Page 27 of Longing for Liberty
Kathy grabbed my wrists and leaned across the counter. “Would you have one of the younger girls in there again? Hm?”
A new sensation came over me when she said that. Was I to believe he didn’t sleep with his other maids and was behaving badly just for me? That was laughable, though he seemed so sincere. But if he was a really good liar, and I made Kathy put one of the younger girls in there again…ugh. Fear for me switched to fear for them. Someone had to do this.
“Isn’t there anyone…older?”
She shook her head. “In case you hadn’t noticed, youarethe oldest. Three other maids older than you developed feet and leg issues in the past year and had to be moved to culinary.”
I closed my eyes as the reality crashed over me.
“Pull yourself together, Libby,” she hissed under her breath.
I nodded as I took three deep, calming breaths. I was a grown woman. So many of these maids were barely more than children. They should have been in college or working fun jobs of their choice. I couldn’t put this on one of them.
Something was happening between Amos Fitzhugh and me that was deeply unsettling, and I didn’t think it would go away on its own. Not until he got what he wanted. This wasn’t like the old days when people could quit a job and sue their boss. I had to face this. No escape and nobody to save me. I had to handle it.
“Okay,” I finally said, trying to be strong.
“Okay?” she asked. “All better?”
I gave her a tight smile and a nod. “Yes. I’m okay.”
Her grip on my wrists loosened, and her eyes softened. “Go on home now, honey.”
My mom always called me honey. For the briefest of seconds, I felt comforted.
I held it together as I left the office and walked the crowded sidewalk to the bus stop until it was my turn to climb on. All around me the people were quiet, smelling of stale sweat, and I wondered if any of them were also holding back sobs.
At home, I walked in like a zombie and found Jeremy sitting at the table, waiting. He took one look at me, and his whole demeanor stiffened into fight mode, his shoulders rounding and chest flexing. He came over, taking me into his arms, holding me a little too tight. He whispered into my ear so low I could scarcely make out the words.
“Did he touch you?”
The question felt like my heart was scraped across gravel. I shook my head against his chest and whispered, “No…”
But when I slowly pulled back and our eyes met, a horrified realization seemed to pass between us as we shared the silent words that both of us were powerless against.
Not yet.
TEN
STATE NEWS: VESSEL OF INTERNATIONAL TERRORISTS STOPPED AND ELIMINATED AT EASTERN PORT!
We satin silence that night at the table, our meager dinners barely touched. It killed me that Jeremy wasn’t eating. He needed the sustenance even more than me. But I understood. I couldn’t imagine what horrors he was making up in his mind at that moment. Part of me wanted more than anything to tell him every detail of what had happened—we’d always been open about everything, big and small—nothing was off limits. The other part of me knew that this information would rip at his soul. He was my protector…and he couldn’t protect me from this.
Both of his hands were in fists: one on the table and one resting on his bouncing knee. In his eyes was a faraway look. It had been a common look of his in the early days of the takeover, but I hadn’t seen it recently. It was a look that scared me because he seemed to be scheming…and thoughts like that were too dangerous to have.
“Let’s take our walk,” I said softly, putting my hand over his fist on the table.
He didn’t pull away. His eyes finally cleared as he looked at me, and he loosened his clenched hand to take my fingers into his. We left our plates and walked out. The heavy silence in the house seemed to lift as we walked outside. We greeted others. I wondered how many of them were also forcing their smiles.
“The apples are ready,” Jeremy said, sounding robotic. “Did you see the community memo?”
“Oh,” I said, not having looked at my phone all day. “No. Is it harvest time?” I couldn’t believe it was almost fall.
“Yes, this weekend,” he told me. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
In each harvest, women came out to pick while the men counted and divided for each household. I loved harvest time, but I couldn’t bring myself to feel any excitement.
We walked into the trees, which were, indeed, heavy with fruit.
