I Am Not Esther (10 page)

He stared at me and after an age whispered, ‘You are right. First it was Miriam, then it was Magdalene, now it is my mother.’

Aunt Naomi didn’t come to the evening prayer session that night. ‘She is resting,’ was all my grey uncle would say. We prayed for her and the baby.

The next day Uncle Caleb decided that Aunt Naomi would be fine all by herself all day, without a phone to call for help if she wasn’t. ‘Adah will come at lunch-time,’ he said and that was supposed to be enough.

‘Aunt, are you sure?’ I asked before I left for school.

‘Your uncle has prayed for me. He is confident that all will be well.’ She didn’t look quite so confident to me. I put a jug of lemon cordial on the table beside her. ‘Thank you, Esther. You are
very thoughtful,’ she whispered. She’d thanked me!

I went off to school with Charity and Damaris. ‘I’m worried about her,’ I told them. ‘She should see a doctor. I think she should be in hospital.’

‘It does you credit,’ Damaris smiled at me. ‘But it is not your place to question your uncle’s judgement. He has prayed and God has led him to the correct path of action.’

Holy cow. A whole, stampeding herd of bloody holy cows. I stopped abruptly and turned round. ‘I’m going to stay with her. She shouldn’t be by herself.’

‘Esther!’ Charity called after me. ‘Your uncle will be severely displeased! It is not your place to do this!’

I ignored her. What had Mrs Fletcher said? Something about being able to live with myself being a reasonably important concept.

I tip-toed into Aunt Naomi’s room. ‘Aunt? I am going to stay with you today.’

She turned her head and whispered, ‘Thank you, Esther. I do not feel very well, it will be good to have you here.’

That frightened me. She was actually admitting to not feeling well. I thought she must be nearly dying. ‘Should I get a doctor?’ I whispered.

‘No. I will try to sleep a little. I am glad you are here.’

I sat beside her bed and for something to do I hemmed more of Beulah’s dumb napkins. And I didn’t tie the cotton. I longed for a book. Or a telly. Or a radio. And my mother.

After about an hour, Aunt Naomi started moaning
and tossing her head around on the pillow. I went and got a cold, damp cloth to put on her forehead. She didn’t stop. I tried to wake her up, but she didn’t seem to be conscious.

I jumped up, my heart beating hard somewhere in my throat. I had to get help and get it fast. I ran to the neighbour’s place. Nobody home. Nor at the next place. Oh God, what should I do? A car was coming down the road, I ran out and waved madly, yelling, ‘Stop! Please stop and help me!’

It stopped and a man stuck his head out. ‘What’s up, kid?’

‘It’s my aunt,’ I gabbled. ‘I think she’s dying and there’s no phone!’

He had a cell phone! He punched in 111 and handed it to me. ‘Ambulance!’ I cried when the voice asked what service I wanted.

‘We’ll come right away,’ they said. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll be there.’

‘Oh, thank you!’ I handed the phone back to the man.

‘You want me to come in and wait with you?’

I did, I really did, but I shook my head. ‘My aunt would be upset. She is very religious and she would think it was wrong.’ Don’t ask me why.

He just nodded. ‘Okay then. Hope she’ll be all right.’

I ran back to the house. She still didn’t answer me when I talked to her and her face was paler than before. Hurry!

They came, they did come. Two of them. They wore uniforms and carried bags. Best of all, they knew what to do. ‘In here,’ I cried, leading the way. ‘My aunt is in here.’

The big man with the beard told me his name was Tony. ‘How long has she been sick?’ He took something out of his bag, turned Aunt Naomi on her side and slid the thing into her mouth.

I tried to think. ‘Sunday. She didn’t seem very well on Sunday.’

The other man kept bringing gear in. There were two machines with TV type screens. An oxygen bottle. They put a mask over her face. A drip into her arm. They worked quickly, talking quietly and asking me questions I couldn’t answer. ‘What date is the baby due?’

‘March, I think,’ I faltered. ‘I’m not sure.’

‘You’re not sure?’ I could hear all sorts of comments in that one question.

‘It’s the religion,’ I said desperately. ‘They prayed. They said she’d be all right. They won’t tell me anything.’

‘She’ll have to have a Caesarean,’ Tony said. ‘Will that be a problem?’

I shook my head. ‘No. I don’t think so.’

‘Good. We’ll take her to hospital. Can you come? We’ll need to know how to contact her husband.’

Gently, they lifted her onto a stretcher. I watched their faces and Tony had his lips pinched together and he frowned.

I climbed in the back of the ambulance. ‘Sit there,’ he said, pointing at a little seat behind the driver. He sat beside her head.

‘She’s very sick, isn’t she?’ I whispered.

‘Yes, but we’ll have her to hospital double quick.’ As he said it, the ambulance moved and the siren shrieked. The driver was talking into the radio, but I couldn’t hear because of the partition between us.

‘What’s wrong with her?’ I asked. ‘My uncle won’t tell me. He’ll say I don’t need to know — but I do!’ And so will Daniel.

Without taking his eyes from Aunt Naomi, he told me. ‘She’s very ill. It’s called pre-eclamptic toxaemia.’ He nodded in the direction of the driver. ‘John’s radioed the hospital to tell them to have specialists waiting. They’ll take her straight to theatre.’

The siren wailed somewhere above my head. ‘They only use the siren when it’s real bad, don’t they?’

‘Yes,’ he said gently, ‘that’s right. You’d best be prepared. This is an extreme emergency. Your aunt is very, very ill.’

I started shaking. Aunt Naomi was dying. Uncle Caleb would kill me whatever happened. He’d say it was the will of God and who did I think I was to question that.

We got to the hospital and they had her out of the ambulance almost before it had stopped. I climbed out and stood. Where should I go? What should I do? At last, Tony came back. He took my arm and
led me inside to a waiting room. ‘They’re looking after her. How do we get hold of her husband?’ I told him and a woman went away to ring Uncle Caleb.

‘You did well, lassie. All we can do now is wait.’

Uncle Caleb would pray. I didn’t. I waited. There were magazines but I couldn’t look at them. I sat on a hard chair and tried to stop shivering. It must have only been about fifteen minutes before Uncle Caleb strode in. ‘My wife? Where is she?’

A nurse led him away. He hadn’t even seen me and I have to admit I was glad. Somebody touched my arm. Daniel. I jumped up and threw my arms round him. ‘Oh, Daniel, I’m so pleased to see you!’

He actually hugged me back. ‘How is it that you knew she was ill? You were at school!’

So I told him what I’d done. ‘Uncle Caleb will kill me,’ I said dismally.

Daniel was silent for a long time, then at last he said, ‘This has shown me I cannot live this way, Kirby. I knew my mother needed help. I told my father, but he said he had prayed and all would be well. So I did nothing. It was not my place.’ He turned to look at me. ‘If you had thought the same way, then my mother would have no chance of life. She might even be dead at this very moment.’

‘Daniel,’ I whispered, ‘she is very ill.’ I told him everything the ambulance man had told me. I even remembered the words: pre-eclamptic toxaemia.

His face was white and he put his arm around
me. I don’t know if it was to comfort himself or me, but it helped.

‘Thank you for what you did, Kirby,’ he said. ‘I could not have borne it if my mother had died there, alone.’ He breathed in, choking a little. ‘I knew she was too ill to leave. I knew it.’

It was a long time before Uncle Caleb came back. We stood up and went towards him. Could tell nothing from his face.

‘Is she …’ Daniel couldn’t finish the sentence.

‘She is very ill, but they think she will recover. We and the Fellowship will pray for her.’

My legs gave way and I collapsed onto a chair.

Uncle Caleb looked at me gravely. ‘The Lord works in mysterious ways, Esther. You were the means by which He saved my wife. We will pray and give thanks when we return home.’

I didn’t say anything. What could you say?

‘The child?’ Daniel asked. ‘What of the baby?’

‘The child is ill. It is a girl and she is being cared for. I have seen her and blessed her.’

‘Father, what happened? What made my mother so ill? She has never been ill before with a baby.’

Uncle Caleb rubbed a hand across his forehead — the first time I’d ever seen him do anything like that. ‘Daniel, you know we are not concerned by such questions. All that concerns us is that the Lord has been pleased to spare your mother. The fate of your sister is still in His hands. We will pray for the strength to accept His will.’ Daniel bowed his head
but I could feel the tension in him, see the set of his shoulders.

‘May we visit my aunt?’ I whispered, still expecting a lecture on disobedience, transgression and iniquity.

‘You may go and say a prayer by her bedside,’ he decided after thinking about it. ‘She is unconscious still from the operation.’

We trailed behind Uncle Caleb to where Aunt Naomi was lying. Daniel and I stared at the drip and the tubes.

We had to stand with our heads bowed while he intoned a prayer. A nurse came in in the middle. ‘Woops,’ she said, but fiddled around even so. Aunt Naomi lay like a wax statue. But she was still alive. Because of me. Handmaiden of the Lord.

Hadn’t my uncle heard that the Lord helps those who help themselves?

I wanted to see the baby. We tip-toed into the neo-natal unit and stared down at a tiny body hitched up to tubes and lying naked, except for a nappy, in an incubator.

‘She is so small,’ Daniel breathed.

‘She’s a fighter,’ I murmured. ‘She’s got to be!’

‘It is not up to her,’ my uncle said. ‘It is the will of the Lord.’

‘What is her name?’ Daniel asked, his eyes glued to his baby sister.

‘I have named her Zillah.’

‘Zillah,’ Daniel repeated, only when he said it, it sounded like a caress.

That night after dinner we had the grand-daddy of a prayer session. Many people from the church came and there was singing and Bible readings and prayers.

I let my thoughts wander. When was Daniel going to drop his bombshell? I couldn’t blame him for not wanting to raise the question right now. All the children were upset and it damned well didn’t help that Uncle Caleb wouldn’t tell them anything useful.

When I put Maggie to bed, I asked the twins to come and help me. I told them everything I knew. I told them how I hadn’t gone to school. I especially told them that so they could see it was sometimes a good idea to use your own brain. ‘Will our sister die?’ Maggie asked, her face pale and scared.

I gave her a huge hug. ‘She might. She is very tiny and she isn’t very well.’

‘Will she go to heaven if she dies — or will she be like Miriam?’ Maggie asked.

‘Miriam didn’t die,’ I said. ‘Miriam ran away and she is alive and well and living in Wellington.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Zillah is very sick and very small. If she dies she will go to heaven.’

‘Esther,’ said Rachel, ‘do you think the Lord sent your mother to Africa so that you could come here and save our mother?’

‘The Lord might know that,’ I said, ‘but I sure don’t.’ And they might as well get used to the idea that I wasn’t going to stay. ‘I want my mother to
come home — and when she does, I will go and live with her.’

Silence. Then Rebecca whispered, ‘We will miss you.’

‘I don’t want you to go,’ Maggie wailed. Great, Kirby — you sure know when to pick your times.

‘I can’t stay here,’ I told Maggie as gently as I could. ‘I’m different. I don’t believe the same things you do. I get into trouble and make people unhappy. It’ll be better when I’ve gone.’

‘We will all miss you,’ said Rachel and she blinked away tears.

That night I dreamt of Aunt Naomi lying dead and a baby crying and crying and there were long, polished corridors and I couldn’t find her or the baby. In the morning I rushed out and asked Uncle Caleb how Aunt Naomi was.

‘I have been up to the hospital,’ he said. ‘She is making progress and the child still lives.’ That was good. Very good. And I was impressed. He’d actually gone up to the hospital before seven in the morning. Perhaps he did love her in his own peculiar way.

I asked him if he would write me a note to explain why I was absent yesterday. I read it when he went out of the room.
Please excuse Esther’s absence yesterday. She was doing the Lord’s work.

MS CHANDLER’S EYEBROWS HIT HER hairline when she read the note. ‘Are you able to tell me just what the Lord’s work was, Esther?’

I glanced at Damaris and Charity who were watching me with serious faces. ‘My aunt was taken to hospital and had an emergency Caesarean,’ I said.

Ms Chandler gave me a hard look that said,
and what’s the rest of the story?
but all she said was, ‘I wish her a speedy recovery’.

It was hard to keep my mind on things that day. My thoughts kept whizzing off to Mum and then I’d find myself thinking about Aunt Naomi and Zillah. Then Daniel would swim into the picture. Altogether I was relieved when the bell went for hometime.

‘We will pray for Aunt Naomi and the baby,’ said Damaris.

‘And for you,’ Charity said. ‘You are worried in your soul.’

A little diversion occurred that evening. I got my period for the first time since I’d been in that house. ‘Where does Aunt Naomi keep the pads?’ I asked the twins. I somehow couldn’t imagine she’d have tampons.

They stared at me. ‘Writing pads?’ Rebecca asked.

‘No, dopey! For when you get your period. Pads. Or tampons.’

More blank stares. ‘What do you mean? What are tampons?’ Rachel asked finally.

Well, it didn’t surprise me that Aunt Naomi didn’t use tampons. Too modern altogether. ‘Pads then,’ I said. ‘You know — so that you won’t bleed all over your knickers. I’ve got my period,’ I explained patiently.

‘But what do you mean?’ Rebecca demanded. ‘You are speaking in riddles, Esther!’

They didn’t know what periods were. So I told them. ‘And I need pads,’ I said, ‘or I’ll have blood all over my skirt.’

They were stunned and didn’t know whether to believe me or not. And they were no help. Which left me with a bit of a problem. I stuffed toilet paper in my knickers until I could think what to do. Luckily, Aunt Dorcas came over with bags of groceries and I explained the problem to her.

‘Sister Naomi will have provisions put aside in the linen cupboard. I will look, if you like.’ She went to the linen cupboard and fished out squares of white towelling, an elastic band and a couple of safety pins. ‘Here you are,’ she smiled and explained how to fold
them and how to soak the used towels in cold water.

‘I can’t use these!’ I said, horrified.

‘There is nothing else to use,’ she pointed out.

‘Can’t I buy some pads or tampons?’

‘We do not use such things,’ she said, and that was that.

The only good news in the entire day was that Aunt Naomi was a little better and the baby was still alive.

On the way to the bus stop the next morning I told Damaris and Charity about how the twins didn’t know what a period was. And guess what — I got blank stares from them as well. Nobody had told those girls about getting their period and they were both nearly fourteen.

‘Do you know how babies are made?’ I asked.

‘When a man embraces his wife in the marriage bed,’ Charity said.

‘You haven’t a clue, have you?’

They shook their heads. ‘I have often wondered,’ Damaris whispered, looking around in case God was waiting to hit her over the head.

‘Shall I tell you?’

They thought about that. ‘I would like to know,’ Damaris said at last. ‘But we will have to decide if it is a Godly thing to know. Our parents would tell us if they wanted us to know.’

That evening, Daniel was allowed to visit Aunt Naomi while Uncle Caleb went to a special prayer meeting. When Daniel came back the children and
I crowded round him. ‘Sit down,’ he said, ‘and I will tell you everything.’ We sat round the table.

‘Our mother is still very sick. She can only speak in a whisper. She said to tell you all that she is looking forward to coming home again.’

‘Can we go and visit her?’ Abraham demanded.

Daniel shook his head. ‘Not yet. She gets very tired. I could only stay for two minutes.’

‘What about the baby?’ asked Maggie. ‘Can the baby come home?’

Daniel picked her up and hugged her. ‘The doctors are worried about Zillah. They do not know if she will live. They might have to operate.’

‘Shall we pray for her?’ Rachel asked, her face pale.

‘That would be a good idea,’ said Daniel. They all bowed their heads and he said a simple prayer for his tiny sister. ‘Praise the Lord,’ the others responded.

Dorcas came around that night to see that things were running smoothly. ‘You will remember to cook for The Meet this Sabbath,’ she said as she ran an eye over the ironing Rebecca was doing.

‘What meat?’ I asked.

Rachel jumped in, ‘It is a big meeting and everyone goes and …’

Dorcas stopped her. ‘That will do, Rachel.’ To me, she said, ‘Every three months, the community meets to decide matters of importance. This meeting is particularly important because the Elders will decide whether we will all move to Nelson to join the community there.’

I stopped scrubbing carrots and stared at her. I’d forgotten about that. ‘Move to Nelson?’ Away from Mrs Fletcher? Away from an ordinary school?

Dorcas nodded briskly. ‘Many of us feel it would be a most positive move. You are dripping muddy water on your apron, Esther! You should make an apple shortcake and a fruit salad for The Meet.’ With that, she bustled off.

Maggie was bursting with news. ‘Esther! I can go to The Meet now! I am five! I am old enough to go to The Meet!’

‘Great!’ I hugged her absent-mindedly. ‘So who looks after the little ones?’

Rebecca giggled. ‘The next three girls to be married. Beulah and Susannah and Judith.’

‘And it will be so exciting this time,’ Rebecca added, shaking water over one of Uncle Caleb’s shirts to dampen it. ‘It is Damaris’s fourteenth birthday in April and they will hold the betrothal negotiations at this Meet and the actual betrothal at the next one.’

‘And everyone knows she is promised to Daniel!’ Rachel danced around, folding tea towels into tidy squares.

‘What about Daniel?’ I asked. ‘Daniel might not want to marry her. He might not want to marry when he’s so young.’ I wanted to say more, but I couldn’t, not without making a whole lot more trouble for him.

‘They will not marry for two years,’ Rachel pointed out. ‘Daniel will be nineteen and a half by
then.’ Her tone suggested that that was practically ancient.

I rubbed at the dirty mark on my apron. ‘That’s much too young to be married. I’m not going to get married until I’m thirty. If I get married at all.’

They stared at me, but we heard Uncle Caleb’s car in the drive and that was the finish of chatting.

In the middle of that night, I heard a strange sound. It was a telephone. I thought I was dreaming, but it kept ringing. I sat up and slid from my bed. It was! It was a telephone and in this house. I knew I was awake because I twisted my little toe when I slid out of bed and it hurt.

I followed the sound. There was a light in Uncle Caleb’s room and he was standing beside the bed, dressed in pyjamas out of the ark and staring at a mobile phone as if it was a deadly snake.

‘Answer it!’ I ran towards him.

He spread his hands. ‘I do not understand how to use it.’

I snatched it up, pressed the talk button. ‘Hello?’ I gasped.

It was the hospital. Of course. Who else? ‘May I speak to Mr Pilgrim, please.’

I handed the phone over. He took it, holding it with a thumb and one finger. ‘Yes? I see. I will come.’

He handed me back the phone and I switched it off. ‘They insisted I take it tonight,’ he said. ‘In case they had to contact me. Please leave me, Esther. I must go to the hospital.’

‘But what is wrong?’ I whispered, not really believing he would go and not tell me.

He was walking towards the wardrobe, but he paused, thought for three whole seconds, then said, ‘It is your sister. There is a crisis. They wish to operate.’

I left the room, but I didn’t go back to bed. I watched the car lights slice through the night. Little Zillah. She was so tiny.
Please God, keep her safe
.

I stopped. That was a prayer. I had prayed. Me, who didn’t believe in God. I sank down on the window seat, wanting my mother, longing for my ordinary, everyday, crazy life. Who was I now? Who I used to be was disappearing and there were only bits of me left that sometimes I caught sight of in puddles or dark windows.