Red Means Stop

Pulling off my boots, I stood them up in the tall grass next to the bucket. Taking off my woolen socks one at a time, I rolled them up and carefully placed them down as well. I then gathered the excess material of my dress, expertly tying it into a knot at my hip. 

I sighed, reaching for my fishing pole as I stepped into the cool creek.

I hoped the waters would work their magic to calm my nerves as I had become more distraught with each passing day. Being the first daughter of my father’s first wife, I was highly sought after. Just the night before, my father had received another caller, whom he had whisked away into his back room. The leering glance in my direction had left me in a cold sweat. 

It was a mere nine days before my eighteenth birthday, and an idea popped into my mind with such shocking clarity it made me gasp. 

***

Returning home with two large fish in my bucket, I was pleased to see my mother alone in the kitchen preparing lunch. My father’s second wife was out with the children collecting berries which left us some alone time. 

“Come set the table, Isabel,” she handed me a stack of plates.

“Yes, Mama.”

“Your father had another caller this morning. My beautiful daughter has become quite the catch.”

I winced, thinking of that leering glance I had received the night before. That sweaty face, those beady eyes looking me up and down like the men who inspected Papa’s cattle before placing their bid. My stomach clenched.

“What do you expect being the daughter of my beautiful Mama?” I smiled sincerely as my mother stopped her work for a moment and beamed at me. Did anyone still see her as beautiful after bearing six children? Did she feel cast aside as her husband took on yet another wife? My heart ached for her as I set the heavy plates around the large table.

***

Back at the creek my toes grasped the smooth rock keeping me steady as I flicked my line into the waters. I glanced over at my boots and bucket in the tall grass under the tree, my eyes moving up the trunk to see that hideous red ribbon blowing in the breeze.

“Red means stop, Isabel,” my father’s voice in my head as if I needed another reminder of the boundaries.

“Yes, Papa,” I whispered as a force of habit although alone in the water.

My gaze left the red ribbon and traveled up the center of the creek toward the bend, then to the mountains in the distance, blurry on the horizon. Were there people on that mountain? The stories of the outsiders flooded back for my review. I had noticed the slightest contradictions in the stories taught in the classroom over the years. Those inconsistencies nagged at me, poking holes in their reality, filling me with doubt of their validity. Could such evil truly live outside of our borders or was it a ruse to keep us here to work, to obey, to breed?

Seven days away from turning eighteen, I replayed the conversation I had with Jillian, my cousin and oldest friend. In whispers behind the barn, she had filled me in on her wedding night. The pain and humiliation as her new husband treated her roughly, heaving himself on top of her then pushing her away as he left to join his first wife in their bed. Was that my fate as well? 

I looked across the creek at the row of red ribbons ensuring that we didn’t attempt to cross the waters onto the foreign land of the opposite shore. My thoughts went to Amelia, the girl who hobbled around the schoolyard looking anguished. Was it possible that the elders had cut off her toes for crossing the red ribbons or a convenient tale tacked onto a poor girl deformed at birth? Would they be so cruel?

“Red means stop, Isabel,” my father’s voice replayed in my head.

“I know, Papa, I know.” I called out having had enough of that voice, that threat, those red ribbons everywhere I turned. The edge of town, the back of the schoolyard, behind the small stores across town all were decorated with those hateful symbols. Red means stop. Red means stop.

A sudden image of that leering face popped into my mind as I cast my line out one more time. Seven days until I turned eighteen, then they could come for me at any time. I looked at the red ribbon in the tree over my meager belongings, my boots, my woolen socks. I pictured climbing that tree to grab the ribbon, waving it in front of my new husband, the man whose property I would become. Red means stop. I would wave it before those beady eyes, keeping him at arm’s length, keeping myself safe.

I thought of Mama, the special alone time we had shared just two days prior as we set the massive table for lunch. Could I go through with the plan? Could I break her heart? 

A tug on my line pushed those thoughts from my mind as I pulled the fish out and stepped on shore adding it to the bucket. Temptation taunted me as I pictured myself going upstream to cook it on an open fire as I headed for a new life. Would I miss the huge family, the endless children by the wives, the knowledge that I would be a wife to one of the callers? Or would I find peace in those mountains, a life I couldn’t imagine as I settled in on my own?

***

Mama greeted me nervously as I entered the kitchen. A quick glance showed me an extra seat at the already crowded table. My heartrate quickened as I saw my mother busy herself, avoiding my eyes.

Suppertime came with the arrival of the beady-eyed man whom Mama introduced with downcast eyes.

“Isabel, you remember Papa’s second cousin, Elijah?” She seated him next to me as the lump formed in my throat forcing any possible reply down into my gut.

I took my seat next to my obvious intended.

“Elijah, please enjoy the filet fresh from the creek. Isabel is quite adept; you will never go hungry.”

I glanced out of the corner of my eye at the belly hanging over the brown leather belt, the buttons of the work shirt straining not to pop. Going hungry didn’t seem to be a problem, I thought with disgust at the prospect of feeding this man, this man old enough to be my father.

“Wonderful,” the word hung in the air with a sinister feel to it as his hand found my leg under the table and squeezed it. A heat rushed through my body; a red hot anger filled me as I clenched my fists.

“Red means stop,” I longed to scream, waving a blasted red ribbon in his face. Red. Means. Stop. 

Suddenly I knew what I had to do. 

***

Arriving at the creek, I took off my boots, then my woolen socks emptying out the collection of items hidden inside of them. I placed everything into the bucket quickly. 

Gathering the fabric of my dress I deftly arranged it all into a knot at my hip, emptying out the few additional objects hidden for my new life. Would I even want to have these reminders, I wondered, pushing the thought of Mama aside for now. 

I stepped into the waters, my waters that I knew so well which would sustain me going forward. I held the full bucket by its handle in one hand, my fishing pole in the other. The cool water rushed past my feet as I stood rooted to the spot.

The feel of that hand on my leg still fresh, the anger pulsed through my body. I stepped off the rock, my rock and moved forward in the creek, the red ribbon blowing out of the corner of my eye as I passed it by.