Charged

by G. P. Ching

  “You know, from the Bible,” I say.

  She shakes her head. “I don’t really read. I was born in the deadzone, so…” She brushes her red bangs from her eyes and I’m struck by how young she is. Young and impossibly thin.

  “You were born here?”

  She shakes her head and changes the subject. “The laundry is next to the kitchen on the main floor. We don’t have units to waste on the washers, but we do have water and detergent. Come on. I’ll show you.”

  She leads me downstairs, her four-inch heels clicking on the tile floor. Sophie is the opposite of plain in a blue wrap dress that ties above the hip. I wonder how she gets anything done at all in the outfit. She stops in a large white room where a dozen washtubs with ancient-looking wringers are lined up on three long tables. I grimace. Bishop Yoder would approve. Even my wringer washer in Hemlock Hollow is more advanced. There’s a box of detergent at the end of each row and clotheslines stretched from one side of the room to the other in the empty space over the unused washers.

  “Normally, there are more girls down here, but they’re all preparing dinner at this hour. I’d introduce you, but if Ace says you need to do laundry, you need to do laundry.”

  “Do I cook for… Ace?” I fight my temptation to call him Korwin.

  She scratches behind her ear and smoothes a hand over her bright auburn hair. It doesn’t need smoothing. “The pack women cook for all the men, not just their own. The ratio here of men to women is twenty to one, so it’s a lot of work, but the mutts take care of it most of the time.”

  “The mutts?”

  “The lower class. There are four pack leaders. Ace is one of them. That means you are not a mutt. A pack leader’s woman has her own expectations, but we don’t have to cook.”

  Expectations? I frown. After all these weeks, I still think of Korwin as my fiancé. But the way he kissed me was brutal. If Korwin still has feelings for me, they are something altogether different than what they were before. I bristle thinking of what his expectations might be.

  Sophie fidgets with the tie of the blue dress she’s wearing. “Sink’s over there to fill up. Do you need help getting started?”

  “No. I’ve done this before.”

  Sophie scoffs. “Where are you from that you’ve had to wash clothes by hand?” She squints at me.

  Internally, I chide myself for my big mouth. Of course most people would never use a tub like this in the English world. To buy some time, I lift the washtub and bring it to the sink, then turn on the tap. The water is ice cold. “I’m from Willow’s Province and my parents liked to conserve units.” Without making eye contact, I shovel a scoop of soap flakes into the running water.

  “Oh.” Sophie seems unconvinced. “Because if you’re from a rival pack, you’d better divulge that information pronto. That’s the type of thing Alpha takes seriously. The type of omission that could get you in trouble, even killed.”

  “I’m not from a rival pack. I’m from Willow’s Province.” This time I meet her eyes. I grab a shirt from the basket, plunge it into the soapy water, and start scrubbing.

  Sophie drops the subject of my origins and marches to a basket under the sink. “Here,” she says, handing me a pair of rubber gloves. “It’s good you have some experience because you have your work cut out for you with this mess.”

  I see what she means as I dig through the basket. “Why are all his shirts covered in blood?” I accept the rubber gloves she offers and wipe my hands on my pants before putting them on.

  “The blood is because Ace is the pack’s prizefighter.”

  “Like a protector? A soldier?”

  “No. That would be Pit and most of the others. Ace fights men from other packs for units. Every Friday is fight night. It’s a huge event. The packs take turns hosting, and people bet black market units on the fight. That’s why your keeper is beta now. He hasn’t lost a match since he arrived. It’s a bloody job.” She raises her eyebrows and tips her head, as if there is something glamorous and enviable about being a fighter.

  I scrub and plunge, scrub and plunge. Everything about what Sophie says bothers me. Korwin hurts others for profit, and worse, people find it entertaining. I place the washed shirt in a second tub, ready for rinsing, and start in on the next.

  Sophie sighs. “I’m going to go check on dinner. I know you’re new and all, and your keeper scared you tonight, but don’t try to leave. Bad things happen to girls who leave, one way or another.”

  I pause my scrubbing to meet her eyes and lower my chin in assent.

  “I’m glad we understand each other.” She motions for me to get to work and click-clacks her way out the door.

  17

  I finish the laundry and hang each of Korwin’s garments on the drying line. Several of them look almost new. Compared to the mended rags I remember Pit wearing, they might as well be luxury goods. In some ways, I’m glad Korwin ended up here. He’s surviving, safe from the Greens, and hasn’t compromised his integrity by rejoining the Liberty Party. Still, I stare at the shirts, seeing the faint remnants of sprayed blood I wasn’t able to work from the fabric, and fresh tears anoint my cheeks.

  Our lives have spun out of control, as distant from the life we’d planned as night from day. The future I imagined, white house, farm, a baby on my hip, church on Sunday, it all dissolves in a flash of blue light. Still, he has claimed me. Despite the Ordnung’s rejection of him, and my delay in coming to find him, he still chose me. He still fought for me. That, at least, tells me that things between us aren’t completely broken.

  I run a finger under the red collar around my neck. My father would explode if he saw it. A child of God treated like a common pet. I should be livid. I should stand up for myself. Who would stop me if I tried to leave? No one I couldn’t burn like forgotten toast. So why do I stay, hanging laundry with a collar around my neck?

  It comes down to hope. Maybe, if I do this for him, stay and be his woman here, we can regain what we lost. If I can reach the Korwin I remember, the kind and decent man who lives under the harsh, violent exterior, I can bring him back from this godless life. I resolve to win his love again. And when I do, we can return home and leave all this behind us.

  “Good, you’re done,” Sophie says as I hang the sheets. “Let’s go get you dressed for dinner.” She clip-clops to a mirror on the wall and fluffs her hair.

  “I only have what I’m wearing,” I say. “And another outfit like it.”

  With a disapproving scan of my outfit, she shakes her head. “Oh, honey, you can’t wear that.” She takes me by the elbow and leads me from the room. “It’s your keeper’s duty to provide you with something more… eye catching. You’re his woman now. He’ll want you to dress the part.” She pats my arm. “I’ll get you started in the bath and find you something.”

  She ushers me down the hall to an unassuming gray door. Inside is a small room that doesn’t belong in the concrete bunker. There’s a fireplace with a lively fire burning and a painted cast-iron kettle resting near the flames. At the center of the room is an antique porcelain bathtub on an exquisite woven rug. There’s a small sitting area.

  “This is… unexpected.” I trip on the word, as if it isn’t quite adequate. The room is surprisingly posh, with velvet curtains and textured walls.

  “Add the entire kettle,” she says. “Without the boiling water, it makes for a cold bath.” She hands me a hot pad and motions toward the fireplace. “Towels are over there in the cabinet with anything else you might need. Do you need a clip for your hair?”

  “No. I’ll manage.”

  “Good.” She turns to leave.

  A question comes to me and I can’t help myself from asking. “Sophie? Do all the Red Dog women get to use this room?”

  She laughs. “No. Just pack leaders and their women.”

  I clear my throat. “I never asked, but who is your keeper?”

  She smiles. “I thought you knew. I’m Alpha’s girl.”

  “Oh.”
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  “Now, be quick. You do not want to be late for dinner your first night here.” She tips her chin up for a moment. “That could be a mistake you regret later.”

  “Why? What would happen to me?”

  “Let’s just say that Red Dog men do not withhold physical punishment.” She slips out the door, leaving me alone in the flickering firelight.

  As Sophie suggested, I pour the entire contents of the kettle into the bath. It’s enough to make the water blissfully warm, and I intend to take advantage of it while it lasts. Quickly, I strip down and lower myself into the water. The heat radiates through me. I groan and rest my head, allowing my still-dry hair to fan out over the edge of the tub.

  How long have I been awake? When was the last time I ate? With no clock in the room, I can’t divine the answer, only that the excitement and adrenaline that have fueled me to this point are gone. I slip into a dreamy state of almost-sleep, where images of Korwin mingle with home.

  The rattle of the door opening brings me to my senses. “Have I taken too long?” I ask, eyes still closed. I presume it’s Sophie bringing me my dress.

  “Well, this is an amusing turnabout.” Korwin’s voice. Not Sophie.

  I sink deeper into the water. My face warms as I turn and catch a glimpse of him behind me. “Kor—”

  His hand clamps over my mouth. “Ace.”

  “Ace,” I say when he pulls his hand away. I lower my voice. “You have to leave. I’m… naked.”

  “First, I seem to recall a day at my father’s house when you not only walked in on my bath but reached in and pulled me to the surface.” My ears grow hot remembering. “And second? I don’t have to do anything.” He turns his back to me and digs through my pile of dirty clothes. He holds up the red leather collar. “Cast it aside already, did you?”

  “Surely you didn’t expect me to wear it in the tub?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t like wearing it at all. I’m not property.”

  “This isn’t Hemlock Hollow, Lydia,” he says through his teeth. He turns toward me, collar in hand, the fire illuminating his face in a warm glow. “If you aren’t my property, you’ll be someone else’s before sundown, and I guarantee they won’t honor your virtue like I will.”

  I cross my arms under the water and look toward the fire. “Do you call pressing me against the wall of your room preserving my virtue?”

  “Take accountability. How we left things, I was more than a little shocked at your arrival today. Would you rather be sharing a marriage bed with Pit?”

  I turn to face him and there isn’t an ounce of humor in his expression. I reach for the collar.

  “Allow me,” he says, placing it around my neck.

  “You know I’d never let Pit touch me. I’d fry him to ash before he came close.”

  Korwin finishes buckling and reaches for something beside him. A hairbrush. He pulls up a chair behind me and grabs a handful of my hair, methodically brushing out the knots. I try not to think about the fact that the water is a poor concealer of my naked flesh.

  “Now, tell me what your plan is to return to Hemlock Hollow,” he says.

  I furrow my brow, not expecting him to be open to the idea so soon. “We can leave tonight. We’ll have to be careful because the Greens are looking for me, but if we travel by sewer—”

  He stops brushing. “We?”

  “Yes. I came to get you, to bring you back home, so we could face our discipline together.”

  The brush strokes down my hair again—slowly, absently.

  “Our discipline? I don’t recall you being punished for anything.”

  “The day you left… there was a flasher. I took care of it, but Ebbie Lapp saw. Some people are saying I’m a witch.”

  He grips my hair in his hand, forcing my head back painfully, although I don’t think he does it intentionally. “They punished you for being a witch?”

  “Not exactly. I wasn’t outwardly disciplined. Someone made a doll to look like me and set it on fire in our front yard.” Korwin’s sharp inhale coincides with a sharper tug on my hair. I place my hand on his, and he loosens his grip. “Whoever did it left a note. Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. So, um, I was not asked to leave as you were, but my father thought that it was safer for me.”

  “Lydia… I don’t know what to say. They burned you at the stake in effigy?”

  “Jeremiah thought if I agreed to marry him people would forget and accept me again.”

  “Go back. Do it,” he says without hesitation. “This place isn’t good for you.”

  I strain my neck to look at him, placing both hands on the side of the tub. “I don’t want to marry Jeremiah.”

  He releases my hair and rises from his position. “You could go to David. The Liberty Party could keep you safe.”

  “I went there first, looking for you.”

  He snorts derisively. “Of all of the places, you must have known I wouldn’t go there.”

  “Where else would I think you might go?” I say, gripping the sides of the tub. “How did you end up here anyway?”

  Korwin picks up a towel and holds it open in front of him. “Come on. We’re going to be late. You need to get dressed.”

  “I know you don’t believe me, but I regret not following you the day you left. I should have stood up for you and—”

  “Stop.” His voice is stern, threatening. “First, I wouldn’t have let you go with me. Second, there was nothing you could have said or done to change what happened. Now, stand up. Get dressed. We’re going to be late.”

  I stand and wrap the towel around my body. There’s a plastic dress bag resting on a bench near the tub next to a paper sack.

  He faces the wall while I towel off and unveil the dress he’s brought for me. Conscious of my nudity, I slip it on as quickly as possible.

  “Korwin, I can’t wear this.” I stare at myself in the mirror on the wall. The dress is purple and stretchy. The material crosses low between my breasts, cinches at the waist, and extends barely to the middle of my thigh. In the paper bag, I find a pair of knee-high boots in beige suede. I put them on experimentally, teetering on the high heels.

  “Are you covered?” he asks.

  “If you can call it that.”

  He pivots. When he sees me, his eyes widen for a moment and then his mouth stretches into a wry smile. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “This is not modest.”

  “No. No, it is not.”

  I spread my hands and stare at him disbelievingly.

  His lips purse and he places his hands on his hips. “You say you came here for me, Lydia. This is the life I lead now. This is how the women here dress.”

  “But now that I’ve found you, can’t we just go home? I mean, a bite to eat would be nice, but do I have to do this?” I circle my hand in front of the dress, ending by pointing at the collar.

  “I’m not going back,” he says, shaking his head.

  “What?” I whisper.

  His jaw hardens. “Let me put it plainly, Lydia. Either you wear the dress and act the part or you go back to Hemlock Hollow with your tail between your legs and beg Jeremiah to marry you. He can beg the bishop to take you back. I won’t do it.”

  I tug at the dress, but there is no way to make it cover more of me. My cheeks warm with shame looking down at myself.

  Korwin holds up his hands. “I can walk out now, accidentally leave the door unlocked, and you can hijack a car and be home by morning, but if you think I’m returning to that hateful bunch of self-righteous men and women you call a community, you are mistaken.” He turns to leave.

  I have only moments to decide what to do. He crosses the room. His hand is on the door. “I’m not going anywhere,” I blurt.

  He stops and looks over his shoulder at me. Our eyes lock. For a moment, it’s back—that feeling, deep in my chest, like I’m connected to Korwin by a stretched rubber band. I take one step, then another as it tugs me in his direction. When I reach him, he
gathers me into his arms as if he can’t help himself, his breath coming quick and ragged in my ear.

  “I’ve missed you,” I whisper. I think he might kiss me again but instead he pushes me away. The brief connection fades as he turns his head away.

  “We have to go.” He threads my hand through his elbow and helps me walk to the door.

  “Wait, should I clean up here?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “There are people to do that.”

  “Oh.”

  As he opens the door for me and leads me down the long hall, I whisper, “Why did you name me Lydia?” He knows what I mean. Everyone else has a fake name, a new persona.

  Korwin frowns toward the wall and murmurs, “Because I couldn’t bear for them to call you anything else.”

  18

  Without Korwin holding me up, I would have never made it to dinner. As it is, I struggle to lower myself into the chair he offers me without falling off my sky-high heels. The other pack leaders are already seated when we arrive. My chair is across from Sophie, on the other side of Alpha who sits at the head of the table. Korwin takes the chair on my right.

  The table itself is something out of a dream. On a raised platform at the front of the dining hall, it’s drenched in candlelight and dressed with crystal goblets and gold-edged plates. The majority of Red Dogs eat from orange acrylic trays, sitting on the wood slats of folding tables in the main section of the cafeteria. Some eat with their hands. They wait in line to serve themselves, cafeteria style.

  “Don’t stare at the mutts, Princess.” Alpha grabs my chin between his thumb and forefinger and turns my head back toward the table. “It enrages them.”

  Mutts. That’s what they call everyone else here. Everyone who is not a pack leader.

  I look away obediently. One of the female mutts fills my glass with a deep red liquid. I want to ask for water but none of the other women are saying anything. I don’t know if I’m allowed. I lift the goblet to my nose and give it a good sniff, then put the glass back down without taking a sip.