Beyond His Control: Chapter 17

I stand on top of the shared balcony and look down onto the Holy Land, where Natalie is talking with the people. She asked the president for permission in a private meeting, and somehow, someway, she got him to agree to let her out of the temple to help the people out. I don’t know how she did it, but I’m proud of her, and I watch her every step of the way to make sure she’s okay. If anyone bothers her, I’ll send down a guard to come to pick her up or punish the ones getting in her way.

She may be a matriarch and loved by the people almost as much as a patriarch, but she is still my wife, and I will protect what belongs to me. What a few months can do to change a person. I’ve seen her flourish from a girl into an actual queen, and it beguiles me.

She’s watching the people’s kids and plays with them, helps the women cook and clean, and tells the men not to overexert themselves on the heavy lifting. It’s as if she’s running a one-woman empire, and I like what I’m seeing. If this is how it’s going to be with her by my side while I ascend to the throne of president after he’s gone, then I’m going to love every single minute.

“She sure seems to enjoy being down there with the people.”

I turn my head right as my father walks up onto the balcony with me.

“She’s a people person. It’s what she does,” I say, and I turn my head again to look at my beautiful wife. “What she did … before she came here.”

“I’m surprised the president let her go out,” my father says, bothering me like a petulant child I wish I could shoo away. But if I did that, I’d only create more division, and I’m already on slippery ice with the patriarchs.

He stands beside me and stares out across the balcony. “After everything you two did …” he adds, stabbing a knife in my back.

“What do you want?” I ask, leaning sideways so I can glare at him.

“Nothing.” He shrugs. “I’m just curious about how she persuaded him. It’s not every day the president gives a woman what she wants when there’s nothing to gain on his end.”

“She’s his daughter,” I say. “Easy explanation.”

“And you think that gives her an advantage? Not a chance.” He shakes his head. “You wanna know what I think?”

Actually, no, but he probably won’t stop talking, even if I said that out loud, so I sigh instead.

“I think he knows she has that special thing, that thing that makes people like you … love you … follow your lead. And that can be very useful when you need to keep a crowd happy after there’s been a … kerfuffle,” he says. “You know, with you two leaving the property and her coming back. News travels fast.”

How has he deduced all that? He barely knows her and rarely ever leaves the temple.

He glances at me from the corner of his eyes. “Don’t look so befuddled. You don’t give me enough credit, Noah.”

“Apparently, I don’t,” I grumble. “So you’re keeping tabs on us then? Did he ask you to do that?”

“No, I’m not. I’m simply observing,” he explains.

“Right.”

Lies. President Lawrence sent him. I know he did.

They’re watching me to see how I react to her getting to the front of the line.

The president’s testing me, but why?

Does he know what I’m planning to do?

Or are these just safety measures to ensure I don’t harm his daughter?

Or maybe, just maybe, he’s planning something else entirely different. My eyes widen. What if he intends to make her lead instead?

No. That can’t be possible. A woman leading this community? It’s never been done before, and the current president isn’t the type to ever allow a woman to be in that position.

But he might consider it … if his son-in-law is a devil he wants to get rid of.

Fuck.

I might’ve worked myself into my own grave.

“Don’t start making stuff up in your head, Noah. It’s not good for you,” my father says, eyeing me down. “I can see those little cogs twisting in your mind right now.”

“God, you know me so well,” I say with a sarcastic undertone.

“I’m your father. I should,” he says.

Suddenly, he starts coughing, and he pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket and holds it in front of his mouth. He quickly bunches it up and tucks it back into his pants again but not quickly enough for me not to notice what just happened.

Blood.

A few droplets, but it’s enough to make me question everything.

“Ignore that. Just a virus,” he says.

“Get well soon,” I reply, but I don’t mean it.

I hope it’s more than just a virus. Maybe he’ll finally drop dead, and then it won’t even make me a murderer.

“Thanks. Well, good luck with her,” he says, turning around. “You’ll need it now that she’s pregnant.”

I frown and spin around too, watching him walk off. “Why?”

He briefly pauses and glances at me over his shoulder. “Because once the child is here, she will be out of your control.” And he walks off, still coughing, leaving me clutching the banister, wondering if what he said was a threat or a warning.

A warning of what’s to come.

A wife with a baby can either be the most powerful ally you can possibly have or the most powerful enemy set out to destroy you.

Guess my only choice is to wait and see.

Natalie

“One, two, push!”

All the women say at once.

Everyone blows out a breath together with the woman giving birth, who’s having trouble keeping it together. She’s screaming out loud and sweating all over the place. What once was a pristine white dress is now covered in mucus, blood, and sweat, clinging to her body in a feverish nightmare.

“Water!” the woman screams, and I immediately get up and pour some into a glass. With a shaky hand, I put it close to her mouth, and she gulps it up gleefully.

Her thirst is quenched, but she’s still angered by the pain in her abdomen.

I don’t blame her.

But seeing this woman in labor right now makes all the memories pop right back to the front of my mind. I cringe as her face twists in agony, and her legs spread wide. The women surrounding her all smile as though they’re happy she’s hurting, and I don’t understand.

This is the first time I’ve attended a labor like this in the community, but it’s only one of many that happen every month. When I first came here, I heard the screams, but I ignored them, figuring whatever was in those huts was not for me.

But today, as I walked around the Holy Ground looking for places to help, I heard this woman’s screams and just knew I needed to be there to help in whatever way I could.

Women are brought into special birthing huts. Men are not allowed inside.

Which means no husband can ever support his wife or witness the birth of his own child. How cruel is that?

But at the same time, I understand. The women need space and support, and it’s a grueling process. The men will never understand what the women go through or what kind of strength it takes to push out this baby.

The baby’s head is crowning, and the fiery pain is visible on the woman’s face.

I don’t know her name, but I know she needs help right now. The fear and panic could frighten anyone, but not me.

“I’m here,” I say as I sit down next to her and grab her face, forcing her to look at me. “You’re safe. You can do this.”

“I can’t!” she yells.

I’ve said the same thing before.

Back then, I was right.

But there are no other options here. No other ways to save her baby. She must do this.

“You have to. Do it for your baby,” I say, shaking my head. “There’s no other way. Push!”

Everyone yells along with her. “Push, push, push!”

The woman screams in agony.

It kills me to see her in pain, but I focus on the birth as it reminds me of myself back when I lost my first baby. However, I’m not going anywhere even though my body is screaming at me to run as far away from this as I can.

I need to witness this. I need to see and know this woman and her child will be okay.

Because that means we stand a chance in this community.

That even with as little medical help as possible, women can do this. I can do this.

“It hurts!” the woman yelps, and she pushes one more time.

The baby pops out of her, slippery and covered in mucus and blood, and I capture it in my hands with a towel. The mere sight of this crying, beautiful bundle of joy brings tears to my eyes.

“It’s a boy,” I murmur as I bring the baby to the mother and lay him in her arms.

The rage and fear on her face instantly make place for a smile of relief. “Oh my … he’s beautiful.” She wraps her hand around my arm and squeezes gently. “Thank you …”

I pet her hair and nod. “You did good.”

“No, thank you for being here. As a matriarch,” she says.

When I look up, everyone nods in agreement, and I’m flabbergasted that is what they think about while this woman just gave birth. Is it so special that any of us from the temple would help out in the huts? Why doesn’t it happen more often?

“Yes, thank you so much for helping out,” another volunteer says. “We’ve never had the help of a matriarch before.”

I’m shocked but at the same time confused. It’s almost as if they feel thankful for the fact that I merely exist in their space. Everyone’s been so nice to me ever since I became a matriarch. At first, I thought it was because of my position, but now it almost feels like adoration.

As though they’re yearning for more of a connection. For more than just bowing at the feet of these men.

But what if all the matriarchs became more involved? Would it change the Family from the inside out?

I sigh and get up. This is not the right time or place to even think about this, but I will keep these ideas locked away in my mind for future use.

My body is shivering, but my mind is at complete peace. And after cleaning my hands, I rub my belly and whisper to my baby, “We can do this. You and me.”

I’ve never felt more confident about this. I want this baby.

Even if it’ll be the toughest, most painful thing I’ve ever done.

My scar will not define me; my past experiences will not destroy us.

I will be here, and I will become a mother.

I’m ready.