Taken Bride (The Secret Bride 3)

“Where’s supper?” Scarecrow asks.

Wife Number One looks at Wife Number Two, and this time there is no denying the fear in their eyes.

“We didn’t know you were coming back today,” Wife Number One says softly.

“We would have had supper ready, but we were trying to ration out the food until your return,” Wife Number Two adds, wringing her hands in front of her as she refuses to look Scarecrow in the eye.

The wives look close in age and appearance. Sisters maybe? Regardless of their relation, they both respond to Scarecrow the same way. It makes me want to step in and offer assistance somehow. Maybe I can suggest that I make supper and deflect some of the tension in the room. But before I can say or do anything, Scarecrow grabs Wife Number Two by the arm and leads her to the table and chairs.

“Bend over, dress up, drawers down,” he says as he begins to unfasten his belt.

I see her lips tremble, but she quickly complies with his order as only an experienced punished wife would do. I can’t help but glance at Papa Rich and wonder if I’m next. Is he saving my punishment for when he’s more settled? It’s been a long time since I’ve felt the strike of leather on my bare skin, but not so long that my heart doesn’t skip, and my knees weaken in anticipation.

“You know I like to come home to a cooked meal and a clean house,” Scarecrow begins to lecture as he doubles over the leather in his hand.

Wife Number Two is bent over the table, and her bare bottom is on full display for all of us to see. Scarecrow clearly doesn’t care about discretion or who sees his wife’s nudity, nor does he care that we are about to watch him whip her.

“If you don’t meet my expectations, there will be consequences,” he says as he brings down the belt onto her creamy flesh.

She yelps but holds her position, clenching the table on both sides with her tiny fists. Her sisterwife stands stoically near with no emotion on her face other than a slight flicker of her eyelids with each swat that is coming down in rapid succession now.

Scarecrow has no mercy and rains the leather down upon her over and over again. Each strike is harder than the last, and I already see angry red lashes that will surely bruise. Wife Number Two holds position and, though crying out, isn’t trying to reach back and protect herself.

She knows better.

It’s obvious that she knows better.

I can only stand and watch on helplessly. I know these two men in this room. If I try to stop it, it will just mean more of a whipping for Wife Number Two, and one for me as well. I can’t reason with insanity, and that is exactly what Scarecrow is.

This is insanity.

The deepest, darkest, cruelest, and most vile form of insanity.

When Scarecrow finally finishes the beating, he pulls away, loops his belt back into place, and hobbles his way to Wife Number One. I inhale sharply and close my eyes.

She’s next.

I open my eyes right as he takes a handful of her hair, forcefully pulls her head back, and says, “Now make us some supper, and don’t ever do that again, or Wife Number Two will pay for your transgressions once more.”

She nods and rushes to the makeshift cook station she has and begins digging in burlap bags for what looks like rotten potatoes and nearly rotten carrots.

Wife Number Two stands up and fixes her dress as she wipes away the tears from her face. She doesn’t make eye contact with anyone but instead makes her way over to Wife Number One and assists in the supper preparation.

Not knowing what else to do, I also walk over, reach for a potato and a knife, and begin cutting away the rot. Swallowing back the impending dread, I busy myself in the now.

All I have is right now.

6

Ember

I can hear Papa Rich and Scarecrow talking outside the door as they smoke their pipe and drink from a tin cup full of cheap whiskey—which they of course didn’t offer to any of the wives. They also ate most of the supper that we had prepared, though I didn’t mind one bit. My stomach is still nothing but a ball of nerves, and I’m not sure I could have held down much more than the couple of bites I did have dished up on my plate.

“We need to leave at first light tomorrow,” Papa Rich says. “I know we just got here, but I don’t like that the pilot knows our general location. He could tell the police where we’re at.”

“No, he’ll stay quiet. He’ll be in a shitload of trouble if he admits to helping wanted fugitives fly across state lines,” Scarecrow replies.