Chapter 1
Chapter One
Eleanor
It’s a man’s world.
I t’s my birthday tomorrow. One I share with none other than the Lord Himself. Mama says it’s because I was born to do great things, which means wedding and serving the great man. He’s had rotten luck with his wives, each meeting an unfortunate and sad ending. But at least they served in this life, so that they may be welcomed into the next with open arms. His last wife, Lilly, passed during a difficult childbirth, meaning Jonathan was in need of a new woman. Tomorrow, I come of age and become his.
As I lay in my bed, staring at the shadows dancing across the ceiling, my stomach swoops and drops, stealing my breath. I’m on the precipice of something life altering. Not in the Mama let me try chocolate for the first time, but more like James, my older brother, stealing the ceremonial robes and leaving them in my wardrobe to frame me kind of way. Of course, men never lie. They are never in the wrong. They don’t commit crimes. They don’t apologize. Above all, their word is gospel.
The floorboards creak along the hallway, the firm footsteps creeping closer to my door, making the hair on my arms stand to attention. My gaze flicks to the creamy moon outside my open window, and I swallow the knot forming in my throat. It’s far too early to rise for the ceremony. Preparations start at dawn, continuing throughout the day and ending with Jonathan and I retiring to his bed where he shall complete my transformation into womanhood. Mama told me to expect pain and blood. It is what we are trained for, as it’s our purpose to suffer for the men we revere.
The handle on the door twists, and I slam my eyes closed, keeping my breathing steady and forcing my limbs loose. Being found awake and daydreaming of escaping into the surrounding woods, is a punishable offense—even for Jonathan’s chosen bride. Especially for Jonathan’s bride. I don’t want to be punished.
Male rumblings echo into the sparsely furnished bedroom. A wardrobe, a dresser, a bed. That is all we need. The books, secretly kept by my mother, are buried beneath the mattress, their lumpiness serving as a comforting presence of forbidden knowledge waiting to be unleashed.
“She’s asleep. Leave it until the morning, Jonathan,” my mother whispers.
“Careful, Katherine. It sounds as though you are giving me orders.”
Oh no. My hands fist in the blankets. Don’t make him angry, Mama.
“Of course not,” my mother mumbles. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to challenge your authority.”
“As if you could.”
Something coarse wraps around my ankles, making my eyes fly open. Four grown men fill the meager space of my room, looming over my prone position on the bed. That’s not good.
Jonathan tilts his head from his position over me. He’s handsome, aged with silver speckling his hairline. He keeps in good shape, not allowing his form to be sullied by the pot belly many men of his age in the community develop, but there’s an icy edge to him, a persistent cold freezing you to the spot as it burns through your soul. Sometimes it seems as if he walks with the Devil, not the Lord.
“You were awake?”
“I’m sorry. I’m excited for the wedding.”
Lies. Lies. Lies.
“Understandable. Now, don’t struggle,” he instructs as my gaze darts to my mother in the doorway. She shakes her head. A subtle movement. Not now , she’s telling me. We aren’t a match for four grown men. Bide your time . We will only get one chance, and we can’t ruin it.
One of Jonathan’s men yanks my wrists together, tying them with the same rope, burning and chafing the delicate skin.
Jonathan steps back with a smirk at my weak form. The tall but slim man, George, picks me up and hoists me over his shoulder. I grunt as his pointy bone digs in my stomach.
I know better than to complain.
“Stay here,” Jonathan instructs my mother. “I’ll return her in an hour.”
I swallow the tight knot in my throat as my mother hangs her head and studies the floor. But her hands are trembling. This isn’t the plan. My brother follows us out of the house, a small frown marring his forehead as he meets my pleading gaze. He looks away, his lips tightening into a thin line. He used to be kind, protective, and loving, but lately he’s grown cold and distant. Jonathan has taken a special liking to him, taking him under his wing and molding him into something more. It’s a great honor to our family, yet James carries the weight of the world on his drooped shoulders, his eyes dark and closed off. None of the spark or joy I used to chase remains.
My thin cotton nightshirt does little to ward off the chilly air as we emerge into the center of the village. A gust of wind drags shivers along my spine as it stirs a pile of crunchy leaves. They whip into the air, then make their escape. I’ve never wished to be a dead leaf before, but I do now. To be anything or anywhere but who and what I am at this moment. I am at the whim of men and their desire to cause pain and instill obedience. The leaf may be dead, but it is free, swept away at the will of nature, its destination unknown but its journey full of hope and wonder. I blink back the sting of tears as the leaf makes its escape into the darkness while we march toward Jonathan’s home. It’s twice as big as the others, casting the rest in shadow. Mama says he needs it for his ego.
Ego is a new word I learned last week. It’s my favorite, but Jonathan says I shouldn’t be learning any words. It’s forbidden. With knowledge comes power, and women are too busy washing the feet of their men to read. Little do they know my mama has been teaching me to read, to understand, to construct views and opinions. Dangerous ground paves the way to what comes next. Contained in the pages of those books is a glimpse of the outside world. Of wonders like freedom, pain, love, fear, and joy. It is a colorful tapestry of life I will one day add my thread to. I will make a difference, but that won’t happen kneeling at Jonathan’s feet.
As we enter his home, warmth chases the chill away, and my brother closes the door, sealing us inside. George swings around, revealing the roaring fire in the hearth. The scent of burning wood combined with undercurrents of metal hangs heavy in the air, making my nose twitch. My mind scrambles to work out what’s happening, but comes up blank. What does Jonathan have planned that needs four men the night before our wedding? The back of my throat burns as I spiral with the possibilities.
“Put her on the table,” Jonathan instructs, his voice snapping through the air like a whip as he watches with a sharp gaze.
Why? What happens on the table?
George dumps me on the warm giant rectangular, wooden slab. My elbows jam against the unforgiving surface, making me grit my teeth.
“Tie her down.” I’m no stranger to being restrained, but I am lost as to my fate here tonight, and that is a thousand times more terrifying than knowing what is coming. If I know, I can prepare. I can lock up my mind tight and force myself to not feel.
They make quick work of releasing my feet and wrists before wrenching them to the four corners of the table and looping the rope underneath, so I’m pinned open. Trapped. Exposed. My muscles scream at the stretch, but I press my lips together. We are to bear the actions of men in silence , my mother’s voice reminds me. George smirks at me, a cruel glint in his eye. He knows. Whatever is coming, he knows. Not only that, but he enjoys it. Everyone is aware of his penchant for pain. Sorry. I mean correction . The horrors he causes are shared in hushed whispers in dark corners of the kitchen from women with dead stares and bruised skin. I catch my brother’s eyes, a silent plea for help passing between us. He folds his arms and flicks his gaze away from me. We’ve both learned to shut down and play the parts Jonathan demands of us. But I would kill for a kind word, a reassuring glance, anything… something that lets me know I will be okay. I suck in my cheeks and bite down to stop the words of betrayal from leaving my lips. How can he stand by and let this happen? Why didn’t he warn me? In my sixteen years on this Earth surrounded by my betrothed and brother, men meant to love me, I’ve never felt more alone.
Jonathan trails his fingers down my cheek, causing my gaze to lock on his. “Eleanor, by the grace of God, and me, your chosen, do you accept your position as my wife?”
I release the tender flesh of my cheeks and swallow the warm blood. “I do,” I croak. He frames it like a question. It’s not. Not when the alternative is death. We’ve heard whispers of what happens to those who dared say no.
He grabs a thick black glove and pulls it on. My heart thrums like a wild bird caught in the cage of my ribs. It pecks at my flesh, desperate to escape. He moves to my side in front of the fire and tugs my nightgown, revealing my bare stomach. He hums in the back of his throat as bile rises in mine.
“Gag her. I don’t want her screams waking the young ones.”
Screams? He’s expecting me to make noise despite our training? I’ve been whipped, drowned, and starved, and he expects whatever is coming to break this conditioning? The wild bird beats its wings against my ribs, trying to lift my soul straight out of my chest with it.
Derek, a man of a similar age to Jonathan but lacking the cold calculation of our Master, pulls a handkerchief from his pocket.
“Open,” he commands quietly.
I drag in a breath and part my lips, allowing him to stuff the cotton inside. It tastes of laundry detergent. Derek’s hands grip my wrists, ensuring I have zero room for wiggling. His thumb sweeps across my palm in a circular motion, a futile attempt to calm my increasing panic.
“George, hold her stomach down. I want it crisp and clear.”
Twin weights press on my stomach as Jonathan turns away. Metal scrapes against stone, loud enough to drown out my panicked breaths. My heart clatters against my ribs and reverberates down my spine.
No.
No, no, no. He wouldn’t.
Jonathan swings back around to me, the red glow of the long iron prod between us, casting his face in a demonic glow.
Fuck . Another word my mother recently explained, which has many meanings—some of them good, but most of them bad.
I jerk against my restraints. George clamps down tighter, driving the breath from my lungs.
“Stay still, Eleanor. I don’t want to do this twice.”
Why does it need to be done at all? The words of the Lord’s Prayer tumble through my mind, words I hadn’t meant in years suddenly my only hope. I’ve long since accepted He doesn’t listen to the pleas of a lost little girl. Only men pray to God; women pray to men. That is the way of the world. But since men only cause pain and suffering, I will risk the wrath of God by bargaining with him. Things cannot get any worse.
“Deep breath,” Jonathan mutters as a gleam of excitement lights up his gaze. He grips the metal rod and presses it against my hip. Fire sweeps along my spine and suffocates my mind. Pain like I’ve never experienced engulfs me as I scream through the gag in my mouth. My fingers curl around Derek’s wrists as I try to cling on to life. On to light. Finally, above the men, my prayer is heard, and the Lord grants me the only mercy He can—darkness.