The Dark Light (24 page)

The voices get louder and louder until Mr Bevins shouts, ‘In the name of Jesus, Satan begone!’ And he pushes me forward, and it seems to take a long time for the floor to rise up to greet my forehead, my body floppy as rag.

When I wake up I am in the corner against the wall, with Mary sitting next to me. Hannah is at the front reading from the Psalms. My head hurts.

‘That was quite a bang,’ Mary whispers.

I touch my forehead. It has a bandage tied round it and a crust of blood.

‘You fainted in the Lord and you bled. Your father says it is a sign that you have been cleansed. Sit still.’ She gives me a cup of water. I look at it suspiciously but Mary nods.

‘It’s OK, it’s just water.’

Everything in the church is blurry; like when I was on the boat and got the sickness, nothing stays still. I can see Naomi at the front, prostrate on the floor, her arms spread out. Bevins and Father are kneeling in prayer. The day is already darkening.

‘Did you know?’ I stare at her. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Shhhh.’ Mary shakes her head. ‘I’m so,
so
sorry.’ She grabs my hand. ‘
So
sorry. I did what I thought was best.’ She turns round suddenly, fiercely, and holds my face in her hands. ‘Whatever happens, I came here because I wanted a better life. I thought I was doing the right thing. You mustn’t blame me.’ Her face is beaten, weathered and sad, her eyes hazy with tears. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s OK,’ I say.

‘Don’t try and run. Not now. You’ll be brought back before you’ve got to the end of the path,’ she says. ‘Lie down, rest. We’ll make a plan. I promise.’ She folds a blanket as a pillow and pats it. I lie down and close my eyes again.

I must sleep again because the next thing Father is shaking me awake.

‘Rebekah! Rebekah! You must wake up. It’s your turn to read.’

I stare at him. ‘No! Why didn’t you tell me? Why have you made me believe all this time she was
dead
?!’ I say this loud enough for Bevins to hear. He stands up.

‘Rebekah, now is not the time,’ says Father firmly. ‘You heard Bevins – we’re, you’re, much better off without her. We couldn’t risk our chance of glory.’ But he won’t look at me, just holds out his hand to help me stand up and looks nervously over his shoulder at Mr Bevins.

‘I don’t believe you!’

‘Shhh. Rebekah, do you want to go to the Solitary?’

I don’t care
, I think.
You knew
.
You knew and you never told me
.

The room glows with candlelight; many are now lying on the floor, the chairs pushed back. Everyone except Mary and the boys, gone no doubt back to the farmhouse. Oh for a taste of that fresh air!

My head thuds as I try to stand up, everything strange and unsteady. One moment I am tall, the next shrunk to the size of a mouse. I stumble as Father leads me. Bevins is prostrate before the altar. Where I fell there is a stain of dried blood. I reach a hand up to my forehead and a large lump is emerging through the cloth and the whole side of my head is tender.

I kneel at the altar. Father gives me the Bible turned to the Book of Revelation. I am to read the whole book while everyone prays. I can hardly see the words on the page, my head throbs so much. I hear my own voice haltingly reading the words, but they make no sense.

Chapter after chapter it’s all fire and conflagration and strange beasts and unnatural sights. It sets a fear in me, which is only made worse by my headache. I’m sure there’s something I’m supposed to be remembering to do. When I get to the end I turn around and everyone’s lying on the floor. There is a gentle snoring coming from Ezekiel.

I turn to the beginning and start again with the Book of Genesis. I’m halfway into Deuteronomy when Mary comes back.

‘You need to make yourself ready,’ she says, touching my head and frowning. ‘Come.’

She leads me to the door and we slip outside. The air is like a blessing on my face. The early evening is calm, still, a mist of dampness in the air that soothes my face. We walk slowly up the path to the farmhouse.

‘I’ve seen her,’ Mary says.

I’m not sure who she is taking about. ‘Who?’

‘
Alex
.’ Her name brings everything back into my body like a punch. I don’t know how I could have forgotten.

‘There was something odd in that communion wine,’ I mutter.

She looks concerned. ‘I know. Bevins thinks it brings us closer to God. I only took a small sip.’

‘Is she OK?’

She makes a face. ‘Bevins thinks he has won the battle. But she is not OK, no.’ My heart turns even more against him. Gently she touches the bruise on the side of my face and winces. ‘And you need to get that looked at. Here.’ She gives me a key.

‘Where did you get that?’

‘Someone might have dropped something.’ She winks at me. ‘But you need to be strong enough to get that boat out of the harbour. If you can get it to sea, you’ll likely be seen by someone, maybe a fishing boat.’

‘Thank you.’

She shakes her head. ‘Alex is not in a good way. You might have to leave her here. Do you think you can get the boat out on your own?’

‘I don’t know.’

I’m not leaving her here. Even if I have to carry her. I have to tell her about my mother. She needs to know that she was right, she needs to know that everything is going to be OK.

I look at Mary and wonder what she knows, but she is not looking at me. Just holding the lantern and staring ahead.

‘Tomorrow just before Bevins lights the fire – you must go then. The men will be busy. I’ll cover for you. You’ll be in danger, the sea will be rough, and it’s a long way to the mainland but I wouldn’t say this to you if I didn’t think that we needed help. Do you understand? I can buy you an hour, maybe a bit longer. You just need to get the boat out to sea. If Alex won’t come with you, don’t linger. You hear me?’

I nod. ‘My head hurts,’ I say, wanting to cry in relief.

When we get to the farmhouse Mary dresses it for me again with a fresh bandage; although it’s not bleeding she says I need to protect it from getting knocked again.

She has packed a bag for me with spare clothes, a coat, some sugar cubes, dried apple, and hidden it in the wardrobe in my bedroom. She tells me to rest while I can. She says that the best time to go will be tomorrow after she has sounded the gong for supper, when everyone has gathered. I am to slip out of the front door and run to the harbour.

‘What will you tell them?’

‘Let me worry about that,’ she says. ‘The main thing is that you go. Fast as you can. And when you see your mother tell her –’ she stops as if she can’t think what to say – ‘that I’m sorry.’

‘But I don’t know how to sail a boat! I don’t know if I can do this on my own.’

‘God will be with you.’

‘And not with you?’

She laughs bitterly. ‘He’s always with us. When do we forget it?’ And then we have to stop talking because Hannah comes into the kitchen, looking groggy and unkempt.

‘Peace be with you, Sisters,’ she says looking a little put out when I stifle a nervous giggle.

‘What can I help you with, Sister?’ Mary asks.

‘I don’t . . . I don’t remember,’ she puts her hand to her throat. ‘I do feel a bit odd,’ she says. ‘Don’t you?’

Mary gives her a glass of water, which she drinks in one go.

When Hannah has gone Mary says. ‘You must be brave and you must get help.’

‘Who from?’

‘The police, Rebekah. You must go to the police.’

A shiver runs through me. This is serious now.

‘I’m scared,’ I say.

‘I know you are, Rebekah.’ She puts her arm around me. ‘So am I.’

TWENTY-FOUR

REBEKAH

‘Awake! Arise! Today is the precious day!’

Bevins is banging a gong downstairs to rouse everyone. It’s not even light.

‘How can you sleep? On such a day as today! All that we have hoped for, all that we have prayed for, finally come to pass! We are indeed blessed!
Blessed!
’

I groan and roll over. Ruth lies in bed, still awake, staring at the ceiling. My stomach growls with hunger.

She does not even acknowledge me when I stand up to dress.

On the way to church Mary walks beside me. ‘How are you?’

‘Afraid,’ I say to her. ‘Hungry.’

‘Don’t be afraid.’ I look at her and the boys, who stare at me with their huge eyes. ‘This is no life for them.’

‘But we are going to the Rapture,’ I say although I know we are as much going to the Rapture as my mother is dead.

‘That we should be so lucky.’

Father walks ahead with the other men and I am not allowed to walk with them. I wish he would turn round and just see me. He is so deep in with Bevins that they are like brothers. Everything they say is analysed between the two of them, always hunched together, leafing through the Bible, talking.

I take my seat at the back next to Mary and we sit there for the rest of the morning, Bevins going through the Bible calling out passages and getting us to respond with the next one. Hannah has always been the best at this game and she answers all of them until Bevins gets annoyed and shouts at her.

‘God hates a braggart, Sister. You are not permitted to speak.’

She drops her head abjectly. ‘Forgive me,’ she says.

‘Sister, you know that I do this for you only because I love you. For your soul.’

She nods. And then he gets distracted by some pages from Leviticus, the book of the law, and reads aloud long, dry passages of rules from the days of long ago in the lands of the Middle East.

Then in the middle of the afternoon he dismisses the women to go and prepare the robes.

Hannah walks with us, between us. ‘You were quiet this morning, Mary,’ she says. There is something spoiled and pointed in her tone.

‘You are just too quick with your answers, Sister.’

‘Humph.’ Hannah makes a noise as if she is not satisfied and then she says, ‘If anyone was to leave, if any of you were to
try
to leave, you know that he has told me . . . he said, “Let any that would stray from me know: I will bring them back”.’

Mary nods. ‘Yes, I heard it,’ she says, and we walk in silence back to the house.

When we get there she sends me upstairs to nap with the boys. ‘Get them out from under my feet!’ I lie in bed next to the twins stroking their hair and wait for her to give me the sign. They are quiet and hungry, their usual mithering replaced by a sleepy, starving exhaustion. In my pocket I worry the key that Mary gave me in my fingers. My heart races with what I know I must do. All kinds of frightening possibilities cross my mind: what if I wreck the boat on the rock getting out of the harbour? What if I get sick? What if Alex won’t come with me? It feels like a lifetime since I saw her and the thought of her pale face, the scratches on her arms and legs, scare me. What if there is a big swell and the boat is capsized? I don’t want to drown. Fear courses through my body. Maybe it’s not so bad here, I think. Maybe if the Rapture doesn’t come Mr Bevins will calm down and things will go back to how they used to be. And when the delivery boat comes I can get a message to my mother, get her to call the police. Maybe one of the others can take this on. Why do I have to be the one to do this?

By the time Mary comes upstairs I am nearly crazy with fear and hunger and I have almost persuaded myself that I don’t need to go after all. The women are all sewing brocade and singing, the men will come to light the bonfire once it gets dark. Mary says she can protect me for about an hour, no longer.

‘After that, they’ll know you are gone.’

‘But . . .’ I
can’t
, I want to say. I’m not strong enough.

‘You
can
do this. You know Bevins. He isn’t the type of person who will just let people go. He has to have everyone, or not at all. You
must
do this, for yourself, for Alex, for me, for your mother, for all of us.’ She kneels beside me and puts her arms around me awkwardly. I feel like crying but I don’t.

She takes the twins downstairs and I go and sit at the top of the stairs, frozen like the cormorant that fishes the harbour, waiting to strike. It will sit there for hours then suddenly dive, soundlessly breaking the water, returning with a fish speared in its beak. I can hear voices, the trudge of footsteps, the squeak of the kitchen door on its hinges, low conversation. Everyone is subdued, exhausted. I creep down the stairs until I could be seen from the hallway, and then I know I must go. Now or never.

Once I’m outside I run as if I have the wind in my heels. The evening is clear and the oncoming twilight sky full of emerging stars. Calm weather for boats. I tear along the path towards the lake, not stopping to take care on the rough ground, and I trip and go flying with a thump. The wind is knocked out of me for a second and the lump in my head throbs and the world swims red.

Be careful now, Rebekah
. I hear her voice in my head, calm and steadying, my mother.

‘I will,’ I say, getting up slowly and walking more carefully, wiping the mud off my dress.

I reach the Devil’s Seat just as the light is dipping towards the horizon, the sky pinking and the bright orange fever of the sun sitting on the horizon, big enough to take over the whole sky. I stop to breathe it in. I will miss this.

When I unlock her cell she rises sleepily from the bed. I run over and hug her, plant a kiss on her cheek, but she lies there stiff and indifferent. ‘Is it time?’

‘Yes!’ I say, but her face seems changed. Her hair is matted and she’s dirty.

‘At last!’ She falls on her knees and opens her arms wide. ‘I give thanks to God.’

‘What are you doing! You don’t believe that shit!’

‘Don’t swear. And don’t tell me what to think!’ She even sounds like
them
.

I get her outside and we walk towards the harbour. She looks at me, confused. ‘I thought the church was over there –’ she says, pointing towards the Devil’s Seat.

‘We’re not going there.’

‘Why not?’

‘We’re going to get help. Remember?’

She laughs. ‘It’s the Rapture tonight. Tonight we go to heaven!’ And she turns away from me.