Daniel Pilgrim here?’ I was puffing and breathless.
‘Daniel Pilgrim?’ the woman asked, checking she’d heard right.
‘Yes. Daniel. He’s our brother. Is he here?’
I think she saw something in our faces, or maybe she heard the desperation in my words, because she said, ‘I’ll find out. Hang on a mo.’
I turned away to watch the door.
‘They’ll come, won’t they, Magdalene?’ Zillah whispered. ‘They’ll take me away.’
I turned back to the woman. ‘Please — just tell us, does Daniel work here? Is he here in this hospital?’
She looked puzzled. ‘Yes, dear, he’s —’
Dizzying relief swept through me. I heard Zillah shriek, ‘Magdalene!’
Twenty-six
SOMEBODY WAS SAYING, ‘DON’T worry, dear. Your sister has fainted, that’s all.’
And Zillah was saying, ‘Wake up, Magdalene. Please wake up.’
I opened my eyes for a moment. I was lying on a bed with wheels. Somebody was pushing it. The world rocked and swayed.
The same voice as before said, ‘Wait in here. Don’t cry, dear. I promise you — she’ll be fine in a minute or two. We’ll just pop her on the bed.’
Hands lifted me. The bed they put me on was hard and cold. Somebody tucked a blanket around me. The voice asked, ‘Magdalene, can you hear me?’
‘Yes. Is Daniel here? Where’s Zillah?’ I sat up, but the dizziness made me gasp.
A hand pressed on my shoulder. ‘Lie still, dear. You’ll be better soon.’
‘Where’s Zillah?’ I went to sit again, but gave up as the world swirled and tilted.
‘I’m here. Are you all right, Magdalene? The Elders might come before Daniel gets here. Will he really help us? I don’t want to go back. I really truly don’t.’ She was crying and trying so hard not to.
The voice said, ‘You’re both perfectly safe here. Your brother will come as soon as he can. You have a rest now and don’t worry.’
I heard the door shut as the woman left the room.
Zillah said, ‘I wish he was here now. What’ll we do if Elder Stephen comes, Magdalene?’
I eased myself upright, wriggling so I could lean against the wall. The world wavered and darkened. I closed my eyes and breathed.
‘Magdalene?’
I put out my hand, and kept my eyes squeezed shut as she grabbed it. ‘We’re not going back. Not ever. If they come, we’ll yell and shout and spit. People will help us.’ Please, Lord, let it be so. I was so tired. We couldn’t run any further.
She climbed up beside me. I put my arm around her — she was shivering.
The door opened. I held my sister tight, ready to shout, to run if we had to. But it was Daniel. It was our brother.
It really was him, so grown-up but still the brother I remembered.
He took two steps into the room. ‘Magdalene? Zillah? My sisters, my little sisters?’ He pulled us into his arms, holding us tight.
He was laughing and crying, the same as I was. In the middle of it all I heard Zillah asking, ‘Are you Daniel? Are you my brother? Magdalene and Abraham and Luke said I had another brother. You’re skinnier than Abraham but you look just like him.’
Our brother sat down on the chair beside the bed. He held our hands as if he feared we’d disappear. ‘Little sisters, it’s so good to see you.’ He let us go long enough to mop his face. ‘I can’t believe it. Zillah, you were very tiny the last time I saw you.’
‘But I didn’t die,’ she said. ‘Magdalene didn’t die either. I thought she did but she just fainted. Why did she do that, Daniel? Do you know why?’
Our brother turned all his attention to her. ‘It’s what happens when you suffer from an overdose of Elders. I’ll know more after you tell me what’s happened.’
Zillah stayed silent, thinking about his words, then she said, ‘Will Magdalene get better, Daniel? She might be hungry. I’m hungry because we didn’t have any lunch and we didn’t eat much breakfast because we were scared of Elder Stephen. Do you faint if you’re hungry?’
Our brother stood up. ‘I’ll find a wheelchair for you and we’ll go to the café.’
‘No! They’ll find us. They’ll make us go back.’ My stomach hurt at the very thought of going out into a place where the Elders might see us.
‘You’re safe now. I promise you that,’ Daniel said, and I believed him.
‘You sound just like Father,’ Zillah said.
It was true, he had the same air of authority our Father had. It was scary until he grinned and said, ‘Father wouldn’t run an Elder down with a wheelchair, but I will if we see one. Okay?’
Zillah slid off the bed. ‘You’re nice. Abraham’s nice like you are. Can we go now? We’re really hungry.’
‘As soon as I find a wheelchair. It might take a few minutes. Stay there.’
Both of us were jumpy when he left. We knew the power of the Elders — Daniel didn’t. I shook my head. Of course he did. They’d punched him and kicked him and they’d probably have killed him if Esther hadn’t dragged him away.
‘He’s taking ages,’ Zillah said.
‘He’ll come back. He promised.’
‘He’s nice. Was he nice when he was still your brother? I wish I could remember too. Tell me things, Magdalene.’ She prowled the little room, examining anything strange to us.
I shut my eyes, trying to take my mind back to being five years old. ‘I think he was sad. He never smiled. He was good, but I think he had to go to the discipline room a lot.’ So hard to remember.
The door opened. It was our brother, not the avenging Elder we’d feared.
He shook his head as he saw our faces. ‘You poor kids. It’s going to be okay now. I promise.’
He helped me get in the chair and perched Zillah on my knee. Sister Leah’s words sounded in my head: You Pilgrim children are always drawing attention to yourselves.
Daniel said, ‘You okay there?’
‘I was just thinking about Sister Leah. I’ll never have to listen to her ever again. I’ll never have to bow my head and ask forgiveness for things I haven’t done.’ My head went dizzy again for a moment. Was this what freedom felt like?
Daniel patted my shoulder. ‘Food, then I want to know why you’ve run away. After that —’
‘Daniel, we’re not going back. Don’t talk to Father. It’s useless.’
He pulled the brake on the chair and came round to squat in front of us. ‘I’m not going to speak to Father or anyone from the Faith. I promise. It would be useless and dangerous.’
People had to walk around us, but our brother took no notice. ‘I’ve rung Jim and Nina — Jim’s our uncle and Nina’s his wife. The rest of us all went to them, and they want you both to go to them too. There’s a plane later this afternoon. Nina’s organising the tickets. You’ll leave Nelson today.’
Zillah reached out to touch his cheek with a finger. ‘You’re a good brother.’
I couldn’t speak. He looked at me. ‘Okay with you, my sister?’
I nodded, making the dizziness come back. ‘Thank you, Daniel. Thank you …’ for understanding, for helping, for being kind.
‘Good. Let’s get that food.’
At the café, he pushed me to a table while he and Zillah went to the counter to buy food. My ey
es wouldn’t stay open, but I could hear Zillah talking, then Daniel’s deep voice asking questions. I heard him ask why we’d run away today, what had happened to make us disappear in the middle of worship. I couldn’t hear what she said, but everybody in the room must have heard him say, ‘Unbelievable. The man’s lost his mind.’
Did he mean Father or Elder Stephen? Both, probably. My mind drifted.
‘Wake up, Magdalene. We’ve got macaroni cheese because Daniel says it’ll stick to our ribs.’
I struggled to get my eyes open, and found my brother watching me with concern. ‘I’m all right,’ I said. ‘Just tired.’
‘The Elders would make an angel tired.’ He put a fork in my hand. ‘Eat.’
Zillah had already started. ‘We make better macaroni cheese at home. This is all right, though.’
Daniel was watching us. ‘You’ve had a tough time, both of you.’
‘Yes.’ I wished it didn’t still feel tough. I wished I didn’t feel as if I still had a mountain to climb and a swamp to wade through.
He was quiet. I kept my head down but I felt his gaze on me. I didn’t mind. I knew it was kindly. I knew he’d help us.
Zillah put her knife and fork down. ‘Magdalene! Stop it! Daniel, she keeps on wiping things.’ She clamped a hand over my finger. I hadn’t noticed I’d been rubbing it round and round the edge of the dish.
Daniel put his arm around her but he spoke to me. ‘What’s going round and round in your head, my sister?’
I folded my hands, gripping them to stop them doing things I wasn’t aware of. I glanced at my brother, dropping my eyes when I saw the compassion in his face. ‘I should go back. Mother keeps staying in bed. Luke and Father can’t cook.’
‘You can’t! Magdalene, I don’t want you to go back.’ Zillah’s voice was high and shrill.
‘I don’t want to. Elder Stephen …’ He’d punish me every day of my life for ever and ever. ‘But somebody has to look after Mother. Somebody has to do the cooking.’
‘Not you,’ Daniel said. ‘It’s not your job and it’s not your responsibility. You wouldn’t have run unless the Rule had been squeezing the life out of you.’
I was so tired. It was hard to think. ‘There’s nobody else to help. Rachel can’t. Talitha’s in Auckland.’
Zillah burst into noisy tears. Daniel picked her up and sat her on his lap. ‘Mop up, little sister. She’s not going back. I promise.’
‘How can you promise?’ she sobbed. ‘You can’t make her stay here. She could run away when I’m not looking, and Elder Stephen will say she’s a rotten sinner and he’ll be mean and horrible.’
‘If you can stop crying, I’ll tell you exactly how I can promise,’ he said, a smile lighting his face when her tears stopped. ‘Good girl. I remember never being told anything. I always wanted to know why but they always said —’
‘It does not concern you,’ Zillah said.
‘It is not something a child needs to know,’ I said.
He pulled a face. ‘Don’t remind me. Anyway, this is why you can’t go back. Trying to live like they say, it’s wrecking your health. Those fainting fits, tiredness — it all comes from desperately trying to live a life that doesn’t fit you and from trying to protect Zillah. If I have to, I’ll go to court. No judge would make you go back to a situation that’s slowly killing you.’
‘What’s court? How can a judge say no?’ she asked. ‘Elder Stephen says the Lord judges us. Is it like that?’
‘It’s kind of like a worldly Rule, I guess,’ he said. ‘Elder Stephen would have to say why he believes you have to go back. Then somebody would get up and tell the judge why you can’t.’
Neither of them spoke for a bit. I got my eyes open and saw Daniel was looking at me. ‘I’m all right. You don’t need to worry about me.’
‘Magdalene, you’re far from all right.’ He took my hand, holding it the way the doctor had done when I hurt myself. ‘Before you leave here I’m getting you checked by a paediatrician — that’s a doctor who looks after children.’
I shook my head. ‘No, I’m all right.’
‘We’ll do it anyway,’ he said. ‘If Father does go to court to try to make you go back, we’ll have the doctor’s report showing how living in the Faith was making you ill.’
‘Will she get better, Daniel? Can you make her better?’
‘I just need to sleep.’ I wished he wouldn’t make a fuss. It was upsetting Zillah and she’d had enough upset in her life.
Our brother said, ‘She will get better, Zillah. It might take a bit of time, so don’t be impatient. Either of you.’ His phone buzzed. ‘Right, let’s go. The doctor is ready to see you now.’
‘But why don’t you do it, Daniel? You’re a doctor.’
I wanted to know too. Couldn’t be bothered asking.
‘If we have to go to court, it’ll be best to have evidence from a specialist,’ he said.
She kept asking questions as he wheeled me along the corridor. I heard her voice but it seemed far away and nothing to do with me.
‘Why can’t we live with you? Or Rebecca? She’s nice too, and we don’t know Jim and Nina. They might be sick of Pilgrim kids.’
‘They’re good people and they want you to come,’ he said. ‘It’ll be best for you to go there because none of us have proper houses yet. Don’t worry. I’ll phone you all the time and, if you don’t like it, you can tell me.’
‘Are they worldly? Will they let me go to a proper school? I’m not staying there if I have to go to a dumb school.’
No, please, not another Faith school. I had no strength left to persuade her each day to go to a school she hated.
‘They’re worldly and they’re good people, not pretend good like the Elders. You’ll go to a proper worldly school.’ He stopped the chair. ‘Okay, Magdalene, we’re here. Do you want us to stay with you?’
‘Yes. Please.’ I wanted to keep Zillah near me. I needed to know she was safe. And she would be if Daniel stayed too.
I lay on another bed. The new doctor was kind. ‘Does your stomach ever hurt, Magdalene?’
‘Yes.’ Sharp pains, like the Elders words were sharp and painful.
But I was too tired to talk much. Zillah was the one who answered the questions. She told the doctor about Miriam dying — and I heard Daniel draw in a sharp breath.
‘I should have talked to you,’ he said. ‘I should have broken the Rule and talked to you.’
I lifted a hand. ‘It’s okay.’
Zillah went on, telling the story of our lives — my bleeding hands, Abraham and Talitha, Elder Stephen, Mother preaching at us all the time, Luke and the computer. ‘And now he’s in Auckland for a holiday with Abraham and we won’t be there when he gets home. He’ll be really sad.’
Those words got through to me. We were leaving our home, our friends and our parents. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what our lives would be like now. Yet I didn’t feel sad. Instead, I felt relief. My little sister would be fine. She’d love being a worldly girl.
‘Magdalene? Are you still awake? Did you hear what’s going to happen?’ Daniel bent to look at me.
‘We’re going to be worldly girls.’
‘Are you okay with that?’ he asked as he helped me back in the chair.
‘I want to be with Zillah.’
Zillah climbed on to my lap and our brother wheeled us down the corridor towards our new lives.
Twenty-seven
DANIEL’S CAR WAS OLD, and it looked as if he didn’t care for it the way Abraham would have. As he helped me get in, I said, ‘Why am I so tired, Daniel?’
‘Stress,’ he said. ‘It’s your body saying Phew, thank goodness I’m out of there. I need a rest. The doctor who examined you just now says it’s lucky you ran away when you did. You’re going to have to look after your stomach for a while until it heals. I’ll tell Nina and Jim what to do. It’ll take you a good few days to come right, so don’t worry. I’ve told Nina you’re going to need to sleep.
She understands.’
Good. That was good.
Zillah said, ‘Luke will be sad when he gets home and we’re not there. I’m sad we won’t be able to see Rachel’s baby. They have to cut her open tomorrow to get it out. It’ll hurt so much.’
‘No, it won’t hurt her,’ Daniel said. He explained why she needed the operation and how they’d stop the pain. I let my eyes close, but I didn’t sleep. I wanted to know, to understand. He said, ‘I’ll find out how she is and I’ll ring you.’
‘Did you know she was in the hospital?’ I asked, my eyes still shut.
‘Yes. But I knew she’d get into trouble if I went to see her.’ He sounded sad.
‘She did anyway.’ Zillah told him about Elder Stephen’s visit and what he’d said to Rachel.
After a long silence, he said, ‘Thank the Lord you kids had the courage to escape.’
We got to the airport. ‘It’s not far to walk. Can you manage, Magdalene?’
‘Yes.’ We walked slowly towards the terminal. I was glad he came with us. I was glad he hadn’t left us the way Father had done at the hospital when we went to see Rachel. I’d never seen an aeroplane on the ground. I didn’t know how you were meant to get inside one.
Before we went into the terminal, Daniel said, ‘Can I take a photo, sisters? You’re all grown-up — I can’t get my head around it.’
It was the first time we’d had our photo taken. He showed it to us on the screen of his phone.
‘Is that really what I look like?’ Zillah’s eyes were glued to the photo. ‘I don’t like it. I don’t want to look like Sharon.’
‘It won’t be for much longer,’ he told her. ‘You can throw those clothes in the bin. Cut your hair. Wear stuff that would make the Elders die of shock.’
They were laughing as we went into the building. Some of the people sitting around waiting looked at us. We weren’t wearing our headscarves. I winced as pain jabbed at my stomach until I realised nobody here knew we were breaking the Rule. They didn’t know we were running away.
I fixed my eyes on a toddler standing with his face glued against the glass. ‘Plane!’ he said.
