“Now, Margaret, don’t overwork that poor girl.”
“I’m not, I swear! She wants to make my dress. I’m paying her very well for it too.”
“Make sure you give her extra.”
“Double.”
“Did you send food with her today?”
“Yes, of course.”
He nodded in approval. “She’s so thin. I worry about her a lot.” Margaret smiled at him. “What?” he said, shrugging. “I’m the judge, Margaret. It’s my job to concern myself with the people of my city.”
She continued smiling widely. “I was hoping you would say something like that. Now I know for sure that you aren’t going to pick just anyone to be her husband.”
“Hmm.” He took another sip from his glass. “She told you about that?”
Margaret nodded. “And I have a suggestion.”
Her father’s eyebrows raised. “You want to suggest a man for her marry?”
Margaret shrugged. “I know of someone that I think would be a good husband for Gina.”
He chuckled. “Is that so? Well, perhaps I haven’t yet looked into this man you’ve considered for Gina. I’ll hear you out.”
Margaret was about to say his name, but it caught in her throat. Her palms were suddenly clammy. She shook her head and then said, “How rude of me. How was your day, Father?”
He gave her a curious look, but he answered her regardless. “Busy,” he sighed, setting the now-empty glass in the sink.
“The checkpoints,” said Margaret carefully. She paused for a moment to double check that she would remain calm. “William told me why you set them up.”
Mark James gave her a disapproving look. “William?”
“He was at the courthouse today,” she defended. “He was overseeing the checkpoints there.”
He rolled his eyes and sighed. “He’s not supposed to talk about an ongoing case.”
“Don’t be mad at him,” she pleaded. “I’m sure he didn’t intend to break those rules. I think he’s just comfortable talking to me. Isn’t that what you want for me from my soon-to-be husband?”
“I suppose,” he mumbled, though his tone didn’t match his words. “So what all do you know about the case?”
Margaret hesitated. He raised an eyebrow at her. She shrugged, looking over at the stove. “He said it was a kid called Owens.” She opened the oven door and pretended to check on the casserole, though she knew it wasn’t close to being done. “I assume he means Carson Owens?” She was careful to tread lightly.
He was silent long enough to make Margaret’s stomach twist. Finally, half a moment later, he asked, “You know Carson Owens?”
She closed the oven door as she spoke, her stomach twisting into tighter knots. “We were schoolmates. He’s of the quiet kind.”
“Guess nothing’s changed there,” her father muttered under his breath, not necessarily at her. She thought that maybe he was annoyed at Carson for being so quiet, despite it otherwise being seen as an asset in a citizen of Deneb. Mark James looked back at his daughter. “I hope you’ve told no one else of this.”
“Of course not,” she quickly answered. “I wouldn’t dare, Father.”
He nodded curtly. “Good.” A sigh left him. “Your curiosity must be peaked. Come with me.” Margaret didn’t say a word as she followed him back out of the kitchen and sat at the table with him. Finally, her father said as he flipped open one of the files, “Perhaps it’d be helpful for the case to brainstorm with someone who knew of him from school.” He nodded to himself whilst stroking the stubble on his chin. “Yes, yes. In fact, I have a few questions for you, darling.”
Margaret’s stomach twisted. It was annoying how uncontrollable her innards were. She was afraid it would affect her demeanor. In a timely manner, she replied, “Of course. Ask me anything.” Don’t ask me anything. For the love of Anem, please don’t figure out what I’ve been doing with Carson . She was certain her father would disown her.
Why did she still fight? It was inevitable. She was on a one-way path that she couldn’t turn back on nor veer from. The destruction of Margaret James was inevitable.
The judge began. He was casual and much less intimidating than how Margaret imagined he had probably been with Carson. “He said he’d had his brand for a year. That means he was in his early sixteenth year when he first received it.” He shook his head, and a lump rose in Margaret’s throat. Such disappointment etched on his face, and he didn’t even actually know Carson. He continued, “It’s extremely likely the woman was either his age, or a grade above or below him. I really doubt she was much younger than him, and considering he just turned seventeen, if she was more than a year older than him, she’d be a Mature already.”
Margaret nodded slowly. “Right,” she whispered. “A Mature would have come forward.”
“Not just that,” Mark James said, flicking his wrist as if the information she presented wasn’t important. “He was with this woman last night.”
Margaret’s stomach fell through the floor. “He told you that?” Her voice was caught. She cleared her throat once when he looked at her. Quickly, she said, “It’s just that I wouldn’t have expected that of Carson Owens. It’s out of character. He’s quiet… and private.”
“And I’m very persuasive.” Mark looked back down at the papers in the file. “Anyway, if she was a Mature, surely she wouldn’t have snuck out with him.”
Margaret nodded. “I imagine you’re right,” she calmly and carefully worded.
Judge James glanced sidelong at her for half a second before looking back at the file before him. “Do you have any idea who this girl could be, Margaret? She must have been in school with you. I don’t think she’s a traveler; although, I admit, he didn’t give me much to work with regarding that.” Mark set the papers down and folded his arms on the table as he looked over at Margaret.
Margaret pretended to think for a moment about the question, but she had difficulty thinking of anything except that she was sure her father was already suspicious that she knew something. So, before too much time passed, she shook her head and said, “I’ll have to think more on it, but nobody in particular comes to mind immediately.”
“Were you close to him?”
She leaned back in her chair. “I’m sorry?”
He gestured with his hand vaguely. “I remember seeing him with another boy and a couple of your girl friends hanging around each other a few times. Most recently, at that one Ceremony. What was that kid’s name? Vickers?”
Margaret touched her chin thoughtfully with her index finger. “Oh, yes. Fiona, Kelly, and Bobby are all cousins. Bobby and Carson were always really close, and you know how Fiona and I were. Naturally, we’d occasionally end up in a circle talking together.”
The judge nodded to himself. “Sure. That’s logical.” A pause and a skip of Margaret’s heart passed before he spoke again. “Did he seem inclined to Kelly? She’s not yet a Mature.”
“She’s engaged to Steven, Father.”
“I’m aware,” he said. “That’s not what I asked.”
Margaret pretended to think again, but then said two seconds later, “Neither seemed too intrigued with the other, as I remember.” Except that wasn’t necessarily true. Kelly had always given Carson second and third and fourth glances, but Margaret knew Carson hadn’t once given Kelly more than a platonic acknowledgement when she’d spoken to him.
Although, Margaret once thought Carson had given Kelly more than just a glance. When she later confronted him about it, he’d simply laughed at her and said that his glance at Kelly had nothing to do with Kelly herself, but had everything to do with the pattern of her blouse and the pattern of her skirt not matching in the least. He had told Margaret that he had been wondering if she’d dressed herself in the dark that day, and that was the only thing he said he’d been thinking about when he looked at her. Margaret believed him because Kelly did, in fact, look like she’d dressed in the dark on that particular autumn day.
“But she’s a Mature. I thought you said it couldn’t have been a Mature.”
He shrugged. “It could be, if you think Fiona would do something like that. Matures aren’t prone to sin like Immatures, but that doesn’t mean some of them don’t struggle with the flesh. So then... Fiona?”
Margaret shook her head quickly. “Oh, no. Fiona has been very distant from everyone since she became a Mature. And even before, she and Carson didn’t necessarily see eye-to-eye.”
“What does that mean?” He was suddenly very curious about the relationship between Fiona and Carson.
Margaret simply said the truth. “Fiona has always been too loud for Carson’s comfort, and Fiona always thought Carson was too quiet to be any fun.”
“Ah, I see.” It was silent for several long moments.
The timer that Margaret had set suddenly went off in the kitchen, and she excused herself to remove the casserole from the oven. When she returned to the table, her father had pulled out a different file and was jotting notes down on some papers inside it.
As she sat down, he began speaking again. “While I’m thinking about it, what was the name of the boy you wanted me to consider for Gina?” He paused what he was writing to look up at her.
“Is that her file?” Margaret questioned. She realized in that same second that she was stalling.
Mark nodded once. “It is.”
Margaret inhaled and shrugged. “I don’t know if you’ll think it appropriate to speak about anymore.”
His eyebrows furrowed. “Why would it be inappropriate?”
She was silent for only a moment, and then her answer was but a whisper. “I think it best to wait… Considering you have an ongoing criminal case concerning him.”
The judge set down his pen. “Owens? You were going to suggest Carson Owens?”
She looked down at her hands in her lap. “He’s a good guy, Father. He really is.”
“You think Gina deserves the baggage he’d bring into their marriage?”
“That’s not what I—”
“He loves someone else. Don’t you think she deserves someone who can love her and only ever her?”
She suddenly had difficulty taking in a decent breath of air. “Of course I do,” Margaret breathed out, but the judge kept talking and didn’t hear her.
“Even if I have to find someone outside of the Highest City, I will. But I won’t pledge her to a man-whore, Margaret. No one wants to marry someone who’s already given themselves intimately to another. What’s gotten into you?”
She simply shrugged, still looking at her hands. No one wants to marry someone who’s already given themselves intimately to another . Her heart shattered under the weight of those words, and she wondered how much truth there was in them. She whispered, “I apologize. It was a silly thought. I do want the best for Gina, but I just can’t think of anyone else that would do.”
He sighed. “I understand you wanting to help your friend, but this is my job. I will find the best husband for Gina.” He reached over and patted her cheek softly. “I promise, darling.”
He closed Gina’s file and set it aside. Before Margaret thought about the words, they spilled out of her mouth. “At least consider him, Father. He deserves to be happy too.”
He paused for such a long moment, not looking at her, that Margaret thought perhaps he’d figured everything out from that sentence alone. Quietly, he asked, “Why would Carson Owens deserve happiness?”
“You think he doesn’t?” She was very careful to seem unbiased. “Doesn’t everyone deserve—”
“Of course everyone deserves to be happy, Margaret, but why do you care about Carson Owens’ happiness?” He finally looked up at her, and his stare was so intense, she couldn’t stand matching it. Her eyes flickered back down to her lap.
Her voice was but a whisper. “We were friends. I told you that already.”
“Why not suggest the other boy? His friend that you said was Fiona’s cousin.”
“I don’t know if Gina would like him so much.” She was frantic as she tried to find excuses. “I just feel like Carson and Gina would get along very well. Their personalities… you know.”
Mark James was quiet for a moment. Finally, he pulled out a file he had yet to touch that evening and flipped it open. The tab read Checkpoint Clearances . He skimmed the first four pages, obviously searching for something in particular. He paused on the fourth page, finger lingering. “Didn’t you say you were at the courthouse today?”
Margaret nodded slowly. “Yes,” she whispered.
“Did they clear you?”
“Yes.” She swallowed and it made a distinguishable noise. He heard it and glanced sidelong at her again.
Oh, god. He knows .
“Did they actually clear you, Margaret? Or did William allow you to pass through?”
She couldn’t control the tears filling her eyes. “Daddy,” she whispered, choking on a sob.
He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Margaret,” he whispered, sorrow coating his voice. “It’s not you, is it? Please tell me it’s not you.”
And thus began the downfall of Margaret James.
CHAPTER TEN
She was tired of fighting the inevitable. She deserved what was coming. But she would never apologize for caring about Carson, nor for wanting him, or for dreaming all the impossible things she dreamed, and she would certainly not apologize for loving him with every ounce of life inside of her.
But she was still scared, and without thinking at all about what the consequences would be, her automatic response kicked in and she bolted for the front door. Where she would go once out the door was not a thought that had crossed her mind yet. Her father must have seen the attempt to escape coming though. He was right on her heels. He grabbed her arm before she could get but a couple of yards away from the table and yanked her back with more force than intended. Margaret slammed into the wall by the kitchen door. Mark James was rough enough that what he did surprised and frightened her, and since her father was not inclined to violence, that fear was multiplied by the unknown of such aggression, even though she was not injured at all.
Margaret’s biggest mistake came next, though. She wrestled against her father’s grip, screaming and crying at him to let her go. All the while, he remained silent. She didn’t dare look at his face. She was afraid of what she’d see there. Disappointment. Rage. Sadness. All of the above.
Then, he calmly told her, “Stop fighting me, Margaret. Let me see your shoulder.”
Yet, she fought harder, yanking and tugging and pulling herself away from him. After several moments, the judge had had enough. His grip tightened on her, and he shoved her against the wall, his forearm firmly pressed against her upper back as she continued to squirm. He grabbed her left arm and yanked it away from the wall. A small cry of discomfort mixed with her sobs and pleas. She continued her attempt to remove her left arm from his grip to no avail. He twisted her arm roughly—far more roughly than he’d ever treated her—and it was more than Margaret could handle. She shouted out in pain and cried harder.
“Stop fighting me!” he rasped at her. She could hear the pain in his voice. She concluded that he wasn’t happy about what he was doing either, but even so, she couldn’t help feeling betrayed by him. It was as if he was hurting too, except he wasn’t the one whose arm was bent back and twisted. Through his teeth, her father spat at her, “Kristina Margaret James! Show me your shoulder, damn it .”
He grabbed the collar of her blouse and yanked on it hard enough that the buttons on her front popped. The blouse gave way to reveal the brand of Anem etched on her left shoulder. Quickly, less than a second after confirming, he let go of her. She pulled her left arm to her chest and cradled it, but other than that, she didn’t dare move. She kept herself pressed against the wall. Her back remained to him.
The sobs stopped being so insistent then, and the only nois
e she made were her body’s attempts to steady the post-sobbing breathing. Her arm throbbed in three different places. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks, fresh ones quickly chasing second-old ones. She didn’t dare turn to look at her father, but she listened as his boots carried him slowly away from her, back into the dining room. A chair scooted noisily across the tiled floor, and he produced a heavy, disappointed groan as he collapsed back into his seat.
Shakily, she pulled her blouse back over her shoulder to cover the sin illustrated on her body. A brand was supposed to be beautiful, but only in the context of marriage. Prior to that day, Margaret had seen her brand as beautiful, because she shared it with Carson. But on that day, the day her whole world began to collapse, her brand was an ugly curse. A reminder of the sinner and criminal she had become. Proof that she wasn’t fit to be ambassador. She wanted nothing more than for the brand to disappear.
Minutes passed. Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.
Eventually, the sobs began building back up, threatening to erupt very soon. She slowly slid down the wall and sat, knees pulled up to her chest, her back still to the dining table, and she allowed herself to cry into her blush skirt that covered her knees. As much as she wanted to run to her room and cry into her pillow, she was afraid to move. She didn’t think her father would allow her the privilege of weeping in private.
Several long moments passed. Margaret didn’t move and she didn’t dare look over her shoulder to see if her father was staring daggers at her. She imagined he probably was.
What was he waiting for? Wasn’t he going to call the officers so they could drag her to the department to be processed and sentenced?
“Margaret,” her father whispered, interrupting her racing thoughts. Even though it was barely a breath, it was loud in the silence and made Margaret tense. “I want to know how this happened.”
She didn’t move.
“Come sit at the table with me.” A chair slightly screeched across the floor. He must have pulled out a chair to indicate where she should sit. “Margaret,” he addressed again. “Please.” He was so calm that it frightened her more than if he were angry. She had prepared herself for rage, not the placidity he portrayed.
The Brand of Anem Page 10
