Monty Zoan was pretty certain he wasn't a girl. Despite being raised as one, he'd always related much more to the idea of boyhood. He'd steal clothes from his older brothers and try them on, acting shocked when they showed up in his laundry weeks later. At sixteen, he was too young to begin medically transitioning without permission from his parents, and so he coped mostly by wearing baggy clothes and practising voice training.
Growing up, Monty always greatly admired his older sister Zina. She was courageous and disciplined, standing up for her beliefs while her parents bullied her for them. When Monty began to suspect he might have been trans, Zina was the first person he confided in, and the only one he felt truly understood. He was nine when she moved out, and things weren't ever quite the same after this.
Monty's father, arriving home from his trip to the store, slammed a bag of groceries down on the counter. "Finish your homework, Sariah."
Being home-schooled was rather lonely, and very stressful. Mara, who was in charge of the schooling, was a nice enough woman, but she was temperamental and lost her patience quickly. When Lillian was home, Mara was bitter and took her resentment out on the children. When the family was out, they were your typical well-mannered family. But appearances could be deceiving, and Monty knew this better than anyone.
Orion had far too many children, and gave them all outlandish names. All had appeared in the scriptures, which Monty knew from years of being forced to have religious stories read to him. He wasn’t out as trans, and knew this wasn’t possible as long as he lived under his parents’ roof. Despite this, hearing his given name always felt like a punch to the gut.
Monty sighed. "It's finished."
There wasn't much he learned at school that would be helpful once he moved out. Monty had never been taught how to do his taxes, how to solve problems, how to make a budget. Instead, he was overly knowledgeable about religion and how to follow the rules, as if these were things that would allow him to be successful in the workplace. He didn't care for school. If Monty could be anything, he would have been an advocate for transgender rights.
His father was intimidating, a no-nonsense man whose idea of fun was to read scriptures or pray as a family. He walked with a confident gait, dark-haired, like most of his children, often blaming the children for his lack of relationship with them. It was impossible to have a friendship with a man like Orion. Monty had nothing in common with his father at all.
"Show me, then."
"Look."
All of their homework was to be written in cursive, on unlined white paper, with no room for error. Lillian, who had many rules, had fastened a large list to the wall on a poster-board, which outlined strictly the daily responsibilities of the children. The women were to cook and clean and tend to the men, but to do this in a pleasant way was nearly inconceivable. Everyone saw Monty as a woman. Even Monty saw himself as a woman, most of the time. It was hard not to, when nobody would believe him. He shared a bedroom with his elder sister, Saphira, who rarely spoke to him. No one ever had a room to themselves; even Orion’s lovers shared with one another. When Mary lived at home, Monty and Saphira’s room was shared with her, too.
Orion was a hard man to impress. The Zoans had gone through several housekeepers over the course of Monty's life, and likely many more before his birth. The housekeeper visited on Saturdays, as there was to be no work on Sundays, and Orion was harsh to her, as he was to everybody. As he came up behind Monty, a wave of unease rose in the teenager's chest. His father had never hit him. A few years ago, Monty would have argued that this meant the man couldn’t be abusive.
"Do it again. When you’re finished, go and grab some beets from the root cellar.”
The cellar had been constructed by Orion’s father in 1945, after the farm was passed down to him. It was made of dirt and rocks, and contained a narrow staircase which led from the sidewalk. The cellar door, which was thin and made of tree bark, had to be shut tight at all times to prevent the vegetables from spoiling. Recently, Monty had been put in charge of the cellar - which wasn’t a difficult task, but left him very cold in the wintertime.
When the housekeeper was over, the children were to stay in their rooms quietly, tidying the floors and shelves so the rooms could be vacuumed. Monty never minded cleaning, though he wasn't very good at it. It was as if cleaners were robots and not women with feelings, the way Hannah and Orion treated them. Monty frowned. "What's wrong with my homework?”
The children all got the same assignments, though they'd vary in difficulty through the years. This week, they'd been given the task of interpreting a passage from the Book of Ether, a discretionary passage which was assigned to each child by Lillian. Monty hated essays, and often did poorly on them. Canaan and Noah, who barely knew how to spell, sometimes got to colour scripture pictures instead.
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Orion was displeased. "You missed the point. Rewrite it by Friday." He'd always been a rather difficult man. Monty had, of course, had no choice but to learn to please him.
Esther, who learned things like reading and spelling on weekdays, shuffled haphazardly into the kitchen, already dressed in her pyjamas. A young child needed socialization, and Esther had never had this. Born in her mother's bathroom, she'd spent her entire life confined within the walls of the country farm, leaving only at brief intervals for masses and grocery shops. It was as if Monty's parents feared the children would be exposed to the worst kinds of people if they were allowed to leave the house. Life could be lonely, but it was never boring. From sunrise to dawn, they were to finish homework, attend lessons, and complete work on the farm.
"Sister," said Esther, climbing onto Monty's lap, "will you play with me?" It was painful to be referred to this way, but this wasn't Esther's fault. At eight years old, she was the youngest of the girls, and she had no friends outside of her siblings. This is the way things had been for Monty too. For most of the Zoan children, the best part of growing up was the freedom to leave. Living under his parents' roof, Monty's life was uneventful. Most of the time, he was forbidden from leaving, and he certainly couldn't have found the opportunity to visit elder siblings. As far as Orion was concerned, a child was no longer a child once they left the home.
The home was always noisy, and seldom dirty. There was nowhere for Monty to have peace and quiet, or time to himself, and this made the farm feel more like a prison than a home.
Esther looked just like her mother. Monty was uncomfortable from the tightness of his chest binder. "Okay."
At the age of twelve years old, Monty learned what it meant to have gender dysphoria. Although he didn't yet understand the meaning of the term, he knew that it felt strange and wrong to dress like a girl, and he knew that looking like one made him feel sick and trapped inside his body. When he had begun to experience puberty, the thought of developing into a woman made him feel disgusted. This was all he knew. According to his priest and the scriptures, it was a sin for a woman to dress as a man.
It was very hard, sometimes, for Monty to pretend he enjoyed being feminine. Often, he was scolded by his mother for his lack of femininity, or refusal to put on makeup with his sisters. He participated, albeit reluctantly, when Esther insisted all the girls played dress-up. It was exceptionally hard to say no to a hopeful child.
"Sister," said Esther, poking her head into Seraphim’s bedroom. "Let's play dress-up."
Monty had been there when Esther was born. It was rather traumatizing to him, but she had been born in the bathtub, and he was curious. After this, Lillian forbade all of the children from hanging around when babies were born.
It was hard not to pity Hannah, sometimes. Like most of Orion's daughters, she had been subjected as a child to the types of things nobody spoke about. As a teenage girl, isolated inside a house that was filled with trauma, Hannah was conflicted. It was hard not to be.
"You're not a boy," Hannah had said, many times before. She would always say it in the same way, as though she was spitting poison out of her mouth. "You'll never be a boy. Find some other way to get attention."
Father Roy was a senior in the church, who held the position of High Priest and frequented Zoan farm for dinner. He was generally fond of Hannah, as most adults were; she was such a two-faced fraud. Hannah was cunning and tailored specific personalities for specific people, acting as though this was a trait worth being proud of. Monty spent little time with Hannah, and both preferred it this way.
The priest always wore his temple garments when he visited. Outwardly, he was a nice enough man. It had been years since Monty trusted a man in uniform.
To prepare for guests, the women and girls prepared the house. Once in a while, Lillian or Samantha caught one of their sons tidying or organizing, and made one of the girls take over the task, saying it was improper for a man to clean. This made sense to most. Monty wasn’t opposed to gender roles, but he was bothered by his womanly responsibilities.
“I expect all of you to act properly,” said Orion, adjusting his tie in a mirror on the wall, “you all know the rules.”
As everything was, the rules of the home were determined by sex. The girls were not to speak unless spoken to, be pleasant and obedient, and to clear the tables after meals. The boys were to gather and prepare the ingredients for cooking, engage in polite conversations with visitors, and ensure their sisters didn’t speak out of turn. It seemed unfair to Monty that he was forced to be subordinate to his brothers just because of the way he was born - but no one ever questioned this, and Monty knew better than to bring it up.
He remembered an argument that had occurred between Mosiah and Orion, shortly before his brother left home. “It’s not the 1900s anymore,” Mosiah had said, already in a foul mood, “girls don’t have to be our servants.”
Nobody ever won an argument with Orion. Most were too intimidated to attempt.
The priest sat across from Monty at the table, conversing with his parents and brothers. He liked to preach about sin, and how it affected relationships, and how to sin was to betray the Lord. A lot of people claimed to be perfect. Monty hated being told what to do.
The children always sat in order of age, which sandwiched Monty between Hannah and Saphira. He sat quietly at mealtimes and listened to conversation, far more comfortable observing than taking part. This is how he was meant to behave, anyway. The kitchen window was open, letting in a cool breeze. When Monty stood to close it, the two youngest children began to argue loudly.