The Price of Hannah Blake Read Online Free PDF

on display? Did God think that Hannah had “a beautiful arse?”
    Hannah had sinned to think such a thing. In spite of herself, she giggled, but quickly wrenched her mind away from the image. She might go insane; she knew that people did. They had to go away and never returned. She noticed the woman looking at her, head cocked. Had she seen Hannah giggle? Hannah felt sickness churn her stomach. She had stood stark naked, giggling aloud, as though nothing mattered. How could she protest anything, after mocking God?
    Suddenly, she had to do something. To stand here any longer would lead to madness. She asked, “Where is Cara?”
    “Coming soon. We can walk to the door. She will bring a shift for you, and sandals. It is a cotton shift, white, soft, and with frills. Have you ever worn such a garment?”
    Hannah shook her head. The woman said, “You will have a silk chemise and silk drawers.” Hannah couldn’t believe her ears, but, after all, those clothes last night in the closet…
    “That is Cara,” said the woman when they heard a rap.
    “But why should I be given such things? I don’t want them. I can’t pay for them.”
    “Because you are beautiful.”
    Hannah thought: Because that is the way men wish to see me. But she would have donned motley and bells—or Satan’s scaly black cape—to cover her nakedness.

 
Chapter 6
“We Perform Naked…Portraying Love and Lust”
    Corridors, courtyards bright with blooms and with fountains jetting against blue sky: Hannah thought this must be the palace of a prince. But no one related to the revered, virtuous queen would countenance such depravity. Dressed now in the finest clothes of her young life, she felt confidence creeping, but only creeping, back.
    Walking ahead, Cara wore a light-gray dress, well-cut to her figure but its severity suggesting a uniform. Cara stopped and unlocked the door to a long, narrow room; along its walls were benches, and, above them, rows of hooks. It was deserted, but clothes hung on the hooks—clothes draped helter-skelter. Beneath the benches were sandals in a neat row, like the footprints of soldiers lined up for inspection. Hannah smelled sweat—not heavy, not stale, but noticeable.
    At the other end of the room, a door opened and a woman, dressed like Cara, entered. “All right,” said Cara to the new woman, and turned and left. Hannah’s only acquaintance in this place—and from the outside world—left without a word or nod. Her new wardress said, “Take off your clothes. I will be back,” and opened the far door. “Wait!” Hannah called at the closing door. They wanted her naked and would have her so. The wardress returned with two loose white garments. She said, doggedly, “Take your clothes off. Hurry.”
    She held out the garments. “You will wear these.” She repeated, “Hurry,” and shook the garments. “You will watch, so you may wear this.” Hannah took them, put them on the bench, and glanced once at the woman: Her expression was set, unyielding, her hair wound about her head in a bun. “Watch what?” asked Hannah quickly.
    The wardress froze as though caught in an illicit exchange and became furious. She actually stamped her foot. “Hurry!”
    “Oh, please,” Hannah pleaded. “I can’t.”
    “They will beat you,” said the woman.
    “Who?”
    “I’ll call them,” she said, as though “who” was self-evident.
    “No,” said Hannah. “They” might be men. She reached behind her and took hold of the shift, pulling it over her head. Her breasts were naked, again. She tossed the chemise on the bench. She wore only drawers, now. She hesitated a moment, bent, and pushed them down. Naked again—a little easier this time.
    The matron seized the clothing. Hannah snatched up the new garments and put them on. Now the wardress turned and trundled away. “Come,” she called.
    Hannah followed. At the end of the dressing room, the wardress opened the door and stepped through. Hannah was following