She gave me a surprised look. "Home?"
I nodded. "Yours, this time. I think I'm spending the night..." I could feel my cheeks heating up. "And I suddenly feel like heading to bed early. You know, to celebrate."
There, in the middle of the road, Lessa stopped me and turned me to face her. "Meri... Are you sure?"
"I was married, Lessa," I groaned. "I know the worst things that can happen, but it's never like that with you. I want to see the best. I want to be alone with you to try it, so I'm not embarrassed."
"It?" she asked. "No, I don't..."
"Not sex," I assured her. "But, you know..." And I caught her hand. "Maybe more kissing?"
"Lots more kissing," she agreed, spinning me so she could wrap her arms around my body and press her chest up against my back. Then she guided me forward, leaning in to say beside my ear, "And talking, and smiling, and even some touching?"
I glanced back. "Maybe even sharing that bed of yours all night?"
"That," she whispered against my neck, "is a very good way to celebrate. I think you picked the perfect sign, Meri. You move a lot faster than I expect, but I like it. A lot."
"Me too," I breathed, pulling her arms tighter around me. "I keep waiting to wake up."
"Nope, this is real," she promised. "This is the life you actually deserve."
Seventy-One
Callah
Most of our "brave hunters" had made it back from the last hunt alive. There had been some injuries, but far fewer than expected. So many of them had been animal bites, although Mrs. Worthington and I didn't bother using ethanol on those. Simple soap and water would do, and if they became infected, then that was God's will.
Yet when the men became frustrated, the wives were the ones suffering. I'd seen more cuts, bruises, and broken bones lately than I had in a while. Most of them happened because we women were no longer ignoring the injustices, which meant my supplies were much lower than I liked.
So after lunch, I headed to the infirmary to get a few more things. Mrs. Worthington had made it clear I could, although it still felt weird to just walk in and ask. But when I stepped into the infirmary, the head of healing was there, bent over a young girl with a gash on her brow.
She heard me and looked up. "Callah?"
"I'm low on supplies," I admitted sheepishly, feeling like I should be embarrassed about it.
Mrs. Worthington gestured to the storage cabinets. "Take what you need. Next time, bring a basket."
But the girl she was treating flinched hard and whimpered, "Ow!"
"Breathe," I suggested. "Long, slow breaths. Focus on the air moving, not the pinch of the needle. It does help."
"What would help more is if the men hit a little less hard," Mrs. Worthington grumbled.
"I didn't even do it!" the girl insisted. "Juras said I did, but he was the one - and I still got punished."
"That's the way things are for women," Mrs. Worthington said softly, soothingly. "It is better to offer an apology in innocence than risk punishment for your pride."
"No, it's not," I grumbled under my breath.
"It hurts less," Mrs. Worthington corrected, changing her stance and proving she'd heard me. "It's also easier."
I opened the cabinet and began stacking up the things I'd need. "It's a trade-off, girl. Being meek, subservient, and obedient will spare you the pain, but it will destroy the self. Every woman has to make that decision. Does she suffer one way or the other? Only you can know which is right for you."
"But the punishment hurts!" the girl whimpered, gripping the arms of the chair she was in too hard, proving she was struggling not to flinch again. "Is there a trick?"
"I don't know one besides breathing," I admitted, "and someone else told it to me. I couldn't take the pain, so I smothered my pride."
"Most of us have," Mrs. Worthington admitted. "We give and we give until there's nothing left to offer. The lives of women are short ones, and rarely glorious."
