I Am Not Esther (3 page)

I gasped.
Esther?
‘I am not Esther,’ I said, keeping my teeth together so I wouldn’t yell. ‘My name is Kirby.’

Aunt Naomi said, ‘The women of our faith all have Biblical names. As do the men.’ She smoothed back my wild hair and smiled at me. ‘We have given you the name Esther.’

I stared at her. She was so different from Mum. Her face looked polished, no make-up and she didn’t pluck her eyebrows. Her clothes were unbelievable. A long skirt. Dark brown. A blouse, long-sleeved and white, done up to the neck and down to the wrists. Big white apron. Shoes and stockings. I turned my head to look at my cousins. Rachel and Rebecca wore stuff exactly like their mother, but their skirts were blue and they wore socks instead of stockings. They all had plaits. Something jolted in my head. When Mum left, she had pulled her hair into a plait.

I looked at them, standing there watching me. I shook my head, twisting it from side to side. ‘I am not Esther,’ I repeated. ‘I’m Kirby.’

Aunt Naomi took no notice. ‘Come with me, Esther. I will show you your room and help you change your clothes.’

I hugged my arms round my T-shirt. It was my favourite one, black and shabby. ‘Wait!’ I cried. ‘Can I watch the news? Please?’ I needed to know if something terrible was happening where Mum was going.

‘We do not have a television,’ said my aunt.

‘The radio, then,’ I said desperately. ‘Let me listen to the news!’

She smiled at me. ‘We do not have a radio or a newspaper. We keep our thoughts turned to the Lord.’

I couldn’t take it in. She took my arm and led me down a passage to a bedroom with two sets of bunks. ‘This is where the girls sleep.’ She walked to the bunks nearest the door and put her hand on the top one. ‘This is your bed. And these are your clothes.’ She smiled at me. ‘I do hope they fit. We did not have a lot of warning of your coming, but the sisters have helped.’ I thought she meant Rachel and Rebecca, but then she added, ‘And the girls, of course.’

She held up the white blouse and a long blue skirt. ‘I don’t wear clothes like that,’ I said. ‘Where are my bags? I want my own clothes.’

She took no notice. ‘Please get changed now, Esther. And plait your hair into a braid like mine.’

She walked out and left me.

THE NEXT FEW DAYS DRAGGED past in a blur. I couldn’t seem to keep my mind on anything. Mum might as well be dead. It’d be easier if she was dead, then I wouldn’t feel so betrayed. She’d chosen to do this. That’s what I couldn’t get my head around. I spent those days curled up on my bunk and I wouldn’t take off my shorts and T-shirt.

The twins whispered at their end of the room and underneath me in the bottom bunk, Magdalene cried herself to sleep each night. People came and went through the house, a lot of people one day. Rebecca murmured something about it being the Circle of Fellowship. Who cared?

Then the next morning, Aunt Naomi came in bright and early and she didn’t bring me my breakfast. ‘Today you get up and join the family, Esther. Have a shower and leave those clothes in the bathroom. Put on the ones we made for you.’ She whipped the blankets off me and yanked me out of the bunk.

I tumbled onto the floor. ‘I’m Kirby,’ I yelled. ‘I’m not Esther, for God’s sake.’

Wow, did the world ever explode around my ears then! I was hauled to my feet and marched out of the room. I kicked and screamed and bellowed but she was strong. I’d never thought of a pregnant woman being strong. I’d never had anything to do with a pregnant woman before.

She opened a door and shoved me inside a room and let me fall in a heap on the polished floor. Uncle Caleb was sitting at a desk writing a letter. I jumped up, ‘Get your hands off me!’

Aunt Naomi didn’t look at me. ‘Husband,’ — yes, she really did call him that — ‘this child has taken the name of the Lord in vain. She has committed the sin of blasphemy.’

‘I don’t believe in God,’ I said.

Bad mistake. Oh, very bad mistake.

‘Down on your knees,’ Uncle Caleb thundered. ‘Call the children,’ he ordered Aunt Naomi. They came at a rush, even little Magdalene, and they were all pulling on their dreary clothes.

And they prayed for me. At least, Uncle Caleb prayed and the others all said ‘Praise the Lord’ after he’d been ranting and raving for a while, a bit like a chorus. My knees started to hurt. I sat down on my butt and glared at them. The kids and my aunt all had their eyes shut, but old loud mouth was watching me. I was expecting him to haul me up and then I’d have belted him back, but he only prayed louder
and got more personal. ‘Bring this wayward child, our daughter, into the path of righteousness. Show her the errors of her defiance blah blah blah …’

I got up and walked out.

They stayed there. I went to the kitchen. There was a pot of something on the stove. Porridge? I ate some of the homemade bread with honey on it.

They were still in there.

I crept down the passage. Magdalene was crying again. I went back to the kitchen. The big clock on the wall — the only one in the house — said
half-past
seven. I gritted my teeth. They’d have to stop soon. Uncle Caleb would have to go to work.

I had a shower, wrapped the towel round me and went to get clean clothes from my bag. It wasn’t in my room. My knees gave way and I sank down onto some big cushions on the floor. 

All I owned in the world now was what I held in my hands: a T-shirt, shorts, knickers and a bra. I sat for a long time, staring at them. My mother had turned me into a refugee. At last, I got up and put them on. I brushed my hair, and discovered there was no mirror in the bedroom. I glided back to the bathroom. No mirror there either. I tip-toed to the study door; they were still praying.

How long would my uncle keep them there? Aunt Naomi couldn’t stay like that forever, she might have the baby. I sneaked a look. They were all still on their knees, and Magdalene was sobbing.

I went and sat on the verandah in the sun. I could leave. Go to the police.

I thought about it for a long time. Even walked to the gate. But it wouldn’t work. They didn’t beat me or starve me. I figured praying over me wasn’t a crime that would get me away from them.

There was no one else I could go to and my uncle was the only person who knew where Mum was.

Nine o’clock. They still prayed.

I sat at the end of the hall and, in my head, swore every stinking swear word I could think of. One of the twins came out to go to the toilet, Rebecca, I think. I waited outside the toilet door. She whispered, ‘Run away, if you’re going to. Otherwise we have to stay in there till you come back in. We stayed in there praying for two days before …’ She stopped, then said, ‘Before Christmas.’

She went back to the study.

I had nowhere to go. I sat on the verandah hugging my knees and rocking.
Mum, come back, I don’t know what to do
.

But there wasn’t any choice. Not now. When school started, I could talk to somebody. Make friends. Find somebody to run away to.

Until then I would have to be a Godly child called Esther who wore horrible clothes, who didn’t swear or take the name of the Lord in vain and God knows what else.

I went back to the study. I stood outside the door.
I don’t want to do this
.

I listened to the droning of my uncle. Praise the Lord. Magdalene hiccupped. The poor kid was only five! I could see her through the gap in the door, kneeling all by herself, tears tracking down her face. It made me angry and because of that I grabbed hold of enough courage to go back in.

I took a deep breath, pulled the door wide and stalked into the room. I knelt down on the hard floor and clamped my mouth and my eyes shut so that I wouldn’t yell and I couldn’t cry.

Magdalene gasped and sobbed harder. There was a stirring and almost a sighing, but nobody picked her up or put an arm round her.

I hate them. I hate them all, God damn them all to hell. Except Magdalene
.

I reckon it was another half hour before Uncle Caleb let up. By then my knees were numb and I was raging mad, which was better than wanting to howl my eyes out.

Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord!

There was a sighing round the room and they stood up. I sat back on my heels and watched Aunt Naomi shut her eyes for a second and rub her back.

It’s not my fault, you stupid cow
.

Uncle Caleb eyed me sternly. ‘Get to your feet, Esther. Never grieve the Lord again with your blasphemy or your disobedience. You are a child of God. Go and change your clothes.’

My knees hurt. I lifted my head. ‘My name is Kirby,’ I said. ‘I am not Esther.’

Magdalene gave another sob and then slapped her hands over her mouth. I couldn’t stand the way nobody tried to comfort her. I held out my arms. ‘Come along, princess. Come and show me how to get into these funny clothes. I’ve never worn a skirt in my life.’

She stared at me for three whole seconds before she threw herself into my arms and clung to me as if she was scared I’d vanish into thin air. I hugged her back. I could relate to that feeling.

Aunt Naomi touched my shoulder. ‘That is kind of you, Esther. But please do not call her princess again. We do not recognise the monarchy.’

So why doesn’t that surprise me? ‘I am not Esther,’ I said, and carried Magdalene off to the bedroom.

I plonked her on the desk under the window and picked up the dreary clothes. I clowned around and made her laugh, trying to put the knickers on my head and the skirt round my neck. It was lucky she was there and it was lucky she needed cheering up or I would’ve killed somebody, or broken something or — the really big one — I might have said some naughty words. They actually wore this stuff?
I
had to wear this stuff too? The knickers were unreal. Big enough to hide a cow in, and the stuff you make kids’ pyjamas out of. I pushed them under my pillow along with the petticoat and singlet. I left the two top buttons of the blouse undone. The skirt didn’t have buttons, it had a slit at each side and tied at the waist with tapes.

Holy cow. Was that blasphemy? No doubt I’d find out since it’s one of the things I say a lot.

Magdalene smiled at me and chuckled. She looked happy for a split second. Then she said, ‘Are you going to die too?’

‘Not till I’m a hundred and three,’ I said, picking her up and throwing her in the air. ‘Why? Who else died?’

‘Miriam.’ She ducked her head into my shoulder and wouldn’t say any more.

I carried her out to the family room, the heavy material dragging round my knees and ankles. So who was Miriam?

When had she died? What of?

I opened my mouth to ask Aunt Naomi, but she got in first. ‘Hang out the washing please Esther, and when you have done that, pick some peas for dinner.’

Esther. I opened my mouth but Magdalene was staring at me, terrified. I shut it and picked up the cane basket full of wet washing.

I’d never hung out washing. Our flat didn’t have a clothes line so we used the dryer. Magdalene showed me how to do it. She showed me how to pick peas too. That was after I’d pulled the first plant out by the roots. We ate quite a few and Magdalene giggled a lot. Both those things had to be healthy, I reckoned. I started calling her ‘Maggie’ and she giggled harder.

It kept me from thinking about Mum.

Uncle Caleb arrived home at ten past twelve for lunch — which was a revelation. Lunch, I mean, not him arriving home. It started off with grace. Not the ‘bless this bunch as they crunch their lunch’ sort. Oh no, this was full on and serious. Five minutes at least and filled with praise the Lords. Then we sat down.

I ate a sandwich made from thick slices of homemade bread and filled with home-grown lettuce and tomato. I’d just poured a glass of water when I accidentally let loose another hurricane.

‘Who was Miriam?’ I asked.

Everyone just stopped. I swear there wasn’t a sound in that room, even the clock stopped ticking. I looked around. Uncle Caleb, face tight, grey tinged with red. Aunt Naomi, face hard, lips shut tight. Daniel not looking at anyone, eyes on his plate. Rachel staring at the ceiling. Rebecca, lips pinched shut over a bad taste. Abraham shot a glance at his father, then kept his eyes on the table. Luke and Maggie had their mouths open and their eyes were frightened.

‘Leave the table,’ Uncle Caleb snapped.

‘Why?’ My voice went high and squeaky. ‘Uncle Caleb, that’s not fair! What have I done wrong?’

None of my cousins looked at me, except Maggie and she had her hands over her mouth and tears were filling her eyes. ‘Leave the table,’ my uncle repeated in a voice cold enough to freeze over hell.

I jumped up. ‘No! I won’t!’ I thumped my fist on the snowy white cloth. ‘You’re not fair! First you
change my name! Then you make me wear these stinking clothes! And now when I ask something perfectly reasonable you throw a fit!’

A silence sank over the room, terrible and suffocating. I wanted to run, but I was damned if I’d give him the satisfaction, so I stayed there with my heart hammering its way out of my rib-cage.

He picked up his knife and fork and put them together in an exactly straight line down the middle of his plate. ‘Miriam was our daughter. She died four weeks ago. Now leave the table. Go to your room and braid your hair in a Godly manner.’

What did she die of? Where are the photos of her? Why don’t you talk about her?
But the questions died on my lips.

I went slowly to the bedroom. Daniel was seventeen and the twins were twelve. Did she come in the gap between? She’d be my age or perhaps a bit older. Or perhaps she came in the gap between Maggie and the new baby. Why wouldn’t they talk about her? I’d make them, it wasn’t good to keep things bottled up. Then I remembered Mum. My darling mother who told me everything — except the things she didn’t want me to know. She had grown up in this weird faith.

I shook my head.
Don’t think about her
. I shut out, too, the feelings spiralling round — hurt, loneliness. Hot, raging fury.

Aunt Naomi came in after about ten minutes. ‘I’m sorry about Miriam,’ I said, not because I was
trying to find out anything, but because I was sorry.

She picked up my hair brush. ‘We do not talk about her,’ was all she said and then she attacked my hair like it was a poisonous snake. She yanked it back and then plaited it into the tightest plait in the world. I let her do it, then I hauled the band off it and ran my fingers through it to undo it. ‘I don’t wear my hair like that.’

She slapped the brush back in my hand. ‘Fix it. Then you can take the little ones to the park for the afternoon.’

Get out of this house for a few hours? Yes! I plaited my hair and went to get Abraham, Luke and Maggie. Maggie had a scarf over her hair. Aunt Naomi handed me one as well. ‘Women of our faith wear their hair covered in public.’

I took the scarf. I covered my hair with it. ‘Where’s the park?’

She told me. Weird, I didn’t even know which part of the country I was in. I asked her. Wanganui.

The twins were helping Aunt Naomi bottle plums and watched us as we walked out the door. Daniel had gone back to work with Uncle Caleb.

The day was hot. I took off the scarf and undid my hair the second we turned the corner away from the house. ‘Miriam never did that,’ Abraham said, then stopped in a hurry. So Miriam must’ve been old enough to take them to the park. She must’ve been in the Daniel/twins gap. About my age or maybe a bit older.

I touched Abraham’s shoulder to get him moving again. ‘I’m sorry Miriam died. Was she nice?’

But they wouldn’t talk about her, not even Abraham with his bold eyes. Maggie’s hand crept into mine. ‘She used to tell me stories,’ she whispered.

We got to the park. There was a fountain, all cool and splashing. I took off the god-awful shoes and socks and sat on the edge, my feet in the water.

‘We’re not allowed to do that,’ Luke said, his hand splashing at the water.

‘So don’t then.’

The pair of them stared at me, then Abraham let out a yell and jumped in beside me, emptying half the water over me. Luke, with a scared look over his shoulder, slid in beside him. I pulled Maggie’s shoes off and she sat beside me, swinging her feet in the water. I’d probably get prayed over when I got them home. I didn’t care, there was too much on my mind. There had to be a reason for what Mum had done. It wasn’t because she’d stopped loving me. My head knew that even if it wasn’t how I felt. So why?