by Jane Rogers
The light is poor, a couple of tapers only burning at each end of the table, and a small smoky fire hissing in the great hearth. The place smells damp and unused. With no chairs to sit on, we all instinctively move in away from the dark walls. In an effort to see better, I throw back my veil. One by one the others follow suit, all except for a tall woman who remains leaning against the wall opposite me. The room is surrounded by a dark gallery at the upper level. It is chilly as the night outside. The cripple is leaning over the table, her white knuckles braced upon it: clearly standing is a greater difficulty to her than walking.
‘Sister Dinah! There must be a chair.’ The woman who supported her moves hesitantly towards the passage, then disappears into it. She returns almost immediately with a rush-bottomed chair, which Dinah sits upon, and begins to cry – whether with pain or relief I do not know. The chair-fetcher pats her shoulder and looks up at me. ‘Welcome,’ she says, as if the house is hers. ‘I am Joanna. This is Dinah, Leah, Rachel, Rebekah. I think I have seen you in Sanctuary?’
Of course – they all know each other. ‘Hannah Lees. Yes, I have been there once.’
She nods. ‘Welcome, Sister Hannah. God has found work for us all to do.’
Her voice is as warm and soft as a dove’s, and her face, of all of them, the most generous and intelligent. An unworldly woman, not beautiful, but with a saintly face – large, guileless eyes and a high forehead, accentuated by the swept back, pale brown hair above it. Her nose large and flattish, like a negro’s, her lips wide.
Leah, beside her, is a different type. Younger, prettier, sharper. She has already appraised each of us, passing over me without concern, checking, testing, comparing. Her eyes are fixed now on the veiled woman against the wall. Leah is the sort of woman who looks at a woman like me and, in her heart, laughs. I have seen Leahs in the streets, in pairs, blooming from their stays like flowers on slender stems, putting their heads together to giggle.
Rachel and Rebekah are both very young, sixteen or seventeen, I should say, dark-haired and shy, holding hands. They are sisters. Dinah, the cripple, has golden hair and an old-young face: she is calm now, and nods to me when I smile at her.
Leah speaks first. ‘Who is that?’ The woman by the wall.
Joanna says, ‘Hello Sister?’ but there is no response. Rebekah and Rachel giggle nervously.
‘It is not Ruth Brierly.’ Leah’s voice makes it clear that Ruth Brierly would not be welcome. The tall woman remains quite motionless. ‘Who are you? Have you lost your tongue?’ Leah moves towards her, following her own sharp question, but there is no reaction.
Joanna shakes her head. ‘Sister? You are among friends, in God’s own house. I pray you, put back your veil.’ No movement.
‘Can you not answer when you are spoken to?’
‘Leah –’ Joanna’s dove-voice is soothing, but Leah is not appeased.
‘Answer me!’ She lifts her hand to raise the woman’s veil, but as she does so the woman ducks, shielding her head with her arms. Leah glances across to Joanna, to confirm a witness: she did not strike her. Joanna comes over to the crouching woman and puts a hand on her shoulder. We can see her stiffen beneath the idiot ruckles of white cloth.
‘Do not be afraid. No one here will hurt you, my child. Come.’ Something in the gentle tone of that soft voice unthreads me – loosens the tight constriction in my own chest and throat and sets tears swimming in my eyes. Gentleness, kindness: they have been lost for so long. The veiled woman allows Joanna to raise her up, and lift her veil.
We see Martha’s face. Blue, purple, yellow; bruised and split like an old fruit that has fallen underfoot at market. No movement, no expression, she never even turns her eyes to look at Joanna – much less the rest of us. The eyes remain blank. An animal, beside itself with fear, might show such a face. Silence – then Joanna’s pitying, ‘Child, child –’
This time her gentle voice makes me weep in earnest. How could her soft voice remind me of Father’s whispering rattle? I do not know if Martha spoke – I think not. We were taken, or sent, to the bedchambers.
Joanna
The workmen have been at improvements to the Prophet’s house (mansion, indeed, I may call it) round about a year now. Formerly we set this down to the important role it will play as Southern Gatehouse, little thinking it would be God’s intention to there house seven of the women also. The greatest joy occurs always where it is least looked for: praise His mysterious goodness.
Our church has provided great employment for builders and workmen, since it was revealed to the Prophet that the New Jerusalem is to be situated in the county of Lancashire, in our own town of Ashton-under-Lyne. We do all we can to prepare for that great day. Singular and fortunate are we to be chosen, amongst all the noble towns and cities of the world. Though it has been revealed formerly to others that Britain is to be the centre of His second reign on earth (there are those indeed who argue that the first Jerusalem was builded here), it is only to our Prophet that the exact vicinity of the New Jerusalem has been vouchsafed. It is fitting that it should be Ashton, for here are humble working men and women – not bloated aristocrats or crafty politicians, but the lowly – those He has ever chosen for His own. And here are more of the faithful gathered, Praise Be, than in any other Israelite centre; even Bradford now lags behind us in numbers attending Sabbath meetings. Our building projects prosper wonderfully, the new Sanctuary is complete and all four gatehouses are in the process of building or extension. Only the construction of the City Walls between them presents a difficulty: which God of His goodness will make clear for us, when the time is right. At present the short-sighted interests of landowners and farmers prevent them from donating or even selling to us, the narrow strip of their land which we require. Many are insisting that we purchase entire fields or rows of cottages for which we have no use, simply to get the length needful for building the City Wall. However, debate continues between the Elders concerning the precise construction and dimensions of the Wall; it is as well that work cannot begin before these questions are resolved.
Of the gatehouses, I have previously seen only the Eastern; a fine new building standing at some distance from other dwellings, out along the road to Mossley. To the east it faces open country and the hills; a majestic sight on a morning such as the one of my visit, for the sun arising from behind the hills cast great beams of silver light up between the black hill-top clouds, bringing one in mind of the nearness of His coming, which is already foreshadowed – as was that dawn – by the first beams and darts of light among the cloudy darkness of our lives. Besides dwelling space for Samuel Lees and his family, there is at Eastern Gate a large open hall where a goodly number, sixty or more, can with comfort gather together.
Southgate, the Prophet’s house, which I now call my home, lacks a room of these dimensions: but it is as a whole better proportioned. It faces across a meadow and the canal, towards the town. It was originally I think a gentleman’s house, but is now so greatly improved in its appearance that one would think it from the outside to be altogether new. The approach along a lane gives one a first sight of the new stone front complete with steps and noble Doric columns.
But I run ahead of myself. On the evening of our arrival, no more than a dark outline against the sky could be seen; and the great housebody where we were left waiting seemed almost forbidding, for there was little light and nothing to sit upon (a difficulty now most happily resolved, for I today procured from Mr Bentink the joiner a half-dozen straight-backed mahogany chairs to the table, and when I tell Sister Evans of his generosity, I hope we may have three more off her brother). The maid, Mary Quance from my Tuesday Bible class, appeared after a time to lead us up to our sleeping quarters: when my sisters in God were comfortably settled I followed Mary back down to the Prophet’s study, where she left me to speak with him. He appeared tired and in poor health, and our interview was brief: he gave me charge over the others (which I had already assumed, God’s guiding hand in this matter
being clear to me) and informed me he must leave before dawn on a preaching mission to the northern towns.
‘Are the servants advised as to the running of the house in your absence?’ I enquired – for I had no idea of how we must proceed.
‘Servants?’ he replied in astonishment. ‘I keep no servants, Sister Joanna, there is only Mary Quance and my good Samuel in the house besides ourselves. We are people of God, Sister Joanna, not keepers of servants.’
I was much ashamed of my mistaken assumptions, and begged his forgiveness, saying I could not understand how a house of such grandeur could be kept without the help of servants.
‘Come, sister, I will take you round. It has not yet been kept, for I have not spent above half a dozen nights in it. Mary has swept it out and set the fires for us. Once you and your sisters have settled in, she will return to her mother.’
The Prophet showed me through the main rooms of the house with haste: none save the housebody were lit, and my impressions had to be gleaned by light of the Prophet’s lamp. The great empty rooms seemed to yawn before us. I am thankful to say that a few days’ experience of the house goes some way to dispelling the disturbing strangeness of that introductory tour, for it then seemed to me like a great cave, or an open mouth, into which I might peer (or indeed fall) but whose furthest confines I might never be able to see. Now I know it to be quite other: spacious but not vast; light and airy rather than dark; welcoming rather than forbidding. How foolish and contrary the impressions we receive when the spirit is overwrought with excitement. Just so dark, fearful and partial is our daytime eyesight now, in comparison with the glorious open vision the commencement of His reign among us shall bring. By daylight I perceive that the workmen have with great skill removed the original front wall and extended the house forwards, thereby ennobling the dimensions of the rooms, and making possible the insertion of modern sash windows.
When we had glanced into each room, the Prophet repeated the necessity of his early departure for Bolton, and handed me the keys.
‘I pray that you and your sisters may devote your best energies to the comfortable arrangement and preparation of the house.’
I took the responsibility gladly, and only as I ascended the stairs did I recall the principal practical duty of a housekeeper – that of providing meals. The Prophet was closing his door as I turned back into the corridor, and was rightly impatient of my foolish questions.
‘You must arrange it in the morning, Sister Joanna. There may be food in the larders. You must consult with the Elders concerning money for household expenses. I have no money; I carry no money. Good-night sister, God be with you.’
‘And with thy spirit.’
He was absent for five days, during which time we laboured to make ready the house, and had the joy of working and conversing together as sisters in God. After prayers on Sunday morning Mary Quance set to work on the fires, and Sister Leah and I made a survey of the kitchens and offices. We found nothing edible there but some jars of preserves and two great cheeses, which were donated to the Prophet this week by a new convert. I despatched Rachel and Rebekah to fetch Elder Tobias, and by noon we had gathered from Sanctuary members the wherewithals to make ourselves a dinner and a supper. We have a goodly quantity of unleavened bread from Sister Benson, but I trust it will not be long before we can bake our own. There is a deep old baking oven but its door is so severely warped that it will not close, and must, I think, be renewed. Nor do we have sufficient fuel to attempt baking, yet; there is no peat or furze, and the stocks of wood and coal will last no more than a week, if this cold spell continues. The kitchen is little changed from earlier days, I fancy; there is a range, with spits in a rack above the fireplace, but no convenient method of heating water, which I had looked for. To be sure, we have a pump just outside in the yard, convenient both to the offices and to the wash-house, so the carrying of water will not be a difficulty.
Sister Leah is quick and apt for housework, seeming to guess at many tasks before I have even thought of them myself: I fear she may become a little impatient, but I had rather proceed in an orderly way than rush into error. Nor can one neglect the fact that three of our number are ill fitted for bustling household duties at present. Poor Sister Dinah can barely hobble about, and yet she is most anxious to assist. She has no skill with the needle, and I am hard put to invent tasks which may be performed sitting down; the dear girl has already peeled near a hundredweight of potatoes.
Sister Martha falls asleep wherever she stops. I have prayed with her but I fear she knows less of God’s loving kindness than the squawking hens Brother Taylor brought down for us this afternoon. Tending her physical injuries and calming her fears must be our first aim: today after she had fallen asleep for the third time, broken a chamber pot and a good china serving bowl, besides dropping a basketful of coal across the drawing-room carpet, I told her to go to bed. But I fear she regards it as a punishment, and when I went to their chamber in the afternoon I found both she and Sister Dinah (whom I set to watch with her, pleased at finding a task so well suited to Sister Dinah’s abilities) in a wretched state of agitation: Sister Dinah because she desires to play a more useful role, and Sister Martha simply afraid, not knowing what it is not to be working, whimpering and staring like a caged animal.
Sister Hannah is a different case; though educated and rational, she lacks faith. She is grieving for the death of her father, unsustained by such comforts as belong to members of our church; for she seems to regard death as a terrible, final separation, instead of a glorious beginning. She moves about the place in a dream, and lapses into silent immobility at the completion of each task, so that it seems a cruelty to set her to the next duty.
Sisters Rachel and Rebekah are good, helpful girls, and have run about busily. How young and innocent they are! When I led them into the drawing room both stopped in the doorway staring wide-eyed and would come no further.
‘What is it?’ I asked them.
Sister Rebekah indicated the fireplace. ‘Is it the devil’s work, Sister Joanna? Must we not keep away?’
I saw she was pointing to the mantelpiece, which is supported on the heads of two carved figures of women, most beautifully executed in white marble. They are clad in a Biblical or classical style, clearly appropriate to a climate warmer than our own. I patted her arm and praised her for her vigilance; indeed, I was at a loss myself for a moment, to think how such things might be permitted in the Lord’s house. But were not our own forbears, Adam and Eve, naked and pleasing to God in Paradise?
‘There is nothing wrong in the beauty of the naked female form,’ I told her, ‘nor in the craftsmanship which so exquisitely celebrates it. This house must feature the most skilful work our age affords, for anything less would be an offence to God: did not the wise men bring priceless gifts, of Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh? Only the best, dear Sister Rebekah, is good enough for the Lord.’
Besides the difficulty of reconciling my dear sisters’ varying skills and abilities to the multitude of tasks which cry out for performance, if we are to have clothes to our backs and food on the table, there are other pressing concerns I must resolve speedily. The rainwater butt must be cleared out, I fear some bird or small creature has tumbled into it and drowned, for the water is very bad smelling. The joiner must be called back tomorrow or as soon as we may, for the new back door has come right off its hinges, and may topple and injure the first unwary soul who tries to heave it open. I can find no convenient sized tubs for washing, nor can I think who may be approached to donate such a thing. I pray God will ease Sister Dinah’s anxieties; she is at me constantly to know what she must do next, and my unworthy brain is then so mithered I can give no useful directions at all. Help and direct us dear Lord; lead us in Thy path.
*
The household tasks begin to be resolved into a kind of order. The Prophet has given me a timetable into which our domestic duties may be slotted. As God established Order from Chaos, at the first; as day follows night,
and summer, spring; so we now have order in our little world, making proper time for matters of the spirit and for more mundane cares. Samuel Walker, who accompanies the Prophet at all times, will rouse us soon after five-thirty, by ringing a handbell as he and the Prophet depart for Sanctuary. After ablutions and private prayer, we scatter to various domestic tasks, such as the raking of ashes and laying of fires; bringing in fuel and water; milking the cow and feeding the hens. We assemble again for household prayers and to break our fast, then down to the serious household duties of the day, heating water, washing dishes, emptying slops, making beds, sweeping and dusting, preparation of food and cooking, churning, and so on. We next come together for that interlude of the day which gives me greatest pleasure; hymns and musical practice. From the halting beginning of a few days ago we are already progressing to sweeter harmonies; the voices of Sisters Rachel and Rebekah, which have long been a source of joy in Sanctuary, are heartrendingly lovely in a duet, leading us up out of dull routine and almost into the presence of Him whose gift they are. I am in hope that, with such an example, we may one day coax joyful sound even from dumb Martha.
The larger office, which I have set aside for the sewing room, is by this time well warmed, and so our next task is sitting at our needlework; sewing garments for ourselves, besides household and sacred linens. After dinner we busy ourselves with further domestic tasks, with renewal of household goods and tending the kitchen garden, tending the fires, ordering and storage of foodstuffs, the deliveries of tradesmen (whose accounts I must oversee and settle) and with Sanctuary duties of polishing, trimming and renewal of candles, etcetera. We make a space in the late afternoon for a reading lesson for Sisters Martha, Dinah, Rachel and Rebekah, to be followed by household prayers and singing. Then we prepare and eat our tea, before scattering to the final tasks of the day, bringing in fresh water and seeing to the fires, tending to the cow and hens, cleaning up in the kitchen and washing dishes, washing of smalls, and one of us to be engaged always from seven to eight in the evening with reading to the Prophet. When each one’s task is done she may devote herself to private prayer and Bible reading, or to a comfortable seat by the fireside with her needlework, and a share in a light supper.
