Stacy's face loses all its color, and she looks like she's about to faint. The other family-wives also have consternated faces. I stay quiet as Betsey keeps ranting and raving.
"I can tell just by looking at all of you that your hearts aren't fully dedicated to the Great Master! I'm ashamed to call you my family! You're not fit to be part of the Great Master's plan! He is so good to us and you can't be proper followers!"
A flood of tears starts streaming down making her face wet and intense like a firecracker. This girl has lost it!--completely!
She gulps a few breaths of air before continuing her screeching.
"But what really sends me over the bend," she states with sobbing cries, "is your lack of proper devotion towards Master Barstowe. Every time he comes in the house, you should be running to the door to greet him. You should be removing his shoes and covering his feet with kisses. You should be thanking him for having chosen us as his wives. You just don't know what an honor it is to be his eternal servants. You should've gotten stuck with the Master I had before him!"
I wince. She's talking about the one we aren't allowed to mention--Smythee of course.
"That Master had let the evil creature dominate him," she announces as she eyes me with furrowed brows. "He was a bad husband, a poor believer, and a pathetic follower. Thank the Great Master that we don't have the same problem with Master Barstowe. We are so blessed!!! And from now on I'm going to make sure he knows how much we appreciate him!"
Does she really believe all this nonsense? I'm terrified that she does.
As I step out of the house, Miguel is already waiting for me as is becoming customary. Whewww! What a relief to be out of that insane asylum. Just before I had stepped out the door, Betsey had made the rest of the wives get on their knees and pray the good wife's prayer. Luckily, I couldn't join them because I'm not married yet. I'm supposed to say the destiny-bride's one every night with the other unwedded girls and not pray with the family-wives until marriage.
"How was your day?" asks Miguel, whispering.
I throw him a tortured look.
"That good?" he says.
"Betsey's nuts," I whisper. "Completely nuts."
In the slave quarters, I step over to Jana's former bunk. Helga hadn't met me at the door with a snide remark since she had been talking to the only other girl there. The place is practically empty.
A thick knot forms in my throat. Poor Jana. All throughout the wedding celebration she had kept her head down. I don't want to think about what she's going through.
A door opens and I turn to it to find that the girl who was talking to Helga is stepping out of the shack. It's just Helga and me in the place. Great! She quickly steps over to where I'm at, and I brace myself for her ugly remarks.
"I miss Jana," she mumbles.
"You do?" I ask surprised.
"She was very nice to me--even when I wasn't," explains Helga.
"Yes, she's a very nice person."
Helga quickly glances at the door. "I shouldn't have laughed at her for getting stuck with Highest Holy Grinder," she whispers.
"It was such bad luck for her."
"You're not having such good luck yourself."
I wait for the cackle, but it doesn't come. Her eyes aren't ridiculing me nor are they sneering at me. Helga actually looks as if she feels sorry for me.
"Look," she says, eyeing the door, "you don't like me and I don't like you but I'm going to give you a warning just so you see that I have a heart."
"I've never doubted that you have a heart."
She looks at me as if she doesn't know whether to believe me. "You didn't hear it from me but be very careful with Betsey. She's very cunning."
"Does she believe what she says about the True Faith?"
"Oh yeah, she believes it all right to the umpteenth degree. What's worse is that she uses her beliefs to force everything to go her way. Master Smythee never fell for her shenanigans, but I'm not so sure that Master Barstowe won't. I repeat, she's very cunning"
"I've just seen the start of her manipulations at the Barstowe household."
"Never, ever trust her. She may sometimes use honeyed words to fool people, but inside is just rot. Always watch your back."
"Thanks for the advice."
Her face hardens. "Don't think I told you all that stuff because I like you. We'll never be friends. I told you because I dislike Betsey more than I dislike you," she growls.
I smile. "Okay, Helga."
"Don't expect me to be nice to you."
"I won't."
The next day, when I get to the Barstowe household, I'm surprised to see the wives surrounding the Mister at his recliner. Some are at his feet and others are standing next to him holding his drink and giving him snacks.
I want to retch.
"Little Bird!" he coos.
"Go kiss your Master's feet, Monica," Betsey says with sickening sweetness.
"What?"
"Go kiss Master Barstowe's feet. Show him you appreciate him."
I submerge a harsh gasp. I thought that when she had mentioned it last night, it wasn't literal. I though she had meant to be especially nice and subservient to him.
The Mister stares at me with expectation. He's really expecting me to put my lips on his stinky feet. My eyes go to them. They are bare! The other wives must've been made to do it already.
All I can think of is his odor. If the man smells horrifyingly bad, his feet must be out of this world in stench. Uuuuuuuugh!
Think fast, Frida, I tell myself.
"I wish I could but--"
"There shouldn't be any excuses for serving your Master," Betsey states with a wicked smile on her lips. She thinks she's got me.
"Monica, I can't believe you're unwillingness to please your destiny-husband," the Mister snaps furiously as his fingers curl themselves around the discipline club. Betsey grins wider.
"It's not that, Master Barstowe."
"Then what is it?" he retorts.
Betsey's face is glowing. "What possible excuse can you have for not honoring your Master?"
"The Great Master," I explain.
"The Great Master?" questions the Mister.
"The Great Master says that there should be no physical contact at all before marriage. I don't want to put my soul and especially yours, Master Barstowe, in danger."
The grin is wiped off of Betsey's face in one swoop. The Mister chuckles and looks at me with pride as he sets the discipline club on the cocktail table next to him.
"What did I tell you about her, Betsey? She's beautiful, kind hearted, and very devoted to me and the Great Master."
"I can see that," Betsey says wryly as she tries to reconfigure her unhappy face.
I step into the dining to start my chores. I'm still trying to get the Mister's stinky feet off my mind. My heart is beating fast with what had just happened.
I gather the dishes and take them to the kitchen. They are clean of leftovers. I had already suspected that the morsels of food I would get from the wives was over with because of Betsey. Her hawk eyes don't miss anything.
As I soap up the dishes she steps in. "Last time there were some spots," she says sweetly. "Be very careful with your chores." Her smile is completely devoid of warmth.
I know the game she's playing. She's very cunning like Helga had said. She isn't treating me like she did at the Smythee household--rude and vicious. She knows the Mister would never put up with it as he hadn't put up with Stacy's behavior.
No, she's probably got something else in store for me.
"Maybe you could wash them twice," she murmurs slyly.
I nod. She smiles wickedly as her eyes glare at me with searing penetration before she steps out of the kitchen. The battle lines have been drawn between Betsey and me. We'll see who can play the game better.