into action, pulling her dress over her head. I take it from her and jam it on the hook outside the door.
“Let’s go.” I grab her arm and haul her inside.
There’s enough room for us to stand together with our arms touching. I point with the light to where she needs to be, and she shuffles across the dirt floor to the very place I was only a few shorts days before, a sob breaking free.
She’s quiet as she moves into the corner, her arms wrapped around her stomach. I locate the chain and follow it down to the end with the iron collar. It’s heavy in my hands, and I know from too much experience the weight of it around the neck.
I put the end of the travel flashlight into my mouth and use both my hands to snap the collar around her thin neck. She winces as the metal scrapes and the lock clicks in place. Another tear slips down her cheek.
“Hands,” I say around the flashlight, picking up the chain to her left. Each cuff fastens easily around her slender wrists. They used to slip off her, but Papa fixed them to adjust to her size.
When I have her settled, I step back and look her over, my back pressed against the opposite wall. It would only take lifting my arm a few inches to touch her. The chains will keep her in place. She can sit if she wants, but there isn’t enough room to lay down. Even if there was, the pressure from the collar pulling her back would be uncomfortable.
Being put away in the shed helps us focus on what we’ve done to disappoint Papa. We have to think hard about our behavior and how we’re going to make it better. How we can be the best children to him. Nicolette needs to think about how to be the best woman she can be. And being made to stay in one spot helps her.
“I’m sorry,” Nicolette whispers.
“Mark will calm him down.” I can’t tell her it’s okay. She has to earn her forgiveness from Papa, not me. “Hopefully Papa will be ready to hear your apology in the morning.” I don’t want to give her too much hope, but she needs to see the finish line. It helps in the dark cold of the shed.
“I have to pee,” she whimpers.
“Then go.” I didn’t think to grab a bucket for her. Even if I did, Papa would see it as spoiling her.
“Please.”
“Nicolette.” I say her name hard. She wants more from me than I can give. I want to. I want to take her out of the chains and bring her up to my room and wrap her in my blankets. I want to cuddle her until she’s sound asleep beside me. But she didn’t do her damn chores and now we’re both in this mess.
“I’m sorry,” she says again, a breath away from a full-on sob.
“Stop saying that.” I step into the doorway, making a point of leaning to the side so what little light is left outside shines on her.
She nods.
Her face screws up with concentration, and seconds later, piss runs down her legs, making a puddle at her feet. She should have said something before I locked her in place. She didn’t think. Papa said women can’t think too hard about things, that it’s too hard for them to plan for stuff. I should have asked her.
“Elijah—” I shut the door as my name leaves her lips. Another sob breaks free as I snap the padlock into place on the door.
I hang the flashlight back on the nail and head back to the house. It’s going to be cold tonight. I drag my hand through my hair and pull the screen door open to get inside. I’ve lost my appetite, but I can’t skip dinner if it’s offered.
Mark is sitting at the dinner table, his focus on the bowl of cereal in front of him. Papa looks up from his own bowl with a grin.
“She settled?”
“Yes, Papa,” I assure him. The kitchen’s a mess. The groceries aren’t put away yet, and the water for the pasta still sits in the pot.
“Good. Grab some cereal. With your sister put away, we’re on our own tonight.” He laughs, then shovels a big spoonful of Frosted Flakes into his mouth.
I sit next to Mark and fix my dinner. Mark eats silently.
“Mark, don’t pout, son. You did a good job.” Papa chuckles. “With some practice, you’ll