crying, my tears making herblurry, so I couldn’t see the lost look in her eyes any more. It hurt too much. It reminded me of Mum leaving me. Walking away and there was nothing I could do to stop her.
Nobody said anything all the way home. The only sound was Maggie’s high, keening wail. I held her tight and inside I ached for me and for her and for Miriam.
Uncle Caleb drew up in the driveway. ‘Help your mother unpack, then you will come to the study for prayer.’ He got out and strode off into the house.
I slid to the edge of the seat, trying to get down without falling over my stupid skirt and dropping Maggie. Daniel took my hand to help me. I wouldn’t look at him because he’d see I’d been crying, but also because I hated him. He’d let them do this to his sister. Sisters.
‘I will ask my father if you can put Magdalene to bed instead of taking her to prayers,’ he said.
‘Thanks,’ I muttered. It wasn’t fair to blame him. He had no more power than I did. I don’t know what he said to his father, but Uncle Caleb actually came out of the study and came over to where I was sitting in the family room, holding Maggie.
‘Magdalene, listen to me if you please.’
Normally, she would have shut up for a week when he used that voice on her. All she did now was rock against me and cry in that high, eerie voice, ‘Miriam is dead and I saw her. She is a ghost.’
He stood in front of her and addressed her as ifshe was an assembly. ‘Your sister has not died. She is dead to us because she refuses to live according to the true principles of Godly life. She refuses to keep the Rule. She has damned herself forever, and her behaviour would have contaminated you and her brothers and sisters.’
As if Maggie would understand all that even if she could listen. But the message was probably for me rather than her.
‘What did she do?’ I whispered.
His grey stare shifted briefly to me before it hit the wall somewhere over my shoulder. ‘She insisted on remaking God’s universe in her own image.’
I hugged Maggie tight. ‘I don’t understand.’
Another dose of the grey glance. ‘You will notice, Esther, that in our house we do not have photographs or paintings. We do not create objects that might become idols to be worshipped in place of the Lord. Miriam insisted on painting. She drew and painted and when we discovered that she was defying us we commanded her to stop. We prayed that she would return to the path of righteousness, but she refused.’ So that was why Maggie had had fifty fits when I said I’d draw her a picture. Uncle Caleb looked briefly in my direction and added, ‘She left us, Esther. We did not cast her out. But now she is dead to us unless she repents.’
‘How do you know she hasn’t repented?’ Miriam’s anguished face would stay, a picture in my head, forever.
‘She was dressed like a whore,’ he said calmly.
‘But her skirt was right down to her ankles!’ I gasped.
‘Her hair was uncovered, unbraided and she had cut it.’
‘It was still long!’
He explained patiently and inflexibly, ‘The women of our faith never cut their hair. They wear it long and in a single braid. That way it does not tempt the eyes of their men to stray.’
Men. Always it was the men who controlled what the women could do. But he hadn’t finished. ‘She wore no head covering, the flesh on her arms was exposed and her skirt was bright and gaudily patterned.’
All at once, I was sick to the stomach. How could he look at his daughter and only see her clothes? How hadn’t he seen the hurt and the longing? I got up. ‘May I put Magdalene to bed, please?’
He looked her over, as if she were a prize exhibit in a show, before he nodded. ‘Very well. You are both excused.’
Great. Let me remember to thank you one day .
I carried Maggie into the bedroom. I kicked the pile of cushions and plopped down on them. I talked to Maggie, tried to make her listen. Clowned around and tried to make
Nobody said anything all the way home. The only sound was Maggie’s high, keening wail. I held her tight and inside I ached for me and for her and for Miriam.
Uncle Caleb drew up in the driveway. ‘Help your mother unpack, then you will come to the study for prayer.’ He got out and strode off into the house.
I slid to the edge of the seat, trying to get down without falling over my stupid skirt and dropping Maggie. Daniel took my hand to help me. I wouldn’t look at him because he’d see I’d been crying, but also because I hated him. He’d let them do this to his sister. Sisters.
‘I will ask my father if you can put Magdalene to bed instead of taking her to prayers,’ he said.
‘Thanks,’ I muttered. It wasn’t fair to blame him. He had no more power than I did. I don’t know what he said to his father, but Uncle Caleb actually came out of the study and came over to where I was sitting in the family room, holding Maggie.
‘Magdalene, listen to me if you please.’
Normally, she would have shut up for a week when he used that voice on her. All she did now was rock against me and cry in that high, eerie voice, ‘Miriam is dead and I saw her. She is a ghost.’
He stood in front of her and addressed her as ifshe was an assembly. ‘Your sister has not died. She is dead to us because she refuses to live according to the true principles of Godly life. She refuses to keep the Rule. She has damned herself forever, and her behaviour would have contaminated you and her brothers and sisters.’
As if Maggie would understand all that even if she could listen. But the message was probably for me rather than her.
‘What did she do?’ I whispered.
His grey stare shifted briefly to me before it hit the wall somewhere over my shoulder. ‘She insisted on remaking God’s universe in her own image.’
I hugged Maggie tight. ‘I don’t understand.’
Another dose of the grey glance. ‘You will notice, Esther, that in our house we do not have photographs or paintings. We do not create objects that might become idols to be worshipped in place of the Lord. Miriam insisted on painting. She drew and painted and when we discovered that she was defying us we commanded her to stop. We prayed that she would return to the path of righteousness, but she refused.’ So that was why Maggie had had fifty fits when I said I’d draw her a picture. Uncle Caleb looked briefly in my direction and added, ‘She left us, Esther. We did not cast her out. But now she is dead to us unless she repents.’
‘How do you know she hasn’t repented?’ Miriam’s anguished face would stay, a picture in my head, forever.
‘She was dressed like a whore,’ he said calmly.
‘But her skirt was right down to her ankles!’ I gasped.
‘Her hair was uncovered, unbraided and she had cut it.’
‘It was still long!’
He explained patiently and inflexibly, ‘The women of our faith never cut their hair. They wear it long and in a single braid. That way it does not tempt the eyes of their men to stray.’
Men. Always it was the men who controlled what the women could do. But he hadn’t finished. ‘She wore no head covering, the flesh on her arms was exposed and her skirt was bright and gaudily patterned.’
All at once, I was sick to the stomach. How could he look at his daughter and only see her clothes? How hadn’t he seen the hurt and the longing? I got up. ‘May I put Magdalene to bed, please?’
He looked her over, as if she were a prize exhibit in a show, before he nodded. ‘Very well. You are both excused.’
Great. Let me remember to thank you one day .
I carried Maggie into the bedroom. I kicked the pile of cushions and plopped down on them. I talked to Maggie, tried to make her listen. Clowned around and tried to make
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