Sundry Days (15 page)

Chapter 28

Rebekah

The Sabbath

All week I’ve been making a new dress. Willa has been helping me. Actually, she’s been the one making the dress, although I do know how to stitch. Stitching cloth is not that much different from stitching flesh.

Every woman here has at least two dresses. One is for every day use. That would be the horrible brown dress Sally gave me. The other is just for the Sabbath. And it has to be color-coded.

Married women like Sally wear blue. Fresh young virgins like Willa wear white. Widows too old to remarry wear black. And “used” outsiders like me wear yellow—a hideous color for a red-haired person to wear. My particular yellow Sabbath dress will be a sickly urine shade. It was the best Sally could do when she dyed the fabric.

Willa is also working on a new white dress for her wedding, which will be in a few weeks. Nothing too fancy. Just new and very white. She’ll dye it blue after the wedding, and then she’ll dye her old white Sabbath dress brown. That’s the traditional way of doing things around here. All women must be very practical and thrifty.

When I get my period, I ask Sally if she has any spare sea sponges. She looks at me like I’m crazy.  Women use rags here when they menstruate. Ugh.  They don’t use anything for controlling pregnancy.

“That would be a sin,” she says, when I tell her about the alternate use for sea sponges. “It’s up to The Designer when babies are conceived, not up to women.”

Sally is not yet 30.  She’s been married to Walter since she was 15. Theoretically, I suppose, she could have had a dozen or so children by now. She’s only got five. But she’s had several miscarriages. And I’m guessing that wheezy, constipated old Walter, who’s at least twice her age, is not the most potent of men.

Poor Willa will probably get pregnant as soon as Jacob gets his hands—and other parts—on her. She’s too young to get pregnant. Too small and delicately built. Having a baby could kill her.

On Sabbath morning, Sally looks over her boys, and makes sure they’re all clean and combed. She ties a cloth over my head, so that it covers my hair. A woman’s hair cannot be seen in public—not even hair as short as mine. Sally and Willa both have long, blonde braids, which they wrap around their heads and then cover with cloth for the Sabbath.

When the time comes, we all follow Walter out of the house. I blink in the sun, and see similar processions coming from the other houses, as well as groups of young men heading toward the meeting house. I look for David. Maybe he’s already inside.

Finally, as we file in on the side reserved for women and children, and I take a seat next to Willa on a bench toward the rear, I spot him. He’s sitting next to Jacob on the men’s side.  He’s looking around, looking for me. And then our eyes lock. Sally, who’s on my other side, nudges me. It’s a very bad thing to stare at a man, she tells me in a whisper. Women are also not allowed to talk in the meeting house.  But I continue to look over at him, and she lets me be.

David has an anguished expression on his face. Jacob and some of the other men admonish him for looking at me. Finally the service starts. The “Righteous Ones” take turns standing in front of the congregation to lead prayers and spout nonsense. It goes on forever. I don’t pay any attention to what they’re saying.

When I’m not staring over at David, I look around the women’s side. I’m the only yellow. There are a handful of blacks, and lots of blues.  Each household’s “master” would have a blue except for Jacob, who’s waiting for Willa.  She’s the only white I see, although there are a few girls who look as if they might be old enough to menstruate in a year or two.

The girls wear whatever remnants of fabric their mothers have managed to piece together into dresses. Color doesn’t matter until you’re ripe.

Young boys sit with their mothers. But I notice that Caleb, Willa’s oldest brother, is sitting on the men’s side next to his father. Caleb is almost 13.  Maybe that’s old enough to be considered a man as far as worship is concerned.  But he won’t be sent out of the house to live with the young men until he’s 16. That’s what Willa’s told me. I don’t know how many young men there are, but the men’s side of the meeting house looks pretty full. Every bench is taken.

After the service, we file out silently. Then we women are allowed a brief time to gather and talk amongst ourselves. The children who are old enough go off to play, except for the girls. They stay with their mothers.

This is the first time the other women have seen me, and they’re curious.

“How old are you, child?” asks an old lady in black.  I tell her, and then try to answer everyone else’s questions.

Some have heard from their husbands that I came here dressed as a boy, and they can tell there’s not much hair under my head cloth. They want to know the reason. I give them a very brief explanation. They can understand why I had to go to such lengths to escape from the Coalition. They’ve been told that the Coalition is an abomination.

I have nothing against the women. They’re all just trapped here, whether they realize it or not. It’s the men I hate. Maybe not all of them. The younger ones can’t help the fact that they were born here. But I definitely despise every single one of the domineering, self-righteous Righteous Ones.

I’m introduced to Trula, the only other female outsider who currently lives in Eden Falls.  I see she’s pregnant. A few of the other women are also pregnant. Several have babies in their arms or toddlers clinging to their skirts.

“Where did they find you, honey?” Trula asks.

When I tell her—and the others—about how David and I got tricked into coming here by Jacob when we were in Winnipeg, she looks at me with compassion. But the general consensus is that it’s a good thing I got saved from ending up in a sinful place.

The other women are done questioning me for now.  They’re eager to talk to one other. It’s the only chance they’re given all week to socialize with friends, to catch up on any news, to admire each other’s babies, to share the trials and tribulations of being female in Eden Falls. They’ll also want to discuss arrangements for the upcoming wedding of Willa and Jacob.  Weddings are a big deal here.

So Trula and I stand off to the side, and have a very quiet private conversation.

She tells me she was working in one of the pleasure establishments in Winnipeg, not the Birch and Bay, about ten years ago, when she had the misfortune of servicing a man from Eden Falls.  He’d come for a little “recreation and relief,” as he put it.  Afterward, he began to paint a glowing, idyllic picture of life here.  He seemed nice enough, and Trula sort of liked him.  She had grown tired of having sex with a constant stream of men who paid for the privilege. Being a wife to just one, settling down and having a family sounded appealing.

Trula’s customer-turned-suitor had just been elevated to Righteous One. He told her he was replacing a very old man who died.

What he didn’t tell her was the real reason he wanted her to be his wife. His predecessor’s widow was old for a woman—nearing 50. If she was still in her 30s, he could have married her. But no man in Eden Falls is expected to marry a woman past childbearing age. Unfortunately for him, there were no nubile, home-grown virgins available then.  Only little girls who weren’t likely ripen any time soon.  So he persuaded Trula to join him in holy matrimony.

They bring in outside women sometimes when there’s a shortage, she notes wryly.

After Willa is wed, there won’t be another girl old enough to be a bride for at least a few years. So I suppose I’ll come in handy.

“We women are interchangeable to them,” she says, “as long as we’re fertile. They prefer wives to be young and pretty, of course. But usually they have to take what they can get.”

Trula looks as if she had been pretty once. Now she just looks tired, worn out and bitter. She tells me she’s 35, but probably won’t make it to 45. And not as a result of natural causes.

When there are more girls coming of age than there are men ascending to master status—which happens from time to time—it’s not unusual for a wife who’s past her prime to die in her sleep so her husband can take advantage of the surplus, according to Trula.

“They have pills for that, you know, in Winnipeg,” she says. “The men can get them. The women take them. I’m pretty sure that will happen to me someday.”

Trula says the widow of the man her husband replaced was lucky.

“That’s her over there.”  She points with her chin to one of the black-clad women. Widows are put to use cooking and cleaning for the single men.

“She really resents me, though, for taking over her house. Can’t say I blame her too much.”

Trula says she wishes she’d stayed in Winnipeg.

“The only good that came to me here was my babies.  This one will be my fourth.  But what kind of happiness are they going to have in this place, unless one of my boys is lucky enough to grow up to be righteous?”  She spits out the word. “And I pray I don’t have a girl.”

Being a woman isn’t easy wherever you are, we both agree. But some places are a lot worse than others.

When the time for socializing ends, and we’re all herded back home, I try again to catch David’s eye.  He’s surrounded by men.  They’re making sure he doesn’t get anywhere near me.

How are we ever going to get out of here?

Then I notice young Caleb, standing by himself, not too far from David.

Because they’re so close in age, Willa and Caleb talk sometimes at home when Walter’s not around.  They’re fond of each other.  He tells her what he’s been doing during the day.  He helps care for the animals, works in the fields when needed, and sometimes runs errands, sprinting between the mill and the hydro-works.  He has a certain degree of freedom during the day.

He’d never directly disobey Walter, or misbehave unless he had a good reason.  Or an incentive.

An idea occurs to me.

It’s not much. It may not work. But it’s all I have for now.

Chapter 29

Rebekah

Seducing Caleb

I feel a little guilty telling Willa what I plan to do—what I want her to do. I don’t like having to involve her. She’s a good girl. She’s very afraid of Walter. And she’d never want her brother to get into trouble.

But there’s no way I can help it. I need her cooperation.

“Oh no, Rebekah,” she protests, clearly shocked and not a little distressed when I tell her what’s on my mind.  “That’s wicked. How can you do that?”

I know that Caleb won’t help me unless I give him a very compelling reason to do what I ask.  Why would he?  So I’m planning to offer him something a boy his age likely won’t be able to refuse.

As soon as the opportunity presents itself—when Walter’s not around and Sally is in another part of the house—Willa will tell Caleb to come to the kitchen. She’ll say that it’s important for him to listen to what I have to say—that he won’t regret it. And then she’ll stand guard.

Willa knows that David and I love each other. She knows that I intend to escape with him, no matter how impossible and dangerous that might be. She’s heard me say over and over that I’d rather die than stay, and she knows I mean it. I don’t let up.  Willa and I have become close during the time I’ve been here, and I think we both feel a real bond. Almost like sisters. I’m older and much more worldly than she is.  She trusts me. Eventually she relents, and becomes my co-conspirator.

It happens the next day.

“What do you want?” asks Caleb, clearly puzzled when he comes into the kitchen. Why would the used woman from the evil outside world want to talk to him?  He’s never before exchanged a word with me. And his father, no doubt, has warned him to keep his distance.

But he’s a curious boy—a growing boy whose voice is changing and body is maturing.  Puberty happens in Eden Falls the same as it does in the Coalition.

“I need you to help me,” I say.

“Why should I help you? Why do you need help?”

“My friend, David, who came here with me, is worried about me. I could tell from the way he looked at me in the meeting house on the Sabbath how worried he is. We can’t talk to each other, of course. But we’ve been very good friends for a long time. And I want to send him a message.  Just to let him know that I miss him. To let him know how I’m doing.”

“I’m not stupid,” says Caleb. “I know that you’re used. I know he’s not just a good friend.  He’s probably the one who used you. And I’m not doing anything that will get me in trouble. Why should I?”

“You’re right,” I agree.  “But if you give David a message from me, I’ll give you something you won’t soon forget.”

“What?”

“I’ll let you see my naked breasts up close.  I’ll bet you’ve never seen naked breasts. I’ll bet no boys your age, or even much older, have ever seen breasts.”

He’s speechless.  He blushes.  He looks a my chest, and I know he’s imagining what’s underneath the coarse brown fabric of my dress.”

“If you agree to give David this little message I’ve written, I’ll unbutton my dress and let you see my breasts. You can stand right next to me. And, if you bring back a reply from David, I’ll let you touch one of them.”

He’s biting his lips now. I don’t know what’s going on in his head, but he’s already got a bulge in his pants.

“You must be a sinful woman,” he says. I don’t disagree.

“So will you do it?”

He nods.  I unbutton my dress.

I let him take a really long, hard look—not just a fleeting glance.

“Remember,” I tell him. “When you come back with a message from David, I’ll let you touch one of them. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

He nods again, speechless. I button up, and hand him the folded up note.

“Don’t let anyone see you give this to him. You can find him, right?”

“I can find him,” Caleb assures me as he regains his composure enough to ask me how it is that I know how to write. Women aren’t supposed to read or write.

“Women can do a lot of things you don’t think they can do, Caleb. Keep that in mind as you get older.”

I remind him again that secrecy is of the utmost importance as he sets out on his mission. He’ll get in as much trouble as I will if he’s caught.

It only takes a day before Caleb makes arrangements with his sister to meet me again in the kitchen.

“I got it,” he says proudly—looking smug and anxious.

I take a quick look at the note he hands me to make sure it’s really from David.

“Good work,” I say.

I’m not thrilled about our bargain. I’m not proud that I’m manipulating this boy who’s not yet 13, and letting myself be used this way. What I’m doing is not that much different from what the women at the Birch and Bay do, giving part of myself for a price.  David would be appalled. Someday I’ll have to tell him. But what choice do I have?  There’s no other way.

If David and I can keep exchanging messages, we can make a plan.  We can figure out how to get out of here together.

I unbutton my dress.

Caleb shuffles nervously in front of me.

“Now?” he asks.

“Now,” I say.

He takes his hand—a blunt-fingered, pubescent hand that has at least been washed reasonably clean—and places it lightly on my left breast over the nipple. I let him keep it there for a few seconds, until he gets carried away and gives it a squeeze.

“None of that,” I warn sternly.

“Sorry,” he says. “When do you think you’ll want me to deliver the next message?”