Curtis, part twenty-nine

Leta had been in a deep sleep, so it took her a few moments to realize that her husband was lifting her nightgown in an attempt to consummate their marriage. For a moment, she started to anticipate the flush of emotion that would come from his affection, but then she remembered where she was and that Curtis had been deceitful to her about the automobile, which he led her to believe was his, but actually belonged to a neighbor. Then he accused her of harboring feelings for the neighbor who had come earlier that day to claim the vehicle. She had no interest in any affection from him.

“Curtis?” she whispered, “What are you doing?”

“Lie still,” he commanded quietly, as he fumbled with himself.

She could feel the weight of his chest against hers as he attempted to balance himself. He was breathing heavily, expelling air into her face that smelled of day-old coffee grounds. She had not opened her eyes, not that it would have mattered. Their bedroom had one small window that left it in nearly total darkness.

“I’m tired,” she said, wriggling to her side.

“You’re my wife,” he stated, as if that was explanation enough for her to engage.

“You’re my husband,” she said, almost mockingly. “Now go to sleep.”

She felt his hand on her shoulder and wondered if he was going to turn her onto her back and proceed with his intention. Was he trying to remind her of their union by this unexpected and uncharacteristic aggressive act? Was he so jealous of her meeting their neighbor that this was the only means he could utilize to exert his claim to her? Or was he trying to prove to himself that he was a valuable husband? He had fathered twelve children with his first wife; he must have some capability at sexual relations.

However, she had no interest in his affection at this time. Her day had been long and filled with work. She had wanted to go into town in the afternoon to make some purchases, telephone her children and simply see and speak to other adults. Spending her several days maintaining a household for fourteen and only speaking to children was wearing on her. Then to learn that the automobile that she had believed belonged to her husband was actually borrowed from a neighbor diminished her husband. That he also believed she was enamored of the older neighbor had driven her directly from the supper table to bed.

While she cared little that her husband was sharing the bed with her, she had no interest in engaging with him in conversation, let alone sexual intimacy.

“Curtis, I’m very tired,” she repeated firmly.

He continued to breathe beside her and finally released her, rolling back to his side of the bed. She relaxed but remained in that position until she could hear the heavy breathing that signified he was asleep. Then she eased herself back to sleep.

But she did not sleep very well. At any moment, her husband might demand that she, as his wife, satisfy his desire, and she was concerned that he might force himself upon her.

She finally rose several minutes before the alarm to begin her day—only her fifth full day of marriage to Curtis.

To be continued.

Curtis, part twenty-eight

Perhaps she had stood in the front yard too long. Perhaps she was too tired to move. Perhaps she had looked to wistfully at the departing automobile as it disappeared down the road. Whatever held her in place for those few minutes, she had not heard her husband come up behind her or realized that he had been watching her. She jumped when he spoke.

“Curtis,” she gasped, holding her hand to her breast, “you startled me.”

Her husband was glaring at her in a way she had not yet experienced.

“I said, what are you looking at?” he repeated, scowling at her with his arms folded.

“That was Mr. Wilcox,” she answered. “He came for his car.”

“And why, pray tell, were you staring after him like that?”

“Curtis,” she said defensively, “I didn’t even know that was his car. I thought it was yours. Do you know how embarrassed I felt when he showed up here like that?”

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Curtis persisted, becoming angrier by the minute.

“What question?” she responded.

“Why you were staring after him like that?”

“Like what?” she answered, incredulously. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You are my wife now, Leta,” he stated firmly. “I won’t have you staring after Wilcox or any other man. If I so much as catch you looking in the direction of his house, there will be hell to pay. Do you understand me?”

Leta was flabbergasted. She simply stood where she was and stared at her suddenly ferocious husband. Somehow he had grown in stature over the past several minutes and seemed to her to be like a rabid animal ready to pounce.

“Curtis,” she stammered, “I assure you that I have no interest—“

“Enough said,” he interrupted. “Now get back in the house.”

He glared at her as she made her way back into the house, and although she felt no amours or any other kind of feelings for Mr. Wilcox, for a fleeting moment, she considered how life might be more pleasant with their neighbor than her glowering and threatening husband.

As she, the girl and the two little ones harvested more vegetables from the neglected garden, she realized that in the turmoil over Mr. Wilcox, she had been unable to question her husband about the automobile. If the vehicle did not belong to them, then all they had to transport themselves to the market or anywhere else was a rusted truck that spewed smoke every time it started, idled and was turned off.

However, she barely saw her husband over the rest of the day. Late in the afternoon, three of the boys brought her seven squirrel carcasses that she was to prepare for supper, and with the girl’s help, she cleaned and prepared them. Individually, the creatures did not hold enough meat on their bones to justify serving each one separately, so she breaded them, browned them, and then stewed them with onions, carrots and black pepper.

As far as she was concerned, she could not use enough pepper to drown the unpleasant taste of the animal. Throughout the meal, Curtis continued to express his displeasure at her imagined indiscretion, and she was far from hungry. She had one piece of bread and butter. After the meal, she gave the children strict instructions to clear the table and wash the dishes, and then dragged her exhausted body up the stairs and into bed.

Later that night, Curtis arrived and crawled on top of her.

To be continued.

Curtis, part twenty-seven

"Ma'am?"

The voice startled Leta awake. She had only intended to sit at the kitchen table momentarily, before assessing the cleaning needs of the living room. Over the four days she had been living with her new husband Curtis and his 12 children, she had yet to devise a plan of attack on this obviously little-used and filthy room. Even she, who liked to relax with a beer and some sewing in the evening, had not had time to do so since her arrival. The other needs of the household took precedence. And by eight in the evening, she was too exhausted from the unrelenting labors of the day to sit. Instead, she collapsed into bed.

“Ma’am?” Curtis’s oldest girl said again.

“Yes, my darling?” Leta responded, standing slowly. Her body felt stiff and her arm and shoulder ached from resting her head on them.

“Mr. Wilcox is at the door,” he girl answered.

“Who?”

“Mr. Wilcox,” she repeated. “That’s the man that lives down the road a bit. He’s here for his car.”

“His car?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The girl lacked guile and deviousness, so Leta was very confused.

Mr. Wilcox was standing on the front porch. He was an older gentleman dressed in rough cotton trousers with suspenders to hold them up and a faded flannel shirt. He had obviously been spending his morning working on his own farm, for his face was smudged and his clothing dirty. He wore a large straw hat over what Leta presumed was a round bald head. He was neither fat nor skinny, but his face was blotched with red spots, and his cheeks were puffed.

“Mr. Wilcox?” she said gently.

“Ma’am,” he responded politely.

“Hello,” Leta continued as she exited the front door with the girl remaining in the doorway.

“I apologize for intruding, but I come for my auto car.”

“Yes, that’s what I heard,” Leta said.

“Curtis borried it on Friday and told me he would be bringing it back this morning,” Mr. Wilcox explained. “I wouldn’t ordinarily be so demanding, but I have need for it myself.”

“I’m afraid my husband isn’t here,” Leta shared, giving the girl a quick glance to affirm her contention. “He’s out in the fields working.”

“But, if you’ll pardon my insistence, ma’am, my automobile is right there.”

Mr. Wilcox gestured to the vehicle parked in the dirt driveway on the side of the house, the very same automobile that Curtis had been using to transport the two of them since she had first ridden in one with him.

“Pardon me?” Leta questioned. She was simply stunned, and needed a moment to collect herself.

“I’d like to take it, if you don’t mind.”

Mr. Wilcox was so polite and kind that Leta could do offer no protest, and in spite of her instinct to lay claim to the vehicle, if only to secure her own dignity, she assented.

“Yes, of course,” she agreed. “But I don’t know where Mr. Curtis keeps the key.”

“Papa always leaves the keys in the ignition,” the girl said helpfully.

“Oh yes, then let’s see for ourselves,” Leta stammered.

Mr. Wilcox stepped aside to let her pass, and followed her through the still wet lawn, dodging a few puddles remaining from the heavy rains of the prior day, to the automobile itself. Sure enough, when Leta looked opened the door of the vehicle, she saw the keys in the ignition.

“The girl was right,” she noted. “The key’s right there.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mr. Wilcox agreed.

He was standing close, and she could smell the combination of fresh soap and hard work on him.

There was a long pause. Leta’s entire body was in turmoil. She felt deceived and betrayed yet again by her new husband. Throughout their relationship and into their marriage, she had believed that this automobile was his. To learn that he had been deceiving her the entire time weakened her feelings for him and assaulted her own judgment, not only of him, but also of, at least momentarily, everything. Nonetheless, if the automobile was his, then he had every right to claim it.

“Very well, then, Mr...,” she began.

“…Wilcox....” he interjected.

“…Wilcox,” she finished, “if the automobile is yours and you have need of it, then by all means, you must take it.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Curtis,” he said graciously, seeming to understand her distress by the entire situation.”

He offered his hand for her to shake, and she took it. After shaking it, he got into the car.

“Have a good day,” he wished, as he started it up.

“Thank you,” she said. “You, too.”

As he drove away, she felt as though she was watching hope leave her forever. She followed the vehicle with her eyes as it disappeared down the road and then stood for a few more minutes too fatigued to move.

“What are you looking at?”

To be continued.