The Grace Year(14)

“Believe me. There were plenty of protests all around. But your suitor’s mind was set.”

“Did Michael at least try to dissuade him, or was he the one behind all this? Tell me that much.”

“Sweet daughter,” he says as he eases the back of his hand over my cheek—the scratchy veil irritating my skin, his placating touch irritating me. “We only want what’s best for you. There are worse fates.”

“Like the girls in those little jars?” I advance on him with a viciousness that not even I recognize. “Was it worth it? All for the chance at a precious son?”

“Is that what you think?” He staggers back a step as if he’s afraid of me.

And I wonder if this is the magic taking over. Is this how it starts—the slip of the tongue? A loss of respect? Is this how I become a monster the men whisper of?

I turn and run up the stairs before I do something I regret.

Slamming the door behind me, I rip off the veil. I’m tearing at the dress, contorting my hands behind my back trying to get at the corset strings, but it’s no use. They’re tucked away beyond my reach, which only seems fitting.

After a lifetime of planning, wishing, hoping, all it took was a whisper, “Tierney James,” and as soon as the words left his traitorous lips, the life I knew was over. No longer would I be able to pass unnoticed in the lanes. There would be no more dirt allowed beneath my nails, no more scuffed boots and sun-tangled hair. No more days lost in the woods, lost in the curiosities of my own mind. My life, my body, now belonged to another.

But why would Tommy Pearson choose me? I’d made no secret of hating his guts. He was cruel and stupid and arrogant.

“Of course,” I whisper, thinking of his pet birds. His birds of prey. The thrill was in the taming, and once they were tamed, he lost interest, letting them starve to death before his very eyes. This was all a game to him.

I slump to the ground, the raw blue silk billowing around me in a perfect circle. It reminds me of one of the fishing holes my dad and I used to carve out at the deepest point of the lake. How I wish I could slip under the ice—disappear into the cold abyss.

My mother enters the room, and I quickly throw the veil back on. It’s tradition for her to remove it while she tells me of my wifely duties.

As she stands before me, the veil still fluttering in agitation, I’m expecting her to yank me to my feet, tell me to buck up, tell me how lucky I am, but instead, she sings an old tune, a song of mercy and grace. Tenderly, she removes the veil, setting it on the dressing table behind her. Slipping off the red ribbon, she runs her fingers through my braid, letting my hair fall in soft waves over my shoulders. She takes my hands, pulling me to my feet, helping me out of the dress, and when she unlaces the corset, I take in a deep gasping breath. It’s almost painful being able to fill my lungs again. It only reminds me of freedom. Freedom I no longer possess.

As she hangs up the dress, I try to gain control of my breath, but the harder I try, the worse it gets. “This … this wasn’t supposed to happen,” I sputter. “And not Tommy Pearson—”

“Shhh,” she whispers as she dips a cloth in the bowl of water and washes my face, my neck, my arms, cooling me off. “Water is the elixir of life,” she says. “This has been collected from high on the spring, where it’s freshest. Can you tell?” she asks as she holds the cloth to my nose.

All I can do is nod. I don’t know why she’s talking about this.

“You’ve always been a clever girl,” she continues, “a resourceful girl. You watch. You listen. That will serve you well.”

“In the grace year?” I ask, watching her berry-stained lips.

“In being a wife.” She leads me to sit on the edge of the bed. “I know you’re disappointed, but you’ll feel differently when you return.”

“If I return.”

She sits next to me, taking off the silver thimble, giving me a full view of her missing fingertip, the angry puckered skin. This rare show of intimacy brings fresh tears to my eyes. “You know the stories June used to tell about the rabbits that lived in the vegetable garden?”

I nod, wiping away my tears.

“There was one that was always getting into trouble, venturing out where she shouldn’t go, but she learned valuable things, about the farmer, the land, things the other rabbits never would have known. But knowledge comes at a great cost.”

My skin prickles up in goosebumps. “The poachers … did they do this to you?” I whisper as I touch her hand. Her skin is hot. “Did they try to lure you out of the encampment? Is that what happens to the girls?”

She pulls her hand away, putting the thimble back on. “You’ve always had a vivid imagination. I’m merely talking about the rabbits. We don’t speak of the grace year, you know that. But I suppose I do need to tell you of your wifely duties—”

“Please … don’t.” I shake my head. “I remember my lessons,” I say as I wring my hands in my lap. “Legs spread, arms flat, eyes to God.”

I learned all that ages ago, long before our lessons. I’ve seen countless lovers in the meadow. One time, Michael and I were trapped up an oak while Franklin did it to Jocelyn. Michael and I sat there, trying not to laugh, but it doesn’t seem at all funny now—the idea of having to lie with Tommy Pearson, his red face grunting over me.