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"What do you want?" I asked.
"Take off your clothes and come stand here by me in the light," she ordered. She folded her arms under her small bosom and threw back her shoulders, her head high and arrogant again.
Slowly, reluctantly, I peeled off my coat and began to unbutton my blouse.
"I told you, I have many other things to do tonight," she snapped. "Can't you move any faster?"
"My fingers are cold," I said.
"Humph." She stepped forward and pulled my fingers away from my buttons roughly. Then she began to take off my clothing herself. She nearly skinned my arms when she unfastened my bra and drew the straps over my shoulders and down past my elbows. After she undid my skirt, she gave me a small push so I would step out of it. I stood before her in the pale glow of the kerosene lamps, my arms crossed over my naked breasts, shivering. All I wore were my panties and boots and socks.
Miss Emily circled me slowly, squeezing her narrow chin between her thumb and forefinger. As she drew closer, I saw the pockmarks in her cheeks and in her forehead. It looked like someone had taken sandpaper to her skin; it was that dry. Her eyebrows were thick and untrimmed and she had small dark hairs growing freely above her upper lip.
Suddenly, when she stood behind me, I felt her frosty, callous fingers on my sides. I started to move forward, but she pressed harder to hold me in pla
ce. I moaned in pain.
"Stand still," she commanded. She widened her hands so that they stretched around toward my belly button. Her cold, bony fingers felt more like wires. She continued to press and squeeze, which was starting to make me nauseous. I gathered she was measuring the size of my stomach. Then she pulled her hands away and came around in front of me.
Without speaking, she seized my wrists and pulled my arms from my bosom, holding them up as she gazed freely at my breasts. I saw her steel-gray eyes narrow as she leaned toward me to look closer. She nodded and released her hold on my wrists. Instinctively, my arms fluttered like broken bird wings and I brought my hands to my throat, pressing one on top of the other as I stared into Miss Emily's hard face.
This close her features looked chiseled from stone, the nose cut sharply, her thin lips sliced across a granite visage. A chilling shiver raced down my spine, making me want to run and hide.
"Take off those ridiculous underpants," she commanded. I knew she was referring to the lace trim.
"I'm cold," I complained.
"The longer you procrastinate, the longer it takes and the longer you remain naked."
Reluctantly, too tired and weak to offer any resistance, I did as she commanded. She told me to lie down on my back and then she brought the kerosene lamp to the foot of the bed so the light fell over my naked body. She took my ankles firmly in those strong hands and pulled my legs apart. I closed my eyes and prayed for the examination to end quickly.
"As I expected, it will be a hard birth," she declared. "The first birthing is always the hardest, but when you're young, it's even harder."
"You know why that is?" she asked, dropping my feet and stepping up to the side of the bed so she could gaze down at me. I shook my head. "It's because of Eve's sin in Paradise. Because of that all women have been cursed with the pain of labor. You will pay dearly for your fleeting moments of iniquitous pleasure."
She lifted the kerosene lamp high and held it above me. With her face so fully bathed in the light, it looked like it, too, was on fire. Her eyes blazed down. I had to shield my eyes.
"And when you conceive out of wedlock," she continued, "that pain and labor is even more horrendous."
"I don't care," I cried. "I'm not afraid."
She nodded and then those pencil-thin lips curled up at the corners as she slowly lowered the light.
"We'll see how brave you are when your time comes, Eugenia," she spat.
"Don't call me Eugenia. My name is Dawn." She stopped smiling.
"Put on your gown and get to bed," she ordered. "We're wasting kerosene. I'll return with your hot water bottle."
She gathered my clothing quickly.
"What are you doing with my clothes? Those things are all I have .right now."
"They have to be washed, purified. Don't worry, I'll keep them safely for you," she said, rolling everything into one ball within her embrace.
"But . . . I want my things. We've got to find out about my things," I demanded.
"Oh stop whining," she snapped, eyes blazing furiously. "You're just like all the other young girls today . . . I want; I want; I want! Well look at what your I want has done for you," she spat. "Put on your gown," she repeated and turned and started out.
