#12 The Red Veil

by C. Sonberg Larson

I spread clotted cream on the scones and lick my fingers.

Mother slaps me. “No man wants a pig as a wife! This suitor is wealthy. You want your mother to be able to stay in her home, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Go change. He’ll be here soon.”

I tiptoe across the gleaming checkered tiles I’d scrubbed earlier, ascend the staircase to my room, and peel off my housedress.

Mother enters. “Raise your arms.” She tugs a clean gown over my head, then arranges my hair. “Act like a lady,” she hisses through gritted teeth.

Lady. I draw in a shallow breath as I recall the doctor’s visit.

“Can you fix her?” Mother had asked.

The doctor regarded me with disdain. “Yes.” He gestured toward the table. “Lie back and open your legs.”

I shrieked when the doctor thrust a cold, sharp object inside of me.

“Shut up! This wouldn’t be happening if you’d behaved like a lady,” he spat.

I cried through the excruciating procedure.

“Was it successful?” Mother asked afterward.

“She will bleed on her wedding night,” he replied.

Mother forbade me to utter a word about the matter. “You don’t want your own mother out on the street, do you?”

“No.”

Who could I tell? No one would believe what Poppa did to me those nights.

The doorbell rings.

Mother races forward, then turns back. “Say exactly what I told you to say.”

I hear my name, descend the stairs, and walk toward the silhouette in the foyer.