She eyes me up and down. “We need to get you cleaned up and into better clothes. What you’ve got on will need to be burned.”
I’m wearing jeans and a loose long-sleeved T-shirt. And it really pisses me off that I’ll have to lose these good clothes because of these people’s ridiculous, irrational beliefs about women’s modesty.
“Of course! Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”
It’stricky to keep my knife hidden. I’m taken to a large communal washroom and told to strip and shower in one of the stalls.
There is a curtain, so that’s my only saving grace. I take my clothes off, blocking my ankle with the pile of my clothes as I unstrap my knife holster and then tucking it under my towel as I hand my clothes out to Mary, who’s standing right outside.
She gives me one of those shapeless sack dresses to put on.
I shower and clean myself thoroughly since those were my instructions. I would have enjoyed the shower—the water comes out in a satisfying spray and is actually lukewarm—had I not been in such crisis mode.
After drying off with a towel, I make my knife holster strap wider so I can secure it above one of my calves and then pull on the baggy dress.
It falls to my ankles. There’s no way anyone is going to see that knife.
I braid my hair the way I saw some of the other women before I come out to rejoin Mary.
She eyes me up and down. “Very good. They said you’re a virgin?”
“I am. I was saving myself for marriage. Then, after Impact, Daddy kept me safe, but he died a couple of days ago. So I came here.”
“You did right. You’ll be safe here. And, if you behave yourself, you can make a good marriage. You’re pretty and healthy. You’ll do just fine.”
“Thank you.”
It’s really, really hard not to convey my disgust, but I must manage it because Mary doesn’t appear suspicious.
Just stern.
But evidently that’s her normal expression.
“Come on then, young lady. I’ll show you around and tell you the rules.”
The rules are basicallywe’re not allowed to do anything we’re not told to do and we’re to keep quiet unless someone asks us a question.
The Training House is made up of a large bunk room and a large kitchen and designated spaces for learning a range of domestic work.
Far more domestic work than would be required for maintaining a single household.
It’s quickly apparent that women are responsible for manufacturing most of the products used in the compound. Not just clothes and bedding. But also all the pottery, leatherwork, carpentry, and most of the agriculture.
The men only work construction and with the larger farm animals—plus keeping guard.
And all the preaching, of course.
I suspected it before, but now I know it for sure.
This entire community is built on the backs of women, many of them captured or trapped.
I go through the motions, not saying a word as I take the tour and obediently chop mountains of onions and peppers for dinner prep.
I keep my eye out for Burgundy but don’t see her for a few hours.
There are clearly levels of women in the Training House. New or rebellious ones are at the bottom. Then those who have progressed in their chores and attitudes move up. Then those who are good at everything and fully submissive are at the top. Those are the ones who will soon become wives.
Not only to elders, like the stories I heard said. Only the cream of the crop gets to marry elders. The rest are chosen by other men in the community.
