Page 56 of Longing for Liberty
“I believe my last child, my son Zeek, is actually Samuel’s.”
My head flew up to look at his face.
“Samuel? As in…”
“Samuel Roan.” Oh my God. I blinked as he stared at the ceiling. What was I supposed to say to that? He’d just poured scalding tea into my cup, and it was too hot to hold.
“I’m…that’s…I honestly don’t know what to say. Are you okay?”
He gave a dry huff like a fake laugh. “It was never a marriage of love. Her father chose me for her.”
Their marriage had been arranged? The very notion of not marrying by choice or for love was kind of unheard of in America back when they married. A creepy feeling slithered over me as I realized what this damning information meant. He was definitely one of the Order of Mercy.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said quietly.
He kissed the side of my head and began to sit up, so I did too.
“May I dress?” I asked.
“Yes.”
We climbed from the bed, and I cleaned myself in the hallway bathroom, dressing, and then placed the clean plug on his bedside table while he showered.
In the kitchen, as I made his dinner, Amos came in and nuzzled me from behind, kissing my neck in another domestic, intimate display of affection. The sex, I could handle. The fond behaviors were much more difficult because they required a level of emotion that was hard to fake. Those emotions, my love and adoration and comfort, were for Jeremy. If I were going to cuddle and be lovey with Amos, it would put me in danger of getting emotionally involved, which was stupid and dangerous.
The more I learned about Amos Fitzhugh, the bigger this job became.
When his dinner was prepared and it was time for me to leave, I paused by the door.
“The woman,” I asked. “Shelby Gortund. The prisoner from my neighborhood. I thought they were going to wait until she had the baby.”
His hands were in his pockets as he leaned back against the table. “She lost it.”
I couldn’t help it—I brought my hand up to my mouth in shock but quickly dropped it, forcing a nod. Why should I be shocked when she was starved and kept upright, bent over in stocks for days, during a storm? Did they at least bring her water? An ache of sympathy hit my chest.
“Okay. Well.” I tried to force thoughts of her out of my mind. “Good night, Amos.”
“Good night, Liberty.”
TWENTY-SIX
STATE NEWS: NATO LEADERS TRIED AND CHARGED BY ICC FOR CRIMES AGAINST HUMANITY IN FORMER US BOMBINGS!
I wonderedall the way home if she’d been relieved when she lost the baby—relieved that she wouldn’t have to experience having her child torn from her arms, given to strangers to be raised in this faux utopia. Or if she’d mourned that part of her wouldn’t get to live on. Or perhaps she felt none of that, or all of that, and more.
I would never know.
Jeremy went to the hanging while I sat at the table with my phone in my hand and pretended I was watching a movie. A fictional killing. Not the hanging of a real woman who’d been abused until she snapped. I wanted to look away, but extra drones were surveilling and continued to zip past the window every couple of minutes, raising my heart rate.
Vice President Walinger wasn’t the natural speaker that Roan was, but people loved his cowboy antics. He stood at the podium and preached about the dangers of women losing their minds to the sin of pride and disobedience. And how it would take an entire generation of change to wipe out the lies and hazards of evil secular ideals ingrained into women before things were made right by the State.
“Blessed is this new generation that never knew the foulness of old ways! And never will! Because we have been saved from evil!”
The crowd cheered, and I forced myself to give a small smile and nod in case a drone was anywhere outside of my window.
I was numb when the camera panned to Shelby standing with the noose. Her face was blank, her hair a wild mass of blonde tangles. I was numb when the floor before her opened up, and her head wrenched violently to the side, her arms flailing out for one second as her body jerked before she went still, her limp body swaying.
That could be me someday. Or Jeremy. Or Rebec—No?—
