Bound

Chapter Twenty-Two

I had no tears left when I got out of bed the next morning. I brushed my hair in silence and tried to reduce the puffiness in my eyes to hide my emotional night. Ready or not, I knew what had to be done. I had an obligation to Ruby to put forth the best show I could manage, and hope for the best.

It was Sunday, so James and I ate a quick omelet breakfast before heading to the church. I felt eyes on me as we sang hymnals and listened to the preacher's sermon, and I knew that word had spread about my pregnancy.

After the sermon ended, I was barraged by well-wishers offering their congratulations. Childbearing was a sacred thing in Grayson where population growth was our main goal. I didn't recognize any of them- the faces of the congregation were still new to me. I shook hands with James' coworkers and their wives, who offered well-meaning advice. I smiled and listened politely, guilt gnawing a hole in my stomach. While James basked in the news, I wanted to curl up and cry. But I couldn't because I had a façade to maintain- for Ruby's sake.

Should it be under different circumstances I suppose the news would have been a cause for celebration. But given my situation and the events of the last several months, this pregnancy didn't feel like a joyous event. Ruby was bringing a life into the world that held backwards beliefs, and into a home with continual violence, and all the while, I was pretending that it was me who was pregnant. Instead of rejoicing, I wanted to vomit.

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I tried to be there for Ruby during the more difficult parts of the pregnancy- the morning sickness, the exhaustion, the irritability. She was doing me a great service, so the least I could do was hold her hair back when she was retching into the toilet bowl. I also used these moments as an opportunity to learn. I'd never been around someone with pregnancy symptoms, and as I was the one who was supposed to be enduring them. By watching Ruby, I knew how to respond to the curious ladies of the church who asked me how I was feeling each week.

Ruby insisted that I really play up her pregnancy symptoms to strengthen our case. At her coaxing, I often passed on meals when James was watching, pleading morning sickness, or pinching myself until I cried at the most irrational moments, blaming it on my hormones, or forcing down so many pickles, as though I were the one craving them, until I was sick to my stomach. It was exhausting keeping up, and stressful to ensure I didn't do something to cause James to suspect our lie. If I was this strained, I could only imagine how Ruby felt when she was the one actually growing the baby.

The only benefit of my pretend pregnancy was that it seemed to change James. He was like a new man, drinking less and less with each passing week. He hadn't laid a finger on me since finding out the news, and every now and then, when he was in an especially good mood, he would even occasionally send a kind word or gesture my way.

As Ruby's stomach grew, so did my anxieties. I feared that we'd be caught, that we would be punished by James or the Guardians, or that we were causing the child to suffer unnecessarily by not seeking medical care.

But if Ruby was concerned, she didn't let it show. Instead, she focused all of her attention on loosening the seams of her clothes little by little, allowing the folds to hide her ever growing stomach. She hid her swollen abdomen well, so much so that one would never know there was a child growing there. But I knew, and seeing her each day was a constant reminder of the danger I was putting her in.

On the flip side, Ruby began sewing padding on the inside of my shirts and dresses, taking in the waistlines in just the right places to accentuate my fake pregnancy stomach so that anyone who saw me knew there was no mistaking the truth behind my impregnation.

I continued visiting the doctor every few weeks to ensure that my "pregnancy" was going according to plan. Dr. Winthrop had been a saint about the situation, always careful to position himself and the ultrasound machine just out of Sister Margaret's view. He even went so far as to print off a picture of my baby. As Sister Margaret gushed over the tiny peanut on the photo, I couldn't help but wonder who the baby really belonged to.