creak that usually made the mice shuffle about, scampering back to their homes and announced to everyone the one time I’d snuck downstairs to grab a piece of bread to subdue my gurgling stomach.
“That’s her .”
The vision of my face was so grotesque that even my own father thought I didn’t warrant a name.
“Your name?” The tall gentleman took a step forward, his face coming into the light of the fire. A strong-looking jaw worked back and forth as I stuttered out my name and something akin to ‘pleased to meet you’. He was easily five inches taller than me and as he got closer, his shadow made an umbrella over mine. I shrunk back, frightened and intrigued at the sight of him. His eyes matched the color of the smoke that billowed in every chimney in the village. They bore into me as the hint of a sideways smile began, but never took shape. Surely, this whole scenario was in jest. A man of his degree of handsome would never stoop to a betrothal with me. It must’ve been one of my sisters’ idea of a sick bit of comedy.
“Delilah. A lovely name. Can you cook?”
A dastardly question if there ever was one. My mouth opened, but my father interjected before my tongue could conjure a proper response. The man’s stare was still locked with mine and I could hardly work up a thought, much less a word. “She can cook, clean, wash the clothes and we are confident all your other needs will be met.”
My belly soured hearing my father speak of me as though I was a sow in heat. It wasn’t the first time my father had been unabashedly lewd and revolting when boasting of my wifely skills. Bile rose in my throat and by instinct I turned away from the whole scenario. The gentleman, who stood stoic, would soon be disappointed if he believed one word my father said.
“Excellent. If Delilah would have me, we would be married in the morning.”
My knees buckled. I barely caught myself on the wobbly bannister of the stairs behind me before I slumped onto the filthy floor. Father had barely taken three puffs of his cigar and a proposal was made. What nonsensical man does that?
My father smiled, revealing teeth dotted with tobacco pith. “She’ll have you. Would you like to eat with us tonight?”
I didn’t see the point in prepping me for instant acceptance of any proposal if they were just going to answer for me.
“I’d be honored. Thank you.”
At once, my mother scuttled into the kitchen, with a firm grip on my skirt, dragging me along. My head was swimming with prospects and at that point, none of them were good. Her dusky apron was tied around her waist as she planned with a finger pointed at me.
“We’ll make chicken and roasted vegetables. That’s sure to warm his belly and keep him satisfied.”
With jerky movements, I wrenched the carrots, turnips, and potatoes from their bins. God forbid my parents actually offer me a congratulations or at least something close to it. A relief warmed my chest as I chopped up the meal’s accompanying vegetables. This was it. Answering a couple of questions and cooking a meal was the price of my freedom. I sent up a silent prayer that I wasn’t trading the devilish duo for Beelzebub himself.
My intelligence wasn’t needed after all, which frightened me more than it should’ve.
Maybe all that was expected of me would be obedience.
Obedience I could handle.
Just as it came, the relief faded and was replaced by skepticism—a gnawing that curled my insides and made me pop my head into the living room more than once to verify the truth of his presence. He’d seen my face, I knew that. Yet, not a word was said about it and no mention of anything else was muttered.
Something beneath the surface must be wrong with this man.
While I allowed doubting thoughts to meander through my mind, I watched my mother prep the chicken to be roasted. She’d never allowed me into the kitchen and so, the boasting of my cooking skills was dishonest at best.
I hoped there was a
“That’s her .”
The vision of my face was so grotesque that even my own father thought I didn’t warrant a name.
“Your name?” The tall gentleman took a step forward, his face coming into the light of the fire. A strong-looking jaw worked back and forth as I stuttered out my name and something akin to ‘pleased to meet you’. He was easily five inches taller than me and as he got closer, his shadow made an umbrella over mine. I shrunk back, frightened and intrigued at the sight of him. His eyes matched the color of the smoke that billowed in every chimney in the village. They bore into me as the hint of a sideways smile began, but never took shape. Surely, this whole scenario was in jest. A man of his degree of handsome would never stoop to a betrothal with me. It must’ve been one of my sisters’ idea of a sick bit of comedy.
“Delilah. A lovely name. Can you cook?”
A dastardly question if there ever was one. My mouth opened, but my father interjected before my tongue could conjure a proper response. The man’s stare was still locked with mine and I could hardly work up a thought, much less a word. “She can cook, clean, wash the clothes and we are confident all your other needs will be met.”
My belly soured hearing my father speak of me as though I was a sow in heat. It wasn’t the first time my father had been unabashedly lewd and revolting when boasting of my wifely skills. Bile rose in my throat and by instinct I turned away from the whole scenario. The gentleman, who stood stoic, would soon be disappointed if he believed one word my father said.
“Excellent. If Delilah would have me, we would be married in the morning.”
My knees buckled. I barely caught myself on the wobbly bannister of the stairs behind me before I slumped onto the filthy floor. Father had barely taken three puffs of his cigar and a proposal was made. What nonsensical man does that?
My father smiled, revealing teeth dotted with tobacco pith. “She’ll have you. Would you like to eat with us tonight?”
I didn’t see the point in prepping me for instant acceptance of any proposal if they were just going to answer for me.
“I’d be honored. Thank you.”
At once, my mother scuttled into the kitchen, with a firm grip on my skirt, dragging me along. My head was swimming with prospects and at that point, none of them were good. Her dusky apron was tied around her waist as she planned with a finger pointed at me.
“We’ll make chicken and roasted vegetables. That’s sure to warm his belly and keep him satisfied.”
With jerky movements, I wrenched the carrots, turnips, and potatoes from their bins. God forbid my parents actually offer me a congratulations or at least something close to it. A relief warmed my chest as I chopped up the meal’s accompanying vegetables. This was it. Answering a couple of questions and cooking a meal was the price of my freedom. I sent up a silent prayer that I wasn’t trading the devilish duo for Beelzebub himself.
My intelligence wasn’t needed after all, which frightened me more than it should’ve.
Maybe all that was expected of me would be obedience.
Obedience I could handle.
Just as it came, the relief faded and was replaced by skepticism—a gnawing that curled my insides and made me pop my head into the living room more than once to verify the truth of his presence. He’d seen my face, I knew that. Yet, not a word was said about it and no mention of anything else was muttered.
Something beneath the surface must be wrong with this man.
While I allowed doubting thoughts to meander through my mind, I watched my mother prep the chicken to be roasted. She’d never allowed me into the kitchen and so, the boasting of my cooking skills was dishonest at best.
I hoped there was a
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