"What do you want, child?"
I licked my lips nervously. "Is there any way I can have one last look at Tiesha's old room?" I asked.
The matron looked me over again. "You're the older girl, aren't you? The Ross child?"
"Yes, ma'am. I turn twenty next week. I wanted to put the last of my memories to rest."
"Mm." With a snap, the woman closed her book. "Have no fears, child. Her problems won't pass to you."
Before I could stop myself, the next words fell out. "Are you sure?" Because I was starting to wonder if they already had.
"Pray, child. Lucky for you, her room is still open. I'll let you see it so you can give your mother's soul one last thought and pray her corruption won't flow in your veins." She turned to the heavy metal door and entered a code.
I couldn't help myself. I knew there had once been numbers on the pad, and as a child, I'd spent too much time looking at it, waiting for someone to press the right keys. Back then, I'd been too short to do it myself, but what if the code had changed? While I watched, the old woman pressed out 4-4-6-3, and proved it hadn't.
The lock released with a heavy thunk, and the metal slab swung out slightly. The matron pulled it open far enough for both of us to pass through, and then followed me. That worked out, though. There would be no way to find the right room without help. It had been far too long, and the hall was lined with dozens upon dozens of doors.
Each one had a small window in the front. From some came the sounds of women moving around. As we passed another, I heard the occupant talking to herself - or maybe a child. Down at the far end of the hall, a baby wailed.
Inside most of them, it was dark. Always dark, unless they had a visitor or a child to raise. After all, the Righteous weren't willing to risk the lives of their children - we were God's gift and meant to be treasured. Only a few rooms were lit, though. I knew that interspersed between them were empty rooms, spacing the possessed far enough apart so the Devil wouldn't reinfect those nearly cured.
At a random door in the middle, the old woman pulled out a key and unlocked it. She made no move to open the heavy door. I had to do that for myself. However, the matron was kind enough to press a button on the outside, turning on a very faint light. Then she simply leaned back to rest her weight against the wall while I was allowed to go in.
Clearly, I might have the right to do this, but that didn't mean I was trusted. Not that the room was large enough to do anything in. Along one side, in sight of the door, was the bed. It was hard and narrow, just like where I slept now. Beside that was a small desk, the surface barely big enough to hold a Bible - and little else. In the corner was a single metal chair.
So many times, I'd shared that chair with my mother. Tiesha would sit there and I would curl up in her lap, held tight in her arms. Those were the few happy memories I had. Alone together, we'd shared secret words and made up entirely new lives. Back then, I'd thought it was enough. Now, kneeling before the seat, I pressed my head to it and clasped my hands before me, the necklace and folded drawing cradled between them.
I didn't pray.
Soon, I would be the mother, and I hoped I could give my own child just as much love. We'd had a measly six years together, but it had been the only comfort I'd ever known, and I needed that right now. Some hope that my life wouldn't always be filled with such misery, because if this was all we got, then was there really any point? What was the purpose of making me suffer merely to prove I was good? And if there was a point, why didn't God simply tell us what we had to do?
If there wasn't, then why did I have to marry a man I didn't want? Why couldn't I spend my time locked away with books, waiting for the world above to be ready for God's children to return to it? Why couldn't I make my own decisions about my husband, decide when it was best to have my own children, and take my time getting ready for it?
Most of all, why wasn't I given any choice in my own life? Why weren't any of us?
NineAyla
My birthday came and went. With it were the offers of marriage. I tried to choose, I really did. Callah and I debated each and every man in the darkness of our room every night, finding no reasons for me to choose any over the others. They all were atrocious!
But five days later, Mrs. Myers called me aside in the dining hall. I took one look at the woman's face and knew. I had taken too long. The council had already decided. If I didn't announce my choice of husband by the end of the day, they would do it for me on the morrow.
"Who?" I didn't need to explain.
Mrs. Myers bowed her head. "Peter Morgan."
"He's fifty!"
"Fifty-four," she said gently. "You will be his third wife, so you know he will bless you with many children."
All the blood in my body dropped down to my toes. My heart began hammering. Marriage was the beginning of the end. The moment I said, "I do," to a man, I would become his property, to be corrected as he saw fit and bred over and over until I produced enough viable heirs. That was what had happened to Meri. It was what had happened to my mother. Now, it was happening to me.
And Mrs. Myers had been chosen to deliver the news. She was a councilman's wife. Her place was secure, so long as she continued to produce Mr. Myers' children. To the rest of us, she was often held up as one of the shining examples of what a good wife should be, yet to me, her life sounded miserable. Even with the prestige of marrying one of the Elders, Mrs. Myers' only power was this, telling me that my future had already been decided for me.
After all, man's needs were what the council considered - never a woman's. The children I produced were his possessions, not mine. My husband could take those kids away when he felt they were old enough to enter school or society. My duty was to care for our rooms, to cook and clean, and always to make sure the hardworking man of the house was comfortable.
But I'd heard my mother's screams when my father had gone to visit her. I remembered the bruises on my mother's face afterwards. Bruises that were the same as so many other women in the dining hall. Bruises that matched the ones Meri had shown me after her wedding. Spare the rod, spoil the wife, they said, and it seemed men enjoyed punishing women almost as much as breeding us.
Now, it was my turn. As I stared blankly at Mrs. Myers, I knew there was no way to stop this. Snippets and stories pinged around in my head, but none of them held any hope. There were ways for a wife to protect herself, but they all ended the same way. Pushing back, speaking up, or resisting too obviously all ended as a death sentence. Trying to control the panic quickly rising inside me, I set my face into a perfect mask and took a deep breath.
"What happens if I refuse?" The words were barely more than a breath of desperation coming from my lips.
The truth was Peter Morgan had killed two previous women by breeding them to death. Thankfully, he hadn't beaten the life out of them like some, but being given to him didn't really sound like a good thing. At least not to me! Maybe I could ask for someone else? Someone who hadn't been among the old and stuffy men who'd made proposals?
"You can't refuse." Mrs. Myers ducked her head to catch my panicked gaze. "Child, Peter's a good man. Give him a chance. You may even learn to care for him, just like I do for my own husband."
But I didn't believe that. I couldn't. Meri's marriage was supposed to have been the perfect one, yet even she had been beaten to remind her of her place. Love was a lie. Romance was a myth! All of the things I'd dared to hope for were mere falsehoods designed to trick us girls into being amiable and compliant!
"I'm not ready," I breathed. I knew it was the wrong thing to say, but the words still fell out.
Mrs. Myers gently patted my shoulder. "I know, sweetie. No one ever is, but you're a woman now, and we have too many empty rooms. The demons above take their toll, and God needs His army. This is the sacrifice He's called on you to make."
"Does what I want even matter?"
Mrs. Myers shook her head. "No. They will marry you off, and you will have big, healthy babies. You can do it the boring way, or the painful one, but every person who grows up in the compound is an investment." She dropped her voice. "I know, because they gave me the same lecture at your age."
I felt like I wanted to run, but I couldn't. My eyes were stinging, yet I refused to cry. So many times in the infirmary, I'd watched as hunters died from their wounds, but not even their loss of life had hit me this hard. Maybe because it was my turn?
This was the end of my freedom. My last decision was being taken from me - and worse, I couldn't even force myself to choose someone else! All I wanted was to be free to make my own decisions. To have the luxury to live my own life, not simply exist for someone else. Was that too much to ask?
