Double Grades

by Kristine Robinson

  Ann shifts so that she is sitting behind me and pulls me close so that I am leaning back into her. Her hand is still on my bosom where I hold it to my heart. Now her whole body encircles me and she lets her intelligent hand move on my breast. She cups, squeezes gently, and allows her thumb to just ever so slightly graze my nipple. I feel something ecstatic course from my nipple down to my groin and I think I might die if she does not finish what she started. I still don’t even know what it means to finish such a thing, I only know that I need it.

  Sensing my readiness, Ann pulls me to my feet. We find Whit nearby, a little unsteady from spirits but still alert. She takes one look at me and seems to know that it’s time. They support me on either side and we weave towards the Honeymoon House, a cabin designated for this very purpose and set a discreet distance from all other dwellings. We will be ensconced there for a full week. But right now, I can think no further than tonight and the strong, handsome, confident women supporting me like bookends as we approach our marital bed. We must be quite the picture; two female soldiers, one fair and one dark, with their arms around a young woman in a bridal gown.

  We totter up the steps and gain access to the space beyond. Ann closes the door behind us and we find ourselves alone but all together for the first time. I have kissed each of them, separately. And We have held each other close, talking, caressing, then sleeping. But I have never kissed one in the other’s presence. They hesitate, each one clearly respectful of the other’s claim on me.

  I approach Ann, who had thrilled me earlier, so unexpectedly, surrounded by people, with her discerning touch. I take her face between my hands and kiss her passionately, letting myself drink her in without restraint in a way that I had not allowed myself before tonight. I break our kiss just long enough to find Whit’s hand and pull her into our embrace. She closes the space between us, no longer hanging back, and begins kissing the back of my neck. I feel drunk with sex and power, as well as spirits. Their body language is telling me that I am in charge tonight; these magnificent women are here to pleasure me.

  Ann is holding my face in her hands while she kisses me and I gently take them in mine and place them on my bosom. She begins to untie the knots holding my dress together in the front. Meanwhile, Whit is untying knots in the back, working magic down my spine. I am surrounded by hands and kissing as they work; only the cooler air hitting my bare skin tells me of their progress. Each inch of skin won is like ground gained in battle. They prowl their territory, their rough hands roaming victorious over my virgin fields. Soon, I am standing half naked in the cabin’s dim light with my two soldiers still in uniform. I whimper with desire, not knowing what to do with these feelings. My dress still clings around my hips.

  “More” I whisper urgently. “I want more. Please.”

  Ann looks at Whit and glances significantly at the floor. Whit understand and without a word, guides me down to lean my back against her. She continues to kiss my shoulders and neck. Her hands find my breasts while Ann kneels in front of my outstretched legs. Ann lifts the hem of my dress above my knees and slides her hands up my thighs. I think I might die of pleasure right then but there’s more, so much more.

  As Ann removes my sodden drawers and leans forward to put her mouth on me, Whit gently tilts my head up and sideways, finding my mouth with hers and covering my breasts with her warm, competent hands. Devoured from all sides, I submit completely to their hands and mouths.

  Chapter 6

  For a full week, we honeymoon in bliss, exploring each other inside and out. Nothing is off limits. I learn their tastes and textures, the feel of cheeks on inner thighs and lips on lips. We shed the last of our shyness and inhibition and share our innermost fears and longings.

  I tell them of my childhood, the deaths of my parents at the hands of my half-brother, and the end of childhood with his cruel decision to sell me to the brothel. Their own childhoods ended at twelve years old, when they went to war and learned the realities of frostbite, deprivation and moral ambiguity that attend armed conflict. They reveal their scars, literally and figuratively; in the light of day, with their male guise removed, I see that their rounded, womanly bodies are marred by violence. The evidence of brutality upon their tender flesh evokes a feeling of protectiveness in me that I had not expected. I gently kiss their scars and tell them how grateful I am that the blade went no further. In that week, I plumb the depths of their characters and rejoice in my good fortune.

  At the end of the week, we reintegrate into the fabric of life at the ranch. I feel sated and happy to be reunited with my new friends. I help mind the young children and, with the help of the other women, I am learning to sew. Whit and Ann have joined the men in erecting a new barn down by the creek. I can hear their boisterous conversation from my perch by the cookfire. Listening to the men teasing my unconventional husbands about their “lazy” week in bed, I can’t help but smile.

  Movement in my peripheral vision causes me to glance up, expecting to see Abigail coming to check on my progress, but I don’t recognize the young woman walking towards us. Conversation stops completely as all eyes turn to the stranger approaching. She is strikingly beautiful, with pale, creamy skin and wide, almond eyes. The woman is hugely pregnant and seems uncertain to whom her message should be directed.

  “Hello, my name is Elizabeth Edmond. I’m looking for Ian Stewart…Or Ann, whichever she goes by here.”

  I stand up and she turns to me expectantly. I walk a distance apart from the group and Elizabeth follows me. “And why do you seek her?”

  “I seek her help and protection. I know it must sound odd, us being two women, but we were once married. She dressed as a man and lived as one too, for all intents and purposes. I knew her secret, of course, before we wed. When others learned of her true identity, they were not so open minded. They threated her life, most earnestly, and she fled. I really don’t blame her. She sent me a monthly stipend for a long time afterwards, seeming to feel some responsibility towards me despite our separation. That is why I knew I could come to her if I needed help.”

  My heart is pounding, my world caving in, but I calmly inquire, “how long ago were you married?”

  “It was three years ago we were wed, and a short marriage it was, too, before she was rousted from our nest.” I breathe a sigh of relief but she continues, “if we hadn’t come together again by chance two months ago, I wouldn’t have had the confidence to come looking for her out here in the brush.” Something of my distress must show on my face, because she asks, “are you quite alright?”

  “Yes, thank you. And you must be tired from your journey, and in your condition. Go and find Abigail there by the fire, she’ll get you some food and water. I will go get Ann for you.”

  I turn from her before the tears begin flowing. How could Ann have kept this from me? And surely Whit knew, as well, them being as close as they are. They lied to me. I thought that we were all being honest with each other. I thought I knew them, could trust them. Not only was Ann married, but she was intimate with this woman, Elizabeth, just before bidding for my hand in marriage. They must still have feelings for each other. I feel as though I am unraveling as I walk, leaving spools of my insides behind me on the dirt path to my husbands so that I arrive empty.

  Seeing me approach, the men call out to Whit and Ann, who look up. Seeing my face, their smiles turn to concern and they immediately put down their tools to come speak with me. Facing Ann directly, I tell her, “your wife is here.” Seeing her confusion, I amend, “no, your other wife.” Dawning comprehension turns to alarm and she glances behind me, as though expecting to see Elizabeth appear out of thin air. Ann’s reaction confirms Elizabeth’s story and the tears begin again.

  Moving to comfort me, Ann finds my eyes and says, “It will be okay, you’ll see. I will explain everything later. But right now, I must speak with Elizabeth. Please believe me and don’t cry anymore.” She kisses my forehead and then starts up the path to find Elizabeth.

  When Wh
it turns to follow, their unspoken solidarity undermines their long history together and the strength of their connection. The fact that I’ve only known them for a few weeks seems like the only relevant truth about our bonds to each other. I am left to trudge back alone and confused, suddenly plunged into uncertainty about my life at the ranch. Elizabeth represents Ann’s past in a way that I can never compete with. But more than that, she represents Ann’s future; she is technically still Ann’s wife and she is pregnant. The biological father must not be involved, or Elizabeth would have turned to him for support. That means that, with Elizabeth, Ann could have a family of her own. And, unlike the town where they first met, the ranch would welcome their unusual family. The more time that I have to think about the ramifications of Elizabeth’s arrival, the more certain I am that I have lost Ann. Will Whit join them in a new configuration of three, as is the custom here? Or will Whit remain my husband? Nothing is certain anymore.

  Chapter 7

  In the evening, feeling displaced at the ranch, I retire to the one-room cabin to sleep. It isn’t “my” cabin exactly, but it feels safe. My first night here, when I was frightened and unsure, I slept here and the next day dawned fair. Perhaps it’s a superstition, or just instinct, that causes me to seek out the same place again. Ann has been sequestered with Elizabeth all afternoon. I don’t know whether Whit is with them, or simply avoiding me until she knows what to say; I suspect the latter. They present a united front, always. I thought, at first, to sleep with Whit tonight in her cabin, and waited for her there for a long time before conceding that she might not come. It felt too strange and sad to lay down there alone.

  I sleep fitfully, waking many times during the night to rediscover my solitude. After a week of sensual abundance, my aloneness feels stark and significant. I reach for them in my sleep, my lovers, my husbands, and when I find them gone, my heart sinks further and further. In the morning, I am puffy eyed and dour, steeling myself for a dissolution of the marriage so newly consummated and a long journey into the unknown.

  There is a sharp rapping on my door at first light. I jump up to unlock the door and pull it open to find Ann ready to barge right through me if I don’t get out of the way fast enough. I close the door behind her and can barely look her in the eyes, I feel so low.

  “Emma, I am so sorry! Please look at me. You must realize that I had no idea that Elizabeth would find me here. But I’m glad she did.” I look up, startled, but she rushes on. “Hold on, I’m not glad for the reasons that you’re thinking. I can see how worried you are, but you don’t have to be. She isn’t going to replace you! You are my wife. The union between Elizabeth and I is of the past.”

  “Why is she here if not to ensnare you?” I hate how jealous I sound, but I can’t help it. I am jealous.

  “She is not well.”

  “You mean she’s pregnant.”

  “No” Ann insists, “she is not well. That’s an understatement; the doctors do not believe that she will survive the birth of her child.”

  I look up, shocked. I attributed her pallor to the long journey to find Ann. I feel terrible, now, for how self-pitying I’ve been. Ann continues to relate all that she learned talking with Elizabeth yesterday. She looks stricken and it’s clear that Ann loved Elizabeth once. She probably still does, for all that she was forced to move on. Elizabeth is extremely ill. She risked a long journey solely to ensure the safety of her unborn child. Should she die in childbirth, she believes that Ann will raise the child; this is her dying wish.

  Ann would surely grant her this wish but not without the blessing of her new, young wife. She does not want this woman from her past with her tragic story and unborn babe to come between us and so she has not yet given Elizabeth her final answer. I almost weep with relief. She still considers me her wife! But in the next instant I remember the hurt and betrayal I felt yesterday, realizing that Ann had kept this secret from me.

  “Why did you never tell me that you had been married before? We had so much time for revelation during our week of love.”

  Ann looks down, considering my question. When she looks up again, there are tears in her eyes. I understand completely, even before she can articulate her thoughts and feelings. I have never before seen her cry. She does not like to cry in front of others. Her love for this woman and failure to protect her, the shame of being driven out of town: she cannot speak of these things without tremendous pain and she was not ready to bring that into our marriage bed. I know that it is difficult for her to be so vulnerable, even with me, but she holds my gaze and lets me see her messy, tender heart and for that I love her all the more.

  I take her hands in both of mine and, without hesitation, tell her, “of course Elizabeth can stay and deliver her baby. And if she does not survive, we will love and care for that babe as though it were our own.” Relief floods Ann’s tear streaked face and she gives my hands an answering squeeze. I had been mistaken to see Elizabeth as a threat; she is an ally, a sister. She, too, has loved and been loved by my Ann. And she is a woman enduring one of the many perils of being a woman in this world. It would please me to be a sister to her now, when she so needs one. I will do it for Ann, for Elizabeth herself, and for myself. I will do it gladly.

  “I have to know, though; where has Whit been? She knew about Elizabeth, didn’t she? It seems like she’s avoiding me!” I can’t help sounding indignant at this last point.

  Ann looks slightly embarrassed. She shifts from foot to foot, avoiding my eyes for a moment before admitting, “we do everything together, have since we were kids. When I went off and courted Elizabeth, it created a rift between me and Whit. It’s like, we didn’t know how to be friends anymore. Elizabeth threw everything off between us. We got in a fight about it, at the time. But then I had to leave town in a hurry and I needed help and Whit was right there being my right hand like she always has been. We put aside our hurt and resentments and high tailed it out of there! I know that she’ll always be there for me but that was a dark era in the history of our friendship. Neither of us will voluntarily bring it up. Why upset something that’s working just fine?”

  The thought of these two reasonable, sensitive women bickering over a pretty girl and refusing to talk openly about their feelings strikes me as very funny. I start giggling uncontrollably. Ann seems quite irked by my response. I’m clearly not giving her dramatic tale its due. As she watches me chortling and trying to compose myself, the corners of her mouth start lifting in an irrepressible smile.

  “Fine! You win. We acted like a couple of knuckle-headed boys fighting over a girl. I get it. It’s hilarious. Now, would you please stop laughing at me?”

  “I’m just glad to see that you’ve learned to share!” I tell her archly.

  Chapter 8

  When I finally track Whit down, she looks sheepish and apologizes for avoiding me. She confirms Ann’s account of the upheaval in their friendship caused by Ann’s pursuit of Elizabeth. She did not want to pick sides, should Ann lose sight of her present-day commitments. So, she decided to steer clear until this matter was settled. I reassure her that Ann and I reached a satisfactory understanding of the situation. We will care for Elizabeth until she delivers her baby. And, should it become necessary, we will care for the baby as well. Whit peers at me closely.

  “You’re okay with that?”

  “Yes. What I am not okay with is secrecy and lies. If you both had just been honest about the fact that Ann had been married before, Elizabeth’s appearance would have been unexpected but it would not have made me rethink my trust in you both.”

  Whit ducks her head, looking like a scolded child. As she should, I think to myself. She acted like a child, being evasive and not knowing how to talk about uncomfortable feelings. She mumbles another apology which I accept, mollified.

  Over the next few days, we settle into a rhythm of doing chores and checking on Elizabeth. The time must be approaching, for each day she appears more drawn. Today, there is sweat on her upper lip and brow.
I lean down to place a cool hand on her hot, distended belly and she grips my hand in hers, grimacing in pain. I notice that there is fluid in the bed. Her water broke! Alarmed, I call for the midwife who is already trotting briskly in our direction with towels and a pail of warm, clean water. Elizabeth finds my hand and squeezes it in hers.

  I send a helper to fetch Ann. As soon as Ann arrives, out of breath, Elizabeth transfers her iron grip to Ann, releasing my bruised fingers. I remain by Elizabeth’s side, however, for several hours as she struggles to birth the baby. I bathe her brow and offer sips of water in between her screams and sobs of pain. We take turns holding her and talking to her while the midwife tirelessly cajoles, and maneuvers Elizabeth in the hopes of easing the infant out.

  As the sun dips below the horizon, turning day to night, it becomes evident that Elizabeth is very weak. Her body is giving up. We all fear that she will not be able to birth the babe and that they will both perish. We light the lamps and maintain our vigil, sick with worry for the mother and her child. Finally, near the middle of this dark night, the midwife reaches her hand inside of Elizabeth and determines that the time is now or never. She tells the wearied mother to push, just once more. The baby is ready to be born. With an agonized cry from Elizabeth and the midwife’s competent, guiding hands on her shoulders, the baby at last slips from the womb to arrive into the warm lantern glow of her waiting family.