Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Eleanor
What is a life in the sun if you cannot fly?
J ames cradles me in his arms as he strides back through the village. My vision fades in and out as his jaw tics, the tense muscle pulsing in the moonlight. He doesn’t offer words of comfort or an explanation for the branding. Is this the norm? Do all the women in our community get branded by their betrothed? Or is it something specific to Jonathan?
James’s eyes drop to me. “Don’t cry,” he snarls. But the bite is lost as his eyes soften. He sighs and holds me a little closer. “Please, Eleanor, don’t cry. Not here.”
I blink, noticing the hot salty tears leaking down my cheeks. I didn’t realize I was crying, as it’s not something I do often. Apart from it angering the males of our small community, it shows a weakness they can and will use against you. Better to bury the emotion, the pain, and the betrayal of a blood bond where it can never be found and weaponized against me. My hand trembles as I cup his cheek. Men have more power, but they are still being controlled, hollowed out for Jonathan to pour his wisdom and will inside. I miss the boy I grew up with. I mourn him, this shell of a man nothing like the boy I used to know.
He snuck me treats when I was sent to bed without food, brought numbing cream for my wounds when I was corrected, and whispered secrets on how to compartmentalize the pain. He helped strengthen me to survive this simple yet brutal life, and now he was the one doling out the pain.
Our mother opens the front door of the small house we occupy. It’s a carbon copy of the other homes in our village, a quaint two-story dwelling featuring a small sitting room, a simple combined kitchen and dining room, one bathroom, and three bedrooms. One for my mother, one for me, and one for my brother. A small enclosed garden sits at the rear where we grow herbs and vegetables, which are shared among the villagers, all of us exchanging what we produce. Together, we are self-sufficient, fully cut off from the world falling into sin.
Once in a while, that sin encroaches on our Eden, and we have to pick up our community and start again elsewhere. Sometimes the climate changes. The last place had year round heat and sunshine. This place is more changeable, with lush vegetation that supports our way of life.
“Take her straight to my bed,” our mother instructs.
“She should rest on her own, readying herself for the morning,” James argues.
“I have everything needed to clean the wound in my room. I’ll ensure she gets some sleep.”
James pauses at the bottom of the stairs, and I think, for a moment, he’s going to ignore our mother, perhaps remind her that, now he’s of age, she holds no power over him.
He sighs, then strides up the stairs and into our mother’s bedroom before laying me down on the soft hand-sewn patchwork quilt.
He runs a hand through his short dark hair. “Do as he says, Eleanor. Be meek. Good. Obedient . Do that, and you might survive this.”
Survive what? Marriage to a man who answers to no one? Whose word is absolute, and nobody dares to question his actions? James spins on his heel and strides out of the room, barging past my mother in the doorway without a word or backward glance.
She shakes her head as she enters the room and closes the door behind her, before busying herself at my side and wetting a washcloth. She turns to me with her lips pressed together, narrowing her eyes in determination.
“Lift your gown, Eleanor.”
The white cotton is stained crimson over my hip and sticks to the wound. I hiss at the sting as I peel the fabric from my burned flesh to reveal the blazing mark. My mother’s throat bobs as she squeezes her eyes closed.
“I should have recognized the signs he was going to do this tonight.”
What difference would knowing have made? What benefit would have come from me trembling in fear for hours?
She presses the warm washcloth to the wound. My head jerks back, and I hiss at the pain, bowing off the bed, free to finally truly feel my pain.
“We can use this,” she mutters.
Use it? Blearily, I glance at her ruddy face. My mother is talking nonsense. She grabs a new rag, dipping it in the bowl of steaming water, and repeats the cleansing. Why isn’t she rinsing them? Seems such a waste. She picks up a brown bottle, and a strong sterile scent fills the room. Oh no.
“Deep breath. It will hurt, but it’s necessary.” Then she douses the wound in the burning liquid. My back arches, and I grit my teeth. “There, my love, all done. That should prevent infection.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, sweat beading across my forehead.
She shakes her head as she applies a dressing to my hip and secures it with tape. Her gaze burrows through the dressing as she swallows before tugging my nightgown down. She hands me a small plate filled with cheese, bread, and grapes.
“Eat. You are going to need your strength for the night ahead.”
I stare at my mother as she shuffles around the bedroom.
She means day. Jonathan won’t return tonight. Even he adheres to some of his rules.
“I’m not hungry,” I whisper.
She sighs. “Eat, Eleanor. Now.”
She grabs a drawstring bag and places the bloody dressings inside. My stomach flips, my mind convinced I am not seeing the truth. That’s odd. We normally burn such items. I nibble on the food as she shuffles around the bedroom, my gaze tracking her behavior with interest. My normally unflappable mother is spiraling. I should get James. He could calm her down. I’m a terrible comforter. All I’ve ever done is make Mama’s brow furrow and turn her cheeks pink. She places two rucksacks on the end of the bed, my feet nearly touching the worn cloth. They appear stuffed full. With what? She blows out the candles illuminating the room and hovers near the window, her body stiff. A howl splits the air, making a shiver race down my spine. Jonathan’s dogs are loose, protecting us from the outside world and warding off sinners.
My mother moves away from the window as I finish the last of the food. She pulls out a set of clothing from the rucksack and tosses them on the bed next to me.
“Get changed, Eleanor.”
I glance at the pile of black clothing, then back at her. “But they are forbidden.”
Children and unmarried women wear white. Once wed, we graduate to gray. A dreary color, but never black.
“Now, Eleanor. There’s no time to explain, but if you want to live, you will follow my instructions to the letter.”
I blink at the vehemence in her voice. “Okay, Mama.”
I slide off the bed and pull the nightshirt over my head. She snatches it from my hand and puts it in the drawstring bag with the bloody rags. I pull on the unusual clothing; a pair of soft but tight pants that hug my thighs and waist and a black long-sleeved shirt. The band on the pants tugs against the dressing, reigniting the pain. My mother pulls on a matching set of clothing, her hands trembling as she pulls her shirt over her head. Her eyes fall closed, and she draws in a deep breath before opening them again. She cups my face and places a kiss on my forehead, her lips lingering longer than they ever have.
“I’m so sorry for my decisions, my actions, and my gullibility. This world is so much bigger, brighter, and bolder than you can conceive, Eleanor, and your place in it is to be so much more than a wife to a vicious narcissist.”
I don’t understand all of Mama’s words, but her tone and twisted set of her lips makes my heart race. I grip her trembling wrists and swallow. “I love you.”
She jerks her head once. “And me you, but now we have to run. We don’t stop. We don’t question. We don’t look back. Do you understand?”
I drag my bottom lip between my teeth and nod.
She hands me my boots, and I pull them on as she does the same. She spins me around and secures one backpack to my body, the weight awkward and heavy.
“This is like when you play with the younger ones. Imagine it’s little Laura on your back, and you are racing to not get caught.”
My mother has been insisting my duties include schooling the smaller children. I thought it was to prepare me for my own venture into motherhood. Now, I’m questioning everything.
She inches open the door and peers into the dark hallway, one hand held out behind her in a silent command to wait. No monsters appear, though my heart thrums in my chest as the reality of what we are doing sinks in. We are escaping. From this life. From the pain. From my impending nuptials. Like we always said. I’m equally excited as I am terrified. If we get caught… No. I can’t think like that. The fear will paralyze me.
She widens the gap and glances at me over her shoulder, her features hard and determined as she fights for a better future for us. “Ready?”
I nod and follow her out of the room, my feet treading the careful path, avoiding the creaky floorboards. I freeze outside of James’s room. Are we leaving my brother? Shouldn’t we take him with us? My breathing stutters in my chest, my vision darkening around the edges.
“Eleanor,” my mother whispers from the top of the stairs.
I blink at the door separating me from my brother. He was upset as he carried me home. I could see it in his gaze, even if he kept the words locked inside.
I lick my lips as my hand raises to the handle. He should at least have the option?—
“No,” my mother whisper yells. My fingers curl into a fist, and I freeze. “He’s in too deep, Eleanor. I waited too long. I can’t save him, but I can save you.”
My head hangs heavy towards my chest, and I turn away from his door, following my mother down the stairs. She leads us through the sitting room, away from the front door, toward the kitchen. A shadow moves, and a scream of shock gets stuck in my throat.
“Where do you think you are going?” James drawls like he couldn’t care less about our intentions. It’s an act though. He cares, I can feel it. I’m not even surprised he has found us in the dark— he’s always had a sixth sense when it came to hide and seek with me, finding me in impossible places, supernaturally fast. Perhaps it’s the sibling bond?
My shoulders sag as my mother’s hand freezes on the back door. “Let us go, James. Tonight is the start of a life of pain and torment for your sister. You know it will end with her death—whether that’s physical or mental, she will be dead in months if she’s lucky, years if she’s not.”
“He knows you are going to run.”
Mama stiffens, her knuckles going white against the handle. “How?”
“You carry the air of defiance in your eyes, Mother.”
She hesitates, her heavy breath filling the air. “I have to try.”
“You’ll get both of you killed.”
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take. Better to die fighting for freedom than slowly suffocating in this life of horror.”
Heat blooms in my chest as my mother validates everything I have felt over these years. I’ve become an expert at bottling my independent thoughts and covering the disgust that satures my soul at the hands of these men. By gifting me with knowledge of the world beyond these walls, my mother also cursed me with a lust for a life I thought I’d never have. Now we are going to try reaching for that future. It’s so close I can almost taste it.
He steps out of the shadows, and I see the boy I grew up with is in charge. That icy shield is lowered. He’s free. He tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear as he gazes at my face. “You will probably be caught, Eleanor.”
“James,” my mother snaps.
“She should know the consequences.”
“It’s okay,” I tell him.
He shakes his head and sighs. “If he catches you, you will not see the light of the sun again. Do you understand?”
It’s not a threat, merely the truth, one that holds no power over me. What is the point of being allowed in the sun if you are not free to fly?
“I understand.”
His throat bobs as he reaches behind his neck and unclips the silver St. Christopher medallion dangling from a long chain. He leans forward and fastens it around my throat before kissing my forehead. The metal is warm from being against his skin, almost as if I truly have a part of him with me.
“I can give you fifteen minutes, max, before I have to alert him of your treachery.”
“That’s all I need,” my mother growls.
His eyes fall closed, and he nods. “Then go.”
She pauses and spins before wrapping her arms around him. “I’m sorry I can’t save you, son, I will never forgive myself.”
His arms wrap around her, and they tighten before he releases her and forces her back with a hand on her shoulder. His gaze finds me once more.
“Don’t forget me,” he whispers.
“Never.”
Then we fly out of the door into the frosty night. As we push through a convenient gap in the garden hedge, manage to avoid the dogs prowling the village, and escape through a loose panel in the fence lining the compound boundary, I realize my mother has been planning this for some time. Weeks? Months? Years?
She leads the way into the dark forest, the lush scent of wet earth and the crunch of the leaves underneath our feet the only sounds that don’t belong. My heart thrums in my chest at my new future being written with each stomp of our booted feet. We just have to make it out of here, and the world is ours.
An excited, blood-curdling howl shatters the surrounding night air. A call to hunt.
The chase has begun.