After more convincing, the matriarchs finally took the vials and helped us get rid of Patrick’s body. There’s a tiny, fenced-off backyard behind the women’s room that’s used for gardening. We dug a hole there and stuffed his body in the pit, covering it up with soil and plants to make it look like we had been gardening.
No one came to check on us, despite Agatha having ample time. I wonder if she knows what we’ve been doing and has been turning a blind eye. Not that I care. If she tells the patriarchs, who are they going to believe? An elder’s wife? Or us, the wives?
I’m certain we can get away with this. We must. There’s no other choice.
The men can’t find out … yet.
And until we’re ready to put up a fight, we need to lay low and pretend nothing’s going on.
Of course, not all the matriarchs helped without protest. Trisha didn’t want to lay a hand on Patrick, but she promised she wouldn’t tell a soul. I doubt she wants to throw her fellow matriarchs under the bus because there’d be no one left … and being cooped up all alone in this giant house is certain to drive anyone mad.
These women have had it the best, and still, they feel suppressed by their men. That means something because if we can move these women … we can move all the women in this community.
And today is the day.
Because with Patrick gone, it’ll only be a matter of time before the president finds out someone did something bad … and he’ll make that someone pay.
There’s no time to waste. I’m going to do something now.
My pockets are filled with vials that my mother made. She created most of the poisonous vials in the middle of the night when no one was awake. I can’t believe she went this far, but at the same time, I recognize the desperation. I was there, too, once, and I feel her pain.
My father should’ve died, yet he still walks around, pretending he owns this Holy Land like it was his to begin with. He doesn’t know what’s coming. If she’s tried once, she’ll try it again, and I can’t wait to see the look on his face the moment he realizes he died by his wife’s own hands.
But until then, I’ll have to sit it out … and emblazon the women in this community to stand up for themselves. And I know just how.
Mother and I devised a plan. Noah didn’t agree, but I told him it was our way or the highway. This time, he doesn’t get to make the decision. I do. He wants to break down this community and survive as a patriarch? Then he has to be on our side.
So he vowed not to intervene.
Mother gave me the key she stole from Father, and I used it to escape the temple during the day … right before the scheduled dining hut visit.
I put on the old white clothes I used to wear. Agatha kept them in a closet in her room, and it was easy enough to snatch those because she’s always busy with chores.
Then I went out to join the women in their daily walk toward the dining hut … and I slipped into the crowd unnoticed.
My pregnant belly is hidden behind the white drapes well enough to escape the guard’s attention.
While walking with the women, I tap on the shoulder of those my mother has already spoken with, and I hand them a vial. I place a finger against my lips and shake my head.
No speaking. Nothing to get noticed.
I trust them to be discreet.
I get a thank-you nod and go on my way to the next.
Some of the women I’ve seen myself while my mother and I snuck into their huts at night to help them with their unruly husbands. Others I only know by name and by asking other women to point me in the right direction.
It’s not easy finding the women who’ve been wishing for so long for an escape … but there are many. Too many. It’s time for a change.
We go inside the dining hut, and I look around to see where everyone’s sitting. One of the elders hands me a scarf to cover my face since I didn’t enter with a husband holding my hand. Without saying a word, I grab it and put it on.
I peer around the room and find Emmy sitting at a table for wives. She clenches the fork in her hand but doesn’t eat. Her face is still covered in bruises, and the smile on her face is long gone, along with the sparkle in her eyes. But something else has replaced that cheerfulness she used to have; a vicious yearning for vengeance. And the man sitting beside her, chomping down on his food is the target of all her rage.
She’s ready, and I am too.
I turn my head toward the ladies sitting beside me, eating their lunch in silence, and I take off the scarf around my mouth. They all look at me as if I’ve lost my mind, but I’m not afraid.
“You don’t have to eat like this,” I say.
“Put it back on,” one of them hisses at me.
“Why? Why aren’t we allowed to talk?”
“Because …” another one says through gritted teeth.
“Rules?” I raise a brow. “And who made those rules? The men in charge. Men with power. Men who want to control you and keep you down. I’m done being subjugated.”
I stand from my seat and speak louder and louder.
“I’m done letting these men control my body. No one gets to decide who we talk to and what we say. No one gets to decide who is more worthy. We are all equal. We all deserve equal treatment.”
A woman beside me tugs at my dress to try to get me to sit down, but I’m not going to stop.
I came here with a purpose, and I intend to fulfill my duty.
This community may not have my heart … but it holds my memories and my soul, and I’ll be damned if I let these women suffer any longer.
“Women deserve to be treated fairly. We deserve to eat without scarves covering our mouths. We deserve to talk when we want. We deserve to marry who we want. We deserve to choose who to have sex with. We deserve power.”
Everyone’s looking at me, even the women who first told me to stop. All the women are hanging on my words. Only the men seem outraged at my blatant attempt to make the others rise. And the guards have noticed too.
So I amp up my game. I step onto the table and hold the scarf high to show my resistance.
“Women are getting beaten. Punished. Hurt. All for men’s pleasure. And I say no more!” I yell. “Our bodies are our own!”
No one’s eating any more, and the guards are approaching fast.
Why is no one responding? None of the women say a word even though I know they want to. I can see it in their eyes; they’re begging me to make them move. But how?
Suddenly, someone else gets up from their seat too.
Emmy.
“My body is my own!” she yells, and she looks around at all the other women.
One more gets up. “My body is my own!”
And another one follows, like turnips sprouting from the ground, they all go up in bunches. First, the women I gave the vials too, then their friends, and then their families, until almost half the women in the room have stood.
Even in the face of their husbands sitting right next to them, judging their every move.
“Women, it’s time to rise up! This is your time! Your life! Choose you! Take back the power they took from you!” I roar.
Emmy’s husband tugs at her dress.
Instead of getting down, she stabs him in the hand with her fork.
Everyone sees.
Then the entire room breaks out into screams.
My eyes widen as the women who got up from their seats start punching the men they accompanied as hard as they can. We’re outnumbered, with guards sprouting up everywhere, but it won’t stop them now. They’re emboldened by my speech, and the whole thing quickly turns into one big food-smash-fight. Women and men throw punches at each other, scarves are flung around like lassos, food is thrown everywhere, and knives and forks are used to poke at arms and legs.
Suddenly, a guard and I lock eyes. I panic and quickly jump down as he comes rushing toward me, and I throw myself into the crowd of fighting people. Someone throws me a lefty, and I barely duck out before it hits someone in the jaw. I crawl across the floor underneath the tables, trying to avoid getting hit.
Guards are all around shushing people, warning them with shouting, but no one pays attention. A Taser is shot, and someone screams.
I crawl up from the floor and look around. Emmy’s in the corner of the room, huddled closely to three other women who are trying to escape the dining hut.
I have to help her.
Rising with me created a target on her back, and I don’t want her to get hurt, so I quickly rush to her, ignoring the guard yelling my name a few feet behind me.
“Emmy! Get out! Now!” I yell, as her eyes finally land on me.
In panic, she spins on her heels, goes into the kitchen area and brings back a giant cleaver that was used to butcher the pigs, and she jams it into the locked door as hard as she can. It creaks, and the door cracks open under the pressure, allowing the women to exit.
People swarm to the door in an effort to escape the carnage. The dining hut quickly empties out like a bucket spilling its contents after someone cut a hole into it, and I rush out with the people while throwing my hood over my head again in an effort to blend in.
I want to rile the people up, but getting caught is the last thing on my mind. Can’t change the system if I’m silenced, so I need to rescue myself before things get out of hand.
But where is Emmy? I can’t find her even though I’m looking around the area. She’s nowhere to be seen.
Then I spot her … getting dragged back to her hut by her own husband.
My heart sinks into my shoes, and I bolt after them as fast as I can.
He’ll punish her for what she did. I have to save her.
I burst into their home, slamming the door open like a crazed warrior. “Let her go!” I yell.
My sudden entrance catches the guy off guard, and his grip on her loosens for a moment … but that moment is enough for Emmy escape.
She runs off into the kitchen and grabs a big pot roast that was on the fire. Screaming out loud, she hits him with it in the back of the head.
I gasp in shock, and I cover my mouth as he drops to the floor, a red, bloodied wound on his skull.
