Chapter Text
Over the next week they settled into their routine nicely. Aunt Lydia had put them in the same apartment, with separate bedrooms and an adjoining living room, and as the two youngest Aunts in the Hall they mostly kept to themselves. They ate together, they took walks together and they often chatted until late in their living room. It was like old times.
Becka truly believed this was the closest thing to peace she’d ever feel. Her mind, which had once been overtaken by whirlwinds of fear and dread, grew calm. The only thing stirring at the back of her mind was the feelings she was harbouring for her best friend. But she was used to containing them so they wouldn’t get out of control.
— Before —
“Look at them,” Dr Grove snarled.
Becka tilted her neck upwards to see two new bodies hung on The Wall. “What did they do, daddy?” she asked.
“They’re gender traitors. Sinful people.” He spat the words as if they were acid on his tongue.
“What’s that?” Becka asked, innocently.
Dr Grove crouched down to meet her eye line, his face was so close that Becka could smell what she’d later realise was remanents from cigarettes. She tried to inch back but he grabbed a hold of her arm. “Gender traitors are people who act against Gilead and God, they disgrace us all. Their brains are warped to think they’re in love with the same sex — a stain on society.” He leant even closer towards her. “If the Eyes don’t catch these sinners and impose God’s will, Gilead will crumble. Don’t worry though, Rebecca,” he said, pinching her cheek with a grotesque smile and standing back up, “These women will burn in hell.”
He turned to leave without even making sure Becka was following, pompously adjusting the lapels of his coat. Meanwhile, Becka stayed looking at the bodies. She knew marriage was between a man and his wife, it was in the Bible, but even still she felt an inexplicable sadness for the faceless women. She unclipped a pink hair bow from her braids and attached it on the highest part of the woman she could reach at her small height; her shoelaces. Repeating the action with the opposite hair bow she did the same for the other woman, having to stand on her tiptoes to reach. She decided she’d tell her Martha that the bows fell out without her noticing, she had many more to go with her pink uniform.
It was a few years later when the memory of that conversation came back to her.
The dining room was a sea of purple as all the Plums gathered for lunch. As always, Becka sat next to Agnes whilst Shunamite and Hulda sat opposite them. Although Becka cared for all of her friends, she always felt something different towards Agnes. Something stronger. It was no doubt that they were the closest of all their friends, the others knew it. Becka always felt a sort of fluttering pride whenever Agnes chose her for an activity in class or to sit with her on the bus.
This particular day they were joined for lunch by some older Plums, whose uniforms were adorned with green emblems. They were excitedly talking about matches and marriages, when one of them whispered, “I think I’m in love!” The others gasped and they each shushed each other to not draw too much attention from the Aunts.
Shunamite latched onto their conversation, as she often did. “You’re in love?” she asked with childish intrigue.
The older Plum turned to look at her saying, “I am! But shh…” as she nodded over to the Aunts who were watching the commotion.
“With who?” Shunamite said, only slightly lowering her voice.
“Commander Williams, he only recently became a commander. My dad meets with him at our house sometimes.”
“How does it feel?” asked Hulda, quietly.
“Well, for starters,” the Plum was clearly delighted to tell more people, “Whenever he’s around I feel hot, I sense it on my cheeks and stuff. And when he comes up to me, my heart starts beating faster and sometimes my skin tingles.”
The other girls, both older and younger, were completely enchanted by her words and were slowly leaning further into the conversation.
Becka was less allured by this romance. She furrowed her eyebrows and remained in her leaned back position. “How do you know that’s love? It might not be,” she said abruptly.
Almost chucking, the Plum said, “No, it’s definitely love, sweetie. Someone makes you feel that way and the only thing it can be is love.”
For the rest of the meal, Becka mentally blocked out all the conversation. She only heard vague comments about different matches and the prospect of children, but she remained quiet. The words of that Plum taunted her, she may as well have placed a ton of bricks on Becka’s back. That would’ve been less confusing than whatever was happening in her mind.
For the rest of the day she was in a trance-like state. Was that what it really felt like to be in love? If it was, then she was familiar with it. But what she was feeling couldn’t be love, it was against the laws of nature.
‘A stain on society.’
She suddenly remembered the words of her father from years ago.
At the realisation, her chest constricted and her breathing became shallower and faster. Her eyes glossed over with water which made her lose her bearings. Her muscles were about to give way, as if they had become liquid or had vanished altogether.
It was like she’d forgotten how to breathe. Her racing thoughts mirrored the thumping of her heart and she could feel the Earth pressing down on her.
“Becka, you okay?” Agnes said, concern written on her face.
At that, Becka tuned back into the world, blinking her eyes rapidly to remove the tears. Looking down, Agnes had her hand rested on her shoulder. Becka felt the skin of her arms tingle beneath the purple fabric and her face flushed at their contact.
‘These women will burn in hell.’
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Becka said with a false smile, straightening her clothes and standing tall.
She eventually convinced Agnes and the other girls that she was okay and they continued as normal.
That day, a new heaviness thundered over Becka. She vowed to take it to her grave, there was no other choice.
She would learn to love in silence within the confines of her mind.
— Present —
Over the years, Becka managed to make peace with these feelings. Although she tried not to think about them, they didn’t fill her with shame anymore. It was probably at least partly due to the realisation that her father was so awful, she shouldn’t listen to anything he had to say. She knew her love was gentle and honest, and she’d rather be a gender traitor than act like any one of those violent men. So she lived with it.
Granted, she still didn’t know what possessed her to write Agnes that note. She thought maybe she’d lose it before she learnt how to read, or maybe she’d forget about it. Subconsciously though, Becka knew she wanted to talk about it with Agnes so she constructed a time bomb for herself.
It’s fine. She would cross that bridge when she came to it. For now she would count her lucky stars that God brought Agnes back to her.
“When are you next going to the library?” Agnes asked.
They were together in their living room, enjoying some free time after lunch. It was one of the routines they eased into, and a source of comfort for them both.
“Oh, I’d better go now actually,” replied Becka, standing up and beginning to gather her things. “The Aunts have me doing all kind of work to prove I’m advancing.”
“Can I come?”
“Agnes,” Becka began, reluctantly, “You know I can’t teach you how to read yet.”
“Yeah yeah I know,” replying with a playful eye roll, “I just want to watch you write.”
Becka turned to look at her, a smile forming at the corner of her lips. She spoke slowly in her confusion, like she was deconstructing a complex concept, “You want to watch me write.”
“It’s because it’s so cool,” Agnes said with genuine enthusiasm, “The way you swirl the ink and place little dots over the rows of squiggles.”
“Okay sure, let’s go together,” Becka caved, secretly enamoured by Agnes’ sincerity and the idea that she might want to spend more time with her.
The reading rooms in the library didn’t have artificial lighting, per Aunt Lydia’s request. Instead, they were lit with oil lamps and candles whose light flickered on the books and the walls. The desks were all antiques made from dark mahogany, similar to the bookshelves that lined the entire library.
They settled down into seats on opposite sides of the desk. Becka prepared her materials and began to write, although she was more focused on not looking up to meet Agnes’ eyes every couple of seconds.
After a while of sitting in silence, it was hard to keep track of time in the library, Becka reclined in her chair to take a breather.
Out of nowhere, Agnes asked, “What did you say to Aunt Lydia? To make her let you be an Aunt, I mean.”
It caught Becka by surprise but she did welcome the distraction from her work. She shrugged, “I told her I had a higher calling from God to serve. What about you?”
“I said the same.” Agnes paused, deliberating for a moment. “Did you? Have a higher calling?”
“I don’t know.”
“Me neither.”
They sat in silence once more as a mutual understanding settled between them. Becka knew that from her side there was more to the story, she wondered if Agnes had more as well. But they had opened the conversation which she saw as the first step.
She looked back at the pile of books in front of her and picked one up to open it. As she did so, a piece of paper flew out from one of the pages. Before she could move, Agnes reached out and took it. “You make all the lines and swirles look so much prettier than in the books.”
Becka faintly laughed trying to reach for the paper, “Yeah, it’s called cursive. It’s how we learn to write.”
“What does this one say,” Agnes asked, holding it up. “Please tell me this one, you wouldn’t read the last one.”
“I wrote this months ago,” Becka responded mostly to herself, looking at the paper.
Agnes looked at her expectantly.
Looking at her eyes again, Becka sighed. Wow she was weak. “I’ve always had thoughts in my mind and now I like to write them down whenever I can. This one is from ages ago,” she said, trying to brush it off. It was risky saying this aloud anywhere and to anyone, but she decided to trust Agnes, like always. “It says, Sometimes I close my eyes and I pray for God to broom away the Earth and extinguish the stars.”
She paused for a second before looking back up to Agnes, bracing herself for any reaction. Agnes was looking at her with an expression she couldn’t read, it made her nervous. ‘I know it’s a sin to say that, I know. I wrote it because —‘
‘Do you still want that to happen?’ Agnes asked simply, not breaking their eye contact.
Becka wavered for a moment. She took a second to feel relieved that Agnes didn’t have a strong reaction to her blasphemous selfishness. After that, she considered the question. She definitely wanted the world to end when she was living with her father, and at times the mundanity of Ardua Hall made her think death would be easier. But now, Agnes being there with her, feeling hope once more, she couldn’t wish for that.
“No.” she said, “Not anymore.”
Hearing that, Agnes replied with a small smile and a nod. “Good,” she whispered.
After another beat, Becka’s heart took control and she found herself saying, “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Agnes looked back up and her smile grew wider.
Becka continued softly, “With you here I won’t feel so alone.”
In response, Agnes reached out and linked their pinkies together, an old tradition from their childhoods.
When they separated, Becka continued writing, only she didn’t go back to her work. She could sense Agnes’ eyes on her, and she thought there was something beautiful about Agnes watching her write this.
How could I ask God to extinguish the stars when you’re the most radiant of them all?
When they were leaving the library, Becka slipped the folded note into one of Agnes’ pockets. She smiled to herself as any rational thought about the practicality of these notes faded to the back of her mind.
Her love remained silent, but it was no longer trapped in her mind.