by Kate L. Mary
I shake my head when my eyes fill with tears. If he’s chosen at the ceremony tomorrow, I won’t be able to stand the sight of him, let alone spend time with him like this. All the intimacy will be gone, all the trust between us destroyed. If he takes part in the sick, sadistic ritual Father David has created, I won’t be comfortable around him anymore.
“I don’t know…” The words stick in my throat. I’m afraid to tell him how I feel, afraid he won’t understand. That he’ll think I’m overreacting. “If you’re chosen, things won’t be the same. Do you understand that?” I look at him, pleading, willing him to understand what I’m saying.
He shakes his head, and my heart drops to the ground. He doesn’t get it.
“I know I’ll be promised to someone else, but you’re already betrothed. How will it be any different? You’re the one I care about. A betrothal can’t change that.”
I scoot farther away from him, staring at my hands, wringing them just like my mother does. I can’t look him in the eye. “That’s not what I mean.”
“What, then? What do you mean?”
I finally look up, tears streaming down my face. “They’re just kids, Jared. The girls who get betrothed are children.”
He shakes his head, but there’s still no understanding in his eyes, only confusion.
He doesn’t get it.
He’s no better than David.
I push myself off the ground and get to my feet. “I have to go.”
“Willow, wait!” He jumps up and reaches for me, grabbing my arm.
But the spell is broken, and I don’t want his hands on me anymore. I flinch when he touches my arm and try not to feel bad at the pain flashing in his eyes. Turning away, I run toward the trees, leaving Jared behind.
Chapter 16
My mother and I clean up from dinner, but I’m dragging my feet. Last night after I got home from the pond, I couldn’t sleep, and my day at the hospital seemed to go on forever, which was more than okay with me. If I could have frozen time, I would have. I would have stretched today out forever and gladly remained stuck in the monotonous existence of working at the hospital, because what I’m about to face feels ominous after the little bit of happiness I’ve managed to grab for myself. Like Mt. David is about to crumble and rain boulders down on my head.
“Pick up the pace, Willow,” George snaps from the other room, making me jump. “We’re leaving in five minutes.”
My hands shake, and the plate I’m in the middle of washing nearly slips from my grasp. In only five minutes we’ll be heading to the main building for the betrothal ceremony. The room suddenly feels too small, as if the walls have shifted and are pressing in on me, and much too hot. Sweat has collected on my upper lip, and tremors move up my legs like an earthquake has started in my body.
My mother pulls the plug, and the water whooshes from the sink. She doesn’t even glance at me when she dries her hands and leaves the kitchen, and for a moment I’m frozen in place, staring as a tornado of water swirls around and around then disappears down the drain. Even when it’s all gone, I can’t move, and for once, I’m thankful for my mother’s indifference. If she cared about me at all, she’d notice I’m on the verge of falling apart.
“Willow,” George snaps.
My head jerks up to find him and my mother standing at the open door, waiting for me. Somehow, against all odds, my legs work, and then I’m walking, crossing the room and stepping outside. It feels like it’s happening to someone else, though. Like I’ve left my body and I’m hovering over it, watching as I follow George and my mother down the street.
Maybe it’s because this is a walk I’ve taken before, or because very soon I’ll be forced to take another walk, one that’s much more final.
There are just eight days left now. Eight days until I become David’s wife. It’s the thing I’ve been dreading ever since the day I took that first, long walk.
Three years have gone by since then, and so much has changed, especially over the past two weeks, and a part of me doesn’t even feel like the same person, but this path still feels oddly similar. The day of that first walk we were in a different place, a different state where sand rested under my feet instead of dirt, but still, I feel like I have faced this moment already.
Why, though? This isn’t my betrothal, and it isn’t like I haven’t been to a ceremony since then. I’ve attended dozens of them. But in the past I was able to take myself out of those moments, to be present but not present at the same time. To avoid thinking about the girl standing in front of me who is dressed in white and totally oblivious to what she’s about to face. But this, thinking about Jared’s name being called, about him being the one who leaves the worship hall with that girl, it hurts too much, and no matter what I do, I can’t seem to take myself out of the situation the way I usually do.
The way I ended things with Jared hurts, but I couldn’t explain how I felt without telling him what happened to me, and forming the words is impossible. The wound is still too raw. It’s better this way, though. If Jared’s name is called today, it will be over, anyway. He’ll be ruined for me, tainted beyond recognition.
He may as well be David.
When we walk through the front door, George heads off to join the other men, ignoring my mother and me as we continue. The second I step over the threshold of the worship hall, everything starts closing in on me, and I find myself thrust back in time. I follow my mother, but darkness has coated my vision, making it feel like I’m walking down a long, dark tunnel as the memories and feelings slam into me. Frantically, as if my life depends on it, I search the right side of the room, looking for the familiar blond head. It only takes a moment to locate him, and like magic, I relax.
Jared has become like a balm on a wound for me, like a security blanket for a toddler. I feel as if I need him to anchor me to the ground, to keep me sane. Since I ran away from the pond last night, I’ve tried to convince myself I was okay leaving him, that it was easier this way, but seeing him now, I know it isn’t true. Just knowing men like him exist makes me feel like the world isn’t as rotten or spoiled as I’ve always thought it was. I care about him, so much that at this moment I can’t think about anything else. Not David, not why we’re here, not what might happen to me if Father David finds out I’ve been sneaking around. Just Jared. Only Jared.
He turns toward me, and our eyes lock. His swim with pain and worry, so full of emotion that a small sob escapes my lips and I have to fight the urge to rush to him. Why did I run last night? Why did I throw away the one happiness I’ve had so quickly?
A blonde girl catches my eye, and I tear my gaze from his. She’s dressed in white and is tall but thin the way only a barely pre-pubescent girl can be. She bends down to adjust her shoe, pulling the hem of her dress up in the process and revealing a skinned knee, and suddenly I can picture her, running around the commune, laughing as she plays with her friends, her golden pigtails flying around her.
This is why I fled last night. Because there is a very real chance Jared’s name will be called today, and when that happens, he will be the person to take this little girl, this child, back to his room for the night.
The girl fades away when tears fill my eyes, and I don’t look at Jared again. My entire body is weak when my mother turns into an aisle, and I follow, thankful for the chance to sit. I doubt my legs would be able to hold me up much longer with the way they’re shaking.
I wipe the tears from my eyes but know it’s useless. They won’t stay away for long. I don’t know if there really is a God, but I spend my time praying—no, begging—that Jared’s name won’t be called tonight. I can’t face it, not with my marriage looming over me, not knowing what will happen in the privacy of his room. Not only would it be too much to take, but I also know without a doubt I’ll never be able to forgive him.
Before I’m ready, the men start filing in. Even though I don’t want to look at him, I find myself straining to find Jared in the crowd, but the other men have swall
owed him up. Time seems to be moving more slowly than usual. Father David passes me, heading to the front, and then the girl and her parents take their place at his side, and my wait is finally over.
Father David begins the ceremony, talking about duty and how the girl, Rebekah Snow, has been chosen by God. Now that she’s standing in front of me, I recognize her. I’ve seen her around—the community isn’t very big—but I had no idea she was almost fifteen. She looks much younger. I can’t picture myself at that age, but I find myself wondering if I looked this small and fragile when I was standing up there, because that’s how Rebekah looks. She seems almost breakable standing next to Father David. Small. Like one of the tiny porcelain figures I admired in Annabel’s kitchen all those years ago.
The girl doesn’t move or make a sound, a perfect picture of how a Daughter of David should act. Father David is on her left, with her parents on her right, and the two of them smile with pride. But Rebekah isn’t smiling. She’s small and awkward in her white dress and short veil, clutching her bouquet of wildflowers tightly between her hands.
She looks like she’s playing dress up.
Her hair is pale blonde, only a little lighter than Jared’s. The similarity makes me squirm. Rebekah’s blue eyes are wide with fear, and her lower lip quivers. My stomach churns at the thought of what lays ahead for her, and the more Father David talks, the stronger the nausea becomes. I’m not sure what’s worse—knowing what’s going to happen to this girl, or waiting to hear if Jared is the one who’s going to do it to her. Every time I think of him participating in this sickening ritual, the urge to throw up gets stronger. As does the desire to scream. I fight to ignore it, taking slow, deep breaths through my mouth, pushing the heat and anger down, but it’s almost impossible.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice my mother watching me, but I don’t look at her. Partly because I can’t stand the sight of her, especially right now, but also because I can’t take my eyes off the child standing in front of me. The one about to be betrothed.
Father David starts reading the story of the betrothal, and I sit up straighter. Sweat collects on my palms, and I wipe my hands on my skirt, but it doesn’t help, so I clench them into tight fists.
“Rebekah Snow, on this, the fifteenth anniversary of your birth, we have gathered together to celebrate your life. As a Daughter of David, you have been given an honor few fifteen-year-old girls in this world will get. Because of your faith, and because, like us, you have chosen to shelter yourself from the depravity of the world, you have been given the gift of betrothal. It is the chance to marry a man who was chosen for you by God, and an opportunity to procreate and bring forth more Children of David.”
Father David pauses. For effect, maybe? It feels that way at the moment. I hold my breath. His smile widens, and even though it makes everything in my stomach twist unpleasantly, I can’t look away while I wait for him to say the words, silently begging for it to be anyone but Jared. The tension in my body increases, and I lean forward. Waiting. Praying. Shaking.
After what seems like forever, Father David says, “I call upon my Son, Jared Ross, to join me here, and to take the hand of his bride as a symbol of their future union.”
Bile rises in my throat, and I gag at the bitter taste. I sit up straighter, my eyes searching the crowd for Jared. He gets to his feet, and my chest tightens. Everything inside me hurts. Jared starts to walk toward the front, and I want to scream at him to stop. I clench my hands tighter, digging my nails into the palms of my hands. He’s only taken a few steps when he turns, looking over his shoulder, and our eyes meet. His are full of tears.
Then he looks away, and the pain that slams into me almost kills me.
Jared walks slowly, flexing his hands as he goes, balling them up into tight fists at his sides. Each step he takes toward the platform is like a knife stabbing my soul, and it feels likes he’s being ripped away from me. I want to scream, and I have to sink my teeth into my bottom lip to stop the wail from ripping its way out of me.
Jared takes his place next to Rebekah, taking her hand in his, and just like that, reality comes crashing in on me. She’s tiny compared to him, not even coming up to his shoulders. There are tears in her eyes when Father David blesses them and sends them on their way, but she doesn’t hesitate, and neither does Jared. They walk down the steps together, heading to the back of the worship hall. When they pass me, Jared glances my way, but the loss I felt when his name was called has disappeared. Now, there is nothing left inside me but disgust.
It’s Friday, the one night during the week when we have our community dinner, and I spend the entire day dreading it. After the hospital closes and Dr. Jones leaves, I drag my feet as I do my work. More than ever, I hate the thought of seeing anyone. I’m too emotionally drained and exhausted after two nights of almost no sleep. Wednesday, I was out with Jared and didn’t get home until after three, and then last night after the betrothal ceremony...
Well, after the dreams, I had a difficult time even closing my eyes.
No matter how I drag my feet, though, I know I can’t avoid it forever. Even if I skip dinner tonight, which would infuriate George, I’ll have to face Jared sometime. Even if I manage to avoid him tomorrow, I’ll see him on Sunday for sure. The compound isn’t that big, and coming face to face with him is inevitable. I know, because I went through this exact same thing after my punishment. With Angela, who acted like I didn’t exist, with David, whose very presence terrified me, with Father David, who watched every move I made. Avoiding someone here is impossible.
When I enter the dining hall, I move to the food line automatically. Every sound seems magnified as I drag my exhausted body forward. My head is down, but even if I were half-asleep I wouldn’t be able to miss Jared.
I freeze.
He’s standing eight feet away with a plate of food in his hand, staring at me. Just looking at him makes my throat threaten to close, and I find I can’t force my feet to move. All I can do is stare back. His eyes are bloodshot, the skin under them puffy. It’s almost like he didn’t get any sleep last night either.
My stomach lurches, and I take a step back.
Jared doesn’t move, but I can’t miss the silent begging shimmering in his eyes. What does he want from me? Pity? Kindness? Forgiveness? I can’t show him any of those things. Right now, all I can see is a monster, and I recoil from him as I stagger back, shaking my head.
Jared takes a small step toward me, but I turn away and rush from the dining hall. I run down the stairs and out of the main building, not caring if George hits me or if Father David finds me. I just need to get away from the sick people living here, to be alone and gather my thoughts, or maybe even not think at all.
My feet move on their own, past the silent houses that seem to watch me with blank and lifeless eyes. The sun is low and bright, and it seems to reflect off the tears on my cheeks, blinding me.
I don’t slow until I’ve reached the safety of the willow tree. I fall to the ground, hidden within the swaying branches and gasping for breath. Leaning my head against the trunk, I squeeze my eyes shut. Hot, bitter tears run down my face as an almost unbearable ache spreads through my body. I wish I’d never spoken to Jared. Even the few days of happiness we had aren’t worth this, because now there is literally nothing left for me. From here on out, my days inside these walls will be surrounded by never-ending torture. David at home, Jared during the day. There will be no hope of escape.
Not that there ever was.
Footsteps crunch against the ground at my back, and my entire body tenses. Even my tears seem to dry up. Jared must have followed me. If I had been thinking clearly, I would have gone somewhere else, but I wasn’t. When I ran, the only thought going though my head was getting away.
I can’t face him right now. There’s no way I’ll be able to look him in the eye without telling him how much he disgusts me.
My eyes are still closed when the branches rustle. I crack one just as Jared steps through. He
takes tentative steps, his gray eyes focused on me, and even in the dim light, the pleading expression in them is as clear as the brightest day.
When he lowers himself to the ground at my side, I scoot closer to the tree. The heat from his body slices through the chilly April evening, but it doesn’t warm me the way it did. Desperately, I search inside myself for the intimacy we shared just a few nights ago, but there is none. Not even a speck. The only thing left inside me now is hatred. Hatred for my mother who brought me into this world, hatred for Father David who allows little girls to be hurt, hatred for George for treating my mother the way he does. But most of all, hatred for Jared, because he made me care about him then turned out to be just like everyone else.
When I finally open my eyes all the way, I give him a glare hot enough to make him shrivel up and die.
He flinches and lowers his head.
“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” I spit.
His body jerks, but he shakes his head.
“I couldn’t,” he says, his voice barely over a whisper. “I couldn’t do it. She’s just a child. You were right. She was crying for her mother and cowering in the corner of my bed. I couldn’t touch her. I know what Father David expects of me, but I couldn’t go through with it.”
I sit up straight, and some of my bitterness slips away, but I find it impossible to grab on to the hope flickering inside me. I search his face, only he still won’t look at me, and I can’t figure out what he’s thinking.
“Why not?” I ask, hardly recognizing my own voice.
Jared lifts his head, and his gaze meets mine. “The look you gave me when I was leaving the worship hall. It suddenly all made sense. Why you ran away after your betrothal, why you were angry, why you used to sit by the pond every day staring at the freedom beyond the fence. Why you flinch when I touch you. He did that to you, didn’t he? He made you do it even though you didn’t want to.”