AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I have never lingered in sleep. When I wake, it is with a bang, one second eyes closed and asleep, the next eyes open and mind aware. It is no different here, in this strange bedroom in this new and too-big bed. I blink up at the white ceiling and hold my body still, listening for any sign of him. I think I hear the rattle of a dish from the kitchen, but I can’t be sure.
It is hard to believe that only yesterday morning I was waking up in my own bed in the house I’ve lived in my entire life and now I have a new house, a new bed. A new husband. He is not what I expected. I knew what he looked like, at least from a distance, so that was no real surprise. But after all the angry words I’ve heard about his father and his family’s barely concealed disdain for mine and everything we stand for, I thought Bishop would be crueler behind closed doors. His restraint surprised me. I did not think he would be patient. Perhaps I’m not what he expected, either.
I will have to find a way to let Callie know we are not living at the president’s house. Although, knowing Callie, she already has the information and is formulating a new plan. I will need to get to the market soon, to check if there is a message for me. I could always go and visit her, of course, but it was decided that the less contact between my family and me, the better.
“Ivy?” Bishop’s voice calls me from the other side of the door, a quiet knock against the wood to go with it.
“Yes?” I scramble up to a sitting position.
He opens the door slowly, only his head and upper body appearing in the crack. “I’m leaving. I wanted to let you know. ” His eyes skate over my hair, which is loose now, tumbling halfway down my back, before settling on my face.
“Okay,” I say. I am trying hard to sound normal, to think about how a wife would talk to her husband, but my voice sounds too high, strained, like I’m playing a part. Which I guess I am. In more ways than one.
After he’s gone, I think I probably should have asked where he was going, shown more of an interest in his day. But right now, I am too exhausted to care. This was all so much easier when it was only an idea in my head.
I lay in bed and watch the sun sneak through the edges of the curtain, spread its warm fingers across the floor. When my legs start to sweat under the blanket, I make myself get up, stretching my arms above my head, trying to work the tension out of my neck and shoulders where it’s settled like a leaden scarf.
The bathroom is small, like the rest of the house, and spotlessly clean. I take a shower as fast as I can, for once not a consequence of the lack of hot water. I don’t want to be naked for any longer than I have to; I have no idea when Bishop might return.
After I’m dressed in a T-shirt and shorts, my hair dripping down my back, I go ahead and finish unpacking. It’s strange to see my small collection of clothes hanging next to Bishop’s in the closet; the sight makes our marriage seem more real than anything else that’s happened so far.
I wander through the house, opening drawers, letting my hands touch and my eyes roam. I need to get more comfortable here, somehow. He’s never going to talk to me, trust me, if I keep acting like I can’t wait to get away. There’s a lot of room between willingly giving myself over to him and closing myself off completely. I just have to find a way to live in that space.
On the living room wall is a large version of the hand-drawn map of our town that hangs in City Hall. I kneel on the sofa to get a closer look at the bird’s-eye view. The map shows all our major landmarks, both manmade and natural: City Hall, the courthouse, the river, the greenhouses where we grow most of our food, the solar panels that help provide our electricity, the water treatment plant, the fields of cotton we use to make clothing. The fence.
According to my father, the fence was originally constructed to keep predators out, both human and animal. It was never meant to keep us inside. And, even now, we are always free to leave. But hardly anyone ever does. Because no one knows what lies beyond the stretch of land we can see. What horrors might lurk over the horizon. Most people are content here, where at least there is food on the table and four walls to sleep behind. The memory of the war and the stories our grandparents told of starvation, radiation poisoning, and neighbors slaughtering neighbors in blind panic has made people reluctant to explore.
The only people who go beyond the fence are those who are forced to, put out as punishment for crimes, both real and perceived. Occasionally, someone manages to get back in, by tunneling under the fence or ripping a hole in the metal. But there are no second chances. If you return once you’re put out, the punishment is death, no exceptions. My father said in the early days bandits breached the fence a few times looking for food or weapons, but we were always able to overpower them and drive them out again. Nothing like that has happened in my lifetime, though.
I know I can’t sit in this house all day, staring at the walls, or I’ll go crazy. I might as well try the market even if it’s too soon for Callie to reach out to me. If nothing else, I can get some fresh air and stop chasing the thoughts inside my own head.
I’ve never been to the market on this side of town, but I know where it is. I go the long way, so I can walk past the president’s house. It’s another warm, sunny day, and although the sidewalks aren’t crowded, there are other people out walking and riding bikes. Some of them give me furtive second glances that unnerve me until I remember who I am now. I duck my head and walk faster, letting my hair fall around my face like a curtain.
The president’s house is dark and still, no movement behind the sheer curtains. A lone man works on the lawn, pushing a wheelbarrow of mulch. I stop and let my hands curl around the iron bars keeping me outside the grounds. Is Bishop inside the house right now, learning from his father the way I learned from mine? When the gardener catches my eye, I release my hold on the fence and move away.
I smell the market before I see it. The scent of apples, overripe vegetables, fresh earth float on the breeze, making my throat clench with longing for the market near my family’s house. Even more than my own home, I always felt comfortable there, where everyone knew me by name. My father, although a leader in our section of the city, was always insular, keeping Callie and me contained in our little unit of three as much as he could. He believed in home-schooling, never encouraged friendships beyond each other. But in the market I felt a part of something bigger, a community that cared about me.
But this market is foreign to me, even though to an outsider it probably wouldn’t look much different than the one I used to frequent. The stalls are bigger and the awnings brighter, and there isn’t a single face I recognize. No one is rude to me, but I’m aware I don’t belong with every step I take. I stand on the outside edges of the crowds around the stalls, observing but not participating. A woman in a printed dress hands me a pastry as I pass by her table.
“Oh, no,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m not buying anything. ”
She smiles. “No charge. Enjoy it. ” She keeps her hand extended, and it would be rude to keep walking. I take the pastry from her.
“Thank you,” I say, smiling back.
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Lattimer,” she says, and the smile slides off my face. Are they going to try and give me gifts now? Is that what it means to be Bishop Lattimer’s wife, everyone wanting to give me things I don’t deserve because of my name? Is this what Bishop’s life is like? And how long does it take before you start thinking you do deserve it, that it should all belong to you?
I hand the pastry to the next child I pass, a little girl who looks up at me with delighted eyes. Weaving through the crowd, I find the small stall at the end where an older man sells jars of jelly and mustard. Even those are fancier here, scalloped edges on the labels and colored twine tied around the lids.
“Hello,” I say. I pretend to study the jar of mustard in my hand.
“Hello,” he says in return, his eyes taking in the crowd behind me. “Anything I can help you with?” One of his arms curls uselessly against his chest, the hand withered and hooked like a claw. Such birth defects are common in Westfall, an ongoing casualty of nuclear war.
“No. ” I set down the mustard. “Just looking. ” As I scoot over to make room for the family on my right, the man gives me a quick shake of his head. No message from Callie. I didn’t think there would be, but disappointment still courses through my blood, leaving me tired and defeated. But I cannot afford to be discouraged. She will contact me when the time is right. Until then, I have to figure out how to play Bishop’s wife in a way he will believe.
He is still not home by six o’clock. I made scrambled eggs a half hour ago and now they are congealing on the stove. It is ridiculous to be annoyed with him, since I was the one who didn’t ask any questions when he left this morning, simply glad for him to be gone and not staring at me with those eyes that seem to be constantly sizing me up with every glance.
I go ahead and set the table, concentrating on lining up the forks and napkins so I don’t have to think about anything else. When the front door opens, I move to the stove and flip the burner back on.
