Kissed (The Thorn Chronicles) (4 page)

Stop thinking about it, I commanded myself—dwelling on the inevitable was pointless.
Focus on the here and now. Enjoy the roses
. I shook my head, dug out my clippers and set to trimming bushes.

When I finally walked back to the greenhouse, I had to fight to keep the tears at bay. Next year this garden would die. Why did I have to leave?

An hour later, Mother called me in for dinner. I cut a few roses from my Rosa Mundi, a wide striped red and white rose. They were unique and pretty. On the pot was a picture of one of the cheerleaders at school who always said hi to me. I slid them into a vase and walked slowly back to the house.

I put the vase down on the dresser and noticed a small gold band. The ring. I slipped it on my finger and sighed. If that small piece of metal was enough to keep Dwayne off my back then it was worth it. I didn’t remember taking it off.

After putting my flowers in my room, I sat down next to Father and waited for Mother to serve me. I kept my eyes down, seeking to avoid attention. Silence was a normal part of our dinner routine, I didn’t need to worry about speaking. Mother put a few pieces of broccoli on my plate, a spoonful of noodles, and a bit of spaghetti sauce. She placed a chunk of garlic bread on her plate and Father’s, but did not give any to me. For some reason that annoyed me. Why couldn’t I have garlic bread?

Dinner was silent and tense. Even though I knew they couldn’t possibly know about my indiscretions there was an air of something-is-about-to-happen. After dinner I picked up my plate and my mother’s.

My father grunted. “Your mother will clean up. You will come help me chop wood.”

Chop wood? It was nearly summer time. We didn’t need any more wood. Besides, chopping wood was men’s work, not women’s. Women cooked, cleaned, had babies, took care of the babies, and made sure the husbands were happy. Men did whatever they wanted. Plus all the outdoor chores. How could
I
possibly chop wood?

The air outside was balmy. The woodpile sat behind our burn barrel, piled high with short logs. Usually, in the middle of the summer, Father would rent a wood splitter and split all of the wood to heat our home for the winter.

He pointed to the woodpile. “Pick a piece, then set it here.” He patted the large tree stump in front of him. In his right hand he held a large axe. I found a piece that wasn’t too heavy and heaved it to the stump. I set it on its end. It wobbled a little and then fell over.

My father scowled at me. “You’ll have to hold it up.”

My hands shook as I placed them about halfway down the eighteen-inch piece. For a second nothing happened. I kept my face turned away and my eyes squeezed shut.

“Dwayne tells me you have a new friend.”

I turned my head and looked toward him in surprise. How was it possible that Dwayne was smart enough to realize that Ruth was a new friend? The axe whooshed inches from my face and hit the wood with a terrifying thunk. I let go. The wood fell into two pieces. My father placed one piece on the ground, held the other out to me and nodded toward the stump. I placed my hands around the wood and my whole body shook now that I knew what to expect.

“What’s her name?” he asked and raised the axe again.

“Ruth.” Whoosh. Thunk. The axe bit deeper into the wood this time and came to rest only a couple of inches above my fingers.

“Is she a slut?”

I shrugged and my cheeks burned. I picked up the other half of the piece of wood.

“Dwayne tells me she’s a slut. I don’t like you being friends with her.”

Whoosh. Thunk. I let go before the axe finished its path. Good thing too or my right index finger would have been sliced off at the first knuckle.

“Naomi, look at me.” I stood up straight. Defiant.

His pale watery blue eyes met mine. Long ago, those eyes were kind and held the promise of fishing and mischief. Now they only carried the promise of pain. “You won’t be friends with her. You hear?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He left the wood sitting by the stump, leaned the axe against the burn barrel and strolled back into the house. Not once did he look back at me.

I burned with fury. What right did he have to tell me who my friends could be? I never made friends. Never. And now he’d gone and forbidden that. He shouldn’t have even found out about it, yet he did. Because of Dwayne, who would soon have even more control over me. Ruth had escaped her horrors. Now I needed to.

#

That night sleep came quickly and I dreamed. Dwayne’s horrid face swam above mine, his skunk-like breath filling my nostrils. He hissed words I could not understand and his body turned to a snake. He struck me in the arm, his fangs releasing slow venom. The poison burned and traveled down my limbs.

Then, in a sudden shift, my mind went blank and the pain disappeared. I could not open my eyes. Thoughts of Dwayne disappeared and fear fled. A breath tickled my upper lip, smelling sweet. I waited, hoping he’d kiss me again but was met with disappointment instead. He moved and kissed my eyelids, then my cheeks, and the tip of my nose. Visions of warm beaches filled my head. A soft melody played in my ears. He feathered his lips along my jaw and then hesitated. I wanted, desperately, for him to kiss my lips, but found I was again unable to move. Peace filled the hollow cave of my heart. And then he was gone.

My eyelids fluttered open and I flicked on the lamp next to my bed. I licked my lips. Honey. The Rosa Mundi was gone and was replaced with a Madame Kai-Shek. The huge yellow bloom perfumed the air. I stuck my nose inside it and hoped it would be possible to hold onto the peace his kiss brought. That I wouldn’t be filled with fear the next time I saw Dwayne. But even as I thought it, the peace began to fade.

It was strange, even though I couldn’t see his face, I again pictured the boy from this morning. The one who spilled my food all over. He would have to play the part of my mystery kisser in my head. I wished, not for the last time, that I could see his face.

Over the next few nights he came every night. He had not been a dream. Every night I left a rose for him and every morning a different one stood in the vase. The game we played was dangerous and exotic, but where else would I find solace? Perhaps, he wasn’t real and I was going loopy. Either way it didn’t matter. He made me happy and if it was all in my head, then oh well. When I married Dwayne, I’d be dead soon enough. Might as well enjoy my delusions, but in my heart, I knew this boy whoever he was, was no delusion.

He was real.

Seven roses contain the name of the day of rest. My favorite is Sunday Lemonade. Its pale pink blooms give off a scent of lazy summer nights visiting with friends. Just the opposite of the many Sabbaths I spend with my father. His Sundays smell like famine and pestilence.

Birds sang to announce the new day. Perhaps I could stay in bed a little longer. My eyelids fluttered and I rolled to my side, the crisp sheets scratching my skin. The cheap alarm clock glowed red in the darkness. 8:30. I had an hour until the apocalypse began. For a minute I debated staying in bed, replaying various kisses from my mystery savior, but I still needed to shower and plant myself on the couch before Father was ready to go. My stomach growled and I sighed. No food today. Sundays were days of fasting. My ankle-length nightgown twisted around my knees and I struggled to free my legs. My breath came in rapid bursts, the claustrophobia setting in. Consciously, I slowed my breath and untwisted my nightgown. If I ever escaped, I promised myself the first thing I would do is sleep naked.

I sat up and flicked on the cracked floral lamp that sat on my nightstand. My gaze settled on my dresser. Last night I left deep red Oklahoma Roses. Next to them sat a monster blueberry muffin and a banana. I was grateful, but flabbergasted that today of all days he knew to leave food with the flowers. Today, I wouldn’t be allowed to eat.

I scrambled to the dresser and inhaled the muffin and banana. Only when I was half way through did the thought occur to me that Father might notice the smell on my breath. I would have to take extra care brushing my teeth. Full and feeling that today might not be so awful after all, I set to the task of getting ready for church.

After my shower, I scrubbed my teeth and braided my hair. Guilt swam across my insides. This week, I disobeyed my parents, flipped off Dwayne, ate breakfast on the Sabbath and I was kissing a boy every night. If I confessed before the Master I would have a fingernail ripped out, my middle finger would be burned, I would have to drink a glass of scalding water, and I didn’t know what my punishment would be for kissing the boy. No one had ever committed that sin before or at least confessed to it.

Perhaps it was cowardly, but I didn’t want to bear the punishment. Perhaps given enough time, I’d just forget about it. As long as the Master never asked me, I wouldn’t have to confess. I tried once, to not confess, but one look into those evil red eyes and the words tumbled off my lips. I couldn’t help it.

I buttoned up my best dress. On Sundays we didn’t wear skirts. We wore long ugly dresses. Mine was puke green with tiny pink flowers on it. It buttoned from my neck to my ankles. The sleeves rested at my wrists and the dress was fitted at the waist. Most of the women’s dresses were the same, made out of cheap material they found at the fabric store. At least mine didn’t have awful ruffles and deer. That girl always had the same look on her face. The one that said, “shoot me now, please.”

Once we got to church, we waited in the car as usual. Father put on his mask and filed in with the rest of the men. We were not allowed to see their faces. At exactly 10:10, Mother and I followed the rest of the women into the back of the church where there were no pews. I took my place in the last row with the rest of the unwed girls, while Mother went to the end of the second row, closest to the door. We all kneeled on the ground, put our faces to the floor and stretched our hands out in front of us. The men taught us that a woman’s place with God was always worshipping and we were unworthy to look, so we had to keep our faces plastered to the ground. There we would stay for the next two hours while the Master ranted and raved about death and destruction. The sermons were different sometimes, but they were always dark and scary. It was quite common for some of us to fall asleep during the sermon and at the end we would stretch and tap the women on both sides of us, so that no one was punished for sleeping.

Once we were all the in the required position the preaching began.

“First, let it be known that one among us is missing today. A most grievous sin. He will be punished for that. Mr. Brown, it will be your task to track him down and make sure he does not miss the next meeting. Perhaps today we should explore the punishments Mr. William might receive if he does not return next week. Let us read from the good book today. In Leviticus we read the punishment for many sins.

“And the man that committeth adultery with
another
man’s wife,
even he
that committeth adultery with his neighbor’s wife, the adulterer and the adulteress shall surely be put to death. And the man that lieth with his father’s wife hath uncovered his father’s nakedness, both of them shall surely be put to death, their blood
shall be
upon them.”

On and on he went for the next two hours about sin and punishment. Was anyone else awake? I’d never dared to peek before, but something about the last week made me a bit more courageous. I turned my head ever so slightly and looked down the row. Everyone had their eyes to the ground. Lifting my head a little, I looked up at the first two rows. Not a soul had their head up, but something caught my eye. The spot at the end of the second row was empty. Mother was gone.

Then something very strange happened, almost at once, every girl and woman rose their head and looked at me. Me. A few smiled, but most looked as confused as I felt. A salty taste filled my mouth and an eagle call sounded in my ear.

The Master was still preaching, but I wasn’t listening until his voice changed slightly and rose in volume.

“Who among us has sinned? Who among us is brave enough to bear the punishments that God has promised?”

We all snapped our heads back down.

The Master asked the same question every week and every week the pattern was the same. A man would volunteer some sin or another. This week it was a boy with a squeaky voice. “Please Master, I have sinned. I have had bad thoughts about a girl.”

The Master laughed. “That is perfectly natural Boy. God will allow you some thoughts. Otherwise, how would we ever produce children?” The rest of the men laughed with him. I didn’t think it was funny at all. “Don’t mind your thoughts Boy. Let’s find us a real sin.”

Then like always, he came to the back of the church and picked a woman. He pulled her up by the braid and dragged her to the front.

“Women, rise, and see what happens to those of you who are unfaithful.”

This time it was a girl around the age of fourteen. She was thin, short and shaking.

“What is your sin?” he asked, stroking her chin.

“I have none,” she said. She wasn’t lying. It was impossible to lie to the Master. Most weeks, I had no sins either. I obeyed my parents, did my chores, and watched my thoughts. It’s a good thing I didn’t get picked this week. I’d only had to go up there twice in my life. I don’t like thinking about those times.

“No sin?” He laughed. “We all sin. Your sin this week is arrogance and pride. You must be taught humility. To be taught humility it must be taken from your flesh.”

I cringed. Most of the time the punishment was a whipping. The woman would turn around, flip her dress up and pull down her underwear. Then she would grasp her ankles and receive a few whips on the buttocks for whatever sin she committed. It was horrible, but bearable. The other punishments, not so much.

I wondered where he would take the flesh from.

“Sins of pride begin in the heart and must be taken from there.”

Of course he wouldn’t really cut her heart out, but I imagined at that moment she wished her breasts were larger.