by Donna Callea
I share Willa’s bed at night. We’re both locked in for safe-keeping. From what, I don’t know. Probably to keep me from running away. But where would I go? I have no idea where they put David.
Willa has four brothers. All, except the youngest, who’s still a toddler, are assigned chores in the compound most days, and only come home to eat and sleep. They also go to school part of the day in the meeting house.
Willa has never been to school.
“It’s not fitting for girls to learn to read,” she says. Why would they need to? It’s prudent for boys to know how to read and do numbers, in case they ever need to go to Winnipeg when they’re grown, to bring the milled grain to market or do trading.
But a woman’s duties don’t require any formal schooling. Women cook, clean, lie on their backs for their husbands, have babies, and take care of their children until they can’t do any of that anymore.
Sally and Willa are interested to know that I’ve had quite a bit of formal education, though they don’t see what good it will do, except for my nursing skills.
Sally says I’ll probably become a midwife.
“I know how do a lot more than help deliver babies,” I say, though I don’t know why I’m telling them this, since I’ll kill myself rather than remain here.
“I can set bones, suture wounds, and I know remedies for many illnesses. Do you have someone here in Eden Falls who does those things now?” I’m just curious to know.
There’s currently no one with healing skills in Eden Falls. When people here become seriously injured or very ill, they usually die, according to Sally.
She says she thinks the Righteous Ones will probably allow me to treat women and children. But not men. It wouldn’t be right for a female to touch a man who isn’t her husband.
Sally and Willa are supposed to teach me how to cook and do the other household chores expected of women and girls. I’m not a willing student. But I feel sorry for them both—as well as for myself—so I try not to give them a hard time.
Walter and the older boys return home for the midday meal, and then at sundown for supper. But the only person allowed to initiate conversation at meals is Walter.
“Is the girl being cooperative, Wife?” he asks Sally.
“Yes, Husband,” she replies meekly. She doesn’t want me to get a beating.
Then he turns to his daughter.
“Be sure she doesn’t fill your head with nonsense, Willa. She comes from a bad place, and it’s your responsibility while she’s here to teach her about our rightful ways.”
Willa just nods.
Walter doesn’t address me directly at all. He knows I won’t respond.
At night, in her room, Willa and I talk quietly in the dark. Sometimes she asks me personal things, things she can’t ask her mother. Jacob may not look too bad to her, but it’s clear she’s afraid about what’s to come with him.
“What’s it like to be used, Rebekah?” she asks in a shy whisper.
“I’m not used. Don’t say that word. When a woman and a man come together because they love each other, because they choose to be with each other, sex can be a joyful thing.”
“But it hurts, right? And you bleed from it. You’re supposed to bleed. That’s what Mama said.”
“It can hurt a little the first time. Your insides have to stretch to fit the man. And there’s usually some blood. But after you get adjusted to having your husband inside of you, it can be very pleasurable.”
She doesn’t believe me.
Probably just as well. I doubt she’ll ever get any pleasure from Jacob. Oh, how I hate that man.
“This isn’t the only way of life there is,” I tell Willa. “It’s a problem being a woman wherever you are. That’s true enough. In the Coalition women are now required to have at least five husbands at one time. But men don’t consider themselves masters of their households. And women are respected and honored. It’s women who make the rules, make the choices.”
“I’ve heard about plural marriage. It’s a sin. They say it’s the worst sin there is. And I think it must be terrible to have five husbands.”
“Well, it’s never been what I wanted. That’s for sure,” I tell her. “That’s why David and I ran away from the Coalition. I only ever want one husband—David—and he only wants one wife. We only want each other. We thought this would be a place where we could live together the way we want to live. We couldn’t have been more wrong.”
“I’m sorry for you, Rebekah,” Willa says before going to sleep. “And for me, too,” she adds in a sad whisper.
Chapter 27
David
Founding Fathers
I’m free to leave if I want to, that’s what Jacob says. But not with Rebekah. She’s not free to do anything. And not with the sun-cycle.
I’m not permitted to charge it. The sun-cycle is off limits.
I was given our backpacks. They probably figured there was no harm in me having a toothbrush, razor and extra clothes. Evidently they didn’t examine too closely what else was in them. Poor Rebekah was given nothing. Not even her sea sponges.
So I can leave, if I want to walk out of here by myself, taking with me the backpacks and nothing else. I can try to find my way back to Winnipeg alone on foot. Jacob is pretty sure I’d die in the wilderness. He’s probably right.
“Listen, David, I know you’re upset,” he says.
Upset? I would kill him if I could.
“But you can have a good life here,” he insists. “You have skills that we need. You’d be a valuable asset to Eden Falls. And if you apply yourself, and become one of us, you could be chosen as a Righteous One when you’re older. You could be master of your own household. You have the potential. I’m sure of that. We need fresh bloodlines here. You’d be given a wife then—most likely a newly ripened little thing. And in the meantime, I’d make sure you got included when we make trips to Winnipeg. You’d be able to partake then, of what Winnipeg has to offer.”
That piece of shit hypocrite. It’s no mystery what he was doing in the Birch and Bay. He wasn’t just stopping by for breakfast when we saw him there that morning. He didn’t just come to Winnipeg by himself to negotiate trade deals.
“I want Rebekah, and I want her now,” I spit out at him.
I’ve been staying in Jacob’s house since we got here almost a week ago. He just inherited the place from a “Righteous One”—how I hate that term—who recently died. The dead man’s wife—who was a whole lot younger than he was—got quickly married off to another man whose wife had died in childbirth, and moved in with him along with her kids. I take it that widows—if they’re still relatively young and fertile—don’t stay widows for long around here.
People in Eden Falls may technically be monogamous. But that doesn’t mean they only get one marriage each over their lifetimes.
Meanwhile Jacob, who’d been living with the other single men, got promoted. The others must have recognized his natural leadership abilities and slimy ways.
There’s a real old lady who’s serving as Jacob’s housekeeper until he gets married, which will be soon. But for now he’s got the whole house to himself.
His bride-to-be is a 14-year-old girl who lives in the house where Rebekah was taken. Jacob is really looking forward to his wedding.
I think about going to his room at night and strangling him while he sleeps. I could probably do it. I’m strong enough. But what good would it do?
I can’t even imagine how terrible all this must be for Rebekah. I’m really worried about her. They treat women like breeding stock around here. What were we thinking to come here?
Somehow, I’ve got to get to her. We’ve got to figure out a way to escape. There’s got to be a way.
They don’t let women out of their houses except on Sabbath, which is coming up. I’ll see her then.
I’ve been praying to The Designer that she’s okay—that she stays okay and no one hurts her.
They pray a lot around here, to
o. But not to the same unknowable creator I do. Their idea of The Designer is an old man with a long white beard and white robes, who lives somewhere up in the sky. He’s mainly concerned about the well-being of men. He stopped making women in equal numbers a long time ago because they’re inferior creatures and get men into trouble if they’re not controlled.
During the day, I’m assigned to the mill or hydro-works. I have to admit I’m interested in their workings. I can see things that need fixing and improving. It takes my mind off the mess we’re in for a while.
Then, after work, Jacob tries his best to indoctrinate me. Sometimes we go to evening meetings attended by all the men, including the younger ones, who all seem like idiots to me. They talk about their work, and issues that impact the community—like what to plant and when, and what kind of trade goods they’ll be needing from Winnipeg. And there’s also communal prayer followed by sermonizing.
I gather that a lot of the sermonizing and storytelling is for my benefit. Everyone wants to be sure newcomers appreciate the hallowed history of Eden Falls.
Seems that long ago—they’re not specific about how long ago—their forefathers lived in this terribly flawed place called New Eden, somewhere far south of here.
In New Eden women got the blasphemous notion that they were as important as men—maybe even more so because they were the ones giving birth. They demanded—demanded, can you believe?—that they have a say in how things were done. The men in New Eden didn’t control their women like The Designer expects men to do. Some right-thinking men were left out in the cold, with no hope of ever having a wife.
One day, an especially righteous man had a vision. The Designer spoke to him directly and told him to go forth from New Eden with eleven other right-thinking men, and establish a new community in the uncharted wilderness, which had been uncharted wilderness ever since The Great Flood. They took with them six very young girls—some not even ripe. Stole them from their homes, I gather. The girls had to be very young so that they weren’t yet contaminated by the evil-thinking of New Eden women.
Along the way, the founding fathers stole other girls, whenever they had the opportunity. And eventually, they all arrived at the promised land, which they named Eden Falls, because of the blessed waterfall, of course, which was put there by The Designer just for them.
How did Rebekah and I ever end up in this place, I ask myself. How could we have been so stupid? So trusting?
I’ve got to get to Rebekah. We’ve got to get out of here. There has to be a way.
When the Sabbath comes, I’ll try to talk to her, if they’ll let me. At least I’ll get to see her. She’s strong-willed. She’s always been strong-willed. If we both stay strong, maybe we can survive this.
For now, I do the only thing I can think to do.
I pray.
Chapter 28
Rebekah
The Sabbath
All week I’ve been making a new dress. Willa has been helping me. Actually, she’s been the one making the dress, although I do know how to stitch. Stitching cloth is not that much different from stitching flesh.
Every woman here has at least two dresses. One is for every day use. That would be the horrible brown dress Sally gave me. The other is just for the Sabbath. And it has to be color-coded.
Married women like Sally wear blue. Fresh young virgins like Willa wear white. Widows too old to remarry wear black. And “used” outsiders like me wear yellow—a hideous color for a red-haired person to wear. My particular yellow Sabbath dress will be a sickly urine shade. It was the best Sally could do when she dyed the fabric.
Willa is also working on a new white dress for her wedding, which will be in a few weeks. Nothing too fancy. Just new and very white. She’ll dye it blue after the wedding, and then she’ll dye her old white Sabbath dress brown. That’s the traditional way of doing things around here. All women must be very practical and thrifty.
When I get my period, I ask Sally if she has any spare sea sponges. She looks at me like I’m crazy. Women use rags here when they menstruate. Ugh. They don’t use anything for controlling pregnancy.
“That would be a sin,” she says, when I tell her about the alternate use for sea sponges. “It’s up to The Designer when babies are conceived, not up to women.”
Sally is not yet 30. She’s been married to Walter since she was 15. Theoretically, I suppose, she could have had a dozen or so children by now. She’s only got five. But she’s had several miscarriages. And I’m guessing that wheezy, constipated old Walter, who’s at least twice her age, is not the most potent of men.
Poor Willa will probably get pregnant as soon as Jacob gets his hands—and other parts—on her. She’s too young to get pregnant. Too small and delicately built. Having a baby could kill her.
On Sabbath morning, Sally looks over her boys, and makes sure they’re all clean and combed. She ties a cloth over my head, so that it covers my hair. A woman’s hair cannot be seen in public—not even hair as short as mine. Sally and Willa both have long, blonde braids, which they wrap around their heads and then cover with cloth for the Sabbath.
When the time comes, we all follow Walter out of the house. I blink in the sun, and see similar processions coming from the other houses, as well as groups of young men heading toward the meeting house. I look for David. Maybe he’s already inside.
Finally, as we file in on the side reserved for women and children, and I take a seat next to Willa on a bench toward the rear, I spot him. He’s sitting next to Jacob on the men’s side. He’s looking around, looking for me. And then our eyes lock. Sally, who’s on my other side, nudges me. It’s a very bad thing to stare at a man, she tells me in a whisper. Women are also not allowed to talk in the meeting house. But I continue to look over at him, and she lets me be.
David has an anguished expression on his face. Jacob and some of the other men admonish him for looking at me. Finally the service starts. The “Righteous Ones” take turns standing in front of the congregation to lead prayers and spout nonsense. It goes on forever. I don’t pay any attention to what they’re saying.
When I’m not staring over at David, I look around the women’s side. I’m the only yellow. There are a handful of blacks, and lots of blues. Each household’s “master” would have a blue except for Jacob, who’s waiting for Willa. She’s the only white I see, although there are a few girls who look as if they might be old enough to menstruate in a year or two.
The girls wear whatever remnants of fabric their mothers have managed to piece together into dresses. Color doesn’t matter until you’re ripe.
Young boys sit with their mothers. But I notice that Caleb, Willa’s oldest brother, is sitting on the men’s side next to his father. Caleb is almost 13. Maybe that’s old enough to be considered a man as far as worship is concerned. But he won’t be sent out of the house to live with the young men until he’s 16. That’s what Willa’s told me. I don’t know how many young men there are, but the men’s side of the meeting house looks pretty full. Every bench is taken.
After the service, we file out silently. Then we women are allowed a brief time to gather and talk amongst ourselves. The children who are old enough go off to play, except for the girls. They stay with their mothers.
This is the first time the other women have seen me, and they’re curious.
“How old are you, child?” asks an old lady in black. I tell her, and then try to answer everyone else’s questions.
Some have heard from their husbands that I came here dressed as a boy, and they can tell there’s not much hair under my head cloth. They want to know the reason. I give them a very brief explanation. They can understand why I had to go to such lengths to escape from the Coalition. They’ve been told that the Coalition is an abomination.
I have nothing against the women. They’re all just trapped here, whether they realize it or not. It’s the men I hate. Maybe not all of them. The younger ones can’t help the fact that they were born here. But I definitely d
espise every single one of the domineering, self-righteous Righteous Ones.
I’m introduced to Trula, the only other female outsider who currently lives in Eden Falls. I see she’s pregnant. A few of the other women are also pregnant. Several have babies in their arms or toddlers clinging to their skirts.
“Where did they find you, honey?” Trula asks.
When I tell her—and the others—about how David and I got tricked into coming here by Jacob when we were in Winnipeg, she looks at me with compassion. But the general consensus is that it’s a good thing I got saved from ending up in a sinful place.
The other women are done questioning me for now. They’re eager to talk to one other. It’s the only chance they’re given all week to socialize with friends, to catch up on any news, to admire each other’s babies, to share the trials and tribulations of being female in Eden Falls. They’ll also want to discuss arrangements for the upcoming wedding of Willa and Jacob. Weddings are a big deal here.
So Trula and I stand off to the side, and have a very quiet private conversation.
She tells me she was working in one of the pleasure establishments in Winnipeg, not the Birch and Bay, about ten years ago, when she had the misfortune of servicing a man from Eden Falls. He’d come for a little “recreation and relief,” as he put it. Afterward, he began to paint a glowing, idyllic picture of life here. He seemed nice enough, and Trula sort of liked him. She had grown tired of having sex with a constant stream of men who paid for the privilege. Being a wife to just one, settling down and having a family sounded appealing.
Trula’s customer-turned-suitor had just been elevated to Righteous One. He told her he was replacing a very old man who died.
What he didn’t tell her was the real reason he wanted her to be his wife. His predecessor’s widow was old for a woman—nearing 50. If she was still in her 30s, he could have married her. But no man in Eden Falls is expected to marry a woman past childbearing age. Unfortunately for him, there were no nubile, home-grown virgins available then. Only little girls who weren’t likely ripen any time soon. So he persuaded Trula to join him in holy matrimony.