Window Story (Working Title)

         The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. Craggy mountains, blanketed in grass and trees. It could have been the backyard of her home, a hundred miles away. But this place was a different world, one she never imagined.
         There had once been other windows in this small house, in the kitchen, the living room and the bathroom. But they had been covered up with wood to keep out rain and the draft. "This is an old house," Courtland said, apologizing, the day he brought her home. "It was all I could afford, and I am blessed I have it. I mean, we have it. Most office workers here rent." He put his hands in his pockets and looked down. It was shameful to work in an office here. Ginger didn't really understand why. Something about not working with your hands, according to Courtland. "Anyway, I was hoping to buy new windows. I didn't expect to get a wife so soon." And he blushed and went into the kitchen, to turn on the coal stove.
         He got her by buying her at an auction, alongside pieces of furniture and cattle. Third of twenty young women who stood on a wooden block as a husky, bearded man called out their stats:
         "Pure White female, aged 17, captured from war in Birch County, Southland," he yelled from a podium. "Healthy with all her teeth and no visible disease. The doctor has declared her prime childbearing material. Bidding starts at $1."
         There were shouts of $2, $10, and then, finally a voice from the back. "$100." There were oohs and aahs as she was led from the stage to Courtland and her hands were unshackled. $100 seemed like a very low price for a human being to Ginger, but she later learned that it was a small fortune here in Heritage, where one could buy a plot of land for $100.
         Her and Courtland had been ushered into a small room, where an elderly man was finishing marrying the woman in front of her, a 14-year-old Ginger knew from church as Bessie, to a white-haired man who beamed as if he had shot the prize deer at the county fair. As Bessie and her groom turned around to leave, Bessie reached out to hug Ginger.
         "I don't want to go with him," she cried.
         "You'll be fine, dear" a woman with grey hair said, and pushed Bessie towards her groom. Ginger would later learn this woman was Jeanie Porters, wife of Pastor Greg Porter, who was marrying the couples. Before Ginger could say a word, Bessie was out the door.
         The ceremony lasted only a couple of minutes. Ginger was asked her name. When she said Ginger Potter, she was stopped. "You take your husband's name now. You will be Ginger Adams." And so she was. As they turned to go out the door, Jeanie Porters congratulated them. "You've got a good one," she said, as she winked.
         And he did seem like a good man. Not like someone who would buy a captive wife. He hadn't touched her except taking her hand, and that was when she had instinctively handed it to him. "I want you to be comfortable," he said. "There's no rush of anything. I have no problem waiting for as long as you need."
         Mrs. Sherry Roberts thought it was a problem. She was the "wise woman" who had been brought in to oversee Ginger's "cleaving" time, a period of a month where she could not leave the home, but was to learn to be an obedient wife. "It is the wife's job to please the husband physically," she said.
         It was just one job Ginger wasn't doing right. She wasn't good at cooking, or cleaning house, or scrubbing laundry on a board. "Your mother did a poor job teaching you," Mrs. Roberts said, shaking her head.
         "My father did most of the housework in my house."
         "Well, that's why. Men aren't to do such work," Mrs. Roberts said, shaking her black curls. "Someday you will realize what a blessing it would be to be here in Heritage, where men act like men and women as women. You are blessed that your husband shows so much mercy towards you. Most men wouldn't.
         They had weekly "cleaving meetings," when Mrs. Roberts, her husband, who was called Pastor Roberts, Courtland and her met, prayed and discussed her progress. At least Pastor and Mrs. Roberts and Courtland discussed it; whenever two members of the "team" were there, Ginger was not to talk out of respect for those people over her. During the third meeting, Ginger learned that her cleaving was being extended at least one more month. The couple had still not come together, a sign that the wife was not doing her job of being desirable for the husband.
         "But I told her we could wait," Courtland said.
         "You just did that because you have a kind heart, kinder than most men, and didn't demand what was rightfully yours," Pastor Roberts said. "She needs to step up and act like a wife."
         Ginger couldn't imagine spending another month in that small house, and having to deal with Mrs. Roberts every day. So that night she came to Courtland naked, while he was sitting on the couch, idly reading the town newspaper. She took his hand and tried to put it on her breast, but he recoiled, and took a blanket off the couch, covering her.
         "You don't find me desirable?" she asked.
         "I wouldn't have bought you if you weren't desirable," Courtland said. It was the first time she had heard him use the word "bought." "You're the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. But this isn't right. You don't truly want it."
         "I want to have more of a view than the window," she said.
         "That isn't the same thing," Courtland said. He went to the closet and got out a white sheet. "That Mrs. Roberts may be cruel, but she's not so smart," he said. "My blood or yours?"
         "What?"
         "There must be evidence of blood. But it doesn't matter where the blood comes from," he said. "I'll do it." He spread the sheet across the couch, then took out his pocketknife. He cut his finger, and smeared blood on the sheet. "I think it's supposed to be about a teaspoon," he said. That should work. Can you get me a towel?"
         The next day, Mrs. Roberts beamed when she saw the sheet. "Finally, we have broken her into a real woman," she said.
         "Great, so her cleaving will end Tuesday," Courtland said.
         "Oh, heavens no, she needs at least two more months," Mrs. Roberts said.
         "You said it would just be one more," Ginger said, putting her hand over her mouth as soon as the words came out.
         "See, right there shows why she needs more time," Mrs. Roberts said.
         "I can't do this," Ginger said, after she left. "Just one window."
         "I wish I had the money for more, hon," Courtland said. "But it is how it is." Ginger saw a tear fall down his face as he left the living room.
         Two nights later, Ginger sat in the bedroom, looking out the window, as the wind howled.
         "It sounds like a tornado," she said, as she went into the living room.
         "We don't have tornados in Heritage," Courtland said, barely looking up from his newspaper.
         "Not in Southland, either. But that is what it sounds like. I saw a video about it in my science class." She cringed as she thought about how she had been a typical high school student two months earlier.
         There was another gust of wind. Courtland jumped. Instinctively, Ginger embraced him. And suddenly they were kissing, awkwardly and clumsily, but kissing. And touching each other.
         And suddenly, the wood on the windows were gone. So was the front door, and 1 whole wall. And the world was open to the night sky, the mountains barely visible in the midst of the wind and rain.
         There was a world outside of this house. Not a great world, but a world. And Ginger had to make the most of it. Even in the midst of stormy weather.