kind man. One who loved everybody, much like her goddess. When she brought that up – not about the goddess, but that Jesus was kind – her preacher yelled at her for insolence.
Her father had left the punishment up to the preacher since the man was the shepherd of their little town. Rhi hated them both. Hated her father for taking her away from their home after her mother died. Hated him for allowing his mother to tell him how to raise Rhi. Hated the preacher for keeping Rhi from having friends. For keeping her away from the plants. Away from anything resembling normalcy. Rhi had gone from a loving home where she and her mom tended the gardens daily, laughing and enjoying life to the fullest, to one where she wasn’t allowed to speak to anyone other than the other girls who lived in the small community. Instead of going to public school with hundreds of kids her age, Rhi sat in a classroom with forty kids of varying ages.
“Ow,” Rhi hissed to herself when the older woman standing next to her pinched her arm. Rhi glared daggers at her father’s new wife. Well, she wasn’t new; they’d been married for years.
Marion wasn’t supposed to be there. This morning’s sermon was for the single women. Single men had already heard their daily lesson, and couples would hear their lecture next.
“Anna, you need to pay attention,” Marion scolded, using the name the preacher insisted upon because it sounded more biblical and less worldly. Rhiannon loved her name. She’d been given it by her mom who loved old rock ’n’ roll music. Another thing they had shared a love for. While kids her age listened to the newest hits, Rhi had loved singing along with her mother to the older stuff.
Rhi looked around. The other single women had already left the church, which explained why Marion was there. Rhi had been lost in her head again. Without a word to her father’s wife, Rhi stood and strode out of the building and over to the dining hall. Her stomach rumbled, but she wouldn’t get to eat for a while. Not until the others had been fed. She hated her job of washing dishes. Another punishment for being different. For being difficult, as the preacher put it. She hated her life. Nothing about it was hers.
Martha scowled at Rhi as she did every time Rhi was even a minute late. Rhi ignored the older woman and got busy cleaning the dishes from the couples’ meal. Every day was the same. Get up. Shower. Head to the dining hall for breakfast, then clean the dishes. Go to church. Go back to the dining hall. Clean more dishes. Eat quickly so she could clean even more dirty plates and utensils. Rhi’s hands had long ago gone from smooth to a wrinkled mess. Hands that were no longer allowed to feel the softness of flower petals or the silkiness of leaves or the soothing richness of soil as she tended to the plants that had once filled her life with happiness.
Normally, Rhiannon rushed through her job so she could get back to the quiet of her little cabin. Once she finished with the noon meal, she had a couple hours’ free time where she enjoyed her solitude. The two women who shared the cabin had jobs that kept them away all day, and for that, Rhi was thankful. Today, though, she had been summoned to the preacher’s home. She spent her two hours of solitude dreading the upcoming session. Couples who came to the town already married were allowed to live together. Single men and women weren’t permitted to be together without a chaperone, and that happened to be the preacher. Rhi had caught the eye of a man named James. An older man whom Rhi had no interest in. But that didn’t matter. Women in their community had no say in anything. Everything was dictated by the men, overseen by the preacher. Another reason she hated him.
Instead of a smaller cabin like the rest of the residents had, the preacher’s home was a three-bedroom house which sat back away from everything in their town. Rhi dragged her feet as she walked through the trees. Rhi couldn’t stop and enjoy the greenery. She wasn’t allowed to commune with nature, and that was the one thing that had killed her soul soon after being taken from her home. A guard was two steps behind, always accompanying