But for the sake of his ridiculous pride, he sided with Rosalie Galloway again and again, and humiliated my parents.
Two minutes later, my parents were shoved back into the living room.
My tears spilled over at once.
My father, always so refined, had been stripped of his expensive shirt and put into a gray, threadbare mourning robe. The coarse fabric hung loose and shapeless on his frame, and two young men were laughing as they tied the hemp rope around his waist.
"Uncle, it's a little big, but once we cinch the belt it'll fit just right."
He held his spine straight, the veins standing out one by one at his temple, and still he swallowed it down. My mother hid behind him, tears falling drop by drop.
Rosalie came out after them, and covered her mouth in fake surprise.
"Oh no, how did I grab the wrong clothes? These are the mourning robes from when Grandpa passed. Uncle, Auntie, you really did put them on."
"Now what do we do? Your clothes were so dirty I just tossed them out in the yard. Butch probably dragged them off to line his doghouse."
At her words, everyone turned to look at the yard of the Abbott house.
Sure enough, a big black dog was in its kennel, tearing furiously at my parents' clothes.
That carefully chosen outfit was already shredded into strips and threads, coiled beneath the dog.
All the relatives were whispering and tittering, their eyes on my parents mocking, contemptuous, out for a show.
Those looks were like countless needles, packed close, driving into my heart, one sharp sting after another.
I couldn't hold back the fury surging up in me any longer, and drove my foot hard into Russ Abbott's groin.
The instant they lost their grip, I rushed over, yanked apart the two young men crowding my parents, and pulled my parents toward the door.
I couldn't stand another second of it. I was getting my parents out of this den of wolves that ate people alive.
Only outside the yard did I realize my car keys were gone.
I didn't have to think about it to know Rosalie had taken them in the chaos.
Looking at the rough mountain road, I gritted my teeth and told my parents to wait for me.
I turned and went back to the living room. The moment I stepped inside, every drop of blood in me froze where I stood.
My fiancé, Russ Abbott, had one arm wrapped tenderly around Rosalie's waist, carefully dabbing ointment onto her face.
His touch was gentle, his eyes full of tenderness.
But when my parents were degraded, when I wept over and over, he saw none of it.
One faint red mark on Rosalie's face, and he cradled and fussed over her like this.
Beside them, the young man from before said, unhappy,
"Russ, that wife of yours needs to be taught a good lesson. She dared to lay a hand on my sister in front of all these people."
"So she's got a little money, big deal? She's your wife, isn't her money all yours too? You need to stand up like a man. Don't let a woman ride roughshod over you."
Hearing my footsteps, Russ looked up and saw me, and his expression turned instantly cold and full of impatience.
"Philippa Gilbert, today is my mother's big birthday. Do you really have to make a scene until both families lose all face?"
"Apologize to Rosalie right now. Apologize to my mother."
I lifted my eyes and swept them over the Abbott elders and relatives, all in their fine clothes, watching and snickering, wearing that look of scorn as they waited for the show. I drew in a deep breath and pressed down the fury churning inside me.
Once I'd given up on him completely, thinking of my parents still waiting for me outside, in that moment a strange, absolute calm rose up in me instead. My voice was flat, without a single ripple, as I said, "Fine."
Seeing me yield, Russ let out a breath and exchanged a satisfied glance with Rosalie.
Smugness crossed Deborah's face, and now she stopped playing the mute, opening her mouth in a slow, leisurely drawl.
"Since Philippa knows she was wrong, and knows our rules now, we'll let today's matter go."
"All right, today is my birthday. Philippa, go fetch a basin of water and kneel down to wash my feet. This is our custom too. When the mother-in-law has her birthday, the new bride kneels down to wash the birthday elder's feet."
