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.’