"Girl with angry eyes!"

I pause in making my way through the camp.

"Yes, you."

Slowly turning, I face a tall, muscular man holding a guitar. "What do you want?" I spit.

At home I'd get slapped for that kind of lip, but he looks almost amused at my tone. "Nothing, you just looked lost. And out of place."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

So much for fitting in.

"Little girls don't often come wandering through here. What are you looking for?"

He seems genuinely concerned and I really am lost, so I say, "I heard you have doctors here. Where would I find one?"

"Over this way." He leads me through the rows of caravans and small cottages. "I'm Christian, by the way."

"I'm Ilse."

"Ilse? That's a pretty name." Christian fingers the neck of his guitar. "I think I'd like to write a song about you."

"Why would you want to do a stupid thing like that?" The words are out before I can stop them, but Christian just laughs.

"Why? Because you fascinate me, Fraulein Ilse."

I can't help blushing; it makes me nervous when men pay attention to me. "I'm nothing special."

"I disagree," Christian replies, stopping in front of a cottage with a green serpent painted on the door and knocking.

A woman in a red dress and apron opens the door. She doesn't look too different from my mama.

"What is it?"

"New patient for you, Abigail. Meet Ilse."

Abigail looks me over and nods. "Alright then. Away, Christian."

Christian winks and runs off; I'm sorry to see him go now that I'm left with this strange woman.

She ushers me inside and into a kitchen. It could be any kitchen, but there's a clean white sheet spread on the table and bunches of herbs hanging above the stove.

"Sit," Abigail tells me, pointing to the table. When I'm settled on the edge she asks, "So what brings you here?"

Staring at my hands I whisper, "I... I think I'm dying."

There's a trace of sarcasm in her voice when she speaks. "Really? And why would you think that?" Her eyebrows are raised; I know she doesn't believe me.

"I'm always hungry, but then I can't keep the food down. I get these headaches, and when I stand up too quickly I'm dizzy. I'm tired all the time and my... chest is swollen and it hurts and..." my voice grows even lower. "I've been missing my monthlies."

"How old are you?"

"Thirteen and a half."

Abigail stares at me for a moment, then says, "Lift up your dress."

"What?!"

Sighing, she lifts my skirt up to just below my breasts. "Hold it there." I'm too surprised to say anything as she probes my abdomen, running her hands over my stomach and gently pressing on it. "How many times did you miss your monthlies?"

"Two, maybe three times."

Abigail straightens and moves to the stove, pulling down herbs and throwing them into a kettle. "You aren't very far along, thank God for small blessings."

"What are you talking about?"

"You're with child." Her voice is harsh, almost accusatory.

This is impossible. Married women get with child by their husband, I know that much. But... how does it even happen?

This is not happening to me.

I'm shaking my head over and over, trying to get her words out of my head. "Frau Abigail, you must be mistaken. How could that be?"

The anger in her eyes melts away as Abigail whispers, "Little girl, didn't your mama ever tell you what happens to girls who lie with men?"

Men...

Papa.

I leap off the table and throw up into the sink.

No. God, you can't have let him. Not after all that he's done, he can't have...

I slide down onto my knees, shaking all over.

Abigail pulls me up and hands me a cup of water. "Rinse and spit." I do as I'm told and let her support me back to the table.

"I think there is more to this than a moment of bad judgment in a hayloft." Abigail forces my chin up so our eyes are level. "Child, who did this to you?"

I squeeze my eyes shut so I don't have to look at her as I whisper, "My father."

"Oh my God." When I open my eyes again I see she's crying softly.

It scares me to see her crying over this, so much that I start crying too, and Abigail reaches out and pulls me to her. I rest my head on her shoulder and just cry the way Mama never lets me, letting myself be rocked, letting her rub my back and kiss the top of my head.

Why is a stranger doing this and not my mother?

When I can breathe again I pull away from her embrace and ask, "What do I do? I can't do it, not when the baby's..."

Abigail wipes her eyes and squares her shoulders. "No, you can't. You don't have to." She takes a clean rag from a drawer and points me into a small bedroom. "I have something that will make your monthlies come back." Handing me the rag she says, "You know what to do."

When I return to the kitchen she's pouring a dark, steaming liquid from the kettle into a mug. "Drink this. It's not going to be pretty, but it'll do the trick."

"It's going to make the baby go away?" I ask, taking a cautious sip. It's disgusting, but I'll do anything. Abigail nods, and I begin taking quick swallows, trying to hurry the process along.

Please, God. Forgive me.

Wait.

A fire brews deep in my heart, an anger that I want to feed and feed.

I don't need forgiveness! This is your fault. You could have stopped him, you could have protected me. You know what? I don't think you're even real. Because if you were you wouldn't have let this happen.

My stomach's beginning to cramp. I manage to gasp out, "I think I'm an atheist."

Abigail laughs. "You've the right." She smoothes my hair back from my face. "So what now?"

"Huh?" Ugh, it hurts.

"What do you plan on doing next? You can't go home now."

"Of course I can! I have to, I promised!" I cry, jerking away from her touch.

Abigail just shakes her head. "Ilse, you're not a child. If your father doesn't change his ways – and something tells me he won't – this will keep happening to you."

I don't want to listen, but I know she's right. "I haven't anywhere else," I whimper.

"You could always stay here," says Abigail. "Priapia isn't the best place for a young girl, but no one will hurt you that way."

Leaving home. No more nights lying stiff under the covers, waiting, knowing what will come next. No more Mama leaving the room when Papa beats me instead of stopping him. No more school, no more playing pirates, no more Anna or Thea or Martha or Wendla.

No more Moritz.

There is no right decision. Either way I'll be broken. But maybe if I stay here, grow up, I can go back for him.

"Ilse?"

I feel the familiar flow of blood starting up; Abigail has saved me this time. But what about next time? What if this happens again and I find out too late for her to help me?

I'm sorry, Moritz. I really am. I want to stay with you, I swear. But I can't.

"Thank you, Frau Abigail. I – if you'll have me, I'd like to stay in Priapia."

Abigail smiles softly. "Good girl."

Think it's over? Keep lookout for an update!