Six months passed this way. The Commander blasé as ever, his wife increasingly frantic for me to become pregnant. It was early September now. Yet another Ceremony. I'd long since given up hope of the Commander knocking me up. Clearly he didn't have it in him. If anything, his impotence had gotten worse. He hadn't managed to ejaculate at all tonight. I inspected the tree carefully through the window. It was an apple tree, I'd learned as its fruit had grown. Soon, the first fruits would ripen. I wondered whether I could sneak one or two through the window. The bars were just wide enough, and the new growth this year brought a bough right up to my window.
A siren pierced the night. I recognized it immediately as the birthmobile. It must mean Ofmilton was in labor. Light shone around my door. The Cole's were awake. Quickly, I dressed myself, fingers fumbling in excitement. It would only be the second birth I'd attended. The first three months before, when Ofeli had a healthy girl for the Keys.
Heedless of the rules, I rushed down the stairs. Sure enough, I could see Handmaids pouring out of a birthmobile like blood gushing from a wound outside the Thorpes' mansion. It was far too long before the Cole's and Marthas were ready to leave. Ofmilton needed me, she was in pain.
When we entered, wives were already setting up downstairs. Tables were covered in fruits and pastries. Clearly the Thorpes had been saving up their tokens for this. Mrs. Thorpe was propped up with pillows on the floor, moaning dramatically every few minutes while the Wives massaged her feet and shoulders, or plied her with food and drink. One Wife was playing a classical piece on the piano in the corner. A Handmaid sniggered beside me. Aunt Lydia ushered us upstairs with the birthing supplies to the wife's bedroom. Ofmilton was on the bed, breathing heavily, one hand on her bulging stomach, the other clinging to the bedpost with a vice-like grip. As we entered, a contraction came. She moaned loudly and clutched at her nightgown.
When it had passed, I gave her an encouraging smile which she returned wearily. We Handmaids knew what to do, flowing swiftly into set up and chanting. "Inhale, inhale, inhale. Hold, hold, hold. Exhale, exhale, exhale."
We exchanged smiles with each other, though we didn't dare say anything above a whisper outside the chants that came with every contraction. Punch was passed around. Spiked. How long would it take for the Aunts to catch on that it happened every birthday?
I stationed myself with a washcloth wiping Ofmilton's sweat from her brow between contractions. She was progressing quickly by the sounds of it. After only a few hours, her moans were louder and more frequent now and she had started shaking.
Ofmilton made a long, guttural groan, a different sound than the previous contractions. Her eyes and hands clenched as she threw her head back. A wet patch spread across her nightgown as she pushed.
"It's time," Aunt Elizabeth announced. "Get her to the chair".
Many of the girls chattered with excitement. I helped Ofmilton off the bed. She leaned heavily on me, panting. "God, it fucking hurts." She managed.
"It's almost over, you're doing great," I whispered back.
One of the handmaids had been sent downstairs to fetch the wives. We could hear them approach as Mrs. Thorpe's wails increase in volume. Did she not realize how ridiculous she sounded?
Mrs. Thorpe was helped up on the chair by Mrs. Cole and another wife. Mrs. Cole's characteristic scowl was temporarily replaced by concern for her friend. I had to choke down a laugh. As if her friend was the one suffering, who's life was in danger. I could only wish that were true. I held Ofmilton's hand. She squeezed it so hard, I was certain she'd broken a bone, but I dared not make a peep. This was her day, nothing but her pain mattered.
We chanted our urge for Ofmilton to push. Sweat was streaming down her flushed face and neck, her undergarments were stained with it. She gritted her teeth and bore down, a muffled scream escaping her lips. Mrs. Thorpe screamed louder after a moment's delay.
"Breathe, breathe, breathe and push, push, push."
"I can see the head!" Aunt Elizabeth declared.
The excitement in the room peaked. Ofmilton strained even harder, a single cry breaking free. Two more pushes, and it was over. The baby slid free into Aunt Elizabeth's waiting arms. As the rules prescribed, the cord was swiftly cut and we Handmaids encircled Ofmilton so she would not see the newly born baby. I was positioned directly in front of Ofmilton, but I could peek through the others to look at Aunt Elizabeth and the baby. It was a boy. Dark hair covered his head. He was discolored and still and small, so unbelievably small, but that was normal, we'd been told. He would liven up with his first breath. We waited with bated breath for that fateful cry.
"He's not crying, why isn't he crying?" Ofmartin asked, the anxiety in her voice so thick you could feel it.
No one answered her. Aunt Elizabeth spanked the babe. Still he did not cry. She checked his mouth, then pressed her ear against his chest. After a moment, she shook her head, and covered the boy with a white cloth. Stillborn. The word hung unspoken in the air.
Ofmilton wailed. I shielded her view with my body, pressing her face into my shoulder as they carried the tiny body away.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." I murmured into her hair as she sobbed.
I could hear Mrs. Thorpe's devastated cries and the murmurs of wives and handmaids alike. The other handmaids joined me in pulling Ofmilton close, all providing what small token consolation we could. The party was broken up, and we each went home feeling defeated.
I ached to see Ofmilton that week, to let her know it wasn't her fault, to be a shoulder for her to cry on, but while Mrs. Cole visited Mrs. Thorpe every day, I was never allowed to tag along. The day I worked up the courage to ask, she beat my hands with one of the Commander's belts until they bled. I didn't ask again. I did however, note the sheet up paper that slipped out of her sleeve while she was beating me. Words were written on it
Two days later, I was startled from my second nap of the day by a rap on my bedroom door.
"Mrs. Cole, Aunt Claire, blessed be the fruit," I greeted, anxiously straightening my cap. I waited for the zap of Aunt Claire's cattle prod, but it didn't come.
"Aunt Claire wants you to come with us to the Thorpe's today," Mrs. Cole said tonelessly. "She thinks it will do Ofmilton good."
"Yes, Mrs. Cole," I sighed in relief.
"And fix your hair, Ofmartin. You know we don't tolerate slovenliness here."
"Yes, Mrs. Cole."
The Thorpes' mansion was eerily quiet compared to the anxious bustle before. The air was still, empty. Not even the sound of a Martha's footsteps whispered through the hall. The curtains were drawn though it was too early for the electricity allotment, and no candles had been lit to break through the din.
Mrs. Cole went upstairs to Mrs. Thorpe's bedroom. A stifled sob escaped before the door closed, blocking out the rest.
I set my wings on a table in the foyer. Aunt Claire led me to Ofmilton's bedroom. Aunt Claire's lips were pale and pursed. Shadows rimmed her eyes. It was the most concern I'd ever seen from her, more so even than when a Handmaid walked into traffic and killed herself.
I knocked on Ofmilton's door. No answer.
"Ofmilton, it's me, Ofmartin. I'm coming in, ok?"
Ofmilton was sprawled out on the floor in her nightgown with her limbs twisted in an unnatural way.
"Ofmilton!"
I rushed to her searching for a sign of what she'd done. Her body was still warm.
"Ofmilton?"
Her eyes fluttered open. "What?" she said, her voice raw.
"Ofmilton, you nearly gave me a heart attack lying on the ground like that! I thought you'd-you'd"
"Thought I'd killed myself?" She finished. "I wish I could. They won't even let me have bed sheets to do it though."
She motioned limply at the bed. Sure enough, it had been completely stripped, not even the pillow left.
"Come on, let's sit on the bed and talk. Can you sit up?"
"Where's my son?" Ofmilton asked, not budging from her spot on the floor. Her eyes wandered unfocused. I squeezed her frozen hand.
"Where's my son? What did they do with him?" She pressed, voice edged with panic.
"He's dead. I'm so sorry, Ofmilton, but he died. They buried him."
She closed her eyes and a tear slid into her disheveled hair.
"No. You're lying. You're all lying. You're all hiding him from me. It's Mrs. Thorpe, isn't it? She didn't want me to stay after the birth, she didn't want the reminder that I am his mother not her!"
She grew louder and louder until she was screaming. "You hear me you fucking bitch? I'm his mother, not you! And his name is Elijah!"
She shoved herself up on unsteady legs. Afraid of what she might do, I gripped her tight in my arms. She shoved against me, but I held tight even as she raked her nails across my back and screamed into my ear. Eventually, she wore herself out, the screams petering out into heaving gasps.
We sat on the bed as she cried. There was nothing else to do, nothing to be said to fix it. We couldn't even go to his funeral. If she saw his grave, it wouldn't have his name, his real name.
"I never got to hold him. I never even got to see him," She said numbly.
"I know. It's not fair."
"It's your fault. You blocked him from sight. You did that."
My stomach clenched. She was right. I had blocked her. It's what I was supposed to do but…there was no excuse.
"I'm sorry," I said weakly.
"Doesn't fucking change anything."
When she fell asleep on my shoulder, her energy spent, Aunt Claire took me from the house. She shook her head at me. I don't know what she had expected of me, but clearly I'd failed. All I'd managed to do was make Ofmilton even more upset.
While Mrs. Cole was out, I crept into the sunroom facing the gardens to steal a needle and thread. I needed a distraction from the Ofmilton. Now was my chance to embroider those curtains. It felt good to steal from her. A small recompense for all she'd done to me, for what people like her had done to Ofmilton. I was rummaging through a basket for her thread box when I felt a stack of papers crinkle against my fingers. I snatched it hungrily out of the basket. I unfolded it, but to my surprise it wasn't words that greeted me, but numbers. Not just any numbers, but the Coles' finances.
I read faster and faster, trying to absorb it all. It wasn't adding up, I realized. The Cole's were rich of course, richer than any common Commander's family given that Commander Cole was on the Committee, but the frequent parties and overflowing token books exceeded even the Commander's salary. There were also hefty expenses unaccounted for here, tens of thousands spent left unmarked. The Coles' were not such perfect models of Gileadean leadership as they pretended.
"What are you sneaking about for, little girl?" A sly voice called out.
I spun around wildly, a soft yelp escaping me.
James was leaning casually against the door. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone I caught you stealing from the missus. It'll cost you something, though."
I tensed. "What do you mean?"
"Maria is out shopping. Anne is busy outside. It's just you and me in here." He prowled closer.
I backed away. His eyes glimmered with lust. "Don't worry, I won't bite." He crooned, sounding anything but honest.
"Get away from me," I breathed. I had to get out of here.
James' hand snatched my arm in a vice. Despite my shouts and desperate yanking, I couldn't break free. So I bit him. He yelled and stars flashed across my vision. Tears leaked out of my left eyes.
"Now you behave, girly. It'll be quick, I promise. Not like that impotent lout of a Commander." He covered my mouth before I could scream. He dragged me upstairs into my bedroom and threw me onto the bed. He searched through the nightstand and stuffed a pair of socks into my mouth. He used another to bind my hands behind my back.
"Take it easy, relax. I'm doing you a favor." He crooned. I thrashed harder in response.
I don't remember what happened after. I think my mind was trying to protect me by forgetting. All I could recall after was his satisfied smirk as he untied me. "I've been waiting a long time for that." He said, his teeth close enough to nibble on my ear.
I didn't tell anyone. I was smarter than that. If anyone found out, I'd be held responsible. I was a slut, a whore, a Jezebel. I'd encouraged him. It was my fault.