"You know you can't go in."
She stared up at the sign that clearly said "Drugs." She was lucky to have a liberal mother who allowed her to read and write. She looked to the left and right noting this horse drawn carriage or that lone horserider and ignored the humidity sticking to her cowl. She looked up, brushing some of her luscious blonde hair past her bonnet.
Oh the sun was so warm that day. She could see the sun blinding her, hardly a cloud in that darn sky. When she looked back at the drugstore, she could see many people going in and out, sometimes women. She was convinced she could go in there. But her husband said no. And when a husband says no, that means no.
"I still could, Dave…" she softly said.
"No." He firmly said. "I'll get the Laudanum. Besides, you don't really need it. You just like how it makes you feel."
"Of course I don't!" she exclaimed. Then, she lowered her voice, checking to see if others heard her. "I just need it from time to time, when my belly hurts."
"Your belly hurts," Dave arrogantly began, "because you can't hold a baby."
"It's…!" she lowered her voice once again, "It's not my fault."
"Yes, it is." He insisted. "And you will learn. Now, I'll go in there and get you a bottle of Laudanum. And I don't want to see that bottle empty over the next few days."
"It won't be, Dave." She insisted.
"Quinn. Quinn, Quinn, Quinn." He condescendingly began. "You very well you will and you know it. I know you're just a woman and you're not very bright. But you have to know you will do this. Now, I will check it for you darlin' and you will obey me. Are we clear?"
She didn't respond. Dave turned his face into a scowl.
"Are we clear?"
"Y-yes. Yes, dear." Quinn responded. "Y-yes."
"Good. The last thing I want to do is to put a shiner on your eye to remind you. I know you're just a woman and all, but you have to do this. You must do this. Do you understand?"
Quinn let her eyes drift off towards a President Harrison banister and looked back at him. "I know, husband. I know."
"Good." He said with a smile. "Good, girl. I'll get the Laudanum. You wait here. You better be here when I get back." And then, he grabbed her arm and glowered at her. "You better."
"Yes, husband."
He left. She watched his bulky form walk towards the drugstore, saunter up the stairs, and enter the swinging doors of the building. She finally felt like she could breathe, now that his oppressive form wasn't there. Quinn looked around her.
Little boys were gathering horse droppings and girls were putting flowers in their hair. Saloons were just then opening and the local sheriff tipped his hat to her. She half-smiled back and watched him walk by, wondering if he could help her out of her situation.
He couldn't, of course. This was 1892. There was no way he would risk interfering in the sanctity of marriage, something only God could put asunder. Or presumably so. Nevertheless, she watched him walk by, noting how confident and kind he appeared. She barely noticed that his badge announced his name as Artie Abrams.
Quinn shifted her bonnet and looked north. The church at the far end of the street clanged bells that it was noon and many seemed unaffected by it. When you live in tiny Lima, Ohio for this long, you get used to such things like this. But that's when she noticed other couples walking by.
A Negro couple was in her field of vision first. They were certainly poor, with their torn clothing and worn hands. But there was a pride there that seemed so secure, so proud that she had no means of understanding. Another couple were a bit elderly, probably in their forties, and there were only ten teeth between them. But they were smiling at each other and Quinn so, so envied them so much. It was painful and she tore her eyes away.
That's when she noticed the church sexton. He was a bit wiry for his age but he still seemed healthy. His brown hair hung below his ears, but his height drew him to her. She watched him try to pull the church bells once again and noticed he struggled now and then. His goofy form and innocence appealed to her and she continued to watch him. She couldn't take her eyes off him. Around her, she heard others laughing at him, but she could hardly do that. He seemed so wonderful to her that she wondered what a life with him could be like. One of the townspeople said his name was Finn but she didn't care. She found he was kind.
"Let's go!"
She jumped at the sudden presence of her husband, Dave. He glared.
"Oh, come on!" He whined. "Why do you have to be so stupid? Why do you have to be so…YOU?!" He threw his hands up in the air and stormed off towards their carriage. She didn't move and looked down.
"COME ON!"
She almost glanced back at the sexton but instead, followed her husband to their carriage. Her lower belly hurt once again.
She hadn't felt the pain since her husband left her for the drugstore.
.
There's something comforting about countryside. The soft, rolling hills, the reliable farmland, the church spires that dot the land. The annoying insects, the summer sun, the way people wave when you ride by. Dave and Quinn rolled on the country roads, on what would once become state route 81, once Ohio finally decided to confirm state roads. Nevertheless, they strolled in their horsedrawn carriage, the Laudanum that Quinn desperately needed in Dave's pocket, and the horses gasping for water. Instead, Dave just smacked them harder with the whip to keep them in line. Quinn turned her attention to her right.
That's when she saw a murder of crows. Crows have long been a burden for crops and even livestock, but even life deserves to live. She watched their black bodies hoping to eat and live and thrive. As they rode by, Quinn could see a chick was struggling to collect a few worms from her momma. She instantly felt sorry for it.
Dave suddenly pulled the wagon to a stop and locked it, hoisting the reins to the side. He pulled his rifle forward. Quinn was shocked when she saw him aim it at the crows!
"Darn crows." He muttered. He aimed his gun and she could see the baby crow all alone in its nest. "Die…"
He fired.
She waved a finger.
The bullet wildly missed and the crows took off.
"Damn!" Dave yelled.
"Dave! Language!" Quinn mussed.
"Ohhhhh! I had it in my sights!"
"Well, your sights aren't that good. Let's get home."
He growled and once again said she was stupid. But eventually he pulled the reins and brake and they went on their merry way. Quinn hid her smile.
.
"Why did you burn this bread? Do you know how hard I work here?! What the devil is wrong with you, woman? Don't you know I need to eat to make us happy?"
"Sorry, Dave."
"Oh, just stop being stupid! Just stop being a stupid woman! Why can't you just do what you're told! You're just a stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid WOMAN!"
Dave slammed his bread on the plate and heavily sighed. But Quinn looked down. She stared at the hem of her long dress, noting that a string was loose and she'd have to repair that. The fire in the fireplace needed poking but she couldn't move. Her husband was talking to her.
"And this cider!" Dave roared. "It's BITTER! What the hell is the matter with you? Have you got some devil in you?! Do you know what I require out of you?" He menacingly leaned towards her and she fought back tears. "This is what you do, woman. You cook. And you cook well! You sew. And you sew well! And you maintain this house to MY standards and IF you can't do that, well you CAN'T DO ANYTHING! YOU STUPID BITCH!"
Quinn's chin was now to her chest. Fire softly crackled, a tear fell down her face and she glanced at the bread on his plate. She noticed that there was a tiny burn mark on the corner and looked totally edible. But she didn't dare say anything. Instead, she let the silence speak for her until Dave bolted upright.
"I'm going to the barn." Dave nastily said. "And when I get back, I want a proper meal for a proper Christian!" And then, he slammed his hands on the table, making her jolt in fear. "If it's not…well…" he evilly smiled at her, "there will be hell to pay…"
She continued to stare at the bread on his plate. It wiggled a little but she held it back.
"I-I-I will, husband."
"YOU BETTER!"
"I…" she swallowed, "I will."
"Good! Now, get to it!"
And with that, he blasted from the room, opened the door and left. He slammed the door behind him and she jolted from the sound. She let herself breathe finally, remembering to put the yeast, flour, butter, lard, and wood on the burner. She rifled through her memory how to make the bread EXACTLY how he wanted it and thanked her lucky stars in Heaven that she had a husband. After all, isn't that what a nineteenth century woman wanted?
She glanced at the loose string on her tunic. There was no way she could address that then. Instead, she bolted from the table and ran to the kitchen, grabbing four small logs on the way. Igniting the cooker, she added all of the ingredients into the skillet and began making the bread.
An hour passed and Dave hadn't returned. The bread was almost done, but Quinn was afraid it might not be done in the center. She paid extra careful attention to it, noting how this crumb or that lump appeared to rise or fall or brown or whatever. She couldn't be sure but she was convinced that THIS loaf was exactly how Dave wanted it. So, when she argued with herself that the bread was done, she pulled it from the oven and placed the long stick on the table.
She left the house then, heading towards the barn. There was no reason to paint the old barn since the weather had been so good lately and she didn't bother to think about that. The weathervane had barely moved that year. As she walked, she noticed that one of the pig's troughs wasn't close enough to it to eat. She couldn't figure out why. So instead, she wiggled her finger and the enormous bin moved towards it. The pig began eating. She almost smiled.
Quinn entered the barn. After the enormous door slid to the right, she looked around for her husband, in hopes of coaxing him back in the house to eat bread. But when she looked to the left, she found him.
He was asleep.
And drunk.
Sighing, she turned and returned to the farmhouse. As she walked, she made sure the pig could eat the compost from the trough, which he could. Then, she looked towards the sky.
"Is this my life?" she asked God.
She didn't get a response.