I shower in silence, but my head is full of words I wish I had spoken out loud. What am I even doing here? I should be out there searching for that woman. Instead, I’m playing pretend while lathering tropical soap all over my body. I’m a hypocrite. I want the women to stand up for themselves, but when push comes to shove, I don’t either. I understand why they hesitate now. These men are powerful, and they’ll stop at nothing to get what they want.
When I’m clean, I grab a towel from the shelves and wrap it around my waist just in time before someone enters the room. It’s the same woman from before who guided me into the bathroom, and she judges me with just her eyes.
“Come,” she says, walking past me. She picks up a metallic thing and places it on the floor. A scale. “Get on.”
With a questioning look on my face, I do what she asks. We both stare at the number on the scale, and she writes it down on a notepad. She holds out a measuring tape and wraps it around my waist, jotting down those numbers too. Clearing her throat, she says, “That’ll be easy.”
“What?” I ask.
“Making clothes,” she hums.
So they make perfectly fitting clothes for the patriarchs’ wives? Wow.
“I’m fine wearing what I always wear,” I reply.
She glares at me with that same judgmental look. “No, no. You will wear the proper clothing now that you’re becoming a patriarch’s wife.”
“What’s wrong with my white dress?” I ask.
“That’s for the other people in the community,” she replies.
I make a face. “You mean for the people beneath the patriarchs.”
She eyes me down but doesn’t say another word. Go figure. Of course, she’d never admit that they have a superiority hierarchy, but they do, and she knows it.
The woman walks off and grabs a bathrobe hanging from the wall. “Put this on,” she says.
“Okay,” I mutter as I put it on. “What’s your name?”
I don’t know why I ask; I don’t know if I even want to know, but a part of me wants to humanize this whole ordeal.
She smiles at me. “My name is Agatha.”
“Hi, I’m Natalie,” I say with a hint of sarcasm. “You do know I’m a prisoner here, right?”
She just smiles and continues to clean up the place, then she opens the door, and says, “Come with me, please.”
Do they just not care? I guess not. Noah must’ve already told them about me. And I can’t forget what that teacher said about them getting fresh wombs regularly. Girls like me who can be married off to men like him.
I follow her through the hallways to a different room that has a big bed, a heavy-looking wooden wardrobe, and an old, musty chair with a green seat. I swallow. Is this going to be my new room?
“You will stay here until you’re called or someone comes to get you,” the woman explains. “Rest. You’ll need it.”
Before I can ask any more questions, she shuts the door behind her and locks it.
I turn around and immediately go to the windows, but they’re barred with metal. What a surprise. It’s as if this place was made to keep girls like me imprisoned.
Sighing, I drop down on the bed and bury my face into the pillow so I can scream. Is it even any use trying to escape? If I even manage to get out this building, a ton of guards are waiting outside, watching my every move.
Especially now … now that I’m no longer just a common girl, an initiate … but an actual wife of a patriarch.
Just the thought makes bile rise in my throat.
I close my eyes and force myself to stop thinking about it. This bed is so comfortable it reminds me of a pile of feathers that I can just plop into. It’s unlike any bed I’ve slept on in the time I’ve spent here in the community, and it almost makes me forget about all the pain. Lying on this bed makes me so tired, and there’s nothing more that I want than for this to all just disappear. If only for a moment. Just … a few … minutes. Dozing off, while my feet ache, and my heart drowns in misery … sleep is my only salvation.
It’s the first time in ages that Steve enters my dreams. It’s never a pleasant moment. It always ends in us shouting, fighting, and pushing each other away. Even in my dreams, he cheats and tells me about it afterward. Excuses, excuses … none of them mean anything when I have this life inside me growing and growing.
But the pain of leaving him pales in comparison to the pain I feel when they rip open my womb. Cut me into pieces, lay me bare. Blood spills all over, and I can’t see anything. There’s only darkness, and blood, and cries.
My cries.
Not my baby’s.
Mine.
Endless tears that drown me out until there’s nothing left but me, my scar … and nothing to hold.
No man. No love. No baby.
Nothing.
Noah
I wait in the hallway for Agatha to come down the stairs.
“She’s in bed, resting,” she says.
“Good,” I say, nodding. “Wake her for breakfast tomorrow.”
She glares at me for a moment, as though she’s almost ready to question me on my decision, but she knows my authority far surpasses hers, so she nods instead. “Yes, Patriarch.”
She bows and walks back to her own room. She and her husband Pete are the only ones allowed to live on the premises; the rest of the elders are expected to live in regular huts like everyone else. But Agatha and Pete have been caring for the patriarchs and the president for years, and I trust them with the most important tasks … including taking care of my prized wife.
“Noah!” My father’s loud voice can be heard from all the way down the hall as he barges into the main entrance area. “What did you do?”
“What?” I mutter, shrugging.
“Don’t play dumb with me,” he says, pointing at me. “You know what I’m talking about. The woman.”
“Oh … she’s upstairs resting now.”
“I don’t care. What is she doing here in the temple?” he barks. “She was supposed to be a fresh womb for the people, not for you!”
“I chose a wife. That’s our tradition,” I reply.
“No, I choose a wife for you. That’s the tradition, and it has been that way for years. You know that.” He throws the book he was carrying onto a dresser near the door. “I don’t swear, but you make me want to.”
“Go ahead. I won’t tattle,” I say, tucking my hands into my pockets.
He narrows his eyes at me, as though he intends to instill fear in me. “The patriarchal father chooses a wife for the son. That’s how it has always gone. Why did you have to go against the rules?”
“Because I was tired of waiting.” I shrug.
“That’s all? Really?” he says. “How did the president agree to this?”
“I … haven’t discussed it with him yet. But I’ll deal with the fallout.”
“Oh, really?” he scoffs, cocking his head. “I’m sure that’ll go over well. If he doesn’t kill you on the spot for not telling him beforehand you were going to pull that stunt in front of the entire community.”
Threatening with violence is just the thing I expected him to do, but I’m not scared. Nothing will happen to me, and he knows it.
“You are betrothed, Noah.” He smashes his fist against the wall.
I suck in a breath and wait before I reply. I don’t want him drawing more attention to himself and making the other patriarchs discover us. This is not a conversation for them to hear.
“Were,” I say. “Things change. I’ve changed.”
“No, you haven’t, and stop lying to me. When did you stop caring about the rules?” he asks. “I didn’t raise you this way.”
“No, you raised me to care about our community, and I care. I care so much, I want to give God more children, just as I’m supposed to.”
He frowns. “That’s what this is all about?”
I sigh. “I’m getting old, Father.”
He laughs. “Old? As old as my ass.” He sits down on a chair near the door to the dining area and shakes his head. “To think my own son would stoop to this level. And with an outsider nonetheless.”
“She’s not an outsider … not anymore.” I fold my arms. “She’s been trained. Her initiation is over.”
“That doesn’t make her any better of a choice for a man of your stature,” he says.
“She’s perfect, and she’s going to be my wife,” I say.
He stares at me, and I stare straight back at him.
I’m not backing down. Not on this one.
“This conversation isn’t over. We’ll see what the president thinks of your silly idea,” he says as he gets up from his chair and leaves.
My eyes follow his every step until he’s gone from my sight.
But my father will never leave my mind … that he’ll make sure of.
Natalie
A few days later
I haven’t left this room for days. I’m not allowed. There are guards by the door, and I’m sure if I tried to escape they’d push me right back in again.
I’ve been getting meals from that same elder wife who took my measurements, Agatha. She doesn’t speak, but I’m not sure she’s allowed to, even if she wanted to.
The women are treated like objects here. I thought the temple would be better than the huts below, but now I’m starting to question that thought.
I’m starting to question everything, even my own mind.
Being isolated like this with nothing to do but read books and failing at trying to learn how to knit because you don’t have any help is even more boring than staying in the huts. At least there, I had jobs, menial jobs, but things to do nonetheless. It was something. Now, I have nothing but time, and I’m wasting it. I’m wasting away in here.
Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door. Agatha steps inside with a long deep red and black dress in her hands.
“Time to get dressed,” she says, and she places the velvety dress on the small table across from my bed. I get up from my seat and put my book down.
She marches toward me, curls her fingers around the fabric of my bathrobe and peels it away, leaving me naked once again. She puts it into a laundry basket near the door, and I peer through to see if anyone’s watching.
“C’mon, dear,” she says, beckoning me to come close.
I do what she asks, and she puts me in the new dress in a few seconds. It’s almost as if she’s done this before.
“Am I the first?” I blurt out.
She pauses, glaring at me with that same judgmental look she always carries.
“The first what?”
“The first … wife?” I don’t know how else to explain it. No one tells me anything, and I’ve not been out of this room for days on end.
“Patriarch Noah has not had a wife before you.”
Well, it wasn’t the answer I was looking for … but I guess it’s useful information.
She pulls some strings on the back of the dress and practically suffocates me. “Stay still.”
“That’s hard when you can’t breathe,” I say.
She pulls the strings even tighter. “There.”
She grabs my hair and brushes it through with a brush she keeps in a pocket along with other tools that are attached to her skirt. I bet she does this for all the women here.
“Feet up,” she says, and when I do, she puts tiny little pumps on my feet that barely fit. “Hmm … I’ll make a note for the shoemaker to increase the size.”
“Do you do this to all the wives here?” I ask.
“Yes,” she replies. It’s probably the first real answer I’ve gotten from her.
“Who else has a wife?” I ask as she twirls around me to do my hair. “Do all the patriarchs pick a random girl from the community to be their wife?”
She throws me a look. “The fathers choose a wife for the sons. That is patriarchal custom. Of course, all patriarchs fulfill their duty to the Lord.”
“Right … children for the Lord,” I mutter.
But Noah’s father didn’t pick me, right? So Noah went against the rules.
She sticks a pin in my hair, but it’s pushed back so far that it begins to sting. “And you will do the same.”
I swallow away the lump in my throat when she says that.
“You know I’m not a virgin, right?” I add.
I’ve said it a few times before, but apparently, it doesn’t faze them at all. I thought Emmy said they only accepted virgins in this place? What’s changed?
“The patriarchs choose who they deem right for them. It is not up to us to judge.”
“So they get to bend the rules,” I say.
“Enough.” She pats me on the back. “Patriarch Noah has asked for you to join him.”
She nudges me toward the door. Down we go along the giant staircase until we reach a door to the left where she stops. She shoves aside the two sliding doors to reveal a big dining hall with a large oak table in the middle and red leather chairs. And on several of them sit some of the most dangerous men I’ve ever met.
Four patriarchs, one of whom is Noah, and three of them turn around to look … at me.
