Being Magdalene (18 page)

WHEN I NEXT SAW
Octavia, she said, ‘This good weather’s not going to last so we’re not going to spend such a fabulous day inside. Have you ever been to a zoo, Magdalene?’

I shook my head. ‘The only places we went were playgrounds and sometimes the beach.’

She rubbed her hands together. ‘Would those stuffy old men shake their fingers at you if they knew we were off to have fun at the zoo?’

‘They’d preach. They’d make us feel wicked and small.’

‘Well, sucks to them!’ she said. ‘Let’s you and me have the best day ever.’

She was so disrespectful — and life wasn’t about having fun. But I would have to obey her. Children had to obey adults. It was the Rule.

She gave me a hat. ‘You’ll need this. We can’t send you home with a burnt face.’ The hat was blue with a pink ribbon.

The zoo was close enough to walk to. I expected
Octavia to talk and ask questions on the way, but she seemed content to be silent.

Once we entered the zoo, I forgot about questions, the Rule and the Elders. I wished Zillah was with me to see the wonder of bright birds, scuttling monkeys, giraffes, zebras, lions. Here in front of me were creatures I’d only ever read about in some of our more interesting lessons. Many of them I’d never even heard of. The meerkats made me laugh.

Octavia still didn’t ask questions. While I gazed at the creatures, she drew pictures of them in her sketchbook.

When we got back to her house for the afternoon, she showed me her sketches. I thought she’d been drawing the animals and birds, and she sort of had, but the focus of each picture was a person — sometimes a group of them. Laughing faces, awed children — excitement, happiness.

Then she turned to a section at the back of her book. ‘Look at these, my dear.’

She’d drawn me. In the first one I saw that my face was intent. I turned the page to see that there I was laughing. In the next one I looked happy.

My sister had drawn me when I was little, and for that she’d been expelled and declared dead to us.

Octavia’s hand gripped my shoulder. ‘Tell me what you see in these pictures.’ She turned back to the first one, slowly turning the pages to give me time to study each drawing.

I felt shaky — pulled between being almost five years old and believing I’d killed my sister, to being
here in a world where Miriam was alive and glad she was worldly. ‘I remember,’ I said slowly, ‘when I hurt my hands, the doctor asked what was one thing I’d like to do that I couldn’t.’

She let silence drift between us for a moment, then asked, ‘What did you tell him?’

I scrunched my eyes up and rubbed them. I was here, not back in Wanganui and not in a doctor’s room in Nelson. I was here with Octavia, who didn’t think it was a sin to be happy. ‘I told him I’d like to worship the Lord with a joyful heart.’

Her face twisted. ‘Ouch. Do you see a girl with a joyful heart when you look at your pictures?’

‘Yes. But I can’t feel it now.’ I wanted to weep.

She pulled the pages out of the book. ‘Take these home with you. They’re to remind you that one day soon you’ll become that girl with the joyful heart.’

My family were delighted to see the drawings. ‘You look so happy,’ Nina said.

‘Can you go to the zoo every day?’ Zillah asked. ‘I like you to be happy, Magdalene.’

‘I like it too.’ I wished I could remember feeling happy.

After dinner, Zillah sat at the table doing the first homework she’d ever had. I didn’t want to spoil her joy with worry about me, so I joined her and worked on my scrapbook.

The doorbell rang. Nina glanced at the clock. ‘It’s
late to be calling on people.’

Jim got up. ‘If it’s somebody else trying to sign us up to some deal, I swear I’ll kick them into next week.’

Zillah giggled.

We heard voices but couldn’t make out the words, then footsteps returning. Our uncle said, ‘Girls …’

We looked up. The scissors I was holding fell from my fingers. I heard Zillah’s pencil drop to the table. ‘
Father?
’

Our father came into the room. His face was marked with deep lines. He looked gaunt and grey and old. For a wild moment I feared he’d come to tell us he was dying — to tell us we’d killed him with our wickedness.

Jim looked at Nina. ‘My brother Caleb.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Please, sit down, Caleb.’

Father didn’t appear to hear her. He set his hat down on a chair but didn’t take his coat off.

I tried to breathe. ‘Have you come to take us home?’ I should want to go. It was wicked to feel sick at the thought of returning to my parents. My stomach hurt for the first time in days.

Beside me, Zillah’s breath was coming in short, sharp bursts.

Father drew his hand across his eyes. ‘My beloved daughters. My very dear daughters.’ It seemed to be all he could say.

Jim said, ‘Sit down, Caleb, before you fall down. I’ll make you a cuppa.’

Father lowered himself on to the chair, moving slowly as if everything pained him. I’d seen old men
sit like that. ‘No refreshment, I thank you, Brother James. I wish to speak to my daughters alone, if you and your wife would kindly leave us.’

Zillah clutched my hand. My heart thumped in my throat.

Jim said, ‘No. Not happening.’ He perched himself on a high stool at the breakfast bar. Nina stayed where she was.

I breathed again. They would help us. We weren’t alone.

Father regarded our uncle for some moments. Jim eyed him right back.

‘So be it.’ Our father bowed his head. ‘You have earned the right. I thank you and your wife for the care of my children. All my children.’

All
his children? Rage jerked me upright in my seat. ‘You knew Miriam was alive and well after she left? You
knew
it but you let me believe she was dead? You let me believe I’d killed my sister?’ I wanted him to admit it. I needed to hear him say it.

Zillah slid off her chair to lean against me, her arm threaded through mine.

Father rubbed his knuckles into his eyes. Then he lowered his hands and turned his gaze on me, and when he spoke his voice was full of pain. ‘I beg your forgiveness, my daughter.’

I stared at him, unable to utter a word.

His mouth twisted. ‘It grieves me to see you so shocked. I do not expect your forgiveness, Magdalene — or yours, Zillah.’

I felt a shudder run through my sister’s body as she
pressed against me. I still couldn’t speak. There was too much to take in.
Forgiveness
. He wanted us to forgive him. I thought of Miriam, of her bitterness, and I knew she would never forgive him.

When we didn’t speak, he sighed, fixing his eyes on Zillah’s exercise book and my pile of magazines. ‘Already you are worldly children.’ He sounded sad, not angry. I wanted him to be angry. I wanted him to order us to fall on our knees while he prayed for us. I couldn’t stand the suspense — why had he come?

‘Father, do we have to go home?’

All the lines in his face tightened in pain. ‘I would like you to come home. You are deeply missed.’ He stopped, and Zillah’s body shivered against mine. ‘But recent events have forced me to understand you were right to fear Elder Stephen.’

It was Zillah who asked, ‘Father, tell us — what has happened?’

‘Nothing has actually occurred.’ He didn’t seem able to look at us as he spoke. ‘But our leader’s words have been intemperate. It is clear to me the Lord no longer speaks through Elder Stephen.’

We waited for more but he seemed to have reached the end of his strength. Could I forgive him? Miriam wouldn’t. I thought the others would. But I was Magdalene, I wasn’t Miriam or Daniel or Rebecca, and I didn’t know what I felt.

He began speaking again. ‘I came to apologise to you both. I came to tell you I no longer believe you are damned to eternal fire for leaving. I know my brother James and sister Nina are good people. I
know you are safe in their care.’ His words were so quiet we had to strain to hear. It sounded like he’d learned them as if they were a punishment psalm. He didn’t seem to be aware of his tears.

Jim walked to him and gripped his shoulder.

I heard myself asking, ‘Do you want us to come home?’

‘No. Not yet. It would not be safe for you to do so. Perhaps you will be able to return one day. I hope so.’

Relief swept through me. I could stop feeling bad about leaving Mother in her hour of need.

He began speaking again. ‘There is discontent about the leadership. There could be change. I do not know.’ He pushed himself to his feet. ‘I will leave you now. Goodbye, my daughters.’

I found I didn’t want to let him go like that — so broken, so despairing. ‘Father, please … will you give us your blessing?’

Zillah found her voice. ‘Please, Father. You were kind to us.’

He bent over as if she’d smote him on the heart, but after a second he straightened. ‘I am blessed indeed to hear you say so, Zillah. Magdalene, it means more to me than you can ever comprehend that you ask for my blessing.’ He came first to me, laying both hands on my head. ‘I give you my blessing, beloved child.’ Then it was Zillah’s turn.

We watched Jim lead our father out, his arm around his shoulders.

We hadn’t asked about Mother. We were both in tears when Jim came back.

Our aunt and uncle talked to us about the visit. We couldn’t stop crying. They didn’t get angry. Jim said his own heart was wrung to see his brother so broken. Zillah said, ‘Is it our fault, Jim? Would he be okay if we hadn’t run away?’

Jim shrugged. ‘Hard to tell. But, by the sound of it, I’d say you running away made old Elder Stephen lose his temper in public. I’m guessing he let loose a rant that wasn’t even a scrap godly. Showed his true colours at last. You speeded things up, that’s all. Good job too. That guy’s one mean crushing machine.’

Nina said, ‘Would you like to ring your sisters, and the boys too?’

We spoke to all of them.

Daniel said, ‘Poor Father. It’s going to be beyond painful for him.’

Miriam said, ‘Sorry, Pops. Too little, too late.’

Rebecca said, ‘I might be able to see Rachel again. One day, I might be able to see my sister.’

Abraham gave a whistle. ‘Go, Father! What’s the betting Luke’s forced him to face the truth? Hey, sisters — you okay?’

We would be, I hoped we would be. And it was good to be able to talk about it, to try to understand.

I TOLD OCTAVIA ABOUT
Father’s visit when I saw her the next day.

‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘Forgiveness, eh? A tricky thing, forgiveness.’

I said, ‘I have to forgive him. I have to obey. It’s the Rule.’

She held my hands the way she’d done when I had squashed the clay. ‘Think, Magdalene. You said he doesn’t believe you’re damned for running away? Correct?’

I nodded.

‘If that bit’s a pack of lies, don’t you think the Rule might be all wrong too?’ Her eyes skewered me.

‘I don’t know. I just don’t know any more.’ I wanted to cry.

Her hands were warm against mine and her voice was kind when she said, ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s not something you have to do right now. It’ll become clearer with time and then, if you want to, you can write to him.’

‘But I should tell him now. I should have told him last night.’ It was wicked and sinful to withhold forgiveness. I’d asked for his blessing, but a blessing was easy. It wasn’t the same as forgiveness.

She sat back in her chair, watching me, her hands in her lap. ‘You think he’d be happy with a dishonest answer? Or would he rather wait for you to be certain?’

I thought about her words — and discovered I was again drawing circles with my finger. I glanced at her, frightened, but there was only kindness and compassion in her face. ‘I want to forgive him. I don’t want to hate him like Miriam does. He’s a good person.’

‘He’s got guts too,’ she said. ‘It would have taken so much courage to come and admit he’s been played for a fool.’ She had a half-smile on her face. ‘It’ll be from him that you get your strength, my dear.’

My mouth fell open. ‘I’m not strong — I’m weak and useless.’

She let a beat of silence fall, then said, ‘Is that how you feel? Weak and useless?’

I could only nod.

‘Let’s start with the useless part,’ she said. ‘Who do you feel you need to be useful to?’

I shook my head this time. ‘I don’t know any more. Zillah used to need me but she doesn’t now. She likes me being here with her, but she’d be fine if I went away. I can’t go back and help Mother. Nobody needs me here.’

‘Hmm,’ she said, ‘so you think your purpose in life is to be useful to somebody?’

‘Yes. Of course.’

‘Rubbish, dear girl. Utter rubbish.’ She leaned over to tip my head up to make me look at her. ‘Your purpose in life is to live fully, with as much joy as you can pack in. It’s time to find out what makes you happy. It’s time to think about Magdalene and what she wants, what she likes.’

I didn’t have the strength to argue. ‘All right.’

‘Dear girl. You’ll do it, you’ll see. You’ve got guts.’ She held up a hand to stop my protest. ‘Listen, Magdalene — what did your mum do when things got really sticky at home?’

‘She went to bed.’ Octavia already knew that. She shouldn’t make me say it again.

She looked at me, her eyes kind. ‘Yes, she went to bed. The doctor said you should go to bed, but your dad wouldn’t let you. So you kept going. You kept going no matter what they threw at you — and you did it because you knew your little sister needed you.’

I sat there, shaking my head. She didn’t understand.

She reached out to grab my head, holding it still. ‘You saved her sanity, possibly her life. Because of you, she always knew there was one person in the world who truly loved her. That’s a very powerful thing, Magdalene. It saved her from being crushed, from losing herself the way you’ve lost yourself.’

I couldn’t think. I didn’t know.

Octavia stood up. ‘Come, my dear. We’re going on an expedition to start digging for the real Magdalene.’ She came around the table to tug me to my feet. ‘We’re going to a bookshop. I’m going to help you find a book that gives you joy. I’ll drive us the long
way around the coast. You’ll love it — especially on a stormy day like today.’

I almost said
Praise the Lord
but caught myself in time. ‘Thank you.’

She laughed. ‘It’s okay — I know you hate the idea. It’ll be fine, I promise you.’

But she wouldn’t understand how seeing Father had made the Rule throb in my head.
Books are evil. Moral pollution. Contamination. Damnation
. Yet he’d given us his blessing. I reminded myself he no longer believed we were doomed to the damnation of eternal fire. I breathed in. It would be all right. I followed Octavia down the stairs and out into the windy day.

She drove us beside a wild sea. The sky was angry on the horizon and I didn’t see how there could be joy in the day’s dark threat. The grey sky and the waves shredding themselves to tatters on the black rocks spoke to me of my father’s pain.
Forgiveness
. The waves beat out the rhythm of the word.

I was glad to leave the sea behind us.

At the bookshop, it seemed the woman there knew who we were and why we’d come. I wondered how much Octavia had told her. There was a pile of books on the counter. ‘I’ve sorted these out for you to start with, Magdalene,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry if nothing appeals — there’s lots more to choose from.’

Octavia picked them up. ‘Thanks, Ruth, you’re a doll. Come on, Magdalene, we’ll sit over there and have us a book feast.’

I sat beside her on a blue sofa. So many books. I felt them crowding in on me, pressing against me. Zillah
would love it here. She’d be excited. I held on to the thought as an anchor in this place of worldliness. ‘I’ll choose something for Zillah. I know what she’d like.’

Octavia took my clenched hands in both of hers. ‘And what would Zillah choose for you? Would she know what you’d like?’

I snatched my hands away. ‘How can she when I don’t even know for myself?’

Now she’d punish me. I deserved it for being so rude, so ungrateful.

‘Sweet girl, you know more than you think you do.’ She wasn’t angry — she sounded gentle, but firm too. ‘Tell me, do you like drab colours or bright ones?’

I shut my eyes and breathed a few times. ‘Bright ones. Pretty ones.’

‘Great stuff. Now I’ll tell you something. You like funny things. Yesterday at the zoo — do you remember? The wee girl watching the ducks waddling, then she copied them? And the meerkats — they made you laugh out loud.’

The memory surprised me and I laughed again.

Octavia pulled the big book from the pile. ‘I think this is the one we’ll buy for you today. Have a look and tell me what you think.’ She opened it in the middle. ‘Gorgeous illustrations too.’

It was a book of poems. I didn’t take it. ‘Are they like psalms? We always had to learn horrible psalms.’

She stood up, leaning down to pull me to my feet. ‘I promise you, these are nothing like psalms, and if they don’t make you happy then I’ll eat my paintbrushes. Every single one of them!’

I followed her to the counter. The woman called Ruth put something in with the book before she gave it to me. ‘You’re probably too old for stickers, Magdalene, but I still love them, and these ones are gorgeous.’

‘Thank you. Thank you both.’ These were the first gifts I’d ever had and I wanted to feel the joy of them, but I could only feel greyness, dark and threatening.

Octavia drove us back the same way, this time stopping in a place where we could watch the crashing waves. She let me sit in silence for a bit. The sea still spoke to me of my father’s shattered heart. My mind shied away from the idea of forgiveness.

Octavia’s gentle voice brought me back to the present. ‘Read me one of those poems, Magdalene. Then I’ll read you one.’

I chose the shortest one I could find. It had four lines and was about a snail.

She read me one that went on for several pages. The rhythm of it cheered me. When she’d finished, I said, ‘I liked that. It was silly and it was happy.’

‘My goodness, Magdalene. Can’t you just see those old Elders having a million heart attacks? A
girl
who dares to have thoughts of her own.’ She laughed as she handed me the book. ‘Good work today, my chick. Let’s go home and eat.’

As we left the ragged waves behind us, I sent Father my own blessing. I thanked him again for loving Zillah and me but I wasn’t any clearer about the question of forgiveness. I felt it slide from my grasp, as unstable as sea foam on rocks.

When I got home and showed Zillah my book, I could see she was trying to be happy for me but she was puzzled. ‘Why do you like it, Magdalene?’ She turned the pages.

‘I like the pictures. I like how they help the words.’ I tried to explain. ‘If the words are sad or funny, the picture is too.’

She stared at the title of one of the poems — ‘17 Kings and 42 Elephants’. The fun of it didn’t touch her heart. We were different, and I saw she would grow away from me even though I knew she would always love me.

Sadness pressed on me again. I set the book down. ‘Are you excited about Daniel coming tomorrow?’

She frowned. ‘I’d rather see Luke or Abraham. Daniel doesn’t feel like my brother.’

Neither of us mentioned Xanthe, and we didn’t speak again about our father.

Long after she was asleep, I stayed awake thinking about everything that had happened. I wondered if Luke knew Father had come to see us. I longed to talk to him. I hoped he’d told Father about the nice Lord, though I knew too it would be hard for our father to believe in a Lord who was kind and loving.

Was Mother still staying in bed?

Who was doing the cooking and the housework?

It was lucky Talitha was in Auckland, married to Abraham, because if she’d still been single and at home she’d have been the one who had to look after
my family. I felt glad she’d escaped. I hoped she was learning things in Auckland. I hoped her heart was joyful. I hoped she and Abraham were happy together.

My heart ached. I wanted to see my brothers. I wanted to see them both.

I felt ungrateful. I should have been giving thanks that I could at least talk to Abraham on the phone.

I thought about Neriah. I wished I knew where she was, and I hoped she was happy to be worldly. I felt ashamed of my weakness — she wouldn’t have been able to stay in bed the way I’d done. Her mother needed her help.

My thoughts went round and round — Luke, Father, Abraham, Neriah, Talitha, Carmel, Jemimah. The Rule. The Elders. Octavia. Clay. Books. The zoo and bright sunshine. Grey rocks on a dark day.

Forgiveness.

I got out of bed. Nina and Jim were in the lounge. Nina dropped the newspaper she was folding, and put her arms around me. ‘Hot chocolate, my dear niece?’ she asked.

Her arms were warm. I leaned my head against her shoulder and felt the tension fade away. ‘Yes please.’

She led me to the sofa. I thought she’d go to the kitchen but she sat beside me, holding me close. Jim made my drink. They didn’t talk, they were just there — strong, loving and protecting.