Curtis, part thirty-three

Leta's husband Curtis and his eldest son stood simultaneously and glared at her, their arms crossed the exact same way, their chests pushed out and their backs arched in unison. They were of similar height and shared the same build and apparel—cotton work shirts, suspenders and dungarees, everything worn and dusty. And they both wore frayed mountain straw hats with wide brims.

She stepped back instinctively.

All she had done was invite her husband to get a beer with her. In her estimation, it was a fair and innocent request. After all, throughout their courtship, she and Curtis enjoyed a beer or cocktail, and he even told her that beer was his preferred beverage. But apparently, by her husband’s disapproving glare, she had said something incorrectly. Or perhaps she should not have mentioned in front of the boy that his father imbibed. The boy was nearly a grown man himself, older than she was when she married her first husband. He could not have been so naive about alcohol.

After a few moments of silence, she opened her arms engagingly, shrugging her shoulders and raising her eyebrows simultaneously.

The boy looked at his father, turned, and then sauntered away to leave the married couple alone. After the boy was out of earshot, Leta and Curtis turned toward each other, but still Curtis said nothing.

Finally, Leta spoke. She had no interest in these sorts of challenges, and frankly, she still wasn’t positive she understood why Curtis was acting so alarmed or startled or however he was behaving. After dozens of years of relationships with brother, father, cousins, husbands, boyfriends, lovers and friends, Leta refused to be humbled or unsettled by any disrespectful treatment.

“Curtis,” she said.

“Be quiet,” he hissed, and she saw his body tense again.

She gave him a few moments to continue, but all he did was scowl at her.

“Don’t you think—“ she began, but he interrupted her, unleashing his full fury.

“—Let me be very clear about this, Mrs. Curtis,” he snarled. “There has never been nor will there ever be any partaking of demon drink in this household.”

“But, Curtis—“

“—Don’t interrupt me when I’m talking, woman!” he ordered viciously. “I am the master of this house, and I have spoken. No devil’s brew of any kind, not here on the premises, not while we’re out.”

“Curtis,” she said, gritting her teeth, “it was you yourself that told me you liked beer, and didn’t we have a lovely time at the Stony Ridge Inn last week?”

“We’ll speak of that no more. You’re a married woman. You live in a Christian house. You have children to raise. A bar is no place for you. End of discussion.”

Then he turned away from, heading toward the barn.

“At least drive me to town so I can telephone my daughter,” Leta said, following after him.

He turned so quickly that Leta jumped back self-protectively.

“This is your life now,” he said, then just as abruptly turned back toward the barn and walked away.

To be continued.

Curtis, part thirty-two

It was Friday evening, and Leta wanted a beer. After a long, tumultuous week, the day had proceeded smoothly. The children were on their best behavior and completed their chores without incessant prompting. Their supper of chicken and dumplings followed by pie had been a success. The day itself had been neither too warm nor too cool. She had finally, after a week of diligent activity, cleaned and organized the kitchen to her liking. Even her husband Curtis seemed relaxed. This had been a feat since they had not spoken to each other since the previous morning when she caught him going through her personal belongings in a search for five dollars to repay the milkman for some debt he never explained to her. He was furious that she would not give him the five dollars nor tell him where she kept her own hard-earned money, cash she brought into their new marriage.

However, his mood changed quickly that afternoon when he learned that the price of eggs rose one penny per dozen. The chickens had been laying well, so it was a welcome sales increase. Not only that, but he had secured better employment for his oldest son. The new job featured higher pay that would provide needed income to expand the number of chickens on the farm. Curtis had just finished building a large shed for them. As his farm mostly consisted of laying hens, this new shed would house chickens for slaughter, and he was eagerly waiting for the eggs he was incubating to hatch.

Curtis was sitting with his oldest two boys on the back stoop as the sun set, a flaming ball of red amidst a smattering of pink and purple stratus clouds. Leta walked onto the stoop, wiping her hands on her apron.

“That’s beautiful,” she said, referring to the sunset.

‘Mmm hmm,” Curtis agreed.

He didn’t open his mouth, but she knew he had barely said a word for the last twenty minutes. That he acknowledged her positively gave her opportunity to continue to speak.

“Red sun means it’s going to be a good day tomorrow,” she continued.

“Yes, ma’am,” the oldest boy said.

“And the air is just as sweet as any evening could be,” she said.

They all took deep breaths at her suggestion.

“Yep,” Curtis agreed.

“It sure would be nice to have a nice cold beer on an evening like this, wouldn’t it, Curtis?” she continued in the same vein.

Leta had been craving a drink for several days, and greatly regretted that she did not buy at least a fifth of bourbon to bring home on their wedding night. Although her aggressive drinking days were past her, she still enjoyed imbibing on a cocktail or beer with or after her evening meal. Unless he had a hidden stash, Curtis had not had a drink for several days either, and as they regularly had cocktails while they were becoming acquainted—and she knew he enjoyed beer—he must be just as parched as she was.

“I can almost taste it,” she added, smacking her lips.

To be continued.

Curtis, part thirty-one

Curtis was still kneeling at her open suitcase. Once it had been well-packed and neat, but after he spent time rummaging for cash, it was now in disarray. When Leta found her new husband going through her personal belongings, she felt startled and a little violated. But he told her he needed five dollars, and he knew she had money somewhere. He only found three dollars in per pocketbook.

She could not tell whether he was embarrassed by his need or at being caught, or just surly that she would withhold money from him and question him when he wanted it. However, it made no difference to her what his reasons were; she was furious by his disrespectful behavior, and nearly confronted him right then and there. However, the man Curtis owed the money to—the milkman—was waiting in the front of the house, and she did not want to add further insult to that man by denying him the money owed.

“Fine,” she said, her lips pulled tightly together. “Please leave the room, and I will get the five dollars.

“Why don’t you just hand over all of it to me,” Curtis said. “Then I can take care of it. I don’t like you keeping money hidden from me. It’s dishonest.”

“Dishonest?” Leta gasped, finally losing her temper. “You’re the one I found going through my things! I worked for that money. I worked hard for it, and I’m not just going to give it to you.”

“You are my wife!” he shouted. “Everything you had now belongs to me. Now, turn it over.”

“I am not giving you my money!” Leta responded in kind.

“Your money is my money now, woman,” he continued. “Now give it to me before I tear this room apart to find it for myself!”

With this he picked up her open suitcase and hurled it against the wall.

“Go ahead and tear the room apart. See if I care,” she hissed. “You’re still not going to find it.”

With that, she turned around and left the room.

“Get back here,” he ordered. “Mrs. Curtis!”

She stormed down the stairs, out the front door and past the milkman who was standing near the porch where he had overheard their entire conversation, and then proceeded down the street.

If her husband was following her, then he must have stopped when he met the milkman, for she did not hear him after proceeding a quarter of a mile down the road. Her fury and her energy had abated, and she needed to sit down. A short distance away was a grove of trees where someone had been chopping wood, so she made her way there, found a large log, dropped onto it and began to sob.

To be continued.

Curtis, part thirty

"What are you doing?" Leta demanded.

Late Thursday morning, after several hours of milking cows, feeding 12 children and chickens, gathering eggs, churning butter and making berry jam, Leta had stolen up the stairs to her bedroom for a quick nap. Her oldest stepdaughter could watch the baking bread.

Wednesday had been a long, exhausting and distressing day. It seemed that every day she was married to Curtis was a long and exhausting day. Such was the life on a farm of any kind, and Curtis owned a chicken farm. Such was the life of a parent, and Curtis brought 12 children to their marriage, all of whom still lived in the dilapidated farmhouse with them. Such was her life now that she was married to the man. But the previous day had distressed her deeply. Not only was she prevented from traveling to the nearby town for some shopping and to be in the company of other adults, but she also learned that her husband had deceived her about the automobile that he was driving. Although she had seen him drive it and rode in it while they became acquainted—for several months—the vehicle was not his. Early in the afternoon, a neighbor appeared at the house to claim the car as his own, and that’s when Leta learned of her husband’s deceit.

The neighbor Mr. Wilcox, an older widower, seemed equally surprised that she had not known, and perhaps it was this shared awkwardness that her husband interpreted as some sort of attraction. Rather than responding to Leta’s concern at his misleading her about the car, he became glaringly jealous. Curtis ordered her to avoid even looking in the direction of Wilcox’s farm. Although his property was beside their own, the house and barn were nearly a mile away and separated by a grove of trees. She could not see the house, let alone any person, whether Mr. Wilcox or someone else, walking about the yard. Further, she was completely disinterested in Mr. Wilcox, particularly after their uncomfortable meeting. She would have preferred never to see the man again.

Nonetheless, Curtis glared at her and barely spoke the rest of the day. By suppertime, all she wanted to do was go to bed, and so she did. Shortly after she had fallen asleep, Curtis made his first sexual claim of her. As it was an act of possession and not one of desire or even interest, she would not accept his overtures. He became angry, and for a few moments, she wondered if he would force her to participate. But after a few more tense moments, he left her alone and promptly fell asleep. Working all day on the farm tired him as well.

Now it was Thursday morning, and she had barely spoken to her husband at all. As he was a basically quiet man, this was not surprising, but their interactions the previous day made him somewhat sullen. This gave her too much time to consider if this current state was going to be the permanent one between them, and whether she would prefer it that way. They had been married for less than a week, and rather than grow closer together, they seemed to be drifting apart.

Now upon entering their bedroom, she found him going through one of her still unpacked suitcases and asked him what he was doing. When she spoke, he jerked slightly and then turned toward her.

“I need five dollars,” he said.

“What?” she questioned.

“I need five dollars,” he repeated.

“What on earth for?” she asked.

“I figured you kept money in one of these bags,” he continued. “You only had three dollars in your pocketbook.”

“You went through my pocketbook?” she repeated.

“I need five dollars!” he insisted. He pushed the bag away and stood. Although he was not a tall man, Curtis was larger than she, so this move gave him stature and perhaps made him feel less vulnerable and guilty by his inappropriate behavior.

“For what?” she asked.

“For the milk man,” he answered.

This confused her.

“Why do you owe money to the milk man?”

He started to answer, but realizing that she was still holding the dominant side of the conversation, quickly altered his tactic.

“Just give me five dollars, Mrs. Curtis,” he demanded. “The fella’s waiting out front.”

Although she had been through a number of difficult situations and unpleasant feelings over the week, for the first time, she felt violated. This was a complete breach of trust to her. He could have asked. He could have been direct about his financial needs. He could have been honest and clear about everything. Instead, he used his quiet demeanor to conceal, obfuscate and sometimes even downright lie.

Leta had been lied to in marriage previously, and she would not stand for it again.

To be continued.