Curtis, part four

"Smells good."

Leta was standing at the kitchen counter her hands in a small pot, scrubbing two coffee cups as much as she could without soap. The cups had been coated with a film of coffee and particles of food. The water was quite hot, which helped, and avoiding any possibility of a dishcloth in the melee of filth that was the kitchen of her new husband’s house, she reluctantly used her handkerchief. The lace had been crocheted by her daughter Vivian, and she felt quite sentimental toward it. Using the handkerchief and the throbbing in her head had soured her mood.

She turned toward the voice of her husband. They had married the previous afternoon, and celebrated well into the night before returning to his dilapidated house. They were both quite inebriated and immediately collapsed into bed. She awoke first and wanted to surprise her husband with breakfast. But the kitchen was mostly empty of food and hadn’t been cleaned in months, it seemed. However, she found coffee and sugar, and at least, that was all she needed.

Once they dressed, she would have him take her to a café for breakfast and then to the market, so she could purchase some groceries, soap and steel wool.

Curtis was standing in the doorway, fully dressed in raggedy work clothes. His shirt was stained and ripped in several places. More than one button was missing, and she could see a grimy undershirt. His pants had three holes that she could notice, and the hem of one leg was unraveling. Mismatched suspenders held together by safety pins kept his pants from falling, although his belly pushed the pants down.

“Good morning, wife!” he said cheerily.

She smiled. She couldn’t help herself. She adored his round, open face.

“Would you like coffee?” she asked. “It’s ready.”

“Absolutely,” he said. “But first, first, we need to milk the cows.”

Leta nearly dropped the coffee cup.

“What?”

“It’s all right,” he continued, “we only have two. And you need to learn how to do it. From now on, the milking will be your responsibility. Come on, though, it’s late. If you know anything about cows, you know they liked to be milked much earlier in the morning. I’m sure they’re fixing to burst.”

Instead of throwing the cup at her husband, she put it on the stove. A moment later, he was standing behind her, holding her by the elbow and guiding the other hand to put the coffee pot back on the stove.

“It’ll only take a few minutes. After breakfast, I’ll give you the full tour of the place, Mrs. Curtis. I’m sure you’re going to like it. You grew up on a farm, right?

She was clenching her teeth. While she had spent a lot of time on farms, she did not grow up on one, and she needed to make that very clear to her new husband.

To be continued.