This was not a wedding. I did not feel bridal. There was no minister, no family and friends, no beautiful music, no flowers, no wedding dress, no blessing, and no, not even a kiss. It was a formal procedure without a scrap of romance.
Thomas had told the judge that he was not to use the words ‘solemnly swear’ or ‘promise.’ The scriptures say we are not to ‘swear at all, but let our yeah be yeah and our nay be nay’.
‘Do you agree to take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?’
‘I do,’ I found myself saying. Do you, do you, do you? I do. Only I didn’t. I actually had no idea what I was doing. How big it all really was. Although I was nineteen, I was still very much a youth. A rebellious, immature, damaged minor who was hopelessly out of her depth, acting without parental consent. No one had asked my mom. I was painfully aware I was disobeying her explicit exhortation. ‘Don’t get married, and don’t join a cult’ – her final words to me on the station platform.
Soon it was all over. The judge said, ‘You may kiss the bride,’ but Thomas refused. Leaving the courtroom, he started talking nonstop. He kept calling me ‘Sister Lesley’. I said, ‘I am not your sister anymore.’ We found a phone box so I could call my mom. It was two o’ clock in the morning in South Africa. I told her I was not coming home, that I had just got married. She started crying and told me I was killing her. It was awful. She had been through so many traumas already and now here I was adding to her pain. I hated myself. A strange emotion to feel on a ‘wedding day’.
10
We had a bus to catch. Thomas had decided we should head to New York to deal with immigration. He went off to buy some food for the journey (he had still not been able to find any) and I sat alone on the river bank, feeding the ducks our last few pieces of mouldy pita bread. Suddenly I heard a woman call my name. Looking up, there was Sister Daniella coming towards me. She had an amazed look on her face. The elder and three sisters had left Seattle in a Volkswagen Camper a new brother had brought to the Church. Their van was loaded up with delectable food. I had never eaten blueberries before – they were fresh, tart and plump.
Once again it seemed to me that God was in the detail. The elder had stopped in Spokane in the hope of finding one of the brothers there. He had sent the sisters out to scout around to try and find the brother. Instead they found us. I had needed cheering up so badly. Thomas and I boarded our bus that evening with full tummies and bags brimming with food. A married couple! It still felt unbelievable to me.
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS:
After an arduous day and a half on the bus we arrived in Chicago. I sat with our gear while Thomas went up to the bathrooms. He was washing his hands when he heard a voice greet him. There was one of our brothers at the basin next to him. Brother Shor! I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw the two brothers coming down the escalator towards me.
Brother Shor urged us to spend the night. He told us he had access to two houses in the city. He took us to the empty one and told us to look in the deep freeze. There was a present in it for us – it was full of white chocolate!
It was a strained and strange night for both of us. Thomas was an awkward, fumbling virgin. There was no sexual spark between us. He did not know how to turn me on. I had no pretty pyjamas. My ‘sleeping gear’ was a second-hand blouse, my mattress was a yoga mat. We had no special wedding sheets and there was only cold water to wash in. At least there was water! I had to try very hard to find things to be thankful for. The white chocolate was the only thing vaguely romantic. I wasn’t in love. Thomas’s untrimmed bushy beard was scratchy and it reminded me of kissing my grandfather. I hated kissing my grandfather. It was all horribly humiliating. I wouldn’t kiss him. Kissing Thomas just felt wrong.
I was secretly glad when Brother Shor arrived the next morning to break the uncomfortable silence. I knew Thomas was disappointed with me. I was not the kind of wife he had been praying for or expecting. Our first night together did not get us off to a good start. The consequences of what I had got myself into started to suddenly sink in with a sobering thud. I felt stupid. Young, arrogant and oh so stupid.
Brother Shor saw us off at the bus station. On the bus to New York, I busied and distanced myself writing the following letter home.
20 August 1983
Dearest Mom
So! I am married and I have a husband! Thomas knows the scriptures so well and oh how thrilling it is because, when we’re talking, he’ll say, ‘Do you know what that verse is about?’ and then he shows me. He’s really compassionate and loving. He has been praying for a wife for years, but it just didn’t seem Elohim’s will to give him one. He was the first brother who told me the truth, and it was he who laboured with me, answering most of my questions and working things out.
The Church has set a very high standard. Sisters just don’t talk to brothers for anything. It seems that Elohim has set an order so that lasciviousness and fornication, pride and back biting do not arise. I really appreciate the order. The world is just too loose.
I tried to phone Grant and Julia again but the phone was out of order. My plane out of America is supposed to leave in two hours’ time! I have tried about six times to contact them but have just not been able to. We feel really bad about this misunderstanding and all. I am sorry it had to work out this way.
I really do love you lots and lots.
(Later)
I finally got to speak to Grant. I will start another letter to you as soon as I get to New York and tell you about our daily happenings. You must feel a bit like Job, Mom, but remember how Elohim abundantly blessed him after the trying of his heart. It seems like always at the end of big trials, there is a big blessing.
I love you muchly,
Les
NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK:
After many hours of travelling, we arrived at the New York depot. The awkwardness of the night before stretched long into the next day. Thomas held my hand. I felt pitifully shy and unsure of myself. What had I done?
We made our way to Nevins Street in Brooklyn. It was all familiar to me now. From the subway station to the house I grew ever more timid. I was now a ‘married sister’. How was I meant to behave?
Over the next few weeks I was to learn the rules. No affection in public. Nothing to show we were man and wife. For months after, even years, I often felt shocked as I reflected on what I had entered into so flippantly. Married!
11
Brother Leonard met us at the door of the camp in Nevins Street. He had just spoken to the elder at the morning call and had heard that we would be arriving soon. His eyes smiled at us. A knowing smile. Like we had been up to some monkey business, and he knew it.
We were shown through to what had been the sisters’ dining area. A thin curtain separated it from the rest of the dining room and the kitchen. It felt flimsily private.
A few days later we moved over to an apartment in Hoyt Street which we had to ourselves. To enter the place, I had to stick my hand through a pigeon-sized hole in the door and reach around till I found a rope. Pulling on the rope slid a locking plank out from its wedge against the door handle and the bottom step. When the plank fell, the door swung open.
As soon as my distressed mother found out I was married, she asked Grant to go and visit us to check that I was okay. We had only been staying in Hoyt Street for a couple of days when he came down from Boston to visit for the night. He brought my mail and also the passport I had left with them. The main purpose of his visit, though, was to ‘check out’ Thomas for my mom.
I worked late into the night before his arrival, sweeping the peeling walls and filthy floors, scrubbing, sterilising and washing. I put up pretty curtains I had sourced at the Nevins camp. Thomas brought home some discarded flowers he’d found and