Thank you to everyone who's been reading the story so far. I've loved reading your comments. This chapter begins at the end of the last one - Laetitia has just overheard Reuben, her rapist, asking her father for her hand in marriage. At the same time as asking for her hand, Reuben suggests her father takes her virginity on her wedding night.
This chapter is a slow burner - more psychological than sexual - but I hope you enjoy it.
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My father could hardly speak. A long moment lasted an eternity.
'Are... are you sure?' He finally mumbled. His voice was a reverent whisper, like a prayer. My heart leapt into my feet.
'Yes, sir. It's the right thing to do. She's your daughter.'
My father looked more moved than I had ever seen him, at the gift of my virginity. A single tear ran down his cheek, which he didn't bother to even brush away.
The two men, my father and my rapist and husband-to-be, locked eyes as though they had never seen each other before, as they sold me to each other, and an unspoken moment passed between them that sent a shiver down my spine.
'You're a true man of God, Reuben.' My father said, chokingly.
Reuben tried to hide his pride, but I could tell, even from my position behind the door, that he was very pleased. It was a real sacrifice he was making. And perhaps more importantly, there was no question that it sealed me as his bride.
'Well, that settles it. I'll marry Laetitia, and when the time comes, you can take her virginity.' My new fiancé said, as though it were nothing, but unable to stop himself from stealing another glimpse at my father's enraptured face.
'Thank you.' My father said humbly.
'So, let's talk some more about the wedding.' Reuben said, brushing the gift off, modestly. 'I was thinking perhaps August the 16th?'
Just two months' time. I looked down at my father's corduroy trousers and saw that familiar bulge. I felt sick to my stomach.
'How about July?' My father suggested. 'There's no need to wait so long, and it would still give the women ample time to make the arrangements.'
'Perfect, sir. July it is.'
'Very good. Laetitia and her mother can find a date in early July, then, and get about inviting the guests and whatever else it is they feel the need to do. You know what women are like.'
It wasn't the kind of comment Reuben found particularly funny, but he laughed anyway.
Sensing the end of the conversation, I crept away to my room before either of the men could discover me. There was still a chance, I told myself, that this wouldn't happen. If I didn't talk about it, I kept the only control I still had left over the situation: my own ability to remember or to suppress. If I kept the knowledge to myself, it could in some tiny way be made less real.
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Uncharacteristically, my father decided not to punish me that night for touching myself. I suppose he had more than enough to think about.
The next day, he barely spoke to me - even though it was a Sunday - and avoided eye contact until dinner. This Sunday, just like every Sunday, we held a family gathering with others in the commune, including two friends of mine. It was always a modest meal, but usually I enjoyed the chance to gather together. Women were of course not permitted to speak unless spoken to, but I enjoyed eating with my friends and laughing together as we cleared the dishes. In the kitchen, we often found some small way to poke fun at the conversation of our fathers, husbands and brothers, as much as we respected them. Today, though, although I tried, I was in no mood to laugh, and my stomach felt hard and angry. I didn't want to put anything in my mouth. Not even food.
After he said thanks, my father stood up and raised his glass.
'I have some excellent news.' He announced. 'Reuben has asked for Laetitia's hand in marriage. And I've accepted.'
The table took a collective breath. I reminded myself to be grateful I'd overheard the men's conversation the night before, or this would have been news to me as well. My mother's face was glowing.
A kinder family friend - a woman - looked over at me with sympathy. 'Did Reuben ask you too?'
I shook my head. She turned back, smiling at my mother but with a sad expression, and I felt a burst of love for this older woman. She had spoken out of turn, and could have been punished for it, but she'd done it anyway. It was more than my mother had done in my life.
My father continued on about Reuben's godliness and accomplishments, and after asking for permission, my friends, both already married to much younger men, leaned over to congratulate me. Their steady, eager faces were full of excitement for me, for the match. Did I think Reuben was handsome? What was he like, out of the prayer room? What did I think our children would look like? How old was he, anyway? Forty? Forty-five? My friends had parents who cared about them and protected them at all costs - even their fathers. I didn't have the heart to tell them that no-one had asked my consent for the match.
In truth, I was scarcely thinking about my marriage to Reuben. The prospect of my father raping me on my wedding night was too overwhelming. It dominated everything.
Surrounded by my friends' good wishes, my father looked over and smiled at me for the first time that day. It was a look of pure love. I smiled back, able at once to remember the conversation I'd overheard and to momentarily dismiss it as a dream.
It was better to live that way, as much as I could.
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After dinner, my father finally summoned me to his room. I went in with a sense of doom. I doubted he would reveal the plan to rape me, as he hated awkwardness, and I knew he also wouldn't rape me tonight - he respected Reuben too much for that. But the prospect of seeing him, being alone with him, was almost unbearable, knowing what was to come in less than a month.
He sat down on his bed, his legs wide apart, and motioned for me to stand in front of him.
'So, Laetitia, you're to be married. Finally.'
'Yes, father.'
He smiled. 'He's a good match.'
I was silent. He straightened himself and assumed the voice he used when he taught in church. All the men preached, and it was my duty as a woman to listen to whatever they said, asking questions only afterwards, at home, in accordance with 1 Corinthians. I'd never particularly liked my father's sermons. But he was my father. His words were important.
'Now it's very important - and your mother will tell you this too - it's very important that you're obedient to your husband, Laetitia. Do you understand?'
'Yes, sir.' I already understood too well.
'If he tells you to do something, you must never question his authority. He will be your head, and he's a man of considerable learning, Titia. God has given him to you to serve him in all things. And I'll be extremely disappointed in you if I hear he's ever unhappy with you.'
