Free Haveli by Suzanne Fisher Staples

verbal abuse.
    So, not wishing to acknowledge any dishonor to himself, her husband chose to believe that Sharma and the child had died in the sandstorm. When they didn’t return, he never went to look for them.
    It didn’t displease him, really. Sharma was the second wife who’d borne him only daughters, and he couldn’t afford a third and still feed them. But without Sharma and Fatima he now could ask his cousin for the hand of his eldest daughter, who was just reaching a marriageable age. She would bring no dowry, but he’d watched her breasts bud and her backside grow round. Perhaps finally he’d have a wife who would give him sons!
    Fatima had grown fat and healthy in the desert with her mother. They sold the cotton to buy cloth and food. When they needed more sugar or tea, they sold their fine strong animals. Sometimes they harvested wheat in the fields near Rahimyar Khan, far away from Sharma’s husband.
    When she came of age, Fatima decided she would not marry at all. Her mother was delighted that her daughter had chosen to stay with her.
    Sharma and Fatima were self-sufficient. Any man who had ever tried to harm or cheat them had fallen on hard times.
    Once a goatherd had stolen their spring lambs. The foolish man bragged of this deed to his cousin. The very next day the lambs and his entire herd of goats disappeared from the edge of the desert where they grazed. He looked for them for days, but they’d disappeared without a trace, and he never saw them again. The man was ashamed—not of his thievery, but that he’d been outsmarted by a woman—andnever mentioned his misfortune to anyone.
    Before long Sharma and Fatima were known widely to be witches, and their reputation shielded them well. They seldom had need to protect themselves.
    “You’re just in time to eat,” said Mama, smiling at Fatima and Sharma through the steam of the roasting bread.
    “You could time your
chapatis
to their arrival,” Auntie said sourly. Phulan rolled her eyes, and Shabanu had to turn her head away so her laughter didn’t show.
    The women talked and talked until the sun was high in the sky. When it grew too warm, they stretched a
chadr
between the lean-to and two poles and moved under its shade, never once interrupting their talk.
    Shabanu luxuriated in a sense of belonging. She’d forgotten how it felt to be accepted, not to have to watch for danger over each shoulder, not to examine the motives behind everything that was said to her. Not being afraid to let Mumtaz out of her sight was entirely new to her.
    “Jamil’s wife still has only daughters—four!” Phulan said with some satisfaction. “Poor Jamil. Perhaps he should take another wife.”
    “But Adil,” said Mama, “now has three sons! Perhaps he’d give one to Jamil.” How like her mother always to hope for the best in others!
    Phulan touched Shabanu’s sleeve and looked into her eyes.
    “I’m sorry …” she began.
    “Don’t worry,” said Shabanu. “I’m happy with just Mumtaz.”
    “But you would make your husband so happy if you gave him a son. Perhaps you should consult a
hakkim.…
”
    “I’m very happy with only a daughter,” Shabanu said. “Life would have been far more difficult if Mumtaz had been a boy. It’s much easier to endure the scorn of the other women than to worry that if I had a son he might be killed.”
    “Killed!” said Phulan. “Whatever for?”
    “Mumtaz will inherit nothing,” she said. “It would have been more difficult for Rahim to pass off a son. He would have been a threat to the other wives, and someone would have found a way to get rid of him.”
    “Still, you should have other children,” said Mama as she whirled the last of the
chapatis
into a flat disk and slid it onto the black iron pan over the fire. “You’re so healthy! Why have you not conceived again?”
    “I
am
healthy,” said Shabanu. “So don’t worry.”
    The first time after the wedding that Shabanu had seen her family, Sharma