I returned a few moments later holding the old, leather Bible. It was the family Bible, the one that recorded all the births and deaths in the family. According to family lore, the Bible had been in the family for well over a hundred years. My Aunt Cat who was in the kitchen, pointed with fingers toward my uncle's office. I nodded my head and started to make my way to the office. The door was locked so I gently knocked. A few seconds later, I heard a crossed voice from behind the door call out.

“Enter.” It seemed my uncle was in one of his moods. So taking a deep breath I pushed gently upon the door. The door creaked open. Swallowing my pride I pushed the door all the way open and there sitting in an old leather chair was my uncle. His eyes seemed blazing and his fingernails seemed to be digging into the arm of the old leather chair.

“Close the door, Casper.” He commanded as he stood up and started to walk toward me, each step seemed cold and measured. As the door closed behind me, I felt like I'd just entered into the domain of a savage beast, one that intended to tear me from limp to limp. My uncle paused a few feet from me and then looked me straight in the eye, he said.

“Do you know the Bible Casper?” He said as if trying to control some uncontrollable rage.

I blinked and for a moment I wondered if that was a trick question. Did I know the Bible? Well enough I suppose. I've heard it read aloud enough, I've listened to hundreds of sermons from at least a dozen different priests before. So I suppose I knew the Bible well enough. I did after all attend a super elite, private Episcopal School that was one of the oldest in the states.

“Then read aloud to me the following verses.” He said reaching into his skirt pocket. A few moments later he fished out an old wooden pipe. He placed the tip of the pipe in his mouth, stuffed it full with loose leaf tobacco and then striking a match set the stuff ablaze. He puffed a few times, sending up rings of grayish black smoke.

“First Corinthians chapter eleven verse fourteen.” He said as he turned away from me.

It took me a few moments of searching before I found the first. I swallowed hard and then in a shaking tone of voice I started to read aloud. My voice seemed on the edge of breaking.

“Doth not even nature itself teach you, that, if a man have long hair, its a shame unto him?”

My uncle nodded his head.

“Good now read this, Deuteronomy chapter twenty two verse five.” He said, taking a deep breath.

I took a deep breath and flipped through the old pages till I came to the section. Then releasing the breath I steeled myself for what I was about to read.

“A woman shall not wear a man's garment, nor shall a man put on a woman's cloak, for whoever does these things is an abomination to the Lord your God.” I said taking a deep breath again.

“Repeat that for me.” He said, sighing.

I took a deep breath. And a few seconds later I started to read aloud again.

“A woman shall not wear a man's garment, nor shall a man put on a woman's cloak, for whoever does these things is an abomination to the Lord your God.”

“Again.” He said in a calm manner.

“A woman shall not wear a man's garment, nor shall a man put on a woman's cloak, for whoever does these things is an abomination to the Lord your God.”

“Simple homespun wisdom. Now First Corinthians again. Chapter Eleven verse three through fifteen.” He said, smirking a little.

I closed my eyes, I wish the man would go ahead and kick me out, this was torture. I felt like some hidden part of me was being bashed with a heaven stone. I was trembling from the top of my head down to the tip of my toes. I used to adore the church, I used to love going to church. But I felt these words and chapters had been selected, cherry picked to cut at me. It took me a bit longer to find this section than it did the others.

“Its a long one, so take your time.” He said walking toward his chair. “Read it nice and slow, I want the words to sink in.

“But I want you to understand that the head of every man is Christ, the head of a wife is her husband, and the head of Christ is god. Every man who prays or prophesies with his head covered dishonors his head, but every wife who prays or prophesies with her head uncovered dishonors her head, since it is the same if her head were shaven. For if a wife will not cover her head, then she should cut her hair short. But since it's disgraceful for a wife to cut her hair or shave her head, let her cover her head. For a man ought not to cover his head, since he is the image and glory of God, but woman is the glory of man. For man was not made from woman, but woman from man. Neither was man created for woman, but woman for man. That is why a wife ought to have a symbol of authority on her head, because of the angels. Nevertheless, in the Lord woman is not independent of man nor man of woman; for woman was made from man, so man is now born of woman. And all things are from God. Judge for yourselves: is it proper for a wife to pray to God with her head uncovered? Doesn't nature itself teach you that if a man wears long hair it's a disgrace for him, but if a woman has long hair, it is her glory? For her hair is given to her for a covering.” I read aloud and that long passage nearly took all the breath out of my lungs.

“Good, now have you understood everything I've read so far.” He said puffing on his pipe.

I blinked and paused.

“Let me spell it out to you. I do not approve of the direction the current presiding bishop of my beloved Episcopal Church is trying to steer us in. I believe in every word written in that book you hold in your hands. And in all my years of reading the bible, it does not say in one signal passage that a man can not become a woman or a woman can not  become a man because they desire to do so. I try not to judge, but seeing you in a dress and standing before you, my own nephew is something I can not approve of.”

I nodded my head.

“I have half the mind to send you away right now. But, I am a fair man. Maybe there is a lesson in this, a lesson God wants me to teach you.” He said leaning back in his chair. His eyes seemed hyper focused on me. I could feel the venom rolling off his tongue. I could feel his seething anger starting to boil deep inside his cruel heart.

“I want you to now live for the remaining of the time you have here, which should be about two and a half weeks, that is seventeen days as a woman. I don't want to see you in the field, I want to see you bent over a hot stove, I want this house spotless. When I come in at night, I expect a hot meal to be ready for me. Do I make myself clear?” He arched a eyebrow.

“Yes sir.” He said.

“Good, and if at any time you want to stop being a woman, just come to me and tell me. I'll take you down to this old fashion barber shop and we'll get you a proper haircut. Heck I'll even take you down to the Green Door and get you a shot of pussy, maybe that would make you feel like a man.” He muttered.

“Uncle.. I don't think I really want to be a woman.. I was just asked to model.”

“Proverbs Twenty three verse fourteen.” He muttered

I swallowed hard.

“Thou shalt beat him with the rod, and shalt deliver his soul from hell.” I read aloud.

“Proverbs thirteen verse twenty four.

“He that spareth the rod hateth his son: But he that loveth him chasteneth him betimes.” I read aloud. My uncle just nodded his head.

“Smart off to me again, and I promise you, I will take the rod to your bare bottom. You will respect me, do I make myself clear.” He whispered as clutched the pipe in his mouth.

“But uncle..”

“This is my final warning.” He said, taking a deep breath. “Your final verbal warning for the next seventeen days.” He added in a menacing tone of voice.

“My apologies uncle.” I said, taking a deep breath.

“Go help your aunt cook supper.” He muttered. “And I'll pay you for your labor around the house, same wave, eight dollars a hour. I'm a man of my word. But I mean it, I want those floorboards to shine and you'll no longer have Sundays off. On Sunday you will do the washing after church, just like your aunt does.”

I nodded my head.

“Now, get out of my sight. I need to brood and talk with the Lord. I need his guidance to help me get through this coming struggle. The Devil has sent a flower child from the city to sow the seeds of doubt in my cotton field. And I need the advice of the almighty to make this right.”

I nodded my head and left the study. As I closed the door behind me, I felt a sudden overpowering sorrow overcome me, I wrapped my arms around myself and I crumbled to the floor. Once my bottom touched the floor, I drew my legs close to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. I then placed my head down upon my legs. Those were just words he had spoken, but forcing me to read them had shook my soul, and damn near broke me in half.

I started to think then, what should I do? Call the police? The Landing had a small police force, a mostly volunteer police force made up of retired army veterans. It was not really a police force in the true sense of the word. They had no uniforms, and their headquarters was a smoke-filled barn in the middle of a cotton-field called “Mac's”. I'd seen it once or twice coming and going from the field to the house. The building was nothing more than an old, wooden shed with a rusted tin roof and a rusted metal door. The only purpose this make-shift police force served was to keep the field hands from getting out of hand.

There was a jail in town though. Just by the railroad tracks, there was this simple wooden brick building with a tin roof. A large metal door with a padlock on it was the only door. People that the make-shift police force deemed a threat were tossed into the building until somebody with a more official title could come from neighboring Yazoo City to pick them up for further holding, or if the crime was really serious then the person being held there would either 'Vanish' into the night or be forced to board a train and told never to show themselves in town again.

“I guess.” I said, taking a deep breath.

“I need to learn how to be a woman.” I said blushing. That seemed the only way I would escape unharmed. The more I thought about that idea the more it made sense to me, I'd just have to learn to be a proper Southern Belle. Otherwise I'll stick out like a sore thumb. And if I stuck out like a sore thumb, then I ran a chance of being discovered. And if I was discovered, all hell would come falling down on my head.

And so I took the first, shaking steps down the road of Womanhood.