Paradise Abductions
Page 32
Chapter 32
The time the Mister is gone is probably the best time I've ever had since I got to Paradise Village. I've got Miguel to thank for that. Having him as my constant companion has been much better than I thought. He's quiet, he helps me with everything, and Betsey stays away from me when he's around. What more can I ask for?
But my respite from my tortuous life is short lived because the Mister comes back after just one week. I was hoping he'd be gone for at least a month but luck wasn't with me. After I unpack his clothes exactly the way he likes, he asks to see me in his study. I cringe with a sharp pain in my stomach. He's probably going to continue the plans for an early marriage.
"I've missed you so much, Little Bird," he says when I sit in front of his desk. His discipline club is on it, next to his right hand..
I wish I could say the same.
"I came back early because I couldn't be away from you."
Why are you so obsessed with me?
"How did everything go here?"
"Fine, Master Barstowe."
"Miguelito took care of things?" he questions.
"Yes, Master Barstowe."
"Betsey is a great wife, but I can see she's jealous of you," he sighs. "Who could blame her? I can never feel the same for her as I feel for you. She tries hard to please me and I'm happy with her for the most part, but she just doesn't move my heart."
I stare at the top of the desk in front of me, my head slightly down. He must not see how much I'm cringing or how I'm avoiding looking at his club of terror. He places his hand on the spot I'm staring at as if he's touching me.
"Little Bird, we need to talk about our marriage."
I take in a sharp, painful breath.
"I'm anxious to make you my wife. I'm anxious that you officially belong to my family. I'm anxious that we start our new life together. ."
Here it comes, I want to cry, the new wedding date.
"However . . ." He's unable to finish the sentence, and I feel a sliver of hope.
"However," he continues, swallowing hard, "Mildred's death has thrown me for a loop. I don't want to do things in a rush and then have them turn out badly. I especially don't want to rush your holy surgery."
The small piece of hope is getting larger and larger.
"I've decided that we do things as originally planned. I hope you're not too disappointed."
I want to collapse in relief.
"Whatever you decide, Master Barstowe, is fine with me."
He smiles at me, content with my fake answer. "Our day will come soon enough, Little Bird. You don't have to fret."
The Mister commands me to leave his office and finish my chores. I gladly bounce out of there. Miguel is waiting to see him after me. When he sees the relieved look on my face, he smiles back at me. I'm sure he suspects what went on in there. Miguel has good intuition.
As I'm about to start on the dishes, Stacy steps inside the kitchen and hands me a cloth napkin with remnants of her meals. She's been doing it all week, and we're fortunate that Betsey hasn't caught her sneaking it off the table or me eating it. I devour the leftovers in just a few bites.
"Is everything okay with Master Barstowe?" she whispers. She had seen me as I had stepped into his office and had thrown me a worried glance.
"Everything's fine," I whisper back.
"When will you marry him?'
"In about a month."
"Oh." Her features soften with happiness for me when she realizes the wedding won't be next week. "Betsey won't have so much power when you're his wife."
"She'll find a way of lording over me," I blurt.
Stacy doesn't say anything. She knows it's true. She's more aware than anyone else about how sneaky and twisted Betsey is.
"You've got to find a way of beating her at her own game."
I sigh. "It's hard to do that when she's the head-wife."
Stacy nods disconsolately. "You can't let her beat your spirit down."
I'm sure she is thinking of Jana like I am. Poor Jana is now just a shadow of her former self. Living in the Grinder household must've robbed her of her whole spirit because when I see her during church, her head is always down. When I greet her, she barely says hello back. Her eyes have a faraway look to them as if she's halfway out of this world.
"I won't let Betsey beat me down," I promise Stacy.
"She won't ever stop trying to do it, but don't you let her."
"I won't."
"Don't give her the satisfaction of knowing she can mess with you."
"I won't."
"The rest of us pretty much have our hands tied, but you're Master Barstowe's favorite. That's a huge advantage against her."
"I'll remember that."
"And beyond anything, Monica, she can't see you being scared of her like she sees with me and the other wives. She feeds off that stuff."
"I won't ever let her see how she gets to me."
"Please don't."
"I won't."
The door swings open and as if sensing we're talking about her, Betsey strides in. She glares at us with suspicion.
"I couldn't find you, Stacy," she snaps accusingly.
"I was right here."
"Doing what?" she questions, her voice in a deep growl.
Stacy stares at her with fear. I can tell her mind went blank.
"She was telling me that I need to wash the curtains in her room. I hadn't noticed how dirty they were," I chime in, my tone firm and steady.
Betsey doesn't believe me, but she has no choice but to let the matter drop. If she starts making a scene on the first day the Mister is back, there's no telling what his reaction might be.
"Stacy, you already told her what you needed to so leave her to her chores," she demands, almost screeching. "You're wasting her time and Master Barstowe doesn't like anyone to bother Monica while she's doing her chores."
"Yes, wife-Betsey," Stacy mumbles as she moves towards the door.
"That's head-wife Betsey," she corrects venomously.
Stacy doesn't bother to say anything as she steps out the door. I continue washing the dishes as Betsey circles me as if she wants to ask me something but can't find the right words.
"Has Master Barstowe told you what we'll be serving for the wedding banquet?" she finally asks.
She's fishing for answers about when the marriage will be. I know her game.
"No," I say simply.
She waits for me to elaborate. I keep washing dishes in silence. Her face twitches in frustration.
"He hasn't said anything about it?" she snaps.
"No."
"As the head-wife I need to know what we're supposed to be serving and when!" Her tone is exasperated.
"You'll have to ask him."
"So when is your holy surgery?" she questions, trying to sound casual
"I don't know."
Her face contorts in complete fury. "Has he or hasn't he told you when the wedding will be?"
"You'll have to ask him"
She eyes me with a look that could chill a corps's bones. A penetrating, drilling stare. There's that promise again.
The promise of revenge.