Chapter 33
Thirty-Three
Callah
I climbed out of the library, careful not to smudge my clothes. Ayla had always come back with dust all over her, but that would get me caught. Instead, I'd cleaned the air shaft so my dresses wouldn't get stained. The dust from the books could be explained away, but once my feet were back on solid ground, I still brushed at my dress, removing as much of it as I could.
Tobias was leaving soon. We needed a way for Ayla to believe him, and there was only one thing I could think of. The scrap of paper was now folded in my pocket, yet it felt heavy. If anyone caught me with it, I'd likely end up in quarantine, but Ayla would believe this. It was the one piece of proof I was sure would work.
I quickly straightened my clothes, then started walking, pulling my hair from the bun I always kept it in. Once the strands were loose, I did my best to knock any dust from that, then began smoothing it back into place. I had the twist finished, but as I attempted to tie the mass up, the cord I used snapped.
"The Devil take you!" I hissed at the pathetic piece of fabric I needed to keep me presentable.
"Excuse me?" a man replied, proving I was closer to the main walkway than I realized. "Is someone there?"
"Pardon me," I said, trying to tie my hair to itself. "I..." The end slipped between the twist just enough to hold it in place, so I stepped forward. "My apologies. I thought I was alone."
That scrap of paper felt heavier as I stepped around the corner. There, Mr. Blevins was standing with a confused look on his face, clearly waiting for me. His eyes jumped over my shoulder up the darkened hall, then back to me. Suspicion began to take over his expression.
"What are you doing in there?" he demanded .
I patted at my barely-secured hair - not at my pocket like I wanted to. "I was headed to the women's facilities when..." I lifted my broken hair tie. "I thought I'd make a quick trip for water, but my hair had other ideas. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."
He looked into the darkness again. "Are you alone?"
"Yes, Mr. Blevins. Merely an untimely wardrobe malfunction. Excuse me. I need to make sure I'm presentable."
Turning, I stretched my legs in what I hoped did not look like retreat, but my ears were straining. Mostly, I was listening for the rustling of paper, but thankfully, there was none. Behind me, Mr. Blevins turned into the dark hall but stopped at the edge. Well, let him assume I was having a torrid affair. That was much better than the reality, but just to make sure he didn't come back to ask me anything else, I turned at the next hall and hurried into the women's facilities.
A pair of voices inside halted the moment the door creaked. I quickly smoothed down my skirts again, checking to be sure the paper was still in place, then rounded the corner. A dozen warped mirrors lined one wall. Each had a sink under it. Past those were the toilets. On the other side were the showers for the women and a washing basin for our clothing and necessities.
Subtly, I looked through the area, trying to place the voices, but my feet were headed to the sink. I couldn't see anyone, so I turned on the faucet and dampened my hands. The water slicked my hair just enough for me to tie it up better, even if it wasn't secure. The problem was I hadn't brought my pitcher with me, but I'd said I wanted to refill it. If I left here without it and Mr. Blevins saw?
That would cause problems.
Ayla had made sneaking around look easy. Somehow, she'd never been caught - or even raised suspicion. Now I was caught between the man outside and the women in here, and no good reason to dawdle much longer. Should I go use the facilities? I didn't exactly need to, so that wouldn't work.
But a woman stepped forward to look at me. I flinched, seeing her reflection in the mirror, then spun to face her.
"Oh. You startled me," I admitted.
"What are you doing in here?" she asked.
"My hair tie broke," I said, holding the thing up again - which was when I noticed the cloth in her hand. It had blood on it. "Is someone hurt?"
"You're the Atwood girl?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am," I muttered.
She nodded at me once. "Come."
"Uh..." I had to force my mouth closed. "Yes, ma'am."
"Deenah, don't," said another woman out of sight.
"Helah," chided the woman who must be Deenah, "it's the Atwood girl." She looked back at me without slowing. "What's your name, child?"
"Callah, ma'am," I said just as my eyes landed on Helah.
She was in the dressing area, sitting on one of the stone benches. Her dress was in shambles. Blood stained her chest and left sleeve. The collar had been severely torn, but that wasn't the biggest problem. A jagged cut before Helah's ear was bleeding profusely.
"Apply pressure to that," I ordered without thinking. "We're going to need cold water to staunch the blood. How deep is the cut?"
"See?" Deenah asked her friend. "She's been healing the hunters."
"I'm not a hunter!" Helah hissed.
"You are Righteous, and God has given me this gift to help our people," I said even as I moved to take the cloth Helah was using to clean her face. "What happened?"
Immediately, both women tensed and fell silent.
"What I need to know," I explained, "is if the injury was caused by something dirty. A hand, a dusty table, or anything else that could cause an infection."
"Yes," Helah whispered. "A rod."
Those words made tingles race down my spine. Pressing the cloth against the woman's cut, I glanced back at Deenah. "Can you find me a needle and fine thread? When you get that, go to the kitchen and get a mug of boiling water. Put the needle and thread in it. Also, get a cloth soaked in ethanol. They use it for cleaning the preparation surfaces."
"What are you going to do with that?" Helah whimpered.
I bent to look in her eyes. "I'm going to do the work God has asked of me, and repair your damage. I'm sorry, I don't know your name. Mrs..."
"Porter," she said. "That's Mrs. Hinton."
I nodded to show I'd heard. "Mrs. Porter, can you press this to your injury as hard as you can stand? I'm going to get a few more cool cloths to see if we can slow the bleeding, okay?"
"She can't have stitches," Deenah said. "What will the hunters think?"
I lifted the cloth enough to see the wound. It definitely needed to be closed, otherwise the healing would take much longer. And yet, I was pretty sure I could do this in a way that wouldn't be too obvious.
"Just two," I told her. "The bleeding will hide it, but they will help the healing."
The women exchanged a look as if trying to decide if this was worth it. I couldn't blame them. They weren't younger wives. These ladies had to be well into their thirties, so they had likely suffered plenty at the hands of their husbands.
"Look," I said, guiding Helah's hand to the cloth to press at her own wound. "we're all taught how to heal our hunters. It makes no sense for a healthy and hale woman to be risked for something as unfortunate as an infection." I turned to grab two washcloths from the stack near the showers and grumbled, "and why should we heal them but not each other?"
"She's the healer," Deenah told her friend. "The one Mrs. Worthington has been talking about."
"She's a girl ," Helah shot back. "She can't understand how a husband would react to his punishment being removed."
I heard them as I began to soak both washcloths in the coldest water I could get from the sink. Yes, to them I was merely a child. Legally, I still was - for a couple more months - but even a child could see this was wrong, couldn't they?
Once the cloths were wet, I headed back. "If you don't want me to sew it, at least get the alcohol?" I begged. "That will sting, which could be seen as more punishment, if you wish. It will prevent an infection, though."
"Do that," Helah said to Deenah.
"I'll be right back," Deenah promised.
So I lifted the blood-soaked cloth and began cleaning away the extra blood with the clean, cold one in my hand. Helah just hung her head, making no effort to resist.
"Men have tempers, child," she said. "At your age, I'm sure they all seem so charming, but the honeymoon period does not last long, and then your failures will infuriate him."
"I know," I assured her.
"Oh, you think you know," she grumbled.
"Merienne was once my friend." I pressed the coldness to the wound, refusing to meet the woman's eyes. "She came to tell us about consummation. It was enough to have her punished. Ayla saw and decided she would rather die than suffer such a thing."
"It's not as bad as all that," Helah assured me. "It can be, but doesn't have to. The problem is these men..." She pushed out a frustrated breath. "They do not tell us what they want, then are angry because we didn't somehow know anyway!"
"We spoil them too much," I grumbled.
But she lifted her hand to take the cloth, then turned to see me. "What? What do you mean?"
"We bear their children, raise them as boys, heal them when they are hurt, clean for them, cook for them, and manage for them. We spoil them, Mrs. Porter."
She laughed once. "These men do not think they are spoiled, Miss Atwood."
"Callah," I told her. "I'm still a girl - for a couple more months - so it's fine to call me Callah."
"Helah," she said. "And Mrs. Hinton is Deenah."
I offered her a weak smile. "I gathered. You two seem to be friends."
"For many years and many children now," she agreed. "Six for me and eight for her. Sadly, the older we get, the less infatuated our husbands are. That makes it easier, you know. When you marry, make sure your husband is very infatuated with you. He'll forgive a lot because of it."
"How?" I asked.
She laughed once. "Smile at him. Touch him. Just his hand or shoulder is enough. Fawn over him a little, even if you have to make yourself. Men who feel important tend to be in a better mood. And if he hears you bragging about him?" She tsked at that. "Well, that's a good way to get out of a lot of things."
I laughed once. "I turn in November, and I'm nervous about it."
"Do you have any suitors?" she asked .
I took the cloth she had, then passed her the last clean one. As I headed to the sink to rinse those, I told her, "One, it seems."
"Which man?" she asked.
"Tobias Warren."
"The large boy?" She sounded surprised.
I turned on the water and carefully washed the blood out. "Yes. He says he will let me continue healing the same way Mrs. Worthington does."
"Oh, now that would be a good thing," Helah said. "Didn't I hear they made him a hunter?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Then maybe you'll be lucky enough to be widowed," she told me.
"That's what Ayla always said." I wrung out the cloths and headed back. "I figured that was the Devil talking."
"No." Helah traded me for a cleaner, cooler cloth. "Sadly, your friend wasn't wrong, Callah. The best most of us can wish for is to be widowed early. But not too early, because then we'll be remarried. Rarely does a hunter pick a widow, which means your second husband is likely to live a long and healthy life."
"Yeah," I breathed, aware she was right.
"Or," she said, "you could stab that boy with a fork. I'll call for you to be banished. I'm just not sure that would be any kinder."
"That's the problem," I agreed. "It seems there's no good option."
"Not for women, Callah. Sadly, not for women," she agreed.