Obediently, she folds her hands in front of her body and stands straight. “Okay.”
I leave her there and hurry upstairs to what’s now my room. The guys had all my belongings moved here—at least what remained in my old dorm room that I hadn’t taken with me in my haste to leave with my parents—and so I go to the closet. I select a couple of dresses, then go to the bathroom to grab Daisy a new toothbrush, some toothpaste, a hairbrush, and a couple of hair ties. It’s not much, but it’ll do.
I carry the items back down to her. She’s still standing in the same position I left her in.
“These are for you.” I lay the items out on the bed.
Her lips part and she shakes her head. “Oh, no. I couldn’t possibly accept them.”
“Of course you can. Come on, let’s get you changed out of that dirty dress.”
I make sure the door is firmly shut, so there’s no chance of any of the men walking by and seeing in, and then I unzip the back of Daisy’s awful maroon dress. The item of clothing stirs up so many memories in me. All the women at the commune are told to dress the same, in this identical item, which covers everything from the throat to the ankles to the wrists. The material is thick and scratchy, and even in the height of summer, when we’re all sweating beneath it, we were never given an option of something more comfortable to wear. The men inthe commune wear the same color, too, but they’re allowed to display their legs, and arms, and even bare chests, if they so choose. It’s always one rule for men and another for women.
Daisy has a slip underneath the maroon horror, and I know better than to ask her to remove it. Her modesty wouldn’t let her.
“Let’s try this one,” I say, choosing a dark blue dress with a long skirt and capped sleeves.
It’s got enough coverage to still be modest, and the color isn’t garish. I slip it over her head and help her get her arms through the holes—as though she’s a young child instead of being almost grown. I settle the cloth over her body and straighten the neckline.
“There.” I turn Daisy around so she’s facing the full-length mirror in the corner.
She claps a hand to her mouth. “Oh my!”
The dress is a little too fitted on her because I’m so small, but it looks good.Shelooks good—like a regular member of society. I reach to the bun at the back of her head and pluck out the pins until her straight brown hair—so long it reaches her bum—flows down her back and across her shoulders.
I stand behind her, my hands on her shoulders, and meet her gaze in the mirror. “You look so beautiful,” I tell her.
She bites the inside of her cheek. “Vanity is a sin, Ophelia.”
“You’re allowed to feel pretty, Daisy. Feeling good about yourself isn’t a sin. It’s just something we’ve been told to undermine our confidence and make us easier to control.”
She fingers the skirt of the dress. “The material is so soft.”
“It’s a cotton blend. You can keep it.”
Her eyes fill with tears. “What about when I go back to the commune?”
I shake my head. “Once my men are done with the Prophet, there will be no more commune, or at least not one with theProphet at its head. You’ll be free to wear whatever you want, okay?”
I hope that’s the truth. I don’t want to think about how it’ll be far more likely that another elder of the commune will simply decide to step into the Prophet’s shoes and continue his work. Earlier, Malachi said that if you cut the head off a snake, the rest it will die. But perhaps the cult is more like a lizard, and the Prophet is its tail. If we cut it off, another one will simply grow back to replenish the beast.
“You can sleep in here,” I tell her. “And the bathroom is right across the hall.”
“Where will you sleep?” she asks.
I clear my throat. “I have a bedroom upstairs.”
She hesitates then says, “Ophelia, I’m sorry if this is an awkward question, but what’s going on with you and those three men? I guess it seems like … I got a feeling like it’s the way it is with the Prophet and his wives.” She frowns and gives a tiny shake of her head. “But it can’t be, right?”
I didn’t want to have this conversation, but I guess I’d known it was coming. “We’re in a relationship, you’re correct.”
“What do you mean? In what way?”
I am literally going to have to spell it out for her. My cheeks burn like someone has set me on fire from the inside. “I’m sleeping with all three of them, Daisy. But it’s special. We love each other.”
“You can’t be sleeping with all of them.” Her face has paled.
I grimace. “Well, I can, and I am.”
