Double Grades

by Kristine Robinson

  Finally, I ask, “what is life like at Bridgewater Ranch?”

  And the enigmatic response is, “you will find out very soon.”

  The horses, sensing the proximity of their stable and feed bucket, have quickened their pace. We pull into an enclave and Whit climbs out, holding a hand steady to assist me down from the wagon. Ian is right behind him. Looking around, I see an orderly assortment of outbuildings and cabins nestled beside a fast-moving rivulet of water that cuts through the arid landscape and inspires feathery grass and wildflower etchings along its banks. It’s so pretty I catch my breath and we all stand for a moment in the late afternoon shadows to admire Bridgewater’s natural beauty. Whit and Ian then direct me to a one room cabin set off to the side. We all troop inside and my apprehension returns when Whit locks the door behind us. I tense immediately, assuming they intend to make good on their claim tonight, right here in this cabin.

  Chapter 3

  Instead, they seat themselves at a small table and politely invite me to join them. I relax somewhat and obligingly take a seat across from them. I had been too anxious to notice at first, but now I see that there is a loaf of bread on the table; the outside is the color of chestnuts and it smells faintly of molasses. My stomach growls and I realize that I haven’t eaten all day. I’m ravenous. Whit gestures to the bread, raising an inquiring eyebrow over cornflower blue eyes. I nod eagerly and he pulls out a knife, serrated on one side and flat on the other, which he uses to cut a slab of the bread. The inside is pale, almost white. He hands it to me and I indelicately inhale it. Wordlessly, he cuts off another piece and offers it to me.

  They must be hungry too, but they aren’t eating. I wonder if the bread is poisoned but I’m too hungry to care at this point and I’ve already eaten it so the damage would be done by now. Besides, it’s delicious, somehow heavy and soft at the same time with a curious malty flavor in the crust. They exchange significant glances as I swallow the last bites. It seems like they’re hesitating, as though they need to tell me something and are apprehensive about my response. What could they possibly have to be afraid of? They have all the power in this arrangement!

  Ian lifts his hands to his neck and begins untying the knot on his bandana. Whit follows suit. Are they worried that I’ll find them ugly? I’ve never known a man to be self-conscious about his features…As their faces are revealed, I’m struck by the smoothness of their cheeks. Are they very young?

  “My birth name was actually not ‘Ian’ It was ‘Ann.’”

  I stare at Ian, now Ann, trying to make sense of the words, as Whitmore adds, “my name was always ‘Whit,’ but I’m also a woman. Please don’t be alarmed.”

  Alarmed isn’t the word; I am shocked. “But…but…I don’t understand. You bought my hand in marriage. I’m a woman. So are both of you. What…?” I’m too confused to formulate a question.

  Whit takes pity on me and attempts to explain. “Everything we told you is true. We’re a community of retired soldiers. The part that we didn’t mention was that Ann and I were close friends when we were children. We played rough. We were boyish. At twelve years old we cut our hair, stole some clothes, and enlisted. We looked like boys, nobody knew that we were girls for months. By the time they realized, they already thought of us as soldiers. The men we served with came to accept us because we fought at their sides. We’d all saved each other’s lives too many times for them to treat us any differently than they treated each other. After getting out of the army, we all decided to form a community here. We’d seen enough war and violence and wanted to create a safe haven, somewhere to settle down, raise our children, and maintain our ties to each other. We’re like a family. That’s why we share wives. The general rule here is two men for each woman. Most of the men prefer to marry virgins. Me and Ann are less particular about that but, in order to bid on you, they had to believe that we were men, with the same preferences as all men.”

  Ian, no, Ann, is watching my reaction closely. seeing that I’m still confused, she fills in the piece I’m most baffled by. “We are women, yes, but we have the tastes and preferences of men. Do you understand?” She looks at me keenly as she says this, letting the heat of her gaze land fully upon me, lingering on my throat and the swell of my breasts. I feel myself color and she chuckles softly. “I see that you do.”

  Whit also smiles at my response. “I know this is a shock. You have tonight to think things through, come to terms with it. Tomorrow, your training will begin.”

  Before they leave, Whit and Ann make sure that I have food and water, a bedpan, and a clean nightgown. I especially appreciate the last item. It feels wonderful to slide something soft and clean over my body. They even provide a pail of water and a cloth with which to wash myself. As I scrub the travel grit off my face and hands, I also scrape away layers of fear and shame accrued over the past two days. By the time I’m finished, my skin is pink, the water is cloudy, and I feel human again.

  The bed in the corner is small and clean, with a modest pine frame. A red and white quilt with a simple pinwheel pattern is folded neatly atop the bedspread. I wonder if the quilt was stitched by one of the soldiers’ wives. Somehow, I can’t picture either Whit or Ann quilting. My mind is swirling with thoughts. I’ve never met anybody like them.

  Though I am exhausted, and the snug little bed is calling my name, I lie awake for a long time puzzling over Whit and Ann, my new “husbands.” I did not want to be married off but it never occurred to me that I could be married off to a woman, never mind two! I don’t know how I feel about that. Now that the shock is wearing off somewhat, I admit to myself that I am relieved. The thought of another strange man putting his hands on me fills me with dread. But I don’t feel that kind of dread when I think about Whit or Ann touching me. It makes my heart pound, though, to think of it. I don’t know why.

  Up until yesterday, I had lived a sheltered life. But my impression was that most men are revolting. They smell like sweat and tobacco and force themselves on women who aren’t under another man’s protection. Living with Josh I saw how even handsome, charming men use their power to take what they want from women, giving little in return. I always assumed that one day I would marry one because that is expected. I hoped to find a nice-looking man, perhaps one who would bathe before taking his pleasure of me. But marriage between women…

  What does that mean? Do Ann and Whit really want to love me as a husband loves his wife? Do they expect me to love them? To lay with them as husband and wife? I remember the way that Ann rested her eyes on me here in this room, only hours before, and blush again, now alone in my room. I fall asleep with the image of Ann’s piercing blue eyes floating behind my closed lids.

  Chapter 4

  In the morning, I wake gradually, unsure where I am. It isn’t home. Even with my eyes closed, I can tell that the light is wrong. I can hear a bird singing lustily outside my window and distant voices as people emerge from their burrows. The sound of feet crunching gravel outside my little cabin wakes me up completely and I remember everything about the strange circumstances in which I now find myself. I have been purchased by two women who dress like men and were soldiers together. They are best friends and they intend to share me; and this strange fact, aside from their femaleness, is the norm here at Bridgewater Ranch.

  The footsteps stop outside of my door and knuckles rap softly to alert me of their imminent intrusion. I rise quickly and smooth my nightgown demurely across my knees. Oh yes, my “training” begins today. I’m not sure what that means but I’m expecting something sexual in nature. I lick dry lips and take a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever, or whoever, is coming. The door opens and Whit steps in. Yes, I had been right in my analysis yesterday. Whit is the spokesman, the people person.

  Now that I know that she is a woman, I wonder how I didn’t see it before. The mask, of course, hid most of her face and perhaps her height threw me off. She’s taller than most women and her shoulders are broad. But her wide blue eyes are merry unde
r thick, dark blond lashes and her cheeks and throat look as smooth and tender as a peach. She has strong features; high cheekbones and wide, full lips. Standing in the morning sunlight streaming in the open door, the word ‘handsome’ comes to mind. I’m surprised that I’m capable of thinking of another woman as handsome, but Whit is unmistakably handsome.

  “Good morning, Emma. Did you sleep well?” I nod shyly and she continues, “As I mentioned yesterday, your training begins today. I’d like for you to get to know the other wives here at the ranch. They’ll be kind to you, I promise. Learn from them. We help each other here. We do chores together and work as a team. Everybody has skills to offer and we try to allow individuals the freedom to play to their strengths. But you must contribute something; is that understood?”

  I nod again hesitantly. “I don’t know that I have any skills” I admit in a whisper.

  “You may not have found them yet, but I am certain that you will. There are always chores. Perhaps you can help with the washing, mending, or cooking. Don’t be afraid. The others will be happy to teach you what they know; anything you can learn to do will lighten their own loads.” Whit smiles encouragingly and I feel reassured. She has a nice smile, I see, now that the mask is gone.

  “So…that’s the ‘training’ you were talking about?

  “That’s part of it. You will spend the first half of the day learning from the women here. You will learn about the culture of the ranch and how we operate. You will take your evening meals with me and Ann. This will allow us to get to know each other better.” Whit is watching my face intently to see how I’m taking this information. Apparently satisfied with my comprehension, she adds in a seemingly offhand manner, “and you’ll spend your nights with us, separately. Tonight, you will be sharing my bed. Tomorrow, you will be sharing Ann’s bed.”

  I must look frightened because she quickly adds, “we will not be enjoying each other as husband and wife just yet. Certain things will be denied until the month is completed and each of us freely and willingly declares agreement to the marriage. However, we will spend our nights becoming…intimately acquainted.” She’s watching me like a falcon sighting prey and I realize that, up until now, she has maintained a polite distance, trying not to alarm me. I see now that she has been carefully restraining herself around me. Now, she is letting her appreciative gaze travel down my body, signifying the full intensity of her desire for me. This is suddenly very real; I feel hot and cold at the same time, chills down my spine and flaming cheeks. I drop my gaze.

  She takes a step towards me, effectively closing the space between us. She is tall for a woman. She’s standing too close, making me choose between taking a step back and thereby giving up ground and admitting that I am afraid, or lifting my face to her. I raise my eyes and find her face just inches from my own. It’s suddenly hard to breathe and when I manage to suck in a breath, my breasts rise as though of their own accord. I’ve never been so aware of my own body before. My skin is tingling, my lips are parted, and I can feel the space between my lips and hers as though an electrical current traveled between us. I want…What do I want? Whit lowers her face towards mine and I think she will kiss me. Yes, that’s what I want!

  But instead, she places her lips beside my ear and murmurs, “I think you’ll be just fine tonight.” Her breath in my ear and the soft brush of her cheek against mine sends delicious shivers down my spine and I’m left thrumming as she steps back, deliberately breaking the tension.

  “Go ahead and get dressed. One of the other wives will be along shortly to help you; she has a dress that you can borrow until we can get materials to sew you a new one. I’ll see you tonight.” And with that, she leaves, closing the door behind her.

  My cheeks are still flushed when there is another knock at the door. I open it to a pretty, auburn haired woman a few years older than I. Folded neatly under her arm is the promised clothing and, in her hands, she carries a covered bowl. When the lid is removed, I find cornmeal mush. There is steam rising from it and I tuck in, feeling better once I’ve eaten. She introduces herself as “Abigail” and seems genuinely pleased by my company as I follow her on her morning chores and pepper her with questions about life at the ranch, the men, and the oddity of my female husbands. She takes it all in stride and seems quite happy with her unconventional life here.

  I learn that Abigail has two little children by her husbands. They can’t know for certain which man fathered each child, but the little boy takes particularly after one of the men in his mild disposition and green eyes while her daughter’s serious little face reflects her other father’s dark intensity. Regardless, the children are raised together with their three parents and minded during the morning hours by another wife here who is particularly patient with small children. As Whit had explained; people play to their strengths!

  It occurs to me that, married to two women, I’ll not bear any children at all. Thinking this, a cloud passes over me and Abigail, sensing my sadness, asks the cause. When I share my thoughts, she smiles and points out that there is no shortage of children here. Perhaps I might like to help in caring for the children of other families. That way, I might get my fill of babies and be of service to the community. Her words comfort me and I see how a community like this can be both strong and adaptable. The day proceeds with many revelations and insights as I learn my way around Bridgewater Ranch and the community that makes its home here.

  By the time I reunite with Whit and Ann for supper, I feel like I have my bearings. They ask how my day progressed, what I learned and saw, and seem satisfied by my adjustment to life here. When Ann asks if I’ve thought about what my unique contribution to the community might be, I feel shy again.

  She reassures me, saying “don’t worry, Emma, there’s no rush. You have plenty of time to think about it.” I surprise her by sharing pieces of my earlier conversation with Abigail.

  “I thought I might help raise children, since I’ll not be having any of my own.”

  Ann looks startled but happy in her quiet, reserved way. Her eyes soften as she thinks about my words. Slowly, I’m learning to read her. She’s so understated, I have to watch for very subtle responses. But I can tell that she is surprised and heartened by the fact that, not only have I thought about my contribution to the community, I’ve understood the larger ramifications of an unconventional marriage between women and adjusted smoothly.

  When our meal is finished, Ann returns to her cabin alone and I accompany Whit, who takes my hand in hers as we approach her door. I am nervous but also excited. I like the feel of my hand encircled by her strong, callused fingers. The door closes behind us and, when she reaches for me, I go to her willingly, ready to learn all that she has to teach me.

  The following day is much like the first, except that sundown sees me following Ann, instead of Whit, to her bed. Where Whit is open and charismatic, Ann is serious and intensely passionate. The month progresses in this way. I settle into life at Bridgewater and at night, I settle into bed with either Whit or Ann where we talk with our hands in whispers, comfort and caress each other, but do not consummate. At the end of the month, Ann and Whit come to me and formally asked me to be their wife. I gladly accept.

  Chapter 5

  Today we marry. It has been one month since Whit and Ann purchased me from that horrible brothel but the course of my life has changed so drastically in that time that it feels as though it’s been years. I spent the past night alone in the little cabin in which I began my stay here, cloistered for my last night a virgin. I wake refreshed and eager to greet the day. I open the door to find a parcel on my step and look up just in time to see two of the young wives that I have befriended scurrying out of sight and giggling. Lifting the little ivory bundle, I see that it is a wedding gown, the stitches small and even, and I know that my new friends have been working in secret so that I might feel beautiful on my wedding day. Some of the other women help me to dress and weave violets into my thick, blond hair. I feel resplendent in my
simple finery and wonder what Whit and Ann will think. Will they find me beautiful? I hope they do.

  A few of the women I’ve become close to in the past month gather around and escort me, ceremoniously, to my waiting grooms. All of Bridgewater community is present to witness our marriage. I recognize most people now and most of the men, seeing me coiffed and gowned, grin and shake their heads at the good fortune of their unusual “brothers-in-arms.” Peering through the throng, I finally see my future husbands standing like sentinels at the front of the crowd. They are wearing their uniforms, which have been cleaned and mended. The leather on their belts and scabbards has been oiled and the brass buttons on their lapels shine. They look so beautiful, for a moment I cannot breathe. When I hesitate, the bevy of women usher me onward like a gentle wave pushing me towards the waiting shore of matrimony. I arrive, full stop, between my two soldiers.

  The man officiating our union has the look of a retired colonel, with deep concentration lines between his eyes, but he seems to be in fine spirits on this day. We face him, hand in hand, as he intones the sanctity of marriage and the vows we are making to each other to love and care for one another always. We promise, before the assembled community, to uphold these vows. He then pronounces us married. Whit kisses me deeply, and, no sooner has she released me, then Ann pulls me to her. I feel drunk with happiness. The crowd cheers and begins carrying out platters of meat, fruits and bread for a day of feasting and revelry.

  As the afternoon wears on, somebody begins passing around spirits and I become light headed very quickly. Ann materializes at my side, as though she had been keeping an eye on me from across the room. She guides me to a seat and feeds me small pieces of bread to soak up the liquor. She holds a piece between her fingers and I lean forward and slowly take it into my mouth. Once I have swallowed, I take her now empty hand in mine and kiss her fingertips and palm. I lay her palm on my cheek, then move it down to rest on my bosom. I’ve never initiated contact before. I know that I’m being brazen, but the liquor has washed my caution away, revealing desire underneath.