Page 12 of Souls We Rip

Hugging both, I couldn’t believe my sister’s luck. She will have her happy life! At least some of my prayers were heard.

My eyes travelled quickly to the sky, muttering a thank you to God.

“Mum is going to be so happy!” I chuckled, imagining our mum’s face lighting up when Angelica and Gavril would tell her the news.

“You’re right!” realised Angelica, her head tilted. “We have to let her know!” She grabbed Gavril’s hand, turning his face redder than a fresh strawberry and pulled him downhill, getting lost in the sea of people.

I wanted to follow them, but the sound of an oboe announced that it was time to see if I would get out of our childhood home or not.

I pushed all my worst feelings back in the cage and dragged my legs, one shaky step at a time.

Every young girl was wearing her best dress, each one more intricately embroidered than the other. Some of them seemed to be bought from the cities, the quality of the fabrics standing out.

Some of the richest had even vests made out of velvet, a rare sight in my village. Others, who were younger than I, wore batiks or shawls over their head. My mum said that we should do the same, but only in church. To cover our hair was a sign of piety.

Most of the boys, on the other hand, wore their labour clothes. No one batted an eye at their dishevelled look. Their trousers had smudges of dirt, their belts were worn out, and their vests and hats were eaten by moths.

The marriage market began at the third note of the oboe.

First were the eighteen-year-old girls and boys. If neither of the boys showed interest in the girls, then the next row of them would move up, until the boys were four years older than the girls.

And so on.

I stood in my row, with only three other girls my age, looking like they wanted to dig holes in the ground and hide from the world.

My head was held high as it came to our turn, hours later. The night had already set in, the stars replacing the clouds.

With only five men left, I did not feel an ounce of captivation. A couple of them, I knew from our village. They were nothing more than deadbeats.

One man stood in front of me and looked into my eyes. I cowered before his gaze, afraid that he would see my disdain. The plum aroma of țuică flew to my nostrils, making me bristle.

His boots were dirty as were his trousers. His hands were clenched. “You’re Anghel’s older daughter?” he asked, his voice scratching my ears.

“Yes.” I tried to keep my voice as steady as possible.

“Do you spend your days at the inn too?” His eyes roamed over my body, and I thanked God I put on a thicker petticoat.

“No.”

His laughter resounded, turning a number of heads towards us.

“A shame, because,” he mused, his voice drawling, “you have the face for it!”

Bile rose to my mouth as his hand stretched to touch my shoulder; a sign he chose me as his future wife. In a flash, I could imagine what my life looked like.

Beaten, bearing children, no respect and many tears.

Another burst of laughter, and this time someone joined, making me squirm in my own skin.

Wind rustled my skirt, the tune of the song growing weaker with each musical note. The candles strung above our heads flickered, their flame more blue than orange. Out of nowhere, screams pierced the night.

“IT’S HIM! RUN!” a girl shouted in front of us.

I turned my head left and right for my family, but neither of them was there.

Commotion started around me, girls running around screaming at the top of their lungs or boys shuffling to see what was happening. But to me, the deep sigh I took was from relief.

That I wouldn’t have to marry the man who stood in front of me.