by Kate L. Mary
“I thought I might find you here, Willow,” he says when he gets closer.
I get to my feet and take a step back, wanting to run but knowing I can’t escape him no matter what I do. Am I in trouble?
“Father David. I just came out to watch the sunrise.”
His smile tightens, and something threatening flashes in his eyes. “No need to explain. I stopped by your house, and Brother George told me you weren’t home. He seemed quite upset, but I told him not to worry. You have a lot going on, and it’s only natural to need some time to reflect. I apologized to him for last night, but he didn’t seem to know what I was talking about, so I explained what happened with David. George was quite distressed.”
I shift from foot to foot and pull even harder on the hem of my sweater. Distressed probably isn’t the right word to describe how George reacted to the news. What happened with David wasn’t my fault, but I have no doubt that my stepfather will find some way to turn it around on me. Hopefully, he doesn’t take it out on my mother.
Suddenly, I’m anxious to go home. To make sure she’s okay. “Maybe I should go talk to him.” I take a step, but Father David lifts his hand, and I freeze in my tracks. He didn’t come out here to talk about George. “Was there something you wanted to discuss with me, Father David?” My tone comes out sharper than I wanted, and I swallow.
“Yes, Willow, I just wanted to have a chat with you.” The corner of his mouth turns up even more, deepening his laugh lines and making him look malicious. “It’s been some time since we talked privately. Almost three years, isn’t that right?”
My stomach does a flip-flop, and I inhale sharply, feeling like the air has been knocked out of me. He’s referring to my punishment.
I swallow and try to keep my face blank, but I doubt I do a good job. It’s impossible to hide my emotions when I think about that time. “Yes. When I was a child. Just fifteen years old.”
Father David shakes his head, and his smile morphs into something condescending. “You were no child, Willow. You and I both know that.”
My temper flares, and I clench my hands into fists.
Not a child? I know he doesn’t believe that. He has to know he stole my innocence. Has to know what he allowed to happen to me and what he did to punish me was wrong. No one deserves to be treated that way, especially not a little girl who only wanted to be loved and cared for.
“What did you want to talk to me about?” I snap, my rage getting the better of me.
Father David makes a tisk tisk sound and shakes his head disapprovingly. “I thought you learned your lesson from your punishment. That isn’t how a Daughter of David acts, now, is it?”
My pulse quickens, and I break out in a cold sweat, the memories of my punishment still vivid in my mind. I can’t go through that again. I have to apologize and make him believe I’m sorry.
“I’m so sorry, Father David.” I bow my head, doing my best imitation of my mother. “Please forgive me.”
“You can stop the act.” His words carry a note of impatience. “You and I both know you don’t believe any of this. But are you going to continue to cooperate? That’s what I want to know. I don’t care if you believe, I only care that you make others think you believe.”
I glance up at him while keeping my head bowed. The expression on his face hasn’t changed, and the threat in his tone is thick and ominous, but his words have slammed into me, and I can only concentrate on their meaning, not the threat looming behind them. Father David knows I don’t believe any of this.
I know I shouldn’t ask, but I also know if I don’t I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. “If you know I don’t believe, why not let me go? Why make me go through with this?”
Father David frowns, something he doesn’t do often, and the expression transforms his eyes until they look like balls of steel. “I have no idea what the ramifications would be if you ran away. People may start to question my teachings if the woman chosen to marry my own son turned out to be an unbeliever. How would that look?” He shakes his head. “Not very divine.”
I blink, swirling the words around in my head. Did he just admit that none of this is real? All this time I’ve thought Father David was insane, but maybe he isn’t.
Maybe he’s just a manipulative liar.
“So, this is all a sham?” I say. “Your way of controlling people?”
“Every word in the Book of David is true.” The condescending smile is back, the mask once again in place. “Isn’t the fact that I’ve had so many followers for so many years proof that my words are from God? How could I have pulled this off if it wasn’t true? My words are my own, but my inspiration comes from God.”
My mouth drops open, but no words come out.
How do I respond to that? This man really, truly believes he’s God’s medium. There was a part of me that had always assumed he was just a power-hungry fraud, but that isn’t so. He’s a power-hungry lunatic.
That makes him much more dangerous, because I now know he would be willing to do anything for what he believes.
“Now, if those are all the questions you have for me, perhaps you can answer mine,” he says calmly. “Do you plan to cooperate?”
“I don’t plan on making any trouble.” I once again focus on the hem of my sweater and suddenly notice that I’ve been pulling on it so much it’s starting to come unraveled.
“So, you plan on being a diligent wife?” he asks, and the note of pleasure in his voice makes me cringe. “You will do what my son tells you to do so we can continue what we’ve built here?”
Tears spring to my eyes, making them sting, and everything inside me starts to crumble like a leaf in the fall. I can’t look up, so I focus on my sweater, on the loose string, tugging on it harder.
“Yes.” My cheeks heat from the shame of voicing just how weak I’ve become.
“Thank you, Willow. I’m confident that one day you will see the truth. Until then, thank you for helping me continue my ministry here. I’m sure your mother would thank you as well.”
There’s a stab of pain in my chest, and I inhale deeply. The tears I’ve been holding back escape and fall down my cheeks, but I don’t bother wiping them away. “Are we done now? I’d like to go check on my mother,” I ask, unable to meet his gaze. Hating how few options I have.
“Of course. Thank you for cooperating. I hated the thought of having to punish you again.”
I cringe as I hurry away, and his eyes burn into me until I’ve made it past the orchard.
Chapter 7
George’s hand slams against my cheek two seconds after I open the front door. All the air rushes from my lungs, and I gasp, stumbling back from the impact and almost falling through the still open door. I manage to grab the frame at the last second, and once I’m securely on my feet, I turn to face my stepfather.
He grabs my arm and pulls me in, slamming the door behind me before slapping me again. This time, his hand lands on my upper right cheek, and his fingers sting across my eye. My face burns, and pain radiates through my head to the base of my skull. My eye is throbbing and will no doubt be black and blue tomorrow.
“You little whore,” George screams, grabbing me by the arms. Shaking me until my teeth clatter together. “Father David told us what happened last night. David is a good boy. He wouldn’t have touched you if you weren’t such a whore.” He shoves me back, and I fall, landing on my backside with a thud that pulses through my tailbone. “I’m ashamed to be a part of this family of whores,” he growls before walking out the front door, slamming it behind him.
My mother is in the kitchen, standing with her back to me while she prepares breakfast. My cheek and tailbone throb as I climb to my feet, staring at her the whole time. Waiting for her to say something, to turn and ask if I’m okay.
The longing inside me is something I’m all too familiar with. After everything that’s happened, all the pain she’s allowed into my life and the things she’s turned a blind eye to, I still want her to co
mfort me. Only it never happens.
Without a word, I pull myself from the floor and head to my room.
My temple pounds harder with every step I take, and my tailbone throbs. I swallow around the perpetual lump in my throat while I change into dry clothes. When I sit on the bed, an intense pain shoots up my tailbone. George really hurt me this time. Hopefully, it’s better by the wedding.
My legs start to shake the second the thought enters my head. David. He’s always there. Always haunting me.
I suck in a deep breath and blow it out slowly.
No. I won’t think about him. Not today. Today I’m not going to think about David or the wedding, or Father David or the past. Today, I’m just going to focus on me.
In the bathroom, I flip on the light so I can check out my eye. It’s swollen and red, and I have no doubt it will be purple by the end of the day, but it isn’t as bad as I expected.
It could have been so much worse.
My mother is still in the kitchen when I walk back out, and the sweet smell of baking bread makes my stomach growl. She turns to face me, and I stop dead in my tracks. Her right eye is dark purple and almost swollen shut. Much worse than mine. George must have been really angry this time. He rarely leaves a mark where other people can see it.
The lump in my throat grows larger, but I force myself to turn away from her and take a seat in front of my plate of cold eggs. I have a hard time swallowing around the mountain clogging my throat, but somehow I manage to choke down the food. The longer the silence in the house stretches out, though, the heavier the guilt becomes. I wasn’t the one who hit my mother, but this is my fault. Not because I had any control over what David did—he was the one in the wrong—but because I need to do a better job of protecting her. That’s why I’ve chosen to stay here, after all. Why I’ve decided to subject myself to this life. To protect my mother. If I don’t do that, all of this is a waste.
When I’m done eating, I wash my plate before wordlessly going to help my mother knead more dough, hoping to ease my guilt. She doesn’t say a word, and I don’t know how she’s able to move her arms with as rigid as her body is. Does she blame herself for what George did? Probably. She seems to blame herself for every bad thing that happens in this world. I know deep down she believes there is something inherently wrong with her. That she deserves everything bad that’s happened in her life.
The longer we stand in silence, the tighter my insides become until everything feels like I’ve been rolled into a tight ball, just like the dough in my hand.
A knock at the door breaks the silence, making me jump. Still, I continue kneading the dough while my mother crosses the room, wiping her hands on her apron as she goes.
When she opens the front door, she’s met with a gasp. I keep moving my hands, manipulating the soft dough while my mother mumbles something about how she fell down. It’s a ridiculous excuse. My eye is swollen, too. Who would believe we both fell and got black eyes on the same day?
Heat rushes through my body, and I suddenly have the urge to throw the dough across the room and scream. The feeling rips through me, and by the time our visitor steps inside, I’m shaking.
All it takes is one look at Sister Kathryn for the heat to seep from my body, leaving me numb.
“Willow, look who’s here.” My mother’s voice goes up like she’s trying to sound enthusiastic, but it just comes off as strained.
It’s been years since she was able to pull off anything that remotely resembled enthusiasm.
My throat constricts around the lump, which seems to be getting bigger with each passing second, but I do my best to return the smile Sister Kathryn gives me.
“Sister Willow, I’ve brought your wedding dress for you to try on,” Sister Kathryn says, holding up the white garment.
My fingers have curled into a ball, and the dough I was kneading now oozes between my fingers. I try to relax my grip, but my body won’t cooperate, and all I can do is stare at the white lace.
I can’t be here. This can’t be happening.
But it is.
When I don’t move, Sister Kathryn steps a little closer to me, and her smile melts away. “Are you okay, Sister Willow? You don’t look— Oh! You have a black eye, too. What happened?”
“I fell down,” I reply automatically.
“Well, it looks like you and your mother need to be more careful,” she says, smiling shyly.
She doesn’t even blink at my explanation. Not that I expected her to. Sister Kathryn isn’t the kind of woman to doubt what others say. She’s too submissive.
The perfect Daughter of David.
If Father David had chosen her to be his son’s wife, the whole thing would have gone off without a hitch.
Sister Kathryn and I used to be friends, not that you can tell now. She smiles at me when she talks, but the same distance exists between us that separates me from everyone else in the community.
Of course, part of the distance comes from me. Sister Kathryn is almost two years older than I am, meaning she had her betrothal before I did. But she didn’t warn me. She never uttered a word about what happened on her fifteenth birthday, never thought to prepare me for what was to come. After her betrothal, she smiled and laughed with the rest of us like nothing had changed. Maybe to her it hadn’t, but after my night with David, after I came back, I couldn’t look at her the same.
Not that it mattered. She disappeared from my life just like everyone else did, and even now, standing in my living room with my wedding dress in her hand, she acts like we’re barely more than strangers.
“Clean yourself up, Willow,” my mother says. “You don’t want to get flour all over your dress.”
Somehow, I manage to pry the dough from my fingers. The appearance of Sister Kathryn and that white dress has obliterated my resolve not to think about David today. He’s here now, in this house, leering at me, biding his time until I belong to him.
Before I know it, I’m in my room, stripped to my underwear while my mother and Sister Kathryn help me into the gown. It isn’t fancy, just a simple, white dress with lace trim, a high neck, and long sleeves. It goes down to the floor, as does the matching veil, covering every inch of my body that can possibly be covered. It’s stiff and confining, and the veil weighs me down.
It’s like I’m in a coffin made of lace.
I hate every inch of it, and I keep my eyes focused on the floor as Sister Kathryn buzzes around me. I can’t look at my reflection. It would make all this too real. Despite my terror, I’m surprisingly numb. Empty. I expected to feel something once I had it on. Anger, dread, or hate. It should fuel every one of those emotions, but it doesn’t.
This is probably how my mother feels all the time.
“What do you think, Willow?” Sister Kathryn asks, and even my former friend’s reserved tone can’t rouse any emotions in me.
“Thank you, Sister Kathryn,” I say automatically, “it’s beautiful.”
She blushes at the praise, something she probably rarely gets in this community, and avoids looking directly at me by busying herself making small alterations. Marking where the hem needs to come up a bit and where to take it out in the bust. At least it will be a little less confining on the actual day. Nothing will make my wedding comfortable, but at least it won’t feel like the dress is trying to suffocate me. Just the groom and his father.
When she’s done, I remove the dress as fast as I can, trying not to wrinkle or damage it even though my fingers itch with the desire to rip it to shreds. The numbness has worn off, and I’m suddenly short of breath. I need to escape, to get some fresh air, but Sister Kathryn is working insanely slow, and I can’t run out until she’s gone.
My mother hasn’t said a word this entire time, and her face is completely expressionless when she leads Sister Kathryn to the door. What’s going through her head? Does she blame me for David’s behavior? I’d like to think she feels bad for what I’m going through, but it’s hard to believe. She never has before.
When the door is shut and we are once again alone, she turns to me. Her frown is deeper than usual, but her eyes are still as vacant and lifeless as ever. “You must hate me.”
I take a step back.
Where is this coming from? It’s not like I can argue with her. There’s a part of me that does hate her, that will never forgive her for what she’s done to me and allowed to be done to me.
But there’s also a part of me that still loves her. Still craves her love and acceptance. I know that piece of me will never die completely.
“I’m sorry about George. He shouldn’t have hit you,” she says.
Something inside me cracks. She actually feels bad.
“You are?” The whispered words come out full of hope, but the second they’re past my lips, I know I should try to rein the feeling in. It’s dangerous, because as much as hope can keep me going, it also has the potential to split me in two when it turns out to be for nothing.
“It’s my fault. I’m the one who raised you. Whatever you did to make David act that way is my fault. You didn’t know any better.”
Her words hit me harder than George’s slap did, driving every ounce of hope out of me.
She really believes I was responsible for David’s behavior.
“So, you think I’m a whore, too?” Heat shoots through my body, and with it comes the sudden urge to scream.
“No, Willow… No, I…” Confusion contorts her expression, and she looks down at her hands, twisting her fingers together like she can’t hold still. “It’s just— Well, it can’t be David’s fault. He’s Father David’s son. He can’t—”
“So, he’s perfect? Just like his father.” The words snap out of me, echoing through the house.
My mother flinches, and even though I don’t want to, I feel sorry for her. She resembles a wounded animal, cornered and scared and alone. This is the first time I’ve ever raised my voice to her. She’s used to it from George, but not from me. Never from me.
