by Natalie Dean
I brushed my long golden hair and glanced out the window. I’d opened it earlier that evening to let in the cool, fall air. There was a crisp smell that reminded me of home, and the cool breeze was more than welcome. Fall was around the corner, but that didn’t matter much in California. The days would remain warm and the evenings would be chilly at best.
My hands were shaking, and it was making it difficult to braid my hair. I eventually gave up and set the brush and ribbons down on the vanity. My things barely fit on it, but I was too nervous to ask for something better. Did I have a right to ask? Would it even do any good? I imagined it wouldn’t.
The scent of roses filled the air as I spritzed on a bit of perfume and ran my hands down the pink, silk robe my husband had delivered to my bedroom door that morning. The maid who’d handed it over instructed me to wear it before going to Reynold’s room. I didn’t understand, but I didn’t ask questions either.
The clock on the wall beside me chimed nine times and with every chime, the lump in my throat got bigger. I pushed away from my vanity and picked the edge of the robe up off the floor as I left my room and wandered down the hall. The wooden floors creaked under my feet no matter how softly I treaded. I wasn’t sure why I was being so careful. He knew I was coming and was most likely waiting for me.
I came to his door and lifted a shaky hand before I pushed it open. Reynold was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in his white starch button down that was just a bit too tight around his belly. His bow tie was still firmly tied around his fat neck and his pants settled at his waist. I took him in for a moment, and he grunted.
“Well, are you just going to stand there or are you going to come in?”
As the door slammed shut behind me, I jumped, swallowing before moving forward. I closed the space between us quickly, and he looked me up and down.
“You smell nice,” he commented, his eyes fixed on my chest.
His gaze was filled with perverted intent, and it made me feel dirty. I tried not to focus on it, but it was hard to ignore the way it made my skin crawl. The silence was thick and uncomfortable, but I didn’t know what to say or do. This was a whole new world to me, and I didn’t know what my role was.
“Are you just going to stand there?” he growled. “Undress me!”
The barked orders made me jump, and I started to undo his necktie and then the buttons on his shirt. The white button down slid off his wide shoulders and fell onto the bed. His skin was pale and shined with sweat. The strong smell of cologne wafted into my nose, and I had to fight a cough. I didn’t want to make the mistake of accidently insulting him again.
His skin was pale and clammy looking, and just sitting there he looked exhausted and sick. I stared for a moment, my shaking hands reaching for his pants. I managed to undo them, and he stood to step out of the black slacks, leaving him in only his undergarments. I’d never seen a man so undressed and to think that my first intimate moments with a man would be spent with Reynold made tears burn behind my eyes. This wasn’t what I wanted, but somehow I’d found myself here.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he snapped, grabbing my arm so hard I yelped.
He yanked me close, and I could feel his fingers digging into the soft flesh as tears came to my eyes. If his aim was to hurt me, then he was doing a fine job. He shook me hard and grabbed my other shoulder, his thumb sliding under the thin straps of my slip.
He tore the robe off and the slip fell from my thin frame, pooling on the floor in a useless pile. I tried to cover myself, but soon he had me by the arm again and tossed me to the bed. My bare skin brushed the imported cotton sheets, and if the encounter hadn’t been so violent I might have actually enjoyed the feeling of the soft fabric against my skin, but it was hard to focus on anything other than the crushing weight over my body. It was hard to think of anything but the pain that burned from the inside out. I was thankful for the sheets, but only because it allowed me to hide my face and hide the tears that rolled down my cheeks.
That night set up my expectations for the rest of my life. I was expected to be the dutiful wife to this pig. I was expected to show him nothing but love and adoration when he did nothing but hurt and abuse me.
By the time he finished, I was a mess. I was shaking, sore, and I felt violated. My stomach was doing somersaults and before I could get my bearings I was pulled off the bed. He yanked me to my feet, but my knees gave out, and I slumped to the floor, still sobbing silently. My cheeks felt hot, red and irritated from rubbing against the sheets.
“Get up,” he ordered.
I didn’t move. My body wouldn’t let me. I wanted to move, but I couldn’t. Reynold pulled me to my feet and tossed my robe onto me before he all but pushed me out of the room. I tumbled to the wood floor, naked and shaking. He just shook his head back and forth and sighed as he tossed the rest of my clothes at me.
“You better figure out how to get a hold of yourself, Mariana. So far you have been useless as a wife!” he snapped. “You need to figure out how you’re going to make this situation better,” he hissed.
I just nodded and pushed myself to my feet, clinging to the banister as I moved down the hall. Reynold slammed his door shut, and I crumpled again. I just sat there, the wood floor cool on my hot skin. I sat there and cried, covering my face as I tried to stop the tears. I probably would have been there all night if it wasn’t for the maid, Heidi.
She came up the stairs and gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “Madame!” she cried walking over to me and helping me to my feet. “What are you doing on the floor?! Why are you so disheveled?” she asked, the concern clear in her voice despite her thick Swedish accent.
I just shook my head as she wrapped the robe around me and helped me back to my room. She settled me in the bed and fetched a bowl of warm water and a washcloth. She’d pulled the blankets up around me, tucking me in before washing my face. The water felt good against my skin, though I knew it wouldn’t scrub away the shame or the sadness.
She was silent for a long moment and sighed. “You’ll feel better in the morning, child,” she hummed.
I wanted to believe her, but something told me that wasn’t true. I wasn’t going to feel any better in the morning than I did right now and we both knew it. I closed my eyes and turned towards her, burying my face in her dress. She stroked my hair as I fell silent and it was only a small comfort, but at least it helped me fall asleep after the horrifying ordeal.
The worse part of all was that I knew it wasn’t going to get any better. This was my life now, and I had to square with that.
Chapter Three
I hadn’t seen my mother in nearly a month and in that month, I’d quickly learned my plight. My new life with my husband only got more terrifying every day. I had a slight hope that he might get bored with me eventually, but that was far from the case. Every time he brought me into his chambers he got rougher and seemed to have less concern for me. I didn’t cry anymore, but that was the only improvement.
He’d taken to terrorizing me during the day too. I tried to do the things wives were expected to do. But every time I cooked or stitched his buttons back on, he managed to find something wrong with it. Then he would proceed to yell at me or slap me across the face, destroying any progress I made and insisting that I start again. But I knew that no matter how perfect it was, it would never be good enough.
I was sitting in my family’s garden, my hand shaking as I struggled to hold the delicate porcelain tea cup. My hands always seemed to shake from nerves. I set the cup down, tired of trying to keep the tea from sloshing out.
My mother’s gaze was fixed on my bruised face, and she frowned deeply. A part of me was hoping that she would see the dark, ugly bruises marring my perfect skin and save me from the monster I’d been married to. I hoped her vanity might save me just this once, but instead she blamed it on me.
“You must try harder to keep your husband happy,” she said, sipping her tea. “You cannot just laze about and expect
your marriage to thrive.”
Tears burned behind my eyes and I folded my hands in my lap. “I am doing everything I possibly can, mother. I sew, I cook and I even clean!” I insisted.
Mother raised an eyebrow and shook her head. “You must not clean. That is probably why he reprimanded you,” she mused. “The servants clean and you serve him in other ways.”
“This was not a reprimand!” I snapped, pointing to the bruise that covered most of my cheek bone and dipped into the tender flesh below my eye. “He beat me!”
My mother stiffened, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation. “Then you must work harder-.”
“No! Don't tell me I need to work harder! Don't tell me that this is my fault! I do everything within my power, and it’s never good enough! I’m here because I need your help mother! I am your daughter! You cannot condemn me to this! You can’t let him hurt me like this!”
She wiped her mouth with her kerchief and stood. “I believe our visit is over, dear,” she murmured softly.
“Mother!”
“Don’t!” she finally snapped, turning to look at me, her eyes wide. “Do not think your fate is any different than any other woman’s! Do you think your father has never beat me?”
I fell silent at that question, staring at my mother for a long time. There were so many thoughts rattling around in my head. I had so many things I wanted to say and so many questions, but I couldn’t force any of them out of my lips. I swallowed thickly and covered my face with my hands, trying to pull myself together.
I finally pulled my hands away and looked up at her. “How could you allow this to happen knowing that I’d face your fate?” I whispered weakly.
My mother and I had always had a tense relationship, but I thought there was love underneath the tension. I thought that she loved me, but how could you allow someone you loved to be so viciously attacked and hurt? How could you knowingly put your child in danger?
“Do you think I had a say in this? What was I to do, Mariana? Was I to disobey your father?”
“I would have hoped you’d stand up for me,” I whispered. “I would have hoped that you would protect me like a mother is expected to!”
She turned and looked at me, her eyes sharp. “You were cursed to this fate the day you were born! When I saw your face and that beautiful golden hair, I knew there was nothing I could do. You were going to be snatched from me the second you were of marrying age.”
“You had seventeen years to stop it! You had seventeen years to save me, and you did nothing!”
My mother put her hands flat on the table and stared at me. “You will be with child soon enough, Mariana. Soon you will suffer the way I did. You will have a daughter, and you will have to watch her be groomed to be a wife, knowing that she will end up marrying a pig of a man. One who beats her day and night, and the only thing you will be able to do for her is to try to teach her how to keep him happy,” she whispered. “Do not condemn me until you have seen for yourself what it is like to be a mother.”
She pushed herself into a standing position and turned her back to me, walking along the stone path towards the large French doors that were opened by her maids. I felt a lump in my throat as I watched her go. Never in my life had I felt so utterly alone and abandoned. I had expected my mother to save me. I had hoped she would take me away from the hell I found myself living in. I prayed that she would help me, but now it was clearer than ever that I was on my own.
I would have to save myself.
Chapter Four
My visit with mother had opened my eyes. It made me realize that if I expected things to change, I was going to have to be the one to change them. When I entered this marriage, I was weak. I was naïve and unable to process the cruelty that I was facing on a daily basis. I had spent my entire life in a cage, being pampered and given anything I wanted (with the exception of a proper education). I’d never had to have a thick skin, but that had to change if I was going to survive this.
Another few weeks passed, and I managed to keep myself together when I was around Reynold. He seemed a bit confused by my sudden change in attitude and made it clear that he didn’t like it. He spent his days trying to intimidate me and get me to cry. It worked a few times, but I quickly learned that if I could hold my tears until he was gone, he would get bored far quicker.
He was already bored with me physically, which I didn’t mind in the least. He would call me to his chambers a few times a week, I would lie in bed, let him crawl over me and then I would leave. I didn’t react anymore. I didn’t cry, I didn’t beg, and I didn’t move. I knew he hated it just as much as I did at this point, but he needed a child and having his mistress become pregnant would be unacceptable for a man of his prestige.
Along with the duties I was expected to perform in the bedroom, Reynold also made it clear that I was to be at all social events, dressed in all the finery that he could afford. I was to attend the events and be his prize. At least I was familiar with this particular ritual.
Heidi weaved my golden hair into a delicate braid and carefully pinned it around my head. It was a style that was a bit unusual, but not unacceptable. Small pearls and feathers had been tucked in my hair, and white powder dusted across my skin. I looked like the pale and fragile lady I’d been brought up to be.
As Heidi closed the clasp on my diamond necklace, I ran my fingers along the fine pink silk dress I was wearing to the ball. The bustle wrapped around my waist made it difficult to move around too much, but at least it collapsed in on itself when I sat down.
“You look beautiful, Madame.”
I knew that her words were supposed to make me feel better. She was trying to make me smile or at least bring some light to the situation, but the words did nothing but make my heart ache. Beautiful. She called me beautiful like everyone else in my life had. My beauty had put me in this situation. Even though the words made my skin crawl, I smiled up at her and put my hands over hers.
“Thank you, Heidi,” I said, rising from the ornate stool I was perched on. “Thank you for all of your help.”
“It was my pleasure, Madame,” she said, curtseying before exiting the room.
Once she was gone, I took a few moments to muster up the strength I would need to smile through the night. I would be expected to fawn over my husband, giggle and talk to everyone at the party. They weren’t to know of the nights I spent crying or abused, and they would never suspect that under all the white powder on my face was an ugly bruise. My entire life had been a charade. Why would it be any different now?
I walked towards the door, pushed it open and took a breath, listening to the sound of beautiful music playing. My husband had hired the best piano player in the city in hopes of impressing his guests. I lifted the skirt of my dress ever so slightly and made my way down the stairs.
Heads turned, and I could feel eyes on me. I could feel the heat of desire rising in the room and a wave of jealousy followed soon after. As I reached the bottom step, I glanced up and saw my husband, looking at me with thinly veiled pride. It was a sin, after all. Most people would want their husbands to feel pride towards them, but the look he gave me was hardly a compliment. It was the kind of pride a child felt when they were the one who owned the best toy. It was the pride horse breeders felt when they had a particularly fine horse. This was not the pride that loving people felt towards each other.
I pushed down the bile that rose in my throat and walked through the ballroom. I greeted everyone the way I was expected to and smiled, sipping a glass of wine as I spoke to a few women I didn’t know.
“I hear Mrs. Johnson has taken a lover,” one of them whispered, sounding scandalized.
“She has had many lovers. This is not her first,” another snorted.
“Can you really blame her? Mr. Johnson is far too old for her. Their youngest child probably isn’t even his. I doubt he can perform his marital duties anymore.”
The women giggled, and I frowned. I never liked gossip, and for some rea
son, it didn’t seem right to judge any woman for taking a lover. I was quickly beginning to understand why some did. That conversation set the tone for the rest of the night. I moved about the room, engaging as many people as I could, but soon it began to take a toll on me. I was so tired of putting up a front, and I was so tired of pretending to be happy. I didn’t know how much longer I would be able to keep the act up and so I wandered outside.
Our garden was a beautiful testament to just how much money my husband had. Even with the heat, he managed to afford the resources needed to keep the flowers and trees thriving. I stepped off the porch and onto the stone walkway that led through the garden. I just needed some fresh air and the cool night air was refreshing me already.
As I strolled through the garden, I could hear the sound of hooves digging into soft earth and a man yelling, frustration evident in his voice. I turned and broke through the garden and saw one of the farm hands chasing after a horse. He wore a loose linen shirt that was partially open and dark pants that were stained with dirt from a hard day’s work.
One of the horses had gotten loose, and it seemed he was trying to catch it. The scene was rather amusing, and I couldn’t help bringing my hand to my lips, letting out a soft laugh. The sound was loud enough to catch the horse’s attention and the magnificent beast trotted over to me.
The horse was white with beautiful caramel colored spots. It had no fear and came right up to me, neighing softly and stamping its hooved feet. I reached out slowly and wrapped my fingers around the leather reigns, humming as I raised my hand and ran it down the soft hair on its nose. The horse grunted and nuzzled my hand, and I enjoyed the freedom and intimacy of this moment. I’d never had the opportunity to spend much time around horses since my parents owned neither a farm or their own carriage.