Meanwhile, in Plymouth, an indentured servant, thirteen years of age, lies on the floor, on a bed of wool, next to her master’s bed, as she does every night. Meanwhile, at the edge of the bed is not her master’s wife, but her master’s brother. She startles awake at the feeling of his hand beneath her blanket.
Shhh, he whispers. You do not want to wake your master, do you?
She turns from him.
He rolls her over.
Do what I say, good servant.
He slides off the edge of the bed and climbs onto her. He wrestles her linens away from her body.
She is stiff.
That’s a good girl. It will be easier this way, he says.
No one has touched her, aside from her grandmother and her mother, when they bathed her and put talcum powder betwixt her legs as a younger child. He pulls up her long nightdress, he inserts a thick finger in her cunny. His fingernails are long.
He shifts out of his linens. A warm, stiff thing in the dark pushes against her.
He is stiff and remote, grating inside her, squeezing her right breast like a cow’s udder, but with less precision—he’s never lowered himself to milking a cow—and like the animal he is he lets out a guttural Oh. He shifts up his linens, leaves her naked, and slides back to the bed above her.
From across the room, the mistress of the house stirs. She does not know if the mistress is or was awake.
Had she done or said anything to him to invite this? The way she bowed? The way she smiled? Was she untoward?
Her master’s brother whispers, If you speak thus, no one would believe you. You would be tried for slanderous speech.
She says nothing.
You love your sister, don’t you?
She says nothing.
If you tell anyone, I will kill her.
She sees he is not lying. He is capable of killing.
Meanwhile, she tells no one until nine months later, when she has a daughter of her own. The elders come for her, accuse her of lying with a man before betrothal.
At her trial the judge asks, And why, if he did what you said he did, why did you not tell your master at once?
As if delay were not a sign of shock, as if delay were not proof of indignity, but instead a sign of embellishment. She transfers houses. Her daughter grows strong. The master’s brother is acquitted and returns on occasion to Plymouth. A new servant girl takes her place.
Who is this woman? Any woman. Meanwhile, meanwhile, meanwhile.