Under Ground

by Alice Rachel

  I blink back my sudden grief, turn to Mother instead, and marvel at her profile. I’ve always been in awe of her. She’s gorgeous—tall, with long black hair that is always fluid and loose over her shoulders. Her eyes are dark blue and her nose is straight. Her skin has a sweet olive tint to it, tanned and yet not wrinkled by the sun, and everything about her face is symmetrical. She has an intense beauty that most people find difficult to look away from.

  I wish I were as beautiful and confident as she is. If I were pretty, I'd feel more at ease with this wedding. Then there would be more guarantees that William and his family would accept me. But everything I've inherited from my mother somehow doesn’t look as good on me. I’m not outstanding. My black hair is long and curly, reaching my elbows, but instead of falling perfectly upon my shoulders the way my mother's does, mine is always untamed. It has to be pinned down to be controlled. I’m short. I have a fair complexion that often makes me look sickly, and my nose, like my dad’s, is a bit too long.

  I hope William won't find me plain. I met him a few years ago. I haven’t seen him again since then, but he was quite attractive at the time. He was tall and lean, with short blond hair. His eyes were green, and he had dimples in his cheeks even without smiling. He didn’t seem the type of person to smile, actually. I’m sure most girls would think William to be breathtaking, but there was a profound coldness to him that was unappealing, and the way he looked at me made me so uncomfortable that I squirmed under his gaze.

  He’s still really young, only eighteen years old, which is quite lucky for me, I guess. I should deem myself fortunate that my parents didn't try to marry me to an older man, but I can't seem to be grateful for such "good fortune." I still hold this insane hope that William might treat me well, but I should know better. I have been raised to accept that no man will ever see me as an equal or treat me as such.

  Chapter 2

  At eight a.m., our maid Emily walks in and opens the blinds. I groan and pull a pillow over my face. I hardly slept last night, and the little time I spent in slumber was filled with nightmares about the wedding. Someone had stolen my gown and exchanged it with another dress. The replacement was made of plaid, and as I walked down the aisle, the guests started whistling and booing me. Mother gave me a disapproving look, and William walked away, calling the wedding a ridiculous masquerade. I was petrified. I woke up earlier than I normally do, covered in sweat. It had only been a dream, but I couldn't go back to sleep after that.

  When the light comes streaming in through the window, I pull a second pillow over my eyes and try to suppress the pain already pounding inside my head. The sharp ache hammering at my skull will last all day because Mother limits how much medication I'm allowed to take. She claims the system won't allow her to get certain pills or medical supplies. I know it's a lie. Mother probably doesn't deem pain significant enough to "waste" my father's salary on. For sure, my parents' rank gives them access to all kinds of medicine. We are all well aware that people from different classes get different rations of food, medication, and resources. The authorities view it as a good way to force the civilians to strive for a better position in society. Despite our upper-class status, Mother insists that my family is counting on me to help them reach an even higher standard of living. I personally view my parents' attitude as greed, but I would never dare voice my opinion out loud.

  When Emily comes to stand by my bed and glares at me, I push the covers away and sigh heavily. Today is Monday, a school day. I always prepare myself quickly in the morning. Every day the exact same routine. I start with a short shower. Then I put on my school uniform—black pants, a black shirt and white tie. The result is extremely manly, an effect sought by the school on purpose. School is not a beauty contest; it’s a place where young girls learn how to become proper ladies willing to stand by their husbands without ever showing the slightest amount of wit. They call it "education." I tend to think of it as brainwashing bigotry, though speaking my mind on the matter would be unwelcome, not to say costly.

  Boys attend different schools of their own, lest our proximity trigger shameful desires or feelings. We hardly ever see them, except during outings, in the streets, or for social events. Besides my father and brother, William is the only boy I've ever had a true encounter with, and I hardly spoke to him for fear of saying something insignificant, stupid, or boring.

  Once I'm dressed, I have breakfast—always on my own—while Emily hovers in my space to make sure I don't waste any food. When I'm done, I join Walter—our butler—on the front porch. It's his job to ensure I get to school safely. After all, it is quite unbecoming of a proper young girl to wander the streets on her own. Walter and I never talk on the way to or from school. I hardly know anything about him. I've tried to engage him in a few conversations, but to no avail.

  "It is kind of you to care, Miss Thia," he once told me. "But you should not sympathize with the lower class. It's dangerous and frowned upon. Commoners like me really don't matter."

  I've always disagreed. I'm curious about his life, but after that discussion, I stopped asking questions. I don't want to get him in trouble.

  Walter seems to be in his late fifties, with a head full of gray hair. His eyes are light baby blue, and he has a big nose and strong jaw. He lives with the rest of our staff in a small house next to ours. He's especially devoted to my mother, at her beck and call all day and night. If he has a family, I know nothing about it.

  Walter and I always take the upper-class train. The entire ride is spent in awkward silence, and when we reach our destination, he walks me to school even though it's located only seconds away from the station. Then he reminds me that he’ll be picking me up from the platform at four p.m., as if I would forget our daily habits.

  My school is an old institution located twenty miles from my house. It’s ranked as the best establishment in the state, which is a good sign for me, I guess. The property is a huge estate. Most of its students come from different counties to be boarded here all year. My friend Melissa is one of them. I, however, do not board here since I have the “extreme privilege” of living nearby. Mother always reminds me how lucky we are to have me go to the best school for girls in the state without me having to leave home. I personally would have enjoyed very much the autonomy that comes with boarding, but luck did not strike me that way.

  When I reach the gate, I give my ID to the guard, walk through the schoolyard, climb the stairs leading to the entrance of the main building, and find my friend Melissa waiting for me there. Melissa is taller and prettier than me. She has light freckled skin, crystal blue eyes, and long wavy blond hair. I haven’t opened my mouth yet, but she’s already shooting questions at me. Her smile radiates happiness, the burden of this life never weighing on her shoulders the way it does mine.

  "When are you picking up your dress?" she asks.

  "Next week," I reply, slightly apathetic.

  "I am so excited for you." She claps her hands and jumps for joy as if marriage were the best thing a girl could ever wish for.

  I try my best not to sigh at her enthusiasm. After all, she’s only trying to help me focus on the positive aspects of the alliance. She knows that this coming weekend is the official meeting with William's family and that I've been stressing out about it.

  Melissa and I walk to our lockers as I recount my visit to the store. We grab our books and head to class. We always start with cultural studies, a course focusing mostly on the history of matrimony—a subject meant to remind us that our system is the best there can possibly be and that girls should rejoice at their fate, their lack of freedom, and the opportunity to be chosen by a man at all.

  “Guess what?” Melissa startles me. She's fidgeting as if she’s about to reveal some big secret that might change the world.

  “What?” I reply with feigned enthusiasm.

  She doesn’t catch on to my sarcasm though; she just giggles. “I received my engagement ring on Saturday.”

  Melissa is lucky enough t
o have been promised to a boy she knows well, someone her age. He’s the son of her parents’ best friends. For some reason, they didn’t try to match her to a higher position. They simply looked for someone who was familiar. Melissa is carefree because she knows her match is assured. She knows her mate will not back down or turn her away.

  "We also set a date for our prenuptial night," she continues.

  My stomach flips when she mentions the dreadful topic. The pre-nuptial night is something I never want to discuss, but Melissa always forces the subject upon me.

  "In a month from now," she continues. "How about you? Will you set the date when you meet William?"

  I squirm. Can we please stop talking about this?

  "I don't think we'll be discussing that yet," I reply.

  At least, I hope not!

  "I really can't wait," she adds.

  Well, that makes one of us. I could wait forever and never be ready for it, but I keep my snide remarks to myself, not wanting to spoil her good mood.

  Chapter 3

  No one ever cared to stop and wonder if William might be to my taste. Not once! No one gives credit to a silly girl’s feelings. I know nothing about William. I may end up never loving him. Love is a taboo, a mere fantasy, a concept too vague to ever take shape in reality. Only the luckiest girls may get a glimpse of it—girls like Melissa.

  Today, I am to meet William and his parents. I'm relieved that the meeting is finally happening, but the tension inside me has become unbearable. My anxiety has risen to the point where I’m nothing but a nervous wreck. What if William turns me down? I’m not that special. He could find someone better than me quite easily. I’ve heard dreadful stories about girls who’ve been rejected and what it means for their families. Most of those girls end up homeless because their parents disown them and kick them out once they’ve become useless. A chill runs down my spine. I don't want to end up in the streets. I want my existence to have a meaning. But the game that is my life has already begun and the dice are definitely loaded.

  For our meeting, we’ve invited William’s family to dinner at our house. This is common practice. It gives the groom's parents a chance to assess our assets and see if we are a good match for their son or not. Mother has gone all out with the preparations. All day long, the staff has been cleaning the place. Each cushion, each sculpture, each painting had to be dusted and placed in the perfect spot, to create a sense of harmony and beauty. I’ve rarely seen my mother in such a state. Every second threatens to bring on a nervous breakdown. Every word coming out of her mouth is a snap, as harsh and cold as ice.

  My hair has been washed, dried, and styled this morning. I now need make-up and my dress. I have to be the epitome of perfection. I’m shaking from all the stress. I need to calm down, but Mother keeps pacing around, walking in circles, trying to catch the smallest details that may have escaped her scrutiny. She’s driving me crazy. I want to shake her into standing still, at least for a moment, so I can find my breath. But this pandemonium lasts all day long.

  Sounds of pans and dishes pour in from the kitchen—the staff rushing around the house, whispering my name. They are either trying to obey my mother's orders as precisely as possible or avoid her as much as possible. No one wants to be the object of her wrath.

  At six o’clock, everything’s ready. The table is set with the nicest china, crystal glasses, and silver candelabras. Each cushion is in its place—or at least in a spot satisfying enough for my difficult mother. Everything’s perfect, and we still have a full hour to wait. This is going to be the longest hour of my life.

  My brother Lance asks if I'd like to play card games, but he gives up on the idea when he sees the look on my mother’s face. Her eyes pierce through his like daggers. We are to sit on the sofa and wait so as not to disturb the air, not move a thing.

  Lance is twenty-five years old. He got married four years ago to a girl named Marie. Mother invited them both today to expose our family at its fullest for the Foxes to evaluate. My brother inherited my mother’s good looks and my father’s dirty brown hair. He's my mother’s favorite child, and she has always treated him like he was the eighth wonder of this world. No matter how spoiled he's always been, I've never seen Lance be cruel to anyone, and especially not to his wife. I hope William will be just as kind and understanding with me. I don’t dare trust that he will, though. Keeping my expectations low will probably save me a lot of disappointment.

  By the time the doorbell rings, everyone is quite on edge. I'm dizzy with chaos filling my brain and thoughts spinning over and over again inside my mind: How should I behave in front of William? What would happen were I to trip on my long dress? And who had chosen such a difficult gown to walk in anyway? Ah yes, I remember; it was Mother. Only she would choose such an uncomfortable dress for such an emotional event.

  The air has left my lungs, and my heart is pounding hard, pumping blood all the way to my ears. I have to hold onto the couch as I stand up, for fear I may fall over. The corset of my dress is so tight that I’ll be lucky if I don’t faint by the end of dinner. Mother thought of everything really except how to keep her own daughter at ease on the most significant night of her life.

  We stand in the house's entrance hall. Walter opens the door and William’s parents walk in. Their eyes dart all around first; they couldn't care less that it seems more than slightly rude. After all, they are here to judge whether my family is a good enough match for theirs or not. They don’t even acknowledge our presence. They just step in the doorway, take in the room around them, and act as though we are mere statues standing in their way.

  “Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Fox. It’s quite a pleasure to meet you again,” my mother says, a bit too eagerly.

  Mrs. Fox finally seems to realize that we are here. She glances at my mother with a stiff upper-lip and a slight look of contempt in her eyes. This woman definitely knows her family’s place in society. She seems proud and arrogant about it, too. I try to catch a glimpse of William, but he’s hidden by his wide-framed father. When Mr. Fox walks into the house, he holds out his hand to my father. Somehow, both men are more relaxed than their wives. This situation is but a mere case of tradition to them, while to both women, this is a matter of pride and prestige.

  I stand on my tiptoes, hoping to finally see William. My behavior is both rude and indecent. It's a sign that I don’t know how to restrain my curiosity, a flaw one does not wish to see in a wife. I should be more discreet about it, but I can’t help myself.

  When William’s father finally moves to the side, he turns to the door, puts his hands on his son's shoulders, and pushes him forward. William comes into view; he is so handsome that I forget to breathe. He's even more attractive than I remembered. He’s still tall—incredibly so—but more mature, with blond locks falling in curls over his forehead and green eyes scanning the room with intensity.

  I don’t know what to do with myself. I want to run and hide in a mouse-hole. For sure, William's parents will turn me down as soon as they spot me. They must have forgotten how plain I look compared to their gorgeous son. William is the first one to put his eyes on me though. When I meet his gaze, his grass green eyes are arctic cold. He looks me up and down for just a second before his eyes shift to the house. He sizes it up, with more interest than he gave me. I’m vexed that he doesn’t consider me significant enough to look at any longer. But of course, I don’t exist as a person. I’m just here as a formality. I’m not pretty enough to trigger interest in anyone—not even in my future husband. It must be quite a burden for him to marry someone like me. I'm sure he knows what a good match he is. He probably wonders why he should settle for someone so ordinary, and if that's how he feels, the wedding could be called off at any time. I shudder at the thought.

  My parents lead the Foxes inside the house, straight to the living room. I follow them, all the while looking at William, who's avoiding my eyes.

  His family sits down on the couch and faces my parents while I simply stand
there. I’m not allowed to sit down right away. It's protocol for the family to see me standing so they can size up my frame to see if I will be a good child-bearer—as though one simple glance would suffice to tell whether my genes are good enough to transmit to our potential offspring.

  I am nothing more than a racing horse being thoroughly checked out before its purchase. Knowing that my thighs are being evaluated for childbearing makes me nauseous, and a drop of sweat rolls down my hairline.

  William’s mother, especially, looks me up and down, with spite and maybe cruelty in her eyes. The corners of her lips are turned downward as if I have a foul odor.

  She's a gorgeous blonde. Her hair is long, reaching her shoulders. She’s tall and thin. Time seems to have passed her by miraculously. She has remained untouched by the years. Looking at her gives me no indication of her age. She could be in her early thirties as far as I can tell.

  She stands up and comes to me. I lower my eyes. Looking back at her would be disrespectful—a clear sign of insubordination. I am to submit to the will of both my husband and his parents, and I have to play the game from the very beginning. I stare at my feet, but I can feel her eyes on me, assessing my whole body, as she walks all around me.

  She faces me, lifts my face to hers, and looks me in the eyes while frowning. Then her gaze shifts downward as she opens my mouth. I try to hold back a breath of shock, but I can’t help gasping. I didn’t expect her to inspect me like an animal, though I knew she would be examining me. She looks at my teeth with scrutiny. Now, I know for sure that I’ve turned into a horse somehow. I try to be serious though the situation feels more and more grotesque. I don’t know if I should laugh or be mortified.

  She nods her approval, and a tiny freezing-cold smile appears on her face. Then she goes back to the couch and sits down. Her husband witnessed the whole scene, but he didn’t care to participate. I exhale in relief. I’m not sure I could have taken any more of this humiliation. My eyes shift toward William, shyly. He has watched the whole thing too, but he didn’t come to me either. He's just looking at me with a blank stare on his face. I can’t read him at all, and it unsettles me.