Page 12 of Chosen By Swift

The look on Bonnie’s face troubled Alys as the wedding ceremony commenced. Stuck at the very end of the pew between her two youngest brothers, she spent most of it gently touching their knees to redirect their attention or holding their hands to calm fidgeting. Thankfully, it was a short ceremony, and the boys were able to stand and wiggle their hearts out as soon as Bonnie and Graham had started down the aisle.

As much as she wanted to take Bonnie aside and speak privately with her, Alys couldn’t. Between minding her brothers and hopping up to help every time her father snapped his fingers, she barely ate two bites of the potluck dinner. By the time she sat down after averting a minor catastrophe at the dessert table, Davie had already eaten his cake slice and hers too. There was no point in scolding him as she cleaned frosting from his face and hands. His stomach was already punishing him enough.

Before sunset, the fiddlers began tuning their instruments. Soon, the dance began and she was glad to be too busy holding Davie to join. She had never been particularly graceful nor had she been given the opportunities to practice at the festivals and fairs where most young people learned the steps. She enjoyed watching others as she rocked Davie side to side and rubbed his back. His stomach gurgled, and she prayed his pilfered cake wasn’t about to end up down the back of her dress.

Her concern shifted from her baby brother to her mother. She noticed the slow, deliberate steps her mother was taking. Even though there was a smile on her face, Mama was obviously in pain. Worried, she managed to catch Adam as he walked by, grabbing hold of his shirt sleeve. “Take Davie for a second. I need to check on Mama.”

“Come here, buddy.” Adam hefted Davie into his arms and tucked him against his shoulder. “I think that one’s about done for the night, too.”

Alys glanced at Darby who had slumped onto a chair. He had Brandon’s jacket over him like a blanket, and his little eyes were droopy. “Plumb tuckered out,” she agreed and adjusted the jacket to make sure he was warm and cozy.

Snaking her way along the dance floor, she ducked and weaved her way through the crowd. When she made it to the other side of the room, her mother had vanished. She scanned the room, searching for her mother, and spotted her leaving out a side door. Worried that something was very wrong, she cut across the floor as quickly as possible, excusing herself as she bumped into people.

She slipped out the same door her mother had used and into the dark hallway that led to the back rooms of the banquet hall. There was a kitchen, bathrooms, closets for storing cleaning supplies and dressing rooms. She took a step toward the bathrooms, certain her mother had gone there, and felt something crunch under her shoe. She lifted her foot and crouched down to see what she’d smashed.

Glass beads.

The beads she had so painstakingly applied to Bonnie’s veil twice.

As she walked along the hallway, she found more beads scattered on the wood planks. There were bits of netting from the veil, too. When she found one of the heirloom silver combs that had been holding the veil in place, Alys panicked. Had someone grabbed Bonnie? Was she hurt?

“There you are.”

Alys froze at the very unwanted sound of Wendel’s voice. Her hands curled into fists as she turned to face him. His pungent smell invaded her nose, and she retreated two steps for every one he took toward her. Although he was three times her age, he was big and brawny from years of hard labor. In the flickering light from the wall sconces, she could see the glassy gleam in his eyes. He was drunk.

“What are you doing back here alone?” Wendel reached out and touched the curls framing her face. She recoiled at his touch, but he didn’t seem to notice. “People will talk if they find out you’re running around by yourself.”

“My mother asked for me,” she lied. “I should—”

“Now, now,” he took hold of her arm, “don’t be hasty. Your mama can wait.”

Alys pulled away, trying to free herself, but his grip tightened. With a sickening feeling, she realized Wendel would be just as quick to put his hands on her as her father had. Being his wife would mean a lifetime of abuse, and she wanted to throw up at the very thought of it.

“Why don’t we take a little walk? Huh?” He ran his rough hand along her face. “Talk about our wedding day?”

“I don’t—”

“Don’t play coy,” he said, his voice suddenly sharp. “I didn’t pay good money for you because I want someone silly and simpering. You’re not a fool. You know the score here.”

She gulped down her fear and panic. “Yes,” shefinally admitted. “Mother explained it to me.”

“Did she?” Wendel stepped so close she had no choice but retreat. The wall hit her back, and she was trapped. Chest to chest, she was overwhelmed by his sour scent. “Did she explain all the things I plan to do to you?”

Horrified, she turned away and squeezed her eyes shut, but he wasn’t having it. He grasped her face and forced her chin up, making it impossible to evade his descending mouth. She felt his scraggly beard against her skin before his hard lips smashed against hers. The rank smell of his breath turned her stomach, and she could feel the greasy residue of his dinner on her lips.

She shoved at his chest, but it was no use. He seemed to take it as encouragement and made the most disgusting groaning sound. He pressed her against the wall even harder, and she was mortified to feel his erection. He made another excited sound and rubbed himself against her with more force.

Alys managed to pull her face away and begged for him to stop. That was a mistake. He took advantage of her open mouth and stabbed his grimy tongue between her lips. She gagged, both at the foul taste of him and the unwanted invasion. Her reaction seemed to excite him even more, and he ground his erection into her belly with more force.

When his nasty hands tried to lift her skirt, she balled up her fists and began to strike him. Chest, arms, neck, ribs—she struck out blindly and made contact again and again. “Get off me!”

He laughed harshly, amused at her futile attempt to hurt him. “Oh, I can’t wait to train the fire out of you. One crack of my whip on your bare ass, and you’ll be calling me Daddy.”

Repulsed, Alys reacted with fear and violence. She punched him right in the groin, her fist smashing into his balls with enough force that he crumpled to his knees. She left him there on the floor, heaving and squeaking, and ran.

She collided with someone coming out of a door. Hands grabbed and steadied her shoulders. “Alys? You all right?”

She sagged with relief. It was Graham. “Yes, I’m fine.”

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