The Book of Essie

by Meghan MacLean Weir

  “I need to let her go,” I told my father, and he knew that I meant Justice. “It hurts so much, even after all these years, and lying about what happened only makes it worse.”

  He didn’t speak, but I could hear his breathing. I could tell that he was listening.

  Finally, when I couldn’t bear the silence any longer, I whispered, “Don’t you miss her?”

  This time the breathing stopped and its absence seemed louder than what had gone before it.

  “I miss you both,” I heard him say.

  Then the line went dead.

  * * *

  —————

  The sun is coming through the stained glass in earnest. There is one section near the top of the window where colors shoot out in all directions in a starburst that looks like I always imagined the beginning of time and the universe would have looked if anyone had been there to see. It is beautiful in the way that such things often are. Once I stare at it long enough, it’s less an image and more a feeling. The colors blur and the afterimage leaves a warm glow on the insides of my lids.

  Margot fiddles with my phone while the last of the guests find their seats. The organ swells into a grand finale and then dies away, the prelude finished. There’s a cough from somewhere to my right and another near the front. The final adjustments are made to the cameras near the altar and then they start broadcasting. Somewhere, I know, before a bank of monitors an executive producer is furiously barking orders into a headset. I relax into my seat, glad to be a spectator for this part at least.

  The groomsmen file out to take their places on the stairs. Roarke looks on edge, his shoulders stiff, his chin tilted up unnaturally. Anyone who doesn’t know him would just assume that he’s nervous, but it’s not that. It’s Caleb. The air between them is electric, full of static, though that could be my imagination. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that Roarke is on the verge of decking his soon-to-be brother-in-law across the jaw. His fists clench and unclench and there’s a moment when I think he might actually go through with it, might send Caleb crashing to the floor, but then as one the congregation stands and the moment is forgotten.

  Roarke watches Essie walk down the aisle with such a pure sort of yearning that I almost believe they are in love. His eyes do not waver. Even when he steps forward to meet his bride and her father and Caleb claps Roarke on the back with brotherly affection, Roarke keeps his gaze fixed only on her.

  Essie looks truly lovely. When we had spoken in the basement, she was still in just her slip and a dressing gown. The bridesmaids fluttered around her, working at the clasp of a bracelet, adjusting the string of pearls that had been a gift from her sister-in-law Naomi so that they nestled upon her collarbone just so. Lucie said something about how people were going to cry when they finally saw Essie in her dress and I had smiled indulgently, but now I see that this is true. In every row, purses are being opened to retrieve Kleenex and real cloth handkerchiefs and even the men are wiping their eyes.

  I watch Roarke watching Essie and am reminded of a poem I learned in school that read in part:

  I would like to give you the silver

  branch, the small white flower, the one

  word that will protect you

  I realize that whatever it is that is between them, even if it’s not love, it is just as real.

  * * *

  —————

  The first part of the ceremony goes quickly. Roarke takes Essie’s hand and they turn to face the altar. There’s a stretch of kneeling followed by some standing solemnly with bowed heads. A choir sings. Pastor Hicks talks about the risen Lord. There are a lot of alleluias. Some Easter hymns. “All the Sacrifice Is Ended,” followed by “Christ the Lord Is Risen Today.” Then there is “Lift Every Voice and Sing,” which was included at Essie’s insistence over Celia Hicks’s objections, and I watch with amusement as Celia’s head wags involuntarily, but the congregation doesn’t seem to notice the bit about the blood of the slaughtered.

  They sing joyfully and I have to admit that the sheer number of voices is uplifting. I feel my chest expand as the notes climb higher and I remember what it felt like to be part of something that seemed holy, that seemed like it was all that mattered, that seemed true, but then I notice Margot’s amused expression at the irony of this hymn in particular, and I break off singing and soon it is time to sit down.

  Pastor Hicks gives a sermon before they proceed with the marriage vows. The wedding party have been given chairs to sit in a little off to one side, so that their faces are turned upward toward the pulpit and visible on camera. In many of the broadcasts I’ve seen, Pastor Hicks preaches from just in front of the altar for at least a portion of his sermon or even steps down toward the congregation. He moves among them and the cameras follow. But now, perhaps because the lighting has been so meticulously planned, he takes up residence in his perch and stays there.

  He looks solemn and then he calls out, “Christ is risen, alleluia!” and more than a thousand pairs of hands come together in clapping or are raised up in the air.

  Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth

  And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings.

  Without looking down at the pages before him, Pastor Hicks recites the rest of John Magee’s poem right through to the part about touching the face of God. His eyes stay fixed on his congregants as if he is channeling the voice of the Almighty Himself and speaking His thoughts directly to them.

  “That’s a beautiful image,” he says, “that you or I might touch the face of God, that we might look upon it and know its love and grace. But we don’t have to look upon God to see love. We don’t have to look upon His countenance to see grace. Oh no. We have only to look at these two young people, to look at Essie and Roarke, and see that He is moving through them. Their love for each other is His love. Their commitment to each other is the same commitment that He shows to each one of us, His chosen people, His beloved children.

  “And yes, you may well remind me, one of these young people is not only His child, she is my child as well. I have the bite marks to prove it.”

  There is warm laughter. Essie lowers her chin and blushes. Roarke reaches out to squeeze her hand. In living rooms across the country, fathers pull their daughters closer, or so I can only assume. That was the intended effect, no doubt. Margot’s thumbs fly over the screen of my phone as she posts to Twitter. She winks at me wickedly. She is enjoying this.

  Pastor Hicks sighs indulgently and then hushes the crowd.

  “So what, you might ask, should a father say when he sends his child out into the world? What did our Heavenly Father say to His Son? What guidance did He offer as Jesus entered the sometimes dark and difficult world that we live in? Did He tell him to look both ways before crossing the street, as I know all of you have when raising your own sons and daughters? Perhaps He told him not to stay out past eleven. That’s also good advice. Or maybe, just maybe, He said, ‘Be brave.’ Just that. Such a simple directive and yet so hard to manage. ‘Be brave,’ our Father might have said, and we would have done well to listen.”

  He stops and looks at Essie tenderly. She meets his gaze and it’s Pastor Hicks who turns away, who drops his head to shuffle his papers before moving on to talk about the resurrection and the light.

  When he’s finished, Roarke and Essie face each other before the altar and promise to honor each other in word and deed. They promise to make a life together that is filled with faith and love and grace. When Roarke slips the ring onto Essie’s finger, even Margot tears up. He keeps hold of her hand while Pastor Hicks blesses their union and proclaims them man and wife. Then Roarke leans forward and kisses Essie and a collective sigh is heaved by the entire congregation. Cheers break out toward the back of the church and soon everyone is clapping and throwing confetti into the air. Roarke and Essie laugh as they head down the aisle, the tiny paper heart
s fluttering over and around them and landing in their hair. Margot has to pull me away and toward the exit so that we can get outside in time to meet them.

  * * *

  —————

  On the landing out in front we have cordoned off a small space for the final interview. Just below this, the rest of the press have set up behind a metal barrier. They are milling about aimlessly when we burst out of the side doors—some are even sitting on the pavement—but they jump to attention at this sign that the moment is approaching. A bank of cameras begins shooting when Essie and Roarke emerge. They stop to breathe and shake the confetti out of Essie’s dress and then make their way past the velvet ropes that have been hung around our space. Both Essie and Roarke embrace Margot and me and we all stand in a circle holding hands until the rest of the wedding party and the guests begin to pour out of the church. We nod at one another and move to our places.

  “Thank you for tuning in,” I say into my microphone. “I’m Liberty Bell and I’m reporting live outside the New Light Church, where I’m joined by the newly married Esther and Roarke for their first interview as husband and wife. It was a beautiful wedding, as I’m sure many of our viewers know firsthand, having attended the ceremony remotely, so to speak, through the earlier part of this broadcast. I have to admit that it was emotional for me to watch, but it must have been all the more so for you two, who were living it. Roarke, we’ll let you start. How did it feel to finally marry the woman you’re standing next to?”

  Roarke grins boyishly and I am reminded of how young they are, but he sounds composed when he begins speaking. “You’re right, Libby, it was very emotional. I had trouble holding it together up there during some bits.”

  “Well, you couldn’t tell from where I was sitting, though I will say that I was way in back and this is an enormous space, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” Essie offers, “but the one thing I was always amazed at growing up is that even though the church is so big, it never makes you feel small, not while you’re inside it. And I was grateful for the space today. We both were. Grateful that it allowed so many of the people we love to be here with us. What better way to start our life together than with this resounding demonstration of love from our families and our community?”

  I tilt the microphone back toward myself and say, “There’s one last thing to do, though, am I right?”

  Roarke nods. “There is. But I think we’re ready to take care of that right now. I see my father-in-law coming over with the marriage certificate. We’ll sign it and then it’ll be official. We’ll be married.”

  Pastor Hicks places a piece of paper on a small table behind Roarke and Essie and they bend to sign it. They keep their bodies turned away so Margot can capture the moment and then Essie hands the marriage certificate to me.

  “I think I’ll give this to you, Libby, for safekeeping. We’ve all got a party to get to. You’re invited, of course, but maybe you would be good enough to drop it in the mail on your way?”

  I laugh as if this is unexpected and take the paper and its envelope. Pastor Hicks has moved away and is standing next to Celia. They’re in the shot behind Roarke and Essie along with the rest of the wedding party. People continue to file out of the church, but the steps are crowded now. The guests are taking in the spectacle or else waiting for Essie to throw the bouquet.

  I’m about to say something to wrap up the segment when I see Essie look back to Roarke. A barely perceptible nod passes between them. She turns to face me and I feel my stomach drop. I know what’s coming.

  My mouth is dry, but I manage to croak, “Is there anything else that either of you would like to share?”

  Essie looks pointedly at the microphone and I force myself to bend it toward her.

  “There is, actually, and it’s something that I’ve been thinking long and hard about because it’s not easy to say. I want to tell you all, everyone watching, how lucky—just how incredibly and breathtakingly lucky—I feel to be here with Roarke today. There’s been a lot of lead-up to this moment. There’s been a lot of talk about flowers and dresses and my hair. And I understand the fun in that. It’s every girl’s dream to be a princess for a day. I got to have that. And it was magical.

  “But to be honest, what was most special to me about this day is that I thought it would never come. I appreciate how odd that sounds, coming from someone my age, someone a lot of people out there think is too young to be married, too young to make such a big decision, a forever decision. But to me, this decision was the easiest one I’ve ever had to make. And the fact that Roarke was so generous as to open up his heart and make this day happen for me, happen for us both, well, for that I owe him more than I can say.”

  Roarke’s lips turn up slightly as he accepts this compliment, or perhaps it’s a look of determination, of encouragement.

  “It was hard,” Essie continues, “to believe that I deserved a day like this. I used to think no one would ever love me. I used to think I was unlovable. I used to think that everything that happened to me was my fault, that I deserved it. ‘Be brave,’ my father said during the ceremony. It’s hard to be brave, but I know I have to try. That’s why I want to say to every young girl who is out there listening, no one asks to be raped. I didn’t. I didn’t ask for it when I was twelve and I didn’t ask for it two months ago when, after years of abuse, my rapist got me pregnant. I didn’t deserve to be hurt that way, to be violated. That’s why I’ve written a book about everything that happened to me. Because if I’m going to try to be brave, it means I can’t be silent anymore.”

  There’s a scream and then I’m knocked to the ground as Margot and her camera tumble down on top of me. The crowd surges and Essie and Roarke are pulled away. I fumble for my phone, then realize that Margot still has it. My hand is shaking when she hands it back so I can dial Mike.

  “Did you see?” I gasp, cupping the phone close to my mouth, the pounding of blood in my ears louder even than the crowd. “I can’t believe she did that. Did you hear what she said? Upload the manuscript.”

  Mike’s voice comes to me as if through a long tunnel.

  “I already did.”

  Esther

  The first thing that happens when I finish talking is that there is a scream and then Mother hits the ground. She has fainted, possibly, or else she is faking. Trying to divert attention. It doesn’t work. Reporters actually step over her fallen body to get closer, the metal barricade forgotten, knocked over on its side. I am vaguely aware of the annoyed look on Mother’s face as Lucie helps her up. When I look back, Margot and Libby are on the ground. Caleb is close behind them. I did not see him push Margot and her camera over, but even so, I know it happened. I am jostled backward and Roarke holds tight to my hand, but the press of the bodies is too much and we are dragged apart. I feel his fingers twist around my own, trying to find purchase, and then he is gone.

  The flashing lights from the horde of cameras make it impossible to see clearly, but I am aware of the closeness of the crowd. It has spilled down the steps and over much of the church lawn. The daffodils are getting trampled. Those farther back could not have heard what I was saying, but they already seem to know. Word has traveled back in a game of telephone. Like a wave traveling across the surface of still water, their smiles are replaced by something else. Even those onlookers at the periphery who had been making for their cars in an attempt to beat the traffic turn back at the commotion. Naomi emerges from one of the church’s side exits. She is holding Nate and has Millicent by the hand. We lock gazes and I see her take in the noise, the confusion, the hot flashes of anger, then she turns and runs.

  The reporters are shouting questions, but I cannot hear anything distinctly. Someone grabs my arm and I almost fall, but I am held upright by the bodies pressing in around me. I am thrust back again and this time it is hard to breathe. My dress is getting stepped on and the weight of other people’s
feet tugging at the fabric threatens to pull me down. Then there is an arm around me and Blake throws his jacket over both our heads, shielding us from the lenses of the cameras. Together we break free and move forward and miraculously the sea of bodies parts to allow us through. Blake opens the door of a limousine and follows me inside. The door slams shut and muffles the shouting.

  He is panting.

  “I’ve got to hand it to you, Esther Anne, you sure know how to put on a show.” His face softens and then he says, “I’m sorry.”

  I swallow hard, unable to answer. For a moment I am worried that I might throw up. Instinctively I reach out to roll down the window, but then I remember what is going on outside and stop. I see now that Roarke is pressed up against the pane of glass and I worry that he is trapped and won’t be able to open the door. I realize how stupid I have been, that people can die in crowds like this. It happens at stadiums and movie theaters. People are trampled when someone yells Fire and that’s exactly what I’ve just done. I told myself a spectacle was what was necessary, that they would have been able to cover things up if I didn’t reveal the truth in such a public way. But that’s not the only reason I did it. I did it because I am selfish. I did it because I wanted to see the looks on their faces the moment that I took everything away.

  I swallow the rising contents of my stomach and again lean toward the window, thinking that maybe if I open it, we will be able to pull Roarke through before anyone else can poke their head inside. Then someone—an arm only; I cannot see the face—pushes a reporter back and gives Roarke just enough time to pull the door partway open. He slams it shut once he is in. His hair is standing straight up and his shirt has come untucked.

  “I almost didn’t get out of there alive,” he says. “The rest of them are hiding inside. I’m not sure what they’re trying to accomplish. These people aren’t going anywhere. They might be trapped in there for hours. Thanks for getting her out safe, man.”