by Jane Rogers
It is true. I just hope he is not absent for too long.
Our diet of housework has given me opportunity to search the house for a suitable hiding place for my little darling – and here I have not drawn a complete blank. There are four large bedchambers in use: one set aside for the Prophet, one shared by Rachel, Rebekah and myself, one by Joanna and Hannah, and one by Martha and Dinah. In addition, upstairs there is a dressing room adjoining the Prophet’s room, a tiny servant’s bedroom where one end of the corridor has been blocked off between the Prophet’s room and the great hall balcony, and a large room at the back of the house which is full of old furniture. This was left in the house before the building alterations. Joanna thinks it likely the room will be fitted out for visitors, at some future date. It is the ideal place to hide Thomas, for his bed and other items would not be noticeable amongst all the other jumble.
But there are difficulties, which I had not well perceived until now. If Thomas is hidden in this room, how am I to hear him if he cries at night? The walls are thick, and the space of a corridor divides us. It is unthinkable to closet him away out of earshot – and yet to bring him within, I must confide in Rachel and Rebekah at the least.
This may be possible. They are young and biddable, and too scared almost to speak. Then my mind runs on all the complicated business of warming his feeds, the tell-tale diapers, washing and drying his clothes, keeping him silent: all possible, but requiring extreme caution, to succeed for any length of time. My first strategy must be to interest the Prophet in myself; to ease my way into his affections. He cannot be away for long, surely – natural curiosity, and whatever plans he has for us, must draw him back.
*
He is here. Suddenly there is a presence, a purpose, a centre to the house. Even though he has spent the day hidden away in his study, we are all quite conscious of him. Saint Joanna is most anxious and unsettled; at our hymn singing this morning she four times stopped us before we were properly started on the tune, and found fault with every sound we made. We are at work sewing dresses for ourselves, to the customary hideous Israelite pattern; all save dirty Martha, who is found work outside, clearing out the stable which will house the cow presented us by Farmer Benson.
As we sewed this afternoon I felt quite certain he would come in and address us; therefore I did not make my expedition to Anne’s, but only slipped upstairs for two minutes to beautify my eyes with the addition of a drop of belladonna. The consequence of this was that I have had great difficulty in seeing my stitching or threading my needle this afternoon, and have given myself a headache from the effort. He has still spoken to none save Saint Joanna. Now he is here, my impatience for things to start – for this new life to properly begin – makes it almost impossible for me to sit calm and still. Early this evening he met with the Elders in the great hall, but again only Saint Joanna was requested to take them refreshments. I passed along the gallery twice, lingeringly, in the course of my duties sweeping the bedrooms; but not one of them looked up.
At supper, to my joy, Saint Joanna requested a reader. He will have one of us to read his Bible to him, every evening. I was quick to offer, and, after taking the time to tease a few curls down out of my cap, and to bite some redness into my lips, knocked on his door and entered.
The room is very bare, in strange contrast to the luxury of dining and drawing rooms. Aside from the small fire, it is lit by a single candle at either end of the long table. He sat at one end, an open Bible lay at the other. He nodded to me and indicated that I should sit before the Bible; naming chapter and verse, he then buried his head in his hands, so that I could see no more of him than the round black top of his hat. I began to read, contriving to glance at him from time to time, but he made no movement or response. I must have been reading for thirty minutes or more, and wondering whether he was asleep, when he suddenly said, Thank you, sister.’ I stopped, but he did not look up. I sat quietly waiting to see what he would do next. His room is draughty, and the fire scarcely warms the far end, where I sat; I was shivering, in part from the cold, partly from nervousness. At last he raised his head.
‘Are you still there, Sister Leah? I thank you. You may go. God bless you.’ I was outside the door before I could think of any more reply than, ‘Thank you sir.’
My dissatisfaction at this incident was heightened by the round-eyed timid questioning of Rachel and Rebekah, when I regained my room.
‘Did the Prophet speak to you?’
‘What must we do?’
‘Shall we be asked to read? Only, we are very poor at it. I am sure we should be too frightened, and stumble. Did you stumble?’
He took no more notice of me than a chair.
He was absent all the following morning: it is not easy to discover where he goes. The churlish Samuel Walker accompanies him much of the time; the most sullen, ugly fellow you could hope to meet. It is he, so they say, who writes down the word of God, when it is spoken to the Prophet in the early morning. To be handy for this purpose he sleeps in the Prophet’s dressing room. By day, if the Prophet is in, Samuel sits in the great hall by the outer door, keeping an eye on all who enter or leave, and stubbornly reading his Bible. He affects not to hear when one speaks to him, and appears to hold all women in the greatest contempt and loathing. Rachel and Rebekah are more terrified of him than of the Prophet himself, and will not cross the great hall when he is there alone.
In the afternoon, the Prophet was closeted in his room again, this time with Samuel; writing letters, Saint Joanna said. My offer to do the evening reading was refused by Saint Joanna, who said we must take all duties in turns, and selected Hannah. He does not eat with us: he does not even join in household prayers. As I helped her clear the dishes I asked Saint Joanna whether she did not think this odd.
‘Nothing is odd, Sister Leah, though there may be much we do not understand. The Prophet has a great mission: he works to God’s word. The niceties of common, everyday behaviour are not to be expected, nor must we women fall into the sin of thinking ourselves important, in this household. To be sure, it is important that we do our work, that we pray and meditate upon God’s holy word, and that we use every opportunity the day offers to do Him service: but remember we are in His hands. We are outside the normal daily running of things now, we have entered His sacred household. Be prepared, Sister Leah, be ready to answer His call at any time, and do not confuse yourself with mundane expectations.’
When Hannah was returned from his room, Saint Joanna insisted upon reading to all six of us, and made us gather our chairs around the fire in the kitchen. I grant her voice is pleasant, but she reads so slowly; the solemn endless dripping of words is more gloomy than steady rainfall. Martha was instantly asleep; the others appearing to listen. Once Saint Joanna stopped and laid her hand upon my leg. ‘Sister Leah, peace. Open your heart to His words and let His peace flow in.’ I could not think what she was about until she paused again a little later, and again glanced at my leg, which was jerking back and forth with a quick short motion. It did not make a sound, my foot was not tapping against anything. I cannot tell why she should fuss over it. If I must hold stone still I shall burst. I have not been to see Thomas these two days, for fear of missing an opportunity with the Prophet.
‘Let His peace flow in.’ Peace. Peace. Pieces. Fragments, shards surround us. If she sees peace it is due to the deficiency of her own perceptions. She is blind and deaf to all, if she knows peace.
When we were at last dismissed to bed, I knew I should not sleep, and determined to slip out, once all was quiet, to visit Thomas. Anne and George will be asleep, but I can persuade her out of crossness, if I take a portion of that big cheese in the pantry – and since I had the putting away of it tonight, I am sure no one else knows how little of it is eaten. Rachel and Rebekah undress and prepare so solemnly for the night, I long to tease them. As they were undressing tonight, I said, ‘Have you no young men to pine for?’
They shook their heads, watching me with big r
ound eyes.
‘None? No secret admirers? What do you think to Samuel Wrigley, who sits in the pew behind ours?’ Their sheep eyes stare. ‘Do you not think his leg is fine? And his dark blue eyes?’
Sometimes they giggle, but it seems they must look at one another and silently agree to do it. There is always a little pause, their laughter is always a little distant. As if the notion of laughter were unfamiliar to them.
*
Tonight is my turn to read to the Prophet again. While I read he sits with his head in his hands, staring down. What does he think? Not about me. He does not look at me; I cannot be sure he even listens. I make my voice softer; pause longer at the ends of verses, making a space to draw him in. Nothing.
I determine I will ask him some question which might force him, at the very least, to look at me, at the end: and so when he dismisses me I counter, ‘Excuse me, Mr Wroe.’
‘What is it?’
‘Would you like me to bring you a drink of tea when we have our supper?’
He shakes his head without looking up.
‘You must get very tired and thirsty, sir, working here so late at night.’
‘To work for God is a source of perpetual refreshment, Sister Leah. Where do you go in the afternoons?’
He looks at me then. I try to smile, but my stomach is fluttering.
‘To visit my family.’
‘Not at your father’s house, you do not.’
How does he know? Who has he talked to? He is staring at me so intently I am blushing now, and would given anything for that easy escape I refused at the end of my reading.
‘Where do you go, Sister Leah? To visit your lover?’
‘No – no. I do not have a lover.’
There is a silence while he still looks at me. I cannot tell what is in his mind. His face is almost expressionless, certainly not severe. ‘Well then? Who?’
‘My sister. I am very close to my sister Anne. I miss her a good deal.’
‘You have six new sisters here. It is not desirable that you should absent yourself every afternoon.’
‘Not every afternoon. Only now and then.’
‘Today. Last night. The afternoon before. The Lord knows where you go, Sister Leah, and what you do. He sees it all. I ask you to tell me the truth, for your own sake. Do not anger God with lies.’
Has he been watching me? No one knows. Even Saint Joanna does not know how often I have been out. Who could have seen me at night?
‘Sister Leah. Consider Christ’s gentle forgiving love and mercy. He knows what is in your heart. Do not struggle fruitlessly against Him; own your sin and ask forgiveness for your transgression. If you truly repent, you have nothing to fear.’
He knows. He must already know. He waits, then starts again.
‘Did you think you could hide your movements from the living God who sees all things? My poor child, every thought in your head is known.’ He smiles. A curious smile. As if – almost as if – he wished we could keep a secret from God. He is looking at me now. Differently.
‘Sin may be the source of rejoicing, Sister Leah, if it causes true repentance, and brings the sinner back to Christ’s enfolding love. How much greater the victory over Satan, when a sinner turns to Christ. A pious man gives up nothing: it is easy for him to love God. But a sinner must struggle with his soul. That is the hard-won love Christ values.’
He watches me and he smiles. He wants me to tell. But he also wants … I think he also wants … Me to be a sinner? What does he know? He is getting up, he approaches me. He puts his hand on my shoulder. I can feel the heat of it, through the stuff of my dress.
‘Child. Kneel down and pray with me. Pray that He may open your heart and help you to repentence. Ask Him for His forgiveness. He will not refuse.’
I kneel down. My skirt will be dirtied – no matter. He kneels opposite me. I close my eyes. My thoughts are swirling like leaves in the wind: what must I do? He is not angry. I think he already knows. I think he wants to know I have sinned. There is such a warmth – his hand, the air around him –
I must decide. God help us, Thomas, if I read him wrong. I begin to cry.
‘I am sorry … I beg forgiveness for my sin …’ I let the tear trickle down my cheek.
That is right, Sister Leah. Now tell me, who is it? Who do you go to see?’
‘Thomas. I go to see Thomas.’
‘Thomas who?’
‘My son. He is housed at my sister’s.’
‘Your child.’ He stands. I half-open my eyes, keeping the tears flowing; he has turned away from me.
‘A four-months baby. I was … A heartless soldier took advantage of my innocence – I was afraid.’ He sits in his chair, leaning forward, watching me. Cry harder. ‘I was afraid. My father would have killed me. My sister has kept the baby hidden for me. I prayed – I prayed but I could not find out what to do –’ I break off in sobs.
‘A bastard child,’ he says softly to himself. I throw myself forward into my skirts, so my face is against the floor, and sob heartily. After a while he comes, as I know he must do, to raise me up and help me. He does not offer me a handkerchief. I make swift use of my skirt, which is already dirtied beyond repair.
‘Calm yourself, Sister Leah.’ He holds my elbow but he is distanced from me. Did he think I would say something else? I am cold now. For the first time, I am afraid. I am afraid he has tricked me.
‘Take this seat. Now …’ He moves to the window and stares out. He no longer notices my presence. Help me. ‘To find the happiest solution. I think it must be, to bring the child into this household.’ He could be speaking to himself. ‘I cannot have you traipsing about at all hours of the day and night to visit him. Nor can it be supposed that your sister is able to keep him indefinitely.’
‘She is with child herself.’
He ignores me. ‘To bring a fatherless child into the household of God would be an act of charity. To offer a Christian upbringing to the issue of a sinful union. An example may be made of it, at a ceremony of circumcision.’ He pauses. ‘But it must be presented to all, as an orphan. The church can afford no scandal.’ Now he turns to me. ‘You would be willing to pretend it was not yours?’ Then he laughs quickly. ‘Of course. It is in your own best interests. Your parents know nothing of it?’
I am shivering. My tears are dried up, but I cannot speak now, in truth. I nod.
‘Very well. When you visit your sister tomorrow you may arrange for it to be left … not here. At Sanctuary. After dark. I shall send Sister Joanna on an errand after supper.’ He continues to stare out of the window, drumming his fingers upon the frame. When at length he turns back he is impatient. ‘You may go, Sister Leah. Go to your room. Pray for forgiveness; He is ever-merciful to sinners.’
When I stand the room moves a little. I have to catch at the edge of the table. He does not come to help me. ‘Can I … Please can I go to find him, at Sanctuary?’
He is eager for me to leave now, he speaks quickly and carelessly. ‘If you wish. Why not? It may be better; the child being your discovery will provide an excuse for the partiality you may show at times. Goodnight, Sister Leah.’
I find my way to the door. He wanted me. I am sure. But now …
Curious that the joy I should have expected to feel, at the knowledge that Thomas is to live under this roof with me, is so dulled. I have longed for it, lain awake and plotted for it – and now indeed gained it without the sacrifice of my person I thought it would be necessary to make. I should be happy.
I could not sleep that night, although there were no thoughts that kept me awake. No plots, no plans, no fears that I can name. Rather, a dullness. A kind of darkness inside myself. I am glad Thomas may come – but I would rather not be here. Anne agreed to leave him on the steps at Sanctuary main door, at eight o’clock. We amused ourselves composing a letter to attach to his clothes, and searching the Bible for a suitable motto: ‘IN GOD’S LOVE AND PITY TAKE ME IN, THAT HE MAY CHERISH ME IN HIS HOUSEHOLD. FOR MY
EARTHLY FATHER IS A SINNER, WHO HAS WRONGED MY POOR MOTHER. MY NAME IS THOMAS. “WHOSO SHALL RECEIVE ONE SUCH LITTLE CHILD IN MY NAME RECEIVETH ME,” SAITH THE LORD. Matthew 5’
From a quarter to seven o’clock I worried, but then Saint Joanna came to me with a note, and told me the Prophet desired that I should deliver it to Elder Tobias, whom I should find in Sanctuary this evening. ‘Are you content to go alone at this time of night, Sister Leah? Let me ask Sister Hannah to accompany you. I do not know why he could not send Samuel on such an errand.’
I was hard put to get her to allow me to go out alone. Mercifully, it was a clear, calm night, with the moon already up. His note to Elder Tobias I discovered to be entirely blank, when I opened it. Arriving before Anne, I hid in the opposite doorway until she had brought my darling and deposited him. She hesitated there, but I waited for her to round the corner before I came out.
Church Street was deserted, and strangely bright and peaceful in the moonlight; but they must have just finished at the mill in Henry Square, for I could hear their massed footsteps, and some calls and cries between them. It is the Irish who work down there, they live along Cavendish Street and Charles Street – I determined to wait until they were all indoors. Thomas slept, and I sat on Sanctuary steps holding him against my breast. Reunited with him at last, able to hold and keep him, I thought of not returning to Southgate. But why should I be afraid? How could I be better off, alone, on the streets, with a child in my arms, than in the protected household of the Israelites, with a secure and wealthy roof over my son’s head?