Sold into Marriage

Chapter 1: Wedding

Chapter 1: Wedding
Copyright 2021 by John Wells. All Rights Reserved.

My mother wakes me up early on the Saturday of my sixteenth birthday. It is the last weekend of September. “June, wake up, sweetheart. You must get ready.” She is rubbing my shoulder when she said it.

I groan at her, “ready for what,” as I push my baby sister off my chest, removing her mouth from my nipple. I fasten the buttons of my nightgown as Debbie tries to get back on me. My mom helps me escape by lifting her a little so I can slip out of our blankets without dragging her with me.

My dad and younger brothers (Stuart and Ethan) have already gone to work on our farm. Normally, I join them, but dad told me last night to sleep in, since it is my birthday. Debbie helps mom with chores all day, both inside and out. The boys and I do chores all day with dad, unless we are at school. We save homework for after dinner. Usually, everything else is complete by that point. But, if not, dad does them himself, even in the summer.

If this were a school day, I would know what I was getting ready for. But, given the darkness and lack of cooking smells, I am guessing breakfast is still an hour away. I am not a morning person, but a farm and parents do not care. I can be as grouchy as I want as long as I get the work done.

My mother has me sit on my mattress at the bottom to brush my hair. It has been years since I needed help with it, so my mind jumps to a few conversations late at night I overheard. My dad talking about how much I could bring them, setting them up for life. My mom talking about how young I am. Dad countering with you were sixteen when we got married, and it worked out fine for us.

I look around the rectangular room (about 6.1x4.88 M or 20x16 FT) the six of us share and think this is not fine. The only privacy available is some sheets hung like a curtain around the tub and toilet in the back right corner. The rest of the right side has a sink next to the curtain, two stoves (wood for winter cooking or heat and propane otherwise), and a refrigerator. Three double mattresses were on the floor for beds along the left wall, with barely any walking space between them. In between the kitchen and beds is a table with folding chairs leaning against it because, if they were setup, it would leave no room to work or walk around them. There is a window in the back wall and a front door with glass on the top to provide light. They filled the empty wall space around the room with shelves. My dad needs to be very careful to avoid hitting his head on a shelf getting out of bed as he touches the wall and the end of the mattress. The rest of us leave extra head room to avoid that issue. Though given my height, I have to be careful in case I move up a bit.

I realize my mom is humming a lullaby and I wish I was three like Debbie. School has talked about marriage because around here girls marry young, including a few of my older classmates. But, I am not ready. Some time while I got distracted, Debbie snuggle up to my leg. I noticed her there as the sound stopped.

When mom finishes the song, she states, “I was hoping you would ask why...” She doesn’t finish the sentence, leaving more hanging in the morning air. I refuse to help her out, so stay silent, waiting for her to say my worst fear out loud. She sighs loudly before stating, “your father has found you a husband. After breakfast, you will get married.”

Tears start failing as I get the news. What little of a childhood I had is now over. I stand up and turn to her. I am the tallest girl in my school (about 1.8 M or 5.8 FT) so even if mom were standing I would look down at her. “He had better have made thousands for me,” I shout angrily. Then, I notice mom is crying, as well. I run to the toilet mostly for the privacy it gives. But I notice she did my hair up in French Braids in the tiny mirror over the kitchen sink before slipping in through the sheets, causing my tears to fall faster as I sob. I always asked her to do them for school or church, but the response was only for special occasions. I figured she did not know how and did not want to say it. Guess I was wrong.