by Ward, Marsha
Is Rulon this nervous tonight? He had come to see her, but she had refused to let him enter the house, too distraught to entertain him without knowing all was ready for the next day.
She was getting married tomorrow. No. She couldn’t be ready for this huge step. Becoming a married lady. Bearing a ring on her finger. Hearing folks call her “missus” instead of “miss”. This was momentous. She wasn’t ready.
She wanted to flee. She could run away, down the Valley Pike to hide in a crag in the mountains. Somewhere that Rulon wouldn’t find her.
Rulon. What was she thinking? Was Rulon the right man for her, the right husband, the right—she shuddered—lover?
I don’t even know what that means. She made a turn before she got out of the shadow of the lilacs. Ida’s foolish prattle has unnerved me. Her talk of “disgusting things” that went on between married folk was truly unsettling. What does Rulon intend to do to me?
She tried to calm herself, to curb her distraught state. Rulon loves me. He would never give me injury. I’m sure he will want to kiss me, though. But what would come after the kisses? What was she expected to do? It was far too late to attempt to coax her mother into giving her pertinent information. What had she committed herself to do?
She wrapped her arms around herself and began to cry. Stumbling to the bench, she sat and put her face into her hands and sobbed until she had exhausted her tears and herself. Then she dried her eyes and walked back to the house to try to get into bed without any foolishness from her sisters.
~~~
Rulon — May 11, 1861
Rulon swung down from the horse with great care, mindful of the clothing he’d borrowed from his father to wear on this much-anticipated day. Peter took charge of his horse, tethering it to the hitch rail in front of Randolph Hilbrands’ home.
Ben pulled up beside Rulon, dismounted, and gave him a knock on the shoulder.
“What’s that about?” Rulon said, brushing off any dust Ben may have left behind.
“Cranky, are you? I didn’t expect crankiness on this fine weddin’ day.” Ben looked him over and guffawed. “You did a fine job with those buttons. Lined ‘em up right nice.” He doubled over with laughter.
Rulon looked down. He’d mis-buttoned the suit coat. Alarmed that his nerves were so evident, he re-did the job and scowled at Ben. “Your day will come, little brother.”
“He won’t have to button his own coat. Massa Allen will give the job to a slave.” Peter ducked as though he expected Rulon or Ben to throw a punch.
Rulon peered at his brothers. “Rowdy troublemakers,” he pronounced them. “Try and keep at least one civil tongue between the two of you.”
“Oh, we’ll be good, big brother,” said Ben.
“Yes indeed. Best behavior,” Peter agreed, grinning.
Rulon groaned. “I am not convinced.”
The two younger brothers turned to look at one another, their upturned mouths reflecting their merriment at Rulon’s expense.
“I’ll hammer you both into the ground if you disrupt my wedding,” he warned them.
“I reckon you’ll be too busy with other matters,” Ben said, laughing out loud now.
“Not that you’d know anything about caring for a woman.”
Ben cocked his head. “Maybe more than you.”
Rulon drew back his fist, then caught himself and muttered a mild oath. He wouldn’t spoil his own marriage day by tussling with his brothers. Instead, he turned and strode toward the door, hopeful that the first sight of Mary would change his unease to gladness.
Mrs. Hilbrands opened the door to Rulon’s knock and bade him enter, a small unchanging smile pasted on her mouth. As he hung his hat on the hat rack, he wondered if he should try to charm her, call her “Mother Hilbrands,” or perhaps kiss her on the cheek, but in the end, his terror left him meekly following in her wake without any attempts on his part to ease the tension. Perhaps the sight of the lingering yellow and black color around his eye had contributed to the lack of warmth in her welcome.
He heard Ben and Peter coming through the door behind him, laughing. They shut up as they closed the door. Were they being respectful or did the oppressive atmosphere affect them as much as it did him?
When he entered the parlor, the first thing he noticed was the drawn drapes, heavy barriers that forbade the sun to shine upon his marriage. He wondered if the darkness was a sign, an ill omen of some sort, and his anticipation deflated.
The furniture had been shoved up against the walls, making room for the families and their guests to stand to witness the proceedings. Candles in heavy pewter holders stood along the mantelpiece, ready to be lit.
“Wait here,” Mrs. Hilbrands said, then left him in the dim room with only his brothers to attend him.
“It’s a mite somber in here,” Ben said, and going to the nearest window, he tied back the drapes. Peter joined in, as Rulon protested in vain.
“Don’t make trouble for me,” he implored his brothers, thinking he sounded like a feeble old woman as he untied a pair of sashes to let one of the windows fall prey to the darkness again.
“The missus don’t like you?” Peter asked, cocking an eyebrow.
“Well enough, I reckon,” he said. “It’s the weddin’ she don’t like.”
“As long as the girl is satisfied she’s getting the right Owen,” Peter said, smoothing down his hair. “I’m closer to her in age. By rights, I should be standing up with her today.”
With an effort of will, Rulon refused to rise to the bait. “How far behind us was Pa?”
“He climbed in the wagon and set out just after you rode off. He should be driving up the street any moment,” Ben said, and craned his neck to peer out the window opening to the front of the house. “Yes, there they come. Don’t Ma look fine in that getup?”
Rulon was too occupied with adjusting the tail of his coat to go over to the window to admire his mother’s finery. Where was the minister? Had Mr. Hilbrands changed his mind? Where was Mary? He pulled at his binding collar.
The knocker fell on the front door with a boom, causing Rulon’s heart to jump. From the sound of the greeting, one of the Hilbrands girls answered, and soon his parents and his siblings came into the parlor, trailed by the Bates family. To his relief, Mr. Hilbrands accompanied them, bringing the minister along at his side. However, Mrs. Hilbrands kept her whereabouts a secret, and Mary was nowhere in sight.
Mr. Hilbrands greeted his guests, planted the minister before the fireplace, and called out into the hallway for a lamp to light the candles.
Mary’s younger sister, Ida, brought a light, and as she performed the task with the candles, Mr. Hilbrands left the room.
“Such comings and goings,” Ben commented behind the mask of his hand.
“Hush,” Rulon whispered, adjusting with a shrug or two the position of Pa’s coat upon his shoulders.
Just then, Mrs. Hilbrands came back and stood in the doorway, looking somewhat pale as the light of the now brighter room fell upon her countenance. Ma went and greeted her, patting her cheeks with hands encased in lace mitts. Where did Ma dig those up?
Rulon counted his siblings. Carl, James, Marie, Clayton, Albert, Julianna. The entire Owen clan had come to either tease him unmercifully or make merry. They had better behave, he thought.
Mrs. Hilbrands looked toward Ida motioned with her head. The girl promptly left the room. Then the woman made gathering motions with her hands, and the guests pressed toward the door.
Rulon didn’t know whether to remain where he was or go along with the crowd, but the minister nudged him, so he chose the latter.
People spilled out into the hall, and Rulon edged up to the parlor door. Youthful female voices began to sing a song about “this happy occasion,” as Mary’s three sisters descended the stairway, carrying more lighted candles. At the top of the stair, Mr. Hilbrands stood with Mary on his arm.
Rulon sucked in his breath.
His bride wore a right prett
y dress, light colored with purple flowers on the top, and purple with white flowers on the bottom. The skirt was wide enough to fill the area between the bannister and the wall. On her head, a circlet of purple blossoms of some kind crowned her dark hair.
“Mary.” His shallow breathing allowed only a whisper of her name before he choked with emotion.
Her gaze rested momentarily upon him as though she had heard him say her name. Her simmering look pierced his soul. Then she lowered her eyes, took on a shy aspect, and made her slow way down the treads, leaning on her father’s arm.
He found himself being pulled backwards, stumbling, to his place alongside the minister. Ben pinched his arm, and he remembered to stand tall, but was scarcely able to draw breath.
His family formed an aisle. The girls came forward, still singing, until they stood at the front, at one side, lined up next to Mrs. Hilbrands. Mr. Hilbrands brought Mary toward him, stepping carefully, stopping before the minister with Mary on his far arm.
The girls stopped singing.
The minister opened a book and began intoning words that Rulon paid no mind to. Mary was half hidden beyond the bulk of her father’s body. Why didn’t the man step back? Then Mr. Hilbrands said “I bring her,” and granted Rulon’s wish that he leave Mary’s side.
Rearranging the couple, the minister kept talking, but Rulon only heard sound. All he could absorb was the fact that Mary now stood beside him, hands clasped together, looking at the carpet, her elbow brushing the sleeve of his coat.
After an interminable time, the man before them said something incomprehensible, then smiled and nodded at Rulon.
Ben toed him in the ankle. “Your answer,” he hissed.
Rulon woke from his stupor and said, “I do.”
Mary echoed him in her turn.
Mr. Moore took hold of Mary’s left hand and looked expectant. Rulon felt Ma’s ring come sliding across his palm. Ben. Rulon got it between his fingers, turned and put it on Mary’s finger.
The minister said something about “man and wife,” and smiled again. Ma gasped in the background. Mary turned to him, eyes glowing.
Peter chuckled. “Kiss her, or I will.”
Rulon inhaled. Was it over? He felt an elbow in his ribs, and decided it was. He turned to Mary, looked at her upturned face, then kissed her.
She smelled of soap, and the purple blossoms, and another scent he didn’t try to identify. Instead, his brain asked the most vital question. When could he carry her up those stairs to seclusion and privacy?
~~~
After a party that lasted far too long, Rulon accompanied Mary up the stairs. She led the way down the hall, holding his hand tightly. She opened the door to their sanctuary and entered. He closed the distance between them.
He took her in his arms, covering her face with kisses, moaning, “Mary, Mary.” He felt the fabric of his father’s best trousers pressing against the evidence of his lust. Yes, it was lust, he admitted with almost his last coherent thought; frighteningly powerful in its hold on him. He kicked the door shut, too far gone to bother to secure the latch.
Mary pulled away from his frantic kisses long enough to do the job, then he gathered her back, intent only upon fulfilling his need.
They bumped against the bed. He laid her upon it and shed the intolerable trousers with such abruptness that a few of the buttons flew from their moorings and scattered on the floor. He lifted her purple skirt and moved undergarments aside to the extent that was necessary for his purpose, all the while crooning her name, over and over, a paean to wedding and bedding the girl as so often he had craved to do. Daytime or night, his imagination had driven him toward this moment, and he reveled in the commencement and completion of the connubial act.
After, her clothing restored to its accustomed place, Mary lay in his arms, trembling and sniffling against his shirt.
A thread of guilt needled into his consciousness. Pa had advised him to be gentle. He had not been. What if he had injured Mary?
He looked down and asked, as tenderly as he could, considering he was still breathless, “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” she whispered, her voice too shaky for him to believe her denial.
“Mary? The truth, girl.”
“Yes. A little. I didn’t expect... that.”
He groaned, covering his eyes with his hand. At length, he mumbled contrite words. “I beg forgiveness for losing all control, for overtaking you with my lustful yearnings.” He shook his head, abashed at his behavior. “I’m a cad.”
He felt the negative movement of her head against his chest.
“I am. I was thoughtless.”
Mary stirred again, then planted a hesitant kiss on the side of his chin.
“I wanted you,” she said. “I didn’t know all that meant.”
He removed his hand from his eyes, turned and kissed her hair, then settled her head into the hollow of his neck.
She continued. “I didn’t know what ‘coming together’ signified.”
“Your ma never—”
She snorted. “Mama doesn’t talk about, ah, carnal acts.”
He barely heard the last two words, her voice was so low. He reckoned it had cost her considerable effort to speak them. “She didn’t prepare you?”
“It gives her the vapors to mention the subject.”
“Ah, Mary.”
“It was your right, Rulon. I know that much.”
He lifted her chin and kissed one eyelid, tasting the salt of her dried tears. “My right don’t include being rough. I regret I caused you pain.”
She seemed to think on that for a while. Then she spoke hesitantly, her voice very soft. “Pa looked at me peculiar one night when I was goin’ on and on about bein’ woman-wed soon. He said, ‘Mind he don’t injure you.’ I laughed at him.”
He rose up on an elbow and stared down at his wife. “I did.”
“No!” Her eyes went dark, then narrowed. Her hand cupped his cheek. “I am your woman now.” Her little finger moved across his mouth, light as a butterfly. “I have waited so long to say those words.” She swallowed. “A slight pain now is nothing in comparison to the longing I have felt to be your wife.”
Rulon watched the movement of her throat, wishing for nothing more than to kiss the skin above her pounding pulse. He bent his head and did so. Her hand crept around to the back of his neck.
“Do it again,” she murmured.
He took note that her respirations had begun to flutter faster. Her pulse beat more strongly against his lips. “What?”
“Show me I am your woman,” she managed to say.
Chapter 5
Ben — May 13, 1861
Ben was about to follow Pa from the supper table when Peter mentioned offhandedly that he had fetched the mail from town and Rulon had received a letter.
Ben let Marie take away his plate and utensils, then said, “That’s probably from the Harrisonburg company captain.” He took a toothpick from the supply at the center of the table. “Why didn’t you leave it off for him at Hilbrands’ store? Hand it over, boy. I’ll see he gets it tomorrow.”
Peter put on a truculent countenance. “Who says I have the letter in hand? Who says I didn’t deliver it directly into his greedy palm?”
Ben eyed him as he worked the toothpick around his teeth. He stopped long enough to say, “I thought the lad was on his honeymoon.”
Peter quirked an eyebrow. “I sent Ida to knock on the door with my message. It took him long enough to come downstairs.” His smug grin disappeared when Ma bopped him on the head with a wooden spoon.
“Mind your thoughts, son,” she said above his howl of pain. “Keep ‘em out of married folks’ business.”
Ben chuckled, and she turned on him.
“The same goes for you, Benjamin. Have an ounce of respect. If not for Rulon, at least for that young wife.”
“Don’t you be a-chastening me with that thing,” Ben protested, putting his arms up for protection. “I’ve taken
a mite too many whacks from it.” The fingers of one hand explored around his head. “Yup, I have lumps aplenty from that ol’ spoon.” He said as an afterthought, “I meant no harm to Mistress Mary.”
Ma waggled the implement in his direction. “You’re not too old to take another lick if you don’t curb your tongue and shackle your unruly thoughts,” she said.
“Rulon don’t mind a bit of rough talk,” Peter said, rubbing his head.
“I mind,” Ma said, her voice firm as she gestured with the spoon. “I mind on my own account, and that of your sisters here, and because I don’t want you growing up rough and godless. The Man Upstairs has put his bounds on loose talk, and I won’t have it around my table, nor amongst my children.”
“Yes, Ma,” Ben said.
Peter muttered something, and Ben gave him a poke.
“Yes, Ma,” Peter blurted out, then turned and cuffed Ben in the arm.
“No fighting at the table,” Ma said. “If you want to wrassle, go out on the porch.”
~~~
Rulon — May 13, 1861
When Rulon surfaced from his indulgent weekend, he became aware that he and Mary were expected to eat meals with the Hilbrands family, particularly the evening meal. In addition, he was expected to wear his finest go-to-meeting clothing for the occasion. When he asked about the seriousness of the request, Mary’s solemn face and raised eyebrows gave him his answer.
“But sweet Mary, I’ve outgrown my good trousers. That’s why I borrowed Pa’s for the wedding.” He grinned in an abashed manner. “I have to get those buttons sewn back on so I can return them to him.”
“I can do that before we dine,” Mary said, picking up her sewing basket.
“Why is your ma so set on having grand suppers, anyway? I’ll be wearing the same clothes I wore on Saturday, my best shirt and Pa’s trousers. She wants the coat, too?” At his wife’s nod, he made a face. “Your folks saw all that at the weddin’. If they want something showy, I reckon I can’t provide it, unless I’m to wear the uniform.”
“I’d rather you didn’t, but I don’t expect this attitude to last for long,” Mary said as she threaded a needle. “Ma will grow fatigued of putting on airs and washing the tablecloth and napkins every week. I don’t rightly know why she thinks she has to make a great show for us, anyway. The truth is, we usually have an oilcloth on the table.”