"Put that down!" Esme's mother stormed across the room and snatched the book from her hands. "You're supposed to be getting ready to meet your partner. Put this on."
She held out a garment bag containing a plain white dress, then looked down at the book's cover. Her face reddened. "Where did you get this?"
"It was one of dads." Esme lunged for the book. "Give it back!'
"Your father was a fool! If they catch you reading this, they'll think you're a rebel too!' Joan slapped her hard across the cheek. "If you think for one second that I'm going to allow that to happen, you're mistaken."
Esme held her stinging cheek and choked back tears. Then, like lightning, she whipped forward and seized the book from her mother's hand before running for the door. Into the corridor and out the back door; Esme had never run so hard or fast in her life.
She kept running when she reached the end of the garden, into the thick undergrowth, dodging trees
and low-hanging branches. She ran until she had no breath left, then ran some more.
She didn't want a partner. She didn't want to stay home and pop out babies. She didn't want her life planned out for her. Tears obscured her vision and Esme stopped. Gasping for breath she fell to the floor. Ferns covered the ground, interspersed with brambles and tree roots.
Esme clutched her precious book to her chest and tried to calm herself. She'd really done it now. Her mother would be furious. They'd be furious.
A twig snapped somewhere to her right and Esme's head shot up. Had she been followed? Cautiously, she stood, searching for the origin of the sound. Run? Esme ran forward, then tumbled down a steep embankment. Scrambling to her feet, wincing, she saw a stone archway, beyond which was darkness.
"Rebel. Are you armed?"
A voice came from somewhere inside the blackness. She turned to run in the opposite direction and came face to face with two hooded figures, one grabbed her, causing her to lose her grip on her most valuable possession.
"My book!!"
The paperback was scooped up by the second person, who glanced at the cover and slowly pulled his hood down to study Esme curiously. He then looked over her head.
"Ralph?" He held the book up. "This is yours."
(397)
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