Cats In the Cradle

9. Emma

"Mama, I milked the cows and gathered the eggs! I'm going to go work on my new dress again, if that's ok?" I called out, pulling off my sweaty bonnet.

Mama didn't like when I yelled. She said a good woman never raised her voice. But there were always kids and animals running around. Always noise and chaos. People in and out all day. Chickens wandering inside the house. Dogs barking.

I was the youngest child, but I had 17 older siblings and tons of nieces and nephews who lived in our neighborhood and visited daily. Someone was always crying or screaming or horse playing.

It was almost impossible not to yell, if you ever wanted to be heard. But I had feeling that that was the point, to not be heard.

"Emma, sweetheart, don't raise your voice. Your father will whip you again if he hears you," My mother said tiredly as she slowly shuffled closer to me, barely dodging my nephews who were swinging sticks at one another.

Father had visited last night and would be staying with us for a few weeks, but he was at work right now. Mama always seemed tired. But she was extra tired and always limped badly after spending a night with father.

I didn't want to ever know why.

"I'm sorry, Mama. I couldn't find you, and it's so loud in here!" I told her, a little frustrated. Father was very strict and heavy-handed with his belt, and everyone always felt tense when he was home. But he wasn't home right now, so I didn't see why I couldn't raise my voice a little.

He was a good man. He did his best to provide for us and never hesitated to correct Mama or his children. He had found good husbands for my sisters, good, submissive wives for my brothers, and beamed with joy each time they announced a new pregnancy. It was his duty to guide us towards a life of obedience and fulfillment, and he did a marvelous job of it.

I could sometimes hear him disciplining Mama when she displeased him, and while I knew it was his job, and he was just being a good husband...it always made me sick to my stomach. Mama always cried loudly, and it made father angrier. He told her it wouldn't be so bad if she'd just stop crying, so we all knew it was her fault.

The prophet, Orion, said she still had dark spirits in her heart that were urging her to rebel. She just needed to behave and learn to stop crying when he disciplined her. They'd been married for 43 years, since she was 14. How hard could it be to learn to hold in your screams after all this time??

It was her fault father was angry, and she needed to learn. That's what Father told us. That's what Orion and the elders all told us, when she was bedridden and covered in cuts and bruises. It was what we'd all been taught. Even Mama admitted that she was weak, but she was blessed because father was still very good to her. She should certainly know better by now, she always said.

But secretly... I still felt awful for her.

And secretly... I didn't want to ever get married, if my future was going to look exactly like mama's and my sisters'.

I was already 17, and I had yet to be married.

My oldest sister ran away from home at 16, right before she was supposed to be married, and we never heard from her again. I never even met her, but I often dreamt of running away, too, and finding her. I dreamt of living my life freely, like I hoped she was.

Most girls around here were married between 16 and 18. Mama said she and father had married when she was much younger, because they were so in love that the prophet had permitted it.

Father was 12 years older than mama, but she always said she was grateful to be loved by a real man, not a little boy.

But it seemed...wrong to me. He was 26, and she was 14. She didn't look like she was in love in their wedding photos. She looked like a child.

Like a scared, broken, innocent child, trying her best to look brave.

And 7 months later, she gave birth to my oldest sister. Much shorter than her other pregnancies, for some reason.

A mother by the age of 15.

She once quietly confessed to one of my sisters that she tried to breastfeed each of us for as long as possible, because it stopped her monthly bleeding. It was her only reprieve between pregnancies. Menopause mercifully came to her pretty early, right after she weaned me at the age of 3.

I felt incredibly blessed that father hadn't found a suitable husband for me yet. He did baby me just a little bit. Most of my sisters had been married right at 16, since my father felt guilty for waiting so long to marry off my eldest sister. He always lamented that he was young and naive then, and he'd been too soft with her.

So I knew it was just a matter of time. Just this morning, he'd told me that he needed to speak to me tonight about an important matter. I obediently replied, "Yes, father," speaking as softly as I could. As softly as a woman should, when she was allowed to speak in the presence of a man.

But I already knew what our talk would be about.

And deep down, I was terrified. I wanted to cry.

I wanted to raise my voice at him for once and tell him no.

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to hide.

I wanted to run.