Twenty

RACHEL HAD NEWS FOR us. ‘My family, the midwife says I need to go into hospital to wait for my baby. She wants me to go in a week from tomorrow.’

Mother’s face went white. ‘Rachel! It is too soon! That will still be a whole week before the child should arrive.’

Saul took my sister’s hand. ‘It is to keep her and the baby safe, Mother Naomi. The specialist has explained everything to us. It is necessary and right.’

‘But …’ Mother glanced at Zillah and me, and snapped her mouth shut in a tight line.

‘We have prayed about it, Mother,’ Rachel said. ‘We believe the hand of the Lord has guided our decision.’

Zillah said, ‘Will you take Hope to the hospital with you, Rachel?’

The adults seemed relieved to turn their minds to an easier topic, but it was Saul who answered her, not our sister. ‘No, but I will take her to visit each day. My mother will care for her.’

Mother stared at Rachel, tears in her eyes. It should have been her — but I knew why our sister had chosen Saul’s mother instead.

Father said, ‘It is wise. It is good of you both to spare your mother at this time, Rachel.’

Mother said no more. She didn’t say another word, not even in the car on the way home.

That night, in our bedroom, Zillah said, ‘We’d have been the ones looking after Hope. Rachel should have let us. We couldn’t go to school if we had to look after her.’

In the morning, Zillah got ready for school without saying a word. I found myself wishing she’d still fight against it. I didn’t want the life squashed out of her but I could see it happening day by day.

Mother was in the kitchen. ‘You are well again, Mother?’ I asked.

‘Praise the Lord,’ she said. ‘Magdalene, you must stay home this morning.’

I waited for her to say more, but when she didn’t I said, ‘All right, Mother. Please tell me why?’

She sniffed. ‘Your common sense should tell you. You picked all those tomatoes and just left them. Today you will make relish and think about the sin of waste.’

Before I could stop myself, I shouted at her. ‘And you should think about the sin of sloth!’

‘Magdalene, apologise to your Mother,’ Father said. ‘When you have finished what she has asked you to do, you will go to the discipline room.’

I jumped up, throwing my serviette on to my plate so that I wouldn’t throw it at Mother. ‘Not being grateful is a sin too. So is being mean and unfair and that’s what you are, Mother. You’re not fair!’

I fled to the bedroom. Why had I said those terrible things? I should have kept my mouth shut — I’d had enough practice at choking back what I wanted to say.

I sat huddled on the bed, my head on my knees. I was so cold.

Somebody put a blanket around me. ‘You won’t be made dead, will you, Magdalene? Promise you won’t die.’

I lifted my head and tried to smile at my little sister. ‘Father might kill me. Then I’ll really be dead.’

She put her arms around me. ‘He won’t. I won’t let him.’ Then she said, ‘Mother might though.’

It made me laugh and I felt better. ‘Thanks. That’s a great comfort.’

Father appeared in the doorway. ‘Zillah, it is time for you to leave for school. Magdalene, to the kitchen. At once.’ He didn’t wait to make sure we obeyed. He knew we would.

I got off the bed. ‘Zillah, be careful today. Remember what Luke said about Elder Stephen?’

‘I hate Elder Stephen.’ She didn’t promise to be careful and I knew better than to insist. Besides, I was too tired.

But there was no escape for either of us. I went with Zillah to the kitchen. ‘I apologise for my unkind words, Mother.’

I hoped she’d apologise too, or that she’d thank us both or just say something kind. She didn’t even look at me — simply pointed at the basket of tomatoes.

Father drove away in the car. He could have given Zillah a ride to the bus, but he probably didn’t even think about it. I said, ‘Mother, I will accompany my sister to the bus stop. She should not walk by herself.’

Still my mother didn’t speak to me. She turned to Zillah. ‘You are eight years old. That is quite old enough to walk by yourself.’

I kissed my sister goodbye, watching her till she disappeared around the corner.

I made the relish. It took all morning and my mother didn’t speak a single word to me. My life weighed heavy on me. I wanted to sleep for a week. I wanted Mother to bring me tasty morsels. I wanted her to tell me I was a good girl. I wanted her to love me.

When she left the kitchen I made a sandwich and ate it. I cut a slice of ginger cake and ate that too. I made a hot chocolate with three teaspoons of chocolate powder and drank it before she saw it.

There would only be dry bread and water in the discipline room.

Mother came back to the kitchen just before midday. She still didn’t speak to me and she seemed to be preparing a picnic — sandwiches, boiled eggs, ginger cake and nectarines.

Father came home. ‘Are you ready, wife?’

For answer she tied on her headscarf and picked up the basket.

‘Father, please, where are you going?’

‘We are going to visit your sister.’ At least he wasn’t bearing a grudge.

Rachel. Of course. She would be in the hospital by now. I longed to see her, but it was useless to ask. Anyway, there was Zillah to think about.

He said, ‘I have left the psalm for you to learn, Magdalene. Stay in the discipline room until I call you for prayers tonight.’

‘Yes, Father.’ No, Father.

They left me alone in the house, with a psalm. I checked the time. 12.45. Where was Zillah? She should be home.

I watched the clock tick away five more minutes — still no sign of her. I ran from the house, leaving behind the shining jars of relish and the psalm.

Sharon’s house was closest. I went there. The bus could be late. Sharon mightn’t be home either. I knocked on the door, calling, ‘Praise the Lord,’ as I walked inside. The family were at lunch.

‘Sister Magdalene!’ Brother Elias said. ‘Is something wrong?’

Yes, something must be wrong, because Sharon was sitting at the table looking good and godly. ‘Sharon, do you know where Zillah is? Did she get off the bus with you?’

The kid’s eyes nearly fell from her face. ‘She did not come to school, Sister Magdalene. I thought she was ill.’

Dear Lord, where is she? I ran from the room with Sharon’s mother calling after me, ‘Your headscarf, Sister Magdalene! Wait, I will lend you one.’

My headscarf? That was all she could worry about when my sister was missing? I ran before she could tie me up with it.

Where would Zillah go? She wouldn’t run away without telling me. Think, Magdalene. All at once, I knew where she’d be — at a school, a proper school. I began running again. There was one in the next block over from where we waited for the bus in the mornings. Please, Lord — let her be there. Let her be safe.

The playground was empty when I got there. I followed the signs to the office. A woman behind a counter looked up, her face breaking into a smile when she saw me. ‘You’ve come for the little Faith girl?’

I leaned against the counter, relief making me weak. ‘She’s here? She’s safe?’

‘My dear child! You’ve gone quite pale. Yes, she’s perfectly safe and well. We’ve been trying to … but Mrs Solomon will tell you. She’s our principal.’ She pointed to a door across the foyer. ‘That’s her office. She’ll be relieved to see you.’

Why did I have to talk? I just wanted to grab Zillah and take her home before Mother returned. But I was used to doing what I was told. I knocked on Mrs Solomon’s door.

The woman had a kind face. She stood up and came to greet me, her hands out to take mine. ‘You are the sister of our mystery pupil? Welcome. Please, sit down.’

‘Thank you, but I really need to take her home.’ She didn’t understand.

She settled herself in one of the armchairs and gestured at the other. ‘Sit, my dear.’

I obeyed. ‘Please …’

‘Don’t worry — we’re not trying to keep her, although we’d love to. What a bright little thing she is!’ She frowned as if trying to think how to say something difficult.

‘Just tell me. Please!’

‘If you hadn’t come, we were thinking we’d need to tell somebody in authority about her. We’ve been trying all morning to ring the Faith school but none of the businesses we contacted would give us the number.’

They probably didn’t even know it. The only phone was the mobile kept in case of emergency.

The principal frowned. ‘I must say they weren’t at all helpful. We rang several, and every single one of them gave us the same message — no Faith child would endanger her soul at a worldly school.’ She looked disgusted.

I couldn’t understand. ‘But why didn’t you ring our father’s business?’

My question made her smile. ‘She won’t tell us her name. She just said she wants to learn things. She said to call her Sharon. But that’s not my real name.’

I gave a crack of laughter. ‘Sharon would never do something so wicked. She’d never break the Rule like Zillah has. Her name is Zillah Pilgrim and I’m Magdalene.’

Mrs Solomon looked at me for so long I had to drop my eyes. ‘She’ll be in trouble for this, Magdalene?’

‘Yes. Bad trouble.’

Her eyes flicked to the phone on her desk. ‘Will she be … physically harmed?’

I sighed. ‘No. She’ll be prayed for. We’ll have to kneel on the floor and Father will pray. She’ll have to stay in the discipline room for a day and she’ll have to learn a psalm. That’s all.’

But it wouldn’t be all. The Elders would hear about it. I couldn’t begin to imagine what Elder Stephen would do about such a flagrant piece of Rule-breaking — by yet another Pilgrim child. He would at last get his revenge on us.

The principal got to her feet. ‘Very well. Come with me.’

She led me to a classroom. It had the number 8 on the door and a sign saying Welcome to Titoki. The children were busy at tables making pictures with paints, crayons and coloured paper. Miriam would have adored it. But I couldn’t see Zillah.

The teacher came to meet us. ‘Over there,’ he said.

I looked to where he pointed. My sister was sitting cross-legged in a corner lined with bookshelves, a pile of books beside her and one open on her lap. She was completely unaware of everything else around her.

‘She’s been starved for books?’ the teacher asked.

What a strange way of putting it, but he was right. ‘Yes. We’re not allowed books except for the Bible.’

‘It seems a shame to take her away,’ he said.

Weight thumped down on my heart. ‘Yes. I wish …’ But wishing was useless. I left the two of them standing by the door and went to my sister. I didn’t say anything, just knelt down beside her.

She knew I was there, but she turned another page. ‘Look, Magdalene. This is a book about stars. It’s all about the universe.’

She turned the pages, scanning each one until she got to the last and closed the book. ‘I have to go home now, don’t I?’

I stood up, holding out my hand to help her to her feet. She gave me a brief, fierce hug. ‘I don’t care. I don’t care if I have to learn a hundred dumb psalms.’

I stroked my hand down her braid. She didn’t have her scarf on either. I didn’t tell her the trouble would be worse than psalms could ever be.