Halestorm

by Becky Akers

  “Please, Elijah. Let me go.”

  He shook his head. Her struggles had inflamed him, and he could not wait much longer. “Alice, it’s only natural. Man and wife, this is what we’re made for. Pigs do it. Horses do it. How’d we have children otherwise?”

  He trapped both her wrists under his left hand. With his right, he pulled her bodice open and untied her stays. “This is what you owe me as your husband. They say first time’s the scariest, Alice, but you’ll see. We’ll come to like it.” She flinched as he caressed her. “I want to be gentle with you. I don’t want to wrestle you to the floor to claim my rights. I’m your husband now, and you do what I tell you. You got to obey me, Ally.”

  Nathan rose before her, so strongly she was blinded. “Don’t you ever call me Ally,” she hissed. “My name is Alice.”

  Though he demanded his way in the bedchamber, Elijah was an easy master otherwise. He complimented her cooking, mediocre at best, and hired a serving girl named Jenny lest the kitchen burden her. When he learned that she despised sewing, he patronized a tailor. He was thoughtful of her comfort, good enough as a conversationalist, and sometimes witty. He never again called her Ally.

  Most girls would have counted his jug-handle ears and fussiness a small price to pay for being a rich man’s wife. Alice knew it was wicked to hate her husband and recited his good points to no avail. Nights were the worst. As he sweated atop her and suffocated her with his fetid breath, she remembered the pleasure Guy Daggett had summoned in her. Surely marriage to him would not be this distasteful. She would concentrate fiercely on Guy then, both to escape Elijah’s lovemaking and to forestall thoughts of Nathan. If his blue eyes and charming smile flashed before her, she would spiral down into such sadness that she would not survive.

  She recalled her rides with Guy through the autumn and winter, his anecdotes of London, his sensuality. She longed to see him again, but he had left Coventry a week after her wedding, on business it was rumored. He had attempted to talk with her before his departure, had sent her half a dozen notes. But Elijah thwarted each visit and fed every letter, still sealed, to the fire. She had not heard from him since.

  She missed the freedom to read that she had relished on the farm. The boys, Nathan especially, always had books about, brought from Yale or borrowed from someone in town. The Deacon, too, owned a small library. They welcomed her to dip into whatever she liked once chores were done.

  But Elijah was not of a liberal mind. He thought a husband ought to supervise a wife’s studies and protect her delicacy, and no amount of anger, weeping, or argument from Alice budged him on that. He approved Jonathan Edwards’ sermons, Foxe’s Book of Martyrs, and the Bible. He was scandalized enough when he caught her with a volume of Shakespeare, a present from Nathan, to hurl it into the fire, despite her frantic promises not to read it again. He nearly frothed at the mouth when he saw Locke’s Two Treatises of Government, which Nathan had recommended, in her hands. She had not followed most of it, and what she did bored her. (How could anyone as lively as Nathan enjoy such fleshless theories? She preferred the humanity and drama of The Merchant of Venice or As You Like It.) But it was another matter entirely for Elijah to snatch it away. “Best leave this to men, my dear. ’Tis hardly fit for a lady, especially in your condition,” he said, for by now she was expecting. Alice sobbed so disconsolately that Elijah begged her to quiet herself, for mercy’s sake: she would birth a deformed baby with such carrying on. She held back her tears and endured his attentions with silent fury that night.

  The worst of her exile from home was missing news of Nathan. She saw her family only once a week. With spring’s plowing begun and planting to commence, they were too busy to visit, especially when they sat only three pews behind Elijah’s at Meeting. Beth was good to tell her whether they had heard from the boys, but that was a poor substitute for holding the sheet of paper in her hands, as Nathan had held it in his, and drinking in his elegant script. She had nothing but her stockpile of old letters and his portrait, which he had given her when he confessed his love.

  She made a ritual of rereading his letters. As soon as they finished dining, while Jenny washed the dishes and Elijah napped before returning to his ledgers, she would tiptoe to the pantry. After she put away the leftovers, she stealthily opened the salt-box that hid her treasures. She would read a page and glance at the miniature after each sentence. However bad her day—though the child kicked within her, a reminder of Elijah’s lovemaking—she was transported as she gazed into those painted eyes. She would spend a quarter hour imagining marriage to Nathan, in which life was joyous, not a sorrow. Finally, she would replace the picture and study her favorite letter, the one beginning “Dearest Ally” that had promised so much.

  She wondered whether Nathan even knew of her marriage. The Deacon must have sent word, but how had he phrased it? Surely, he had not owned his share in it nor explained that he had forced her to wed a man she despised. Most likely, he had painted her a hussy, kissing Guy Daggett one day and pledging herself to Elijah Ripley the next.

  Alice’s stomach twisted at this. Her shame kept her from asking Beth whether Nathan had mentioned her marriage and from writing him with the truth.

  CHAPTER 5

  Nathan had deliberated for months before sending his veiled proposal. But once the letter was on its way, he could study with a clear head again, sleep through the night, play jokes on his roommates. He was sure of Ally’s response and waited complacently. The earliest he could expect an answer was the middle of February, though some days he half-expected to see his father charge onto the Yard, hunting him to demand a reason for such disobedience.

  Meanwhile, the weeks slipped by in studies and the usual pranks. A thaw in January made the outdoors pleasant, and football games and wrestling matches sprang up each afternoon. Nathan was the champion in wrestling. He beat even Enoch, though his brother stood an inch taller and could kick a football further and ribbed him mercilessly about both. But one day, when Nathan and Ben Tallmadge were competing at broad jumps, Nathan leaped so prodigiously that Tallmadge retired in awe. Enoch was impressed enough at the marks on New Haven’s green not to mention his extra inch for a week.

  Cold weather hit again in February, with snow drifting to three feet. That was why he’d had no response from Ally, Nathan told himself when the first of March dawned with fluffy flakes still falling. Perhaps she had not even received his letter yet. Or maybe she had and his father....He resolutely returned his thoughts to Cicero.

  He also threw himself into the Linonia Society. It met weekly in a member’s room, the boys perching three to a bed and on the windowsills. He remembered one session ever after, for it marked the end of his childhood, of his belief that he could bend life to his desires.

  A foreboding had bothered him all day, and several oddities about this meeting increased his uneasiness. For starters, Enoch, who placed Linonia a trifle below chapel in importance, had begged pardon because he must leave early. For another, Billy Hull, though graduated last fall, was visiting. Finally, Ben Tallmadge suggested that the Society depart from its itinerary.

  They gathered in Tallmadge’s room. Enoch had appropriated the chair, and Nathan sat astride the desk, swinging his legs.

  “As Chancellor, I call this meeting of Linonia to order.” Nathan waited for quiet. “Tallmadge wants to leave off the natural philosophy and literary stuff to take up politics. Any objections?”

  “That’s not the reason Linonia exists, Secundus,” William Robinson said.

  “What sort of political question?” another asked.

  He read the note Tallmadge had passed him. “‘Whether men have pre-existing rights that governments must protect, or whether our rights devolve from the government, so we have none apart from those the king specifically grants.’”

  “No debate there,” Hull said. “John Locke proved that men have rights from the Creator that the State can’t deny, and if it does, it’s tyranny.”

  “Guess that Loc
kes up the argument,” Nathan said. “The key is that these rights are independent of any government.”

  The others groaned, and Hull said, “There’s two things I haven’t missed since leaving Yale, Secundus: the food and your puns. We still throw things at obnoxious speakers?” He bent to unbuckle his shoe.

  Nathan said, “Such abuse for a sole of wit with a nimble tongue,” and the shoe thudded against the wall behind him.

  “We do have unalterable rights to life, liberty, justly acquired property,” Enoch said. He retrieved the missile and handed it to his brother.

  “And doesn’t taxation directly violate the right to property?” Nathan slid off the desk and stepped to the window, Hull’s shoe in hand. “There’s the real question. For years, the fight with Parliament’s been that we’re taxed without representation. But it should be that we’re taxed at all. Taxation’s nothing more than theft, and if government’s supposed to protect our right to property, doesn’t that mean it can’t steal that property in taxation?” He tugged at the sash. Hull dived for him and recaptured his shoe.

  “You’ve got to prove your premises, Secundus,” Tallmadge said. “Why’s taxation the same as theft?”

  “How’s a thief rob his victim? He takes money from him by force, right? He holds pistols on him and steals his purse. That’s what Parliament does to us. Remember the Stamp Act, how angry our fathers were at paying taxes on newspapers or a deck of cards? What happened if they refused to pay that tax?”

  Enoch, used to such thinking at their father’s table, nodded. “Exactly what happened in Boston. The king sent troops with guns to make sure we paid the tax.”

  “You’re calling the king of England a common thief,” William Robinson said. “That’s treason.”

  “I am not. He’s no common thief.” Nathan paused, and Robinson retired with satisfaction, starting up again as Nathan continued. “No, he’s an uncommon one. How many thieves do you know can bring an army against their victims?”

  “Logically, a group of people banding together and calling themselves Government shouldn’t do things that are crimes for a man on his own to do,” Enoch said as he rose to leave. “My brother’s got a point. If it’s wrong for one man to take my wealth from me by force, it’s wrong for a group of people, even if they call themselves ‘government.’”

  “But how’re the king and Parliament going to manage the country without money?” Tallmadge asked. “Where’ll their funds come from? How’d the treasury be run?”

  “Why should a country be run?” Nathan shrugged. “Look what happened with the Massacre at Boston. If the king didn’t have money for an army, he couldn’t have sent troops over here, and the Massacre wouldn’t have happened. Those men might still be alive.”

  “Wasn’t the troops’ fault,” Robinson said. “They were cleared in court.”

  “That’s not the point. Those soldiers hadn’t been here in the first place, they couldn’t have killed those men. If that’s a managed country, I want an unmanaged one.”

  “Secundus, you had too much beer at dinner.” Hull had heard these arguments before. “Next you’ll be telling us there’s nothing the government does that we couldn’t do better ourselves.”

  “Actually, here’s a corollary to that. When the government steals our money, ’tis even worse than when a thief does. Least the thief’s honest about it.”

  “Oh, come on—”

  “No, think about it. Why’s a thief steal? To get food for himself or his family, or maybe he wants to wear satin but can’t afford it. And he makes no bones about it. You’ve got money, he’s got pistols aimed at you, so he takes your money. He doesn’t pretend he’s stealing from you for your own good. He’ll use your money for his benefit, not yours. It’s a crime, you and the thief both know it, and even he’s going to call it that if someone steals from him what he stole from you.”

  “So what, Secundus, it’s—”

  “But government takes our money and says it’ll spend it better than we can. It says it’s doing it for our own good, whether we approve or not. And it never admits that what it does is a crime. It doesn’t wait for our permission before it decides what to buy with our money, either. How many of our cousins in England wanted the troops to fire on us in Boston? Yet they have to pay for it anyway. They’re forced to pay for those troops with their taxes.”

  Tallmadge held up a hand. “Secundus, you’ll have us all expelled for treason, though I guess that’s better than for stealing pies. I vote we go back to literary topics for the next meeting.”

  When he reached their room afterwards, Nathan found his brother there, a letter beside him on the bed. Enoch had broken the seal and read it, for it was addressed to them both in the Deacon’s scrawl. “’Tis from home,” he said, carefully looking out the window.

  The anxiety that had plagued Nathan all day settled in his stomach, gnawing at him. Something was wrong. There should have been a letter to him alone from Ally. He swallowed and tried to still his trembling as he unfolded the page.

  Dar Sons,

  We are All Fine Thanks bee to God and send our Lov. Alice was Marryed to Lijah ripley he bilt a Stout Home and will Make a good Husband Yor Mother has ben spinning Linnin she says there is Enuf for a suit Apiece for you if you studie hard to Make Us prowd as i know You will.

  Yur loving Father

  The child within her grew quickly, so that Alice was big by her sixth month. Her hair no longer gleamed but clung limply to her skull. Her skin was sallow, her face bloated, her eyes tired and hollow. She could not bear to catch a glimpse of herself in the water basin or the pewter that lined the mantel in the kitchen, and she shunned looking glasses. For once, she was glad that Nathan was in New Haven, unable to see her. She forgot that he was graduating next month and would visit Coventry before that.

  Feeling miserably ugly, she hauled herself to the chaise one Sunday at the end of August. Elijah had especially irked her that morning. He insisted on attending her, asking whether she were all right until she thought he would drive her mad. I’ll scream at him if he keeps it up, she thought. And then did: “Leave me alone, Elijah, I pray you!”

  They drove in silence to Meeting after Elijah muttered something about new mothers being prone to outbursts, and he didn’t blame her. She glared at him, the cause of her predicament.

  She stewed through Meeting, unable to concentrate on Rev. Huntington’s sermon and hoping Beth would have word from Nathan. She longed to turn for a glimpse of her stepsister, but Elijah would whisper, “Is anything wrong?”—her punishment for squirming.

  They stood for prayer and the benediction. Then she pivoted awkwardly in the pew to look for her family. Her heart leaped. There, talking with the Widow Thatcher, stood Nathan.

  Tall and straight, hair aglow like polished cherry wood in the sun streaming through the windows, he was as full of life as she was drained of it. She feasted her eyes and hardly felt Elijah’s grip on her elbow as he pulled her from their box. “Come on, Alice. I’m hungry.”

  “My brother’s home. Please, Elijah, I haven’t seen him for months. Just let me say hello.”

  Elijah squinted in the direction she was pointing with a smile. “You know, Alice, I like your brothers, fine boys all of them, but Nathan’s always my favorite. He’s got such a way with him. I’ll wager he gives the ladies of New Haven a run for their money.”

  “Yes, yes.” She tried to squeeze past him. “Please, Elijah, move.”

  “Oh, sure, let’s go say hello. ’Tis certain he’ll want to congratulate us.”

  “No!” It was out before she thought, and Elijah bestowed another of his reproving looks. “I mean, ah, could you get the horse and bring him round?”

  “Not feeling well enough to stay for dinner and the second service? All right then. I’ll leave the pies we brought with Mrs. Huntington.” He kissed her, which she bore with ill grace, and left.

  Five minutes with Nathan! She pushed her way through the crowd, eyes fastened on her brot
her, so handsome, so honorable. All the widows, and most of the wives, too, had surrounded him in a tight and smiling circle, the men reaching between them to clap his shoulder, children watching with fingers in their mouths and eyes wide. He said something that made everyone laugh, glanced up, and spotted her. He excused himself and in two strides was beside her.

  “Ally.” He clasped her hands in his, his touch warm and exciting, bringing life back to her cramped heart. He bent to brush chaste, brotherly lips across her cheek. “I must congratulate you.”

  “Don’t, Nathan! ’Twas not my choice. You know that.”

  He said gently, “You’re a married woman now, Ally,” and she understood that he would not listen to anything smacking of disloyalty to her husband.

  She swallowed her protests about not loving Elijah and asked instead, “How long will you be home?”

  “A week. Commencement’s at the beginning of September, and then I’ll be teaching school at Haddam’s Landing.”

  “Oh, Nathan.” Her tears welled, for she was too large with the child to travel to his graduation. Knowing Nathan, he would win every prize Yale offered its graduates, and she would have sold her soul to see it. Then he would disappear to Haddam’s Landing, wherever that was.

  “And what about your baby, Ally? You hoping for a boy or a girl?”

  “I don’t care,” she said, but at his shock, she hastily added, “long as it’s healthy.”

  “The family writes me with your news. Beth says your new home’s as fine inside as out, and Father thinks your husband’ll be a leader in the province one day.”