Mother and Father excused themselves and Uncle Warren pulled a little black book from his pocket.
“How old are you B?” He asked.
“I’m eighteen.” B whispered.
Eyebrows rose on his usually expressionless face. “You are old enough to be placed in marriage.” He said as if it was news to him.
Her face turned white and she began to shake, “I don’t want to marry Father A!”*
“That doesn’t happen unless the girl requests it. It has to be approved by the prophet through revelation.” He droned on. It took her back to the Alta Academy where she had first heard his voice. In those days it was all she knew, a noise in the background. Now it was the scariest noise she could ever imagine.
Tears pooled in her big green eyes. She was powerless to change generations of teachings handed down. Her voice could not stand against that of the prophet. She was a full-grown woman, but he had a way of making her feel small, like a child.
Uncle Warren stood and slowly passed her a box of tissues. It was a kind gesture, but one with an ulterior motive. He wanted her to feel safe, like he knew what was best.
It had the opposite effect. She took the tissue and wiped her nose with resolve, “I don’t want to marry A. junior either!” She had to say it. Even if it made no difference, she had to at least try, for her own sake, to have a say in her future. She could not imagine holding another man’s hand and being sealed for all eternity like her sister was…without a voice, and without a choice.
Without a change in his demeanor, Uncle Warren folded his hands relaxed, yet purposeful and responded, “Do you not trust the prophet?”
What could she say? If she said yes, or if she said no, it didn’t matter. What she had to say meant nothing. So she said nothing.
They sat in silence. She wondered how many girls had sat in the same heavy silence. Surely she wasn’t the only woman to want a choice.
*At that time, several girls had been placed in marriage to their own step fathers. Thus creating a family where both the mother and daughter were married to the same man.
This chapter reflects the point at which B. decides to leave the Crick. The earlier chapters are an account of a happy, almost utopian childhood shadowed by questions B couldn’t answer.
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