Taking Faith (5 page)

              But thinking about her mother made her chest ache so she stopped that in its tracks.

              She pulled her hair back again and dreaded the ponytail. She hated to wear them, but did not want to show any effort of making herself look good in front of him. She came out and walked back into the living room. He had settled himself into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that said "Mitchell's Supply" on the back and was looking through the mail, tossing some on the table. His feet were bare. She looked away and waited.

              He glanced up at her and she saw his eyes soften. His voice however did not. "Well aren't you just scrubbadubbed?" He looked away. "You need to get some supper started. They'll be here soon."

              She went into the kitchen without a word. She pulled some potatoes out and started to peel them. She noticed the larger knives had been pulled from the block, leaving only paring and small knives behind.

              She didn't even know what she was making, she just wanted to be doing something. She chopped fast and it became an angry rhythm to take out her frustrations on. She wasn't surprised when she sliced her finger, but she kept right on going, the knife banging on the board as she began to breathe heavy.

              She felt him beside her, taking the knife and moving her to the sink as he held her finger under the cool water. She refused to look at him, just stared at the wall behind the sink. "So, you're going to just hurt yourself, huh?" He looked back at the potatoes. "And ruin supper in the process."

              She glanced over quickly and saw blood on the potatoes she'd chopped. Oh, well. Good riddance.

              "Stay there," he ordered and left. He came back with a band-aid and ointment. He dried her hand and wrapped her finger. Then he brought the trashcan over and took his hand to slide all the potato pieces off the counter into the bin. He turned and sighed. "Well…let's see what else we've got."

              He opened the pantry and took out a Hamburger Helper box. "No knives involved with this. Wanna try again?"

              She shook her head…and didn't stop. She crumpled to the floor. Whatever she did, good or bad, was going to either be met with meanness or this strange behavior where he acted like they were actually a happily married couple. Her tears were hot on her cheeks and she even pushed his hand away when he moved to touch her arm. "Amy," he said softly. She shook her head harder.

              "Why?" she heard herself yell. "Why did you take me?"

              He seemed taken aback by her outburst and wobbled on his haunches. She saw him swallow and moved her eyes back to his. She would wait for her answer. She had to have some answers.

              "Amy, I'm sorry that you're having a hard time-"

              "Don't patronize me," she yelled again. "You're not sorry and don't act like this is something I should just get
used to
. You kidnapped me! You stole me from my life and my family. There is no justification for that!"

              He stumbled to try again. "I…I needed a wife-"

              "So date someone! You don't steal people from the street!"

              He scoffed, but not in a humorous way. It was a way that told Amy he was actually surprised. "Well, you've gotten brave, haven't you?"

              "I've gotten tired," she confessed and didn't even try to hide the tears or wipe them away. Let him see. Let him feel guilty for what he'd done to her! "I miss my family. I can't imagine the worry they're going through." She locked her gaze to his. "You know they have the whole state looking for me, don't you?"

              "Yeah, probably," he admitted softly. "But it won't matter, Amy." He slumped all the way to the floor on his butt and leaned his head against the cabinets across from her. "The community is very thorough and hidden. Everyone in town, even the law enforcement, is involved with this. There…isn't an out for you."

              "So, even if I had ran…"

              "We would have caught you…and it would have been bad for you."

              "What made you this way?" she growled as much as she could through her tears. "What made you so heartless and callous?"

              "I wasn't made this way. I was…" he shook his head, "forced to be this way. I wasn't lying before." He steeled himself, his chin raising and his jaw hardening. "I don't want you here. I had to take you as my wife because that's what we're expected to do in the community. But I don't want some woman I have to look out for, and make sure you don't step over the line where someone can see and  …discipline. They want me - my father wants me - to hit you. To teach you that I'm your master and you'll do what I bid without question or concern for anything but getting it done."

              He shook his head hard and continued, "I don’t want that. I don't want to be that, but it's all I know and all I've had drilled into me, sometimes drilled literally into me." He touched his stomach absentmindedly. "They don't let people leave here, Amy. Not even me and I was born here. I've only ever been outside these town walls a few times in my entire life. They think…" He scrubbed his hands through his hair and sighed. "They think women are here for one reason: to be at a man's feet wondering what he wants her to do next. They take all that stuff in the Bible seriously about a woman obeying a man. They focus on all the parts they want to believe and tune everything else out. Look," he said a little harder, "you're here, that can't be changed. There's no sense in pining for a life that you no longer have. The sooner you get over it, the better you'll feel and the more we can try to just be…normal."

              "You expect me to be your wife?" she asked in all seriousness. "Have kids, the whole bit?"

              "One day," he said, his voice breaking, "we'll be expected to have kids."

              She didn't know what to say to that. She'd known that answer was coming, but it still stung down into her bones. She could tell he was struggling with everything, as if he was truly being forced as he had said, but she could also tell he had every intention of following through with his plan. She would be his wife, in every way one day, and would be forced to accept this as her new life.

              She started to say something, her brain hadn't even worked out what yet, but there was a knock on the door.

              Mean Roger was back. Or
scared
Roger, Amy realized. Was he more scared for her or himself?

              "He's here," he said loudly and banged his fist on the floor before scrambling up. "Get up. Get up, Amy!" He pulled her to her feet and looked her over. "Remember what I said. You've got to cook something. Do you hear me? No moping around while they're here."

              She stood until he ran out to answer the door on her useless legs. What had they done for her so far? They hadn't fought back, they hadn't protected her and most of all, they hadn't run.

              She was disappointed in herself.

              She heard a noise and turned to see a very unhappy woman. She was not one of the timid and scared girls from the warehouse. This woman was older and had been here for much longer. Her ornery arms were crossed over her chest and she had hair escaping the tight bun at the back of her head. She glared at Amy, as if she were the enemy and not in the same class with her.

              Amy, already emotional and exhausted, turned her back on her to brace herself on the counter to think. She needed to get herself together. She had to cook, she knew that, so she opened the pantry and tried to ignore the heated glare of the strange woman behind her.

Chapter 5

             
              The bland pasta she made wasn't exactly going to be a hit, she knew, but it was her lack of caring that got in the way. Even though Roger was being…weird and almost caring, that didn't mean she wanted to please him.

              She just wanted to survive and be left alone.

              The woman started to set the table for them. Amy hadn't even thought to do that. It was then that the sounds of her new life permeated her mind. The men were in the other room, laughing and talking about mundane things such as work and the weather.

              The weather, Amy scoffed.

              Before she even knew what she was doing she had slammed the dish of pasta on the table and stood there glaring at the wall. She was kidnapped, didn't even have her own underwear anymore, and they were talking about the freaking weather?

              "Well," the other man laughed from his comfortable perch on the couch, "I guess dinner is served."

              Amy hadn't expected that reaction. He wasn’t angry, he was amused. She realized it was Roger's job to be angry. She wasn't that other man's problem, now was she? She glanced at Roger and saw that he
was
angry, but also trying to convey some message with his gaze. His eyes burned into hers, pleading for her cooperation. She looked away. This small rebellion could be her only defiance.

              The men sat and the other woman sat after them. Amy saw the woman had not only set the table, but made lemonade as well. There were four glasses of it iced on the table neatly in front of their plates. So thorough, that woman, Amy sneered to herself.

              She sat and sighed inside herself. There was no grace or waiting or anything else. The men dug in. "Is there some bread in the oven or something?" the man asked.

              She shook her head 'no' without looking up at anyone. The man chuckled. "Wow, Rog. You've got yourself a little handful, don't ya? A pretty little handful."

              "I guess so," Roger said slowly. "We're still figuring things out, aren't we, Amy?" he said harder.

              She nodded again without looking at them.

              "Figuring things out," the man mused. "I remember those days." He looked at his wife almost lovingly and winked at her. She stared blandly at him and began eating again. His chuckle was beginning to grate on Amy's sanity. It seemed to echo through her mind even after he stopped. "It gets so much easier once they break. It's almost like a…flipped switch. You just have to get them to that point."

              "Mmhhmm," Roger mumbled around his bite of food.

              "Your father's hard on you, I know. He's probably the hardest man in the community, but he just wants what's best for you." Roger scoffed, causing the man to smile. "I know, but you're not a father yet. You don't know what it's like to worry about your children. You and all the others will carry this community once we're gone. Don't you see? We not only have you to worry about, but also our legacy. Can you imagine what our lives would be like if the community fell apart?"

              Amy had had enough. Her fork went flying across the table, knocking over the salt.

              Every other fork stopped moving and they waited. Amy waited for something to happen, but it didn't. She just sat and they all stared at her…No. They were staring at Roger. It was Roger's jaw moving back and forth and his fist clenched on the table that made her realize…they were waiting on him to discipline her. She regretted letting her temper get the best of her now. She understood what he'd been saying before.

              He'd have to do something to do her for this or the man in front of her would report Roger to his father and then who knew what would happen. It all washed over her like a flood gate. It was as if her brain was just now waking up and processing what he'd said. She really regretted throwing that fork.

              He scooted his chair back slowly and laid his napkin carefully over his plate. He took her by the arm and lifted her from it to guide her down the hall. She could feel herself shake, her mouth open in a silent plea to him to give her one more chance to be the good girl he wanted.

              He pushed her into the bedroom and followed her, slamming the door behind him. She jumped and looked at him. He seemed wild in a way she hadn't seen before. He gripped her arms gently and pressed her back to the door. He moved into her space and nuzzled his nose against her cheek. She stilled in confusion.

              "Amy," he sighed her name and whispered the rest. "Why? Why? Are you trying to see if I'll actually hit you or not?

              She shook her head. "No. I'm sorry. He was just talking about-"

              He banged his fist on the door behind her head, making her squeak. "I know what he was talking about." He moved forward once more and pressed his lips to her ear. "Scream, Amy."

              She shook her head harder, not understanding. He sighed again and started to unbuckle his belt. She felt her mouth drop open and she begged. "No, please."

              He kept his eyes on hers. "Louder. Scream."

              "Stop!" she said loudly, but not loudly enough. "What do you want from me?"

              "To obey me!" he yelled into her face and slid his belt from the loops. He lifted it above his head and she ducked down to the floor begging him ardently.

              "Stop! Stop! Don't!" she heard herself yell. He beat on the door a couple more times with his fist and then the belt landed across the wall. Again. Again. Again. She flinched with each crack of the leather. She looked up at him with the fear pouring out of her.

              He was breathing hard, but not from exertion. He stared down at her and then offered her his hand. She took it, but only because she felt she had to and she was so confused she couldn't think otherwise.

              He took her to the bed and sat her gently on it. He squatted in front of her and took her face in his rough hands. He wiped her tears away and pressed his forehead to hers. "For the love of God, Amy, don't come out until I tell you to."

              She sighed and sagged with relief. He was…tricking them? Trying to make them think he'd beat her. Oh, God, she thought and prayed. Why would he do that?