I slam the panel against the side of the box, pinching Mishael’s H finger.
“Damnation!”
He grabs at the injured digit, and I take advantage of his distraction, slipping out from between him and the table. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I guess I need more practice.”
He glares. “It’s not that difficult.”
He’s right. It certainly doesn’t need two pairs of hands. Aaron seems to be doing fine all on his own.
Mishael stomps away to grab another fleece of wool.
How long will I have to endure this? Tears blur my vision, and my hands shake as I untangle the wool from around my fingers and carry the pile over to the sink.
“My husband seems to feel you need his attention,” Lydia says.
It’s the first time she’s initiated conversation with me, and her words suggest something so disgusting, they shock my tongue loose.
“Well, I don’t.”
“You’d best find a way to mind your own chores, then.” She turns and yanks a fleece out of the water bath, swinging it onto the table with a wet slap. “Completely ruined.”
I stare at the soggy mess. “It looks . . .” Fine, I start to say, but that would be a lie. It does look pretty bad, but it’s wet wool. “What’s it supposed to look like?”
“Not this. It’s felted.” She jabs a spindly finger at the pile in the center of the table.
Does she see the irony? That the other meaning of felt is the past tense of feel? How we process emotions? Like anger. Agitation. Despair. I stare down at the submerged wool, and it’s hard not to imagine it as a lost kid, agitated and trapped. Drowning. A tear splashes the surface of the water, rippling out, as the baby goat is replaced by the image of my own face. My skin is hot, as if Lydia has burned me with her mocking smirk.
“You’ll need to start over.”
“Start over? But I didn’t . . .” I bite my tongue. There’s no use arguing with her, even though there’s no way this was my fault. “Fine.” I reach toward the wool, but she sweeps it to the floor.
“Not just this. All of it. Fresh wool. Fresh water. Everything has to be redone.”
I wipe my sweaty forehead with the back of my wrist. “But that will take hours.”
“It must be done tonight, or we’ll have nothing dry to work with tomorrow. Isn’t that right, Mishael?”
Her pleading tone doesn’t escape my notice. Though she’s enjoying this chance to belittle me, the power really rests with her husband. He will say whether we have to stay or not. It all depends on which of us he dislikes more.
The pause before he speaks is infinite, and this time when Aaron takes my hand, I let him.
“Miriam will stay and clean the wool.” Mishael doesn’t say she’s right, but it’s Lydia’s victory all the same.
My body sags in defeat. I’m tired of this already—the monotonous work, Lydia’s biting comments. The way Mishael speaks, as if his words hold momentous importance and not just punishment and innuendo.
“Daniel teaches that all our jobs are important. Do you disagree?”
Aaron squeezes my hand and answers. “No, sir. We don’t. And we’ll fix it.”
“The practice will do you good. The more you do it, the sooner it will become muscle memory,” Lydia says as she returns to the table, tossing a new basket of wool into the middle.
“Muscle memory?” I begin slowly picking through the wool one more time.
“When your body is so used to doing it, your mind doesn’t have to think about it.” Lydia glances over at her husband. “You can be somewhere else. Anywhere else.”
Something about the way she says the word body makes me shudder. She isn’t just talking about the wool. Where does she go, in her mind, when she doesn’t want to be here?
Lydia is one of the original Elders. She and Mishael were joined at the first Matrimony, just like my parents. But where my mother’s face is serene and unlined, Lydia’s skin is worn thin. From disappointment? I can’t fault her for that. Perhaps this is what comes from being given to a man you don’t love. This is our way. I’d better get used to it.
“I’d say it’s a shame that you’ll have to miss dining with your parents now, but I suppose they have come to expect that kind of disappointment, what with only birthing one child.”
And just when I was starting to feel sorry for Susanna’s mother, now I hate her for pointing out my own mother’s weakness. Even though the acid in Lydia’s words is mostly for my parents, it still stings.
Daniel encourages procreation in order to grow our flock. There is strength in numbers, he says. But for reasons only God knows, my mother has never been able to produce another child. She holds her head high above the whispers, but I know it bothers her. I have memories of her coming home from the birthing of her Sisters’ babies and sitting alone in the kitchen, staring at nothing, her fists pressed tight against her own flat belly.
Lydia awaits my reaction with the hungry look of a vulture ready to pick over a carcass.
I take a deep breath before I speak—the only way I know to control at least part of what comes out. “My mother will be happy to see us, whatever the time. She’s used to keeping dinner warm for my father. He believes in the philosophy of Colossians: ‘Whatever you do, work heartily. For the Lord and not for men.’” And I brush past her to drain the tubs and start again.
Her irritated sniff is a tiny victory, but it’s all I have, and I savor it.
16
CALEB
The sun’s rays are no longer directly overhead and the sky is clear, but everyone still clusters under the corrugated roof of the Pavilion, behind the Communal Kitchen. Council wives new and old are carrying out dishes for a feast, the table piled with grilled eggplant, bread slathered with saguaro butter, bowls of black tepary beans and dandelion greens, and pitchers filled with cinnamon-scented horchata.
My stomach growls like an angry mutt. I haven’t had a decent meal since I moved out of the Farmhouse. Daniel is letting me stay in the Council House, but he says being unmarried is my own choosing, and it is up to me to figure out how to carry out those wifely duties for myself.
I haven’t. When Lydia’s back is turned, I snatch a thick slice of bread from the tray and cram it into my mouth, whole.
The scent of charcoal hangs in the air, along with a general buzz of uneasiness. The uneasiness might just be mine. I don’t think I’m supposed to be here. Daniel didn’t specifically tell me to stay away, but this Gathering is for married couples. I don’t fit in anywhere anymore; I don’t belong with the husbands, and the younger boys who haven’t yet been called to Matrimony don’t want anything to do with me. It’s almost as if they’re afraid of me. Like my bad choice will rub off on them. So I go about my business on my own, wandering the city like a spirit, searching for Daniel’s coyote, and tightening weak spots in the fence. Trying not to look for Miriam.
I haven’t seen her since the night of the Matrimony. When I held her in my arms and heard her speak to me for the first time. But that was before Daniel told me of her betrayal. Before I promised him I’d forget her.
It isn’t like I haven’t tried. I’ve avoided all the places she might go. I moved my seat at Chapel, arriving early and sitting in the front so I don’t see her enter or leave. All of these safety measures only prove it’s easier to stop seeing her than it is to stop thinking about her. Not an hour passes that I don’t wonder why she lied to me and what she and Aaron are doing. I’ve spent most days half hoping she’ll seek me out, only to collapse into bed at night both relieved and disappointed.
But she will be here tonight. Which means until someone tells me to leave, I have every right to look at her. To speak to her, even, if I can find the right words. I can ask her what she was thinking. If this is what she wanted. It will be like the burn in a muscle stretch. Painful, but pain that must be endured because
it’s the only way to achieve results. It will be better once I know.
I lean on a support beam near the front of the Pavilion, trying to look inconspicuous. Something about the Gathering tonight bothers me, but I’m not sure what. Then I realize that even though they’re allowed to mingle now, my Brothers and Sisters have fallen back on our tradition of separation. The new husbands hover around a large picnic table near the food. Most have a plastic cup in one hand and one eye on the group of wives who’ve clustered around a table near the back. Some of the women have their backs to me, and since they have their scarves on, I can’t tell which one is Miriam.
“Brother.” Marcus is at my side with a cup of horchata before I can figure it out.
I know the drink is a peace offering—isn’t there something in the Bible about offering water to your enemy?—so I take the cup. I haven’t seen Marcus this week either, not since our quarrel. But I’ve heard Daniel is keeping him busy. And the fountain looks brand new, the brass shiny beneath the constant flame.
“How is living in the Council House?” he asks.
I swallow the last bitter crumbs of bread. “Don’t.”
“I said I was sorry about Miriam—”
“Caleb! I didn’t expect to see you here.” Susanna swoops in between the two of us and links her arm through Marcus’s, leaning her body against his. “What were you two handsome men talking about? Did I hear you mention Miriam?” She blinks wide, innocent eyes in my direction, and I will myself to stay calm.
She doesn’t know I was going to choose Miriam. She can’t know. Unless . . . I look at Marcus, but he is too busy beaming at his new bride to pay me any attention.
“She and Aaron aren’t here.” She leans in and lowers her voice. “I heard it’s because of her Shaming.” She grips my forearm with icy fingers. “Mother says she’s a mess. No idea what she’s doing, in the Mill or in her marriage. Can you believe it? It’s almost as if Aaron chose the wrong wife.”
Her wolfish grin gives way to a sunny smile, and she straightens. “Hello, Hananiah. Judith. How wonderful to see you,” she says, as Father and Mother walk up behind us.
I stand taller, too. If anyone is going to order me away from this Gathering, it will probably be Father.
But he has other sins on his mind. “Susanna.” Father frowns. “Most women find marriage keeps them too busy to gossip.”
Marcus pulls his wife closer. “I asked her about Miriam and Aaron, Father.”
I’m shocked at how easily my brother takes the blame for her. Susanna is the picture of innocence, her hands clasped and her gaze cast demurely to the floor.
Father scowls and mutters under his breath, “It’s no wonder . . .” then stops when Mother lays a hand on his arm. “Can we speak privately, Marcus?” He gestures toward the road, and Marcus has no choice but to obey.
I watch them walk away. “Why didn’t you defend him?”
Susanna takes a sip from her cup and peers at me over the rim. “Why? He’s my husband. He’s supposed to defend me. We both know you’d do the same for your wife. If you had one.”
She turns away before I can respond.
My hand is wet. Rice milk, cold and sticky, drips from the crushed cup in my hand.
“Here.” Mother hands me a napkin, then glances around to make sure we’re alone. “I’ve put together some food for you as well.” She holds up a small paper sack.
I hurl the sopping mess into the garbage. “Thanks,” I say, “but you don’t need to feed me. What would Father say?” I scrub at my hands with the napkin.
“He wishes you had a wife. We both do. But he won’t begrudge you a few bites of food.”
“Won’t he?”
Mother doesn’t hear me. “He’s preoccupied with Marcus these days.”
I snort and ball up the wet napkin. When isn’t he preoccupied with Marcus? My whole life has been about Marcus. Marcus is smart, Marcus is clever, Marcus will make a great leader someday. Never Caleb. My work and my loyalty and my faith went completely unnoticed. Maybe that’s why Father didn’t bother to kick me out of the Gathering. As far as he’s concerned, I’ve always been a ghost.
“Daniel has revoked Marcus’s invitation. To serve on the Church Council.” When Mother looks at me again, her eyes shine with unshed tears. “You know how much that meant to your father. To have his son serve Daniel.”
There is a hollow pit in my stomach that no amount of food will ever fill. “His son is serving Daniel,” I say. “He has more than one, remember.”
She flinches at the venom in my voice and holds out the sack again, but I turn and start walking. Away from the food, which I no longer have any appetite for. Away from my mother and her weak defense of Father. Away from all the husbands and wives.
The streets are deserted this time of night, and for once I am happy to feel invisible. There is no one I want to talk to. The Council House is dark, and I head for the staircase and my room, but the sound of raised voices from Daniel’s chambers draws me in.
I quietly circle Susanna’s desk and push on the door behind it, then shift my weight as it cracks open, leaning my upper body against the doorjamb.
“Your son disappoints me, Han.”
Daniel’s voice is so cold, I shiver.
“No apology?” Daniel continues. “No remorse whatsoever? From either of you?”
“I have nothing to apologize for. Susanna was meant for me. So I chose her.”
“Shut your mouth, Marcus! Remember whom you’re speaking to! You’ve embarrassed yourself and our family.” Father gets this look when he’s angry, his face going white and still, like it’s carved from stone. That is how I picture him now. For once, it’s Marcus experiencing the coldness of that look. Finally, it’s he who is the target of Father’s rage and disappointment instead of me. I thought I’d enjoy it, but my brother’s humiliation chokes me as if it were my own.
“I’ve already been punished,” Marcus says. “You revoked my seat on the Council, humbled and degraded me with work duty. What else do you require? Beat me or berate me. None of that will change the fact that she is my wife. It is God’s will.”
“It isn’t God’s will,” Daniel says. “God asked you to choose a different wife. Yet you conspired with your Brothers and ignored His voice.”
I hold my breath. So Daniel does know that Marcus and Aaron switched names.
“I didn’t.” Marcus’s voice is strong, too. No hint of the lie he’s telling. “God spoke to me. He told me to choose Susanna.”
Our leader quotes scripture, the words spewing forth as if from an erupting volcano. He speaks fast and low, and I can’t follow most of it. I hear the words marriage and obligation and undefiled bed.
“We’ve met all our marital obligations. Every night.”
“Don’t be vulgar.”
Marcus says, “I chose my wife. We took our vows. You sanctioned the marriage. All is as it should be. Why do you think otherwise?”
Daniel continues as if Marcus hasn’t spoken. “You know exactly what you’ve done. And not just you. Who else was involved?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Daniel’s laugh is humorless. “Like Judas, you’ve grown a spine far too late. Get out.”
I press myself against the wall, but my brother doesn’t even notice me as he hurries out and bangs through the front door.
What is happening? Will this one Matrimony be the end for my family? Clearly Daniel believes that he sanctioned the wrong marriages, despite what he told me. And he’s angry.
Yet even in the face of that fury, Marcus held firm. What is it the Bible says about liars? Something about perishing in the Lake of Fire. Maybe Marcus is afraid that if he confesses, he’ll be punished even more severely. Not only will he lose his wife, he’ll lose his life. By keeping quiet, he’s managed to keep both.
Now I’m more confused than ever: Does lying make him weaker than me, or smarter?
17
MIRIAM
BETTER A DRY CRUST WITH PEACE AND QUIET THAN A HOUSE FULL OF FEASTING WITH STRIFE.
—Proverbs 17:1
“Are you ready to hit the road?” Aaron asks.
I yank the stopper on the sink one last time. “Why would we hit it?”
His smile wavers, and he jams his hands into his pockets. “Never mind. It’s just an expression. Are you ready to go?”
He waits as I untie my apron and hang it beside the drying hanks of wool. Muted voices and laughter drift toward us from the Pavilion at the other end of the city as we step out into the dying light, but the street is shadowy and deserted.
“Are you nervous?” I ask as we head in the opposite direction, down toward the housing circle, which lies in the lowest part of the city.
“About dinner with your parents?” He takes my hand. “They’re still your parents.”
I stare down at our hands, and he snatches his back.
“I’m just saying, you’ve only been gone a week. Not that much has changed.”
He’s half right. Almost nothing. Only everything.
We walk toward my old home in silence. I long to chatter to fill the emptiness, but I don’t dare. The longer we go on with our sham of a marriage, the harder it is to keep up this appearance of normalcy. I once thought nothing could curb my tongue, but a day with Lydia and Mishael has finally muted me. There are too many ears here, too many Brothers and Sisters close by, and our strained conversation will give us away. What do real couples talk about? There’s no one I can ask without admitting to my marital failings. I’ll have to become a silent listener, an observer. Watch my classmates closely whenever I encounter them as a couple.
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