Ophelia's War

by Alison L. McLennan

  I should have run away right then, but I was afraid of the Indians, and the wine seemed to make Uncle Luther silly, not mean and dangerous like the whiskey had.

  The wine had loosened my tongue. “You’re an old fool!” I said and got up from the table. “I’m too old to sit on men’s knees and hear children’s stories.” I grabbed my rifle and sat on the bed in the corner. He glared at me with anger and injury.

  I recognized at once that I’d been too bold. “I didn’t mean old fool, sir. I meant to say, I’m too heavy for your lap. I’d break your knee.” He rose from the table. I trained the Henry on him.

  Shock and hurt crossed his face again. “Ophelia, is this how my sister raised you? No manners! Put that rifle down. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  I put the rifle next to me on the bed and hung my head.

  “Now come over and help me clean up. We can save all these delicacies for another day.”

  I got up, went to the table, and started cleaning up the leftovers from the feast. Uncle Luther walked to the bed and picked up the Henry. He hung it out of my reach across some high hooks near the ceiling.

  After he put the rifle out of my reach, he turned to me. A dark shadow crossed his face. Within seconds his hand was at the back of my neck. He grabbed my jaw and yelled in my face. “If you ever, ever, point a gun at me again, I will beat you so hard you’ll wish you were dead. Do you hear me?”

  I nodded. He turned me around, pressed my body down onto the table, pulled my bloomers down, and lifted my skirt. “If that ruby necklace is here somewhere you better tell me!” He beat my bare bottom. I cried for mercy. But I did not tell him about the necklace. He finally stopped beating me. Yet he held me there with my skirt still lifted.

  “Stop crying and listen good,” he whispered into my ear. “The hiding is over. But if you don’t tell me where the rubies are right now, I’m going to make you my jewel. Do you understand?”

  I struggled to free myself. I kicked him and tried to bite his wrist. He overpowered me and pressed my face against the table. My family had prayed, shared meals, and laughed at that table. Deep shame and mourning came over me. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to give up the rubies. I’d spend the rest of my life trying to figure out why I didn’t save myself and give them to him.

  He followed through with his threat. When he entered me, I felt a pinch and then burning. It didn’t hurt as much as the hiding, but the pain was deep in places I didn’t even know could hurt. I felt as low and dirty as a barnyard animal. Where was the Heavenly Father? Where were my mother and father? Could they see this? Why did my mother write to this horrible man? Why did she let him know we existed? As he pounded himself into me, I felt ashamed. Why hadn’t I just given him the necklace?

  When he finished, I pulled up my bloomers. He grabbed my chin and stared into my eyes. “I’m sorry I had to do that. Now I know you’re telling the truth. Only a whore would trade her virginity for a ruby necklace.” He released me. I ran out the door.

  The Virgin pulled me to her. I had never felt her call so strong. Transfixed, I stumbled down the hill as if pulled by a magnetic force beyond my control. I picked up a giant rock and entered her waters fully clothed. I intended to follow Shakespeare’s Ophelia and drown myself. The cold water numbed and cleansed my body. I held the rock and lay down, letting her water engulf me and cover my head.

  Uncle Luther’s hands grabbed me, pried the rock from my grasp, and dragged me out of the Virgin River. As he carried me up the hill, I heard the sickening sloshing of his wet shoes and clothes. My body shook uncontrollably. Water dripped from his brow onto me like a steady agonizing rain. My head fell back and I could see the glorious celestial light coming from the heavens that I would never be part of. I was damned.

  After that horrible night, Uncle Luther scarcely looked at me. He acted as if I were invisible. He was no more interested in me than in a blade of grass. Somehow this was worse than all his lecherous advances. I couldn’t help but think that he had discovered some vile thing inside me. I hated him for what he’d done to me, and I hated myself too.

  I made this entry in my journal soon after it happened.

  Dear Heavenly Father,

  Why did you take my mother, father, and brother away? Please forgive me. I was greedy and stupid. I should have given him the jewels and saved myself. Now I’m his slave in this place, which was once a home—filled with laughter and the kind voices of my family—my family of Saints. We believed in you. With minor exceptions we followed the church law. We prayed to you daily. Yet you struck us down. You took my parents so slowly, so painfully. I had to watch them waste away and become skeletons. Why have you forsaken us? What has become of Zeke—only you know. Please keep him among the living. Please let me see him again someday. I pray Mother and Father are in a place of divine glory and peace, their suffering in the earthly realm now over.

  What of me, Lord? Do you plan to keep me here with Uncle Luther? In the presence of the Saints, he pretends to be a gentleman and a believer. But here with me, he is a demon. I gave my virginity to the devil himself in order to save a ruby necklace. Am I damned? Will he try to take me as a wife? I would rather die. Please forgive me. Please, please, send a sign of your mercy. Your humble servant,

  Ophelia Oatman

  NINE

  The day of the big card game, Uncle Luther woke early and shook my bed while cursing a flock of noisy ravens. “Goddamn squawking bluegums! Ophelia, wake up! Get me some coffee.”

  I boiled water and set to making his coffee while he maimed the cantankerous ravens with a slingshot. All my life I’d awakened with a sense of purpose, whether it was walking with the wagons to Zion, stitching quilts, planting, harvesting, or tending the crops. Whatever the chore, I had always been eager. They might have said I was prideful and had a loose tongue, but no one had ever accused me of being lazy.

  During that terrible time, I had to drag myself out of bed each morning. I dreaded each day. My only pleasures were reading Sister May Belle’s books and tending the garden. I was ashamed of making myself a whore and that I’d tried to drown myself, the same as Mr. Shakespeare’s Ophelia. She was a silly, weak girl, who had gone mad, and I didn’t understand why Ma had named me after her. Each day I dreamt and prayed that a young man would ride into town and save me from my hopeless existence.

  On the day of the card game, he did. When I first laid eyes on him, I thought the Heavenly Father had answered my prayers and sent me an angel. I had been toiling in the garden all morning until the sun grew too hot. I squatted by the river and was contemplating wading in for a dip. The clomping of hooves alerted me of someone’s approach. I stood and squinted down the path. I didn’t know who he was, or what he wanted, but when I saw him, I thanked the Lord.

  From a spotted white pony, he looked down at me with pale blue eyes that matched the hot August sky. I wasn’t frightened of him. His face was hairless, and his cheeks had a rosy hue. From under his brown buckskin hat, hair flowed like strands of fresh-spun gold. His constant smile showed teeth as white as the sun-blanched bones that I had collected from the sandy washes and rocky hillsides. I had always admired the whiteness and purity of those bones, especially considering they came from death.

  He stared down at me from his pony and said, “Well, looky here!” His smile was sewn on like a badge. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

  I could neither speak nor breathe. I felt like a lady in a tight corset. I’d never worn a corset, or been to a ball, but I’d read about them, and that was how I imagined it. For a moment I thought Joseph Smith himself had risen from the dead. With the boy’s golden hair, they were so similar. My angel looked around in confusion and spoke again.

  “Is there supposed to be a card game around her somewheres?”

  “Yes, sir, my Uncle Luther is hosting it, at our homestead up on the hill there.” I pointed toward our place. “You’re a little early. It doesn’t start till sundown.”

  He looked up the hill
side and then at me. Then he dismounted and said, “Where are my manners? I’m Samuel. Samuel Cox. But you can call me Sam or anything you want. You’re just so purdy I forgot myself. And what might your name be, fair lady?”

  I’d never had a young man fuss over me like that. My whole body tingled and my stomach fluttered. “I’m Ophelia. Ophelia Oatman. My brother used to call me O for short.” I smiled and then felt sad. In my mind, I could hear Zeke’s voice calling me Little O. It seemed so long ago that he had called me that.

  He slapped his knee. “O! Ophea? Why, I like that. It’s got a nice ring to it. Never did meet an Ophea before. May I?” He reached for my hand. I nodded. He lifted my fingers to his lips. I was glad I’d just rinsed them in the river. If he’d caught me a moment sooner, they’d have been covered with dirt.

  From the moment I laid eyes on Samuel Cox, I was in love. Falling in love was just like I’d read about in books. I’d never thought something out of a novel would happen to me. He was perfect in every way. The only peculiar thing about him was that the smile never seemed to leave his face.

  “Well, I got some time to kill. Say, this looks like a nice shady spot to rest my head. Do you mind my company?”

  “No, not at all. Why, it was getting so hot, I took a break from working. Good thing you didn’t come around a minute later. I was just about to strip down and go for a dip.”

  His smile grew even wider and his eyes danced. He took off his hat, raised his brows, and searched the ground for something to say. “Shucks. That would have been an awkward first meeting, Miss Ophea.”

  I didn’t mind that he mispronounced my name. He could have called me just about anything. I had an overwhelming urge to hug him. Sam Cox hitched his pony and unrolled a blanket on the gama grass in the shade of a cottonwood. He tossed a burlap sack down onto the blanket.

  “We can have ourselves a nice picnic. I got enough chow for the two of us.” I sat on the blanket. He sat down, took off his hat, and then reclined on his side facing me. “I like to wait a few minutes and settle my stomach from the ride before I eat. This here’s some rocky, uneven country.”

  I sat straight with my legs out and smoothed my skirt. “Yes. My stomach is a little jumpy too. You gave me a start. Most days I’m alone and don’t see a soul.”

  He shook his head and clucked his tongue. “That’s too bad, a pretty girl like you, alone every day.”

  I tried to smile. After what happened with Uncle Luther, I never thought I’d want anything to do with a man again. But Samuel Cox was different. I wanted to be with him so badly it hurt. I wanted to feed him, bathe him, shave his tiny whiskers and lay myself open for him. But how could it be? I had traded my chastity to keep possession of the cursed ruby necklace. I was ruined. They said a man could tell if you weren’t a virgin. I wondered how old Samuel was, but I didn’t want to ask him because I didn’t want him to ask me.

  “This is about the extent of my life—tending this here struggling garden, some livestock, and the ramshackle house over yonder,” I said.

  I eyed his hat on the blanket. It was the sort the cowhands and vaqueros wore. He sat up and started pulling off his boots. They had rusty spurs on the heels. Heat and a cloud of fine dust rose from his foot.

  “Do you mind if I take these boots off and let my feet breathe a little?”

  “Why, no—not at all. Your feet must be hot and tired.”

  He pulled off his sock. I braced myself for a ghastly sight, but his feet, even though they were dirty, were the most beautiful I’d ever seen—besides a baby’s, of course. They were perfectly formed, strong yet hairless. So far everything about Samuel Cox was beautiful.

  He sighed and looked down at the river. “That water looks mighty inviting.”

  I looked at the river and smiled. His pony neighed as if in agreement. “That’s a beautiful pony you’ve got there, sir. Are you a cowboy?”

  “Call me Samuel or Sam. I’m only nineteen, can’t be much older than you. No reason to call me sir. And I’ll call you Ophea.”

  I couldn’t bring myself to correct him.

  “I came out here to do some cattle herding and trading. Earned some capital, and then I discovered my true calling.” The smile, which never left his face, grew wider and I got another glimpse of his white, polished-bone teeth. I wanted to touch them.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “You see, I have a gift for the cards. In one night—in one night—I doubled the cattle-driving money it took me six months to earn.” He fingered a jewel-studded cross around his neck while he shook his head. I could tell he was reliving that glorious card-playing night.

  From everything my parents had told me and from Uncle Luther, I knew cards brought nothing but trouble. The phlltt-phlltt of the deck still sounded like the devil whispering. “I hope you didn’t come all the way out here so you could make money at cards. Listen—” I looked up the hill just to make sure Uncle Luther wasn’t suddenly within earshot. I spoke low. “You watch out for my Uncle Luther and the cards. He was a riverboat card sharp. Sitting down to play with him is like taking tea with a wolf. Unless you want to lose everything, it’s a very bad idea.”

  Samuel Cox squinted and studied the sole of his boot. His grin had changed from one of pleasure to a challenge. “We’ll see about that. I got something that can never be learned or practiced.” He leaned back on his elbow again, relaxed.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Luck.”

  “Luck? How do you mean?” I tilted my head and waited for his explanation.

  As he pulled Johnny cakes and jerky from his sack and spread a picnic lunch out on the blanket, he proceeded to rattle off all the various ways he’d narrowly averted disaster, starting from the time he was a young-un up until his recent escapades driving cattle from Texas to the Missouri. He’d had close scrapes with Indians and bears, angry cattle ranchers, outlaws, road agents disguised as Indians, even a three-hundred-pound woman named Little Molly. In his nineteen years, he’d already had enough adventures to fill a lifetime.

  I thought about telling him a story or two about myself, but they seemed boring compared to his. He should have been dead ten times over. He was right—his luck was amazing. He stopped talking and started devouring the Johnny cakes. He kept offering me food till finally I managed a few nibbles even though my stomach was knotted from the excitement of being so close to him. He hadn’t asked anything about me, which was just fine. I figured the less he knew, the better.

  I was too excited to eat much. I reclined on my back and felt the earth beneath my body, the places where it touched me and where it didn’t. In the presence of Sam Cox, my body felt alive, like something almost separate from me—something I could barely control. A slight breeze tickled the hair on my arms. My belly sank and my rib cage expanded. Even though it was hot, my nipples were hard. I had a strange sensation, which I later recognized was the ache of desire. I tried to ignore the feeling, but I was giddy and my head was light and full of air.

  Tiny white tufts of cotton floated around us. With squinted eyes, I’d try to follow the path of one before it was lifted out of sight into heaven. I wanted to be that light. I wanted to float.

  “We’re surrounded by angels,” I said.

  Samuel Cox laughed, stopped eating for a minute, and looked down at me. “I think that’s from the cottonwood trees. Ophea, may I ask you something?”

  I turned from my back onto my elbow. He was serious but the smile was still there. His eyes ran the length of my body. My desire intensified under his gaze. I nodded.

  “Are you one of them Saints?”

  I flipped onto my back again to study the floating cotton, which looked so much like tree-born angels in the hot wavering air. “I was,” I told him. “But I’m becoming less and less a Saint each day.”

  I believed my own earthly angel was right next to me, and I never wanted to leave his side. I’d been afraid we’d have nothing to talk about. As it turned out, Samuel Cox was quite
a storyteller. I decided to give myself to him. I would do whatever he asked. I hoped he would not see how defiled I was from Uncle Luther, because then he would surely forsake me.

  After eating, we lay on the blanket, faces turned up to the hot shimmering sky. Monarch butterflies flew by and landed in puddles of horse urine. High above us, white, puffy clouds spun into shapes before they unraveled and floated away. All manner of insects, some you could barely see, floated in that July sky. The air contained a web of life I had never noticed.

  The sun dropped to the west and took some of our shade with it. Beads of sweat formed on my brow. I was about to get up and move with the shade.

  Samuel Cox sighed. “That river is calling my name.” He sat up and looked at me. “Would it be too bold or improper to ask you to join me for a swim? I promise I’ll keep my eyes averted.”

  I sat up and looked toward the Virgin. “There’s nothing I’d like more than to go for a dip. But what will you think of me? Stripping down in front of a man I just met?”

  His ever-present smile grew wider and I glimpsed those whiter-than-polished-bone teeth again.

  “I’d say you’re my kind of girl.”

  I left my bloomers and chemise on, even though I knew full well that as soon as they got wet they’d be see-through. It was brazen to take off my clothes and swim with a man I’d just met. But part of me figured I had nothing left to lose. I was already ruined.

  “Can you swim?” I asked. “Her current is stronger than it looks.”

  He stood in his underclothes and looked at the Virgin. “I’ve taken herds of Texas Longhorns across rivers that make this here one look like a puddle.”

  “Okay then. I usually take the next eddy out to the bank. By the time I walk upriver, I’m dry. Ready?”

  The sun glinted off his teeth. “Ophea, I’m ready whenever you are!”

  We walked into the river. The shock of cold water tensed my body and my hands went up under my arms like chicken wings. “Whooh, that’s refreshing.” The bottom gave way and the Virgin’s current carried me downriver. I put my head back into the water and lifted my feet. Liquid cold swirled around me. I pointed my feet downriver and raised my head. Samuel Cox was beside me. He bobbed above the surface, his smile wider than ever. He yelped with pleasure. I saw the eddy coming up and swam toward it. Sam started swimming too. I got to the bank and grabbed a low-hanging branch. I held tight to it with one hand and reached out with my other. He grabbed my arm. I pulled him out of the current into the eddy and toward me. We made our way to the river’s edge and scrambled onto the bank, dripping wet and laughing. The heat of the day had drained us, but the Virgin had renewed us.