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But if I marry before my ripening, I’ll be stuck! Makenna thought. Because marriage was final and once a girl said, “I shall” and stepped over the marriage ribbon, she must stay with the man she married until her death. And the thought of being stuck with Prentor of Seven Hills Homestead was enough to cause a knot in her belly that made her feel like she had swallowed stones.
He’s not the right one for me—I know he’s not! He’s too young, for one thing. He’s nearly four years younger than me! And he’s so short! Why, I can practically see over the top of his head. No, I’m sure he’s not the right one. If I marry him now, I’ll be stuck with him and I’ll regret it when my ripening comes—I know I will!
She told herself that she would indeed, ripen. Late ripenings ran in their family and both her mother and her aunt hadn’t ripened until well into their late twenties to early thirties. Pinchu was just impatient to have the farm to himself and his new bride-to-be. He wanted Makenna out of the way and didn’t care of the way he got rid of her ruined her life in the process. Her older brother always had been a selfish bastard, she reflected, staring up at him. But this time he had topped himself.
“You want me gone? Fine, I’m leaving,” she snapped, glaring at him. “But not to Seven Hills with Prentor! I’ll make my own way in life if I must, but I won’t marry a man before I have my first ripening when I’m sure he’s right for me!”
Pinchu threw up his hands in a dramatic gesture.
“Fine—go! Why should I care if you ruin your life? I was just trying to help you.”
“No, you were just trying to get rid of me and if Mother and Father could see you now they would weep for your selfishness!” Makenna snapped back. “Oh, and if you think Trenda of Green Folds can cook for you as well as I can, then I have news for you—I have it on good authority that she burns everything she touches and can’t even boil water. So I wish you the joy of her and the farm—I’m leaving.”
Her brother’s dark eyes—the same shade as her own—had widened and he had opened his mouth to protest—to defend his indefensible actions. But Makenna didn’t stay to listen. She whirled around and stalked off, not sure where she was going, and not really caring either—too angry to do anything but run away from where she wasn’t wanted.
Eventually her feet took her into town where she met a nice young peddler, who claimed to be traveling all over the area. He had a wagon full of goods and he filled Makenna’s head with tales of a bakery two towns over that had need of an assistant.
“For the owner’s daughter died not long after her first ripening, and now the poor dear lady has no one to help her bake the bread and the tullew rolls every morning,” he said, his brown eyes filled with melting sincerity. “She begged me to look out for a likely young woman who could help—said she’d be more than willing to give room and board and a generous salary into the bargain. I promised I’d be looking but so far I haven’t found a single girl that wants to move away from home.” He cocked his head to one side, looking at Makenna speculatively. “Say, can you bake bread?”
Makenna assured him that she could—she’d grown up baking at her mother’s side and her morning tullew rolls were second to none.
“Why, you might just be the one for the poor old baker lady!” the peddler exclaimed. He frowned. “Oh, but would you even want to come? You’ve probably already had your first ripening and you’re just about to settle down in your own town, just like all the other girls I’ve met.”
Blushing, Makenna had admitted she hadn’t gone through her first ripening yet.
“But I’m just about to,” she told him eagerly. “And I’m sure I could find someone to settle down with in that town.”
“You’d have many more to choose from,” the peddler said. “And I’m sure you’d find someone who was eagerly waiting just for you.”
Later, when she was tied to the wooden table, with the huge Trollox, Biter, leering at her as Frogu shoved the first spreader between her thighs, she had cause to remember those words and bitterly regret her blithe decision to follow the peddler into his wagon. What a fool she had been!
But in her defense, the people of her planet were mostly simple and honest—a girl didn’t usually have to fear for her safety. And they didn’t even know about spaceflight or that there were other people out there—many, many different kinds of people. So how could she have known that the peddler was actually a Grouthian slaver in disguise?
