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Arms wrapped around her own knees, surrounded by bathwater steam, Becka is finally free of dread.
Somewhere nearby, Agnes speaks softly. Gentle movements blur in periphery: hand shifting, wringing pink-tinged water out of a washcloth.
Becka doesn't dwell on that. Instead, she watches the waterline.
For most of her childhood, time flowed as a tide coming in. Minute to minute, hour to hour, little to show for its passage - though eventually the tug of it became too strong to ignore. It's visible in retrospect, of course, that things have shifted.
The pulse of time began to quicken after Becka met Agnes.
They both wore tailored pink dresses when Commander Mackenzie's family arrived from Colorado, but it wasn't long before they grew out of them. Each day appropriately filled with preparation - lessons, busywork, corrections. Before they knew it, they were Plums. Deep purple dresses laid out neatly, the addition of carefully-monitored excursions beyond school walls, a new weight to their step. Godly girls well on their way to becoming Godly women.
That was when real change began, tentative at first, but picking up until the ground fell away beneath their feet, dazzling and wild. Racing towards something they couldn't define. Then, at least, the mystery was a thrill. A secret. A promise.
They managed to hold onto some childish whimsy well into those adolescent years - field trips on the Plum bus, afternoons spent chasing each other around trees at the park, breathless with laughter. Those days they played more roughly than they were usually allowed - almost boyish, really, though softened somewhat by their long, swishing skirts.
Before long, they'd caught their breath and become proper girls again. They knew what was expected of them. Walked back to the bus, pink-cheeked from wind, more or less a disciplined line.
Sometimes, Agnes and Becka would fall just slightly behind, their shoulders brushing together. Easy and light as anything could be.
The Aunts were usually busy swarming about, straightening cloaks, telling off any girl who dared to let a strand of hair slip loose. With their chaperones reasonably distracted, Becka reached over to link pinkies with Agnes. A beat, a squeeze - I'm glad I'm here with you - and they dropped their hands back to their respective sides. The warmth stayed long after.
Between masterfully meek "Under His eye"s to the Guardians at the bus door, Agnes updated her on Paula's latest gripe - the way her dresses were fitting after this most recent growth spurt, her posture, her lack of gratitude.
Becka communicated her reactions in the tiniest of signals. Quiet, sharp exhales, the twitch of her lips. Eyes fixed dutifully ahead all the while.
They had grown accustomed to this manner of back-and-forth. It was an art, really. How to angle one's head just enough to catch every word - but not so much as to disrupt the beautiful, boring facade everyone wanted to see.
Here, in Gilead, it was usually safer to be boring. Presumably a blank slate was easier to handle.
In much the same way, it was safer to avoid becoming especially close to someone. The way she is with Agnes. They're advised against it, fed reasons that never quite made sense. Best friends lead to secrets and the like.
The logic struck Becka as silly. She would have adored Agnes openly if allowed.
It seems of God, the way she feels. Why would this devotion be in her heart, if not placed there by Him?
There (and everywhere), Becka could see His hand in the sweet and sure lines of Agnes' face, almond-colored eyes, delicate freckles. And her hair - which had been allowed down much more often as a Pink; as a Plum, increasingly tucked back, away, hidden.
Purple, of course, was followed by Green.
They’d giggled imagining the odds of being simultaneously blessed. Seeing each other first thing at school and knowing; expectant looks, gesturing vaguely to the newly fruitful womb inside them - Pray, you as well?
Of course, it didn't happen like that.
Becka had been blessed as He’d blessed Ruth and Leah, but she’d been blessed alone. This was meant to be something that made her happy, clearly. She managed a fraction of the correct response. Agnes had always been the better performer.
After that, she could count on one hand the number of times she saw Agnes' hair down.
One instance was at the Initiation, as Agnes approached the water, took hesitant steps deeper and deeper into the baptismal pool until her nightdress bloomed up around her waist. Feigning composure admirably, given the circumstances. But Becka could see her trembling.
Suddenly, the order of things made a small amount of sense: Becka had to become a Green alone because someone had to be first. Someone had to be there to receive Agnes, reassure her. And who better than her closest friend?
Understanding this, she looked on, anonymous under her dark cloak.
Aunt Lydia's words rang through the tiled chamber: Being a woman on God's green Earth is no small feat.
The words echoed still as Agnes came to float, suspended on her back in the water. Her hair swirled with each movement, a mesmerizing dark halo. Even by weak candlelight, Becka could track flickers of apprehension in her friend's face.
It will be over soon, Becka promised her silently. And I will be here.
"You join your sisters now, in this holy endeavor," Aunt Lydia said. It sounded quite final. It was meant to.
With a soft rustle of fabric, the Greens moved as one to reveal their faces.
Agnes' eyes darted across the crowd, recognition dawning a heartbeat before Aunt Estee's firm hand lovingly, dotingly pushed her head underwater.
Becka watched bubbles break the surface, free of fear. She knew it was only a matter of time until Agnes emerged. And when she did, she was surrounded by friends. Sisters.
Afterwards, Becka helped wipe away the excess water. This could be everything, she thought, without really knowing what she meant by it.
But it was hardly everything. It was only a moment.
The knowledge filled her with dread. This was a feeling she'd recently become quite accustomed to. She used to be able to move through it, but found it increasingly difficult to shake. It sharpened her words, dulled her eyes. Made her do things that prompted her mother to hush her, her father to grumble What's gotten into you?
A resentment crept in beneath the awe, souring the purity of the moment - Why must they introduce a lustful, heavy-handed man to the equation? Could a man ever care for Agnes like this?
Suddenly, she regretted the gloves, the barrier between their skin. They'd never again have a reason this righteous to be this close.
"I felt like I was drowning," Agnes confessed. A wavering smile, one Becka understood to mean: I trust you with this joke not-joke. You know what I mean.
And Becka did. She used the towel to pat gently at stray rivulets of water running down Agnes' shoulder. "I did too." Then, too honest: "Still do."
Agnes furrowed her brow, searching Becka's expression. Finally, she confessed. "I thought you were mad at me. I thought you didn't want me to be a Green."
Well. She was only half wrong. "I didn't want this for either of us," Becka corrected her. "I don't want to get married. I don't want a husband."
This seemed to confuse Agnes even further. "But…what else would you do?"
At the time, Becka hadn't known what to say.
Now, watching blood dry on the rim of the tub, she has her answer.
To be a Green was to be erased, piece by piece. Gilead hardly tried to hide it. Occasionally, though, they tried to dress it up in ribbons.
Events like the ball played no small part. The venue, the excitement overflowing, music, makeup - Becka could almost see past the wrongness of it all. Easy to get caught up in the fanfare.
If only it could be how they'd practiced, upstairs afternoon light, hands sliding along each other's arms so softly. Agnes beaming at her as she followed each step. I'll be the Commander, and you be you.
Instead, Agnes was steered across the ballroom by a Commander thrice her age. She moved with a quiet grace; all her practice paid off.
Becka made a valiant effort not to stare. Lately Agnes had been distant - for reasons unknown. There was never a good time anymore to ask her directly. Though Becka sometimes tried anyways.
It was beginning to feel like it was too late, regardless. The direction of their lives had been set in motion long ago.
So when the Commander poured alcohol into Becka's glass, slow, still droning on, she did nothing. Watched it as if from miles away. Dully, she wondered - should I be protesting more? Making a fuss?
Though the girls were naturally taught to submit to men's instruction, the Aunts had been unsparingly clear about the pitfalls of intoxication. Such overindulgence was not becoming of a young woman.
Never mind who supplied the substance being 'indulged.' Never mind the clammy heat of his hand, encouraging and insistent, burning her through the fabric of her dress.
She'd thought it was pretty, right up until the moment he complimented it. Then she wished it would burst into flames, and herself with it. Peel and blister the skin of his hand where he touched her and touched her and —
All at once, the world tilted under her feet to a sickening degree. The poison had reached her blood.
"I need to go," she said, stumbling over the words. She threw a glance over her shoulder and saw the broad, pale hand of a Commander spanning Agnes' back. It formed an ugly contrast, breaking the lines of her shimmering gown. Utterly wrong.
She was helpless to stop any of it.
Blind, stumbling away - I'm so sorry, Agnes - every step further a betrayal, but what could she do?
She prayed for forgiveness, promised atonement. The Pearl Girl was at her side, then, and Becka let herself be led along. She was finished making decisions.
So there they were: from the font of all holiness to the bathroom tiles.
If a man does harm, so shall it be done to him. But over and over again, harm befell her; and over and over again nothing came of it. In those moments, it was hard to feel a beloved daughter of the King.
They who dive in the sea of affliction bring up rare pearls, Aunt Estee said once, eyes bright and encouraging. It didn't encourage Becka one bit.
She recalled Agnes, freshly initiated, hair dripping onto her shoulders, bashful: I felt like I was drowning.
- I did too.
God save her, she did too.
No matter. Her head is above water now.
Tonight, the night of divine justice. She'd never felt so deadly certain, so focused. So close to God. The urges of men are terrible things, and those urges need to be curbed.
Just as the Aunts taught.
Half-asleep, moonlit in the hall, Agnes looked ethereal. In that moment, Becka was filled with vindication: she was right to do this, to protect her. To love her.
She'd wondered, worried, and hesitated all too often in recent weeks - second-guessing what God put on her heart. She didn’t know the cause of the distance between them, not then; it could have been as simple as two people growing apart.
But when Agnes finally shared the horrible truth - well, it all made sense. Too much sense. Even as it tore the world to pieces.
Becka prayed this solution would be the key to a closeness restored.
"He can't hurt you anymore," she said.
Agnes was safe, and Becka had made it so by the work of her own hands.
She let her cloak fall to the ground, revealing the bloodied nightdress underneath. The truth was drying in streaks on her skin. It felt wonderful.
This offering, for you.
"Is the water warm enough?" Agnes' voice pulls Becka back into her body, a pleasant tether to the present.
It's sweet of her to ask. "Yes."
Becka does not feel self-conscious being naked in front of her friend. She has already laid her spirit bare before her. The physical is of little importance.
Here, just as in Initiation, she will sink into the water and rise a different woman. Old things are passed away. Behold, all things are become new.
Oh, but it’s good to be together again, truly together. She's dizzy with relief: finally, a vision of the future she can look forward to. This hard-earned fellowship, a closeness no one can take away.
Life can be so cruel. But she has done the right thing. She's come to the right place.
Praise be His judgment.
She lifts her head, overcome with a rush of gratitude. "Agnes?"
And Agnes turns, expectant. So attentive. She always listens.
Becka leans forward, water shifting around her. "I would do anything for you."