"Penny, girl, your mother was just as stubborn back then. Held on right to the day she died. And in the end didn't it all come to me anyway?"
She pushed open the pen gate, walked in, and tipped a whole bucket of cold water over me.
"Come on now, let your auntie wash you up. Can't have you marrying in a coat of pig filth. People would laugh."
"Eddie left for the state university three days ago. By now she's probably already sat through a few classes. You, making a scene out here—what does it get you besides a harder time?"
"Take your auntie's word. Once you're married, settle down and live quiet. Don't walk the same road your mother walked."
So Edwina had set off three days ago.
I sat straight on the stone slab and curled my hands into fists.
When I said nothing,
Beatrice scrubbed my face with coarse cloth, hard enough to be scouring a hide.
My father stood in the doorway, his voice low.
"Penny, be good. When Eddie's done with college and comes back, she'll pay you and your husband back proper."
"Once you've given the Whitneys a grandson, your dad'll buy you something pretty to wear."
Something seemed to cross his mind, and he paused before going on.
"Today's your wedding day, but I still can't untie you. You've got too much going on behind those eyes. I already had Damian buy a sedative ahead of time. Once tonight's wedding night is done, it's all settled for good."
The rope bit into my flesh, and tears blurred my eyes until I couldn't open them.
Damian stood in the yard with the heavy old bicycle,
that blue birthmark running from his forehead all the way down to his chin.
My father pressed me face-down onto the back seat of the bicycle
and lashed me to it with three tight loops of rope.
Everyone was praising Damian for landing a bride who was obedient and had book learning besides.
They praised me for being dutiful, for earning my father such a fine bride price.
They praised my figure too, said I'd surely give the Whitneys four or five grandsons.
Even the man on the horn blew harder than ever, sending the sound ringing out over everything.
Just as I thought this was how the rest of my life would go,
a black sedan swung around from a little way off,
cut across the gate of our yard, and sealed off the way out.
The horn cut off in an instant.
In front of everyone, the driver got out from behind the wheel, trotted to the back, and pulled open the door,
handing out with great respect a gray-haired old man in a dark mandarin-collar suit.
"Excuse me. Is this the home of Penelope Fox, the county's top scorer?"
The old man spoke. His voice wasn't loud, but every word carried a weight you couldn't quite name.
My father shoved up through the crowd, a smile pasted on his face.
"I'm Penelope Fox's father. And you are…"
The old man drew a work ID from his pocket and held it out.
"Homer Dickerson, president of the state university."
He gestured to the middle-aged man at his side.
"This is Harry James, our director of admissions. We've come in person to take Miss Penelope Fox to enroll."
