There is nothing romantic about laundry. Nothing at all. I picked up a damp t-shirt and hung it on the line as I remembered when Quinn, my older sister, had refused to do the wash for that very reason. Her dramatic outbreak had even garnered a rare smile from our father. I wasn’t sure if I’d seen him smile again since, and it had been well over a year since my sister had even lived at home.

Quinn had followed her quest for romance into an early marriage—one that my father whole heartedly supported, yet I’d fought against. My sister and I didn’t need to settle down with men when we had each other. Marriage and romance were the things of books—made up stories that filled the pages of the fairytales our mother left behind. If it had been up to my father, he would have burned the hardcover books covered in bright images of princesses in ball gowns and princes on steeds. He would have, but he didn’t. He could never say no to Quinn.

I hung up the last of the clothes onto the line. I’d spent the better half of the morning bent over the washboard. Although there was some electricity available in our town, my father refused to let us use it. It would draw too much attention, and attention was the last thing we needed.

Every piece of clothing I’d washed that day was off-white. The color of un-dyed cotton. We didn’t have the time or use for anything else. I didn’t mind the monochromatic colors of our clothes. When I wanted to see color I’d run out to the green grass of the meadow behind the house and stare up at the seemingly endless blue sky. It was only there—far away from the rest of my life— that I allowed myself to think about another life. But not Quinn. Quinn had thought about it constantly. She made her own make-up and jewelry while she endlessly daydreamed about meeting her Prince Charming. When Prince Charming never showed, she’d settled for the closest thing she could get.

I pinned up one last shirt and took a seat on the old wooden stool. I was working ahead of schedule. If I could get my work done early I might get some time to read. The one guilty pleasure Quinn and I shared. The difference was she believed in the happy endings. I didn’t.

The sound of a bell ringing made me freeze. After a sliver of a second of shock, I headed for the barn. That bell only meant one thing, and hesitating—even for a single moment—could be disastrous.

I headed right for the loose floorboard, opening it up and sliding into the hole my father had dug for us years before. I covered myself with straw before replacing the heavy wooden board above me. I tried to steady my breathing. They’d be listening for it.

I heard the crunch of boots outside and curled up into a ball. This wasn’t the first time the traders had been to our farm. They ran raids at least once a month, more if they heard about sightings. This was their third visit in two weeks. I’d been reckless and let a boy from outside town see me. Even wearing pants and a hooded tunic he’d known me for what I was, a girl.

The barn door swung open before slamming into the wall. I pinched myself to stop the shaking. It might give me away.

“We know there’s one here. I heard she might even be a blonde.” The scratchy voice came from across the barn. I could see a dark shadow through the floor boards. Maybe he wouldn’t walk all of the way in.

“I don’t know where you got your information, but there is no girl here.” My younger brother’s voice filled the cavernous barn, and my chest tightened with fear. What was Thomas doing with the trader? He was going to get himself killed.

A loud thump made me jump. “Quit the bullshit. Where’s the girl?”

“No. Girl.”

I realized with sickening certainly that the thump was Thomas being thrown into the barn wall. Based on his difficulty speaking, he was also being choked.

Another bang. “If I find out you’re lying, you will be extinguished.”

My stomach lurched, threatening to spill my breakfast. I bit down on my tongue in a desperate attempt to keep quiet.

“Until then.” The trader laughed.

I covered my ears, selfishly trying to block out the sounds of the beating I knew was occurring above me. If I actually believed the beating would stop with my appearance, I would have shown myself in a second, but I knew it would help nothing. The male members of my family meant nothing to the traders; they’d kill them once they were no longer deemed useful. The trader only spared Thomas now in the hopes he’d give me away.

As the door slammed closed I let my mind wander to my sister and niece. I hoped with everything I had that Benjamin had been able to hide them in time.

“You can come out.” My father’s gentle voice calmed me. I brushed off the hay and moved the board.

My father reached a hand down to pull me out. His eyes weren’t on me though. They were on a bloodied body across the barn.

“Thomas!” I barely looked at my father before running to my brother. He was cut up and swollen. I cursed silently as I carefully touched the imprint of a boot over his forehead. Thomas was only fifteen—far too young to be forced to play the part of protector.

“Oh, Thomas.” I pulled him into my arms. Relief flooded me when he moved his hand to grab my skirt.

“It’s okay, Kayla.” He opened one of his grayish-blue eyes, and I cradled him against me.

The tears spilled down my face. How was it okay? There was nothing okay about grown men beating up a teenage boy in search of a girl, but it was the norm when you lived in a society of ninety-nine percent men.