I had a lot of time to think now that I was pregnant again, being injured gave me even more time. We still had to do the daily shopping. What had once been the highlight of my-and virtually every Handmaid's-day was now agony for the twenty of us who had been flayed. I could tell who they were from their limps and groans.
When Jade and I met the next day, the shame returned. I kept my head down so I wouldn't have to see the hatred that surely screamed at me through her eyes. She didn't greet me, nor did I her. Instead, we limped together in silence. At Milk and Honey, another Handmaid-Ofbrian-slipped her hand in mine as we examined the eggs.
"Congratulations," she whispered with a faint squeeze of my hand.
"Thanks," I breathed back. I smiled. At least one person didn't hate me, even if it was a girl who wasn't whipped.
Soon, Ofbrian's walking partner, Ofjohn, whispered her congratulations. A handful of others followed suit. We exchanged a question or two, the others whispering among themselves. "Are you alright?" I asked the ones who limped. They responded with a mix of slight nods or headshakes. We brushed our hands against each other in consolation. Names began to be exchanged: Trisha, Molly, Fatma, Ashley, Grace, May.
"Hey! What are you doing over there? Break it up, break it up! If you aren't shopping, leave." A pair of guardians with guns shoved us apart. They were too late. In Aunt Claire's foolish bid to keep us accountable for one another, she had unwittingly brought us closer.
The bells rang twelve times this morning. A Prayvaganza. I groaned, the warmth of the bed and the ache of my body making me loathe to get up. My stomach growled insistently. I sighed, and forced myself up. As I did so, my vision swam and I gripped the nightstand tightly for support. The spinning made me nauseous, and it was a close race between the end of my dizziness and gagging into the toilet down the hall. Only ten weeks in, and I already felt like I'd been hit by a train with this pregnancy. I dreaded to think of how much worse it would get, Ofmilton had said it only got worse for her as time went on despite assurances that it would go away after the first trimester.
An hour later, a small cluster of Wives sat around the breakfast table chatting excitedly. So this was to be a wedding day.
"Blessed be the fruit," I murmured as I stood at the room's entrance.
The Wives swiveled to stare at me. I raised my head just enough to judge the expression on Mrs. Cole's face. I'd come downstairs since Anne must have been too busy catering to the Wives to bring my breakfast upstairs. It was a test of the boundaries of my confinement, small as it was. Mrs. Cole flashed a warning look at me. I dipped my head a touch.
"May the Lord open, Ofmartin," one of the Wives replied when Mrs. Cole refused. She turned her attention back to Mrs. Cole. "I heard through the grapevine that your Handmaid is pregnant again. Is it true? Are you really expecting again so soon after the-your loss?"
The other Wives leaned in with various levels of surprise on their faces. Mrs. Cole folded her hands in her lap.
"Yes, it's true, we are pregnant again. The Lord tested us, but he saw the strength of our devotion even in this time of trial. Given what happened last time, we have been reluctant to share the news while still in the first trimester. We don't want a repetition of last time."
The Wives chorused their praise be's and hopes that this time I would prove fruitful.
"Don't let getting past the first trimester make you complacent," Mrs. Thorpe added in a dour tone. "God took our little Christopher from us right when we were most happy."
Her statement weighed on us all. Her cheeks were pale and sunken in slightly and her watery gaze was fixed on a lace doily on the table. Mrs. Cole placed a hand on her back as the Wives comforted her.
My hand strayed to my stomach. Her words stabbed me like a knife. My heart still ached for the little one I'd lost just three months ago, the one I'd never get a chance to know. We were lucky enough to be near what used to be Washington D.C., it had escaped the worst of the bombings and pollution, miscarriages and stillbirths were less common here than other parts of Gilead, but that didn't mean we were immune. My mom had had six miscarriages, and those were before the fertility crisis. What if my genes weren't good enough to produce a healthy baby? What if I lost this one too, the one I'd conceived by choice? There wouldn't be a third chance for me.
"Oh dear, I think we've upset your Handmaid, Charlene," one of the Wives, the same one who'd brought up my pregnancy, said.
I wiped my eyes hurriedly. I hadn't noticed the tears falling until she'd mentioned it.
"Go help the Martha's," Mrs. Cole ordered, dismissing me with a wave of her hand.
"Under His eye," I said as I fled the room.
The Handmaids of our street walked in formation to the auditorium. Even for Gilead's religious ceremonies they prefered once-secular buildings to churches. I supposed I should be grateful. It would be infinitely worse to sit through the regime's mockery of religion in a holy place. In the auditorium, it was easier to pretend this was all one long, elaborate play like the ones I used to watch with my family rather than reality. Aunts shepherded us into the Handmaids' section in the far corner. I found myself sandwiched between Jade and Molly, the Handmaid to the house catty corner to the Coles. The Aunts called her Ofbrian. A curl of black hair poked out from her cap by the nape of her neck. I covertly pushed it back under the cap, only to earn myself a smack on the wrist with a ruler from one of the roving Aunts. Our cries from the cattle prods were too loud for a Prayvaganza, so we got a little freedom here.
The Wives filed into the front seats on one side of the central aisle. I could hear their ecstatic whispers from across the auditorium. Martha's were seated on the side across from the Wives, a few sporting white boutonnieres marking them as servants to the family of either a bride or groom. A matching white floral arrangement rested before the podium at the center of the stage. A large Gileadean crest hung in front of the red curtains hiding the backstage area.
Instrumental music played over the speakers as the Prayvaganza began. Commander Cole marched out, followed by a handful of other Commanders and men in black armor with black assault rifles gleaming by their sides. Angels. Commander Cole stepped up to the podium. We all rose as he opened with prayer.
"Humble citizens of the Republic of Gilead, let us give thanks to the Lord our God for the recent triumphs against the infidels who plague our great Republic. We have successfully pushed them out of Chicago, and have fully welcomed it into our holy land. These men you see here-" He gestured to the row of men in black. "Have been instrumental in that victory as warriors, and leaders."
Fervent applause broke out from the Wives. Under the watch of the Aunts, the Handmaids followed suit.
"These men have proven their loyalty to the Divine Republic and to God., today we will fulfill the will of God by joining these men in holy matrimony to Daughters of Gilead. Let us pray that God blesses these marriages today. May they be fruitful and multiply, may the new Wives be subordinate to their husbands in all things, may these men and women be faithful to one another, and may they be happy all the days of their lives. Amen."
As he spoke, the music swelled, and a line of figures in frilly, bell-shaped layers of white, like tiered cakes, walked down the center aisle each alongside a Wife in blue with a white rose boutonniere. The girls' faces were obscured by thick white veils that trailed down to their gloved hands clasped primly at the waist. The brides climbed the steps onto the stage and lined themselves before the Angels and Commanders.
I remembered standing in a line much like on my wedding day. It was held in a local theater much smaller than this one. The paint on the plaster columns was chipped and dirty, the walls a faded blue. A musty smell rose from the carpets as mothers and brides were escorted to a back room to prepare.
My sister's hand was ripped from mine by an Aunt. She called out for me, tears running freely down her face as she was escorted to another room. I took a step to follow her, but a gentle but firm hand on my arm stopped me. Connor's mother, taking the place of my own, blocked Becca from view. I tried to catch a glimpse of her as I was ushered into a chair. Mrs. Douglas took my hair out of its bun and twisted it into an elaborate braid circling my hair like a crown. She hummed as she worked. Mothers in gray tittered with excitement as their daughters donned the simple white dresses of our town's style. I got one glimpse of my pale, timidly smiling face before the thick white veil blocked everything from view.
There had only been one Wife there, in our town. It was too small to have more than one Commander. In a way, we had more freedom there, less fear of Eyes lurking in every corner to report us. Several of the new Econowives had even been allowed a say in who they married.
I wondered what they thought of this, the Daughters. Many, if not most, were even younger than me. All the older ones would have been married off more than a year ago. Most of them weren't even raised by the people who called themselves their parents. Rather, they were ripped away from their real parents after Gilead took over and were given different names. What was it like for those girls? Did they get any say at all in who their Commanders married them to? I doubted it. Did they know what they were getting themselves into, did they know they were being sold like little white lambs to slaughter? Or did they think they stood a chance at a happy life with these men who had fought so hard to make the world a living hell for them? Was the wealth worth being married for political gain, being put in the spotlight to be scrutinized by all? Was it worth having nothing to do but wait for a child to be born, to help your husband rape another woman month after month when your body fails?
The third bride from the end balked before her groom. Becca had done that on our wedding day. I gripped the arm of my seat so hard my knuckles turned white. A hushed gasp echoed through the auditorium. Her mother grabbed her arm and nudged her forward. She took a step back, the back of her white shoe just visible underneath the layers of fabric. Another small step. The bride broke free of her mother's grip and ran down the steps, the mother called out "Helena!" and ran after her.
An Eye grabbed the bride's arm. She yelped then sobbed as he dragged her back to the stage and placed her before her groom, her mother following behind, her face a brilliant scarlet. The Eye did not remove his grip. They would beat her later, I knew. They'd beaten Becca for merely pulling back. Then a Guardian and an Aunt had held her down in their cramped bedroom for her husband to rape while our families watched. My blood burned at the thought.
Commander Cole did not so much as blink at the interaction. He simply adjusted his papers on the podium and motioned for the distribution of the rings by two boys in blue and gray. The Wives took their seats in the front rows of the audience.
Commander Cole spoke again. "As God said 'It is not good that the Man should be alone, I will make him a helpmeet for him. And the rib which God had taken from Man, made He a woman and brought her unto the Man. Unto the woman he said, I will multiply thy sorrow, and thy conception. In sorrow shalt thou bring forth children. And thy desire shall be to thy husband, and he shall rule over thee.' Do you accept this sacred duty?"
"I do," chanted the men.
The bride, Helena, slumped. Only the grip of the Eye on her bicep kept her upright.
"As a token of this vow you shall each give and receive a ring."
The grooms placed rings on the brides' fingers, then the brides did the same for the grooms. The Eye nudged Helena with his rifle, forcing her to obey.
"Therefore a man shall leave his father and his mother and shall cleave unto his wife. They shall be one flesh. I now pronounce you man and wife."
The men lifted the brides' veils. They were so young. Not one more than 15 years old, the youngest perhaps 12. Some glowed with happiness, some wore emotionless masks. A few, like Helena, were crying.
"May God order your steps today and every day of your lives. I present to you the happy couples!"
Polite applause responded, any enthusiasm snuffed out by Helena's attempted escape. Let it remind everyone here that this was not by choice, those girls did not and could not consent to this.
I thought of the child in my womb. This was the cost if I couldn't get my child out. I was risking more than just my neck here, something I'd allowed myself to ignore until now. If this baby was a girl, she would stand in Helena's place one day. I'd conceived her to save myself for a little while, hoping maybe to escape. My daughter needed to escape, even if I couldn't. I owed it to her for selfishly bringing her into a world where she was no more than property. My life was already ruined, but hers didn't need to be.