Chapter One
Broken China Doll
Damn it! Inej whispered. A chipped plate was a grave offense that would force a harsh beating from William, a man who had bought her to be his 'housewife' in among the upscale neighborhoods of Ketterdam. When she was in her 'ripe days,' he would violate her to produce a male offspring to carry his name.
It wasn't all bad, Inej reasoned. She had a bedroom with sheets that weren't silk but rough spun wool she creased her hands across daily after William left for his law-abiding job on the trading floor of Ketterdam's stock market.
She did have the house all to herself—the knickknacks she had to move on Tuesdays mocked from their glass eyes. On Monday, she cleaned all five bathrooms until they were spotless and all the silverware needed polishing. She couldn't stand the beating for spots on the silver; Saints knew it was an unpardonable offense. It was about noon when she started dinner and then pre-cleaned the kitchen.
On Tuesday, everything was dusted from the second floor to the bottom. All the items moved, brushed, and precisely put back into their places, William would be sure to check. Then back to the top floor to vacuum the entire house from a fancy hose attached to the wall with a vast extension to suck up all the dirt. On Wednesday, she had to empty the filter and promptly ensure all the grime was out.
Because Inej got so dirty after cleaning the filter, she would do yard work. She grew their vegetables. Seasonally, of course, with a dark chuckle to herself. Oh, if the plants only knew, they did in a way, as her only companion, Inej, became very chatty while gardening.
Her heart was poured upon them; they grew pretty well; actually, her tears were part of the watering system as well as the hydroponic system. Inej quickly picked the ones needed for dinner that night to make promptly. The garden was her pride and joy; she loved getting her hands dirty, and it reminded her of home. At home however, the plants would be picked in passing to help her mamma for dinner.
Small shovel in the shed along with other supplies, she wiped her skirt smock.
Rolling her eyes heavenwards. Saints she had to take a shower, dress, and make dinner in less than 3 hours. Inej had all the motivation to do so, beatings, of course. They were awful, often with William's leather belt leaving welts that drew blood he relished. Look, honey, holding her face to the multi-sided mirror, they look like a DeKappel! What with your lovely backside covered in my welts? Hum, isn't that right? Shoved by her braid with an upside jerk.
The first time she was brought to William's home (more like a guided cage), Inej was beaten and blacked out. Later, wiping her blooded lips, asking why. William coldly answered, Because you asked why I was beating you. Of course, most cruel of all, on her birthday, she would make a cake for William to celebrate (liberation from Heleen's Manejerie.) Honey, blow out the candles. That's a good girl.
Other days, she felt hollowed out, pried ajar an amusing fruit cake, or perhaps that was the fruit cake that guests at Christmas cocktail parties gave one another and then threw in the trash once the new year rang in. Smiling through bitter tears as her chest sought an outlet to the ache building up inside, at least at the Manejerie, there was no use for pretense. There was a quiet spot to outcry, let down your hair, and wail in agony.
A spot if you were fortunate (or unfortunate) enough where a well-paid heart-render (who didn't want to be found out) glass-eyed performing another rote procedure ending the throwaway festering wrongness. Indeed, a child's stomach within one. Discarded, despised, terminated. Too immature. Yell all you like, bloody mess and all, and smiling through bitter tears because there was more than one emotional tea kettle beyond its boiling point.
In this upper-crust white bread world, 'stiff upper lip' was often mentioned. The tears ran down during the gardening, when Inej washed the dishes, or into her pillow beside William to not disturb his precious sleep, earning yet another Saints forsaken late night whipping.
Spare time was a rare commodity Inej utilized to write and code a computer she'd salvaged out of discarded parts. Bottom-up, motherboard, circuits and all; something of her ingenuity kept secret with With a dilapidated overhang light bulb as company. She was writing her source code to keep it secure from hackers.
laughing bitter tears; a small world known. Out of body, much like in the Manejerie. Thoughts of this nature were written into this digital companion.
Typing, how did I love? What did imploring the Saints do; only bruised knees with blood soaked indentations on the basement floorboards. I'm not getting out of this hell alive. Who is my judge and jury? What will I leave behind? How did I impact lost souls around me?
This one place sheltering thoughts; password protected, 384-bit encrypted. Untraceable, given the circumstances. She was also self-taught with bookkeeping as Tante Heleen forced her (under threat of harm to her family) to keep the girls' records, earnings, and files in precise order.
Little did she know how much her life was about to change, and how her buried courage would play a role in numerous lives.