He climbs on top of her. In the moonlight his face is transformed into something ugly and hateful. His face. She whimpers. Her breath comes out in ragged gasps. Spots form before her eyes. "Prudence, what's wrong?" Rodney asks.
"I'm not ready for this," she says. "I'm sorry."
She expects him to protest or to take what he wants without her permission, as his right as her husband. Instead, he sinks down next to her on the bed. He puts a hand on her cheek, brushing hair away from her face. "If that's what you want."
"I'm sorry," she says again.
"Don't be silly. There's nothing wrong about waiting."
"Thank you," she says, but she feels like a child. She's supposed to be a woman now. They've been married for less than a day and already she's disappointed him. Tomorrow she wouldn't blame him if he asked Reverend Crane for an annulment now that he's realized what a terrible mistake he's made.
She had hoped marriage would somehow magically change her into someone else, but she still feels it there, on the inside, eating away at her. The ever-present stain nothing can erase, not even a man like Rodney. It will follow her forever.
She wakes up in the middle of the night with his arm around her. His body feels so warm against her. Through the thin layers of fabric separating them she feels his flesh. Her husband lying right here, entwined with her. She's safe. He will protect her.
She moves his arm, causing him to stir. "Are you all right?" he asks.
"I am now," she says, rolling atop him. His wife at last.
He patted her on the shoulder, giving her a hint of a smile. "I'll be back soon," he said. The flap of the tent dropped and she was alone.
***
Wendell awoke to sharp pains in his stomach and left arm. The pain in his stomach came from ravenous hunger churning his entire midsection. The repeated pain in his arm had a different source altogether. He opened his eyes to find a man poking him with a walking stick. "Who are you, boy?" the man said.
"I'm-" he stopped when he held up an adult arm instead of the tiny child's arm he remembered before waking up. It was all a dream, he thought. But then if it had been a dream, who was he? Where was he? Who was this person poking him? "I'm not exactly sure," he said.
"You're not sure? How can you not know your own name?"
He thought back to the dream. "My name's Wendell. Maybe."
"Wendell Maybe? I don't remember your name on the manifest. Are you a stowaway?"