The Turning

by Linda Watkins

  “I … I don’t know.”

  Imelda laughed. “You’ll know when the time comes. Now, come here.”

  She was rummaging around in her cupboard looking for something and I walked over and stood in front of her, waiting. She pulled out a jar, swiftly opened it, and dipped her fingers inside before turning to look at me. She stared at me for a moment, then delicately brushed her fingertips over my upper lip. I was startled by this gesture and began to move away but she commanded me to stay.

  “Don’t move,” she admonished.

  She again daubed at my lips with her fingers, then stood back, apparently assessing her handiwork.

  “There,” she finally said, smiling. “You have a beautiful mouth – lips full and plump. But they are naturally pale. Go, look in the glass and see what I have done.”

  Puzzled, I looked into the mirror, my jaw dropping at what I saw. My lips were now stained a bright pink, as if I had been eating berries, and looked much more prominent than they normally did.

  “But it’s a sin,” I cried, “to adorn myself so.”

  “Not a sin for you. You didn’t do it. I did. So, it’s my sin. Now, pinch your cheeks to put roses in them. Once that boy gets a look at your lips, he will kiss them for sure!”

  I did as she instructed, secretly pleased with my reflection in the glass. I looked pretty – prettier than I’d ever looked before.

  “Now go on. It’s almost two. Meet your young man. And don’t be so nervous you forget to enjoy yourself. After all, you’re a girl and he’s a boy. What could be more natural?”

  Despite Imelda’s admonition, I was anything but calm when I approached the wharf area. The fish monger’s stall was prominently located and, as I approached, I could see Micah was already there, talking and laughing with the owner. Not sure what to do, I stood behind a pillar, out of sight, watching him. He seemed so natural, so relaxed, while I was wound as tight as a tick.

  Finally, gathering my courage, I stepped out into full view. Micah was leaning forward, still talking, but turned in my direction, seeming to sense my presence. When he recognized me, he smiled.

  “I have to go now,” he said to the monger. “But I’ll be back for some of that cod.”

  The monger nodded and turned to help another customer.

  “Maude,” Micah said, as he approached. “I feared you would not come. Shall we walk?”

  I smiled at him and nodded.

  “Good,” he said “Let’s get away from this busy place.”

  As we walked, he talked and I listened. He surprised me with the depth of his knowledge about the Colony. I had thought, vainly, that because I was a Puritan, that I would be his superior intellectually. Alas, I was sadly mistaken. Micah was much more literate than I and he conversed easily on any manner of topic.

  “So, Miss Maude,” he said. “Tell me about your church. I am sure that being with a heretic like me would be frowned upon by your pastor.”

  I blushed. He was right. Being with him, however innocent it was, would constitute a sin and, if I were found out, I would be sorely punished.

  “You’re right,” I finally said. “My church has no tolerance for those whose beliefs are different.”

  Micah grinned. “Isn’t that rather ironic? Didn’t your people come to this new land seeking religious freedom?”

  “Yes, that’s true, and you would think, therefore, that our faith would be accepting and tolerant of others who seek the same freedom.”

  “Is that not hypocrisy at its worst?” he asked.

  I sighed. “Yes. It is true that those who practice or proselytize a different version of Christianity or are of a non-Christian faith, like you, may face persecution. But that’s my church, not me.”

  He nodded, reached down, and took my hand in his. “Don’t look so worried. I know. Come, let’s walk by the water.”

  We were now away from the crowded wharf, alone by the sea. The warmth of his hand in mine sent shivers up my spine and, for a moment, I thought I might faint. Such was the power this boy seemed to wield over me.

  We strolled, hand in hand, along the water’s edge, I, of course, being careful not to let my shoes or dress get wet. Micah, however, seemed not to care and finally stopped, bent over, and removed his shoes and socks.

  “I’m going wading,” he said. “Want to join me?”

  I blushed. I could not remove my shoes or, more importantly, my stockings. To do so would be highly immodest.

  I shook my head.

  “Okay,” he said, laughing. “You stay on dry land then.”

  He walked me over to a large rock and bade me take as seat. Then, he ran into the water, splashing at me as he went.

  I jumped back. “Please,” I said. “I cannot get my dress stained with salt water. I would be questioned.”

  He turned to face me, his expression, for once, serious. “And, that questioning would result in punishment? Am I correct?”

  I nodded, tears in my eyes.

  Without another word, he stepped from the ocean back to the beach, put on his shoes, and stood close to me.

  “Please accept my apologies. I would not hurt you for the world, Maude,” he whispered as he once again took my hand.

  We walked in silence for a while and I was content just to be in his company. At one point, he stopped, leaned over, and picked up something from the sand at his feet.

  “Look, Maude,” he said. “See what I have found.”

  He held out his hand, and in his palm sat a piece of glass, its edges smoothed by the sea. The glass was the color of the sky and glistened in the afternoon sunshine.

  “It’s beautiful, Micah,” I said.

  “Here, take it,” he laughed. “It’s for you. And, yes, it is lovely, but it’s nowhere near as beautiful as you are.”

  As he spoke, he stepped closer to me and, pressing the sea glass to my palm, reached up and cupped my chin, raising my face to his.

  Then, he kissed me.

  His lips were soft on mine and, as I savored the sensation, I felt my knees go weak and was sure I would have fallen had he not placed his strong hands upon my waist, holding me to him.

  The kiss did not last long, but it was long enough. Then, he hugged me close and, taking my hand, we began to walk up the beach.

  “I am afraid, my Maude, that if that sun edging toward the horizon is correct, it is time to go.”

  I nodded, feeling suddenly sad.

  He stopped and turned to me, once again, gazing deeply into my eyes.

  “Will you meet me again next week, my Maude?” he asked softly.

  “Yes,” I answered without hesitation. “I’ll meet you, my Micah.”

  Grinning, he draped his arm over my shoulder and together we headed back. Not as crowded as before, the wharf was still full of people and, as we drew closer, Micah dropped his arm from my shoulder and tucked his hands in his pants’ pockets.

  When we neared the fish monger’s stall, he stopped. “I will take my leave of you here, my Maude. You can get home safely?”

  “Yes,” I answered. “I know the way.”

  “Good. Until next week, then. If the weather proves fine, I will bring a picnic.”

  I smiled happily. I wanted nothing more than to throw my arms around his neck and press my lips to his once again, but I knew that would be improper, so I just grinned and nodded.

  “I would like that,” I said.

  He grinned back and nodded several times, then turned and began to walk away. He looked over his shoulder once and smiled, but then he was gone, merging with the crowd, out of my sight.

  I hugged myself and then looked down at the pretty little shard of glass I still held in my hand. I would cherish it forever.

  Falling in Love

  WE MET EVERY Thursday after that. Sometimes we had a picnic in the woods or flew kites. But always, we found time to kiss. At first, our kisses were chaste, nothing more than lips pressed together. But as we grew closer, they gained in intensity and I found myself lo
nging desperately for something more.

  It was about a month after we began seeing each other when Imelda started to question me about him. At first, she asked the usual things: What did we talk about? What were his plans for the future? But after I was relaxed and prattling away about him, she shifted her focus.

  “And, what do you feel when you are with him, little dove?” she asked.

  “Happy,” I said. “Just happy.”

  “Yes, that is no surprise. But what do you feel?”

  I looked at her, confused. “I told you, happy.”

  She pursed her lips together and took a deep breath.

  “I mean physically,” she said. “What do you feel when he touches you, kisses you? How does your body respond?”

  I blushed. This questioning was highly improper.

  She squeezed my hands, reassuringly. “I’m not prying. I’m only trying to help. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. Whatever you tell me will remain between you and me.”

  I bit my bottom lip, thinking. What could be the harm in telling her? Finally, I nodded.

  “When he kisses me or we’re close together, I feel funny,” I stammered. “… different, somehow. Like my nerves are on edge, and … and … also my body feels sort of tingly.”

  Imelda nodded. “Where do you feel this tingling sensation?”

  “All over, but mostly…” I glanced down toward my abdomen, unable to speak.

  She again nodded, then dropped my hands and rose from the bench, walking over to a cabinet that was always kept locked. Using a key from the pocket of her skirt, she opened it, removing a jar filled with a blue powder. She carried this jar over to where I sat and placed it on the bench in front of me.

  “Maude,” she said, her face serious. “Do you know how babies are made?”

  The question startled me. Why was she asking me this?

  “Answer me, girl. Do you know?”

  “Of course, I do,” I replied rather indignantly. “Everyone knows that.”

  “Then, tell me.”

  I took a deep breath. “Babies are made when a man and woman lie in the marriage bed.”

  “And?”

  “And what?” I replied. “Babies are made in the marriage bed. There is no more.”

  “Oh, little dove,” she said softly. “Babies can be made anywhere. Sometimes, yes, in the marriage bed, but also in a meadow or a back alley. It is not the bed that makes the baby. It is the joining.”

  “The joining?”

  “Yes. You have little brothers, don’t you?”

  I nodded.

  “And you have bathed them, cared for them?”

  “Yes, that is my duty.”

  “So, you know the difference between a man and a woman, right?”

  I looked at her, puzzled. “I think so.”

  “Now, don’t act stupid,” she replied. “Your brothers – they are built different, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Good. They have appendages that some call ‘pricks’ between their legs. Women don’t have these. Instead, we have caves. Am I right?”

  Again, I blushed. “Yes, but I don’t see….”

  “Don’t talk, just listen. When a man sees a woman he likes or desires, his prick stiffens, becomes hard and stands at attention like good little soldier. And a woman’s cave gets wet and tingly, like yours does when you are kissing this boy.”

  I started to object, but again she shushed me. “Just listen, girl. This is for your own good. All right, when a man and woman lie together and desire each other, the man puts his prick into her cave and leaves his seed. If the seed takes hold, a baby will be made. Without that joining, there can be no child, marriage bed or not! You understand?”

  I thought about this and, while on one hand it seemed impossible, wasn’t what she was describing similar to the way dogs and livestock mated? Did people do the same?

  “Are you wrapping your mind around this, Maudie?” she asked.

  I nodded. “Yes, missus.”

  “Good. Now, what are you going to do if Micah tries this on you?”

  “I’ll not let him!” I cried.

  Imelda looked at me sternly. “You say that now, but remember that tingly feeling you got when all he did was kiss you? What do you think you’ll feel when he puts his hands on your bosoms or nibbles at your neck? Mark my words, girl, you’ll spread your legs for him. Men and women are meant to join. It’s the way of things.”

  “No, that will not happen.”

  She pursed her lips, then took me by the arm.

  “Come here. Let’s try an experiment,” she said. “Stand.”

  Not knowing what else to do, I followed her instructions.

  “Good. Now, close your eyes and do not open them until I say so.”

  I hesitated a moment, then, curious, did as she bade me.

  “Think about this boy – this Micah. Picture him in your mind.”

  I nodded, seeing Micah with my mind’s eye.

  “Do you see him?”

  “Yes, missus,” I whispered.

  “Good,” she said.

  We stood motionless for a moment, then she began to speak. Her tone was soft at first, but as she said the words her voice gained timbre:

  In thy name I beg thy aid

  That with it may this spell be made

  This union ever to remain

  Two separate links to form a chain…

  I had never heard her speak like this before and, as she repeated the words over and over, I began to feel dizzy and was afraid I might swoon. But, as she finished the final verse, Micah’s face shone before me and I steadied. I was ready for whatever was to come next.

  A hand touched my cheek, fingers trailing down to my lips. I started to speak, but she silenced me.

  “Shhh,” she crooned. “Think of the boy. Only the boy.”

  Picturing Micah again, I let her fingers trail across my lips and down my neck. As she continued to caress me, I began to feel my body stir with an emotion that came from deep within.

  “Don’t,” I whispered halfheartedly, wanting her to stop and go on at the same time.

  “Hush,” she sighed. “Keep thinking of Micah. I am him. My fingers are his. My lips are his.”

  As she spoke, in my mind’s eye, I again saw only Micah. I saw him lean forward and felt him kiss me full on the mouth, his tongue probing between my lips. At the same time, his hand slid from my neck, over my shoulder, brushing the side of my breast.

  I gasped.

  “No,” I moaned as the specter that, in my mind, was Micah, now moved his hand down past my waist.

  My breath quickened and I ceased my mental struggle about right, wrong, and sin, and, instead, surrendered myself to desire.

  Then, abruptly, his hand was gone.

  “Open your eyes,” Imelda commanded. “See how easy that was? And, if I’d been the boy, my prick would be inside you already.”

  My legs, feeling like jelly, began to collapse from under me and she grabbed me around the waist and guided me back to the bench.

  “But, I tried to say ‘no,’” I protested.

  She laughed. “Your ‘no’ was weak. You didn’t mean it. And, if I’d been the boy, I would have ignored you – your body was telling a much more persuasive story than your words ever could.”

  I stared down at my hands, knowing she was right. I had never been touched like that before and was shocked by my response.

  “Why do you think your parents and your church keep boys and girls apart as long as they do? It’s because they know the power of carnal desire – of the joining of a man and a woman. They have told you that such desire is a sin and preach that the only reason for the joining is to produce babes. But they are wrong. Desire in itself is no sin. And neither is sating that desire. That is, as long as you know how to take care of yourself.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  She smiled and patted the jar of blue powder. “Don’t be ashamed, Maudie. You are no diff
erent than any woman. God made us to mate with man. But, should you succumb, there are ways to prevent a child from quickening in your belly. You can enjoy your boy and the pleasure he gives without experiencing its natural consequence. This powder is powerful and can stop a baby before it starts.”

  “But isn’t that murder? What of the child’s soul?”

  “The child is but a seed and like any seed, needs to be planted. It has no soul. The blue powder stops the seed from planting and, thus, it never germinates. It will never become a child. And, seriously,” she laughed. “How can you murder a seed?”

  She sat down beside me then and began to instruct in the powder’s use. A teaspoon, dissolved in hot tea, taken as soon as possible after the joining. And, that was it. No child.

  She opened the jar and measured out doses and packaged them neatly. Then she handed the packets to me.

  “Take these, Maude. Keep them safe. Perhaps you will never have need of them. But I think you will. Enjoy your boy. Life is hard for women in this world and we must take our pleasure where we find it.”

  I gazed down at the packets and thought about what she was offering. I could have pleasure and pay no price. But wouldn’t that be a sin? Would I be condemned to eternal damnation and hellfire? I pondered this, thinking about my parents and my church. But then Micah’s face flashed across my mind and I knew what I would do. After all, as far as sins were concerned, wasn’t it time I stopped counting?

  But what about how Imelda had made me feel?

  When she’d touched me, I thought with all my heart that it was Micah’s hand and Micah’s lips. Had she bewitched me in some way? I thought about the incantation she’d repeated and the way my mind had yielded to her suggestion.

  Was she a witch?

  This thought sent shivers down my spine. It could not be. I had known her for a long time and never had this thought crossed my mind before. However, I remembered the day I’d first met her and, picturing her, realized that even though several years had passed, she remained the same. Never aging. Was this possible?

  These thoughts troubled me, but I paid them no heed. I needed her to be on my side – to be my champion. For without her aid, I feared I would lose my Micah, and that was something I was not willing to even imagine or abide.