BETSY

Ok, I thought that the second Ofjoseph was working out. I really did. In my defence, I never laid a hand on her. (I say that in case some liberal-progressives end up reading this.)

My beloved, Eleanor, really was losing it. We'd have long talks about how she'd have to keep it together when an Aunt visited. Especially that Founder Aunt, Lydia. That woman scared me. My Eye-guy had once told me about the drama over at the Red Centre - Founder Aunt Vidala had been with the Sons of Jacob. None of the other three Founders had. Yet Vidala was constantly being eclipsed. My Eye-guy said the real reason that had happened was that the other Founders had a patron in the Eyes of God. Vidala had none.

Ok, that story got away from me. Eleanor had initially behaved herself, referring to the girl as Ofjoseph when the Aunts were there. Eventually though, Eleanor would slip and call the girl by her given name - Betsy. Once again, I started to play the Eleanor-card with the Aunts. Maybe too much. I worried what would happen with Eleanor if the Aunts pulled the girl from our house and placed her somewhere else.

Then. The garage door was closing behind me, and I was looking forward to climbing up to the main-floor and having a nice quiet dinner. With my wife. Let's see if this time I can get lucky. For once.

Indeed, that's how it worked out. Cora met me at the top, took my coat, my hat and my briefcase and led me into the dining room where Eleanor was waiting at the table. Loaves and Fishes must have been well stocked that day, because the roast was delicious. Someone must have been down to Jezebels, because we had a good wine. Eleanor said that the fridge now had some bootleg craft-beer from Maine. Three cases.

Me, the master of my own house, I hadn't a clue what was different that night. Not until Eleanor said that maybe tonight I could sleep in the master bedroom with her. That evening was coming up aces. But something was amiss.

At the top of the stairs our bedroom was a few paces away, where we were going to retire for the night. I looked back along the upper hall and the handmaid's door was wide open, the bed in the room made quite nicely. Eleanor went into our bedroom, I reversed myself along that hall and went into the handmaid's room. A chill went up my spine - this room was abandoned.

I returned to our room apace. "Eleanor. What's going on? Where's the handmaid?"

Eleanor was sitting at her night table, unpinning her hair and brushing it into her long, straight locks. "Oh. You mean Betsy. Her. She got out."

CORRRR-AAAAAAA!

I rarely got angry with Eleanor. But that night, I swear to God, I had to leave the room. Thumping down the decorative stairs to the mainfloor, I turned into the kitchen where Cora was cleaning up. I went straight to her and pushed her to the floor. I didn't hit her, just shoved her. Hard.

She straightened her hair, looked up to me and said, "It was not my idea."

Son of a bitch. I cursed myself for never remembering those Bible verses describing how vile women were. Fuck me. All if this was out of control.

I noticed I was still in the kitchen and Cora was still on the floor. If I did anything in the kitchen, I was going to regret it. There were knives around. So I pointed at her in my most stern manner, said, "My office. Now!"

I got seated at my desk, and Cora stood on the other side, back straight, arms behind her back. Ok, the scene was set, but I couldn't think of what to say.

So I started, "What the actual fuck is going on? Where's the Handmaid? Eleanor said, and I quote, 'she got out'! What the fuck does that mean?" I knew full well what it meant. And how it might play into our longevity.

Cora looked at me, said, "Do you want the whole story, sir?"

I yelled, "YES I WANT THE WHOLE STORY!" I'm sure the Guardians heard me out on the street.

Cora took a breath. Her story was of the variety of, 'a rabbi, a minister and a priest go into a bar….'

"Two nights ago, sir, three marthas, three econowives, one Commander's Wife, and one gender traitor were in the basement. Last night they were preparing for a trek along the trail through the woods to the airport. They'd be met halfway by a Guardian who we'd paid. As we were getting ready to leave, Mrs. Lawrence arrived in the basement with the Handmaid, Betsy, in tow. Some of Mrs. Lawrence's clothes fit her."

She paused, then added, "I mean, Mrs. Lawrence wasn't even supposed to know about this one. One of the marthas said that passage was for eight, not nine. Trying to stuff in one more always screws up plans. We paid for eight. The plane would hold eight."

"So the Commander's Wife, she said she'd stay behind. So the long and the short of it is, by now, sir, your handmaid is in Canada. Assuming all worked out."

Cora added, "I'm assuming it did, because if it hadn't we wouldn't be talking."

At that point the pencil I'd been fiddling with snapped. I mean, I had snapped it. It was a good metaphor for my neck. I pointed at her with all the patriarchal authority I could muster, the kind of pose that angered the feminists back at the university so.

Pointing accusingly at her, "Cora, this has to stop. Now. No more underground railroad in my basement. Is that clear?"

"Femaleroad," she corrected. What!? They had a name for it? She continued, "Femaleroad, that's what it is. It's a network. Each node in the network barely knows anything about the next one up the chain."

I stood, thinking that sitting and pointing was not getting through to her. "Cora, I'm serious. You know damned well that my wife is ill. How could you?"

"You should have seen her last night, Commander Lawrence. You should have seen her. After everyone left, she was light and laughing. I'd not seen that before, sir."

"Which Commander's Wife?"

"Sorry sir, I don't rat people out. Let's put it this way, if you don't hear anything about it, she'd made her way back home."

I came from behind the desk and headed for the door, "Clean up my office. I want it spotless."

She looked at me and said, "Clean it yourself. Sir. I've had a busy day and may turn in."

I thought of murdering the lot of them. Instead, I said, "I'm going to bed. Do some martha things. And don't get us killed."

I, APPARENTLY, HAD A PART

"But there's your part, sir."

My part? What could that possibly be? I stopped at the door looking at her.

"Your part is to explain why the Handmaid is gone. To the Aunts and to your colleagues. And to the Eyes. Explain it, and make it stick. And not get us killed."

Oh yes, I got the easy part. I went up to bed, and enjoyed the night. Cuddling with my wife. I'd not had a night like that for ages. Cora was right, this insurrection stuff was good for Eleanor.

A SECOND, DECAPITATING EXPLOSION

The sabotage at the new Rachel and Leah Centre covered up a whole host of sins at my house.

It certainly made the issue of our lost Handmaid fall in importance on the Eyes of God to-do list. In the weeks previous to the bombing, when High Commander Pryce was reading the report of the Eyes to the Chancery, a couple of the other Commanders requested that I be asked to leave the room. High Commander Pryce had vetoed the idea, saying, "My brothers, when we hear the report, you'll know the reason why Commander Lawrence does not need to recuse himself."

The report was a dazzling, albeit fictional narrative. Completely believable. The only mention of either me or my house was that that had been her assignment. No more mention, none at all. A Guardian had been salvaged as the result of that night, apparently the one who'd accompanied the eight women to the airport. It was reported that he and our Handmaid had been in an adulterous relationship, preceding her placement with us. Was that true? Who knew? So it was, The Lawrence's were not to blame, and no one at our house had even been questioned.

Which had been a good thing, considering Eleanor's deteriorating state. Cora, on the other hand, would be pleased. I would tell Cora that it had been me who'd manipulated the powers that be. I hadn't.

Cora's 'femaleroad' was safe. It wasn't. Only for now.

The one advantage, though, was that the Aunts decided to forgo any further handmaid placements with us for the foreseeable future. The Aunts had thought of it as punishment. Aunt Lydia herself had come to our house to interview me and Eleanor. Twice. I did not like the woman's tone. But as an Aunt - now the chief Founder Aunt - I wasn't about to fuck with her.

All of this before the sabotage at the opening ceremonies for the Rachel and Leah Centre. Boy, did we get a shake-up. High Commander Pryce was killed. The rest is commentary.

CUSHING WAS A NAZI

Cushing was a Nazi. Look, I've done some terrible things, but they were always with selfish self-preservation in mind. So give me a break. Cushing enjoyed crushing people.

Cushing had just ordered the whole Deeds household salvaged. With Pryce gone, he'd ordered it on his own, with no reference to Chancery. Probably strategic, because Commander Deeds had been at the Chancery meeting that morning - the morning that we Commanders were picking up the pieces.

Did I say, with Pryce now gone?

One minute Glen Deeds was moving that we adjourn. Next minute he wasn't moving at all. There he was hanging outside his house, wife and martha beside him. Not much of a breeze that afternoon, so the three bodies only slowly revolved with the way the rope above them untwisted.

Official toll, not counting Commander Deeds? Twenty-six Commanders killed, as well as thirty-one Handmaids. Countless injured. Rachel and Leah Centre effectively destroyed.

Not all deceased Commanders were from our District. But to repeat, High Commander Pryce had been killed. Commander Waterford was in hospital, initially not expected to survive. If the bombing had been Mayday, they'd been quite successful in beheading this part of Gilead. We'd gone from being a model District, to under the suspicion of the D.C. Chancery itself.

When they'd found out what Cushing had done to the Deeds, all because it had been Ofglen who'd been the suicide bomber, the rest of us cocooned. I got a panicked call from Commander Putnam who had often presided at Chancery in Pryce's absence. Pryce had called upon Putnam for that duty because Putnam was harmless. Yet that first meeting, the one Deeds had moved adjourned, Cushing had simply slipped into Pryce's chair and started orating. An oration of revenge. We'd all thought it had been him being a blowhard, except that by the end of the day he had made good on his boast.

Afterwards, Putnam was quietly gathering some Commanders together to, "monitor Cushing in his de facto leadership." Putnam, me, Calhoun, and Waterford (if he survived) would meet regularly and, "when ready, move the Chancery to vote officially on new leadership." Putnam was in contact with D.C. Commanders, as the National Chancery was monitoring developments. It was unclear if D.C. was supporting Cushing or not. Getting "unclear" signs was always cause for worry. They were probably playing both sides, waiting to see how the dust settled here in our District. I would.

My Eye-guy was not returning my calls. I hadn't even been calling him for favours, all I needed was another pair of eyes, pun intended.