Wednesday's Week

A Farmer of Woe reapes Low

I quickly realized I was blindfolded when I opened my eyes to darkness. My skin felt aflame. Was I burning? I shifted my weight. I was sitting upright but I was tied up.

"Goodmornimg Wednesday," A chilling familiar voice spoke. The blind fold was ripped from my face. Light burned my eyes. We were in a car. Empty fields went on and on around us. An abyss of agriculture. The burning was explained when I looked down at the frilly yellow dress on me. I looked like a southern bell. "I remembered your aversion to color. An actual allergy, correct?" She asked.

Even under the head scarf that covered her growing out hair and the sun glasses on her face, I could see the damage. "That looks like a nasty sting," I hit back at her.

Laurel's hand wrapped around there steering wheel tighter. "These hives will heal. Your death won't."

"I don't even feel the stab wound. I've evaded death from you before," I taunted before looking around. We were in an orange Volkswagen Beetle. My hands were tied to my back and my feet were bound to the chair. I peered into the back seat to see a bag shoved under the row. It looked like it had my clothes in it. "Are you waiting for a very sadistic way to kill me?"

She pursed her lips, "Curiosity killed the cat."

"Yet I am still breathing. So you must need me for something." I squirmed. The yellow dress felt like needles. I would have a fever soon. "Surely you don't have Crackstone in your trunk. Raising him was so last semester."

She smacked my face. My cheek burned. "That was far too satisfying. No, I made a mistake with a Crackstone. Those who are dead failed. I should have seen that. I had a far more powerful took and I let it slip away from me."

"Tyler," I whispered. "He says you aren't his master."

The slug bug raised in speed. "Distance confuses him." What a disgusting groomer of a woman. I couldn't wait to kill her.

Sweat beaded on my forehead. "Get me out of this thing", I panted.

She laughed villainously, "And have you thinking at 100%? I'm not a fool Wednesday."

"Your bee face says otherwise," I mumbled back, not caring if she smacked me.

Without warning, Laurel turned the corner and threw the car onto a dirt road. The car bumped and screeched along it. "Why haven't you just killed me?" I finally asked out right.

"To get Tyler back," she spoke as if it were obvious. But how would I in a southern bell dress get Tyler out of a locked facility. "You my little child of woe are going to join the Southern Bell dancers who are performing at the Omi Mental Institute."

I gagged, "I'd rather die."

She raised an eyebrow, "Would you rather have Enid die?"

"If you lay a finger on her, I'll kill you!" I fought back. I kicked my legs around. Her knots were not amateur.

"I won't have to if you follow along like a good girl," she smiled. "I have Enid in a safe place as long as you obey." I find it disgusting the way she talks to me. I'd rather just pass out.

The endless road began to let up as at first we passed a cattle guard. We turned a hill bend to see a farm. "And this is-" I coughed.

"This is Miss Mot's Finishing Farm. The surrounding Amish communities believe in the importance of well rounded girls to make well rounded wives. And what better shows that a girl can raise ten children then waltzing." Laurel said with a smile. She relished the absolute disgust radiating off of me. "I'm going to untie you. You will say your name is Samantha and you will act downright pleasant. And if you do all of that, I might not feed Enid to theHyde."

The beetle rounded the dirt road and came to a stop before the big pink farmhouse. A bell rang and a line of girls in equally hideous dresses flooded out of the doorway and along the wrap around porch in a tallest to shortest manner.

Laurel reached over and cut the ropes behind my hands and feet. "You'd better watch yourself, Wednesday."

A farm hand boy opened the door for me. I climbed out of the den. The dress' hoop caused it to be more of a struggle than I assumed. The bright sun shown down on me painfully. My skin felt as if it were blistering.

An incredibly short woman stepped out of the farm house. The only thing that differentiated her from the girls is that she wore dark green instead of pastels. Laurel pushed past me, "Miss Mot, I can't express my gratitude enough. To let me and my Samantha join your truly wonderful dancers to better the community. Your program here is doing the right thing." She shook the old woman's hand firmly and curtsied.

She pulled me by my frilly neckline, "This is my Samantha."

The old lady raised an eyebrow, "Don't you have manners, young lady?"

"I cannot partake in your antiquated traditions in objectifying women," I grit out.

Laurel's fingers dig deep into my side, "I apologize sincerely. I knew I should have never let her get near a public education." She looked truly torn. What an actress.

"Six weeks on the farm and she'll be a modicum of polite manner," Miss Mott spoke, clapping her hands together.

I turned to look up at Laurel, "Six weeks?"

She ran her tongue across her teeth, "Welcome to hell, you little witch."

Miss Mott's farm animals were young girls known to have never had an opinion or a sliver of self reliance and were sent of by their abusive family to be shaped by Mott to be decor. I watched the girls moved about as if through mind control. Blank smiling faces ready to wash the dishes and fold the laundry. She had a flurry of servants.

"We will be leaving for the institute at 4 and we will be there by six to dance for them at dinner," Miss Mott explained to Laurel.

I tripped on the hardwood. Everything was quickly becoming very itchy. I pulled on the dress and mumbled, "How does dancing help mentally ill people."

A few of the girls in ear shot gasped and hurried away. Miss Mott turned on her heels, "You will learn soon Samantha's that what I do and what I plan is your truth. Another question from you that isn't phrased as how can I help, will end you up with irrigation duty!"