Papa is still speaking. “… the first great mystery of womanhood. The second shall be revealed to you on your wedding night, and you shall suffer no man’s touch until your husband claims his rights.”
“My husband!” A startled laugh escapes me; it has never occurred to me to think on such a prospect. “Who am I to wed, Papa? Caliban?”
A thunderous look crosses Papa’s face. “Hold your tongue, child! Heaven forfend. Do you think I would see my only daughter, my own flesh and blood, wed to a monstrosity?”
“Well, I don’t think him monstrous at all,” I say defiantly. “Caliban is kind and good. And if I am to take a husband, I’d sooner wed him than Ariel.”
“Ariel!” Papa takes a sharp breath. “Miranda, you must not even think such thoughts.”
I temper my defiance with humility. “What am I to think, Papa?”
He lays one hand on my shoulder. “I do but ask your trust, child. One day, when my plans come to a head, all shall be revealed.” You keep saying that, I think to myself, but I do not say it aloud. “I promise, the man you wed will be neither a tame savage nor a spirit such as Ariel. But today—” Papa untucks the bundle he carries under his arm and shows me its contents: a number of muslin pouches, a clay jar with a lid, and a lengthy parti-colored sash pieced together from various fabrics. “This is a serious business, Miranda. The menstruum of a virgin possesses powerful magical properties. You must manage it with care.”
I swallow, reminded anew of the vile trickle making its way down my thigh. “How?”
Papa holds up one of the pouches. “Dried sphagnum moss. While your woman’s courses are upon you, you will place one of these pouches beneath your privy parts as necessary to capture the flow, binding it in place with the sash.”
He sounds proud of himself, as though this is some difficult problem he has solved. “Yes, Papa.”
“When a pouch will absorb no more of the menstruum, place it in the jar and notify me,” he continues. “You may knock upon the door of my sanctum, leave the jar in the hallway, and depart. I will take custody of the jar and its contents and return it to you. Is that clear enough, child?”
I nod. “Yes, Papa.”
“Tonight is the first night of the waning moon, which is to the good,” Papa muses. “It means your womb reaches fullness in accordance with Luna herself, and your menstruum shall be all the more powerful for it. And if your cycle remains constant and true, as I hope it does, you shall know that your courses will commence each month when Luna begins to wane.”
I find a faint ray of hope in his words. “Then I shan’t always bleed henceforth, Papa?”
“Always?” He chuckles. “No, of course not. Your courses will come upon you once a month and last for several days, mayhap a week. You must notify me if they last longer.”
“Yes, Papa,” I say.
Papa smiles at me. “Very good. And when your courses have concluded this month, we will speak of your assisting me in my sanctum.” He pauses, waiting for me to respond. I look at the floor and do not say anything. Although I once yearned for it above all else, now the thought of entering Papa’s sanctum fills me with quiet dread. His smile fades. “Understand that you must never enter without permission, and not at all when your courses are upon you. Never. At such a time, your very gaze could pollute the delicate working of my art.” He pauses again. “Miranda, may I trust that I have impressed upon you how vital it is that you observe these strictures with the utmost scruple?”
I choke back a bitter bark of laughter.
I should like to say, Yes, Papa, you may be sure of it, for I have no desire to invoke your wrath. I do not wish to return to the helplessness of childhood and spend another year of my life learning to walk and talk anew.
“Yes,” I murmur instead. “Of course.” And yet I cannot keep my peace, not wholly. I steal a glance at him. “Papa, if you knew this day would come, why did you not tell me?”
He furrows his brow. “But we have spoken of it often, Miranda.”
“No.” I shake my head. “You told me often that one day I would be a woman grown. You told me I would know. You did not tell me I should know it by the sign of pain and blood.” My voice rises, taking on a shrill note once more. “How was I to know? Why did you not tell me it would be this?”
Papa’s expression turns stern and his hand rises to take hold of my amulet. “Calm yourself, child!”
I fall silent, my body stiffening in terror and my bladder threatening to void itself in a hot gush.
“It was not always thus for womankind,” Papa says. “In the Garden of Eden, our foremother Eve knew no such travail.” His voice deepens as he lets go the amulet and quotes from the Holy Bible. “And they were both naked, the man and his wife, and were not ashamed. But what transpired?”