We follow without question, falling in line behind her as she enters the cathedral. My eyes scan the inside of the building, and while I can tell it was probably a Catholic Church at some point—we’re one of those families that only attends Mass on major holidays—it’s clearly been converted into something else. There are no crosses. No statues of Mary or Jesus. No symbols of religion anywhere.
The main room, which I imagine was the sanctuary, is lined with twin beds, all made up the same way with a pillow and those scratchy wool blankets every grandma seems to own. Two sets of white clothes and a pair of one-inch heels sit on each of the beds—a plain nightgown and a dress in the same style as the older woman’s. It all looks formal and uncomfortable, like the kind of clothes you would wear to church.
She gestures to the beds, and we all hurry to claim one, each of us standing at the foot of our chosen mattress. Once we’re all in position, she walks down the aisle with her hands clasped behind her back, thecloppingsound of her heels reminding me of horseshoes on a cobblestone street. “Please number yourselves off, starting with one.” She points to the girl near the closest bed, whose voice shakes as she starts the process.
I’m assigned number ten.
Only once we all have our numbers does the woman speak again. “While you are here, these numbers will be your identity. If you are heard using your given name, you will be punished.”
Some whispering breaks out, but the side conversations are quickly squashed with one stern look.
“You may address me as Headmistress. Here atthe Brotherhood’s Institute for Girls, you will learn what’s expected of you as young women, andeventually, as wives.”
I wrap my arms around myself, holding back tears. I’m among the youngest of the girls here, but surely even the teenagers are too young to becomewives.
One of the older girls speaks up. “This is bullshit.” Another girl—her sister, maybe—tries to shush her, but she just lifts her chin higher in defiance. Her bravery is admirable, even if her outburst makes my stomach knot with anxiety.
Headmistress approaches the girl, looking down her nose. “Who are you?”
The girl sneers, shaking with anger. “Jane—”
A sharp crack echoes off the stone walls, and I cover my mouth with my hand as I realize she slapped the girl. “Who are you?” she asks again.
The strike to her cheek seems to have shocked the girl. She blinks rapidly to hold back the tears that flooded her eyes, but she answers nonetheless. “Seventeen.”
The headmistress smiles. “That’s right.” She strolls down the aisle once again. “Right now, you are spoiled, insolent girls. You arenothing.” Her declaration hangs in the air. “My job is to make you intosomething. You will live here—at the Institute—until we decide you are ready to fulfill your ultimate purpose as a wife and a mother.”
This time, the room remains silent, despite the shocking statement.
She continues. “Your instruction will include basic life-skills as well as the five main tenets you will live by as a woman.”
At the front of the room, she writes on a chalkboard in flowing, cursive penmanship.
1. Submission is love.
2. Be eager to serve.
3. Obey without question.
4. A woman’s highest calling is to bear her husband children.
5. A woman’s body is not her own.
She turns back to us. “These statues will be the foundational pillars of your lives. Memorize them, and they will serve you well. Ignore them, and, well… let’s just say there are plenty of roles for women that are less desirable than that of a wife.”
I study the board, committing the tenets to memory. I’ve always excelled in school, and I don’t see a reason to stop trying now. If anything, it seems my participation and performance are more important than ever if I want to avoid getting in trouble.
My mother’s words echo in my mind once again.Do as you’re told. Don’t fight.
When no one voices any objection, she claps her hands together once, appearing pleased. “Excellent. You may change into the clothes provided to you, and then we will take a tour of the grounds.”
We’re afforded no privacy—from the headmistress or each other—as we change into the identical dresses, but none of us seem to care about our nakedness when our entire lives have just been turned upside down. I’m in desperate need of a bath—my feet especially arecaked with dirt and the dried blood I walked through last night. Every time I think about it I feel sick.
We discard the clothes we were wearing on our way out of the room. I stare at my favorite pajamas in the pile, wiping a stray tear off my cheek as I say goodbye to my last reminder of home.
We’re shown the gardens, the small barn that houses the chickens and goats, the kitchen and dining hall, the communal bathrooms, and lastly, the classrooms where we all take a seat for our first lesson. I sit in the front row, just as I always have.
The headmistress begins her lecture by writing the same five tenets that were in the main hall on the chalkboard. “The Brotherhood is not so cruel as to remove you from the lives you knew without explaining why.”
