by Hawke, Jessa
“Ssssh.” Martha whispered in his ear as she placed his head gently on her lap, stroking his black hair softly as his sobbing quieted. “Hush, you silly thing.” She smelled like cinnamon, and the cool skin of her hand relaxed him more than her words. He could feel the warmth of her thighs against his cheek, and the heavy muscle there surprised and comforted him further. When she spoke again, her voice was low and sweet, pouring over his body like honey. He imagined she used this tone with children.
“Don’t you think your uncle told me about you? Does he really seem the type to leave me---or any woman--- in the dark about your history?” She placed one hand on his brow. “And I really hope I don’t seem like the sort of person that would…fall for some sort of scheme.” She wrinkled her nose, then smoothed her face out and smiled.
Eddie pulled his head from her lap and sat up, wiping the moisture from his face as she continued to speak.
“I’m not going anywhere.” Martha took one of his hands and squeezed it between both of hers. “I came here because your Uncle spoke very highly of you, and you sound like exactly the sort of person I need.” Eddie laughed at that, and Martha frowned.
“See, this is what I mean,” he said exasperatedly. He pulled away from her and stood, pacing by the side of the bed in agitation. “You’re so…romantic. I saw that in your letters. And that’s not a bad thing,” he said hurriedly in response to the pain in her eyes. “But there ain’t nothing romantic about me. If you know about me, then you know about my…problems. And you know there’s no solution. I can’t be who anybody else wants me to be. I can put on a mask, but I can’t change.” He met her eyes as forcefully as he could. “That’s why I think you should leave. I’m sorry, Martha.” He sighed, feeling lighter for having spoken his mind. Eddie watched Martha for a reaction, but her face was blank and unmoving. Finally, she stood again and walked up to where he stood. Her eyes were sharp and sober, and it occurred to him that no other woman had ever faced him so aggressively.
“You’re wrong.” Her tone was sure, and her words cut through him like a hot blade through butter despite her low voice. “Every problem has a solution. And you should trust a teacher’s word. Just like I trust the word of a painter if he tells me blue is blue.”
Martha inched closer and put both of her hands in his. They were close enough to kiss now, and Eddie had to fight with every ounce of will in his body not to close the space between them and devour her mouth with his. When she spoke, he could feel her breath on his lips.
“And you may think you’re broken, but every break gets mended. Every gap gets filled by something else. I know.”
“How?” Eddie asked softly. He caught her hands in his, hypnotized by her heady scent and the softness of her skin.
Martha laughed, and it was more of a sigh than a sound.
“Isn’t it obvious? I’ve been…broken, too.” Her lips curled upward into a sad smile, and Eddie’s heart clenched in response. He couldn’t imagine how she could possibly be broken, but he was too consumed turbulent emotion to form a coherent question.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Martha repeated. “Okay? Can we agree on that?”
Eddie’s heart was in his throat, but he wanted so badly to believe her that he decided to do something he never did. “I’ll take your word for it.”
Her smile was so brilliant that Eddie had another urge to kiss her, and he was astounded he held himself back while they stood so close. As if on cue, Martha pulled her hands back from him and walked around the bed to begin unpacking. Just like that, their moment of profound intimacy was over; Eddie felt both better and worse. He gazed at Martha as she hummed to herself and pulled clothing and shoes from her trunks, fighting with the contradictory feelings within himself. He was intrigued and charmed by her, and more than a little attracted to her; he was also afraid to get any closer, and suspicious of her motives. Eddie had no idea how to suss out her thoughts and plans, and he was in the middle of trying to figure it out when she broke his train of thought.
“Can you show me where I can put my silver?”
Eddie realized that for the first time in his life, he was going to have to try. He had never been more terrified.
The first thing he did after Martha went to sleep was get rid of the alcohol in his house. He’d been weening himself off, remembering the violent shakes his father had whenever he stopped drinking. He knew his body would depend on it, but his withdrawal symptoms were far more manageable now. He was ashamed of being addicted at all; for years he’d avoided thinking about it by simply never being completely sober. He wondered how it would affect his mood. Eddie kept one bottle of liquor in the smallest bedroom, next to the one Martha was using for the first week.
They’d decided to sleep separately until Eddie was more comfortable with her. It had been her idea, and Eddie found himself annoyed at her level of consideration. She was far more considerate than any stranger---or indeed, many of his friends---had ever been to him, and it made him suspicious and sad at first. For the first week, he hardly spoke to her at all beyond trading tiny bits of information about themselves--- where they’d grown up, what their friends were like, favorite foods and colors. Martha proved to be an accomplished cook, something that made continuing to freeze her out incredibly difficult. On her fifth night, she made a succulent roast with garlic mashed potatoes and jellied cranberries, all while he’d been out doing repairs to the Widow Davis’ gazebo. He’d been gone three or four hours and returned to find the house smelling of tender beef and herbs. His stomach growled as the scent wafted over him, and he tried to walk straight back to the bedroom, but he caved when he saw her setting the roast on the table. Her hair cascaded around her shoulders in gentle waves, framing her delicate oval face and bringing out her striking green eyes. She pushed the heavy dishes around with such ease that he was again impressed by her strength; as far as he could tell, she simply liked to exercise, and it certainly showed. Martha looked up as she set the last dish on the table, and the look of happiness that illuminated her features hit Eddie like a punch to the gut.
I’m in trouble, he realized as he returned her warm smile and felt the icicles around his heart loosen.
“Just in time!” Martha said cheerily. She took off her white apron and smoothed her simple house dress down around her hips, though it hadn’t been wrinkled. She disappeared into the kitchen and came back into the dining room with a glass of beer. Eddie gasped.
“Where did you get that?” He thought he’d poured all of the alcohol out.
“The store,” Martha answered dryly. “You didn’t have any, and I know you like beer. It’s ok to have a drink once in a while,” she said gently, seeing the panic in his eyes. “My father went through the same thing after my mother passed. I can help. But please be honest with me. It’s the only way I can help.” She sat down in her seat and waited for him to join her, smiling pleasantly from the table.
Her bluntness shocked him. He felt rage swell in his brain, but it was quickly punctured by the sharpness of his shame. He shuffled forward and dropped in his seat, avoiding her gaze as he picked up his fork.
Unlike the baked chicken and carrots she had made earlier in the week, the roast was a dish Eddie had eaten so many times in his life that he often taste slight alterations made to any recipe he encountered. He’d mentioned the dish to her without expecting her to know or even care how to make it. He paused after the first bite, and then started to eat so quickly he thought he might forget to chew and choke, except the meat was so tender and juicy Eddie didn’t quite believe it was possible. He could feel Martha watching him, and he didn’t care; for the first time during her stay, he felt completely unselfconscious. He forgot that she knew more about him than he’d planned to reveal, more than he even thought his Uncle knew, it turned out, and focused only the taste of the food in front of him. When he was finished, he ripped a chunk from a warm bread roll and used it to soak up the last remnants of sauce and potatoes. Martha chuckled as he set the plate
down and sat back, setting one hand against his stomach. She caught his eye, and finally returned her gaze. He was surprised to find it was easier than before, even easier than that very morning; he thought it might be the food, or how pretty she looked smiling at him over the roast.
“Do you want seconds?” she asked, reaching for the carving knife. He stopped her with the wave of one hand.
“You gave me so much, I’m already stuffed.” Eddie said amiably. Martha’s body had tensed up when she grabbed the knife, but now she relaxed and smiled again. She returned to her plate of food, hesitating before she took a bite.
“Do you mind?” she asked, and Eddie laughed.
“Don’t let me stop you.” He watched her eat, and it struck him that the food was almost identical to the way he imagined it every time he tried a new recipe. That was odd, but he let the thought go before he could read into it too much.
“Are you getting a lot of work done?” Martha asked between bites. Eddie thought he detected a smirk, but he couldn’t be sure.
“Plenty,” he answered cautiously. “Had a lot of renovations, some new additions to plan. I’ll be busy for a while.” He dropped his eyes, suddenly unable to meet her naked gaze. “Have you been…doing much at the house?”
“Lots,” she said brightly. “You’re handy, but a lot of things needed cleaning. I am running out of things to do, though. Perhaps I could tag along with you one day? I’m stronger than I look.”
“I know,” Eddie said, remembering Martha catching him in her arms a week before. He blushed a brilliant red, and Martha put her fork down.
“Sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean---“
“It’s fine,” Eddie cut in. He was happy to find that he meant it; his embarrassment wasn’t nearly as cutting as it usually was. Maybe it was a week of good meals, or getting used to seeing her face in the house, but he felt lighter and somehow softer than before. It was like she’d rubbed at his jagged edges while he wasn’t even looking.
“Actually, the neighbor did say something to me today,” Martha said off-handedly. “Something about inviting us for dinner? His wife’s name was Cheryl, they have the cutest twins.”
“Evan,” Eddie realized. “I haven’t talked to him since you got here, he’s probably eager to see if you’re---“ he stopped, and Martha laughed.
“Let me guess, he was expecting a hippo, or a crazy person?” Martha laughed until her eyes swam with tears. Eddie joined her, and his stomach started to hurt from the force of his guffaws. They eventually calmed down, and they grinned at each other foolishly over their empty plates.
“I guess we are due for dinner,” Eddie said sheepishly. Then something stirred in his mind; he was hesitant to bring it up, but the atmosphere was so easy he had a feeling this was the right moment. “What did he ask about us…getting married?” He knew Evan was too bold not to mention it.
Martha flushed a bright pink and smiled shyly. “He asked what the hold up was; he said I’d come here to do it, and we might as well get a move on.” She laughed nervously, watching him for his reaction.
Eddie nodded, turning over the week’s events in his mind. She had come to marry him; she had even said she wasn’t leaving. He’d come to terms with the fact of the marriage before she had even arrived, so why was the idea making him so uncomfortable now? Then the answer struck him, hard as a slap in the face: he actually wanted her around now. He felt fond of her, and the chemistry between them scared him. She was so kind and warm, but he was expecting her to turn on him any moment. He knew why, but he didn’t want to address it. Martha could sense his hesitation: she frowned, her eyes darkening with pain.
“You still don’t want to.” She sounded so limp and resolved that Eddie immediately regretted his silence, and sought desperately for the right words.
“It’s not that I don’t want to.” He reached across the table, holding his hand open in request for hers. She hesitated, then put her smaller hand in his; a ripple of electricity shot through his arm, and he saw Martha shiver. “I want to…I’m just so afraid that I’ll mess it up. I wasn’t made for marriage.”
“No one was,” said Martha angrily. “It’s about finding the right person.”
Eddie groaned. “You’ve known me for a week, Martha, you can’t say that I’m the right person for you!”
“Then how can you say I’m wrong?” she challenged. He fell silent, absorbing the truth of her words. When she saw the contemplative expression on his face, her anger softened. “You won’t know until we try. Let’s try.” Her eyes connected with his, and he felt another charge pass between them. He wanted to say yes---the words were right at the tip of his tongue---but he couldn’t bring himself to say it.
“Who’s Lola?” Martha asked suddenly. Eddie’s heart stopped, and his mouth dropped open.
“What?” The word came out like a cough, short and rough. He didn’t remember saying the name.
“On the first day we met, you said that ‘Lola was right’. You were too broken. Who is Lola?” Martha’s voice was soft and uncertain.
Eddie put his head in his hands. “My mother.” He heard Martha gasp, but he continued anyway. “She left me when I was 12. She said I looked too much like my father, and that I was too rebellious and would turn out like him. I already liked drinking and cutting school at that age, and I was too much for her. So one day she told me I was going on a trip, and she put me on a train to my uncle. I’ve been there ever since.” Eddie raised his head, holding back the tears threatening to fall. “And she was right. I know it.”
“You don’t,” Martha said fiercely. “And your uncle doesn’t believe it either. He knows you’re a good man who just needs a chance, and someone strong to help you. I can be that person.” Martha spoke carefully, but with force behind every word. “I am that person. Let me be your wife, Eddie.” She gazed at him, urging him to speak. Again, Eddie felt the urge to accept…and couldn’t. Yet.
“Give me one night,” he said instead. “One night to think about it.”
Martha stared at him. “Okay,” she said sourly. “On one condition.”
An hour later, Eddie lay in the plus bed, waiting for Martha to finish pulling on her dressing gown and join him. He’d resisted as hard as he could---which wasn’t very hard, it turned out---but Martha had won in the end.
“We’ll see if we’re really comfortable,” she said. “And I’m tired of sleeping alone. It’s very cold at night. Are you really going to make me freeze?”
So he had relented, and now he was staring at his ceiling in the darkness as the sound of Martha’s quick footsteps came down the hall. The door creaked open, and he saw that she had her hair braided again. Her gown was a deep green, and it made her eyes pop like gemstones. She blew out the candle in her hand as she approached, and Eddie held his breath as she pulled back the covers and slipped next to him. He expected her to get comfortable on her own, but she moved until her head found his chest and rested her cheek there.
“Your heart is beating so fast,” she whispered.
“I know,” he replied. “I can hear it in my ears.”
Martha laughed and pulled his arm around her waist. His body flooded with heat, and he fought to keep his thoghts clean; the curve of her body was soft and warm that he found himself imagining running his hands further down her body until they lifted her gown to find bare skin. Eddie tried to think of anything else: boats, paint rollers, stray cats---but everything brought him back to her. He wondered if she was having this much trouble, and nearly asked, before he realized her breathing had already evened out: she was sleeping.
Wow, so fast, he thought. Is she that comfortable with me already?
Soon after, however, he’d closed his eyes and was drifting off as well, the smell of cinnamon on his mind.
He dreamt of the train station in his old hometown. He was smaller, and his mother was backing away from him on the platform. A crowd surged around him, swallowing her figure and carrying her away, and he cried out an
d stretched his hands forward, but she didn’t reach back. Her face was unmoving, and he finally lost track of her as she was overtaken by foreign bodies. He tried to call out her name, but he couldn’t remember it, and this stirred his panic more; he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he shrieked as he turned around. Eddie realized that he was gazing down at the person, not up---then he saw that it was Martha. She was glowing, and her hair floated around her like a red sea. She held out her hand and caught his, and immediately his panic was silenced. He gazed into her eyes, suddenly consumed with love and a sense of security. How was she doing this?
“Pancakes,” she said, and Eddie was confused. Then he caught the scent of sweet batter, and he gasped as he was shaken awake. He blinked and opened his eyes, startled to find himself in bed with Martha smiling down at him. Was it morning already?
“Hello,” she chuckled. She was holding a tray that was piled high with an array of breakfast foods: bacon, eggs, toast, and the pancakes he thought he’d dreamed. He sat up, gazing at Martha as though he’d never seen her before. Her smile faltered, and she took a step back, but he reached out and caught her wrist before she could move another step.
“Martha,” he said hoarsely. “Say it again?”
“Say what?” she asked, her face confused.
“Are you going to leave me?” Eddie asked desperately. “Will you leave?” He needed to hear the words before he could bring himself to ask the question.
“Never,” Martha said immediately. “I’m not going anywhere. And my answer will always be the same.” She smiled at him gently. “I’ve seen broken men, Eddie James. You’re not one of them. Bent, maybe, and a little bruised. But not broken. Not even a little.” She laughed. “Now, do you want to eat, or not?”
