As everyone sat for prayer, I noticed Deborah, one of the Assembly wives, wince. It wasn’t obvious; however, since we’d all experienced it firsthand, we were proficient at catching the subtle signs of correction. Each time, we’d offer support, while reminding our sister, as Raquel had reminded me after my first correction—in my new memory or new past, as I liked to think of it—to thank God and Father Gabriel for a husband who loved enough to correct. Yet as Deborah settled into her chair, I knew my thinking was wrong and I needed to confess it again to Jacob. Instead of telling her to be thankful, I wanted to tell her to talk to one of the Commission wives, and I wondered why they didn’t notice.
As I watched my Assembly sister, my gut told me that things were different for Deborah than for most of us. Not only had she recently given birth to a beautiful son, she’d gone back to her job and worked six hours a day at the clinic with Raquel. Sister Esther mentioned once in confidence how difficult it was to leave her baby and return to work; however, there wasn’t an option to do otherwise. It was Father Gabriel’s rule that all babies be under his word in day care by five weeks of age. What bothered me about Deborah was that even while she was pregnant, she was often corrected. Brother Abraham not only used his belt, but often her cheek or eye was bruised. More times than I could count there’d been visual evidence.
It wasn’t up to women to question Brother Abraham’s reasoning, but after the short time I remembered having known Deborah, I found it difficult to believe that she was that disobedient. Honestly, she was quiet and sweet, and now that her son, Philip, was here, she was tired. Once in a while in service, I’d watch Brother Abraham. Truth be told, not only was I concerned for Deborah, but he also scared me. Though I knew Jacob would never allow another man to touch me, I wasn’t comfortable around Brother Abraham. If my instincts were correct, Deborah felt the same. As others comforted her and reminded her to pray, she said the right words. Still, there was something missing.
After prayer meeting Elizabeth, Raquel, and I walked down a corridor toward our husbands. As we did, I rubbed the tips of my fingers together, wondering if I’d ever get used to the strange sensation. Once a month, all followers pressed the pads of their fingers onto a special prayer sponge. Symbolically it removed our individuality, making us all equal parts of Father Gabriel’s family. Though we were chosen, our behavior was an example to the other followers. It didn’t hurt. It just felt odd.
As we were on our way to the Assembly room, a female follower with long blonde hair secured in a braid approached. Though something about her caught my attention, I couldn’t remember having seen her before. Then again, as an Assembly wife I was rather isolated.
“Sister Elizabeth,” the blonde said.
Elizabeth nodded toward Raquel and me as she greeted the woman. “Sister Mary, so nice to see you.” Since Elizabeth and Brother Luke worked with new followers, she seemed to know almost everyone. It wasn’t uncommon for female followers to come to her with questions. Though I wasn’t a new follower, I understood the appeal of having women to help you understand.
Not wanting to intrude, Raquel and I stepped back. Elizabeth reached for Sister Mary’s hand and spoke softly as Sister Mary nodded. I watched as Elizabeth’s red hair fell in soft curls near her shoulders, veiling her lips and keeping their conversation private.
“She’s so good at what she does,” Raquel whispered.
I nodded. “Have you ever seen her before—Sister Mary?”
“Yes, in the clinic.”
My eyes widened. “In the clinic? Was she sick?”
“No, it was just . . . when she first arrived. You know . . . to make sure she’s healthy and didn’t have any illnesses from the dark.”
“Oh, yes, that makes sense.” I watched as Mary bit her lower lip and smiled. “I don’t know why, but she looks familiar.”
Raquel laughed. “I know why.”
“You do?”
“Yes, don’t you see it?”
I scanned Mary one last time as she wiped a tear and nodded to Elizabeth. “Not really, but I must admit, I admire her hair.”
Raquel tapped my arm. “She looks like you, even her hair.”
I pouted. “Was it really that long?”
“It was, and it will be again. I’ve enjoyed the shorter cut. It was a fun change.”
Before I could respond, Elizabeth was back, and we made our way toward the Assembly room.