I am Rebecca Page 5

  ‘I think that too.’ She frowned and shook her head. ‘But I can’t work out the embrace thing. It’s got to be more than just a kiss or else worldly people would have a million kids each.’

  ‘I wish we’d asked Esther. She would have told us.’ She’d told us many forbidden things. Use your own brain. Make your own decisions. Talk to Magdalene when I’m gone, tell her I’m not dead. She’d told us about bleeding every month too. ‘You know that stuff about bleeding? That could have something to do with the marriage bed and babies.’

  ‘Eeew! Gross!’

  If only Mother would tell us, but the Rule forbade it.

  Again, as often happened with us, my sister picked up on my thought. ‘The Rule keeps us safe, though. D’you wonder about Miriam and Daniel, Rebecca? How can they live without it? How can they be safe without the love of the Lord?’

  I shivered. ‘I just pray that they are.’

  She sighed and we were quiet again. Our brother and sister were walking the pathway to eternal damnation — to the fires of hell.

  At last she whispered, ‘Is it wicked to pray for them?’

  She didn’t expect an answer. We knew it was wicked. It was against the Rule to speak about those who had been cast out. Praying for them was unforgiveable.

  Ten

  The Rule

  Women will dress modestly. They will cover their hair in public.

  SUMMER HEAT BORE DOWN on the city for all of January. Each Sunday seemed hotter than the one before. The temple rustled with restless children and it smelled of sweat.

  As Rachel and I were dressing for the first market day of the new year, I said to her, ‘Let’s choose an outfit today.’

  ‘Okay! I want the most outrageous one I see. Something that would make Elder Stephen drop dead from shock.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m going to choose that one.’

  We laughed — it would be fun to play the game again, looking at worldly clothes and choosing an outfit to pretend to wear to worship on Sundays. We hadn’t played it since we’d moved to Nelson.

  Mother sent us off with a blessing — her obedient daughters hiding mischief in their hearts.

  And there was more mischief when Saul came to collect us, because I pretended my shoe needed attention so Rachel could sit next to him in the truck. I knew I shouldn’t encourage her — it was a stupid thing to do. But these few hours might be the only ones she’d have with the man she’d given her heart to.

  We sold eggs to women dressed in tiny skirts and shoe-string tops, to bare-chested men in shorts and jandals — their appearance no longer shocked us. Children swirled around in bright clothing. It seemed that every small girl had got a fairy dress for Christmas.

  At lunchtime, Rachel whispered, ‘Have you chosen yet?’

  ‘Yep. I want one of those fairy dresses. A pink one with silver wings and lots of sparkles.’

  She gave a shout of laughter. Saul heard and turned to grin at her. She whispered, ‘Remember that girl in the shorts and bikini top? That’s what I’ve chosen.’

  Now it was my turn to laugh. ‘I love it! Can’t you just see Elder Stephen’s face?’ I hoped Saul wouldn’t ask what was amusing us.

  THE DAY OF THE BETROTHAL announcements drew closer. Rachel swung between dreaminess and worry. Each market day, I made sure she sat next to Saul in the truck. I hoped it was kind to let her. I thought much about kindness during that month. More than anything, I wished for kindness in my husband.

  The last Sunday of January arrived. Announcement day. Mother woke us early to help her prepare the roast chickens we’d been asked to take to the service. None of us talked much as we worked. Mother kept us busy, but every so often she would rest her hand on our shoulders or stroke a stray strand of hair back from our faces.

  At ten o’clock, Father drove us to the temple. Rachel and I took the sliced meat to the kitchen. The other girls followed us in. All of us were tense.

  ‘It’s strange without Kezia,’ Tirzah said.

  ‘Peaceful, though,’ Drusilla muttered.

  Yes. Kezia was bossy. She’d always taken charge and ordered us around, but because she was soon to be married she’d been assigned work in the nursery until her wedding day. That would be our duty, too, for the final year of our betrothals.

  Rachel put her hand on Talitha’s arm. ‘Are you all right? You’re very pale.’

  Talitha shook her head. ‘Just nervous. I’ve prayed to the Lord for my name not to be called out today. But what if it is?’

  ‘You truly don’t want to marry?’ Drusilla asked.

  ‘If I could marry when I’m twenty, I might feel differently,’ Talitha said. ‘But that’s not possible, so I’d rather not marry at all. Come on. We’d better get to work.’

  Our first task was to put the cakes and sandwiches for morning tea out on the long tables in the dining room. Drusilla, Tirzah and Talitha did that while Abigail, Rachel and I set out the cups and prepared the urns for the tea.

  We were ready by the time the singing out in the big hall stopped. Drusilla and Abigail pushed open the servery hatch between the kitchen and dining room. First to collect their tea were the women whose daughters weren’t yet old enough to carry a cup of hot tea to their fathers. Next, the older daughters came. Tirzah poured tea for her sister Dove to take to their parents. ‘I wish you well,’ Dove whispered to her.

  Finally, the young single men got their turn. Today, we took care not to look any of them in the face, but in my head a litany kept playing: Will it be you? Will you be my husband?

  At last everyone had finished their morning tea and left us alone with the dishes. We managed to get them washed and dried without breaking a single saucer — surely a miracle given our nervousness.

  ‘This is so stupid,’ I muttered. ‘We don’t have to do anything. Or say anything.’

  But I was the stupid one. The list Elder Stephen would read out was going to determine all our futures. After that, the only thing we could do was wait to find out which of the young men on the list wanted to marry us.

  Then we would have to wait to find out if our fathers agreed to the marriage.

  And then we’d have to wait for the Elders to give their approval. Finally, we’d have to wait until we turned fourteen to be formally betrothed. For all of us, except Talitha, that meant waiting until the July Meet. If one of the young men didn’t want to wait more than two years for a wife, he would choose Talitha — and leave one of us without a husband.

  I tried not to think about it. The list would happen, the choosing would happen, the betrothals would happen. Or not. There wasn’t a thing any of us could do about it, except wait.

  We put on clean aprons, checked each other’s appearances and, when we could delay no longer, joined the people to listen to Elder Stephen’s sermon.

  Only some of his words made it past my nervousness: ‘… a wife has a most solemn duty … obey her husband in all things … good example to her children …’

  It was just as well I hadn’t eaten since breakfast or I’d surely be sick.

  I managed to take in more of his words about the duties of a husband. He was the leader of the family. He must protect his wife and children from worldly evil. He must ensure they obeyed every part of the Rule.

  Elder Stephen’s own wife, Sister Jerushah, sat in the front row. I kept my eyes on the braid of grey hair falling down her back from under her scarf. She was a shining example of what a wife and mother should be. Laban, the youngest of her eight children, sat beside her. His name would surely be called out today. I prayed he wouldn’t choose me for his wife. He was a good and godly man, but the thought of Elder Stephen as a father-in-law was terrifying.

  The sermon ended.

  We were about to cross the threshold between childhood and adulthood. Beside me, Rachel stirred in her seat. She would be praying for Saul’s name to be on the list.

  I wanted Elder Stephen to read it out, to get it over with. I wanted him never to start. But it didn’t matter what
any of us wanted — everything would happen according to our customs.

  ‘Brothers and sisters,’ he said, ‘now we come to that most happy part of the service — the announcing of the young people who will carry the teachings of the Rule into the generations to come.’ He swept his gaze over us all. ‘My people, our Brothers Laban, Malachi, Saul, David and Barnabas are all permitted to marry. They may approach the fathers of Sisters Abigail, Drusilla, Rebecca, Rachel, Tirzah and Talitha. Brothers, when you have gained the consent of your chosen partner’s father, the Elders will discuss your choices. If we do not believe the girl is right for you, we will direct you to make a different choice.’

  There was a movement among the people, almost a sighing. Five boys and six girls. One of us would be left without a husband. Talitha might get her wish.

  We were all quiet as we prepared the midday meal for the community. Talitha looked miserable, the rest of us were tense.

  ‘I don’t want to be left without a husband,’ Drusilla said. ‘But I don’t feel old enough to be married.’

  Abigail said, ‘I know what you mean. It’s scary.’

  Talitha whispered, ‘I do not want to be a wife.’

  Surely she must have a more urgent reason than not feeling ready. Then I thought of Esther — she’d been horrified at the idea of being married at sixteen. Married off, she’d called it, and she’d vowed nobody would make her do it.

  Drusilla shoved the big teapot into place on the bench. ‘It’s awful having to wait so long before we know for sure and certain who will marry us. Three whole months. That’s ninety long days.’

  Tirzah wiped and wiped the sink. ‘But I guess we’re the lucky ones. They’re all good men.’

  Eleven

  The Rule

  Worldly education is evil, exposing as it does the mind to the pollution of the world.

  SCHOOL STARTED FOR THE YEAR the day after the January Meet. In the morning, I put on my usual ankle-length skirt and longed for the freedom of the uniform we’d worn at school in Wanganui.

  ‘Rachel, d’you ever wonder why the Elders decided to move us all down here?’

  She fastened the top button on her blouse before she answered. ‘To give us more people to marry. That’s what I think, anyway.’

  I leaned over to whisper in her ear. ‘I reckon it was Elder Stephen’s idea. He wanted more people to rule over.’

  She gave me a shove. ‘That tongue of yours will get you into trouble one of these days, Rebecca Pilgrim!’ But she was smiling.

  ‘You know, it’s really weird to still be going to school,’ I said. ‘How are we meant to study while all we can think about is who will marry us?’

  ‘Tell me about it! But I’m glad the holidays are over. It’ll be good to see our friends every day instead of just on Sundays. That’s about the only good thing about that stupid school.’ She twisted a hair tie onto the end of her plait, then checked to make sure nothing was wrong with my clothes. If you weren’t allowed mirrors, then a twin sister was a useful thing to have.

  I sighed. ‘Father would tell us to give thanks we don’t have to travel as far as many of the other kids.’

  My sister said, ‘Well, I won’t, because I’m not. Thankful, I mean.’

  Abraham wasn’t happy to be back in the classroom either. ‘It stinks,’ he said as we walked to our bus stop. ‘It’s so boring. We haven’t even got computers.’

  ‘Ask Father if you can help the men in the workshop at the hire centre in the afternoons,’ I said.

  He spun around, holding up a hand for a high-five. ‘Yes!’

  ‘I want to go too,’ Luke said.

  Rachel ruffled his hair. ‘You can ask, but don’t be disappointed if Father says you’re too young. Abraham might be too young as well.’

  But judging by the determined look on his face, Abraham wasn’t going to give in without trying to persuade Father. Abraham would endure school if he knew he could go to the workshop for the afternoons. Luke would follow him if he could.

  Brother Joseph was waiting with the bus. He drove us to the drab cluster of school buildings. The bunch of pre-fabs was unimproved from when we’d arrived in the middle of the previous year. The ground they’d been dumped on was still just a rough patch of paddock at the edge of Brother Demas’s organic farm where Malachi worked.

  My chest felt tight. Malachi was one of the boys on the list. He’d be deciding which of us girls to marry.

  Magdalene and our brothers trudged off to their classrooms. Rachel took my arm. ‘Come on. Let’s find out if we’ve still got the dragon to supervise us.’

  Last year we’d had Sister Leah. She was a yeller and a rapper of knuckles. I knew it was against the law to do that, but Elder Stephen gave her permission, or so she told us, and that meant she could rap all she liked.

  Drusilla held up crossed fingers as she opened the door. ‘Sister Jerushah! Are you our supervisor this year?’

  What a blessing. All we’d have to do was work diligently and never forget that she was Elder Stephen’s wife because he would ask her for a report on our behaviour each day.

  The morning passed peacefully. Not a knuckle got rapped and no cross words were spoken. I could come to like school with Sister Jerushah supervising us.

  Lessons ended at midday. Almost before Brother Joseph was able to stop the bus, our brothers were off and racing home to speak to Father. By the time we arrived with Magdalene, Abraham was alight with excitement. Luke, as usual, was quiet, but we could see his happiness. They hurried through their meal but then had to wait for Father to finish his.

  Several times during the meal, our father’s eyes rested on Abraham with something like approval. I wondered if he was thinking about Daniel and how he’d chosen to be expelled from the Fellowship rather than work in the car-hire business.

  A WEEK WENT BY and we heard nothing about our possible betrothals. If Father had been approached by one of the young men, he didn’t tell us.

  On Tuesday afternoon, Rachel asked, ‘Mother, do you know if anyone has asked Father about marrying us?’

  We knew it was useless to ask. Sure enough, she said, ‘My daughters, your father will tell you when the time is right.’

  That night, Rachel said to me, ‘There’s no rule that says we’re not allowed to know. Why doesn’t he tell us?’

  I shrugged. It was just the custom that a girl wasn’t told anything about who might want to marry her. She had to trust her father to accept or reject a young man on her behalf. But we’d heard from other girls about a sort of secret code a young man might use to let a girl know he wanted to take her for his wife. Such knowledge didn’t help calm our nervousness.

  ‘I’ll tell my daughters,’ Rachel said. ‘I won’t ever forget how awful the waiting is. I won’t let my girls suffer like this.’

  But I suspected that if she were married to Laban, he would behave exactly as Father was — and, like Father, he’d be most displeased if his wife took matters into her own hands.

  ‘We might find out something tomorrow,’ I said. ‘Abigail and Tirzah will tell us if they know anything.’

  The next afternoon the women read from the Bible as they always did at Circle of Fellowship gatherings, but they seemed to take much longer to explain the word of the Lord. We children sat patiently and endured.

  There was only one topic of conversation when at last we were free to go into the garden and talk.

  ‘Don’t ask,’ Tirzah said. ‘Father won’t tell me a thing.’

  Abigail shook her head. ‘Same here.’

  ‘D’you think they’ll tell us before the actual weddings?’ I asked. ‘Will we get to Temple on the day still not knowing who we’re going to get?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ Tirzah snapped.

  Dove put her hand on her sister’s arm. ‘Forgive her. She finds the waiting difficult.’

  ‘We understand,’ Rachel said. ‘It’s driving us nuts too.’

  None of us said who we’d like to marry. There was no
point, and it would only make life difficult and embarrassing if another girl got the boy we’d wanted.

  SATURDAY CAME AROUND WITH still no hint of whether any of the young men had approached Father. We packed our lunches for the market, said goodbye to the family, and walked down the road to wait for Brother Saul.

  Rachel said, ‘I think I’m going to be sick.’

  ‘Save it till we get to the market,’ I whispered. ‘Tell Saul you’re not feeling well. Tell him you need to go to the bathroom.’

  She looked even more terrified. ‘But what if he doesn’t say anything?’

  We walked on and I was thinking hard. Finally, I said, ‘It’s probably best to know if he’s chosen somebody else.’

  She stopped to look at me. ‘What if he chooses you?’

  I was horrified. Had she been worrying about that as well? ‘No! He couldn’t! I like him, he’s a good man. But I don’t like him the way you do. I’d be happy to marry any of them — David or Malachi or Barnabas, I mean. Not Laban.’

  We fell silent, watching the truck come around the corner with Saul at the wheel.

  He leaned across to open the door for us. ‘Sister Rachel! You are very pale. Are you ill?’ He sounded worried — that had to be a good sign.

  Rachel just shook her head. I said, ‘She has a sore stomach, but she did not want to stay home. She says she is well enough.’

  None of us spoke for the rest of the journey. What can you say to a man who might be deciding whether or not to marry you?

  When we arrived at the market, Saul said, ‘Sister Rachel, stay in the truck. We will manage without you.’

  He worked swiftly, helping me set up the stall, then said, ‘Sister Rebecca, will you be okay for a moment? I will get her some water.’

  I smiled at him. ‘Thank you. I will be fine.’ I watched him hurry away, then opened the truck door. ‘He’s so worried about you. Ask him to take you to the bathroom. Give him the chance to speak to you.’