by Julia Bell
‘What?’ He looked suddenly irritated.
‘Some of us have been talking . . . Everyone is very tired. The crops . . . The farm needs working. We can’t be at church all the time. People are exhausted. They need to rest, to eat, to sleep.’
There was a silence that lasted a beat too long, then a long-suffering sigh. ‘They need to sleep?!’ He sounded incredulous. ‘When the hour is at hand? We don’t need sleep! We need to be walking on the high wire to the glory. It could be weeks now, days even. Brothers, we are so lucky to be here.’ He made his eyes big. ‘How long since we’ve had a word from Naomi? How many years have we been waiting? And now this in the same week!’
‘But people will be able to think better in the morning.’
‘No better time to think about God than the present!’ He folded his arms.
‘No one doubts you, Bevins, but . . . The people, we, I, need a rest tonight. Maybe you can read to us from the Book of Jonah, before we retire. That will sharpen our minds and in the morning we can gather . . .’
There was another long pause, like the vacuum suck before an explosion. I thought Mary looked scared.
‘You’re telling me?’ Bevins’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’re telling me what to read to you?’
Everyone looked at the floor. Mr Bragg had gone red.
‘You know this is how it starts! With a little rest, a little weakness. And before you know it, you are so far down the path of backsliding no one can save you. You know what it says in the scriptures! I was sent by God to keep you to the path, keep you safe, so that you will live for all eternity. That is my calling. I work so hard for you, so hard.’
‘But . . .’ Mr Bragg looked scared; his chin wobbled and his voice became high-pitched. ‘There’s so much to do on the farm that we don’t have time to spend all day in church.’
‘Pffffft,’ Mr Bevins whistled through his teeth. ‘There’s the struggle, my Brothers, right there. See how it starts, with just one little doubt, and then it all falls away and before you know it the whole of eternity is lost because you were tired.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘We’ve had such exciting news! And all you want to do is sleep! Who are these people? Who among you is coming to the church?’
‘I will!’ said Thomas, first to put his hand up. He looked at his father with contempt.
Mr Bevins smirked. ‘Of course there’s no pressure, Brothers – those of you who would rather follow the doubter here, there is no shame in it, in admitting that you are backsliding, but . . .’
‘But, Mr Bevins, you know, my heart.’ Mr Bragg touched his chest. ‘I need to rest.’
‘Indeed I do know the weakness of your heart, and it is wretched and faithless. You can rest.’ He nodded at Jonathan and another man who came up behind Mr Bragg and took him by the arms. ‘In the Solitary.’
‘Please! No! I have a weak heart. Dee, tell him.’
But Mrs Bragg was turned away from him, shaking her head. ‘I told you that you were backsliding, but you wouldn’t listen.’
‘See?’ Mr Bevins said. ‘Even your wife can’t bear to look at you.’ He nodded at the men. ‘Love the sinner, hate the sin, and he is so full with sin right now I can’t even see him. You need to spend some time in prayer and private contemplation. Take him away.’ And he waved his hand to dismiss them.
‘No!’ Mr Bragg said. ‘This isn’t right! This isn’t what we came here for!’ He struggled, but the men were much taller and stronger than him, nearly lifting him off his feet as they dragged him out of the room. I tried to catch Rebekah’s eye, but she was staring into space, her hands clasped in front of her, same as they all were.
When they’d taken him, Mr Bevins asked again, ‘Who is with me? Who will come and pray?’
One by one everyone put their hand up. Even me.
The church smelled of damp and dust and it was cold. Bevins stood at the front with his eyes closed for a long time. Everyone was standing, stiff and obedient, for ages, until the twins started to fidget. I was right at the back with Rebekah and the other women who were all praying silently, their heads bowed.
Once the boys started to make a noise Bevins opened his eyes and stared at Mary. She looked flustered, but it wasn’t her fault. Children can’t be expected to stay still for that long. She shushed them, then made a bed for them under the chairs out of her coat, where they curled up and slept. I could see through the windows that it was already getting dark. I wanted to look at my phone to find out the time. But I didn’t dare get it out in front of everyone. At some point Jonathan and the other man came back from taking Mr Bragg to the Solitary. The door closed behind them, and they took their places down the front right next to Mr Bevins, but he didn’t even open his eyes or acknowledge that they had returned.
After ages, he inhaled loudly through his nose and brought himself up on his tiptoes. He pushed back his sleeves and stretched his arms to the sky and started speaking, except it was in a language I didn’t understand. Then others started to join in until the room echoed with the babble of everyone speaking a loud mumbo-jumbo.
I prodded Rebekah. ‘What are they saying?’
‘They’re speaking in the spirit.’
‘Sounds like baby talk,’ I said, too loudly.
‘Shhhh. It might be a prophecy,’ she whispered. ‘Someone will translate it.’
The noise went on and on, someone even started clucking like a chicken, Jonathan started laughing. I’d been in church before where they’d had a kind of free prayer, but it wasn’t like this.
Then Bevins lowered his arms like a conductor, and the noise stopped and he smiled at everyone benevolently, then stared at me. I looked at the floor.
He motioned for people to sit. He said he’d had a message from God, ‘something important that needs to be heard’. He started talking about sin. About the temptations of the flesh and how easy it was to be led astray. He talked about adultery and the abomination of homosexuality. He talked a lot about homosexuality. He said the word sexual like it was a disease. He got very red in the face, describing how God would punish the ‘deviants and sodomites’ – how he couldn’t bear to look at sin, how he must turn his face away. ‘It’s these among all other sins that have ruined this world for the rest of us!’ He talked about how you would end up in hell if you did any of these things, although it wasn’t really clear what he meant by ‘things’. But he described very vividly exactly how painful it would be when the fires of hell were burning you, melting the flesh from your bones, charring your skin like a barbeque, boiling your brains inside your skull, and the pain and torment that would last for eternity. I felt sick. I knew he was talking about me.
After he’d finished speaking he insisted we all knelt to pray. I watched Rebekah beside me, folding herself up on her knees, clasping her hands together and resting her forehead on them. She was muttering a prayer under her breath. I wanted to interrupt her and ask who she thought she was speaking to, I wanted to grab her hand and pull her away from all of this, I wanted to shout loudly and tell them all not to listen to his madness, but I caught Mr Bevins staring at me like he could see straight through me and I quickly closed my eyes and pretended to pray.
TWELVE
REBEKAH
Mr Bevins went on a long time tonight. Hours. I have no sense of the time, except I know it’s late when we get back to the farmhouse. We take the boys and put them in their cots. Peter is whining and clingy. I sing him the song of Noah, about the animals, and then tell him the story of Jonah swallowed into the belly of the whale, until eventually he quietens. Alex squats in the doorway and watches. When they are asleep I go into my bedroom, leaving the door ajar so I can hear in case they wake up.
I sit on my bed and Alex sits next to me. She’s so close I could touch her hair. Being so close to her does something strange to my head. Like I’m going too fast or something, and all the nerves in my body tingle and I feel like I must be blushing all the time. We’re quiet for a moment. Then she whispers. ‘You must be so bored.’
I draw my knees up to my chin and pull my dress down over my legs. I’m hungry and my bones hurt with cold.
‘You don’t even have music or books.’
‘We do! And anyway, we won’t need them where we’re going.’
‘And where is that, exactly?’
I don’t know how she does it, but she has a way of asking questions that are impossible to answer, and all the things that have always seemed so easy to talk about, fall away from me. I want to her to see that I’m not stupid, that I do know about the world. I prayed hard in church that she would see the light. I want her to go to heaven to be with me. I want her to be with me; I want her to meet my mother.
I show her the encyclopedia Mary gave me. She told me to read from it and study it when I am not reading the Bible. The Encyclopedia of the World 1973. It’s old and smells of rotting paper. Everything about the world in one volume. In the margins Mary has written notes, links to Bible verses, comments. There are colour plates to illustrate some of the key features. The nervous system, the chambers of the heart, the countries of the world, even the history of the kings and queens of Britain and Europe. Just opening the book makes me excited.
Alex flicks through it. ‘This is a bloody antique!’ she says. ‘Where are the fossils and dinosaurs?’
I shrug. I don’t know what she’s talking about.
‘And reproduction? Someone’s ripped out the pages,’ she says.
‘Oh.’
I hadn’t noticed this before.
‘Look.’ She throws the book down next to me, pointing to the places in the index where it says: Dinosaurs, Darwin and Evolution, Fossils and Human Reproduction.
‘Maybe they fell out,’ I say.
She snorts. ‘Right. Someone made them fall out, more like.’ She flicks back through the book until she gets to Ancient Egypt. Here Mary has written: Worshipped False Idols! Satan’s Lies! and a list of verses. There is an illustration of Egyptian symbols, and one that is an eye, the same as Alex’s tattoo. She points at it and laughs.
‘Look,’ she says. ‘My tattoo! “The eye of Horus is an ancient Egyptian symbol of protection, royal power and good health”,’ she reads. ‘See? I told you it was for protection.’
‘“Also known as the eye of Ra”,’ I continue, but then I look at Mary’s margin notes. She has circled the word Ra and in the margin written: Another word for Satan!
A fear rises in me. Alex has the symbol of Satan on her. ‘Why did you come here?’ I say, my voice a hiss. ‘To torment me?’
‘I’m not tormenting you!’
‘Yes, you are! Why aren’t you listening?’
‘Ha! Like you, you mean?’
‘Yes.’
‘Because I’m not stupid.’
I flinch from her, then snatch the encyclopedia and bang it shut. Her criticism stings like a slap.
‘I mean, don’t you hate it?’
‘Hate what?’
‘Being told what to think all the time. I couldn’t stand it – no one tells me what to think.’
‘I’m not told what to think! I’m here because I’m chosen! Don’t you want to go to heaven?’
She shakes her head. ‘I don’t believe in it.’
‘You don’t believe in heaven?!’ How can she not? I can’t believe she’s so ignorant.
‘I think we make our own heaven and hell here on earth. I mean, don’t you listen to music or anything?’ she asks.
‘‘No,’ I say, not really knowing what she means. ‘We sing hymns and sometimes Micah Protheroe plays guitar, but we’re not allowed to play the music of the world.’
‘Don’t tell me –’ she shakes her head – ‘it’s the work of the devil?’
I nod. ‘The devil can get in through music,’ I say.
‘How, exactly?’
I don’t know the answer to this, though I assume it must be through the ears.
She gets her phone out of her pocket. ‘I’ve got some amazing hip hop on here.’ She switches it on, but then has to hide it right away at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. I stand up. It’s Mary. She comes into the room and, seeing Alex sitting on my bed, flinches.
‘Right,’ she says. ‘Where’s the camp bed?’
‘I was just showing her the encyclopedia,’ I say, holding up the book.
‘Well, that’s nice, but I need you to get some rest now.’
Suddenly I feel really awkward. I jump up and help Mary put the bed together, threading the poles through the canvas, shaking out the spare sleeping bag. When I’m done, Mary waits by the door with her hands on her hips for us to get into our own beds.
‘Come on, chop-chop.’
She stands there watching while we both get under the covers. She takes the candles away and pulls the door to, although I can hear her breathing outside for a long time. When I finally hear her feet on the stairs, I sit up.
‘You asleep?’ I whisper.
But Alex doesn’t answer. I lie on my side and nuzzle into my pillow. I wish she would wake up and talk to me, because even though I’m exhausted, being alone in the dark with her makes me wide awake. I lie there not sleepy at all and wonder if Mother can see me, and if she thinks about me if she can, or if she is so busy with her business in heaven that she has forgotten all about me. I’m sure she would like Alex if she met her.
In the middle of the night something wakes me. It’s Alex, sitting bolt upright, shouting, gasping for air.
‘You OK?’
‘I had a nightmare,’ she says groggily. ‘That I was still here, and then I realized I was.’
‘Come here,’ I say, and she gets out of her bed and comes and lies next to me. Her body trembles. ‘Don’t let anything bad happen to me,’ she mutters. ‘Please.’
‘It’s OK,’ I say, putting my arm around her. ‘Nothing’s going to happen to you. I promise.’ But even as I say it, doubt creeps around the edges of my mind. Even in the warm hollow of the bed, in my heart there is the cold glitter of fear. When her breathing has calmed and she’s asleep I get out of my bed and into the camp bed. Something tells me that Mary wouldn’t be OK with us sharing again.
Mary wakes us before the light has even had a chance to colour the sky. I can only have had a few hours’ sleep. I feel sick and groggy.
‘What is this?’ she asks, pulling the covers off me. ‘Why aren’t you in your own bed?’
‘Wha’ time is it?’ I say blearily. I’m sure I’ve only been properly asleep for about five minutes.
‘You had your lie-in yesterday. There’s too much to do to be lazing around all day. And I don’t know why you’re not in your own bed.’
Alex puts her head over the covers. ‘It hurt my back. So we swapped.’
‘Hmph.’ She looks unconvinced. ‘We’ll have to sort out something more permanent for you – I think probably you should be sharing with Ruth.’
No! She can’t do that. I’m supposed to be looking after Alex. Me, not Ruth.
‘You heard Bevins yesterday. We have to be constantly vigilant and help each other keep to the path. Now hurry up.’
We get dressed and fumble our way downstairs. I don’t say anything to Alex, but I can’t quite work out what we’re supposed to have done wrong. I can still feel the bony tremble of her body in my arms. She likes to act all tough, but actually she’s small and scared; I can see that in her. She catches me staring and pulls a dumb face, and then an even dumber one, which makes me laugh. I don’t think I’ve met anyone, ever, who made me laugh like she does.
After prayers, Mary gives us bowls with a smudge of porridge and a cup of weak, milkless tea. Bevins says that being hungry is good for us, it keeps us sharp and spiritual, makes us consider our souls and not the corruption of our physical flesh. Sometimes after a service or prayer meeting or something I am so full of light that I’m not hungry at all. But this morning my stomach growls and clenches.
The men have already eaten and gone to their appointed tasks. Alex complains loudly about the fact that i
t is the women who are expected to clean up the piles of dishes that Hannah brings in from the dining room.
‘It’s not fair! Why can’t the men help?’
‘They have their appointed role, just as we have ours,’ says Hannah. ‘Blessed is the woman who follows the directions of a man.’
Alex looks sceptical. ‘But what if that man’s a wanker?’
Mary blinks. Margaret crosses herself.
‘Alex, we’re daughters of Eve. We carry her wayward genes. We’re the ones who threw away paradise. Don’t forget that,’ she says.
‘I don’t believe this shit,’ Alex mutters.
Something in me wants to laugh hysterically because everything is so tense and prickly. Hannah and Margaret won’t even look at her. They are behaving like she’s infectious. Every time she speaks they freeze and raise their eyebrows.
‘But don’t you miss stuff? Like a dishwasher and a washing machine?’ she asks. We have to wait for the pot of water on the stove to heat up before we can wash the dishes.
‘We came here for a simpler life. To get away from the temptations of laziness. Keeping busy is good for the soul – even small tasks like cleaning can be meaningful if done for the glory of God,’ Mary says.
‘A good woman looks well to the ways of her household,’ Hannah says.
‘She girds herself with strength,’ Mrs Bragg replies.
It’s a prayer that we say sometimes in church, when Mr Bevins wants to lift up the spirits of the women.
Alex sucks her teeth and scowls. ‘Whatever floats your boat.’
Mary gives her one of her cold, steady stares. ‘You may come to see in time, Alex, that you are more like us than you think.’
When we’re finished with the washing-up the dawn has started to streak the sky red and purple and Mary tells us that today we are to work in the kitchen garden.
‘What if I don’t want to?’ Alex says, but there isn’t much fight in her voice.
We go to the tack room to get ready. Alex is still wearing the same clothes that she came in; her trousers are filthy with mud all around the bottom and her shoes are soaking. Mary says she will give her a new pair of shoes only if she agrees to wear a dress.