Page 2 of Ceremony of Lust

The topic of my mother is off-limits. I don’t know much about her, only the rumors I’ve heard in town. Whenever I’ve asked my grandmother for the truth, she brushes me aside. If I press her, she’s likely to get angry.

“We do not talk about your mother in this house,” she responds curtly. My grandmother finishes the braid and taps my shoulder. Her eyes slowly scan my face when I turn, and for a second, hope flashes in them. Her mouth opens, making me wonder if she’ll finally tell me about my mother but she closes her mouth with a click of her teeth.

“You need to go, Yael. You’re already late, and Hadassah will be angry.”

* * *

Hadassah Brooks is wearinga scowl and an emerald green turban when I arrive at her lavish townhouse. She leads me down a long hallway with stark white walls and a shiny parquet floor. Golden chandeliers hang above us as I follow her into a sitting room at the back of the house. We’re supposed to live modestly yet, because of Hadassah’s privileged role in our society, she is able to live extravagantly.

“You’re late,” she scolds me.

“I forgot.”

Her brown eyes bulge. “How could you forget your eighteenth birthday?”

“It’s easy.” I shrug. “I don’t want to get married.”

Her eyes narrow to tiny slits. “You don’t want to get married? Do you know what this community has sacrificed to preserve our way of life?”

I roll my eyes because I’ve heard some version of “the sacrifices of Ripley” my entire life.

Many years ago, the first families who settled in Ripley left their homes in Eastern Europe, carrying whatever they could, whatever was not taken from them. There was a rebellion in the country, targeting the rich. The government passed laws restricting their wealth. Fortunes were seized, and families joined together. The son of one family married the daughter of another, preserving their riches and treasures, and then they fled to the United States, eventually establishing the town of Ripley. As more families arrived, more sons married more daughters, guaranteeing future prosperity.

“Maybe it’s not worth the sacrifice,” I answer. “Most girls my age don’t get married. They go to college.”

“Do you want to go to college, Yael?”

“I don’t know. It’s not like I could even get into college.”

Today is the end of my formal education. In Ripley, girls aren’t prepared for a life outside of cooking, cleaning, giving birth, and making their husbands happy. In Ripley, the boys are allowed four years of freedom and can go to college if they wish. They are allowed to learn about the world while the girls are molded into nothing more than perfect servants.

“What do you want to learn that we don’t teach you here?”

“I want to learn about life outside of Ripley. History, art, and literature. I want to learn how to be my husband’s equal, his partner, not just his slave.”

Hadassah’s brown eyes widen. “The women of Ripley aren’t slaves!”

“I’m sorry,” I mutter.

She hums and crosses her arms. Deliberately, she circles me, studying me with careful, discerning eyes. “You will be a challenge. Who will you be matched with?”

“Don’t you know already?”

“Know? No, I don’t know which poor man will become your husband. When you leave, I will go into seclusion and remain there until your ceremony. I will pray nonstop, asking for guidance, and to be shown the face of the man you will marry.”

“But what if I don’t love him?”

She laughs. “Love? What matters is that he be able to provide for you. Will you be able to give him a family?” She circles me again, humming and murmuring. “You must spend the entire day preparing yourself. You need to be the perfect present for your future husband.”

One finger brushes against my jaw. “Whoever he is, Yael, he’s been waiting a long time for you. You’re quite pretty, but these thoughts you have? They will prove a challenge to your husband. Rid your mind of every single doubt. Give in to Ripley’s traditions and accept your fate.”

Not every tradition is meant to last. Seven days after I am matched, I will be married because it’s tradition. According to our beliefs, how I feel about my husband-to-be doesn’t matter because there’s no place for it. Will I love him or hate him? Will he treat me with respect or with cruelty? It doesn’t matter because our custom dictates the rest of my life. My chin quivers slightly, but I blink away every unshed tear.

I was born in Ripley. I grew up in Ripley, and now I must obey the laws governing Ripley.

I swallow the hard lump in my throat, and Hadassah takes my silence as acquiescence.

Accept my fate? Never.