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PART I
SPEAKING IN TONGUES

32

THREE WEEKS AFTER school let out, Marina caught Mother looking at her strangely at breakfast, but didn’t think much of it because she was busy trying not to throw up. “May I—” She could barely get the words out. “May I—” She bolted from the table to the bathroom, slammed the door, and fell on her knees in front of the toilet, spewing almost nothing into the toilet except bile.

“Marina,” came Mother’s voice through the door. “Marina, you open this door right now.”

Marina wasn’t miserable enough to miss the fact that Mother was furious. Why would she be furious with Marina for being sick? People were sick all the time. She heaved again.

The doorknob rattled, but Marina hadn’t had time to lock it so Mother came storming in. She locked it after slamming it behind her.

“Marina Leigh Scarritt, what did you do with that man?”

What man?

For the life of her, Marina didn’t know what a man—she could only assume she meant Trey—had to do with the fact that she had the flu. She couldn’t answer because she was heaving again.

“When you’re finished, you stand up and take your robe off.”

Oh, now she had a headache to go with her nausea, and on top of that, all sorts of alarms were sounding in her head.

Finally her nausea settled and she arose slowly from where she sat slumped against the bathtub. She didn’t want to look at Mother. She was too tired, too bone-weary from her heaves, too confused, too … downtrodden.

Trey hadn’t called on her in three weeks. Now here was Mother, demanding she take her clothes off for her.

So she did. Reluctantly.

Mother pointed at her. “Do you see that?” she barked.

Marina looked down. “Do I see what?” she repeated stupidly.

“Your belly.”

She looked. She didn’t see anything. A rash?

“It’s getting tighter.”

“I’m sorry, Mother. I have been hungrier lately, it’s true, but I’ll try to control myself more … ”

“Why did I allow myself to think you could control yourself at all?”

Marina, her mind in a fog and her body in a snit, could only stare. “Mother, I’ve been hungry.”

“You’ve been hungry because you didn’t control yourself with that man. So he did get what he wanted and left immediately thereafter!”

“I don’t understand … ”

“Were you or were you not at the Muehlebach Hotel with Trey some weeks ago?”

Marina gaped at her. “I … ”

“Mrs. Dial told me she and Mr. Dial saw you and Trey in the lobby heading toward the elevators, holding hands. I told her she must have been mistaken, but she wasn’t, was she?”

“No! I mean, yes! She is mistaken. I don’t understand! What are you saying?”

“You are in the family way.”

Mother had gone mad. “I can’t be! I’m not married. You can’t be in the family way if you’re not married.”

Mother’s mouth tightened and she looked away. “No,” she murmured low. “No, you certainly can’t.”

With that, she turned, yanked open the door, and slammed it behind her.

Marina had barely gotten herself put back together and was making her bed when Mother stormed her room, threw two empty suitcases on it, and began throwing her clothes in them. Father appeared and leaned against the doorjamb with his arms crossed over his chest.

“What are you—?”

“Marina,” Mother said with furious calm. “We cannot have you in the house. Or anywhere near the church.”

Marina’s jaw dropped on the floor. “But why? What have I done?”

“You know what you did, young lady,” Mother snarled. “Or, should I say, young tramp!”

Tramp?!

Marina felt like she’d been stabbed in the chest.

Mother whirled and screamed at Father, “This is your fault! I told you not to let her walk out with him alone!”

Father examined his fingernails. “I could’ve married her off a month ago, big church wedding, all your friends impressed with your good fortune, but you got greedy and didn’t want to let her go at all, so she’s your problem now.”

“She wouldn’t have had time to tend me and a family!”

“And now you’ll have to do all the cooking and cleaning yourself. No more pretty clothes, either. At least, not for the next nine months. If you will excuse me, I have a meeting of deacons to head up. Marina had better be gone before I get home.”

“Father!” Marina wailed, heartbroken.

“I gave you a chance, Marina,” he told her matter-of-factly. “I’ll admit, I didn’t see that coming, but I should’ve, I suppose, which means Mother was right. He disappeared three weeks ago, so I will assume he had some ulterior motive, although I’ll never believe sex was it. He had to have another reason, because you look just like your father and he was ugly as a rotten scarecrow. I honestly never understood what a grown man that attractive with money would want with you enough to—” He glanced her over and grimaced a little. “I still don’t.”

Then he was gone.

“Mother!” Marina wailed. “What—”

“You are not our daughter,” she snarled, raising something that looked like a snake. Marina screamed when something sharp tore the skin of her calf.

“Mother!” she sobbed, cowering away from the belt that continued to whistle through the air and connect with her body.

“You are just like your mother!” she screamed. “Filthy sluts, the both of you!”

Slap, went the belt. Now it was the buckle. Marina curled up in a corner, trying to protect her head and front.

“Stand up and turn around, you filthy Jezebel!” Slap. “I’ll beat that baby out of you if I have to!” Slap. “I took you in!” Slap. “I raised you!” Slap. “You owe me! Stand up!”

Marina tried. She really did, but she slipped on the floor she kept polished to a bright shine, falling under the weight of the belt, sobbing in terror and confusion more than the pain. “Mo-mo-moth-mother p-p-pl-please!”

“STAND UP!”

Marina couldn’t. Her legs were too weak. The floor was too slick. The nightgown was too tangled around her legs. She could only curl up and protect herself—

She gasped when her hair was yanked from her head and she was dragged to her feet. She squirmed to get the hand out of her hair, bending, twisting, slipping and falling again.

But the hand held on and pulled her back up, tossing her on her bed like a rag doll and exposing her belly.

WHAP! went the belt on her midsection. Marina was exhausted, but not quite frozen. At the second strike of the belt she twisted over on her side and clawed the edge of the mattress to get away.

“You—” WHAP. “—and your mother—” WHAP. “—just like—” WHAP. “—that bastard—” WHAP. “—I married!” WHAP.

The words barely registered, the belt catching Marina about her exposed head, but every time she had a grip on the mattress, Mother’s hand wrapped around her ankle and pulled her back.

“I took you in!” she screamed. WHAP. “I gave you everything you could want!” WHAP. “I gave you freedom I never gave your mother!” WHAP. “I hid you from men!” WHAP. “And what did you do with it?” WHAP.

Marina couldn’t think with Mother over her with that belt. She had nowhere to go. If she could roll off the bed …

She dropped onto the floor between the bed and the wall, but instead of landing on her feet, she landed on her hip. “Mo—mo—mother!” she wailed, holding her arm over her head, trying to crawl backward, but there was just wall on one side and bed on the other. She tried to stand again, but slid and landed on her stomach, flinching every time the belt came down on her back, her ears ringing from Mother’s screeches.

“STAND UP!”

She turned her head to avoid being hit by the buckle and saw the other side of the room under the bed. She wished she hadn’t kept the floors so nicely polished and waxed because it was really too slippery to … Now she had a way and she tucked her head under the bed frame to protect it while Mother rained strikes and curses down upon her.

Marina felt the wall with her foot, found purchase, and shoved herself under the bed.

Mother screamed in rage and frustration, but Marina curled up under the bed against the wall where Mother couldn’t reach her without getting on the floor and grabbing her. She certainly couldn’t wallop her again.

She lay on her side with her legs up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them, sobbing as Mother began tearing Marina’s room apart. Glass crashed. Paper tore. Books dropped off the shelves and thumped the walls. Marina simply lay on her side and cried softly, completely unable to think or move any more. She didn’t know what to do.

Father wanted her to be gone by sundown.

Marina wanted to be gone right now, but she was barefoot, in her nightgown. She had nowhere to go. She was powerless and terrified.

She could stay until Mother calmed down and then perhaps she could be reasoned with enough to get out of the house with some clothes and money, but Mother had never raised her voice to Marina at all, so she didn’t know if that would work.

Marina melted in despair and could do nothing except wait and try to catch her breath. She couldn’t move because her body hurt too badly. She couldn’t stop crying. There was something very deep inside her that was crying for someone to come rescue her, but she had no one.

I don’t need a preacher to help me speak to God.

Marina didn’t feel like she could talk to God. She was so small. So stupid. So ugly. So insignificant. She didn’t have any right to talk to God.

No Dot.

No Trey.

No Bishop or Sister Albright.

Father wanted her out.

Mother was going to kill her before she ever got her on a train to … somewhere … and Marina was covered in blood to prove it.

No one was going to rescue her.

She couldn’t get out by herself.

God was her last resort.

She took a trembling breath and whispered, “Please help me.”

32

If you don’t want to wait 2 years to get to the end, you can buy it here.

Speakeasy staff.