The Price of Hannah Blake Read Online Free PDF Page B

and, almost immediately, gave a gasp, almost a cry, but quickly stifled it. The room was huge, with soaring ceiling, high windows admitting sunlight—and covered, it seemed to Hannah—almost walled—with mirrors. It frightened her; mirrors, even tiny mirrors, were expensive. Who could afford the fortune just the mirrors in this one room represented? But that was not why she had gasped.
    She backed against the door behind her and started to turn. There was a steady, low pulse in the room, like a drum. And they were all there, the beautiful ones. Their calisthenics were coordinated to perfection, or so it seemed to Hannah, as they moved with the rhythmic beat. The tall, straight bodies—the gods and goddesses—leaped, legs and arms flung wide. They were in three perfect rows, sunlight streaming down on them…all as in some fevered dream.
    For as she watched, she saw the bare breasts of the girls—some firm, compact, others larger, bouncing and swaying with the leaps. She turned to the door, seizing the knob to turn it. It was locked, had locked automatically, it seemed. The men, their bodies more perfect than Hannah saw even in dreams—hair on their chests, legs, curling down their belly from the navel—were swaying, flopping, and jouncing, too.
    Hannah never had seen a naked man. Her little brothers, sometimes; she knew a man’s anatomy. Her mother sometimes made coarse jokes about the farm boys, walking home shirtless, sweating, their bodies compact, strong—and Hannah had liked to imagine them swimming at the river although she never had seen it. And here were men’s parts, rooted in thick hair on their bellies, so large! Hannah had not realized that. Why not? Her little brothers would grow up. At the thought of them, her family, her cottage, the reassurance of daily routine, she began to weep. And the women danced beside them! And nothing was covered. Every man could see every woman—all of her, the triangles of hair, some light—almost flaxen—some black against pale bellies.
    Hannah had spent her whole life guarding her modesty in the presence of men, concealing the growing beauty of her body against their desire. And suddenly, she recalled, “Today, you only watch.”
    Today! And then?
    It was impossible and obvious, inconceivable and apparent. These women were not goddesses. They were girls, like her. And someone, somehow, had seen Hannah as a girl like these. She would be there, tomorrow, or soon, stark naked, leaping, her breasts jouncing, her arse spreading and closing. She took a quick look, again. And, yes, the thick hair on her lower belly would grow darker with sweat. And if she refused, “they” would beat her.
    Would she faint, again, and have that beautiful dream of dying? The wardress had taken her arm. The grip was not hard, but Hannah was drawn into the room along the wall to a bench. The wardress half-eased, half-pushed her down. Hannah closed her eyes; now that she was seated, she could do that, she could drop a black curtain over this scene for which she had no comparison—none at all.
    “You must watch.” Hannah opened her eyes. Before her stood a woman, older than she, but dressed in a black skin so that Hannah could see the contours of every muscle, shaped to perfection. The woman’s long, raven hair was pulled back and tied with a thick white taffeta ribbon. The face was older, but beautiful. Standing before Hannah, standing as though almost weightless, it seemed she might soar off in any direction. For her slender, athletic body suggested motion even as she stood still. In the lovely face, Hannah saw no softness or sympathy. The eyes evaluated, judged, and commanded. The woman said, “No more foolishness. You will watch, today. I will speak with you after class. Don’t move from here.”
    Hannah nodded, looking up at her. “Good,” said the woman, and in her tone was an elusive hint of approval, a tiny reward. Then, she turned and walked away—danced away without dancing