by Mindy Klasky
Miss Bailey, the Home Sci teacher, was an old woman, sixty at least. Rumor said she’d grown up in Massachusetts. Some kids said her husband came out to Kansas after the Tip; he was some sort of scientist who knew about botany and biology and things like that, but he ran off with another woman when Miss Bailey came up dry. Some people said Miss Bailey was a government secret agent, planted in our classroom to make sure everyone followed the New Curriculum to the letter.
Miss Bailey taught us all the skills we girls needed for running our households. The boys wasted time with mechanics and computers and accounting while we girls learned the important things—Old Testament and New Testament and midwifery. After the Tip, it took everything we God-fearing Americans could do to keep civilization going. Women had to build families, at least all of us who could still conceive children. We were soldiers of Christ, battling to survive in a world where chemistry had weakened our wombs.
I tested out of my Home Sci cooking requirement—I’d helped Mom in the kitchen since I was old enough to stand on a stepstool. I aced childcare and first aid, too. But Textile Science was more challenging. We were supposed to make a quilt by the end of the semester. It could be any pattern, any color. We were graded on design and technique.
Like all the girls, I started with a simple Ohio Star. Fabric diamonds radiated out from a crimson center, shading through orange to yellow to green to blue. No matter how long I fretted over the joins, though, I couldn’t make the angles perfect. I ripped out my stitches once, twice, three times.
Finally, I took my Star to Prudence’s house one afternoon in late September. She could show me what I was doing wrong. She could make everything perfect.
I walked into the Millers’ kitchen without knocking. I spent more time there than I did at my own home. “Prudence!” I called, but there wasn’t any answer.
I unlatched the lid of the cookie jar that sat beside the sink. Mrs. Miller always had fresh-baked cookies. She said it was the least she could do, with two children in the house. Mrs. Miller was prideful about the two Eve’s Stars pasted in her front window.
The cookies were oatmeal raisin, baked with shortening, so they were crisp. My favorite. As I chewed, I reached inside my tote bag and pulled out my Ohio Star. I spread it on the kitchen table, ready to show Prudence when she got back from wherever she’d gone.
A shadow fell across the quilt top, and I looked up. “Ezekiel,” I said, freezing my lips in a straight line.
“Faith.”
I didn’t like Ezekiel. He scared me.
I used to have a crush on him, years ago. His hair was straw-blond then, and it fell in his eyes. He couldn’t keep his shirt tucked into his jeans, and he always had a smudge on his face.
He’d gone away to college in Topeka. Prudence whispered that he was always drunk there. He took drugs. He had actual sex with any girl who would have him.
When he failed out of college at the end of his sophomore year, he came back to Millersville. He wasn’t allowed in his parents’ house, though. He had to sleep in the barn until he offered up his evil ways. Until he repented of his sins.
Ezekiel stepped closer to the kitchen table, and his heavy palm fell on the crimson center of my Star. Dirt was crusted under his nails. “Working hard, Faith?”
“You aren’t supposed to be in the house, Ezekiel.”
He laughed. “Is that what my sister told you?”
I took a step away from him, even though that meant abandoning my Star. I asked, “Where’s Prudence?”
“She and Mom went over to old man Sutton’s. There were weevils in the flour. Can’t make dumplings with weevily flour.”
I glanced out the window and swallowed hard. “I’ll just take my quilt, then, and head on home. You better go too. Before your father comes back from church.”
Ezekiel smiled, but I couldn’t see his teeth. He smelled sour, like milk left too long in the sun.
“Tell Prudence I came by, okay?”
“If you give me a kiss.”
“That’s disgusting!” I said, turning toward the door. I was a Bride. I wouldn’t kiss any boy, much less a sinner who’d failed out of college and was living like a beast in a barn.
He closed his fingers around my wrist. His hand was hot, slimy with sweat, and he twisted my arm behind my back. Pain shot up to my shoulder. “Stop it!” I cried.
He grunted and transferred his grip, slamming my face down on my quilt. “Stop it?” he sneered. “Stop what? Stop standing in my kitchen? Stop standing in my house?” He shifted his weight and jammed his right leg between both of mine.
The table was hot beneath my cheek, and I realized my Ohio star was rucked up. My cheek was pressed against polished wood. It was wet. I was crying. “Ezekiel,” I said. “Let me go. I won’t say anything. This’ll be our secret.”
He levered his hand tight across the nape of my neck. “Just like you kept Temperance Marsh’s secret?”
“She was a sinner! She tried to kill that baby!” I was sobbing, desperate. Ezekiel was heavy across my back; his sweat soaked through my blouse.
“So you and your preachy Brides said.” He dug an elbow into my spine.
I couldn’t fight him alone. I needed God’s help. Together, we could make Ezekiel remember Christ’s love. “Temperance wasn’t like you,” I said, fighting to fill my voice with compassion. “She was a stranger to the Lord. She was evil. Even your father said so.”
Only after, did I recognize the sound of his zipper. Right then, I didn’t know he’d hiked my skirt onto my back. I didn’t realize he’d torn my underbritches, ripping them apart by tugging hard on the frayed elastic around my waist
The pain was like a nail driving into my flesh, like a spear piercing my private parts. I caught my breath, too stunned to scream. He moved, back and forth and back again, grunting like a hog at a trough. My thighs were wet, slick beneath muscles that were turned to stone by surprise, by agony. Three more times he sawed into me, and then he wheezed a long, deep breath against my neck.
“Get out of here,” he said, staggering back from the table.
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t say anything.
“Go on!” he shouted.
“Ezekiel—”
“Get out of my family’s home, you stinking whore of Babylon!”
I pulled my skirt down. I fumbled for my underbritches, but they were too torn to stay up. Awkwardly, I stepped out of them, crumpled them and shoved them into my tote bag. I took a step toward the door, but then I realized I’d left my quilt behind.
It was on the floor, by his feet. Kneeling to pick it up, I gasped at the pain between my legs. I heard him clear his throat, bringing spit into his mouth. He coughed up a mess onto my Home Sci project, my Ohio Star. I clutched at the fabric and ran out of the house.
I was sick for a week.
I told Mom there was a flu bug going around school. She prayed for me to be healed, going to church every night, even Wednesday and Saturday when she started her day with Bible study.
I stayed in bed and kept the shades drawn. I stared at the wall, trying not to think. The Brides stopped by to pray with me on Sunday afternoon. I pretended to sleep while they knelt beside my bed.
After a week, though, I had to go back to school.
I arrived as late as possible. I avoided my usual seats surrounded by Brides. I told my teachers my fever had left my eyes weak. I needed to sit in the front row to see the whiteboard. I stayed after class to ask questions about everything I’d missed. I waited until every Bride had left the room before I scurried off to my next class.
I could never tell Prudence what had happened. Any Bride worthy of the name would have found a way to escape that kitchen.
I devoted myself to Home Science, my one class without the Brides. I told Miss Bailey I needed to start another Textile Science project. I was bored by my Ohio Star. It was too easy. I needed a more complicated pattern.
She studied me for a long time, and then she
nodded. “Why don’t you try a Bountiful Basket?”
The flower basket pattern had triangles instead of diamonds. I raided Mom’s fabric stash, digging deep to find the perfect brown calico for the basket. I debated about the ideal green for leaves, the specific lavenders and pinks for petals. I laid out the design on a flannel board, making sure I understood exactly how all the pieces fit together.
I completed four squares, and then I realized how stupid the whole design was. A flower basket was for a girl. A silly little girl, with nothing to do but wander through a garden staring at flowers.
Three weeks had passed since Ezekiel. My back still ached, where he’d pounded against me. When I undressed at night, I stared at my sinner’s body. Twin circles darkened across the tips of my breasts, condemning me like eyes. I pictured the look of disgust on my mother’s face when she found out how depraved her only daughter had been. She’d scrape her Eve’s Star from the window.
Back in Home Sci, I threw my flower basket squares on Miss Bailey’s desk. “This is a stupid pattern too.”
“Stupid?” Miss Bailey pinned me with shrewd eyes.
“Boring,” I said. “The same triangles over and over again.”
Miss Bailey pursed her wrinkled lips. I remembered all the rumors I’d heard for years, that Miss Bailey was dry.
That’s not what the gossips would say about me. I’d caught my very first time.
That didn’t make sense though. I didn’t deserve God’s favor. Not if I was the sort of Jezebel who could make Ezekiel mount me. I’d had no shame, entering the Millers’ house alone, uninvited. I deserved exactly what I’d got.
I blinked so I wouldn’t have to see Miss Bailey’s dry old lips. “This is boring,” I repeated.
She didn’t take offense. She merely stared at me for a moment, as if she knew my secret. “Then you should do a sampler.”
“A sampler?”
“Sixteen squares. Each one a different pattern.”
“Are there that many?” All the girls I knew did Ohio Stars for their Textile Science requirement. Ohio Stars or Wedding Rings, if they were really good with a needle.
Miss Bailey smiled. “Oh, there are that many. If you stay after school today, you may use my pattern books.”
I came that afternoon, and the next and the next. Miss Bailey was right. There were dozens of patterns. Each one was more intricate than the last. Each one was more beautiful.
Roman stripe, three simple rectangles.
Log cabin, bands of color built around a solid square.
Bear claw, a solid square with a careful fringe of triangles.
Maple leaf, the same pattern, with an appliquéd stem transforming claw to leaf.
Tumbling blocks, an optical illusion fashioned from three diamonds, looking like they were simultaneously poking out and folding in.
For two long weeks, I studied quilt patterns. The Brides stopped waiting for me by the water fountain every afternoon. Prudence looked at me strangely when we stood beside our lockers before the first bell rang. We didn’t even try to talk anymore.
And God help me, when I wasn’t in school, when I wasn’t studying Miss Bailey’s pattern books, I tried to solve my problem. I hated the baby inside me. I hated it because I wasn’t worthy. I hated it because it was half Ezekiel. I hated it because he had hurt me, and I’d been helpless to do anything, and if I’d prayed hard enough to Christ Jesus our Lord and Savior would have rescued me.
Everything was tangled inside my head.
I stayed up late one night, brewing a pot of parsley tea. Mom had bundles of the herb drying under the porch eaves; I stole them without her ever noticing. When the water was dark green, I swallowed it down, gagging on the bitter taste.
The parsley didn’t work, but my stomach started churning all the time. I needed to excuse myself from most of my classes. I grew used to retching over a toilet in the girl’s bathroom—punishment for trying to murder an innocent, for questioning God’s gifts and His mercy.
One afternoon, six weeks after Ezekiel, I came out of the bathroom stall and found Prudence waiting by the sink. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked.
I rinsed my mouth. “Stomach bug.”
“We missed you at prayer breakfast. The Brides think you’ve left us. They’re afraid you’re going to tell our secrets.”
“Who would I tell?”
“That dry Home Sci teacher, for one.”
“Miss Bailey?” I didn’t have to act surprised. “She wouldn’t care about the Brides.”
“It’s a secret, Faith.” Prudence enunciated each word, as if she were teaching a baby new vocabulary.
“I know that.” I clenched my hands across my belly. I was better at keeping secrets than Prudence would ever know.
“Come to tonight’s meeting,” Prudence said. “We miss you.”
I didn’t hear any missing in her voice. Just command. The meeting would be at her house, in her basement. Ezekiel might be nearby. Waiting. Watching. “I’ll try,” I said.
“You better.”
But I didn’t.
By the middle of December, I’d chosen all sixteen squares for my quilt. With beeswax and cotton thread, I’d completed a dozen of them. I’d selected fabric for the remaining four. We had two weeks before Christmas vacation. Two weeks before Prudence swore in the new Brides.
It had turned bitterly cold outside. Getting ready to leave Miss Bailey’s classroom, I shoved my hands into my coat sleeves. I hitched the heavy garment higher across my belly. It was hard to catch the middle button.
I was halfway home when Prudence glided up beside me. “Faith!” she said. I looked up to see the other Brides behind her.
I stopped. I didn’t want to walk with them, but I said, “Hi.”
“Did you hear my news? It’s totally flash!”
I pulled my coat up closer under my chin and shook my head.
“Ezekiel humbled himself before the Lord! He told Daddy he’d strayed from Christ Jesus, and he asked to be forgiven!” Prudence glowed with excitement. I considered pointing out that Ezekiel had probably just been cold in the barn, but she rushed on: “Don’t you see, Faith? The Brides prayed for him and now he’s saved!”
I just stared at her. I knew all the words she was saying. I understood each individual syllable. I just couldn’t make sense out of the whole.
“Mama’s making a crown rib roast. All the Brides will be there. Come with us and celebrate!”
I couldn’t explain. I couldn’t find words for what Ezekiel had done to me. I couldn’t confess my guilt. I shouldn’t have been in the kitchen. I shouldn’t have tempted him. I shouldn’t be carrying his baby.
But the Lord sealed my lips, and soon enough, we were all standing in the Millers’ kitchen. “Faith!” Mrs. Miller exclaimed, coming over to hug me. I kept my hands by my side. “It’s been such a long time! Ezekiel, look who’s come to visit!”
He stood in the doorway that led to the dining room. He wore work boots and jeans, a ragged wool sweater. His eyes were sharp, bright, and I wondered if anyone else could feel how they cut straight through me.
“Say hello to our guest, Ezekiel,” Mrs. Miller fussed.
“Hello, Faith.” He glanced at the kitchen table, a quick jerk of his eyes that would mean nothing to anyone else in the room.
But it meant something to me.
“You bastard.” The words boiled out of me. “You goddamn fucking bastard.”
“Faith!” Mrs. Miller’s hand flew to her heart, and she staggered back to the counter. The Brides cooed in distress, and Prudence stared at me like I’d gone mad.
The smile on Ezekiel’s lips flickered and went out. I tried to undo my coat, but it was too tight. I tugged at the buttons, yanking furiously until one popped onto the floor. “Look what you did!” I shouted. “Look at me!”
I was sobbing now, harder than I had when Ezekiel forced me against the table. I turned to Prudence, to my best friend in all the world. I reached out to her with
shaking hands.
“No!” she screamed. She looked at Ezekiel, but she screamed at me. “No!” she cried again, and then she was pounding me with her fists, pulling at my hair, scratching my face. “You’re not a Bride! You could never be a Bride! You don’t know the first thing about being a Bride!”
Somehow, I left the Millers. Prudence’s mother must have pulled my coat around me, must have shoved me out the door, into the darkness, into the cold. I wandered down the long driveway, out to the main road.
I couldn’t go home. I couldn’t face my mother. I couldn’t face tomorrow, or the next day, or the next.
I’d be shunned. Outcast. Ezekiel Miller was the preacher’s son. He’d been accepted back into the fold, a prodigal, blessed and forgiven for all his sins.
I’d be the one punished. Me and my baby. We’d be helpless. Alone. Forever.
It was after midnight when I found myself in front of the brick bungalow. Briana Bailey said the mailbox. I pressed the doorbell, leaning against it until she opened the door.
The next morning, I stumbled into the kitchen, still wiping sleep from my eyes. Miss Bailey poured me a cup of tea—real tea, not the bitter green of parsley water, not the mud of wild carrot. She waited for me to sip before she said, “What do you want to do?”
“I can’t have this baby.” I hated it. I hated Ezekiel.
“Yes, you can.”
“Not here. Not in Millersville. And I can’t take it someplace else. I’m fifteen years old.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “It’s illegal to get rid of a baby.”
“Not everywhere.”
“Everywhere in the United States.”
“Then I’m leaving the country.”
This time, Miss Bailey’s lips curled into a tiny smile. “And how exactly do you propose to do that?”
“I’ll walk.”
“You’ll have the baby before you get to Canada.”
I leaned back in the chair, trying to ease the ache in my back, the ache that had been there for weeks, for months. How many weeks? I started to count in my mind. Ten. Ten weeks, since Ezekiel. I started to cry.
