Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Zedediah
My bags are packed and loaded up so Harold and I can leave once chapel ends.
I haven’t been able to find Catarina. Fenris must’ve known I would go to her, probably changed her schedule to throw me off.
I’ll just have to find a way to speak to her after, but it’ll have to be quick.
I’m sitting near the front where my father can easily focus his attention when he announces my—what did he call it again?
Personal outreach. I’d typically do my best to hide in the back, not that there’s anywhere to hide in here.
Especially not when his voice fills every corner, echoing off the tall wooden beams. Fenris is behind the pulpit, the one customized just for him.
A giant cross, made from cherry wood, stained with an almost-black stain.
His presence is commanding, I’ll give him that.
He’s never had to tell anyone to be quiet, they just are.
His fingers are spread while his hands rest on both sides of the pulpit, drawing out the silence, allowing the tension to build before he finally speaks.
It’s typical before the closing prayer is called.
I snap my head up when I don’t hear the usual music softly playing or “Father we come to you” slip from his lips, signaling we’re close to the end.
No. When I hear him speak, pressure builds behind my ribs.
When he doesn’t follow the usual closing routine, it’s never random.
It means something is about to happen, and it’s never good.
“Submission,” he says, “is not a suggestion. It is not optional. It is ordained. By god, of course.” I keep my face blank as he speaks, but I already know where this is going. I’ve heard it too many times before.
“Defiance is rot, and what does rot do? It spreads.” A chorus of amen’s fill the air in agreeance.
“A single act of disobedience can poison the lot. That is why we must remain vigilant. That is why we must correct, and cleanse, before the decay can take root.”
A murmur ripples through the room, the sound of people nodding, whispering their agreement. I glance at Catarina who is sitting across from me and see that she’s stiff. Her back is straight and her fists are clenched in her lap. Fuck. Has she done something? Is that why I couldn’t find her?
I snap my attention back to my father as he sweeps his gaze across the room.
When he lifts his hand, gesturing for someone to come up, I hold my breath.
I don’t blink. I don’t move. “Come.” A woman rises from behind Catarina.
I exhale. It’s Lauren. She moves with hesitance, her head is tucked low as she makes her way to the front.
Fenris watches her approach with something that almost looks like pity, but it never is.
She makes it up to him and he spins her around.
“This,” he says, resting a hand on her shoulder once she’s in front of him, “is a child who has struggled today.” He pushes the strands of hair out of her face before tucking them behind her ear.
The room stays silent, no one dares to move.
“She was given her tasks,” he continues.
“Tasks that serve us all. Tasks that teach discipline, and yet, she did not complete them.”
He lets the silence settle, and again, sweeps his gaze across the room.
It’s like he’s daring anyone to look away.
Then, he turns his eyes back to her. “She was asked to prepare the bread for our evening meal.” He sounds like a father explaining something simple to a child.
“A responsibility that ensures nourishment for her brothers and sisters.” I catch a few heads shaking and hear the small whispers of disapproval.
Every part of me wants to stand up, call them all out, and shut it down, but I don’t.
“She was asked to mend the linens in the women’s wing, so that her sisters had clean bedding after a long day of work.
” Lauren shifts slightly but doesn’t lift her head.
“She was also asked to sweep the floors of the dining hall before supper. A task that seems small, but if neglected it allows filth to creep in.” He takes a slow step forward, his hands clasped behind his back.
“Do you see?” he asks, addressing the congregation now. “A single failure may seem insignificant. A loaf of bread that was not made. Sheets left soiled. A floor left unswept. But what happens when we allow these things to slip through the cracks, hmm?” Silence.
“It spreads.” I look back over at Catarina again.
She isn’t nodding like the others. Her jaw is tight, and I can see her nails pressing into her palms. Fenris’ voice lowers.
“One woman’s failure to complete her work means hunger at our table.
It means discomfort for those who rely on her.
It means disorder in the spaces we gather.
” He pauses. “And where there is disorder, there is sin.”
“We do not correct out of cruelty,” he says, turning his gaze back to her.
“We correct out of love.” A rustle moves through the congregation, everyone’s uneasiness finally begins to show because they know what’s next.
She stares at the ground, hands clasped in front of her, and I catch the slight tremor in her fingers.
“We do not let failure fester here.” He tilts her chin up and speaks directly to her.
“So we must correct.” He turns, nodding to the audience, signaling for them to nod in agreement. They do.
He guides her to the front of the pulpit, pushing the offering table away and placing her directly in front of the podium.
The space gives her enough room to settle between the two.
My stomach tightens. Lauren bends over without being told.
Fenris looks out at the congregation, and I see the fucking glimmer in his eyes.
He lets the moment settle before speaking again.
“For every mistake, there is an equal consequence. Therefore, she will count them, so she remembers.”
Everything moves in slow motion as Fenris raises his hand and strikes.
The crack echoes through the room. She flinches but doesn’t pull away.
“One,” she whimpers. Another strike. “Two.” I grit my teeth, my eyes are locked straight ahead.
I’m numb to it. I’ve seen this, and worse, too many times.
But then I catch movement from my side and turn my head to Catarina.
She’s breathing heavily, and I watch as her chest rises and falls in sharp bursts.
Her knuckles are white in her lap, fuck.
She’s not just upset, not just disgusted.
No, she’s angry. I see it in the way her forearms flex and her nostrils flare through breaths.
From her body language, I’d say she wants to cut him open.
I swallow hard, feeling something sharp stab in my chest. I wish I had her kind of rage.
When it’s all new and you feel like there’s still a chance you can escape or at least make a difference.
I also wish I didn’t know what will happen to her if she decides to act on the anger that’s rushing through her veins.
The final strike lands and I exhale. The woman’s voice shakes as she whispers the last number. Fenris steps back and places one hand on her head in false comfort, and I watch as the other slightly adjusts himself. The sick bastard.
“You are forgiven.” He leans down and places a kiss on her head. Lauren’s face is bloodshot. She slowly nods before wiping the tears from her cheeks. She stands up straight before returning to her seat.
Catarina’s eyes are still locked on Fenris, and I start praying to whatever god will listen that she doesn’t do something stupid.
But, like all my other prayers, it goes unanswered. She stands from her seat and everything stops, including my heart.
“Catarina, sit down.” His eyes refuse to leave her, and I feel the air in the room build alongside his disdain. She doesn’t flinch, so expecting her to sit down is almost laughable, although nothing about this is funny.
“This is wrong,” she spits at him. “Those mistakes do not warrant this kind of punishment. Actually, I can’t see a situation where a grown man should be allowed to bend a woman over in front of an audience and spank her ass.”
Everyone in the room holds their breath. Fenris begins to walk toward her, his forced smile thins with each step. “You think you understand discipline, little girl?”
“You think you control what happens to those who fail to follow orders? Who defies god? Who defies this family?” He says family as if it means something. She doesn’t back down.
“You mean who defies you? This isn’t a family anyone would willingly be a part of.”
I look at her, my eyes are begging her to meet mine.
I wish I could somehow reach her without a word.
But she doesn’t even glance my way. She doesn’t know I’m watching, she doesn’t hear my silent pleas.
“I think you’re a false prophet, a glorified TV evangelical that has sunk his dirty claws into gullible people because he has a hard on for power.
” She points at him. “And you’re hiding behind your ‘order’ to control us.
You think this is a lesson? This is just cruelty. ”
His face hardens, and before I can blink his hand wraps around her wrist with crushing force. “You have no say in this,” he growls. I exhale, knowing what’s to come, of who’s in charge, of where her, and every other woman’s, place is.
I want to stand up, march over, pull her back, and stop this. But I know better. I know that would make it worse for her.
But there’s just something about her and the way she’s standing there, refusing to back down. It makes me feel something I haven’t felt in a long time. She’s not afraid of him, and that’s what scares me.
I watch his fingers dig into her wrist as he pulls her to the center of the room. The room is silent as everyone watches, and a lot of the women bow their heads. Catarina doesn’t go softly. I can’t. I repeat it over and over in my head. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.
He forces her to bend over, making sure her head is facing toward the crowd. He stands behind her, his shadow looming over her.
“Catarina, you will learn your place. Today. Right now. Your rebellion ends here, in his name.”
Even in the face of what’s about to happen she struggles against him.
He snaps his fingers and Brady scurries over. His face holds a smirk when he looks at me, and I mean really looks at me, and it’s then I know.
Say one more word and there will be consequences—those words from earlier ring in my ears, and I feel electricity jolt through my chest. Fenris looks at me, and my breaths still as my eyes follow his hand as he lifts it.
I watch as he brings it down. It’s swift and hard.
I swallow the bile and saliva making their way up my throat.
The sound causes a wave of sickness to roll through my gut.
My stomach is tightening like it’s trying to turn inside out as his glare solidifies my suspicions.
He would have shown her “grace” if it wasn’t for me.
She probably would’ve just been escorted out, maybe given a few extra sessions with him; it’s only her first week.
It’s easier to make them submit if you can convince them it’s their idea.
I see the sting of the impact running through her body, but she doesn’t cry out.
Her lips clamp down on one another so tightly, I’m worried her teeth will cut right through if she doesn’t loosen them.
“Count,” Fenris orders, his voice thick with authority.
I can see her swallow hard as she tries to keep her composure.
There’s fire in her eyes, but I can also see the way her shoulders tense and the way her chest rises as she tries to suck in each shaky breath.
He screams, his face red with anger and embarrassment. “I said count!”
The second slap comes, and it’s much harder this time.
I hear her gasp as she inhales. “Two,” she spits out, her voice strained.
I can’t look away. Every strike he lands feels like he’s hitting me too.
Something vicious stirs in me. My hands curl against my thighs.
I swallow down the urge to act, to explode.
Every second I don’t move is the only protection I can give her right now. He hits her again.
"Three.” Her whispers are now barely words.
There’s pressure building in my skull and a terrible throbbing in my jaw where my teeth are grinding together. I want to destroy everything and everyone in this room, but I can’t.
He doesn’t stop. The slaps come faster and harder. Each time she counts them her voice becomes thinner. I can see that she’s in pain by the weight pulling her posture down. She’s trying her hardest not to break, and I can’t look away.
I whisper under my breath knowing no one can hear me through the slaps filling the room. “Hold on. Don’t let him take this from you.” I picture myself kneeling before her. “Stay with me. You’re still you. He doesn’t get to take that.”
He stops and steps back. Sweat beads along his forehead. He fishes out a handkerchief from his shirt pocket before dabbing it away. He looks down at her with a cruel smirk. “You’re learning.” He looks at me, and I feel my blood turn to ice in my veins. “But it’s not enough, yet."
“Zedediah.” He snaps his fingers. “Come here.” For a split second, I pause. Every part of me wants to refuse, but I can’t not in front of everyone—especially not in front of him.
Slowly, I stand, and all I can think about is the last time I felt confident and decided to question his authority. My legs feel heavy as I walk up, standing next to her. Catarina’s tear-rimmed eyes flick up to meet mine. They’re full of hate, but there’s something else behind them too.
Whatever he thinks he’s breaking, he’s wrong. If the god he speaks of created this girl to be broken, they miscalculated. Because I’m staring into the face of someone that will not kneel. I don’t think this is something he’s going to beat out of her any time soon, even though he’ll try.
I glance at my father, who’s watching me, waiting.
The walls of my chest feel like they’re caving in around my heart.
I see his unspoken command and look down at Catarina, hoping she sees the apology in my eyes—the truth that I can’t say out loud.
I don’t want to do this. That every part of me is screaming no.
Brady makes a slight movement to my right, and my father nods his head. It’s at this moment that I know I must do this. Because if not me, then who?
Brady.