Page 3 of Chosen By Swift

“Yes, he is.” Mama wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Before we could offer him a dowry, he offered to pay us for the honor of marrying you. It’s a good amount.” Her mother lifted her gaze and met Alys’ horrified one. “Enough to expand the herd and hire new hands and a girl to help me around the house.”

As her mother continued to list all the reasons Wendel was a good match, Alys fought the urge to cry. Wendel’s advanced age wasn’t the only reason she didn’t want to marry him. He always smelled of alcohol and onions and mildew, and his teeth were brown and broken in spots. His smile reminded her of the carved pumpkins she and her siblings put out at harvest time to ward off evil spirits.

More importantly, he was mean. He treated his hired hands abominably, and there were whispered stories about the girls that worked in his house. At least two of them had left the farm with swollen bellies he blamed on his farmhands. She had seen one of the babies, now a toddler, and he was the spitting image of Wendel—the hair, the nose, the eyes. The mother was younger than Bonnie which meant she had been, at most, fifteen when the baby had been conceived.

Conceived? No. That was too kind a word for what Wendel had allegedly done to the girl. Rape. He was a rapist.

Desperate, Alys begged, “Mama, please don’t make me do this.”

Her mother’s face hardened. “This isn’t up for discussion, Alys. You’ll do as you’re told.”

Alys swallowed hard. There was no use in crying or throwing a fit. Whether she wanted to marry that old man or not, she would be marched to the altar and forced to speak her vows. Defeated, she obediently nodded. “Yes, Mama.”

Unable to look at her mother for another second, Alys turned toward the stove and grabbed the heavy cast iron pans she needed to make breakfast. She gritted her teeth together, refusing to cry, and checked the large pot of water she had put on to boil before starting the biscuit dough. It had just started to bubble, but she wasn’t ready to pour in grits just yet. Instead, she began placing patties of homemade sausage into a pan.

“Alys.” Mama placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry you’re upset.”

Alys didn’t know what to say. She feared if she opened her mouth she would sob or make a fool of herself pleading for her mother to intercede.

“I understand that Wendel isn’t the ideal man, but he has a nice house and a good farm. We want what’s best for you and for our family. He’s the best we can do for you. You aren’t Bonnie. You don’t have the same options.”

Her mother’s words speared her heart like a knife. In a way, she wished her mother would just say what she meant. Too tall. Too wide. Too plain. Too hairy. Too lumpy. Fat. Ugly. Disgusting.

“You’re a smart girl, Alys. You understand the way the world works, but you have a tender servant’s heart. He’s not the most handsome of men, but he’ll provide a good life for you and your children.”

Children. Alys went cold at the thought of letting Wendel touch her likethat.Growing up on a farm, she had learned at an early age how horses and cows and pigs made their babies. It hadn’t taken her long to figure out that the awful sounds that came from her parent’s room were similar to those from the barn and meadow. By the time her first courses came, she hadn’t had many questions for her mother as she explained the birds and the bees.

Wendel. Stinky, dirty Wendel touching her naked body and putting his...his...partinside her body. She wanted to throw up just imagining it.

“Once the children come,” her mother continued gently, “you’ll be so busy you won’t have time to dwell on anything...unpleasant. You may never learn to love him, but you’ll love your children. There’s nothing more fulfilling in this life than being a mother, in creating life and raising it.” Her mother patted her back in a loving gesture. “Find purpose and contentment, and you’ll always be happy, my darling girl.”

“Yes, Mama,” Alys said, her voice flat and empty. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she tried to blink them away.

Her mother inhaled as if to say something but hesitated. Eventually, she said, “I would appreciate it if you don’t say anything about this until after Bonnie’s wedding. You know how easily upset she is, and we want her to be happy at her wedding.”

Of course. Bonnie’s happiness mattered. As much as she wanted to be petulant and rude, to decry the unfairness, Alys said quietly, “Yes, Mother.”

“And not a word to Aunt Jimmie,” her mother added with a touch of worry in her voice. “The last thing we need is for her to get into a fight with your father. She’ll pick the very worst time to do it, probably during the reception.”

That sounded exactly like something Aunt Jimmie would do, and frankly, Alys welcomed the idea of her favorite aunt causing a spectacle. If nothing else, it might embarrass the family enough to at least feel bad about marrying her off to a man old enough to be her grandfather.

“Do you have this in hand?” Mama asked, changing the subject.

“Yes, ma’am,” Alys replied, desperate to be alone. “Would you like me to bring you a tray?”

“That would be lovely, dear.” Mama kissed her cheek. “I love you, Alys.”

“I love you, too, Mama.” Alys felt tears spill on her cheek as her mother left the kitchen and returned to her bedroom. She roughly and quickly wiped them away with the corner of her apron and continued cooking. Realizing she had forgotten to consider Adam in her calculations for breakfast, she made her way to the pantry for more grits.

“She told you.”

Alys nearly jumped out of her skin. She scowled at Adam who had come back into the kitchen while she had been rummaging among the dry goods. “Adam! You scared me half to death!”

“Sorry,” he apologized with a wry smile. “I was trying to be quiet to make sure you were alone.”

“Why?” Alys returned to the stove and measured the correct amount of grits into the boiling water.

“I have something I want to show you.”

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