"Joanna Wylde - Price of Freedom" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wylde Joanna)

Avram was dead and she had other worries.
She was lucky to be back with her father, and in a way, she was lucky to be barren. She
certainly didnÕt have to worry about getting married again. No Pilgrim man would have a
wife who couldnÕt give him children. Her father may not be the most pleasant person to live
with, but at least he ignored her most of the time. Of course, he would only keep her around
as long as she could make herself useful.
She had almost fallen asleep when a harsh knock on her door startled her awake. She
sat up in bed, breathing quickly. Was she in trouble?
ÒBethany, get dressed and come out here,Ó her fatherÕs voice growled outside the
door. ÒThe council meeting is over and I need to speak with you.Ó
ÒYes, IÕll be right there,Ó she answered automatically. Her father didnÕt like to be kept
waiting. Bethany jumped out of bed, pulling one of her two dresses over her head. She
wrapped her braid around her head in a coronet quickly, pinning it into place and making
sure there were no loose strands. Her father had no patience for sloppy women. He would
cane her if he saw a hair out of place.
Opening the door, she walked quickly down the hall to their living chamber. Her fatherÕs
apartment was one of the largest in the mining community; space in the habitation bubble on
the asteroidÕs surface came at a premium. The fact that they had so much room was a
testament to her fatherÕs influence with his fellow Pilgrims. Bose had been the official
leader of their community for less than a year, but he had dictated policy long before that.
Her father was sitting in the one comfortable chair they owned, staring moodily at a
report in front of him. His dark, swarthy face was mottled with color, his large nose flushed
red. There was a bottle of the homemade bakrah he loved so much on the table next to him.
She came to stand before him, eyes cast down modestly. He ignored her for several
minutes, then looked at her with bloodshot eyes. He was drunk again.
ÒThe council and I met tonight,Ó he said. Bethany bit her lip, trying not to do anything
that he might interpret as disrespectful. Bose was violent when he drank; she didnÕt want to
provoke him. SheÕd had ample experience with his temper. He and the council met every
cycle following dinner, mostly to drink, and he often came home in a foul mood.
Bose looked her up and down, an ugly look in his narrow, beady eyes. Her breath
caught; fear washed through her. What was he thinking?
ÒIt was brought to my attentionÑagainÑthat a woman of your age should be married,Ó
he said. ÒBut of course, that wonÕt be possible. Your sinfulness is apparent to all of us. You
have no children, despite ten years of trying with a good man who proved his virility with his
other wives. The men are concerned that you might corrupt their women with your presence.
Frankly, IÕm inclined to agree with them. Since you came from your husbandÕs home
youÕve been nothing but trouble to me.Ó
Bethany said nothing, eyes still cast downward. She kept her face impassive, biting
back the angry words filling her thoughts. She had worked hard all her life, yet they all
considered her a burden. Even now her fingers were raw from scrubbing the floor in BoseÕs
room. HeÕd vomited there the night before, leaving the mess for her to clean.
ÒIt was suggested that we expose you,Ó Bose said, lifting his bottle to his lips and
taking a long pull of the alcohol. Bethany stopped breathing. Exposure would mean death,
slow and terrible from starvation. Assuming they gave her a pressure suit before shoving her
out the airlock onto the asteroid's barren surface. If she was lucky, they wouldn't. At least that
way death would come quickly. Would her father really do something like that to her? ÒAfter
all, you have nothing to offer us, and itÕs a waste of good food to keep you around. Of
course, I hate to think of doing something like that to my own child,Ó he added, sighing
piously. ÒBut we do what we must for the good of the community. Sacrifices must be
made.Ó