Page 4 of Longing for Liberty
Oh, wait. Germs didn’t exist.
The VP’s expert theologian-scientific academics had proven that germs, in the way that we once believed, were not real. Germ theory began as a trick to scare and control people. Illness and healing were spiritual processes. No longer did Americans, now Statizens, play God by interfering in nature with antibiotics or vaccines.
I dabbed sweat from my brow and neck, schooling my face to hide any negative thoughts that might appear.
Finally, my stop. I held my breath as I pushed through the bodies on the stifling bus to take my exit into the hazy cityscape of downtown State Capital. This area was in the city formerly known as Dallas, Texas with many changes, including heavily armed State Force at every corner. State Capital consisted of about a dozen high rises, a mix of residential and business, with a huge, grassy park in the middle where thousands could gather to listen to speeches or witness executions. In the center was Eagle Fountain. Massive banners of each of the State Three’s faces hung from the high rises facing the park with State flags on flagpoles in front of each building.
Today, the flags hung limply in the lack of breeze. Other working-class people walking to their jobs wore blank faces like mine despite the misery of the heat. Some of the women fanned themselves as they walked, probably trying to keep their makeup from melting off. I wondered how the State Force could stand to wear their full gear out here and manage to remain standing tall. Although I felt no pity for them. Not as they stared down each of us who passed. I didn’t dare make eye contact. I’d seen what they do to people they perceived as threatening.
I speed-walked toward Justice Tower, where secondary government officials lived—the lower-ranked men who did the bidding of the State Three. The three men I cleaned for worked in the department that oversaw the bovine agricultural branch, based on snippets of conversations I’d overheard. I didn’t really know. They and their wives didn’t speak to me.
I cursed the stupid stockings that went to my thighs under the skirt and button-up top of the maid uniform. I tended to sweat, and nothing about this outfit was comfortable. Even the shoes had ridiculous two-inch heels. It was hard to believe I’d once worked from home in sweatpants and oversized T-shirts, glugging dark roast with my hair in a messy bun while the kids were at school and pre-K.
Those memories felt as fictional as the books I’d published. Remembering the past was as useless as nipples on a man, as my mom used to say. It used to make me laugh. When was the last time I really laughed? I shook my head and crossed the path to the side doors in the lower level of Justice Tower.
The cleaning office was bustling with maids grabbing their equipment when I walked in and was hit with the stringent smells of bleach and detergent. Boss Kathy was at the counter looking down through her readers to check off the names of girls as they came and went. She took one look at me and asked, “Did you even sleep last night?”
In other words, I looked like shit. My fingers pressed under my eyes self-consciously, knowing they were puffy from my fitful night of sleep. I was one of the oldest maids, if nottheoldest. I wore mascara and pink rose lipstick, but that was it. I didn’t contour like the younger women with their perfectly smooth skin. As stupid as it was, women had to keep up appearances. That was hard for me, especially since Jeremy had always preferred my face natural.
“Sorry,” I said lamely.
She let out a sigh, almost sounding like she felt bad for me.
“Listen, Libby.” She took off her readers and set them down, looking firmly at me. “You’re being moved today.”
Moved? Had there been a complaint? A familiar feeling flashed hot inside of me, turning my stomach—my anxiety disorder.
“Why?” I asked, lowering my voice. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Nothing like that. Consider it a promotion.” She crossed her arms over her ample chest. We wore the same black button-up with white cuffs at the arms, but she filled hers out much better. She asked, “How old are you again?”
“Thirty-five…?” It came out sounding like a question because I didn’t understand what my age had to do with anything.
She leaned over the counter a little and lowered her voice. “You once told me that you were sterile. Is that right?”
My stomach dropped.
Don’t make a face. Stay very still.
I peeked around me, overly aware of the chaos in the room and the girls in line behind me who might hear my explanation.
“Um, yes ma’am.” I cleared my throat. “After I was blessed with my third child, I had…health complications, and I haven’t been able to conceive since.” I pressed down the oppressive bout of emotion that wanted to rise every time I thought of my kids. When Kathy said nothing, I started to babble. “God forgive me for whatever I did…to deserve that.”
She looked away as my heart started sprinting in my chest. What was this about? My hands were sweating now, and I had to work hard not to fidget.
From behind me, a girl whispered, “We’re going to be late!” Someone bumped me as the line grew. I sensed the impatience festering in the air.
Kathy finally met my eye again. “We’re moving you up to one of the penthouse suites. You’ll be cleaning for the great Secretary.” Her mouth made a tight line as she paused. “Congratulations.”
My mind went blank, her words crashing my system down to the ground. Everyone around me went quiet and still, and then whispers rose. Kathy turned and grabbed a basket from the ledge behind her and set it before me. “This is everything you’ll need to prepare his dinner. Have it ready by 5pm before you leave.”
Shock exploded through me, thin and needle-like under my skin. “Wait!” My head spun, and I leaned against the counter with both hands flat. “TheSecretary?” She couldn’t mean…
My meager breakfast crept up to my throat, but I swallowed it back down as Kathy eyed me hard.
“Yes, dear. I mean Secretary Amos Fitzhugh, the man who is third in line to be President of the State.” I felt the eyes boring into me from around the room. “And you’re going to need to pull yourself together before you walk into that penthouse. The last girl wasn’t mature enough for the job. You need to be. Your husband will, as well.”
What was that supposed to mean? But contrary to how much I didn’t understand, I replied, “Yes, ma’am.”
