Page 17 of Bartholomew
Only the Reverend, Elder Temple, and my new husband remained.
“Father, Reverend Jacob, might I be allowed a few moments alone with my new bride?” Bartholomew ventured, surprising me and both of the other men in the room if their looks were anything to go by.
“That is highly unorthodox, son,” Elder Temple stated, and I could hear the thinly veiled warning in his tone. It was a tone I had heard often from my own father.
“Yes, but I would like to have an exception made, just this once,” he pushed again.
“What is your reasoning, young Temple?” the Reverend asked, his arms folded across his chest.
“I feel I need a few moments with my new bride to make sure she is looking the best she possibly can before we greet our guests. Could I be allowed this favor?” The words stung, but they did not surprise me.
“Of course. Titus, let us head to the fellowship hall and see if there are any of your wife’s fine cookies left! They get snatched up quicker and quicker at each gathering!” The Reverend chuckled as both men left the room. Leaving only Bartholomew and myself there.
I righted my skirt, keeping my eyes down, unable to look at him.
I could feel him, though. There in the room. Taking up space like it was nothing. What it must feel like to take up space and not feel shamed for it.
“Delilah?” His voice crackled, like he hadn’t spoken for hours.
“Yes, husband,” I dutifully replied.
“Are you okay?” There was that pain in his voice, the sound matching the look in his eyes as he had thrust within me over and over to completion.
Don’t show emotion. Don’t show them anything.
I shook the thoughts from my head, plastering on the perfect daughter of Zion smile I had mastered years and years before.
“Of course. I look forward to greeting our guests. How shall I make myself more presentable and more acceptable in your eyes, husband?” My voice did not even sound like my own.
“You look lovely, Delilah. I’m not worried about that,” he brushed off, taking each of my hands in his own.
“But you just said —”
“I know what I said, and it worked. It gave us a few minutes alone. Now, I mean it. Are you okay?”
The worry lacing his voice set me on edge. On the edge of simply collapsing from the entire emotional whirlwind this day had been. I looked around. I looked at the poor excuse of a mattress I now sat upon.
How many women had gone through the same as I just had? All in the name of God?
How many women had felt what I had just felt?
My thoughts went to Hannah, and I felt the bile gurgle in my stomach. How many girls?
I couldn’t let myself think about it even a moment longer.
I needed to get out of that room. I needed to get away from the things that were just done.
“What do you need? What can I do?” Bartholomew’s words were beyond any kindness I could have hoped to expect today. And they were too much. His kindness threatened to shake loose the tightly held control that already felt as though it were slipping from the tips of my fingers.
“Let us get to our guests. If I meet with your approval, I will not want to keep them waiting any longer,” I spoke firmly, making sure that smile was once again affixed to my face.
On the surface, I made sure my expression read Happily Married Woman.
Underneath it all, I was screaming, Get me out of here!
He looked at me for another long moment, trying to read me, but I was better than that. I had to be with my four younger sisters. Not to mention my parents. I had become a master at the masquerade that was life in Zion.
Finally, he nodded his head. Offering me a hand, he led me gently from the room of horrors and I vowed to never look back.
