by Ward, Marsha
He looked up and cackled at Rulon’s discomfort. “That’s what I do to sissies,” he crowed, and stalked away.
Equal parts of shame and humiliation served to dampen Rulon’s appetite as he apologized to Ren. Hell’s bells! He was a coward for reacting to the man’s erratic acts.
Chapter 7
Mary — May 30, 1861
Mary locked the door of her room before she undressed and changed into the shift she wore at night in the summer heat. She noticed that the touch of the fabric irritated the skin of her bosom that had been so tender of late.
Did I bump into something? she wondered. I can’t recall doing so. She sat on the bed and began braiding her hair. Every time one arm or the other brushed against her breasts, she felt the annoyance of pain.
She must take a look, see if she had bruised herself.
She swallowed. A proper young lady did not look at her body. She kept it covered, always.
She swallowed again. Except when Rulon asked me to disrobe so he could gaze upon me.
The request had disturbed her, but she had finally come to terms with it and acquiesced. Several times. Over and over and over. She felt herself warm and swallowed again. She had done that to please her husband. That was permissible.
I have injured myself somehow, she temporized. I must discover where.
She took the lamp to the looking glass and set it down. She took a deep breath. Her mouth had gone dry and now she couldn’t make saliva to swallow. Holding her breath, she took the shift from her body. She breathed out. She examined her form in the glass. She lifted the lamp aloft to cast a wider pool of light. She held her breath again and looked closely at her breasts, careful not to touch them. They looked larger than she had imagined they were, but they had no bruise upon them that she could see. It was evident that she had not run against anything that had injured her flesh.
She let out the held breath in a shaky sigh. Mortified that she had been gazing at her own body, Mary placed the lamp on a chest of drawers and blew out the light. She stumbled to the bed, frantically replacing the shift. Whispering a prayer for forgiveness, she got into bed and covered herself with the bedclothes, although the night continued warm.
She lay in the bed, clasping the quilt to her chin. Tears stung her eyes. Why had she done that? Why had she looked upon herself? A tear slid down her cheek. Would God punish her for that sin? She trembled. What if she was... what if Rulon had truly left a child in her belly? Would God strike out at that child? Cause it harm for her sinful glance? She sobbed, letting her tears soak the bedding. She couldn’t believe in a vengeful god who would punish a baby that way.
Perhaps there was no god. No! No! That would mean there was no one to watch over Rulon, to keep him safe. She could not believe that, either.
Growing so hot that she began to perspire, Mary flung aside the bed covering, keeping only the sheet on her body. That was better. That was sensible.
The bed seemed so empty now that Rulon was not here to fill it with his vitality and strength. How she missed him! A scrap of contrariness arose in her and she ventured to touch one breast. It remained tender.
Something was happening to her body; that was sure. Was this a sign that she truly was increasing? Who could advise her?
She quickly ruled out speaking to her mother. Mama never talked about such matters.
She had no close friends who were married ladies.
In despair, she realized she had no one with whom she could counsel.
She lay quietly, thinking of Rulon’s last embrace on the morning he had left. How she wished he were here to comfort her! Certainly her own mother had not been the tenderest soul of late. But Rulon could be as tender as a mother when she needed that of him. Perhaps his mother had played a part in shaping a gentle part of his being.
His mother. Mother Owen. Mary inhaled deeply. She can advise me.
Mary covered her mouth with her hand, then thought how foolish that movement was. The audacious thought had come from her brain, not her mouth.
Mother Owen. She was a forthright, courageous lady if there ever was one. Did she shrink from discussing matters of... anatomy?
There was but one way to discover if she did or did not. Mary had to ask her.
~~~
Mary — May 31, 1861
The next day, Mary sat in the back room of the store, sorting skeins of embroidery thread by color, when her father entered and looked down at her. When she glanced up, her heart froze at the sight of his frown.
She had difficulty getting any words through her suddenly-dry throat. “Papa?” she finally forced out. Has he some news of Rulon?
He shook his head with an effort. “Rest easy, daughter. My mind was elsewhere.”
“May I help, Papa?” What was causing him such a concerned look?
“You must not worry yourself, Mary.” He forcibly thrust his hand through his dark hair. “Your mother is not as excited as I had hoped she would be about her condition.”
“What do you mean, Papa?”
“Perhaps you shall have a brother by and by,” he said. “That is my hope.”
Mama is increasing? That certainly would account for her irritable attitude of late. “Felicitations, Papa,” she said, a bit staggered to think that her parents partook of the same delights that Rulon and she had discovered together. She banished the thought, unable to lend it credence. Mama would not take delight in intimacies.
Papa extended his hand, in which he held a letter. “The missive is addressed to you. I’ll leave you to read it in peace.”
As her father left the room, Mary examined the folded paper, her hands shaking. Yes, it was from Rulon. She recognized his script from the notes he used to leave her in the fork of the elm in the backyard of her father’s house. She got the letter open and smoothed it across her knees.
Berryville, Berkeley Co. Va.
Twenty-fourth May, 1861
My pretty wife,
We have arriv’d at camp. I only have a momunt to scribbl this note Thank you for the token which I will wear over my heart until I see you again.
The wether looks like rain. We hope it holds off until nite. The fellows in the company are mostly of the regular sort. I will get along with them.
A trumpet is soundin. Corp’rl Lovell tells me the call is ment to get us on the march. I must post this now. I will rite to you later. Tell the little one his papa lovs him. Mary, my sweet Sugar, I see yor face each nite in my dreems.
Yor husband
Rulon S Owen, Private
Co. I, 1st Reg’t Va. Cav.
Mary sobbed as she clutched the note to her bosom. Rulon was well. He loved her. He hadn’t written that, but she could feel the strength of his esteem from the words he used. She briefly touched her skirt where it covered her abdomen, hoping there was a “little one” there to whisper to, hoping it was the son Rulon seemed to expect.
After a while her tears dried, and she tucked the note into her bodice, listening—for the rest of the day—to the crackle of the paper every time she moved around, going about the tasks that earned her keep while her husband was at war.
~~~
Ben — June 5, 1861
Ben took his noon break alongside the creek behind the mill, eating the first of two sandwiches Ma had packed that morning. He had just begun to wash it down with a bottle of milk he’d retrieved from the creek when small hands crept across his face from behind him and covered his eyes.
“Guess who,” demanded a voice he knew so well that he choked as desire rose in him.
Keeping himself very still, he said softly, “Marie? How’d you get here? Did Pa bring you into town?”
“No! Guess again.”
“Julianna? You sound so grown up.” He put as much incredulity into his voice as he knew how.
“No-uh,” said the girl, exasperation making her draw out the word.
He put the bottle on the ground beside him and placed his hands over the top of the ones touching his face. “I
do not know any other women but my ma and Ella Ruth Allen.” He heard the huskiness of his voice. “Ma is busy weedin’ the truck garden today. I conclude that you are...” He brought the hands to his lips, kissing first one, then the other. “My love. My all. My Ella Ruth.”
A long and satisfied sigh answered him. Then the hands were tugged free of his grasp and Ella Ruth dashed around, planted herself in his lap, and put her arms around his neck. “I’m not your Ella Ruth yet, Benjamin. You have to get Poppa to let us marry.”
He groaned as he bent forward and found her mouth, muttering, “Lordy, lordy, don’t tempt me so.”
She let him kiss her for a while, then shoved him back.
“Ben, Poppa is home from his trip. Come to supper tonight and plead your case to him.”
Ben felt his eyebrows rise. “He’ll let me come to supper?”
“I haven’t asked him, but I’m sure he won’t mind. I told Momma I would invite you, and she shrugged her shoulders, so I do not feel she will object if you arrive about six o’clock.”
“That’s some progress, at least,” Ben muttered. “I’m obliged that you’ve been working on your ma to change her opinion of me.”
“Momma does not hate you, Ben. She quite likes you, in fact. She is concerned that you don’t have property. You must be able to support a wife, after all.”
“Sweet girl, you do remember I’m goin’ off to fight the Yankee hoards?”
“Oh Ben, that is so tiresome. Don’t talk about that anymore.”
He took her face between his calloused fingers and held it still. He gazed into her eyes. “Ella Ruth. The Rifles are leavin’ this month. You know that, but you persist in disbelievin’ that I’m obliged to go. If I come to supper, it will be to ask for your hand on the spot, and to tell your pa that we’re going to be married as soon as may be. There will be no fancy weddin’. It’ll be only you, me, and our folks.” He swallowed. “Or it will be nothin’ at all.”
Ella Ruth drew in a sharp breath. She let it out slowly, shakily. When at last she spoke, she said, “Benjamin, you do not mean that. You cannot rob a girl of her dreams.”
“If you truly want me, girl, the time has come to act like it. Now... or never.” His throat felt as though it burned as he uttered the ultimatum.
She stared at him, frowning slightly. “You are serious,” she finally said.
“I never have been more.”
She gave a little shake of her head. “This talk is so unlike a gentleman, Benjamin. You are mistreating me.” She got off his lap.
“No. I am offering you my heart, my life.” He felt himself quivering from the strain as he arose. “But you must take them now, or you must leave them alone.”
She raised her chin. “I don’t like this talk, Benjamin. When you can treat me nicely, you may see me again.” She turned her back and picked her way across the yard toward the front of the mill.
Ben exhaled. The girl would not see reason, could not see that life was spiraling out of her grasp, that she must bend her will to the times or they would break her. He felt as though his heart were cracking into pieces as she slipped around the corner.
~~~
Mary — June 7, 1861
Several days after Mary had determined to speak to her mother-in-law, Julia Owen came into the store with a basket of eggs. Mary headed off her father and beckoned her mother-in-law to the side counter.
“Mother Owen,” she said, hoping her smile was bright and cheerful, and not the wan greeting she was afraid might be seen on her face. “This is a good lot of eggs. You must be delighted with your hens.”
“Hello, Mistress Mary. They are laying well. I’m mighty pleased to see you. I received a letter from Rulon a few days ago. He is unhurt and busy. Have you heard from him?”
Mary dropped one hand behind the counter and started to touch her stomach, but thought better of it. She couldn’t keep up that action every time Rulon’s name was mentioned. What if she did it where others could see?
“Yes, ma’am, I mean Mother Owen. He wrote about the men in the company and the trumpets. He sounded very excited.”
“Young men are excited by fightin’, it seems. Are you well? You look a little green around the gills.”
Oh, I’m feelin’...” Mary hesitated, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “Ma’am, may I ask your advice about a delicate subject?”
Julia looked perplexed, but nodded.
“It is a somewhat personal question, a very personal, delicate question.”
“Mary girl, you may ask me anythin’ you have a mind to.” She looked around the busy store. “Would you prefer that we speak in the back room, or the garden?”
“Thank you. The garden is a peaceful place.” Mary removed her apron and came around the counter. “The eggs will be fine sittin’ there for a few moments. I promise not to take much time. I—”
Julia took her arm. “Let’s go to the garden, my dear.”
Once they had settled themselves on a bench under the elm tree where Rulon used to leave notes for her, Mary began in a soft voice. “Mrs... Mother Owen. I cannot speak to my mama about this. You appear to be made of sterner stuff than she is. I must ask... please advise me... how am I to know—”
“If you are to have a babe?”
“Yes!” Mary’s relief left her limp. Rulon’s ma would not shy away from the difficult topic.
Julia smiled and took Mary’s hand in her own. “You have a vital young husband. You are young and in good health. You undoubtedly have come together in the good Lord’s way, if Rulon’s dash up the stairs on your weddin’ day is any measure.”
Mary felt herself blushing at the mention of her husband’s haste. She nodded.
“It’s not been a month since that time, but mayhap your visit did not come around?”
“My visit?”
“The monthly. The accursed nuisance of womankind.”
“Oh. I understand. I did not think to notice.”
“Pay heed if it don’t appear.” She looked Mary over, top to toe. “You may feel a strangeness, a difference in your being?”
Mary slowly nodded, feeling wonderment at her mother-in-law’s knowledge.
“Are you overly fatigued?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Julia placed her arm across her own chest. “Do you have soreness in your bosom?”
“Yes. Certainly that.”
“Do odors offend you?”
“Now that you mention it, ma’am, yes, there are particular odors I cannot bear to smell.”
Julia smiled. “It is early to know for sure, but it appears I am to be a granny.”
“Pardon me?”
“You are likely increasin’, my dear girl. You will give me a grandchild.”
Mary sighed at the woman’s confirmation. She said in a shy tone, “Rulon hopes for a son.”
“Of course he does,” Julia said, then laughed. She added, “Every man upon this earth thinks only of sons.” She sobered, her smile fading. “Daughters can come later, but sons are highly valued for the first of the offspring. For some reason, begetting a man child is a proof of manhood. I don’t pretend to understand it. Men are strange creatures.”
Mary stared at the woman. Unlike her own mother, Mrs. Owen wasn’t afraid to speak about anything. She herself knew only a little about a man’s pride, but did know it was a thing she dared not meddle with. Her own father had exhibited a longing for a son not many days ago.
Swallowing, Mary asked a final question. “Will there be other signs to mind?”
“There are many. You may have difficulty keeping food down. Experience aching in the back.” Julia patted her chest. “These will swell, increase in size. You will need to alter your bodices. Then, of course, you will need to let out your waistbands, as your belly will gradually enlarge to accommodate the growin’ child. You must have seen that in your mother.”
Mary lowered her head. “We were not encouraged to take notice, ma’am.”
“Your ma i
s a mite squeamish on that head, but since she is with child, you might take heed, this go-around.”
Mary gasped. Mother Owen knew everything. “I only learned that a little while ago. She has been so irritable, and treated Rulon in a miserable way.”
“As long as you treated him well, I reckon he didn’t even pay heed to that.”
“Mother Owen, how you do talk!”
“No offense meant, my dear. I did mean treating with him in more ways than just the one. Always feed your man well. Tend whatever wounds he may carry, be they physical or to his spirit, with gentleness and a good try at understandin’ his pain. Listen to his complaints, and soothe his soul. Those are the secrets to happiness in a marriage.”
“I will remember your words for when he comes home.”
Julia nodded. “Store them up. This fight can’t last many months. Mr. Lincoln must be given to understand he cannot invade our homeland. We will resist firmly.”
Mary let go of Julia’s hand and clasped her own hands together. Rulon would return soon. They would have a child to raise up together. She looked at her mother-in-law and remembered something.
“Mother Owen, this isn’t your homeland. You weren’t born in Virginia.”
Julia Owen raised her chin. “This valley is my home, girl. I married my man here, and bore my children in the house he built for me. This,” she nodded, “this is my home.”
Mary felt a slight rebuke in her words, but forgave her the bluntness of them, glad that Mother Julia Owen was like a rock, the firm foundation that had nurtured Rulon to manhood. Mother Owen would be a loving granny to her child. What kind of grandmother her own mama would be had yet to be determined.
~~~
Mary — June 12, 1861
Upon arising one morning, Mary barely made it to the washbasin in time to empty bile and not much else into the ceramic vessel. Her stomach heaved past the point where there was anything left to expel, and when the cramping tightness in her abdomen had ceased, she sank back to the bed, shaking with weakness. Mother Owen had mentioned that one symptom she’d likely have was an inability to keep food on her stomach, but she had yet to eat anything today. Was this some other illness? She touched her face to check for fever, but there was none.
