Curtis, part thirteen

Leta could not recall the last time she rose so early in the morning. It was pitch black in the house that her husband Curtis brought her to two nights ago. In fact, she wasn’t even sure where she was at first. After all, this was only her second night in her new home, and her first night was somewhat of a blur. They had married, celebrated with dinner and then continued their celebration at the bar of the Stony Ridge Inn until the place closed. She could barely remember falling into bed the first night.

But she did remember waking up to learn that her new husband lived in a dilapidated shack of a house that had not been cleaned in months, at least since his previous wife passed away. She remembered that she spent almost her entire day cleaning, cooking and taking care of livestock. And he vaguely remembered Curtis remarking that milking the cows was now her responsibility. And then she remembered arguing with him at the market, where she compelled him to take her for much needed groceries and a third milking pail. She returned with the groceries, but in the ruckus had forgotten to purchase the pail.

“Leta,” her husband’s voice said sternly, “I’m not going to tell you again.”

“Yes, of course,” Leta said, her throat raspy, “I’m up.”

An hour later, she was in the kitchen with the milk separated and water boiling on the old wood stove. The coffee was perking, and she was scrambling eggs. Her husband sauntered in from the living room.

“Where’s my breakfast?” he asked.

She jumped in surprise. She had thought he was outside with his chickens.

“Curtis,” she gasped, “you startled me. I thought you--”

“I’m hungry.”

“Almost ready,” she answered cheerily.

She had already set the table and gestured for him to sit down.

“What’s on the agenda for the day?” she asked as she poured the egg mixture into the frying pan.

“It’s a farm, Mrs. Curtis,” he answered. “Our agenda is to take care of the animals and our crops.”

“Of course.”

“And I need to take the eggs of the last two days to Rogers.”

“Rogers?”

She poured his coffee.

“He buys my eggs and distributes them.”

“Of course.”

She filled his plate with eggs, then her own, put the frying pan onto the counter and then sat down.

“And we better get a move on,” he concluded. “We have church at ten.”

To be continued.