Where did the light come from?
Edmonia tries to push away palms,
but her arms are bound. She cries, Go away!
Edmonia, you’re safe. You’re in your own bed.
It’s the soft voice of a girl, but Edmonia
feels a man’s weight claim her name,
smells his sharp, foul breath.
She knows this room, but the pinch
of a cage around her chest is foreign.
Pain shoots through her right leg
as she tries to sit,
then collapses like a stone girl.
Rescuers found you in a field,
Ruth says. Don’t you remember?
I told Father Keep you weren’t in our room.
I knew you wouldn’t run away, not without a good-bye
to me or taking your old moccasins.
They rang church bells to call men to look for you.
Edmonia shifts her hand to a damp cloth between her legs.
Her hope that the night was nightmare collapses.
She tries to remember what happened,
She fumbles with the cloth bands around her arms.
I wrapped you to break your fever. I’ll take them off now.
I’ve got the woodstove burning as high as it will go.
My sister had a fever like this in the middle
of a Virginia summer. She couldn’t stop shaking.
Edmonia, did you see who did it?
It was dark. They threw burlap over my head.
They? Ruth’s voice splits.
I heard six different voices.
Monsters!
I wasn’t supposed to go outside.
It’s a crime to hurt, not a crime to be hurt.
Those men must be punished, Ruth says.
They won’t be. Even though Edmonia might
be able to identify them from the shapes of their hands
and their voices. No one can know what happened.
Like an artist drawing a line meant to direct eyes
another way, she struggles onto her elbows,
reaches down to grab and turn her ankle.
What are you doing?
They only see the surface, Edmonia says.
If something’s broken, no one will look beyond.
In the dark and cold, I don’t think the rescuers could tell
the difference between melting snow
and freezing blood. They only know you were beaten.
I won’t look weak.
This isn’t your fault. But you’re right. It’s better
if no one knows. Too many blame everything on the girl,
even back in Bible days. No girl with a choice
would lift her skirt for an old man
who wouldn’t look her in the eye.
I’m not like Hagar. Edmonia grabs her foot,
which Ruth takes between her strong hands.
There’s no shame in a sprained ankle,
Ruth says, then twists Edmonia’s ankle hard.
Both girls bite their lips, but gasp as they hear a crack.
Edmonia’s jaw aches as she holds back screams.
We’ll tell everyone you can’t walk,
Ruth says. That’s why you’ll stay
in this room until you’re ready to leave.
If I thought there was any justice it would be different.
Edmonia stares at her dress, drying on a chair
by the hearth. Ruth must have scrubbed
it with a fury while she slept. She left the sleeves
neatly crossed as if nothing had ever happened.
Edmonia says, Give me my moccasins.
Ruth opens the middle drawer, hands her
slippers so small they both fit on one palm.
Edmonia holds them to her face, breathes
deerskin-scented air. Burn them.
Aren’t they all you have from your mother?
Holes or missing stitches didn’t help.
She insists, Burn them. Please.