Stories Burying the Lead
This story is set in CelestialSecrets’ alternate world invented for the story Thorns and Roses. In this setting, there was a Transition in the 20th century where genetic editing allowed the United States to make their citizens sexually dimorphic — men have arms, women do not. It’s just that simple, until it’s not. My interest comes from the cultural changes that come with half the population being what we would consider disabled, and those women being chastised for any attempt at independence. This side-story is set in a very conservative part of the country, where the Transition is not discussed anymore, and where its values are held in the truest form.
This was written for the Amputee Nation Writing Challenge for October 2022. The topic was “failure of the education system”. The last story I wrote for this challenge was Life Together.
Thanks to CelestialSecrets, Slothargy, and TheBrentwoodSociety for reviewing and inspiring this exploration!
Chapter 1
Dozens of chairs squeaked and shuffled, wood and metal meeting, echoing in the massive space as Gwen Cartwright eagerly squinted toward the wall of her school’s gymnasium, lit up by a projector beam. The light flickered and a new question appeared.
“What is the ideal ratio of flour to yeast in the making of a simple leavened bread?”
Gwen knew this one, and knew the button board by her feet well enough to tap the A button below her without looking, using one of her best mary janes, buckled tight. She was confident about this.
“Where is the proper following position when walking on the sidewalk, against the flow of traffic?”
Some of the questions on her graduate exam were absurdly simple — it was meant to cover her seven years of schooling in cumulative totality, after all — but this one was just common knowledge! C: A conscientious woman follows behind her guide or chaperone, away from the traffic. Whether the cars were oncoming or passing didn’t change a thing, that was a red herring.
“A door in the masculine style has a knob or a latch. How long should you wait before trying to open it yourself?”
Gwen was getting a little miffed with these trick questions! She answered B: A patient woman will always wait to the side, or return with a chaperone to open it for her. That was even more basic! There were exceptions, of course, but not many. If a door was built in the masculine style, it was probably not appropriate for an unaccompanied young lady to be entering regardless! Even with some free-swinging doors in public, a classy American girl didn’t just go barging through with her shoulder or her chest!
“A man falls and accidentally rips your dress or top, exposing your shoulder. What’s the first thing you do?”
D: Retreat to a private area out of sight, request his help to repair your image. It is his responsibility.
“A new family has moved in across the street, and you want to help them get oriented and familiar. Is it appropriate to use your feet when giving directions to a stranger?”
B: Gesticulation of any sort is unbecoming of a woman. Animation of the shoulders is suggestive and dexterity of the toes is a sin. Use your eloquence illustratively.
“What is the verse number of this passage? ’You husbands… live with your wives in an understanding way, as with someone weaker, since she is a woman; and show her honor as a fellow heir of the grace of life, so that your prayers will not be hindered.’”
Gwen knew this one, it was important! It was the biblical guidance for a man to take his guardianship gently, their God-given duty to care and hold girls like her in trust. But she sure as heck couldn’t recall the verse number! Gwen squinted harder, read it again, and the four answers, but the light flickered and the question changed, she was too late! She had got caught being cocky, confident. That was unbecoming no matter how assured she felt by her Dad’s hint the night prior, that he had already lined up a match for her, that he had something important to tell her this weekend. She still had to get through her finals and get her school approval slip for any of those preliminary arrangements to hold true.
A slight clearing of the throat came from a matron behind her, walking the well-spaced columns for cheaters or layabouts. Gwen looked up at a wise face minding her with a cocked eyebrow, and immediately realized she had been leaning forward, her shoulders scrunched and tense, slouching as if that would help her read better. Luckily the elderly woman was just a volunteer monitor, not a teacher who could dock marks for bad posture, so the student mouthed a ‘Thank you’ and sat up straight, her shoulders pulled back and chin lifted.
She tapped ‘C’ for the next one, everyone knew it was most likely to be ‘C’.
Gwen squinted again. She wished her Dad would get her glasses. They vacationed on Canyon Lake once or twice a year so they couldn’t be hurting for the money, but he was particular. With her schooling coming to a close, his warm words that frames would “tarnish her good looks, just to see distances,” or “be too cumbersome for how little she’d need them,” were said in the way Gwen recognized should not be questioned or debated. Wise words, for her own good. And of course she hadn’t mentioned contacts for two solid reasons; wanting to respect that resolute answer with her best interests in mind… and not wanting her cousin Peter’s clammy fingers touching her eyeballs.
Oh! That bible verse had been ‘Peter 3:7’! Dang!
Compared to dates and passage numbers, Gwen was far more confident answering the questions about mental math: multiplication tables and such. She probably could’ve been an accountant if handling money wasn’t a sin for women’s work, but oh well. God would take advantage of Gwen’s other confidences and strengths through the hands of men, He always did.
Then again, modesty was a good quality too: like all tests, missing a few questions got her farther than answering incorrectly. But she had never taken any pride in being so meek and mild as to be thought dim or dull. By her age, the young graduate knew full well when to behave and when to open her mouth, take a risk and potentially charm her way forward in life. It seemed to work even better now that she had grown up a bit, and the many glances her way weren’t just for being precocious.
Still, she had to admit some of her wild guesses might bite her in the butt later on.
The multiple choice section of the test finally over, the gymnasium lights thunked on and every girl in the room winced their eyes closed from the sudden brightness. Gwen didn’t drag her feet though, hopefully done with those clunky quiz pedals forever. She rose promptly, well poised, waiting diligently for a chap to come along and unhitch her waist leash from the chair spokes, along with the other girls in her little pod, and escort them to oral interviews. The tethers were long enough to mill about, chat, and socialize… usually, but practically the whole class held their tongue. Finals were too important.
Gwen smiled gently to one girl in the next seat over, Tegan, who she knew had a tough time with memorization, but the girl was far too nervous to return the gesture, rubbing her navy blue uniform on the chair back with her hip in vain attempt to get a wrinkle out before her session with the proctor. She was crouched awkwardly, knees bent, hips moving… unbecomingly, but Tegan was far too focused on looking her best to actually do so! Gwen wanted to let her know that fidgeting was going to get her docked further marks, but it wasn’t worth it. She wasn’t going to risk speaking out of turn when the chaperone might be—
Sure enough a chap strolled up and started with Tegan, lifting her chin with the crook of his index finger, looking down at her, giving her a few words of encouragement Gwen couldn’t quite make out, and taking a red sharpie to her white collar, adding a tally to the two already there. Probably for poor diction (she had a tendency to mumble) and presentation (the wrinkles and lack of eye contact). It didn’t seem to help but the young man didn’t get much enjoyment from it either. In the end he collected about 8 girls — Gwen included — and put their folded report cards in their breast pockets, sticking out like a hall pass, before leading them out of the gym.
Not recognizing him from the many boys filling their home ec class requirements, she nonetheless followed the new boy politely, only brushing him with her chest once — which was a record for her — but no one dared chitchat. It wasn’t usually off-limits, but the Henry Ford Preparatory School was quite precise, and well-considered, and they had made it this far! Now wasn’t the time to devolve into gossip and ruckus. Gwen bumped shoulders with a few other girls following his lead, but most of them were too haughty to take notice of her while a new guy was present. They were unpromised and competitive, so she tried not to frown about it. A couple of them only spoke behind closed doors anyways, strict girls from stricter families.
The end of her leash ended up on a pegline like all the rest, a rolling conveyer of vertical handles up on the wall, higher than her shoulder. Sure if you really wanted, you could grab the end of the strap in your teeth and pull it up and off the line, but Gwen hadn’t tried that since first year, when anyone but her Dad pulling her leash felt so… wrong. Oh, and a fire drill last winter.
The chap gave her a second look and a smirk, and Gwen beamed her pearly whites before he had to go to the head of the line, turn the handles, grab a lead or two and guide the students attached to their exam booths.
She remembered asking once — when she was much younger but old enough to know better — why they couldn’t learn to write out long-form answers like the boys did across the yard at the full 12-year prep school. That had garnered a paddling, as well as a gentle lecture about why: it being quite wrong for a girl to write or type when a good-mannered man would gladly record her thoughts for her. Of course her Dad was too busy and Peter couldn’t be bothered unless it was for an assignment, but that was beside the point. Orals were as much about the way you recited your answers as much as what you said, and boys would’ve been lucky to get the same one-on-one tutelage. Of course she had thanked the teacher for that lesson, as much as it stung.
Gwen watched the boy walk out of her sight, and found Tegan’s eyes on her, finally returning the goodwill from earlier. Staring, honestly, so she smiled, blushed, and turned toward the window lining the hall. Gwen hoped she would be assigned to his pod to escort her home, and luckily she was.
Chapter 2
Eventually it was just the two of them, walking down her street in the hot Texas suburbs, gnarly oak and pecan trees giving spotty shade where they could. The gaggle of other students had all been deposited at their front doors, one by one, leashes handed to fathers and brothers and houseminders and au-peres, and even a “home guidance system”: a carabiner clip descending from the ceiling to lead the girl inside and keep her busy until her family returned home. Handoff was important but apparently that counted. Looked expensive, and a bit lonely, Gwen thought.
Every one of them had little green approval slips poking out of their breast pockets, and even though Tegan lived in the opposite direction, her leash picked up by another chap, Gwen had caught a flash of green on her chest too.
“You must be awfully happy to be done with school,” her guide spoke, turning back. “What’s your name? You look practically ready to skip and jump!”
Finally he speaks, she beamed. “Yes, sir! Yes I am! I mean, it’s a lot of pressure off my shoulders honestly. I’m Gwen by the way, and you are…?”
He could’ve found her name between her Dad’s and the Cartwright home address, on the sewn patch on her leash loop, but he had asked her instead. Gwen wasn’t the only one here trained in manners.
“Charlie. Charlie Young. You’re my last leash for the day, so I thought I’d skip the formalities. You’ve probably had enough of ‘em too, right?”
Gwen batted her lashes and beamed, and actually did a skip and jump, before a little twirl and squeal. “Yes sir-ee! I’m finished!! I did it!!! School… is… oooout!!!!”
Her legs spread as far as the propriety hobble between her thighs would allow, and her school uniform bloomed and swayed, the sleeveless wrap tight as she turned and twisted energetically.
So unused to being unabashedly loud, even outside, Gwen caught herself with a blush, realizing he hadn’t given her explicit permission to break that many rules. Making sure her tether wasn’t tangled, Gwen twisted back the way she came and followed its length with a shy gaze to find Charlie smiling vicariously, fully approving.
Yet beyond him was a man, stock still on his porch, hands on his hips, eyeing the two of them dancing on the sidewalk. “You mind your woman there, son!” he called, and Gwen immediately demurred, curtseying mid-step, eyes to the pavement.
But Charlie pulled her cord to skillfully and silently indicate not to bother. “I’ve got her handled just fine!”
Snark aside, the pair sped out of the geezer’s sight then started giggling again. “Don’t mind him. I think you deserve a little reprieve, Gwen. I’ve just started helping out at Ford recently, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a school so strict!”
Gwen followed, head up, back in lockstep with her leash-holder. She didn’t have much to compare it to beyond her church’s daycare when she was a kid, but she knew the sales pitch. “I think it’s worth the trouble. Dad says the national registry of women is a mess of false certifications these days, and there’s not many finishing schools that still actually fail their students, they just give those failures a do-over. The Ford School has an impeccable reputation!” She held her chest proud, the green slip finally showing her worthiness.
Charlie chuckled, “Failures? That’s a little harsh! What if all your hard work was shot to high heaven by one wrong question on that exam? Or you came down with a flu this week? Wouldn’t you want a do-over?”
“Sorry…” Gwen checked herself, “I guess the Ford method is kind of intense.” She had to admit the school’s habit of pitting girls against each other had really seeped into how she spoke. Which was why, even after seven years, there weren’t many classmates she was more than cordial with. But she was proud to have come out on top, she was!
He shifted, obviously well-mannered enough to not let her dig a hole with her own tongue. “I’ve seen the national registry though, your pa’s right, it is such a mess. Plus, scrolling through hundreds of girls on offer does things to a man. It just becomes a blur, y’know?”
He twirled her leash. She didn’t know. Choice was on his side of the lead.
“Anyways, the point is I don’t want my wife to be from the listings, I want us to have a real connection.”
So he was a gentleman, and a romantic. “That’s so sweet. I would want that too, if it were possible.”
“What about getting on a local church board? Let someone from around here contact your pa?”
Her chin raised a bit, “I don’t know… church matches are mostly local boys who can only afford promises to public school girls — you know, four-year bare-minimum sort of thing.” Just enough to know where the baby pops out, Gwen kept to herself. “And though I’d be lucky with any promise that’s made to me, Dad has bigger plans. My sister and I have to be appealing to college graduates and young professionals. Providers.”
Charlie was quiet, and Gwen had an awkward moment to ponder if she was being overzealous again. Like all Ford students should, she turned the conversation back to him.
“I haven’t seen you around before. First day as a chaperone? You saw us at our best and boringest, I’m sure it gives an impression. You’re… not from the Boy’s School, I gather?”
“Oh me? No no.” he laughed but kept on, refusing to elaborate. Now that she could actually admire him, instead of peeking from behind the rest of his flock, he seemed a little older than the usual high school senior filling his timesheet. Not by much, but something lean and assured in the jawline told her he wasn’t a student.
But he didn’t say it in a way she could lead into further conversation, the thread of permission implicitly dropped, so Gwen followed him for the next block and a half in pleasant silence and curiosity.
Charlie led her past her fence and up the path to the porch, before hitting the doorbell.
They waited… but no one came to the door.
“Very nice place,” he offered to break the silence, and she thanked him. This had never happened before.
Charlie hit the doorbell again and knocked loudly, rapping on the solid door, and finally, finally a scampering could be heard from inside.
“Gwen! Gwen!” a muffled voice, high-pitched, just made it past the door. “Mom went to work with Daddy today, there’s some fancy lady from Austin teaching an art class in town, and she left me with Peter, but Peter said you were dragging your feet so he just went out biking!”
The elder Cartwright sister looked at Charlie, her eyes wide and worried as she listened, ear and shoulder pressed to the door. Harriet was only eleven, and it wasn’t okay to leave a girl alone in her own house; eleven, twelve, or twenty! The worst part was that Peter knew better, but Gwen also couldn’t tell him off. Even her fifteen-year-old cousin, rooming with them to supposedly understand his responsibilities in running a household and caring for the lesser sex, naive and careless in so many ways only a teenage boy could be; even he superseded her.
The two young adults heard a rustling inside, and Gwen took a second before she realized what was happening. “Harriet Eleanor Cartwright, you better not be trying to open this door with your shoulder!”
A garbled reply came quickly, “Who haid ah wah u-hing my holder? Wais uh tyhn!” as the knob rattled.
“Harriet!” Gwen cried, her sister not even aware how humiliating this was for herself! For Gwen! For their family name!
Charlie didn’t say a word, he just touched her waist and nodded reassuringly and took action, waving her leash loop by the doorknob so they could all hear the little safety pin fire inside, the electric whirr of a motor drag the deadbolt open. He gripped the knob with his hand, turning to open the door slowly, careful not to knock the precocious youngster down. Without arms, that would’ve been one heck of a fall.
And that’s the day a strange boy escorted Gwen into her own house.
Chapter 3
Peter took forever to get back, even after Charlie got his cell number from the fridge and gave him a stern reminder of his responsibilities. It was odd having a stranger chew out your family like that, but more awkward than insulting. Since even her Mom had to defer some respect toward the adolescent caretaker who tied her shoes, it was really only Gwen’s Dad or other men who could put the boy in his place, on the women’s behalf.
Even though Gwen really really wanted to sometimes.
Luckily Harriet was unbothered now that she wasn’t alone, and happy enough to go back to watching TV; something about ballet dancers from New York City, their feet stepping so hurriedly that their elegant floral figures glided across the stage. The man on screen was speaking about how dangerous their leaps and jumps were, it taking years to perfect using wire harnesses and floorpads and other safety equipment so that they could perform Swan Lake or the Nutcracker without a misstep or a fall. Harriet was enraptured, eyes glued to the screen while her bare foot came up to pull a lock of hair out of the way.
Gwen’s went wide. “I swear we’re not that kind of family,” she promised to Charlie, who stood across from her barstool at the kitchen island, cutting celery and carrots and preparing a basic ranch dip with dill and some other mixins.
“It’s fine. She’s young. Is she starting at Ford in the fall?”
“Yeah, and then she won’t have any such leniencies!” Gwen let her voice carry for a moment like one of her Mom’s stern suggestions, spreading her legs absent-mindedly to feel the propriety hobble pull: twelve inches of strapping keeping her steps modest and such revealing gestures out of reach. She had hated it at first, but now felt almost naked without it.
“I think she’ll follow just fine in your footsteps. Weren’t you the same at her age?”
Gwen was about to lie but the front door burst open and Peter came running in. His bike lay crashed on the front yard, the handle digging into the perfect green sod, but Gwen bit her tongue.
Charlie didn’t. “About time. Do you know how helpless your little cousin was here, all alone?”
Peter hung there with his mouth open, hair too long, hands in his pockets. “What does it matter to you?”
“It shouldn’t. I’m just a school-appointed chaperone. Usually this is a simple handoff you should be well used to, her leash given over and my responsibility lifted, but instead you left two perfectly dignified young ladies two steps away from an emergency! What if Gwen’s sister needed to use the bathroom? What if a fire broke out? She isn’t tall enough to reach the phone on the wall.”
Peter shut his mouth and stood a bit taller, yet had nothing to say for himself.
Charlie gave him a piercing glare while he mixed the veggie dip, the spoon in his hand liable to rap some knuckles, and Peter knew it, but Charlie didn’t escalate. “You need to get your cousin Gwen dressed out of her school clothes. She had a very important day, passing her finals, and I want to take her out to celebrate.”
He did?! Gwen had no idea, but she raised her brows at Peter. Come on, speak up.
Peter looked uncomfortable. “I… I don’t know. I’m not supposed to talk to— You’re not supposed to be in here! Plus, I think Gwen’s promised anyway.” He cautiously took the green slip from her breast pocket and opened it. His eyes went wide. The marks must have been good.
“Is that true?” Charlie asked me, washing and drying his hands with a dish towel.
“I don’t know. My Dad just said he had leads. My ears aren’t pierced, if that’s what you’re asking. Where were you thinking to take me?”
“Hey, I never said you could go!” Peter interjected, boyish voice breaking.
Charlie kind of shrugged and stuffed the tray of veggies in the younger boy’s hands, taking the approval slip in exchange. He nodded toward Harriet in the TV room. “Go feed her, she’s fidgeting and I’ve heard her stomach growl twice. Apologize too. You shouldn’t have left her alone.”
Peter was so caught off guard by the stranger’s confidence that he honestly had nothing to say, while Charlie hopped back on his phone, not the landline this time.
“Hi, Mr. Cartwright, this is Charlie— err, Charles Young, sir. I’ve just escorted your daughter Gwen home and the handoff went well. Thing is, I’m standing on your porch, sir, and I was hoping I could take your girl to the malt shop on Windermere and 37th Avenue?”
Gwen smiled a shy little smile. He was cutting so many corners just to show her a good time…
“Well I was invited by a couple other volunteer chaperones. I think both of them have dates too, so we won’t be alone… uh huh… yes sir. Well it’s to celebrate her A+’s in three subjects, including Grace and Etiquette. I just thought— Yes I’ll wait for your fax— Yes I’ll tell Peter— I will sir, you too.”
He hung up, then went back to tidying the kitchen.
Peter looked at the new boy, bewildered. “Why did you cover for me?”
Gwen wanted to ask the same question.
“So that you’ll go apologize to your little cousin and then, in record time, get Gwen dressed in something less formal. Come on, now!” He clapped twice. “I could easily tell him the other story if you drag your feet.”
Well suffice to say her cousin didn’t dawdle, and before long Gwen was being pulled up the stairs by her waist leash, beaming a smile down at Charlie who had taken over feeding Harriet carrot sticks and ranch dressing, even using a fork so she could feel like a fancy ballerina being doted on. Drag your feet. He was witty and charming and commanding too, and suddenly Gwen hoped her Dad hadn’t quite found her a match yet.
“Oh one more thing, Peter,” Charlie called from the living room, “Mr. Cartwright said Gwen should be ‘dressed appropriately for being escorted’, if that means anything to you.”
It sure did.
Chapter 4
Gwen could tell Peter was grumbling as he dragged her into the room she shared with Harriet.
The two girls had once slept separately, but when their cousin moved in the decision had been made that the young boy needed his privacy. Now there was only one queen bed between the daughters of the house, but their two sides were diametrically opposed in every way, with Gwen’s being neat and tidy, her sheets made as best as her mouth could manage, while Harriet’s side was littered with toys and her covers so askew that even her nightstrap was hanging out on the floor, its buckle open like jaws trying to snatch someone’s ankles and pull them in for a nap.
Gwen was distracted enough by the mess that she almost stepped on a piece of paper. “Pete, if that’s what I think it is, Dad is gonna flip.”
Peter bent down to pick up the childish painting, a mess of shaky lines and splotches. “You worry too much, it’s going to give you wrinkles. I saw her using her mouth.”
Gwen had to admit that took most of the edge off. “How did she get into Mom’s painting supplies though? Kids aren’t supposed to—
“That’s enough. If I’m gonna be chewed out by anyone in this house it’s not going to be a girl. Here, do you need to pee?”
Gwen could only nod shyly, and follow the pull of her leash toward the adjoining bathroom.
“I’m sorry I was late, I know it always puts you in a bad mood when you have to hold it.” He lifted her dress skirt up and wrapped the leash around her as an extra belt to keep all the pleated fabric out of the way, exposing her legs in their white stockings. An easy slip of the finger in her underwear, and a tug downward meant Gwen was clear to sit on the toilet to do her business while Peter searched for more disposable towelettes.
Any attempt to tell her cousin his apology missed the mark by a country mile was undercut by the trickling sound of her going, while he stood there waiting to wipe. Gwen knew plenty of girls could just kick off a shoe, lay some toilet paper on the seat, and clean themselves, but not Ford girls. Not the Cartwrights. They were a family of good Christian values, and that meant they didn’t stoop to that level.
As the trickles and plops came to a stop and Peter lent a hand to wipe her, Gwen had to remember the old childhood joke: that a grown girl was too pure to make a mark on paper— from either end. That’s what boys are for.
Crude, but it got to the point.
Cleaned up, Gwen watched as the boy peeled and applied a panty liner. “Hey, I don’t need that yet.”
But he didn’t even hesitate, “The calendar tracker says you do, and you remember what happened last time you said ‘no’?”
Her shoulders tightened, sinking forward even as her legs remained spread. “That was three years ago…”
“Yeah, and I’m the one who got the belt when you were sent home with stains. No ‘buts.’” Peter grumbled, pulling her panties up and ending any debate. “Let’s go get you ready.”
He was almost pulling her along by the time they got to the girls’ walk-in closet, even though she was just as eager to get this over with and escape with the boy downstairs.
Thing is, Peter’s methods were fast and rough and careless, the polar opposite of the way her Dad used to keep her dressed and bathed, making sure she never felt embarrassed or rushed. He still gave her that every birthday — that and a real spa appointment for her and her Mom to have some one on one time too — but he was far too busy these days keeping the roof over their heads to do all that himself for three women. Harriet’s birth had all but guaranteed the family would need help eventually, with no sons around to pick up the slack. Her Mom had done her part for the first four or five years, but the privileges and allowances of motherhood always ran out about the time shoelaces needed to be tied, buckles clasped, and buttons fastened.
And so she instead felt Peter’s hands unfastening the buttons down her back with a tug and pull each time, yanking then unbuckling the waistleash before letting it drop to the floor.
It’s like he knew she would have to get on her knees and pick it up later, but just didn’t care!
Peter cared about his own neck though, and Charlie had said what he would do if the boy dawdled. He pulled off her navy uniform as soon as he could, and in an instant Gwen was shivering: dressed in nothing more than her hobble, stockings, panties, bra, and an hourglass girdle that took her already-slim figure in the direction more modern fashions said it should be. The tiny gold cross hanging from her neck trembled with her. Gwen was practically naked!
“Pick an outfit while I look for those fancy granny panties your Dad bought you.” Peter said, leaving her to rummage through her dresser drawers.
“They are not granny panties!” She had to rebut to save face, though if she was being honest he was right on the money. Just a few years prior, when talk of promises and marriage had started to become more than talk — as innocent invites to the school dance on their answering machine gave way to less innocent requests for her escort, and finally even some proposals — her Dad had ordered a pair of ill-fitting high briefs for ‘protecting her propriety’.
“You know I don’t really need them…” she muttered, running her bare shoulder through the hanging outfits like a boy flipped through comic book pages with his thumb. There were a few school uniform sets she wouldn’t need anymore, formal and casual dresses, her Sunday best, and then some ensembles pre-picked by her Mom; blouses with skirts and the most elegant waist belts too…
She paused to ponder and continued her point. “Charlie doesn’t seem like that kind of guy. He’s a school chaperone, there are dozens of girls without ‘protection’ under his guidance every day.”
“Yeah well, your Dad said, didn’t he?” Peter returned with the wrinkly underwear, its hemlines lined with steel cable and made of some untearable woven material. “And I don’t trust this guy. He just waltzed right in here and—”
“You don’t even know how to waltz!” Gwen laughed, but her little cousin just paused for a moment, and looked up from his current job between her legs.
“No backtalk.”
He resumed his task, and before long Gwen was not only tightly secured from any improper premarital advances or penetration, but also wrapped in her choice of outfit, #11: a white blouse, cornflower blue summer skirt, and a matching cardigan. This time a braided leather belt and leash pulled her back toward the bathroom for a quick touchup to the face and hair, before guiding her descent back to the living room, where Harriet jumped on the couch in glee and Charlie tried to save face and keep his jaw off the floor.
It was old-fashioned, but Charlie already had the permission slip in-hand, signed and faxed by Mr. Cartwright to give to Peter in exchange for Gwen’s leash, after which her cousin promptly folded the paper and slipped it into her cardigan’s breast pocket, patting it for safekeeping one-too-many times.
It was only as she turned toward the door and her afternoon out that she felt a tug on her hips, and a whimper. “I -anna go on the date too!” Harriet begged, her teeth biting, pulling on her big sister’s skirt. Peter tried to pull her off but it only made it worse!
Gwen shrieked, the fabrics getting tugged and ruined, but Charlie calmly knelt in front of the younger Cartwright girl and grabbed her by the shoulders, eliciting enough of a gasp to release her jaws of death. “It’s okay, your sister and I aren’t going on a date-date… yet.” He gave Gwen an eye. “This is just a friend-date. An adult boy and girl friend-date with other adults. Not so fun. I’m sure if we start having enough date-dates then I can plan something you’ll like too, and then you’ll definitely be invited, okay?”
Gwen had to admit a moment of disappointment might’ve shown on her face when he said ‘friend,’ before she realized he was putting the prospect of dating in her hands. He was an old-fashioned romantic after all.
Harriet eventually nodded, acquiescing to let them go and not make a fuss. Charlie held up his finger and told her it was a ‘pinky promise’ and she kissed it lightly like you do. Gwen had to admire him for the pact, he was really good with her sister, and Peter saw it too.
“And if we don’t end up going on a real date-date, you can take it up with your sister!” he laughed as he pulled Gwen out the door and down to the neighborhood strip…
Chapter 5
Charlie made many compliments on Gwen’s outfit as he glanced at his phone for directions — back toward the school and then a turn north toward the busier parts of the labyrinthine streets. She knew them well if he had asked, but the way he spoke wasn’t leading or offering her any allowances to pipe up politely besides a ‘thank you’ or two. They were only a few blocks away from the music pouring out of Clive’s Soda Bar when Gwen finally had the courage to speak.
“Was this your plan all along? To take me out?”
Charlie shook her leash, indicating for her to skip ahead and walk alongside him with far less slack, before he answered. “Well yes, I had an eye on you since your exam, but I was going to ask your guardian from the porch, not— well it got a bit complicated, but we’re not too worse for wear, I think. To his credit, your cousin really moved once he had the fear of God in him!”
The two laughed as they passed by a few glass-fronted shops and more couples strolling around like them, then the local park full of men playing catch with each other or their pets, and women making use of the fountain benches. Kids ran around the playground playing tag, the boys slowing down to a jog whenever a girl was ‘it’. They passed by a couple of juniors or sophomores from her school with their leashes tied together in a bow, like Gwen’s Dad might allow her to lead Harriet when they went to the mall — within his line of sight, of course. They passed by another woman in a light and tight sundress and exercise shoes, being pulled along by a young German Shepard on a mission. Mostly though, the local women weren’t leashed to anything, chatting along with chaperones or each other, carrying their own purses across their body, walking at their own pace, dipping into whichever storefronts they liked from the window displays.
Indeed when Gwen surveyed the busy street, she had to remember she was the odd one out. Not only did few other women have waist belts as long as hers, meant to be looped around the nearest hand, hook, or post, but fewer still had a pink slip with their guardian’s script on it, folded just right to poke out of their pocket.
Only her and Charlie received that warm nod of acknowledgement from the policeman in his booth on the corner, the “all is well, have a good one” that came with her family name and that slip. The local precinct knew which families lived by Ford principles and who to call if anything was amiss.
Gwen smiled back, secure and happy living in a community that cared so much about women’s safety. She didn’t know how everyone else got by without that firm hand, honestly, but her Dad had always taught Gwen and Harriet to be accepting of different lifestyles. To an extent.
Charlie opened the door to reveal Clive’s, a busy diner specializing in burgers and floats and the best milkshakes in the county. He seemed to catch the eye of someone and led Gwen to the far back.
Her leash got the stink eye from a table crowded with public school girls in their plain polyester dresses, while one of their own slipped a bare foot up above the tabletop to grab a french fry.
“Hey now!” The burly old gentleman behind the counter yelled their way, “No shoes no service, young lady! I know whose name is on your tab!”
Gwen kept her head down for fear of an impolite look of righteousness from slipping out, watching her shoes following her leasholder’s every step. Peter had left them securely buckled and they would stay that way.
The couple reached a big booth at the back, already packed with two other pairs, led by a couple chaps from the boy’s school each escorting a girl from Gwen’s graduating class. They had food in front of them already.
Javier and Micheal stood to shake Charlie’s hand. “I knew you would make it eventually!”
“Sorry we ordered, the girls were starving.”
Charlie told them not to bother while Faith and Cristina rolled their eyes from the booth, as if to say, “What gentlemen.”
Heads were nodded, curtsies were given, names were exchanged, and Charlie’s hands held Gwen firmly around the waist, helping her scoot further into the booth to bump shoulders with Cristina, who broke the ice, “Hi! I feel like we haven’t been sat next to each other since first or second year!”
Gwen nodded and reminisced. “Gonzalez, Cartwright, not too close in the alphabet. What a shame. And to think we’re finally finished!”
Faith’s expression soured and Charlie noticed while slipping into place next to Gwen in the packed booth. “What am I missing?”
“Oh I’m sorry,” Gwen said, concerned, “I thought that’s what we were celebrating.”
The Ford boys looked at each other.
Cristina clarified. “Faith’s family follows the rule of the Meek, she doesn’t speak in mixed company. I think her Dad or her fiance picked a supplemental summer session at Ford before the wedding.”
Javier finger-fed her one of his fries and grabbed the approval slip from her breast pocket. “And it’s wild too, I mean she’s got straight A’s here!”
“Well we can toast to that,” Charlie offered his cup to the boys and the girls congratulated Faith with a warm and cordial ‘cheers’ as well as a little footsie under the table.
Faith didn’t waffle over the slip in manners when Javier had a perfectly good fork in front of him, she just ate up and smiled at the people talking about her, wiggling in a little self-congratulatory cheer.
As the boys started feeding their dates from the sliders and fries and pickles before them, Gwen felt her own stomach rumble and leaned into Charlie slightly.
“Oh yes, let me flag down the waiter.”
He did, but while Gwen was ready for a bite, she definitely wasn’t ready to see Tegan, Clive’s only daughter and fellow Ford graduate, come strolling by in a waiter’s uniform; her decorative paper cap and white apron underneath a very non-decorative tray — near-side bound around her waist and far-side supported by a strap hanging from her neck, like a hawker of popcorn and beer at a baseball game.
“Welcome to Clive’s Soda Bar.” Her voice wavered. “Please take a menu and I’ll be right back to get your order.”
Gwen’s mouth must’ve been hanging open, because Tegan blushed hard and practically scampered away to the next table as soon as Charlie had accepted the menus from her tray.
“Poor thing.” Cristina leant into Gwen. “Old Clive’s been having a tough time finding servers so he has to use his own daughter for help. I wouldn’t want guys seeing me like that, they’d think I’ll be his maid around the house.”
Gwen had to agree it was more than a little embarrassing for a girl to be seen working such a menial job. It was more appropriate for women to be in advisory positions, like a style guide in a department store, or a concierge at a hotel. It showed they had refined tastes and intellect. Sales and serving and handiwork were men’s trades through and through, and it seemed Micheal felt pretty strongly about it.
“It’s just not right.” He stabbed at his fries.
“How do you reckon?” Charlie looked up from his menu. “Plenty of girls work in Dallas, especially when they don’t have brothers to earn for the family, or they live without a guardian. Of course—”
“We’re not talking about inner-city dykes though, this is God’s country.” Michael said matter-of-factly.
Gwen balked at the foul language and looked down at the menu set in front of her. It was right then she realized just how long it had been since she was last given a menu to simply order for herself. Even if a waiter offered, her Dad would surely decline — with a wink her way. He usually knew what she liked just fine. Now that she could see all the options, though, it was a bit overwhelming.
Charlie seemed disinterested in stoking the guy’s fire, so he asked her what she wanted.
“Uhm… a strawberry shake?” she asked like he was going to say no, but he didn’t hesitate at all.
“Okay. Are you sure you don’t want some food too?”
Her eyes went wide and a rush of anxiety overcame Gwen, a very odd feeling for someone who thought herself so self-assured. She wasn’t usually asked! Did he expect her to— “Maybe we can… share?”
Even though he replied, “Of course,” just in his demeanor Charlie seemed to be a little disappointed in her indecision. Not unsurprised. He flagged Tegan to come back, but once she arrived with her tray covered in empties, the whole group discovered Michael wasn’t going to let it lie.
“I wouldn’t trust this one. Javier and I had to get our orders fixed because she forgot them.”
“It was just the bacon, man. It was super extra.”
Charlie tried to settle the matter, “Let’s just order and—”
“No way!” Michael put his foot down. “You’re an out-of-towner, high-roller looking for a good afternoon out. It’s not fair you get a bad impression of us and our town.”
Tegan just stood there with her tray full of empties, realization dawning that she was the topic of discussion. Gwen could see the same look of nervousness on her face as earlier in the exam. Fear, indecision, insecurity. She was entirely adrift and at the whims of others.
“Here we’ll have a—” Charlie tried again while Tegan was trying to tune out Michael, but he was relentless.
“I think we would prefer a real waiter,” he smiled thinly, “so that we don’t get any more mixups. You have a bit of a reputation for your little scatterbrain, no?”
The shock on the waitress’ face was too much…
“Leave her alone! Don’t you see she’s just trying her best?!”
Gwen felt the words coming out of her before she could tame them, and Faith and Cristina looked at her shocked, repulsed even. Michael was taken aback and ready to redirect his ire her way, but it was Charlie who broke the silence.
“You should mind your tongue, honey. We didn’t ask you.”
His words were gentle but firm, and even as her date touched her lap gently, Gwen felt quite firmly put in her place.
“You said it.” Micheal grinned, but Charlie wouldn’t let him get too smug.
“And so should you. Gwen isn’t even half-wrong.”
“Listen, you’re the poacher coming into our school on the last day to scout for wives, right? I was fine not getting into it, but—”
“That’s enough.” Charlie asserted through gritted teeth. “You’re just a kid who has zero idea what’s actually going on here.”
This was the first time Gwen had seen him not in control of the situation, and while that was new, the danger of a ‘poacher’ was not. At worst it was a man who seduced or simply grabbed unmarried girls, took them out of state, and wed them without family approval, something that was increasingly hard to annul, especially if the man had his way with her. At best it was a vulture swooping in right as girls came of age to charm the family and make promises he couldn’t keep just to find a wife when his own reputation back home was irrecoverable.
For obvious reasons, the word looped in Gwen’s head even as the two men bickered enough that by the time Clive had lumbered over to take the order, Charlie could only thank him politely and say the two of them would be leaving.
Chapter 6
The chaperone and his girl stood on the street corner, the buzz of the soda shop sealing behind them with the glass door’s soft but definitive close.
The street outside seemed quieter than before, and Gwen’s slight shoulders shrugged as a breeze blew by. The sun was setting and as it faded, so did the afternoon heat. Her leash seemed less a security now than a liability, and she was two seconds from looking the policeman’s way when Charlie finally turned to her and spoke.
“I’m sorry, that guy was way out of line, but I promise you this isn’t what you think.” He gestured between them. “Are you… okay?”
Gwen couldn’t meet his gaze, so she looked down at her best pair of Mary Janes. “If you were from here, you would know those two boys are trouble. Well, Javier is alright but he sure doesn’t hold the best company.”
She didn’t answer his question, though. In a way, she was asking her own; throwing an accusation that would paint her as presumptuous and naggy if said directly. You never said you were all the way from Dallas, but that rude boy knew.
“Yeah well, if I was from here maybe my plan wouldn’t have gone halfway to hell. I invited those other chaperones out as an excuse to take you on a date, told them I would pay and everything. Did you see the pile of dishes they had there? But I’m not some poacher, I promise. I’m just an idiot who thought he could win you over the old way. I… should have waited for the weekend…” He idly twirled her leash in his hand, but then stopped before she could ask what he meant. “Would you like to go home, or can I still make it up to you? We could head down Olmos Drive, I saw there’s some nice lookouts over the reservoir.”
Something clicked, and Gwen simply let out a laugh. Sardonic or care-free, somewhere between, even she couldn’t quite define it. “If you were from here, you would know that’s a brazen ploy to take me to the most famous makeout spot in the whole town!”
Charlie could only shake his head, smile, and begin heading back toward her house, but for the first time Gwen didn’t follow. She stood still, feet planted on the sidewalk, and let the line go taut. He looked back, confused. “Wait, I thought I struck out!”
“You did, but…” she smiled shyly, leaning on the leash so he would come back, “you didn’t even know what you were suggesting, so it’s okay for me to accept, I guess.” Charlie reeled her in so the two were chest to chest, his strong hands giving her no slack, while she leaned and tugged playfully. “Sunsets are quite nice over the water— as long as that’s all you had in mind.” She twisted and turned and batted her lashes, feeling the crinkle of her special underwear between her legs. “I’m probably promised, you know!”
“Oh, I know.”
With a backup plan in motion, Charlie and Gwen strolled from the main drag over to the corner grocer to make up for their skipped dinner: fruits and meats and cheeses for a little board of deli selects. Her confidence in him grew again, slowly this time, as she followed him through the store, gradually becoming comfortable enough to suggest this and that, chat more openly about likes and dislikes, as he threw everything she asked for in a basket hanging from the arm that held her leash. Her schooling always told her to defer exclusively to the man’s desires, but he seemed preoccupied with hers, which felt… strange. If he hadn’t been so self-assured, it would’ve reflected poorly on him, but…
By the time she was getting side-eyed by the checkout clerk, Gwen had put the pieces together, but she had to ask on the walk over. She had to be sure.
“So… you know my Dad, then?”
“Hmm?”
“Well, you were awfully casual with him on the phone and… to be honest, I still can’t believe he gave you a slip.”
The bench was in sight when he looked back at her, their own special picnic in his hand, and gave her the warmest smile. “I knew you would be too smart for all this play pretend. Yup, I know your Father pretty well. I’m a junior associate at his company, in the Dallas office. He’s really taken me under his wing the last couple years since I got out of school and… well I’d been looking for a match, but to be honest I was surprised when he mentioned you.”
Gwen blushed. It explained so much! Somehow all his half-answers and contrived plans, which she had begun to attribute to one of the worst qualities of a man — playing the field, an undiscerning or wandering eye — they coalesced into something far more earnest now that she knew he wasn’t just hunting any girl. He had gone through a whole day of volunteer work just to target her!
After sitting her down by the banks of the reservoir, water sparkling with the evening sun, he looped her leash over her neck; a sign that she was free to roam however she pleased, or leave. Once again he was putting this date on her terms.
“So…” she waited for the first bite he was slicing with a pocket knife. “Did you propose to him already?”
“I did. Last week.” He put a dollop of compote and a fresh raspberry under a sliver of brie, feeding her the cracker by hand.
Gwen kept eye contact as she leaned forward and took the delectable bite in her mouth, something she knew only to do with a husband as thanks, a little prayer to him. It was an important gesture she’d never had the confidence to even pretend or joke about before, far too intimate, and yet now she could think of no better way to communicate just how she felt.
Charlie looked so bashful, smiling. The gesture wasn’t lost on him: Acceptance. She was jumping the gun to give him the honorifics she would soon have to, once the knot was actually tied.
“You understand why I wanted to make this day special, then?”
“I do.” She said softly. Every girl knew her arrangements were usually set in stone long before she was even in the loop. Feminine feelings like attraction were fickle, and yet he had her reeled all the way in. “My Dad’s going to announce your promise this weekend, isn’t he?”
“He is, but I wanted your approval first.”
Gwen couldn’t believe her ears. “What does that matter? I should be seeking yours! You must have seen my fertility tests on the registry, and you know I have good grades at Ford and—”
To cease her nervous volley, Charlie fed her another bite and a sip from a tiny bottle. Something sparkly and fruity and… slightly alcoholic. Another first for her.
“They teach you the oddest things down here.” Charlie smiled and squinted at the sunset over the water, the light illuminating his irises, making him glow to her as she did to him. “Your listing was one of the best I’ve ever seen, but I can’t fall in love with test results, certifications, and measurements. Same way you can’t fall in love with a name engraved on a pendant between your breasts. A marriage should be a partnership.”
“You are such a romantic.” She giggled. “I don’t know what it’s like in the big city, but here marriage is ownership. Obedience. Loyalty. Servitude. Ephesians 5:22 says—”
Charlie grabbed her neck in that way a man tells a woman to listen close, usually behind closed doors. Caught mid-sentence, she let out something between a squeak and a moan, his hand holding her firm as her shoulders shifted and shrugged reflexively, uselessly. His face was only a few inches from hers.
“You mean ownership like this, Gwen? I can take what I want, sure, that’s what the Transition was for, after all.” He leaned in and kissed her on the lips, and her confusion melted as she kissed back, lost in him. His other hand supported around her back and gripped her shoulder and pulled her body close to his, their chests crushing the permission slip between them, while their deep sighs of release mixed and mingled. She had no idea what to do, but his lips were patient and commanding, telling her how, then letting her respond. Even untouched as she was, Gwen learned quickly and eagerly.
Finally he let go of her lips, but not her neck. “I would rather you learn to give as much love as I earn, taking care of you, making you happy. I want us to be close. You’re obviously so used to hearing where you falter and fail, but I want to know where I slip, what you feel is lacking in me — in us — so we can build something stronger than this leash. That’s what I’m offering. Yes, an old-fashioned marriage.”
She admired the glimmer of light in his eyes, the taste of him on her lips as her thighs squeezed together. Something warm and intense was building inside her, and she answered honestly, the only way she knew how. “The only thing I feel lacking right now is a way to hold you closer. Just in this moment, I wish Adam had given women a whole rib so we could have arms too.”
Charlie didn’t let go but he backed off and looked at Gwen queerly.
She hesitated, unsure of herself. “I’m sorry. Did I say… I shouldn’t have expressed doubt in the Lord. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. This is why He keeps girls like Faith meek. I—”
Charlie touched her more gingerly now.
“Do you think… has no one ever told you about the Transition?”
“What transition?”
“It’s a failure of education, really.” He muttered to himself, and prepared her some more bites of their picnic. There were going to be many moments, better moments, to reveal to this innocent girl why she and all the women like her lacked arms and independence. It was important she know, but…
“It’s not important right now… just know that I’ll hold you twice as tight. I promise, okay?”
“Okay…” Gwen wondered even as she took another bite from his hand. She knew then, as she kept her eyes on his with her mouth open and accepting, that she could eat from his plate for the rest of her days. She knew he would be generous and gentle, and firm with her when it was appropriate. She knew he would tell her whatever she needed to know, and keep her safe from the things she didn’t. And in exchange Gwen would behave, and follow his lead as a girl should.
He pulled a small box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a pair of diamond studs and a matching pendant on a fine golden chain. Two hands, holding the gleaming gemstones like an offering.
“Gwen Cartwright, will you marry me?”
If you enjoy this alternate history and its skewed lens, go read the original series, Thorns and Roses by CelestialSecrets’!