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Mary looks at me again, as though she is considering whether or not I might be outgrowing my dress on purpose.

“Well there's one easy way to solve this,” she sniffs. I watch her begin to sew again, her sharp, gleaming needle tracing ovals in the air. It dives back into the fabric then out again, like a bird of prey plucking fish out of the river.

“Do you have an idea, Mary?” Annie scoffs from her seat. She's not even pretending to work. From what I hear, Annie doesn't ever pretend to work.

“Get her through the ceremony. She'll join the others in a marriage… She’ll have her own home. She’ll have a Master. Everything will be done.”

Despite myself, I gasp. The ceremony? Already?

“Ha!” Annie barks. “That's not up to us, Mary, and you know it. Father Daddy and Brother Owen will let us know when it's time to —”

“It's time,” Mary interrupts.

The room goes quiet. Mary keeps sewing while her curly, salt-and-pepper hair falls around her wrinkly cheeks. She doesn't even need to raise her eyes. She knows things. She's been here since the beginning too. She helped write the ceremonies. Some people call her “Mother Mary” behind her back but we don’t have an official “Mother” in the Family. Just a Father.

Everybody starts peeking, watching to see what Mary will say next. Her word is almost law, almost as much a law as something Brother Owen might say. But not quite.

“I'll tell him myself,” she says calmly with a nonchalant shrug. “There's no good reason to delay. She's obviously ready. We can demand it.”

“Oh, we can demand it, can we?” my mother sneers. Her voice is higher than it should be, as though this idea worries her for some reason. I don’t look her way. I’m afraid she’ll see right through me.

“We can. Actually, you could have requested it any time in the last year, Melissa, didn’t you know that?”

Mary stops. She raises her chin and looks directly at my mother who blushes and clamps her lips shut. I don't understand exactly what just happened between them, but apparently my mother doesn't have anything else to say about it.

Mary drops her hand and pets me gently on the knee, careful not to dislodge any bits of vegetable matter filth that's clinging to me currently. When she picks her hand back up, she rubs her fingers together to clean them.

“We'll get you fixed right up, dear,” Mary tells me dotingly, though I realize some of this is contrived as a way to aggravate Mama for some reason. “When you take your place among the women, and then you get a Master like a woman should, then you'll see. You won't have to deal with this sort of strife anymore.”

Is she referring to Seth? Or is she referring to Mama?

“Thank you,” I whisper, because I know I'm supposed to.

“You should go now,” she says in a low voice.

I stand up quickly, knowing that her permission will only last a few seconds before someone else has a chance to object. No one tries to stop me, but I hear little whispers rise up as I move away.

As I push out the door toward the sunlight again, I wonder exactly what this all means. They are going to request a deflowering ceremony? For me? And then… what?

But, I can't worry about what happens after that. All I can think about is what would happen on that day. That beautiful night, where I will be the girl on the floor. Where I will be transformed by our beautiful leaders. Where I will learn the secrets of being a woman, from the most perfect men in the whole world.

I'm thrilled, happy enough to dance. But then I feel it again. My demon. I feel it as though I've just disturbed it from slumber. I feel it lift its head and sniff the air. I feel it in my belly, hot and throbbing, ready to uncoil again.

It's still in me.

Chapter 67

Silas

I find Owen close to the quilting shed, talking with Mary. Even from fifty yards away, I sense that something isn't right. His arms are crossed in front of his chest, while her hands dart frantically in front of her like birds. She appa

rently has a lot to say. It looks like she's making her case by physically shoving it at him.

As I get closer, her gaze flashes toward me. She narrows her eyes menacingly and pauses just for a moment. I see her pause, standing still with her lips slightly open, before returning to launch another assault on Owen.

I don't mind that at all. He can take everything she feels like dishing out, as far as I'm concerned. I've got enough on my plate, that's for certain.

For a moment I consider taking the long way back to my house. Maybe a shower to clear my head. Maybe even finding my old tennis shoes and going for a run. Anything to work out this nervous energy that seems to be lighting me up like an overactive switchboard. Some kind of old-fashioned, outdated machine that has more lights than anybody knows what to do with. It's too much at once.