The Cole household was bustling like a kicked anthill when I arrived from the hospital. Maria rushed out with an umbrella and followed me up the steps while James took the car out back. Marthas I recognized from the neighbors' houses were tidying the already-spotless rooms while an authoritative voice from another room scolded someone for not scrubbing the baseboards hard enough.

I looked inquiringly at Maria, not really expecting an explanation. But she leaned in and mouthed "Mrs. Jennings, Mrs. Cole's mother." Her lip curled at the name and I breathed a faint laugh before the noise as I closed the door behind us drew unwanted attention.

"Who's opening doors in this weather? You'll flood the place at this rate, you Marthas are all the same-"

Mrs. Jennings cut off as she entered the room, Mrs. Cole in tow. I quickly bowed my head and folded my hands in front of me, but not before I'd caught a glimpse of her. She was several inches taller than me and wore a stark black dress. A widow. One rarely saw them nowadays, they usually stayed with whatever male next of kin they had, at least that's what I'd heard. Rumor had it the younger widows faced much less pleasant fates. She was somewhere between her sixties and seventies. It was difficult to tell, the thick powder on her face made her look older. Her hair was an unnatural light blonde too. Not even Mrs. Cole dared to be so obviously artificial. I had to wonder how she'd managed to get her hands on hair dye in Gilead.

Mrs. Jennings barked an order at Maria, who hurried off leaving me to Mrs. Jennings' inspection.

"Blessed be the fruit," she greeted.

"May the Lord open."

"And there's my little grandchild," she said warmly.

I stiffened as she grabbed my stomach and slowly rubbed it. A faint fluttering in my womb responded, but Mrs. Jennings didn't seem to notice. My heart pounded in my chest as her hand wandered dangerously close to the vial in my pocket.

With her hands still on my stomach, she addressed me. "Charlene warned me about you. She said you were a pretty one and were getting ideas about her husband."

"I would never dare, Mrs. Jennings." As if I'd admit to such a thing, especially with Mrs. Cole hovering behind her.

She chuckled. "I certainly hope not. I want my grandchild breastfed. A difficult thing to do if you are sent to the Colonies. Charlene, are you sure she's eating enough? These arms are as thin as chicken bones."

"Yes, mother. She eats everything she's given. Doesn't put up nearly the fight the Schultzes' girl does. It's just morning sickness."

Mrs. Jennings hmphed. "I stand by what I said about gingersnaps, they'll cure sickness in an instant. You don't want your baby to starve, do you? And what's this I hear about you roving around in the middle of the night?"

She looked me in the eyes and my mouth went dry. Her dark eyes reminded me of a shark's. Cold and bloodthirsty. I glanced towards Mrs. Cole, whose face was schooled expressionless. I grit my teeth.

"I get restless legs at night, ma'am. I can't sleep without walking around first."

Mrs. Jennings stood and shook her head. "Nonsense. Charlene, I knew you were indulgent, but this is too far. You've coddled this one far too much. No wonder she's skinny and sallow if she's throwing up her food and walking herself to death. You mustn't let her put your baby at risk like this, you know Handmaids do this sort of thing out of spite."

"I would never harm a child, ma'am," I said coldly.

Mrs. Jennings drew back. "Don't you dare speak without being addressed. Is this how you act in this house?" She shook her head again. "If you weren't pregnant, I'd have you beaten for your insolence. Go to your room. You will take your dinner there."

I dipped my head further. "Yes, Mrs. Jennings."

I shot a glare at Mrs. Cole on my way out. She smiled cooly.

The noise of Mrs. Jennings' arrival didn't die down until well after dinner. From what I'd overheard-which was a great deal since quiet was apparently unheard of to Mrs. Jennings-she would be staying until Mrs. Cole was settled with the baby. As I picked at my dinner-completed with a butter-less potato courtesy of Mrs. Jennings' insistence I not be pampered with butter-, I debated whether I should call Mrs. Cole's bluff and tell one of the Aunts about her writing. I still had the sheet of paper hidden away, and had found a few others stashed in her belongings. It wouldn't be too difficult to convict her.

But if she was found guilty, the Commander might give her a lesser punishment, chop off a hand or cut out an eye or something. With what they already got away with, maybe she'd only receive a whipping. If he didn't she'd be sent off to the Colonies and I'd most likely be assigned to a different Commander and lose any chance at escaping before I gave birth.

No, I couldn't let that happen. I tried the door. Sure enough, it was still locked from the outside to prevent any nighttime wanderings. I looked to the patch of floorboard where I'd hidden the poison. The bed was pinning it down, so hopefully its looseness would escape Maria's notice. Mayday would have to wait if it wanted anything more from me.

Anne was sent to collect my tray of half-eaten dinner and I was permitted to use the toilet under Maria's watch. It was humiliating. It wasn't like there was any way I could hurt myself or the child here that I couldn't do while locked in my room.

The door was left locked throughout the night. A few months ago this wouldn't have been too much of a problem, but at six months pregnant, my bladder just didn't have the capacity it once did. All it took was one good kick from the baby and I was forced to soil my winter cloak to contain the mess. I left it in the corner of the room. It wouldn't be long before I'd have to use it again. Mrs. Jennings hadn't been here for twenty four hours and I already hated her almost as much as Commander Cole himself.

Mrs. Jennings brought my breakfast up herself. She didn't bother to knock, but fortunately her loud complaints to Mrs. Cole about the cleanliness of her bedroom had given me enough time to wake and dress before she barged in. I bowed my head obediently as she entered the room. The smell of fish emanated from the tray she carried.

"Good morning, Mrs. Jennings," I offered, swallowing the bile that climbed up my throat.

"I don't recall bidding you to speak, Ofmartin," she said tartly. "Speak without permission again and I'll have your hands whipped, understood?"

I nodded.

"Good. Now I'm here to make sure you eat your breakfast. The cook told me you hardly touched your dinner and I won't stand for my grandson starving."

She set the tray on the nightstand then wrinkled her nose as she spotted the bunched up red cloak in the corner. "What is that smell?"

I winced. I should've hidden the cloak in the closet so she wouldn't see. I should've known she'd come into my room at some point. "I was locked in all night. I had to relieve myself."

I heard the smack of her hand across my cheek before I felt it.

"Disgusting girl! Is this the dog that bears my grandson? I would expect my son-in-law to choose a whore who was toilet trained."

I wiped a stray tear from my eye. My fist clenched with the thought of punching her. Only the thought of Commanders choking to death from poison stayed my hand.

In a moment, the rage-filled expression on Mrs. Jennings' face smoothed into composure. "You will eat your breakfast."

I sat on the bed and took the tray in my hands. The smell of fish sent my stomach roiling. I managed to force a roll and carrots down as well as the ginger snaps she insisted would cure any morning sickness. I set down my fork.

"There's still plenty of food on that plate. Eat it. It's good for the baby."

I wished she wouldn't stare at me as I stabbed a piece of fish onto my fork. I gagged at the rancid smell. The moment I placed it on my tongue, the rest of my breakfast came back up. I pushed my way out of the bedroom and heaved my guts into the toilet. I received another smack for the insolence of being sick.

We made a routine out of the meal. Whenever I vomited up my food, she ordered more to be brought and I was forced to start over. Sometimes I never even made it past looking at the fish before sprinting for the toilet. It was past the time I was supposed to meet Jade for our daily walk to the shops and nearly lunchtime before Mrs. Jennings admitted defeat and I was left to soothe my raw throat with a dry roll and a glass of milk. She locked the door behind her.

Days passed in this way. After the first, I was given a clay pot to serve as a chamber pot to get me through the nights and in between meals. The meals went better when Mrs. Jennings didn't insist on fish or chicken which had become mealtime staples 'for the sake of her grandson'. Most meals, I had to fight against my aversions. Though I quickly learned to keep quiet and swallow back my vomit, my hands were raw and swollen from regular beatings. I ached to go outside again, to see the sun through the wings of my bonnet and feel its warmth on my back. To be able to walk more than eight feet in a single direction and see the faces of the other Handmaids would be Heaven.

When the Commander unlocked my door almost a week into his mother-in-law's stay, it was with a feeling of relief that I followed him to his bedroom. I didn't mind that I couldn't grab the sedative, I wouldn't be able to deliver any information I could gather and I needed the time until the Committee meeting to convince Commander Cole to bring me along. He didn't stop by every night, but I made sure the ones he did bled into the morning and left me too sore and bruised to hardly move, just as he liked it. That he could feel the baby move as he pounded me was an added interest to him that I was equal parts grateful for and ashamed of.

I spent hours staring out my window at the apple tree the days I didn't spend sleeping. It was the only thing to do in my free waking hours besides listening to Mrs. Jennings and Mrs. Cole prepare a nursery across the hall. When I closed my eyes, I could trace every branch in my mind. I only let myself open the window and feel its satin leaves against my fingers when Mrs. Jennings was out. I couldn't risk her finding out and taking even that joy away.

The sound of the Birthmobile early one morning broke the monotony. I heard Mrs. Jennings argue with an Aunt for a short while before the Coles and Mrs. Jennings left to join the celebration. In their absence, I was allowed oatmeal and milk courtesy of Anne. She hadn't spared sugar or cinnamon on me like she occasionally had done in the past, but it seemed like the most luxurious meal I'd had in my life with no one hovering over every bite.

After breakfast, I cracked open the window to get a better look at a new flower on the apple tree. Five moon-white petals delicately streaked with faintest pink covered their shriveled, dead neighbors. I'd been waiting for it to finally bloom for days. Perfect but for a spot on one leaf where an insect had bitten through.

Hours ticked by lunch came and went and I wondered about the Birthday Ceremony. Whose had it been? None of the Handmaids I knew by assignment were far enough along. I hoped for her sake it went well. I wondered what the decorations were like, what food they had. Then I reminded myself I should be more worried about the Handmaid. It was getting harder to care these days.

Just after dinner the family returned, I couldn't make out what they were saying though I pressed my ear against the crack in the door to hear. An unfamiliar set of footsteps made its way up the stairs and their owner knocked on my door before unlocking it.

The knock gave me just enough time to scramble away from the door and pretend I hadn't tried to eavesdrop. Aunt Claire stepped into the room. I bowed my head and folded my hands in front of me. A ghost of a smile touched her lips, but there were bags under her eyes and a heaviness to her shoulders.

"Blessed be the fruit, Ofmartin," she greeted.

"May the Lord open."

"It's good to see you are feeling better," she said. "I was informed you've been unwell lately. I wish you could have joined us today."

"Who was it?"

She shook her head. "Ofgreg. It was a shredder. She started bleeding after and was taken to the hospital. It's likely she'll never bear another child, God have mercy. I pray God is kinder to you."

I grimaced. I didn't know Ofgreg, but from the look on Aunt Claire's face, she must not have had a successful birth before. If she was left sterile as they suspected, Ofgreg would be sent to the Colonies. Handmaids who birthed only shredders were abominations, they could never become Aunts.

Aunt Claire examined the room intently. Whatever she had come to say she was putting off. She found the clumsy butterflies I'd embroidered on the curtain months ago. She ran her fingers over the frayed wings.

"This is a lovely room the Coles have given you. They must treat you very well. Did you make these?" She held up the end of the curtain.

I nodded. Part of me wanted to tell her I had stolen the needle and thread for it, just to see what she would do. That was the stupid part of me. "Mrs. Cole let me borrow the materials. As you said, they treat me very well."

Aunt Claire raised an eyebrow but let the curtain drop from her hand. "Ofmilton told me you haven't accompanied her to the shops in two weeks. Is that true?"

I nodded.

"And when I spoke to Mrs. Cole, she said you've been difficult lately, fighting with her mother, refusing to eat. If this continues, I'll have no choice but to take you back to the Rachel and Leah Center and have a feeding tube placed. You remember what that's like, don't you Ofmartin?"

I remembered. A few months into Hamdmaid training, a group of us had been led into one of the larger rooms of the school. It had once been a band hall, based on the cages of various sizes along the walls outside of it. There hadn't been any windows. At first I couldn't make out more than two bright lights, one on either side of the room. One of the other girls stifled a cry as her eyes adjusted before mine. I bit my lip to silence my own once I saw it.

Each light was attached to a hospital bed. A series of monitors surrounded each one. Each bed held a woman in a hospital gown, tied down with padded restraints on each limb and a strap holding their heads in place. Both had stomachs bulging with the late stages of pregnancy. In the harsh light of the lamps, their skin looked greenish-gray. The one on the left whined pitifully, staring straight up as if unaware she had an audience.

Aunt Claire had ushered us towards the one on the left side of the room as Aunt Elizabeth and Aunt Sarah laid out cloths and medical instruments on a table.

"Girls, take a good look at your sisters here," Aunt Clair had said. "I want each of you to have this image fixed in your mind. This is what happens to Handmaids who commit the grave sin of harming a child."

We shuffled together, whispering.

"Ofpercy slit her wrists trying to end her life and with it, kill the fruit of her womb. The blessing God had bestowed on her and the Smith family."

At Aunt Claire's prompting, we spat our condemnation at Ofpercy. "Selfish murderer. Abomination," I had shouted.

"This is what we must do to protect the child she carries. Let this be a reminder to all of you to be grateful for your position. Treat your bodies with dignity and allow God's blessings to be bestowed upon you," Aunt Claire said.

Ofpercy behind her wailed louder. Aunt Elizabeth reached a hand beneath Ofpercy's hospital gown. "It is time, bring in the Smiths."

Aunt Sarah returned with Commander and Mrs. Smith, then helped Aunt Elizabeth untie Ofpercy's restraints. Aunt Claire told us to kneel and begin our chant as we had practiced. They tied Ofpercy to a birthing chair, one with a second seat stair-stepped behind the first, the lower one with footrests at shoulder height and a gap in the middle of the seat. A healthy baby girl was born, and though Aunt and Handmaid alike pretended to rejoice, the Smiths did not so much as smile. The baby was cleaned, weighed, and named. Ofpercy was sent straight to the Colonies.

"Ofmartin?"

I remembered where I was. I was in my room at the Coles' house. Not in the Red Center.

"Yes, Aunt Claire. I remember."

"Good," she replied. "I expect to receive a more favorable report the next time I drop by. I'll admit I have neglected you these past few months. We've been blessed with many births this year and up until this point, you were the least problematic aside from your unfortunate miscarriage. I'd hate to see that change."

She walked past me as if to leave.

"I can explain myself, Aunt Claire."

She turned to look at me again with narrowed eyes.

"It's Mrs. Jennings," I said. Then, seeing her eyes darken with displeasure, I added hurriedly. "Forgive me for saying so, I know she means well by it and I don't want to cause trouble, but she insisted that I be kept in my room. She doesn't let me leave for anything, not even to use the bathroom." I pointed at the pot in the corner of the room as evidence. "She insists I eat every bite of food, which I try my best to do. I want the baby to be healthy, but I'm often nauseous. Fish and chicken are the hardest for me to eat, they don't smell or taste right anymore, but she beats me when I vomit." I held up my swollen red hands for her inspection.

I had to fight back a smile as her eyes widened in shock, then as her face colored in anger. It was several moments before she could school her face into a neutral expression.

"Was there something you did to provoke such treatment? Did you do anything to make the family fear for the child's safety? Perhaps you were disobedient?"

"I have no knowledge of any concerns on their part. I have tried my best to be a worthy Handmaid. But perhaps the Coles know why I am being punished."

Aunt Claire left without a goodbye. I couldn't hear her speak with anyone downstairs, but that night I was allowed downstairs for dinner and my room wasn't locked when I went to bed. Mrs. Jennings could be heard muttering angrily in her room.