Chapter 37
"For goodness sake!--what is this?!!" the Mister yells when he sees the floor. "Monica, why haven't you cleaned this mess?!"
By now, the family-wives are rushing inside the living room. Betsey wears a huge, crooked grin on her face.
"I can't believe you defied me again!" he yells, his hand carrying the discipline club. This time he wouldn't have to ask Betsey to bring it to him.
"What's gotten into you, Monica?!!! I just don't understand," he roars, raising the club. I brace myself for another trip to the emergency room.
Stacy steps in between us.
"Get out of the way," the Mister barks.
"I just want to apologize," she rushes.
"Apologize?" the Mister asks with curiosity. "For what?"
"For trampling mud in."
"You did this?" he asks furiously as his hand sweeps over the floor. "I'm going to give you a beating you'll never forget!"
"I did it too," states Lauren.
"Met too," interjects Bernice.
"I did the same thing," Agatha chimes in.
"Why would all of you do this?" questions the Mister, his nostrils flaring.
"We didn't do it on purpose," explains Stacy.
"We were outside in prayer," rushes Agatha, "And our feet got muddied."
The Mister glances over to their shoes which are caked in wet dirt. His face turns quizzical.
"It hasn't rained," he points out. "Why are you muddy?"
"I have the lawns watered every morning," explains Betsey, her voice shaky. "I want our house to be the most beautiful out there."
"But haven't you noticed what you're doing to my floors?" he roars.
"A little elbow grease never hurt anybody, Master Barstowe. It's good for Monica to do a little hard work."
"I don't like anybody trampling mud into my house!!!" he snarls, his face red. "Why are you having the wives pray outside when the ground is wet?!"
"They need lots of prayer," she says nervously. "They--"
"Why outside?!" he questions furiously.
"Because . . . Because . . . they can get closer to the Great Master out in nature and--"
"Shut up! I'm going to give you a pounding you'll never forget!" He strides over to her. Raising the club over her, she drops to the floor and curls herself in a fetal position. Vociferous sobs from her reverberate through the room.
As the club is coming down, he suddenly stops in mid air. "I can't do this!" he snaps furiously as he brings down the weapon to his side. "If I put another one of my girls in the hospital, I'll be the laughingstock of Paradise Village for not being able to control my household!"
After a few seconds of no activity, Betsey muffles her sobs and starts uncurling her body.
"But you haven't gotten away with this, Betsey," the Mister growls. "I've got the right punishment for you. A worse one."
"Master Barstowe--"
"Shut up, Betsey. I've decided that from this day forward you're no longer the head-wife."
"What?!" she asks, the word choking her throat.
"You're not the head-wife anymore."
"But, Master Barstowe," she says stumbling to her feet, "the Elders gave me that position. They said--"
"I don't give a flip what they said! I say what goes in my household!"
"But--"
He turns his blaring eyes to her. "Shut up, Betsey, before I punish you for insubordination!"
"Please, Master Barstowe, don't take my position away from me."
"I've made my decision!"
"Please, I'm begging you," she says kneeling in front of him. "Please don't humiliate me like that."
"I said, 'I've made my decision'!"
"Please, Master Barstowe," she cries, "Please don't do this to me."
"Betsey, if you don't stop your caterwauling, I'm going to throw you in the isolation room! Are you hearing me?"
Her face drops towards the ground. "Yes, Master Barstowe."
"Stacy, you're the new head-wife. Is that understood?"
A smile spreads across Stacy's lips. "Yes, Master Barstowe."
"You'd better put order to my house now!" he yells.
"Yes, Master Barstowe."
"I'll be in my study. I want to see order when I come out."
"Yes, Master Barstowe."
When the door shuts behind him, Stacy puts on her stern face. It's an expression I haven't seen since the days when she hated me.
"You heard Master Barstowe," she barks. "It's time to put order in this house. The first thing is to clean this mess."
It worries me that she's sounding a lot like her old self.
"The floors are disgusting. If someone was to come over again then we'd be laughed at!" Her face is in a sneer not much different from Betsey's.
"Monica!" she snaps, her face in an iron mask.
"Yes?" I ask, waiting for her to try to humiliate me like she used to.
"About the floors--"
"I'll go get the mop and bucket," I say, heading to the supply closet.
"Wait," Stacy states. "You're not the one who made this mess. Betsey will clean it up!"
"What?!" snaps Betsey. "I'm not a destiny-bride. I'm not cleaning anything!"
"Yes, you are," threatens Stacy.
"No, I'm not!"
"Yes, you are," she repeats.
"No, I'm not."
"What's all this shouting," the Mister asks furiously as he steps out of his study. "Can't I get some peace and quiet around here?"
"Stacy is demanding that I do Monica's work," rushes Betsey.
"Is that true, Stacy?" snaps the Mister.
"I just thought she should clean the floors since it's her fault they're dirty, Master Barstowe," Stacy explains, stumbling nervously over her words.
"It's unheard of for a wife to do the chores of the destiny-bride," Betsey retorts, staring furiously at Stacy.
"Do you really think she should do the floors, Stacy?" questions the Mister with a growling voice.
"Yes, I do," Stacy answers, her voice shaky but firm.
"I agree," the Mister answers. "Betsey, do the floors and they'd better be perfect!"
"But--"
"Next time you talk back to me or disrespect me with your attitude, I'll kill you. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Master Barstowe," she utters with a breaking voice.
"Stop pushing my buttons or I'll have to show you what I'm capable of!"
"Yes, Master Barstowe."
"Clean up, right now!"
Before going to the supply closet, Betsey glares at me with the stare. Revenge. It's still boiling in her head.
I have to keep watching my back. Maybe now more than ever.