I am Rebecca

by Fleur Beale

  Tirzah’s father climbed the steps to the stage. ‘Brothers and sisters, I hold Brother Laban in high esteem. I am honoured to accept him into my family as my daughter Tirzah’s husband. Praise the Lord.’

  We all stood up, said Praise the Lord, and it was done. In two years’ time, Tirzah would become the wife of Laban Righteous. The betrothal was a contract almost as binding as marriage.

  Elder Stephen conducted the remaining betrothals, first Abigail’s, then Drusilla’s, and finally Rachel’s and mine.

  When Malachi stood and said the expected words, he spoke as if he meant them, as if he really did hold me in high esteem — and really did want to marry me. I breathed in. It would be good to be his wife. I wanted to tell him so, but all I could do was give him a quick, shy smile when he looked at me.

  Next, it was Saul’s turn to speak. He too spoke with warmth. When Father spoke, he said, ‘Brothers and sisters. I hold Brother Malachi and Brother Saul in high esteem. I am honoured to welcome them into my family as husbands for my daughters, Rebecca and Rachel. Praise the Lord.’

  ‘Praise the Lord.’

  That was it. Rachel and I would be married in two years’ time at the July Meet immediately following our sixteenth birthdays in June. Mother was smiling and wiping her eyes. Magdalene and Luke looked happy, but Abraham seemed thoughtful. He was twelve. In six years, he would be old enough to be betrothed — maybe it was all becoming real for him too.

  Fourteen

  The Rule

  Betrothed couples will not spend time together unless a married adult is present.

  SAUL WASN’T ALLOWED to spend unsupervised time with Rachel now they were betrothed, and we were given Brother Enoch for our escort. He had recently become the father of twins and was tired. He helped us set up the market stall, then yawned and said, ‘Sisters, do you mind if I get some sleep?’

  We were happy to let him.

  He did the same for the next two weeks.

  The third Saturday of August was wet, wild and cold. Mother sent us off with flasks of hot soup for our lunches. She’d knitted fingerless mittens for us and we had woollen cloaks. Again Enoch helped set up the stall before he went back to the truck to sleep.

  An hour passed. It was early, and there were few people about because of the weather. The rain blew right in under our awning, and unless we had a customer, we huddled against the truck where it was slightly sheltered.

  A woman all bundled up against the weather peered at the cool box holding the chickens. A girl — her daughter maybe — came running up to her. ‘Mum! You’re going to buy one?’ She gave the woman a casual hug, and laughed. ‘D’you even know how to roast it?’

  It was Esther. Our cousin Esther.

  ‘She found her mother,’ Rachel whispered.

  I wanted to talk to her. I desperately wanted to ask her about Daniel and about Miriam. But they were cursed and gone. So was she. It would be against the Rule to speak to her.

  I am Kirby. I am not Esther, she’d said. She had never become Esther, despite Father trying so hard to turn her into one of us.

  She looked up as she came towards the counter, a chicken carcass in her hands. She saw us and dropped it. ‘Rebecca? Rachel?’ She took another step forward, but her mother held her back.

  ‘Come away, Kirby. It will mean trouble for them if you talk to them.’

  She understood better than Esther — Kirby — did. I thought afterwards she’d had a world of sorrow in her eyes when she looked at us.

  Esther stopped, screwed her eyes shut, then opened them and gabbled, ‘They’re well and happy. They miss you. They pray for you every day. They love you.’

  I whispered, ‘Zillah’s favourite word is no.’

  Our cousin’s face lit up. ‘Thank you. I’ll tell them.’

  She and her mother hurried away into the rain.

  ‘I shouldn’t have talked to her,’ I said when they’d gone.

  ‘I’m glad you did,’ my sister said, her voice choked. ‘It was wrong, but I’m glad they’ll know Zillah didn’t die, that she’s real.’

  We remembered so well the last time our brother Daniel had seen her — it was the day before he was cast out. We’d all gone to the hospital. Zillah was just a tiny, naked scrap in an incubator and we didn’t know if she would live or die.

  The truck door opened and Enoch jumped down. ‘Sisters, who were those people? They knew you, I think.’

  I wished a crowd of customers would arrive to give us time to think. None came, and there was nothing to think about in any case. The Rule was clear — there was to be no communication of any sort with those who had been cast out. I had broken it by speaking to our cousin.

  ‘The girl is our cousin Esther. The woman is her mother.’

  I waited, half-expecting him to pack up and drive us straight to Elder Stephen.

  His brows snapped together. ‘The girl of the great experiment? The evil, worldly girl who brought such grief to your family?’

  Here it was again. The story about Esther, but not the true story.

  Rachel said, ‘We know nothing of any experiment. All we know is that our cousin tried hard to live by the Rule. She is a good person, and she saved the lives of our mother and baby sister. Please do not speak ill of her.’

  After a long moment, he bowed his head. ‘As you wish. It does you credit. But it does not alter the facts. She is dead and damned, yet you spoke to her, Rebecca. And you, Rachel, did not turn away.’

  ‘We will pray for forgiveness,’ I whispered.

  Enoch studied us in silence, his face grave. At last, he said, ‘I will not report this matter. It is between you and your consciences.’

  ‘We understand, Brother Enoch.’

  He shut himself back in the shelter of the cab. We attended to the few customers who came, and we chatted and smiled as if there was no weight hanging over us.

  ‘We’ll have to tell Father,’ I said.

  ‘Yes,’ Rachel said. ‘He’ll be deeply grieved.’

  MOTHER WAS ALONE in the kitchen when we got home. We could hear the children playing with Zillah in the family room.

  ‘Something happened today,’ I told her. ‘We must speak to Father.’

  She looked worried, probably remembering Ira’s mischief. Rachel glanced at me, and I nodded.

  ‘Mother, we saw Esther. She told us Daniel and Miriam are well. She said they miss us and they pray for us every day. She said they love us.’

  The colour drained from her face. She gave a moan and collapsed onto a chair, covering her face with her hands.

  ‘Mother?’

  After a moment, she drew in a huge breath. ‘I am well. Do not worry. Go to your father.’

  Had we been right to tell her? I looked at Rachel. She whispered, ‘I’m glad we told her. I’m glad.’

  Yes, I was too. Perhaps it would help heal the hurt in her soul. Or maybe it would just make it start to bleed all over again. We knocked on the study door.

  ‘Come in.’

  This was not going to be good.

  Fifteen

  The Rule

  A father is responsible for the discipline of his children. It is his duty to inform the Elders if a child commits a grievous offence.

  RACHEL AND I STOOD close together, our skirts hiding our joined hands.

  ‘There was trouble at the market today, my daughters?’ Father closed his Bible and frowned.

  We shook our heads. ‘Not trouble — but we broke the Rule,’ I said. ‘We are sorry for grieving the Lord and for grieving you.’

  His frown deepened. ‘Explain yourselves.’

  Rachel was shaking. I couldn’t stop shivering. She said in a voice he’d only just be able to hear, ‘We did not turn away.’

  I wanted to pass out, to drop down on the floor in a dead faint. Before all my courage fled, I said, ‘We saw Esther. And her mother. They did not know we would be there. It was an accident, but we did not turn away. I spoke to her. To Esther.’

  Our fath
er’s voice was cold. ‘Tell me exactly what happened.’

  Rachel explained about the rain and how we’d sheltered and didn’t see our cousin’s face until she turned to come to the counter. ‘Her mother told her not to speak to us, but she did. She said …’

  Father held up a hand. ‘I do not want to hear the words of that evil, worldly girl. Rebecca, you spoke to her. What did you say? The exact words, if you please.’

  I had to swallow twice before my voice would work. ‘I said Zillah is well.’ I would pray for forgiveness for the lie, but Zillah didn’t deserve his anger. Father didn’t understand little children needed time to learn the Rule.

  ‘Call the family. We will pray for you.’

  Zillah hadn’t experienced such a long prayer session before. She said no when Mother wanted her to kneel. Father spoke sternly to her and she sat down on her bottom. Mother put her arm around her. Father prayed to the Lord to forgive our transgression. He prayed for us to be seemly and obedient, and to live by the Rule every moment of our lives. He prayed we would at all times remember the Rule was there to keep our minds turned to the Lord. It was the path to salvation — the only path.

  His words filled the study. I heard Abraham sigh. Luke was crying silently. As always, we had Magdalene between us, where she could hold on to our skirts for comfort.

  We had brought sorrow to our family.

  But now we knew Daniel and Miriam were safe and well. We knew they hadn’t forgotten us, we knew they prayed for us and loved us. Father, of course, would forbid us to tell the children. I thought they’d want to know, but should we tell them? Mother had been so distressed — was it right to risk that for Abraham, Luke and Magdalene as well?

  My knees got sore. I was ashamed — our family didn’t deserve to suffer for what we’d done.

  Maybe Zillah’s restlessness made Father stop. ‘You may rise.’

  We helped Mother to her feet. She looked pale and sick. We shouldn’t have told her and we shouldn’t have broken the Rule. But it wasn’t right to make her kneel like that on a hard floor.

  Father sat down behind his desk. ‘Rebecca. Rachel. You will not go to temple tomorrow. You will not go to the Circle of Fellowship on Wednesday. You will stay here, one of you in the discipline room and the other in your bedroom. At midday, you will swap places. You will learn by heart the psalms I will leave for you. Go to your room. You will not talk and you will go without dinner this evening. Leave me now.’

  Mother would have to get the evening meal without our help. Magdalene would have to do our chores. We went to our room. I climbed up onto my bunk and Rachel went to lie on the one below until she remembered it was now Zillah’s bed.

  It was going to be a long afternoon.

  Rachel sat up and carefully mouthed a word. Elders.

  Would Father tell them? I nodded. He’d have to, because they’d want to know why we weren’t at the temple. Talitha, Drusilla, Abigail and Tirzah would have to work harder in the kitchen. We understood that bringing hurt to others was part of our punishment.

  The rest of the day dragged. We’d been too upset to eat lunch, and the scent of chicken roasting for dinner made our stomachs feel even emptier.

  Abraham brought us the punishment meal. Three slices of dry bread and a glass of water. He looked from one to the other of us and mouthed, What did you do?

  I shook my head. Not yet. Next week.

  Understanding dawned on his face. Once we were permitted to speak again, Father would be certain to ask the boys if we’d told them what we’d done. After a week, he was unlikely to ask a second time.

  When Magdalene came to bed, she said, ‘Will you die? Will you die like Miriam did?’

  We broke the silence to comfort her. ‘No, we promise we won’t die.’ We told her what had happened — what Esther had told us.

  Our little sister didn’t respond. She got herself ready for bed, climbed in and only then said, ‘It’s not fair. You didn’t do anything bad.’

  We’d broken the Rule and that was a sin.

  Sixteen

  The Rule

  The world is full of evil, temptation and corruption.

  The Children of the Faith will keep themselves separate from worldly people and their concerns.

  AS IT TURNED OUT, Abraham didn’t have to wait to find out what we’d done. When he brought us our bread and water on Sunday evening, words tumbled from his mouth. ‘Elder Stephen went on about how we’ve gotta treat anyone who’s been chucked out the same as if they’d never been alive in the first place, so who did you see? Was it Daniel?’ His face was bright with hope.

  We shook our heads. ‘It was Esther. She said Daniel and Miriam still pray for us. She said they’re happy.’

  He looked sad. ‘I wish …’ Then he breathed in. ‘I’m glad they’re okay.’ He turned to go, then came back. ‘I nearly forgot. Here — me and Luke saved it for you.’ He fished a bag of food out from under his jacket, and hurried away.

  We stared at what he’d brought us. Slices of beef, two biscuits, two pieces of quiche and a pear. We looked at each other, then at the food. It was so tempting after plain bread and water, even though it was a bit mushed up.

  ‘We shouldn’t,’ Rachel said.

  ‘No. But we’re going to.’

  My sister breathed out a sigh. ‘I’m afraid we are.’

  ‘I hope Father doesn’t find out,’ Rachel said. ‘They are good brothers.’

  Yes, they were — kind and loving, just the way Daniel had been.

  When we were called for evening prayers, we had to recite the psalms Father had given us to learn. We both managed to do so without mistakes. Now he would tell us we were forbidden to go to the market — that two other girls would take over the duty — but, although the prayers were long and solemn, he said nothing about any further punishment.

  He let us go to school the next day, but it wasn’t exactly a kindness because everyone was desperate to hear the details of our sin. We didn’t want to speak of it — and in the end it was Abraham who said, ‘Our cousin turned up at the market. My sisters were surprised to see her and they forgot to turn away. That’s all, so shut up about it, why don’t you?’

  Abraham. Who’d have imagined he would defend us like that?

  Sister Jerushah was her usual gentle self, despite looking sicker than ever. Not by so much as a gesture did she indicate she knew we’d transgressed.

  ‘I think she’s in pain,’ Drusilla said when we talked about her at break.

  ‘Let’s pray for her,’ Tirzah said. ‘Laban, too, is concerned for her.’

  SATURDAY CAME AND Father hadn’t told us we weren’t to go to the market. We got ready, and Mother gave us our lunches. We walked down the road to wait for Enoch.

  He treated us as if nothing bad had happened. We’d been punished and the matter was now over.

  If only it was. We still had to face Saul and Malachi at temple the next day.

  ELDER STEPHEN PREACHED about obedience. It was one of his favourite topics.

  After the service, Saul came up straight away to get his morning tea. Whatever he said to my sister left her damp-eyed and smiling. Malachi waited until most people had been served. I poured his tea and said, ‘I am sorry, Brother Malachi. I know I have brought shame to you.’

  He picked up the cup with a steady hand. ‘You understand it is a serious matter to break the Rule, Sister Rebecca?’

  ‘Yes. I understand.’ With an effort, I looked into his face. ‘Please tell me — do you wish to cancel our betrothal?’

  The tea slopped in the cup. ‘No! How could you think that? You are very young. I believe you were in a difficult position when that evil girl accosted you.’

  I did not want to lose his good opinion, but I couldn’t let him say such things about Esther. ‘She is not evil. She is just worldly. She could never understand the Rule keeps us safe.’

  At last he smiled. ‘You are very loyal, Sister Rebecca. You will be a good wife, and I promise to be a good
husband to you.’

  Now my eyes were damp. ‘Thank you, Brother Malachi.’

  Rachel whispered, ‘Are things okay?’

  I nodded. ‘Yes. You?’ But it was easy to see she was happy again.

  Seventeen

  The Rule

  At all times, people of the Children of the Faith will behave in a seemly manner.

  LESSONS FINISHED FOR the year in mid-December. The market was busier than usual. The days before Christmas seemed to be hard for worldly people. When we ran out of chickens, two different customers spoke harshly to us.

  ‘Do not take it to heart, sisters,’ Enoch said to us. ‘Out there they’ll be rushing around thinking about all the worldly things they have to get done in the next few days. It makes them forget the Lord.’

  Mrs Lipscombe, though, seemed to relish the bustle. She gave us chocolate Santas wrapped in bright paper. ‘To hang on your tree,’ she said. The bag she put them into was printed with red and green patterns. It was pretty.

  We thanked her and didn’t tell her we didn’t believe in decorations, Christmas trees or presents. On Christmas day we would worship the Lord and give thanks for the birth of His Son.

  We put the gift in our basket. ‘Let’s keep the bag,’ I said. ‘We’ll give it to Magdalene next time she gets upset.’

  IN THE NEW YEAR, we learnt that Kezia was pregnant. She listened while we congratulated her, but just replied with, ‘Praise the Lord,’ and walked away. She was part of the adult world now and not interested in the opinions of unmarried girls.

  ‘Do you think she’s happy?’ I whispered to Rachel.

  She shook her head. ‘She’s resigned to her fate. She’s not loud and bossy any more.’

  But Kezia the rebel hadn’t completely vanished. She made Ira wait till nearly all the other men had their cups of tea before she came to get his. She didn’t put sugar in it either, and we all knew Ira loved his tea very sweet.