The sun is just cresting the horizon as I step into the kitchen. I'm greeted with the aroma of fresh brewed coffee and freshly baked bread, a combination that causes my mouth to immediately fill with saliva. I make my way into the kitchen, where I find Rita at the counter kneading a lump of dough that will be another loaf of bread for dinner tonight.
"Blessed Morning," I greet.
Rita nods and returns the standard greeting, "Blessed Morning."
I move to the sink to wash my hands and spot a partially consumed breakfast tray. "Still has to eat in her room?" I ask.
Rita sighs, "Yep, guess I'm her personal attendant now," she gripes.
Grabbing a coffee cup, I fill it halfway with my allotted portion permitted by the mistress of the house and sit down at the end of the island. I take a cautious sip, enjoying the bitter hot liquid as it coats my tongue.
"I just don't understand the point of keepin' her cooped up like a zoo animal, like keepin' her in the room is gonna matter in the long run," she mutters under her breath.
I look at her over the brim of my cup, an eyebrow raised. I don't disagree. The girl has been in the household for nearly two weeks and I've not laid eyes on her. Rita tells me she's been doing the shopping, her only reprieve.
"What? You know I'm right." She whispers.
"Didn't say I disagree, but still…"I warn.
She sniffs and places the dough she was working on into a bowl and covers it. "I know," she agrees. "You want an egg and toast or oats?" she asks, letting the subversive comments go.
"Just toast," I answer. "We are at Commander Mitchell's again today and their Martha is just short of force-feeding me. It's like a personal affront if I don't take at least two helpings."
"You and your skinny ass, I'm sure she thinks I'm starving you," she laughs cutting a thick slice of bread and sliding it into the oven.
I take another sip from my cup and find myself staring at the doorway that led to the backstairs.
Rita catches my gaze and clears her throat, "The Ceremony is tonight," she tells me.
"Already?" I ask quietly.
"It's been two weeks," she says, pulling the toast from the oven. Plating it, she shuttles over to me, dropping it by my cup.
I stare at the browned bread, my thoughts spinning. This is when it all started before, the secret meetings, special treatment…the favors. It went on and on and only ended when a sheet was tied to a light fixture.
"Are you ready to go?" The booming voice of Commander Waterford asks, pulling me from my reverie. I look up from my bread, my mask of indifference falling into place. "Yes, Sir," I state, standing up.
Waterford, briefcase in hand, grabs an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter and marches across the kitchen and out the back door. I'm quick to follow him through the kitchen and I am nearly out the door when Rita catches up with me. She pulls me to a stop with a hand on my shoulder and hands me my toast wrapped in a napkin. "Waste not, want not," she says.
I smile, "Thanks, Rita." I turn to go but her hand remains, "Make sure he's back by 7 pm," she mutters.
We lock eyes, hers are sad. After a half beat, she shakes her head and steps back. "Go in Grace," she states, her voice devoid of the emotion I see in her hazel orbs.
I give her one final nod and depart with, "Blessed day."
The day is warm but wet. I spend most of it smoking under the back door awning, mind-numbing bored. The only interruption to the monotony is Hazel, the Mitchell's Martha, and the plates of food she keeps forcing on me. Thankfully she's a great cook, but then again, all Martha's are. An unmarried woman without traditional skills like cooking, cleaning, sewing, or child rearing got the shit end of the stick when Gilead took over. She's a quiet woman though, not one for a chat. I'm not sure if that is her personality or a commentary on the mistress of the house who's an overly pious woman who hasn't so much as looked in my direction, despite the fact I've nearly become a fixture here over the past few days.
Commander Mitchell is an up-and-comer, raising through the ranks quickly at the tutelage of Waterford, or at least that is what the Commander claims. I personally don't see it. Mitchell is middle management at best. Reminds me of my boss when I worked at Walmart eons ago. Full of self-adulation, with just the right amount of self-preservation to know whose boots to lick to get what he wants. Just my luck it's Fred Waterford's that he fancies needs the shine. I've had to lay witness to days and days of forced laughter and insincere congratulations being passed back and forth like a football between the two men, it's exhausting.
The door behind me opens. "It's five, but they aren't quite finished yet," Hazel informs me from the doorway. I glance back at her and take one last drag of my cigarette before tossing it to the ground and crushing it under my heel. The Commander knows we are on a deadline tonight, he mentioned it on our drive out, but I completely expected this delay. He likes to keep his Misses waiting, I think he gets some sick thrill from it. Personally, I would just as gladly stay here all night, skip the Ceremony altogether, but I know that won't happen. Oh, we'll get home, he won't miss his chance with the new handmaid, but it will just be delayed enough to send the mistress into a tirade. One Rita and I will endure, not him, no never him. I blow out a breath and reach for my pack and lighter and pull out another cigarette.
"I can't believe you're late. It's unacceptable! You know how important these nights are!" the blonde woman yells, marching angrily back and forth across the kitchen. I stand at attention, eyes focused on the cabinets beyond her, my hands grasped behind my back. As anticipated the Commander didn't saunter out of his "meeting" until 6:45pm. The delay has put the evening more than an hour behind. Upon arrival, the Commander had demanded he and the Mrs. sit for dinner and then went up for a shower. Guess he doesn't want the smell of ball sweat to ruin the mood when he does the new handmaid for the first time. So here I stand, in the kitchen, still haven't had dinner, listening to Mrs. Waterford take out her anger at her husband on her indentured staff. I don't dare glance at Rita, during the berating, and a sign of solidarity is like chum in the water for Serena Joy, she'll punish us both. I straighten my back. "I'm sorry for the delay Mrs. Waterford, it couldn't be avoided," I offer. "I will be sure to cover the Commander's schedule with him more thoroughly in the future," I state.
Serena comes to a halt in front of me and stares at my face. I can't see her eyes, I'm still respectfully looking at a spot just beyond her, "See that you do!" she spits. I nod, trying to look contrite. She sucks in a long breath through her nose and straightens her back. "Go to the parlor and wait, both of you," she dismisses with a wave.
"Yes, ma'am" Rita and I respond simultaneously.
We walk silently down the hall, not looking at each other, but our pace is slow and deliberate. When we reach the doors, there is a hesitation, but Rita takes control and pushes it open. The room is dim, lit by only one lamp and the fire in the fireplace. In the room, facing the fire, kneels a woman in red, the new handmaid.
'Jeeze, how long has she been made to kneel there,' I wonder.
Rita and I take our positions a few feet behind her, crossing our hands in front of us. Rita is to look down in reverence and I'm permitted the 1000-yard stare, one of the "benefits" of being a man. But my stare isn't 1000 yards tonight, it's about four feet directly in front of me. I can't help but size up the new handmaid, praying she has what it takes to survive, because you can only rely on yourself in Gilead. I take her in, what I can see anyway. She's small, petite, much smaller than the last Offred. Just beneath her cap, along the nape of her neck, I spot a long tendril of blonde hair, and as I deduced the day she arrived, she doesn't want for a womanly figure. I bite the inside of my cheek, holding back the curse that dances at the back of my throat. The handmaid's head turns ever so slightly towards me, not enough to see me, but like she feels my eyes on her. I'm drawn to the bit of her cheek she has turned towards me; my curiosity has building for weeks, just a little more and I can see her profile.
The handle to the parlor turns, and the moment ends as quickly as it started. Her head snaps forward and my eyes find the mantle as Mrs. Waterford enters the room and takes her seat. My stomach turns over, and I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek until I taste blood.
The knock on the door.
He parades into the room, all the airs of a king, to the box on the mantle. Key in a lock. Bible out. Misuse of scripture, and just like that Rita and I are dismissed with a simple "Go in grace."
We go to the kitchen and I drop into a chair. Rita stands in the door jam. "Let me heat you up a plate," she says moving towards the fridge. I shake my head. My stomach lurches at the idea of food "I'm not hungry," I tell her.
"Tea? I have some with ginger," she suggests knowingly.
"Maybe two cups?"
She smiles sadly at me and nods and moves to make up two mugs of tea. A couple of minutes of silence later and she's putting a mug down in front of me before shuffling over to the cabinet above the stove and taking down a jar she has hidden behind a container of flour. She comes back to the table and sets it down between our cups. It's honey. Honey is as good as money in Giliead. I raise an eyebrow at her. "Just take a little, the misses she doesn't measure it." she dismisses with a wave.
I chuckle under my breath but put a small dollop in my cup. Rita does the same and quickly returns the jar to its hiding place.
We sit in silence, sipping our tea. The parlor door opens and feet on the stairs echo through the quiet house. My head drops to my chest, I can't be here. I stand and look at Rita, the same sick look on her face as on mine. She has nowhere to run to. I'm a coward. "Thanks for the tea." She says nothing, just keeps her head bowed in silent prayer.
I escape out the backdoor to my room over the garage. I don't bother with the light. I just shrug off my coat and drop it on the back of a kitchen chair, before racking my hands through my hair and sinking down onto the bench by the window. I pull out my pack of cigarettes and lighter and turn them over and over in my hand. I put the pack down, but keep the lighter. I snap it open and a flame erupts from the flint and I watch it flicker in the dark. My eyes travel out the window and up at the two windows of the handmaid's room. They're dark. How long does a ceremony take? I try to remember back to the last time, but come up blank. Based on my experience, shouldn't be more than ten minutes, it's not like there is any foreplay or cuddling afterward. My head falls back against the wall and I let my eyes slide closed. There is nothing I can do, but pray and that doesn't seem to be working in my favor lately.
It's the sound of a guardian's walkie that startles me awake. A hand goes to my neck, it's stiff. How long have I been asleep I wonder? I turn my head in circles, working out a kink. My eyes drift up to the window on the third floor, one light is lit and a silhouette passes by the window. A sigh of relief leaves me, which is dumb I know. Ceremony night is the least of the issues she has to contend with in this house, but still, there is something in seeing her shadow and knowing she's still alive.
My stomach growls, a reminder that I haven't eaten since lunch. I remember the plate Rita put aside for me, and decided a cold dinner is better than no dinner.
The kitchen is dark save the light over the stove as I retrieve my plate from the fridge. I set on the counter and start picking at the cold chicken when I hear footsteps on the stairs. "You don't need to heat it up, I'm fine," I say shoving another bite in my mouth. When I don't get a flippant reply, I glance over my shoulder and freeze in utter shock. It's not Rita who's joined me, it's the handmaid. She seems just as surprised to see me as I do her. Immediately her eyes drop to the floor. "I'm sorry, sir…I…I wasn't expecting anyone," she stammers. "I just wanted a gla…glass of water," she adds.
I shake myself mentally and look at her full-on. "You don't need to call me sir. I'm just the driver. My name is Nick," I tell her. She glances up briefly, and in spite of the dim light, I see two very bright blue eyes. Blue eyes and a pretty face, are par for the course at this point I figure. "Please," I gesture towards the sink. Eyes back on the floor she retrieves a glass and fills it. I can't take my eyes off her as she sips her water. She must feel my gaze on her because she shuffles uncomfortably on her feet. I look away and grab my plate. "Blessed Evening," I say, turning for the door.
"Nice to meet you, driver Nick," she calls at my back.
I glance over her shoulder and find her hesitantly watching me go. We lock eyes for a brief moment, and for a split second, I swear I see something behind the placid look on her face, but it is so fleeting that I can't be sure it was even there. I need to go, it will do this woman no good to be seen talking to me alone if Serena or Fred decided they need a midnight snack. I give her a nod of acknowledgment and exit with a final "Under his Eye."