The Duty and the Gone (The Fertility Plague Book 1)

by Claire Vale

  “I didn’t touch her,” Jessie whispered hoarsely.

  “It wasn’t you,” I said, thinking of the woman’s yelp in the alley, of her husband’s beefy fingers clasping her wrist. I stepped up to her, making my voice as soft and kind as possible, “You’re hurt.”

  “It’s nothing,” she mumbled, shooting me a scowl without teeth. The fight in her had ghosted, as if the pain had leeched her last shred of strength. Her face sagged, tugging at her eyes, adding ten years to her age.

  “Let me see,” I said, and she didn’t stop me when I reached out to gently lift the sleeve back from her cradled hand. I’d expected to see a bruise circling her wrist, but it was so much worse. Her skin was shades of blue, black and yellow and a swollen mess.

  Jessie looked closer. A strangled noise escaped her throat.

  “He did this to you?” I tipped my head to look into the woman’s eyes, disgust at the man curling into the bottom of my stomach. “Mike did this?”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it without a word. Merely nodded.

  “We should call a guard,” Jessie said, glancing around, as if she could pluck a guard from thin air. You couldn’t, not in the Bohemian Quarter.

  I pulled the sleeve down over her injured wrist and stood back. “We’ll take you to the Guard House.”

  “They won’t help me,” the woman said. “No one can.”

  “They will help,” I insisted. Husbands had every right to discipline their wives, were even encouraged, but downright cruelty was frowned upon. This kind of physical abuse wasn’t tolerated. “They must. It’s the law.”

  “You think I didn’t try?” she said. “The first time Mike gave me a black eye, I went to the Guard House. Two guards came by to interview him. He told them I had a drinking problem, that I’d drunk myself into a state and stumbled into a door. He told them he’d locked me in the bedroom for a night and day to sober me up and I was mad at him, so I was just trying to make trouble.”

  “And they believed him?”

  “They believed him,” she said. “Or maybe they just didn’t want to make my problem theirs. Either way, they left and that’s the last I heard. That night, Mike knocked me to the floor and kicked me so hard, I think he cracked a rib. I don’t know for sure, he wouldn’t let me see the doctor. He warned me if the Guard or anyone else ever came calling again to question him, he had ways to prove to them what a drunk I was.”

  Jessie and I shared a stunned look. I didn’t know what she was thinking, but I was thinking that here was another betrayal of society. All our restrictive laws were based on the underlying principal of protecting women and preserving the female role. I was also thinking about my mother and some of our conversations about the Sisterhood, specifically those references to ‘…removing women from untenable situations.’ I didn’t know what that entailed, but I was a hundred percent certain this frightened, quivering woman qualified.

  A flutter of excitement kicked against my ribcage. I didn’t have to just stand by and accept another wrong. For once, I could actually make a difference.

  I pulled Jessie aside. “I may be able to help this woman, but I have to do it alone.”

  She shook her head. “You’re going to do something stupid.”

  “No, it’s nothing like that, it’s just someone I met in the park once.” Stick as close to the truth as possible. That way you don’t lose track of the lies. “I don’t know for sure that she can do much, but I have to try.”

  It took some more convincing, more lies, but Jessie reluctantly agreed. She returned to the teashop to tell the others that I was walking off my temper and would find my own way home.

  Convincing the woman—Beth, as her name turned out to be—proved more difficult.

  “No. No.” She shook her head. “I can’t go anywhere with you. I’m already in trouble for attracting attention earlier. You don’t know what Mike will do if I’m not here when he comes out.”

  She was right, I didn’t know what her bastard husband would do. That’s what scared me…if I allowed her to return home with Mike tonight.

  “What if I tell you Mike will never hurt you again?” I said softly. “If I could take you somewhere safe?”

  “Listen…” Beth shrank in on herself again, arms wrapped around her midriff. “You mean well, and I’m grateful, but I can’t risk it.”

  She shot a wild-eyed look toward the bar door as it swung open again, this time dispelling an elderly man who drifted off in the opposite direction. We weren’t alone out here, the odd person (or persons) bustled out from a shop every now and then to scurry across the square. We drew some curious stares—this wasn’t the sort of weather for chit-chat out in the open—but no one approached or interfered. We weren’t doing anything wrong, but Beth cowered and startled as if she were a fugitive on the run. That alone told me how many kinds of a sadistic bastard her husband had to be.

  “Trust me,” I said to the woman—pleaded. “How much longer can you live like this? Surely anything is better than going home with your husband tonight?”

  Finally, she wavered.

  I saw it in her eyes.

  A glimmer of hope.

  19

  Without all the wrong turns and dead ends, it was a short ten-minute walk to Rose’s place. That, and the near-running pace I set, afraid Beth would change her mind if she had a chance to catch her breath. She’d refused when I’d offered my coat to warm her up and I hadn’t pushed it. The woman was resistant to any form of help and it was a miracle I’d gotten her this far, to Rose’s doorstep.

  My triumph was momentarily overshadowed when a six-foot-plus bear of a man opened the door with a baby cradled in one arm. I hadn’t counted on Rose’s husband being home.

  “Hello?” His brown eyes were friendly, mildly curious as he looked us over. “You looking for Rose?”

  My misgivings evaporated at the gravelly, honey-toned invitation. I offered a smile. “Is she here?”

  “Yeah, sure.” He stood back to let us in, calling over his shoulder, “Rose! You have visitors.”

  The baby girl fussed and he shifted her so that she was against his chest, gently patting her back and crooning in that deep, gravel voice, “There now, angel, there now.”

  Beth pulled the door closed behind us and stood there, eyes darting around, looking ready to run.

  The man picked up on her discomfort and apologized, “Sorry, Rose is just upstairs overseeing bath time.”

  “No, I’m sorry,” I said. “Sorry to intrude.”

  He considered the pair of us for a long moment. “Come on through,” he said, decision made, and walked us into the living room that was only slightly less cluttered than I remembered. “I’ll go fetch Rose.”

  I waited for him to leave before turning to Beth. “It’ll be fine.”

  “These are good, decent folk,” she muttered, glancing around. “They don’t deserve me bringing my mess into their life.”

  “And do you deserve it?” I said quietly. “Do you deserve your life?”

  She looked at me, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. “Mike wasn’t always like this. He had a temper, sure, but he never took it out on me. Until my miscarriage two years ago. They won’t let us try again. Now he’s…he’s so bitter. He says God knows all, sees all, says He has forsaken us because I’m a sinner.”

  “He’s a Puritan?”

  She shook her head. “He just needs someone to blame.”

  “He is a weak man.”

  “And I am worthless.”

  My stomach fisted. “No, you are not.”

  Beth pinched her brow, her shoulders tucking in. “What am I worth, then, a woman who can’t be a mother? A wife who is despised by her husband? What purpose do I serve?”

  Anger flared inside me, thickened my tongue. I didn’t have the words, anyway, to undo a hundred years. Wife. Mother. It would take more than reassuring platitudes to wipe away the roles we’d been reduced to.

  Rose appeared in the doorway, hair scraped
into a loose bun, damp spots on her T-shirt. She saw me and drew up short. Her eyes went to Beth, slid back to me. “What’s this about?”

  No acknowledgement of our acquaintance.

  Not a flicker of recognition.

  She was good. Admit nothing until you have all the facts and gain the upper hand.

  I didn’t have the patience for all this Sisterhood melodrama right now. “Hi, Rose, this is Beth and she’s in a desperate situation. I promised we could help.”

  “This was a mistake,” Beth said, edging around me toward the door. “I should never have come.”

  “It’s perfectly alright. Beth, is it?” Rose smiled, a warm, welcoming smile that could melt snow and bloom frozen buds. “Please stay. I haven’t heard your story yet, but I’m sure we can work something out.”

  I breathed a little easier. I’d done the right thing, bringing Beth here.

  Beth shifted on her feet, but gave a small nod.

  “Wonderful.” Rose took us through to the kitchen, pulled a chair out at the table for Beth. “If you’ll just excuse us for one moment…”

  With one last smile for Beth, she ushered me straight back out. Closed the adjoining door with a firm thud, then dragged me across the living room and into the hallway with more force than was strictly necessary. I appreciated why she’d want a private conference before sitting down with Beth, but seriously?

  Another door closed, sealing us off from the living room.

  Rose squared up to me, her grip on my arm digging deeper. “What the hell were you thinking, bringing someone in off the street?” she hissed in a snake-like whisper. “What part about discretion don’t you get? Is this what you do, walk around with a banner advertising the Sisterhood?”

  “You’re hurting me!” I grabbed at her grip, tugged until she released my arm. “I’m not an idiot!” My voice had risen and I lowered it. “Of course I didn’t say anything about the Sisterhood. I didn’t even mention your name until we got here. I didn’t say anything to Beth, except that I knew someone who could help.”

  “That’s marginally better,” Rose relented somewhat, her eyes still hard, boring into me. “The protocols are in place for a reason, Georga.”

  “Protocols?” Was she kidding me? “How am I supposed to know about any protocols? If the Sisterhood wasn’t so freaking secretive all the time, maybe someone might have told me the right way to go about enlisting help for the poor woman.”

  Rose wasn’t impressed with my rant. “The protocol for anything related to the Sisterhood is clear. You never go off on a tangent and act alone. First you speak to your reporting contact and then you do exactly as she damn well says.”

  Okay, so turns out I did know that one.

  “There wasn’t time,” I said. “I couldn’t send her home. Once you hear Beth’s story, you’ll understand. She’s beaten, abused by her psychotic husband.”

  “So she says.”

  What? “I saw the bruises,” I said thinly. “I saw the way her husband treated her. I saw the fear and panic in her eyes. I saw her standing out there in the icy cold, freezing half to death.”

  “Or you saw what she wanted you to see,” Rose muttered. “This could still be a trap.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Maybe,” Rose said. “And maybe it isn’t. The Guard have eyes and ears everywhere, and we know they recruit civilians. Snitching provides a good second income.”

  All those nosy do-gooders actually got paid for ratting out people? Either Rose was really paranoid or I was really naïve.

  “Beth and her husband wouldn’t be the first pair to set a bait and trip to lure us out,” Rose went on, deadly earnest. “Sometimes it’s just for the credits. The ones you really have to watch out for are the fanatics who believe they’re fighting the good fight to keep our town clean of dissidents.”

  “Hang on…” I stood back, stared at her. “Are you saying the Guard knows about us? About the Sisterhood?”

  “The Sisterhood was stamped out before it grew roots,” Rose said. “That’s what the Guard and everyone else knows, but suspicions never truly die. And, they’re always on the lookout for a new, rising threat. Anyone who works against the system, or outside the system, is a traitor. Put two or more traitors together, and you have the beginning of a rebellion. Look at us.” She smiled grimly. “We’re living proof of that.”

  “And you think Beth…?” My heart cramped. A tangible, physical cramp. What have I done? But, no… “This isn’t a trap. Beth didn’t even want my help. I practically had to force her to come here.”

  “For the record, you’re probably right,” Rose said. “Most of the cases brought to our attention are genuine, but we have to remain vigilant and you’re not qualified to make that call, Georga. Hence the protocols, and why I’ll take the lead on this assessment. You will keep your mouth shut and observe.” She turned to open the door. “And that’s an order.”

  I checked my watch. Five-thirty. An hour and a half to curfew. A twenty-minute cycle if I cut straight east around the top of town, but I didn’t have my bike. How long to walk? Not more than an hour, I hoped. Not that it mattered. I had to see this through.

  I followed Rose to the kitchen and sat across from Beth. “Hey.”

  She fidgeted, but no darting glances toward the door or twitchy legs to bolt. Seemed she’d resigned herself to be here.

  Or I was being played and this was exactly where she’d meant to be the whole time.

  My doubts wavered back and forth as Rose served tea, but slipped away completely by the time she’d teased the full story from Beth’s reluctant lips. Not because of any solid proof. The opposite, actually.

  Beth had no one to turn to because Mike was a two-faced bastard who’d smooth-talked his way around both the Guard and her family. Even if they didn’t quite buy into it, he made sure there was no evidence he couldn’t explain away. Her parents saw a husband concerned about their wayward daughter. The Guard saw a man striving to regain control of his household.

  The bruises? Self-inflicted.

  The alcoholism? I was horrified to hear how he’d blot beer onto her blouse collar when he needed her to stink. How he’d threatened to pour a bottle of whiskey down her throat if the Guard ever returned with more questions.

  It always boiled down to Beth’s word against his. She’d finally given up, accepted she was beat, and I couldn’t do that, I couldn’t be the next in a long line of people who didn’t think her word alone was good enough.

  And I was pretty sure Rose was leaning in the same direction. She encouraged and reassured Beth from one halting sentence to the next. Made the appropriate noises. Pulled the appropriate faces.

  Then Rose said, “Do you know the church on the corner of Ross and Pentler?”

  Beth shrugged. “We don’t attend, but yes, I know it.”

  “Excellent,” Rose said. “Father Kessington holds groups sessions every Tuesday morning and I’d be happy to take you along for an introduction. It’s confidential, so nothing discussed there will get back to your husband.”

  Beth looked at me, a look of hurt and betrayal.

  “You’d be surprised how beneficial it is to talk to other women in the same situation,” Rose continued. “There’s a lot of understanding and advice. Some husbands are…” she reached for a diplomatic word, came back with “…difficult, we all appreciate that, but often they can be managed. If you learn their triggers, learn to circumvent whatever sets them off, you can create peace and calm in your household.”

  “Mike is—” I choked on my indignation, had to start again. “The man’s a brutal bully. Why should she have to tip-toe around his violent outbursts?”

  “Georga,” Rose said sharply, “that’s enough.”

  Beth laughed. A sad, little laugh. “I don’t need therapy to teach me Mike’s triggers. It’s the sight of me that sets him off. Of course, if he ever knew I was blabbering to some priest, he’d kill me. That’d do the trick, I guess, circumvent that trigg
er.”

  She pressed to her feet, everything about her saddened and deflated. “Listen, I know you’re only trying to help.” She looked at me. “You’re the only one who really ever tried, thank you. But I didn’t expect you to be able to do anything. I should’ve known better. I did know better.”

  She turned from us.

  I jumped up, my pulse throbbing in my throat. “Beth, wait!”

  “I have to get back,” she said, not looking back as pushed through the kitchen door. “And hope Mike hasn’t noticed I’ve been gone. That’s all I’ve got now.”

  Every bone in my body itched to stop her from going, but I had nothing to offer. Without Rose, without the Sisterhood, how could I protect her?

  I glared at Rose. “Is that all she’s got now? A slim chance of not getting beaten up by her husband tonight? Is that really the best we can do for her?”

  “Stay right here,” Rose said and went after her.

  I dropped into my chair, wanting to believe Rose could make this right, already knowing why she wouldn’t. Church group therapy was a lawful, council-approved route to soothing a troubled marriage.

  When Rose returned a few minutes later, the accusation flew off my tongue. “You don’t believe Beth. You still think it’s a trap.”

  Rose sighed. “It’s more complicated than that. Whatever I feel in my gut, I wouldn’t make any snap judgments. And as much at it sickens me to say this, the best course of action for women in her situation is to try and manage their marriage. If you think that’s bad, you should see the other options. Group therapy is always my first recommendation. Meanwhile, I sent Ron, my husband, to follow her to the Blue Fish.”

  “Your husband?” My jaw slackened. “He’s involved in the Sisterhood?”

  “Ron is a concerned citizen,” she answered, avoiding the direct question. “He won’t stand by and watch any woman get hurt. He won’t interfere unless there’s trouble, just stay in the shadows and make sure she gets home safely tonight.”

  “And what about tomorrow?”