Marigold

by Heather Mitchell Manheim

  Davis nearly turned around to look at the other wives, to try and settle her mind and try and get a second to think clearly. She was astonished to see they were all in large ball gowns in the same blush color as the decorative bows. All the dresses had elaborate lace patterns, gems, and dainty bows. The ladies themselves had assorted jewelry on, as before, but these pieces seemed even bigger and more dazzling. Every dress gave the ladies an hourglass shape and pushed up and accentuated the breasts. Davis didn’t know why this astonished her. Her dress was similar, although her dress was white, and her gown and jewelry were even more extravagant and elegant. It just dawned on her fully, the absurd notion of these dresses. The cost and labor involved in making them, but the populace never even saw them. And the wives and the people at the Palace never saw the problem. Or, if they did know the problem, they turned a blind eye to have their own desires met. Davis acknowledged the dresses and jewelry were the least of her problems while simultaneously being symbolic of all the issues. Clearly, the United State wasn’t as united as it seemed. There was no same-same for everyone. And the depths to which it went were unfathomable.

  “Delilah!” Davis was being called back to reality by Everett, harshly whispering her new name. “Pay attention,” and at this instruction, Everett grabbed her elbow and jerked her back to looking at him and the priest.

  The priest then went into how Davis was now going to be part of an exclusive group. Not just the wife of President Everett but an obedient wife and a servant to President Everett and the people of the United State as well. It was expected Davis would be not only a good wife but a great wife, indulging and eventually anticipating President Everett’s every need and desire. “A woman must not simply do, but also want to do, with a grateful heart, all she can to ensure she meets the demands of her husband.” He then finished by telling Davis that she must do this to not only preserve her emotional, mental, and spiritual balance but to help maintain the well-being of President Everett and the people of the United State as well.

  This obscene diatribe woke up Davis. Oh, hell no, she thought. She knew she had to do something and that she had to do it quickly. But she hadn’t thought much about the process of what she should do either. And after all, she had never attacked anyone before. Much less with a knife, at her wedding, in front of a church of followers of her intended victim.

  ~

  Davis let the priest drone on a bit more while she tried to figure out what her next step would be. She knew she had to do something, but she just had not figured out the specifics yet. She knew she had to solve it quickly, though.

  The priest went into some kind of prayer chant, and Davis should have been closing her eyes. She was glad she didn’t, though, because she looked around a little and saw exactly where she was standing compared to Everett. She was suddenly pleased that he had taken place above her on the steps. It put her at the right angle to go for his neck when the time was right.

  The priest then went into President Everett’s expectations as a husband. The laughable difference floored Davis. “You are more than a President. You are a prominent human, you have the ear of God, and you saved humanity. There shall be no expectations placed on you as a husband because the expectations placed on you by God and humanity have been so high, there should be nothing asked of you from your wife. In reality, you owe nothing to humankind either, yet you selflessly offer more every day. It’s even more of a reason for your wives to support you only and expect nothing in return. It should be their great honor to support you and never ponder a personal need they think they might have. You should only supply your wives with food, drink, healthcare, shelter, and clothing like you would do for any human in your charge.”

  Davis gave off an audible snort of disgust and disbelief. She quickly recognized her mistake when both the priest and Everett glared at her. “Sorry, itchy throat.” They then returned the looks of disgust and disbelief she felt.

  The priest continued, “Delilah Davis, with this knowledge and full understanding, do you commit yourself legally and spiritually to President Everett, never to fail in being an honorable, kind, honest and obedient wife?”

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry, what did you say?” The priest gruffly said it, but the horror and shock on Everett’s face made it obvious he was thinking the same things. Gasps came from the church congregation, and Davis felt like she could sense the collective populace holding their breath. It felt as if the air had got sucked out of the room.

  Davis took every bit of strength she could from herself, her mom, and her friends. She tried to steel herself as much as possible and tried to make her body posture as intimidating as she could in layers of white tulle and a corset.

  “I said no. And my name is Amelia!” The determination and forcefulness in her voice surprised even her. But it propelled her to her next step, and she pulled the knife from her belt and lunged toward Everett. The screams started to fill her ears as the knife plunged deeply and fiercely into the side of his neck.

  Davis felt fulfilled and pleased as life started to drain from Everett’s eyes. She was surprised how strange she felt, although she never expected she could kill someone. Her head rang, and there was a warm tingling in her body. She didn’t think she was capable of standing anymore, so she sat on the steps. It started to surprise her that there was no blood. Davis began to worry she had missed her mark.

  Davis tried to lift her head to assess the situation. Her ears were ringing, and her neck seemed like it had no strength, and she couldn’t fully lift her head. She was grateful that she got her head up a little bit because she was genuinely pleased to see the guards coming toward her with guns drawn, thinking maybe if she surrendered, they would take her to the hospital. Something was wrong, beyond her having just committed murder. She felt almost as ill as she did when coming off the mind-control drug.

  “Delilah! Are you okay?” Rebecca was kneeling by her side and lightly slapping her face. Duffy was rushing in the side door. “You got a weird look on your face a moment ago and sort of spaced out, like you were in a trance. You started breathing fast and hard, and then you sat down, and it looked like you fainted.”

  Rebecca helped support her neck as Duffy came up to Davis, asked her if she was okay, took her pulse, and checked her pupils. Cox came in with a cup of water for Davis and put a chilled cloth on her neck.

  Davis looked up again at Everett, obviously incensed about the situation. He was fine. Davis saw nothing had transpired, except she had some kind of spell and fainted. There was more confusion than ever swimming in her head. As she sat there, still feeling faint and baffled, Everett said, “Enough. Do you accept your role as my wife?” Duffy tried to interject, saying Davis needed a few minutes, and even Rebecca looked startled at Everett’s expeditious attitude. But Everett put up his hand to stop her. “Yes or no, Delilah?”

  “Um, yes?”

  “Great, I answer the affirm as well. Pronounce us as man and wife.”

  And then it was finished. Davis had made her vow and sealed her fate. She was Everett’s wife.

  ~

  Everett calmly escorted his new wife, Delilah, out of the church before going into the side room she had gotten dressed in. “What was the meaning of that?” Everett screamed at her. “You are acting ridiculous, like a child. Get yourself together. We’re going outside to take a few photos in our wedding clothing; then, we’ll switch to the jodhpurs for the formal pictures released to the public. Meet me outside in less than ten minutes.”

  Duffy asked to come in, and Everett granted it, telling her to make sure Delilah was ready for photos quickly and not looking pale and startled like she currently was. Duffy came up to Davis and asked her what had happened. She relayed her story to Duffy about the bee venom and how she thought she had stabbed Everett, but it was just a momentary dream of some sort.

  Duffy spoke in calming and soothing words as she held her hand. “I
t’s okay. You probably had a severe panic attack. Sometimes you can hallucinate during those. You’ve had a lot of stress and anxiety. It’s okay, but I need you to pull yourself together. We’ll figure out a plan later. It’ll be fine. You have to go out there and put yourself together, though; if not, there will be more trouble for you. As you have seen, Everett is not patient or understanding. Take a few slow, deep breaths; have some more water.”

  “Duffy, I failed. I can’t do this. I’m not a murderer. For a moment there, I thought I could do it. I wanted to when they said all these horrible things about what would be expected of me as Everett’s wife. And, of course, already knowing what he’s done and what he’s capable of doing. But I can’t. I let everyone down, and I’m defeated. I can’t…” And Davis started to cry.

  “It’s okay, don’t worry about that now, let’s just get through today, and as I said, we’ll figure out what to do next. Hope is not lost.”

  “Ok,” said Davis, taking a deep breath. “I’m so confused, though; I knew Everett was evil behind the scenes. But I’m surprised he’d be so cruel to me today, barely knowing me and in front of everyone. Ruby kept telling me how nice he was!”

  “He can be, I suppose. You have to remember, everyone in that church is fully dedicated to him. They don’t televise the wedding because the public can’t see the opulence. They’ll just see the pictures of you in more casual clothing. You’re a new wife, too. Everett wants to make sure you’ll submit and know who is in charge. He asserts his power first; he’s drawing a line in the sand right from the start. He’ll be a little nicer as time goes on, I think. But he doesn’t like being challenged or feeling like he’s not in complete control of a situation, so he’ll lash out against that. Don’t forget, you’re also not under the influence of the Marigold Injection, like almost everyone else here. Honestly, though, it’s the last thing you should be worried about; let’s get you ready to go out there, so this doesn’t get worse for you.”

  Duffy dried the tears Davis was shedding and pat her hand. Cox came in and said they had to get Delilah ready immediately. Cox touched up her makeup and hair while telling her to calm down and pull herself together. “You’re already late, Delilah. President Everett gave you ten minutes, and it’s nearly been twenty. You can’t keep him waiting. Get it together.”

  Davis said a quiet prayer to herself for strength to carry on. She asked for tenacity, hope, and determination. It propelled her forward, and she got further comfort as she decided Duffy was right. They would figure this out later. Duffy now had the information about Brookshire’s double-cross and knew the bee venom was gone. There was always tomorrow to figure out what to do, and since she couldn’t murder someone, no matter how much they might deserve it, there was no other choice but to carry on as if life was as orderly as Everett liked it to appear.

  Davis walked out, determined to think of herself only as Davis or Amelia, despite them calling her “Delilah” so that she could hold onto a fragment of herself. She was also mad at herself for not having the strength to kill Everett when there had been a chance. Deciding to filter that anger into energy to get through the day, she slipped off her shoes before going outside. Just eliminating the pain helped her feel better and think more clearly. She did not care if Everett mentioned anything about her shoes. Her dress was long enough to cover her feet, and he was so self-centered, she doubted he’d notice anyhow.

  As Davis walked outside, the sun made her squint. It seemed hot and harsh, bearing down on her without mercy. Everett came up to her, grabbing her hand and curtly saying, “Hurry up!”

  They took a few photos; at some point, Everett noticed Davis was not wearing shoes, and he chastised her for that. She felt at her belt to feel the comfort of the knife. She was distressed to find it must have fallen out in the room. It was gone. Feeling dismayed, she realized it didn’t matter anyhow. She didn’t have the nerve to murder anyone.

  Every photo felt the same. Everett’s positioning was either in front of or above Davis. The photographer kept directing her to look at President Everett with “reverence and admiration.” At one point, the photographer jubilantly said, “Look at him like all your dreams just came true because, of course, they have!” At the same time, the photographer’s instruction to Everett was to “Look like he found a lost, injured puppy.”

  There were poses with the other wives, all of them lovingly arranged around President Everett, looking at him as a savior. Davis noticed Ruby wasn’t in the photos and wasn’t present, either. She hoped that Ruby didn’t get in trouble for visiting her or that Brookshire hadn’t mentioned to Everett that Davis and Ruby figured out their relationship. She hoped Everett had skirted Ruby safely away someplace, and that’s all that it was.

  Everett told Davis the photos would be quick, but they continued on and on, so she was more than pleased she took those shoes off. The photoshoot seemed to be more about stroking President Everett’s ego and displaying as much admiration for him as possible. He relished his time, which was funny to Davis as he was always in the spotlight. She couldn’t believe how ridiculous the whole thing was. Everyone else acted as if it were normal, though.

  Finally, after about an hour, Everett pulled her arm to get her attention and said they would go up to an overlook above the garden for a few last photos before changing their clothing. He nearly pulled her up the stairs, making her trip and stub her toe on the way up.

  Davis tried to find some humanity in Everett. “Please slow down. I’m hurt.”

  “You decided to take your shoes off. Deal with the consequences.” He then calmed the tone of his voice and softened his face. “Look, Delilah, I can be a very nice and accommodating husband. I want to be. But I’m running a country and a household of wives here. I need you always to pay attention and keep up with me. I need complete cooperation and submission. When I ask you to be out of your room in ten minutes, I want to see your pretty face ready in eight.”

  When they got to the top of the stairs, Davis felt conquered, so she apologized for the trouble she caused and asked for a second to compose herself. Everett smugly told her, “That’s what I like to hear,” before propping himself up and sitting on the edge of the overlook’s thick marble wall, looking inward toward Davis. The look on his face and the tone of his voice reached the epitome of vainglorious behavior. “Hey, Delilah, I have a great idea,” a smirk spread across his face, which Davis realized was not as handsome as she once thought. “Get on your knees and look up at me adoringly.” There was a light chuckle before he said, “Get used to being on your knees for me.”

  Davis fumed. She felt tired and overwhelmed, and so over the nonsense. Her dress and corset were hot and uncomfortable. It throbbed where she had stubbed her toe, and she was sure she was bleeding. It infuriated her Everett most likely talked to her mom in this rude, disgusting way, as well as all the other wives.

  Davis walked over and put her hands on the marble wall encircling the small but beautiful balcony. The creamy pink color and the shape of the balcony made her think of an open clamshell. As she took in the garden’s green shrubs and the beautiful stone tiled labyrinth beneath her, she started feeling unbelievable anger. For the first time in a long time, and the first time ever that it had nothing to do with her dream, she clenched her fists so hard her nails caused bloody crescents in her palms. All at once, she felt like she was a volcano bubbling over and Venus in Botticelli’s painting. Davis was emerging into the open, newly born but fully grown. Standing in her perfect shell, she finally felt something settling in her mind, a round drop of clarity, pure and perfect as a pearl amid the grains of sand that coated her mind. But she had made a vow to Everett. She had to remind herself, though, that a vow was nothing more than a promise. And she had also made a vow to herself, to Ringo and Quinn, everybody at the bunker. And her mom, her mom, most of all.

  Davis was finished getting pushed, so she pushed back. Literally. Everything happened so quickly; s
he didn’t even realize what she’d done yet. From the look on Everett’s face as he fell, he didn’t understand what happened either. All Davis knew was that when she looked over the edge, there was a large pool of blood under his head, his face frozen in shock. And there was the horrified look on the faces of everyone below who witnessed what she’d done. There was that, too.

  October 10–22, 2056 – Davis

  Brookshire roughly escorted Davis to a cell in the basement of the Palace. “You foolish, foolish girl,” he sneered as he threw her in.

  It was cold and damp and had none of the color and luxury the rest of the Palace had. Not that she expected that, but the cold hard gray stones that lined the walls, floor, and ceiling made the comparison between the two all the more depressing.

  Nobody came to talk to her, and there was no way to keep track of the time. Davis had been in the cell a while when she found little pebbles in a crack between stones. But she didn’t know how long she had been in there when she’d discovered the rocks, and as there was no view of the sun or moon, she had no real way to know how much time had passed. Davis tried to base it off the one nutrition biscuit she received a day, shoved through a small slot in the door by an unseen guard.

  After Davis had moved two pebbles into the pile, guessing she had been there between three and four days, she realized she didn’t even know if Everett had survived the attack or not. She knew nothing, and it put her into the depths of sorrow to grasp he might have been recovering nicely in the hospital, probably being tended to nonstop by her friends Duffy and Hernandez. Of course, he would have the best medical care! The flipside of the coin was, though, she could be a murderess. Although it was spontaneous, even the fact she attempted to kill someone was disgusting to her. No matter how she sliced it, it was an unsavory, regrettable thing to have in her soul. This was the mantra she beat herself over the head with, feeling defeated. Would she have felt that way if she’d poisoned Everett? she asked herself. She pondered over the fact that while poisoning was cleaner and less obvious than shoving someone off a balcony, it didn’t matter at the end of the day; she had murdered, and she had to find a way to live with her sin. The price she was paying now in this cell felt like a small penance for her actions.