Being Magdalene (20 page)

Octavia led me back and made me sit down. ‘You’ve discovered that blue and yellow make green. Have a play. See what colours you can make.’

For a long time, I stood with a brush in my hand, staring at the page I’d painted. It was wrong. The Rule
was clear. But the colours called to me, and I disobeyed the Elders and their Rule. Octavia worked beside me and didn’t talk. It was peaceful.

At the end of the day, I’d filled many sheets of paper with vibrant colour. I washed the brushes and set them back in their jar.

‘I’m not a Faith girl any more,’ I said. ‘I have to decide for myself what I am.’

THAT EVENING, ABRAHAM CALLED
to tell us that Luke had sent him a brief email from the hire-centre computer. ‘Mother’s no better. Stays in bed all the time except for the Circle of Fellowship and worship. Believes every single word old Stephen utters. Goes on about the Rule, etcetera, etcetera, every time she sees Luke.’

‘He might run away too,’ Zillah said. ‘Do you think he will, Abraham?’

‘Don’t think so,’ he said. ‘I reckon he’s waiting to see what’s going to happen. I don’t think he’ll hang around too much longer, though. He’s busting to get some real education.’

‘What about Rachel and Saul?’ I asked. ‘Does he say anything about them?’

‘Only that they still go to worship along with everybody else.’ Abraham sounded disgusted. ‘For the life of me, I can’t work out why they’re all still there.’

So nothing had changed. I wondered what Father thought about at worship now that he no longer
believed in Elder Stephen. I wondered if he talked to Luke about what was real and what was made up. Perhaps Luke was staying only because Father needed him to talk to.

Forgiveness
. I pushed the word away. I wasn’t ready to forgive him, although I hoped I would be one day. I was beginning to understand that I had to find the real me before I could worry about him. I knew I was getting better — it was easier to breathe now, easier to believe happiness was good, easier to believe in the kind Lord. One day soon, I’d go to church with my family.

Zillah still watched me to make sure I really was getting better like I said I was. But as the time passed I stopped worrying about her worrying about me. She loved me, so of course she worried. I made sure I told her of each bit of progress, however small.

Now that I knew for certain I wasn’t a Faith girl and didn’t want to be, I was making a list of things the real Magdalene liked.

Bright colours. Pretty things. Funny things. Poems that made me laugh. Brothers and sisters. Aunts and uncles. Books. Running in the wind with Zillah. Wearing jeans and shorts. Pretty clothes. Learning.

A couple of weeks into April, I said to Octavia, ‘I’ve been wondering — are there other people like Elder Stephen?’

Her face became grim. ‘Hell, yes. History is riddled with them. Generally always men.’

And so I came to learn about Hitler, war, dictators and priests in the dark ages who kept the peasants ignorant so that they were easier to control. Over the
next couple of weeks, she gave me printouts to read from blogs on the internet. ‘These are stories from people who’ve escaped from fundamentalist sects — that’s what the Children of the Faith are too, by the way. These are modern stories, some of them written this year.’

I read of beatings, isolation, blame, cruelty. Many of the posts were terrible, but they helped me. I wasn’t alone. There were others who’d left. They’d struggled, all of them, but they’d survived.

‘I’m one of the lucky ones,’ I told Octavia. ‘We weren’t beaten, and I’ve still got family.’

‘That’s one way of looking at it,’ she said.

Another day, after more reading and more talking, I said, ‘Can I work harder at this getting better stuff, Octavia? I’d really like to.’

She gave a shout of laughter. ‘Let’s go to it, chicken.’ She dug out a splodge of clay. ‘Make that into Elder Stephen. Tell him what you think of him, and, when you’ve said everything you want to say, squash him flat and lock him up in the dark.’

It was hard. I kept hearing his voice whispering of damnation, hell, fire and brimstone. I was an evil child filled with sin and iniquity. I couldn’t say the words hammering in my head. I was so angry I flattened him with both hands, threw him into the clay tin and thumped the lid on.

The next day, his voice in my head was fainter. My
words came more easily. By the end of the week, I didn’t let him get one word past his skinny lips before I was shouting at him, saying all the things I’d felt for all of my life. I yelled at him too for the pain he’d brought to Father, for the damage he’d done to Mother. When I was done, I tore him into tiny pieces. ‘Don’t come back into my head ever again. You’re an evil old man. Stay away.’

Octavia put a hand on my shoulder. ‘Great work, Magdalene.’

Together, we locked him back in the tin.

That Sunday, I went to church with my family. The God that the pastor preached about was the nice Lord. For the first time ever, I enjoyed worship. I knew the real Magdalene was emerging day by day.

In bed that night, I let my thoughts drift. As often happened, Father’s voice came into my head, asking for forgiveness.
Soon
, I told him.
Soon I’ll be able to give you an answer
.

Mother lurked in the shadows. I pushed her away.

These days, when Daniel or Abraham rang, I felt the truth of it when I told them, ‘I’m getting better. I really am.’

‘Good on you, sis,’ Abraham said. ‘You’ve got guts. You’ll get there.’

Daniel said, ‘I’m very glad, Magdalene. I talked to the doctor you saw at the hospital here — she’s amazed you’re doing so well. Said you must be very
strong. We’re proud of you, all of us.’

It warmed my heart to be able to talk to them both, but at the same time it made me miss Luke all the more. Abraham started sending the emails he got from him on to us, but Luke never wrote much. It was too dangerous, Abraham said, and it would be too dangerous for us to write to him. He was running a huge risk even to email Abraham. From what Luke did write, it seemed nothing much had changed with the Faith. Elder Stephen was still the leader. Mother still kept to her bed. The only real news was that Father had employed an elderly woman called Sister Angela to cook and clean.

‘Mother will hate that,’ Zillah said. ‘I’m glad we’re not there, Magdalene.’ She threw her arms round my neck and squished a kiss on my cheek. ‘Thank you for running away with me. You’re the bestest sister in the world.’

One afternoon, it was Miriam who came to collect me from Octavia’s. I was glad. I wanted to talk to her, to find out more about when she was banished.

When we got home, I asked, ‘Did you ever want to go back? Did you want to see Mother and Father and the rest of us?’

She plonked down on the sofa. ‘I never want to see Father again. Wouldn’t mind seeing Mother. I really missed you guys, and I was so angry Mother would have her baby and I wouldn’t even know.’ We talked for ages. She wanted to know what had happened after she was cast out. I was surprised. ‘Didn’t Daniel and Rebecca tell you?’

‘Course they did. But I want to know about you. I felt like your mother. Leaving you was the worst thing about the whole abysmally crappy situation.’

I leaned against her, relaxing only when she put her arm around me. ‘It was horrible,’ I said. ‘I thought you were really dead. I thought I’d killed you because you drew that picture of me. Mother wouldn’t say anything except that you were dead to us. Father heard me say your name the day after you went. He made me go to the bedroom and pray for forgiveness but he didn’t explain what
dead to us
meant.’

She jumped up to stride around the room, swearing. She grabbed a cushion and kicked it. The way she did it reminded me of Zillah booting the potato across the kitchen in Nelson.

I waited till she calmed down a bit and said, ‘When Esther came, she thought you were properly dead too until the day we saw you at the lake. After that she explained it all. It was hard to believe though.’

Miriam plonked back down beside me. ‘Arses. Arse religion. Arse people who believe the arse Elders. You know, I still can’t figure out how Father’s kept on believing all his life. He’s not dumb, he’s got to have questioned it.’

‘Luke makes him think.’ I told her about the scripture he’d read to us the day of Abraham and Talitha’s wedding.

She burst out laughing. ‘Little quiet Luke! Who’d have thought he’d be the one to throw the hand grenade at our stupid, godly father?’

Her words gave me a shock until I realised she
didn’t know our brother any more. He was seven when she’d been cast out, and now he was fifteen with a plan for his future that would break our father’s heart. I said, ‘He’s going to leave the Faith. He wants to study religion.’

She shrieked with laughter. I knew it was funny, but it saddened me to know that much of her delight came from the pain Luke’s choices would cause our father.

The Easter holidays had started and my mind turned to the question of school. ‘Octavia, I’ve been thinking. All the reading about dictators and people who’ve left cults — it’s been good.’ I shook my head. ‘I don’t mean it’s about good things. But it’s good to learn. I like it. Do you think I could go to school?’

As usual, she didn’t give me an answer. ‘Do you think you could?’

Memories of people staring at us in the hospital, in the airport, flooded my mind. ‘I don’t know. It’s scary. I feel sick when I think about it.’

‘As scary as going back and letting Elder Stephen preach at you?’ she asked.

I shook my head. She didn’t understand.

Her voice softened. ‘Magdalene, the first five minutes will be the worst. It won’t be easy for you but you’re much stronger than you realise.’

‘I’m not strong.’ If I was, I’d be at school like Zillah was. Daniel, Miriam and Rebecca — it hadn’t taken
them long before they were ready to go to worldly schools. I was weak.

Octavia tipped my chin up with her finger. ‘Only a strong girl could have protected her little sister the way you’ve done. Zillah would have been lost and crushed without you. You saved her, Magdalene — you lost yourself for a while, but you kept going because she needed you. That takes guts and it takes courage.’

She left me to think about that until Rebecca came to collect me.

I STARTED SCHOOL IN
May, at the beginning of the second term. I felt shaky about not seeing Octavia every day but she said, ‘I’m always here, dear girl. How about you pop in on Friday after school? I’d love to hear all about it.’

I wished she could come with me, but I was a worldly girl now.

My family had decided it would be easier for me to go to Zillah’s school, even though I was the right age to be going to high school. ‘I did the same,’ Rebecca said. ‘Started in the year behind the other kids of my age. It worked for me and it’ll work for you.’

Daniel rang to wish me luck. ‘You’ll love it, I promise you.’

Abraham called, too, on my first day. ‘How’s the nerves, sis? Don’t stress — after old Stephen’s screeching and preaching, school’s going to be a breeze. Have fun. See you.’

‘I’ll look after you,’ Zillah said.

I breathed in, smiled at her and said, ‘Thank you.
Let’s go before I freak out and run back to our parents.’

Faith girls would never say
freak out
, but I was slowly finding the real me and I liked saying it.

Zillah chattered all the way to school, but I didn’t take in a word. She took me to the office and waited until a teacher came to get me. Kids walked past us and it was so different from the Faith school because they all looked relaxed and most of them looked cheerful. Lots of the girls were wearing jeans or tights with patterns or pictures on them. Only two that I saw had short hair. A boy went past kicking a ball. The office lady said, ‘Pick it up, Hamish,’ and she just rolled her eyes when he answered her with, ‘Yo, Miss!’

Zillah said, ‘Here’s your teacher. It’ll be okay, Magdalene. She’s really nice.’

Octavia was right about the first five minutes — I wanted to run, to sink through the floor. Now would be a good time to faint.

Strength, courage, guts. The Lord is my strength and salvation.

But I would stay; I was determined not to end up like Mother. The Elders no longer controlled my life. I was one of the lucky ones.

So, when I found myself sitting beside a girl who was smiling at me, I took a deep breath and said, ‘I’m sorry, this is so scary and I can’t remember a thing that lady said.’

The girl had dark, curly hair. Her eyes were blue and they were kind like Octavia’s were. ‘I’m Sybilla.’ She pointed at the woman. ‘Miss Jacobs is great. No need to be scared of her.’

I thought she’d ask me questions, but instead she helped me with the work. ‘We’re studying forces and resistance. Do you know anything about all that?’

I pulled a face. ‘I pretty much haven’t ever studied anything.’

‘Poor you!’ she said. ‘Miss Jacobs told us about that school you had to go to. I’d hate going to one like that.’

I waited for the teacher to scold us for talking, but when she didn’t I stopped being frightened and began to look around me. I imagined Sister Leah here — she’d never allow all this chatter. ‘Are you really allowed to talk in class?’ I asked Sybilla, making sure Miss Jacobs was busy and wouldn’t notice.

‘We have to,’ she said. ‘We’re working in groups for this topic. We have to keep our voices down though or she gets pretty mad.’

It turned out there were two others in our group: a boy called Fred and a girl called Justine. I thought of Carmel and Jemimah working in silence on tedious, useless worksheets.

I didn’t learn much that day, but my aunt and uncle were reassuring. ‘You learned you can cope with going to a worldly school,’ Jim said. ‘That’s a great start.’

But I knew Zillah was disappointed in me, however hard she tried to hide it. I said, ‘I can learn, Zillah. I’ve already learned heaps of stuff about dictators. I just need to get used to that school. I’ll be okay. I promise.’

Her face was serious as she said, ‘That’s good, Magdalene, because it’s really fun learning. I like it and you’ll like it too when you get used to it.’

After dinner, Abraham and Daniel rang to see how my day had gone. Talitha and Xanthe both spoke briefly to say they sent me their love. I understood it was a worldly way of giving a blessing and it warmed my heart.

My sisters and Kirby called in as well. ‘Tell us everything,’ Miriam said.

‘But leave out the boring bits,’ Kirby said.

It was good to laugh with my family.

By the end of my first week at a worldly school, I was looking forward to the next one. When I visited Octavia on Friday afternoon I’d hardly got in the door before I started talking. ‘It was really scary to start with, but everyone helps me if I ask …’

‘Wahoo!’ she said. ‘A girl who asks questions. Told you you’d be fine. Sit down and keep talking while I make us a drink. Don’t leave anything out.’

So I told her everything, including how I loved sitting at the table in the evenings with Zillah as we did our homework. Nina and Jim helped me when I got stuck, but it was Zillah who explained how to do the maths.

Abraham rang again on Friday evening. ‘Brother Ebenezer called to say he thinks Father might join the group trying to change things. He reckons it’s obvious he doesn’t believe in old Stephen any longer.’

Zillah said, ‘He won’t join if Mother still believes.’

I felt sorry for Luke, being there by himself to bear the weight of our parents’ distress — though not sorry enough to want to go back. I was loving being worldly. It was another thing to add to my Real Magdalene list.

I spent Saturday making a collage picture to give to Octavia. On Sunday after church, Rebecca took Zillah and me to give it to her.

‘Magdalene, this is beautiful. I’ll put it on the wall. It’ll remind me of you and it’ll make me smile.’ She put her arms around me. ‘Be happy, dear girl. You’re a star.’

I didn’t need her now, although I was glad to know I could see her if I ever wanted to.

It was odd. It seemed that whenever I took a new step into worldliness, we got news of something happening in the Faith.

I played my first game of netball and that evening Abraham rang. ‘Fireworks for Father,’ he said. ‘His business partners are putting the hard word on him. Commit to Elder Stephen or they’ll buy him out.’

I couldn’t remember who his partners were, but Rebecca did. ‘OMG! One of them is Tirzah’s father — she’s the girl who married Laban.’

I gasped. ‘But Laban is Elder Stephen’s son!’

She rubbed her hands together and laughed. ‘Yep, the youngest one. But I never thought he was all that fond of his father. He’s much more like his mother and she was a real darling.’ Her face got dreamy. ‘Father might leave and, if he does, Rachel and Saul might too. I hope …’

Rachel and Saul wouldn’t follow Father blindly. They’d pray and they’d choose the path they believed the Lord guided them to take.

The next piece of news came on the day before my first choir practice. Father was selling his share of the hire business. ‘Just as well I’m out of there,’ Abraham said when he told us. ‘I’d be out of a job by now.’

‘Does Father still go to worship?’ Zillah asked.

‘Yeah. Talitha’s father says you wouldn’t know the turmoil he must be going through to look at him. He’s lost weight, though. Doesn’t look well,’ Abraham said.

Two days after I went to my first ever movie, we got the next piece of news in an email from Luke.
Mother’s worse than ever. Won’t talk at all now. I’m trying to make Father take her to the doctor
.

I was surprised that I didn’t feel guilty about her or sorry she was such a mess. Luke was the one I felt sorry for. Father too.

Zillah said, ‘I feel sad for Father and Luke. If Elder Stephen really does talk to the Lord, he should ask Him to make Mother better. He’s a rotten old fraud.’

We got more news the evening Nina and I came home from my first time at the Embroiderers’ Guild meeting. She’d asked all us girls if we’d like to go, but I was the only one who wanted to, even though Rebecca used to do beautiful embroidery. She shuddered when Nina asked her. ‘No thanks. Been there, done that; embroidered far too many tea towels.’

We’d barely got in the door before Zillah came running. ‘We’ve got an email from Luke. Come and see.’ She tugged me along to the computer.

Last email. Father finishes at the hire centre today.

I stared at it. What would he do? How would he earn money now?

When Miriam heard she said, ‘Well, good luck with finding another job, Pops. Now you know what it’s like to be thrown out on the scrap heap.’

‘I bet he hasn’t told Mother what’s happened,’ Zillah said. ‘Do you think he’ll still go to worship?’

We rang Abraham and Talitha that night. ‘I’ll find out what I can,’ Talitha said. ‘I’ll ring you after we talk to my parents on Sunday night.’

‘Can they look out for Luke?’ I said. ‘It’s going to be horrible for him now he can’t go to the hire centre after school.’

‘Don’t worry about him,’ Abraham said. ‘It’s obvious things are falling apart. He’ll be stoked. Especially if he doesn’t have to listen to the old ranter any more.’

‘He might be able to go to a proper school too,’ Zillah said. ‘He’ll be happy if he can do that.’

But, when Talitha and Abraham called us on Sunday evening, they said nothing had changed. ‘Father says the people are uneasy and worship is really tense now. But everybody still turns up and sits there listening to a load of garbage like good little robots.’

Talitha said, ‘Don’t be harsh, my husband. My parents are working hard behind the scenes. You know that.’

We heard him give her a kiss. ‘Sorry, love. Yeah, they’re the exception.’ He paused, then added, ‘But maybe not. Brother Ebenezer says a lot of them aren’t too happy.’

‘What about your friends, Abraham? What will they do?’ I asked.

‘Dunno. They’re betrothed now, so it’s not just themselves to think about. I’m pretty sure Titus will
want to leave. Simeon might too. Hard to say with him. His parents are very devout.’

Every day we expected more news. Zillah and I went rock climbing for the first time at a place on the waterfront the next Saturday — but when Abraham rang on Sunday there was no news of change or anything else.

The week passed. On Friday evening I decided to write to Father. I didn’t have a proper answer to give him but I did have things I wanted him to know.

I sat at the table, writing, crossing my words out, starting again. In the end, I put the pen down. What did I want to say? What did I want him to know, to understand? After that, the words came freely.

I showed it to Zillah, Jim and Nina. ‘Is it all right?’

My aunt and uncle hugged me. ‘It’s loving and respectful,’ Jim said.

Zillah said, ‘Can you put my name there too? It’s exactly what I think.’

She came with me to post it. I felt freer once the letter had fallen through the slot into the postbox. There was nothing I could do about it now.