Chapter 4
CHAPTER
FOUR
The sound of footsteps rouses me and makes me aware of the twisting pain in my stomach. The tiny rectangular window at the top of the wall has gone dark four times so I think I’ve been here for four days.
Four days with nothing in my stomach but water from the sink. I’ve cried myself to sleep wrapped in the tattered blanket countless times only to wake to the same nightmare. Starving under a fluorescent light in a concrete cell.
Someone’s coming. I’m shocked at how weak I am when I sit up. My whole body trembles. I scramble back on the mat when the door swings open to reveal Keeper and Governor James. They feel a hundred feet tall as I press myself back against the wall, as small as I can get.
“Are you ready to apologize?” Keeper asks.
Is that all they want from me? I would’ve done that days ago. I know it isn’t my fault but that doesn’t matter. I learned a long time ago that you have to give men what they want so they won’t hurt you. What’s true is irrelevant.
“Yes, I’m sorry.” My voice comes out in a squeak.
Keeper takes another step toward me. “What are you sorry for?”
“For being…withered.”
He crouches down in front of me. There’s no anger in his voice, only a steady calm that’s somehow scarier. “And why are you withered?”
My chest seizes up and I draw in a ragged breath. I don’t know what answer they want and there’s nothing more terrifying than that. “I don’t know,” I confess.
He nods as if he expected nothing different. “You’re withered because you lack faith. You do not believe. Despite years of being taught, you defy God and his designed order in your heart. Since you have no respect for the natural order of things, you have been set outside of it.”
In a way, he’s right. Not about my inability to have babies, but that I don’t believe in any of it. I’ve never been able to make myself believe it. God and church wasn’t a part of my life before Mom brought me here. I’d never given any religion a moment of thought until then.
I’ve memorized the things they taught me, that men are the keepers, governors, and stewards of the earth by god’s proclamation.
That women are meant to obey them and give them children.
That it’s the natural order of things and that defying it leads to damnation.
I’ve heard all the stories and said the right things so I wouldn’t get the paddle or whip, but none of it has ever felt true to me.
Too much of it doesn’t make sense. Too many of the stories are outright impossible and ridiculous. That a god somehow knew I was an unbeliever before I was born and cursed me to not grow a uterus is a great example.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper again. “I don’t deserve to be a part of the collective. My grandma will take me if you send me to her.” I desperately hope that’s true, but I haven’t spoken to her since we’ve been here.
The hope I’ve tried not to hold onto dies instantly at the shake of his head.
“No.” He gets to his feet, his muddy brown eyes focused on me. “You will still serve a purpose here. A penance that will last your lifetime. The fact you want to leave only shows how corrupted you are.”
I can’t help the sobs that overtake me. “Please, let me go live with her.”
“No.” His voice turns thunderous and he grabs my arm, yanking me to my feet.
“You will serve your purpose here. And let me be clear. Any attempt to run from what God has ordered for you will fall on the shoulders of your mother and your siblings. And your friend, Jane.” He rubs his chin.
“Perhaps she shouldn’t be allowed to marry. You may have corrupted her as well.”
“I haven’t!” I cry, terrified he’ll punish her too.
“She believes! She wants to be a wife and mother more than anything! I’ll do what you want.
You don’t need to punish her or anyone else.
” I don’t have much sympathy for my mother.
She dragged me into this and could take us out of it, but the thought of the babies, my half-brothers, being punished is too much.
They were just born to the wrong person, like I was.
“Very well. You will be a servant. You’ll no longer reside with the daughters because you are no longer a daughter.
You’ll be set apart and keep yourself apart.
You will not attend gathering or any of our fellowship events.
You will not take your meals with the others.
Your duties will be described to you, and you’ll perform them without argument or laziness. ”
“Yes, Keeper.” A servant. That can’t be much different, can it? I already have to work every day, in the fields or canning or cleaning. I won’t miss going to gathering, but without the fellowship events and meals in the dining room, will I ever get to see Jane or my other friends?
“You are placed below the other women, below everyone here. I expect you to be grateful for our charity. You’ll still be fed and housed, despite your failure.”
“Yes, Keeper. I’m grateful. Thank you.”
“You’ll also apologize to our collective for failing them.”
“Yes, Keeper.” Anything to get out of this hellhole and eat.
He releases my arm and his smile holds such cruelty that I take a step back.
“You’re not fooling me. Wicked women such as you never do.
You agree but your ego, pride, and vanity shine from your eyes.
We’ll see if that persists after today.” He turns to the governor who has been silent this entire time. “Bring her to the meadow.”
The meadow is an outdoor area where gathering is sometimes held so we can worship in nature. Keeper leaves after his order, the sound of his footsteps fading.
Governor James orders me to put my shoes on, then half drags me up the stairs. The sun on my skin nearly puts tears in my eyes, it feels so good, and the grass scented air is wonderful after the stale basement.
I’m shoved into a golf cart and driven to the meadow.
The sound of voices reaches me before we crest the hill where I can see the whole collective gathered.
They sit in rows, some on rough benches made from sheared in half logs, some in lawn chairs or on blankets.
They face the platform that’s been built on an upward slope, a makeshift stage for Keeper and the governors to speak.
A table sits in the center with a chair behind it, facing the people.
Heads begin to turn toward me when the golf cart stops, and I’m dragged to the platform. Embarrassment increases the trembling in my body. I hate being the center of attention for any reason. Now Keeper is going to tell everyone I’m withered and make me apologize.
Just get through it, I tell myself. Just say the right words and you’ll get to eat. Think about that. The governor leads me to the chair, and a hush falls as Keeper joins us.
I keep my head down. I don’t want to see everyone looking at me.
Keeper’s voice rings out. “Good afternoon, Guardians of His Natural Order. We gather here this beautiful day under his watch.”
“As he intends.” The words are spoken by everyone, even I mumble them. I’m not giving them any reason to make this worse.
“The world beyond us,” Keeper says, “has forgotten what it is to be kept. They wander. They loosen what was bound by our creator. They praise what’s broken and call it freedom.”
No one moves or makes a sound as he continues. “But here, we remain within his natural order. We do not resist the place we are set or the roles given by God.”
I lift my head slightly to see him single out a wife in the first row. “Debra, what emblem represents our way of life?”
She swallows hard before rising to her feet. “A stalk of wheat with a vine wrapped around it.”
Of course she knows. It’s not only on the sign of the entrance but it’s adhered to every product we sell. The jellies, jams, berries, honey, all of them bear the logo of Hearth and Vine Farm.
“Good. Let me remind everyone how important that emblem is. It’s a symbol of our devotion to nature and how God set it to function.
Men are the upright stalk of wheat. We stand firm and lead.
We are the backbone of the natural order.
Women are the vine, and a vine cannot stand on its own.
Its direction is determined by what it clings to and only by being attached to the stalk can they grow to develop fruit.
When we all fulfill our roles, nature gives us the bounty of the fields and the womb. ”
The silence is broken only by birdsong as Keeper turns to look at me.
His voice hardens. “The vine does not decide its purpose. It doesn’t ask whether it’ll bear fruit. It either fulfills its design or reveals its failure.”
My stomach tightens into a knot as he barks my name. “Sybil has failed. She has failed God and she has failed all of you. Her body bears the shape of a woman without the purpose of one. God has removed her ability to have children. She’s not a vine but a withered flower.”
A collective gasp comes from the crowd as he continues, “This is what comes of harboring a resistance to the natural order in your heart. This is the result of not believing and accepting your place.” He walks closer to me and snaps, “Stand up.”
I obey on shaking legs, tears slipping down my cheeks.
“Raise your head. Face the people you have failed and apologize.”
My hands tremble so hard, I have to lock them together. Everyone stares up at me. I find my mother’s face, and her impassive expression feels like a weight on my chest. I shouldn’t have expected anything else.
Jane’s eyes meet mine and the look of devastation in them is almost as hard to bear as the pity on Troy’s face.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for failing everyone. Please forgive me.” I’m not sure what else to say but Keeper seems satisfied.
He nods at me then at the others. “She stands before us as a lesson and a reminder that what turns from his order will be made unable to fill it. I speak especially to the wives. Do your duties and obey your husbands so that this fate or worse doesn’t await you.”
Their heads bob in agreement.
“Sybil is sinful, but we will show forgiveness and allow her to remain at Hearth and Vine Farm. Through penance, she may be able to be forgiven by God in his infinite mercy. That’s not up to us. While Sybil will remain here, she’ll no longer be a daughter, but a servant.”
His words seem to run together as he drones on about corruption and how I must be separated from the rest of them for their protection. It isn’t until he announces that I need to be physically reminded of my failure by sacrificing my vanity that I snap back to attention.
Vanity is often spoken about in his sermons and it’s why we don’t have mirrors in the dorms. Only wives are allowed a small one in the bathroom to prepare their appearance to please their husbands.
Governor James jerks me back down to sit in the wooden chair as Keeper approaches me with a pair of clippers. “But…women aren’t allowed to cut their hair!” I cry. Is this some kind of test? I got in trouble last year for trimming my split ends.
Keeper shakes his head. “You aren’t a woman. You’re a servant.” He drags the clippers through my hair, close enough to nick my scalp, and my long brown locks fall around us.
It’s so quiet. I focus on the sound of the birds singing while the whole world watches him shave my head until nothing but fuzz remains.
The silence is broken when Keeper summons a steward to the platform. Steward Charles approaches, and my stomach drops at the sight of the tattoo gun in his hand.
Keeper addresses the people again. “We’re rewarded with our marks for loyalty to the collective. The wheat stalk on the heart of every steward and governor.” He lays his hand on his chest. “The vine on the forearm of every wife, with a berry added each time they produce a child. It’s an honor.”
A murmur of agreement runs through the crowd and a few of the women compare their tattoos as Keeper continues.
“They display your value to the world. Your faith and dedication to being a Guardian of His Natural Order. Sybil has no faith and will wear her own mark prominently on her neck. A withered flower.”
Governor James pushes my head down until my cheek is pressed against the table. My heart races and sweat covers my body as Steward Charles sits and brings the tattoo gun toward the side of my neck. I grit my teeth, resisting every impulse to jerk away. I can’t go back to that cell.
I can’t control the cry that leaps out of me when the needles make contact. It hurts so much worse than I expected.
“Hold still,” Steward Charles barks, and Governor James puts more pressure on the side of my head with his palm, holding me in place.
I try not to move, sobbing as he works. It feels like forever before he stops and steps away. Keeper yanks me to my feet and shoves my head to the side, displaying the tattoo to the others. “As he intends.”
The pain fades to a throbbing burn as the chorus of voices repeats, “As he intends.”
My hair blows off into the grass where a sparrow picks up a lock and flies away with it. A part of me will be in its nest. Nature uses everything. That means I must have some purpose, no matter what they think.
I try to hold onto that as Keeper finishes and faces his congregation. “Look at her. This is what going against the natural order does to you.”
No, they did this to me. A sudden burning anger fills me. I’m dirty and stinking and bald because of them, not nature or any god. In that moment, I’m glad to be set apart. To be left alone.
Until I can get the hell out of here.