by Fleur Beale
The thought of her wading out beyond the breakers was enough to make me start running again. She wouldn’t have got there yet — it’d take her at least half an hour to reach the water.
I kept looking around me as I ran, but even so it was only by chance that I caught a glimpse of her white blouse. She was off the road, huddled in a tangle of scrub at the foot of a tree.
I pushed through the bushes. ‘Kezia? Come back with me. Please. You’ll be in such trouble.’
She gave a wild laugh. ‘Trouble! What do you know about trouble, Rebecca Pilgrim? Get away. Leave me alone.’
She had something in her hand, either a knife or a razor blade.
Lord, help me. Help her.
I knelt down beside her. ‘I’m going to pray for you. Listen to my words, Kezia. Listen for your life.’ I stared into her eyes, wanting to force her to listen.
She turned her face away. ‘Leave me alone. Push off. Go and tell the Elders. Tell them I’m a rotten sinner. See if I care.’
I reached out with both hands, grabbed hold of her head and turned it so she had to shut her eyes if she didn’t want to look at me. I kept my eyes on hers and said, ‘Lord, I pray your daughter Kezia will have faith that there are people who will help her. I pray she will have the courage to speak to a worldly woman, to ask her for help. I pray she will have the courage to ask a stranger to call this worldly woman on the telephone. I pray she will have the courage to tell the woman Rebecca from the market told her to ask for help.’ I stopped. It wasn’t working. I hadn’t reached her.
She jerked her head out of my hands. ‘Leave me alone.’
‘I haven’t finished. Listen to my words, Kezia. For the love of your daughter, listen to me.’
She put a hand over her face but I felt a flare of hope. That was surely better than the determined blankness of a moment ago. I repeated, ‘Listen to me. Listen to my prayer. Lord, I pray you will forgive me for speaking of those who have been cast out, for telling Kezia that such people can still lead good and godly lives. I pray for forgiveness for telling her we saw Esther at the market. I pray for forgiveness for telling her Esther said Daniel and Miriam are well and happy in their worldly lives. I pray for forgiveness for telling her they still love us and they pray for us every day.’
She didn’t move, didn’t speak, and I was too frightened to do anything other than stay crouched at her side. Had I gone too far by telling her it was possible to be godly and happy in the world?
Lord, help us both.
When she did speak, she kept her hand over her face. ‘You’re sure she’ll help me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay.’
‘I have to go home to get her phone number. I had to hide it.’
At last she lifted her head. ‘You’ll be in trouble if they find out you helped me.’
‘I know. Will you wait here? Promise you’ll wait.’
She sighed and leaned against the tree. ‘All right.’
I held out my hand. ‘Give it to me.’
She kept her fingers closed and said, ‘You can trust me.’
‘Kezia, you’re desperate. Don’t take the chance of holding on to temptation. Please.’
She muttered a swear word and slapped the knife into my hand. It was small and lethally sharp. I made her look at me. ‘Wait for me. I’ll be about twenty minutes. Stay here.’
She hunched a shoulder and turned away.
Lord, please keep her safe.
I ran, asking forgiveness for breaking the Rule yet again. My long skirt bashed against my legs. I hauled it high to my knees. That was against the Rule too. What should I have done? What would Father say? Tell the Elders. And they would force Kezia to go back to Ira; they would shame her in front of the whole community. They would kill her.
Evil thoughts. I shook them away.
I tore up the path to our house, let myself in with the hidden key, shed my dirty clothes, snatched up clean ones. What if the paper bag with Mrs Lipscombe’s address and phone number was gone? All was well — it was still there, tucked under the lining paper in my apron drawer. I cut out the small square of writing. I’d throw the rest of the bag and the knife into a bin on my way back.
Rachel, we’re coming. Don’t tell anyone. Not yet.
Please Lord, help Kezia. Keep her safe.
She was still there. I grabbed her hand. ‘Come on. We need to hurry.’
Her steps dragged. ‘They’ll know by now. It’s all too late.’
I gave her a sharp tug. ‘Come on. If we get back before lunch, Rachel will make some excuse. Hurry.’
I put the small square of paper in her apron pocket. ‘She’s a good woman. Trust her.’
Maybe it gave her hope. Her steps became firmer, quicker.
Twenty
The Rule
Illness is a sign of sin. Do not seek to alleviate pain. It is in suffering pain that the soul will be cleansed of sin.
AS WE APPROACHED the nursery, I gave Kezia a small shove. ‘You go in first. If anyone asks where you’ve been, tell them you needed some fresh air.’
For once, she didn’t argue. She was even walking with her shoulders straight.
Please Lord, help her.
I waited for about five minutes before I followed her inside.
‘You took your time,’ Sister Grace snapped at me.
‘I apologise, Sister Grace. Shall I take your baby? She might settle if I walk with her.’ I held out my arms, looking at the crying baby and not at grumpy Sister Grace.
She just about pushed her daughter into my arms.
I heard Damaris say to Kezia, ‘Is all well with you, Sister Kezia?’
‘Thank you for your concern,’ Kezia said. ‘I have been finding life difficult, but I am also finding comfort in prayer.’
‘Praise the Lord,’ Damaris said. ‘I will pray for you.’
I hoped Kezia’s comfort came from the wicked prayer I’d spoken. Please Lord, keep her safe. Keep Mara safe.
I poked my head out the door to wave to Rachel. The strain eased from her face. ‘All is well?’
‘I think so. But keep her in your prayers.’
THAT EVENING, RACHEL SAID, ‘The paper bag has gone?’
‘Yes.’
She let out a breath. ‘It was the right thing to do. If they find out, I’ll share the blame.’
I hugged her. ‘No. Please don’t. Think of Saul. It wouldn’t be fair to him. Let’s both pray they won’t find out.’
‘She didn’t tell you why?’
I shook my head. ‘No. And I couldn’t ask her. It felt like she’d break if I said the wrong thing.’
My thoughts went round and round.
I’d broken the Rule most dreadfully. My duty was clear — I should have told Father so that he could report Kezia’s terrible intent to Elder Stephen. What madness had possessed me?
I didn’t sleep well that night, and when I did I dreamed of Elder Stephen’s sorrowful eyes following me. I dreamed of his voice crying that I was damned and dead.
Rachel and I were on edge in the morning, waiting for Father to tell us Kezia had gone — to ask us if we knew anything about it.
Instead, he made a solemn announcement. ‘My family, Sister Jerushah needs your prayers. Her health is causing Elder Stephen grave concern.’
THERE WAS NO NEWS of Kezia the next day either. ‘Maybe she’s decided to stay,’ Rachel whispered.
There was, though, news of Sister Jerushah. She had cancer. The hospital said there was nothing to be gained from treating her — the sickness had spread too far. Elder Stephen had brought her home.
That night, Father told us we betrothed girls would sit with her after school finished each afternoon. Talitha would care for her in the mornings. A nurse was to visit every day.
Abigail was absent from the Circle of Fellowship on Wednesday. It was her turn to sit with Sister Jerushah. No one mentioned Kezia.
On Thursday morning Father said, ‘Rebecca, you are to sit with Sister Jerusha
h this afternoon. Go straight there when you get off the school bus.’
‘Yes, Father.’
‘Rachel, it is your duty tomorrow.’
‘Yes, Father.’
At school, Sister Anna, our replacement supervisor, began lessons with a prayer for Sister Jerushah. Her eyes were red, and all day she struggled with tears.
That afternoon Talitha met me at the door of Elder Stephen’s house. ‘Come this way. Sister Jerushah is sleeping at the moment.’
It was the first time I’d been inside Elder Stephen’s house. It was a sombre place. The walls of the hallway were painted dark brown. The kitchen was grey. The surfaces of the benches gleamed pale in patches from years of being scrubbed clean. I’d never been in a house as dreary as this one was.
Talitha pulled out a chair for me. It was rickety, with the back coming away from the seat. She set our lunch on the table — bread, butter and sliced meat. There was no pickle to liven the taste.
She watched me as I looked around, taking in the old stove, the ancient fridge, the skimpy curtains. I leaned towards her to whisper, ‘Sister Jerushah deserved better than this.’
It was a miracle to me that she’d been able to bring up her eight children in this drab house, but more than that, she’d done it with grace and loving kindness. She was a godly woman. It was an honour to help care for her.
‘Tell me what I need to do,’ I said. ‘I’m a bit nervous about all this, Talitha.’
She smiled. ‘There’s no need to be. All we’re really doing is keeping her company when she’s awake. We have to make sure the drip is working too. See this? It’s a pump — it gives her the pain medication. Press it when she gets restless.’ She showed me how to use it. ‘Don’t look so worried. It’s set up so we can’t give her more than she should have.’
I sat on the hard chair beside Sister Jerushah’s bed in a room as gloomy as the rest of the house. To occupy myself I worked on the tablecloth Rachel and I were embroidering to give to Mrs Lipscombe. Sister Jerushah mostly slept. When she woke, she was thirsty. I poured water into a glass and was shocked to discover she was too weak to hold it herself. I helped her, but she waved it away after a couple of sips. She lay with her eyes closed, but she was frowning and her lips were pressed together.
‘Sister Jerushah, are you in pain?’
‘It is nothing. It will pass.’
It would not pass. I pressed the pump, releasing a dose of the pain medication, and gradually her face relaxed.
Two of Sister Jerushah’s daughters called in during the afternoon. I left them alone to sit with their mother. After ten minutes they tip-toed out of her room. ‘She is sleeping again,’ Sister Tamar said.
The nurse came at four o’clock. ‘All well here?’ She checked the drip. ‘Did Talitha show you how to use the pump? Good. She’d make an excellent nurse, that one.’ The woman put her hand on Sister Jerushah’s forehead. ‘Sheer force of will kept her going. She must have been in dreadful pain. If she’d gone to the doctor sooner, she could have been helped. God knows how she managed to stay on her feet as long as she did.’
Elder Stephen’s voice made me jump. He was standing in the doorway, looking extremely displeased. ‘I do not permit any person to take the name of the Lord in vain in this house, woman.’
The nurse flicked him a glance, pressed her lips tight, picked up her bag and said to me, ‘I’ll be back tomorrow. Call me at any time though.’
Elder Stephen stepped into the room. ‘One moment, woman!’ His large presence made the room shrink. I expected the nurse to cower before him, for he was truly terrible in his rage.
She looked him in the eye. ‘Mr Righteous, you may call me Nurse Katherine. Or Mrs Salford.’ Her voice was level. I got the strong feeling she didn’t like him.
‘Mrs Salford, you will remove that abomination at once.’ He pointed at the drip bag.
She let the silence grow between them before she asked, ‘Why don’t you want your wife to have pain relief? Why do you want her to suffer?’
Lord, please let me vanish, fade away and disappear.
Elder Stephen said, ‘That is not your concern. Remove it.’
I felt sick with fear, but the nurse didn’t seem afraid of him. ‘No. I will not. If you remove it I’ll get a court order to hospitalise her. Is that clear?’
Nobody ever challenged our leader’s will. His face went red, then paled. ‘You are an evil woman to go against the will of the Lord. My wife’s suffering will cleanse her soul of sin. Yet you — you — an ignorant, worldly, sinful woman, seek to prevent her from achieving salvation.’
Stop! Please don’t fight. Sister Jerushah needs calm.
Nurse Katherine closed her eyes. Was she praying? ‘Mr Righteous, your wife has already endured months of severe pain. She does not need to suffer now. The law won’t allow it. You’ll have to choose. Does she stay here with the pain medication, or does she go to hospital?’
He didn’t answer, just turned and walked out, closing the door after him.
Nurse Katherine stood where she was, her eyes shut. I could see she was trying to calm herself. Finally, she said, ‘I just don’t understand how anybody could be so cruel. And all in the name of God.’ She came over to me and whispered, ‘You watch out for him — he’s a randy old goat. He’s worn her out with baby after baby. And just as bad, in my humble opinion — I gather from what she’s let slip that he’s a critical old sod. Never a loving word or a smile.’
She saw my shocked face and touched my cheek. ‘Sorry, Rebecca. It’s true, though. Don’t shut your eyes to it.’
‘Please,’ I whispered. ‘You must not speak of our leader like that.’
She sighed. ‘Just make sure that drip stays in place.’ She handed me a card. ‘Ring me if there’s a problem.’
I took it but said, ‘We do not have telephones.’
She pulled a face. ‘No. Of course not.’
There was so much I was tempted to ask her, but I couldn’t, especially not in this house, so said only, ‘Surely eight babies couldn’t have worn her out? Many women have bigger families than that.’
She just looked at me.
‘What? What have I said?’
‘Eight children? What about the ten he won’t let come near her? The ten he chucked out?’
She walked away, leaving me staring after her.
Twenty-one
The Rule
The Children of the Faith will obey their Leader, for the Lord speaks through him.
RACHEL’S MOUTH DROPPED OPEN. ‘You mean she’s borne him eighteen children? Ten of them have been cast out? Can it be true?’
‘I think so. Sister Jerushah wouldn’t lie.’ I told her what else the nurse had said.
‘Rebecca, that’s awful. She shouldn’t speak like that of any Elder, let alone Elder Stephen.’
I brushed that away. ‘She’s a worldly woman. She doesn’t understand. But what she said about him being critical, about him not being loving towards her … d’you think it’s true?’
Rachel shivered. ‘I pray not. Sister Jerushah is so kind and loving herself …’ She shook her head.
Neither of us mentioned that we’d never seen any loving affection between our own parents. They respected each other, though, and Father was never critical of Mother. Since she’d nearly died having Zillah, he also made sure she went to a doctor if ever she was unwell — something that had only happened twice in the nearly three years since our little sister’s birth.
It was Rachel’s turn to sit with Sister Jerushah the next day. School seemed less important than ever. It was difficult now to plod through our work, aware as we were of Sister Anna’s distress about Sister Jerushah, and our own sorrow. There was also the constant concern about Kezia. There was still no news of her.
Rachel said, ‘Perhaps knowing she can go is enough to give her the strength to stay.’
I didn’t know what to think. All I knew was that if Ira happened to find the paper with Mrs Lipscombe’s address
on it, I would be in trouble.
FRIDAY BEGAN with a prayer. ‘Elder Stephen wishes us to pray for the safety of our Sister Jerushah’s soul,’ said Sister Anna.
We bowed our heads. The safety of her soul. He must have left the pain relief in place. I couldn’t decide who was right — him for wanting his wife to prepare her soul for salvation, or Nurse Katherine for wanting to spare her body pain.
The prayer ended. Sister Anna said, ‘Before you begin your work, I have an unpleasant announcement to make. Kezia Strong has been expelled from the community. She is dead to us, and from now on nobody will speak her name. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, Sister Anna.’
But Shem called out, ‘What’s she done?’
Sister Anna sat down at her desk. ‘Did you not understand, Shem? We will not speak of her now, or ever again.’
He gave a snort of disgust.
My work that day was all over the place. I made a complete mess of the English assignment. The geography didn’t make sense. I wrote random equations on my maths paper. Where was Kezia? Was she safe? Or had she sharpened another knife? I couldn’t bear it. I raised my hand.
‘With respect, Sister Anna — who is caring for Mara?’
For heartbreaking moments, it looked as if she wasn’t going to reply, but in the end she said, ‘The mother has compounded her sin by taking that innocent child away from those who would raise her in the love of the Lord.’
Of course, at break it was all we talked about.
‘We knew something had happened,’ Drusilla said. ‘Elder Hosea visited Kezia’s parents this morning. It was early. Perhaps Mother might know more this evening.’
‘It sounds to me like she’s run away and taken Mara with her,’ said Abigail. ‘Poor cow — the Elders should have banished Ira.’
Rachel said, ‘But where would she go? She might have worldly relatives in Wanganui, but how would she get there?’
‘She looked strained on Sunday,’ Tirzah said. ‘Didn’t you think so, Rebecca?’