Chapter 6: Bargained Brides

I could barely sleep, my heart racing. For the first time, I felt like maybe—just maybe—things could change.

My cousin was back to get married this time.

She wore a new dress, her hair curled, a nervous smile on her lips. The house buzzed with excitement, but I saw the worry in her eyes. She didn't want this.

She was twenty—the typical age for girls in town to marry. Any older and they'd be called old maids, hard to marry off.

The whispers started early, neighbors gossiping about who was next. I wondered if I'd ever escape that fate.

Here, girls' fates were set: graduate middle school, go to work, send money home to help brothers build houses and get wives, then come back around twenty to get married, with a cash gift for the family. That's how parents "earned back" the cost of raising a daughter.

It was an open secret, talked about over coffee and pie at the diner. No one questioned it—not out loud, anyway. But I did. In my head.

My cousin's marriage was arranged by her parents. Before she came home, they'd already met the man and agreed to the terms. Only then did they call her back to marry.

She didn't protest. She just packed her bags and came home, her dreams folded away with her old clothes. She never complained.

"We've found you a match. Come home and get married," they told her on the phone.

She didn't cry, at least not where anyone could see. She just nodded and said, "Okay."

On the wedding day, our family went to the reception.

The hall was decorated with fake flowers and crepe paper streamers. The smell of fried chicken and coleslaw filled the air. I wore my best dress, but it was still too small.

I saw my cousin's husband. Supposedly only six years older, but he looked much older—big, rough, dark-skinned. He could easily pass for over thirty.

His hands were calloused, his voice loud. He laughed at his own jokes, slapping his friends on the back.

I'd heard my parents talk about him—he'd been married before, but his wife died of illness.

They said it like it was no big deal, just another fact of life.

"They handed over $30,000 cash up front—Uncle really hit the jackpot," Dad said.

He clinked glasses with Uncle, both of them grinning. I felt sick to my stomach.

Everyone in town thought my cousin had married well. The man had no kids from his first marriage, and his aunt owned the local brick factory, where he managed shipping and earned a good salary.

People whispered about the money, about how lucky Uncle's family was. No one talked about love.

No one cared about looks or character. All that mattered was that he was a man and could make money.

I watched my cousin, her eyes downcast, her smile forced. She looked like she was somewhere else entirely.

At the reception, everyone was laughing and joking.

The music was loud, people danced. I sat in the corner, picking at my food, watching my cousin.

Only I felt uneasy watching that burly man, half a head shorter than my cousin, holding her hand, making crude jokes as they toasted guests.

He squeezed her hand too hard, laughed too loud. I wanted to pull her away, but I couldn't. She looked trapped.

He wasn't good enough for her.

She deserved someone kind, someone gentle. Not this.

Even though I'd hardly watched any TV or read many novels, I vaguely understood what "a good match" meant.

I'd seen enough to know this wasn't it. My cousin was worth so much more.

My cousin was pretty, with fair skin and a gentle, hardworking personality. She was the best girl I'd ever known.

She always put others first, always had a kind word for everyone. She deserved happiness.

I'd imagined her marrying a handsome man, walking hand in hand, looking perfect together.

I pictured her in a white dress, smiling for real. Not this forced grin, not this awkward hand-holding.

But now, she was marrying this crude, rude man.

I watched him drink, watched him shout. My heart ached for her.

He even pushed her to toast some men, ignoring her reluctance.

She tried to pull away, but he held her tight. She looked at me, eyes pleading. I wanted to scream.

It made my skin crawl.

I gripped my fork, wishing I could do something—anything—to help her.

For the first time, I understood what it meant for a flower to be stuck in a pile of manure.

The image stuck with me, bitter and sharp. I promised myself I'd never let that happen to me. Never.

After the toasts, the man sat down to eat. I saw my cousin slip away to her room and quietly followed.

I waited until no one was looking, then tiptoed down the hall. Her door was cracked open.

"Lily?" She waved me over. "Come here."

Her voice was soft, tired. I hurried to her side.

"Sis, are you hungry? I can bring you some food."

She shook her head, her eyes rimmed red. "Not hungry," she said. "Just tired."

I saw she hadn't eaten a bite.

Her plate was untouched, the food cold. I wished I could fix it for her.

"Not hungry," she shook her head. "Just tired. Sit with me for a bit."

I sat beside her, holding her hand. We didn't speak for a while, just listened to the muffled music from the other room.

"Sis, do you like that man?" After hesitating, I finally asked.

The question slipped out before I could stop it. She looked at me, then looked away.

She smiled, a hint of helplessness in her eyes. "Before the wedding, I'd only met him three times. How could I like him?" Her eyes said it all.

Her voice was flat, resigned. I squeezed her hand, not knowing what to say.

"Then why did you marry him?"

I couldn't help myself. The words tumbled out, heavy and awkward.

"There are too many things out of my control—it's hard to explain." She looked at me gently. "You have to study hard and get into college. After working outside, I realized how important education is."

She brushed a strand of hair from my face, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Promise me, Lily. Don't end up like me." I promised.

"I will," I promised.

I meant it with all my heart. I wouldn't let her down.

She reached under her pillow and pulled out an envelope.

She pressed it into my hand, closing my fingers around it. It felt heavy.

"This is for you."

Her voice was gentle, but firm. I tried to give it back, but she shook her head.

"I don't want it."

I pushed it toward her, but she wouldn't take it.

"Take it," she insisted, pressing it into my hand. "Aunt promised to let you go to high school, but she won't want to give you money for living expenses. Keep this for yourself—don't tell her."

Her eyes were fierce, daring me to argue. I nodded, tucking it into my pocket.

After the wedding reception at the bride's home, there was another at the groom's.

Mom and Dad packed up Jamie's things, laughing and joking. I stood by the door, waiting for them to call my name.

Mom and Dad took Jamie but left me behind.

They barely said goodbye. I watched the truck pull away, dust rising in its wake. I didn't cry. Not this time.

I knew it was because I didn't have any decent clothes and they were embarrassed to take me.

My shoes were worn through, my dress faded. I understood—appearances mattered more than anything.

All my life, I'd worn hand-me-downs from relatives. They'd never bought me a new outfit.

I dreamed of shopping sprees, of picking out my own clothes. But those were just dreams. Maybe someday.