Fair warning, this chapter does contain so mention of domestic violence so if that makes you uncomfortable, you know.
"Wife," Johnathan Brooks yelled from the parlor, "where are you with my breakfast?" Elizabeth hurried to finish assembling the tray and brought it out to him. It was like this every morning. In fact, it was like this all of the time. The only respite she found was the hours he spent drinking with the other officers and the occasional mission that he embarked on.
"I'm sorry it took so long," she offered though there was no apology in her heart.
"A good wife does not keep her husband waiting," he grumbled. Anna once said that it gets better with time but Elizabeth found that harder to believe with each passing day.
When he had finished eating, he stood up. He muttered something about going to the tavern and left.
Elizabeth visibly relaxed and set off to clean up the mess her husband left behind. She bent over to pick up the tray when she noticed a deep purple handprint on her right arm. She sighed deeply. She had hoped she wouldn't need to conceal another bruise. She had suffered many over the months she had been married.
Elizabeth was working on a blanket she was sewing when Johnathan came in. It was evident that he had been drinking a fair amount but he also looked rather put off. Elizabeth thought it better to let him be and continued her sewing.
He stormed into the parlor and grabbed her right arm. Pulling her to stand he threw her to the other side of the room. She stood back up but was only on her feet a few short seconds before being on the ground again. He reared back to kick her and she rolled out of the way.
It made him angrier to see her trying to get away. It made it seem as if what he was doing was wrong. But she was his wife, he reasoned, so he could do as he wished.
"Johnathan," she tried to reason with him, "what's wrong?"
He responded by kicking her again. She continued to try to avoid his swings. It would tire him out quickly to have to chase her but would anger him later. She finally escaped him and ran into the guest room and locked the door.
After several long minutes of him beating at the door, Elizabeth heard her husband give up and retreat to the upstairs bedroom. She sighed knowing she had escaped for now.
But that was months ago. Early in the marriage she had been resistant to his attacks. She fought back when absolutely necessary.
Now she was used to his viciousness. She expected his violence and on the occasions that he did drunkenly decide to beat her, she allowed it. She hated that she had to submit to this but an incident about four months into their union had left her wondering why she resisted at all when he would surely still manage to hurt her.
When it became dark, Johnathan burst through the door. He was angry and drunk but his first reaction wasn't to attack her and Elizabeth was actually more startled by his lack of attention.
"Get me something to eat," he demanded and she quickly complied.
"Is something wrong?" she asked cautiously.
"Captain Joyce was found dead today. The Woodhull boy's done it," he replied grumbling. Elizabeth immediately didn't believe him. Abraham couldn't hurt a fly, much less an officer.
"Did someone see him do it?" she asked curiously from the kitchen.
"Why all the questions?" he snapped back.
"I'm sorry," she offered, "I was just inquiring as Abraham is the Judge's son and-"
"That's how he's gonna get away with it," he muttered, slurring his words slightly. "That's what Simcoe said.
Well of course that's what Simcoe said, she thought. She finished heating her husband up some soup and returned to the parlor. In his chair, he was fast asleep. She shook her head and rolled her eyes. He had really drunk himself out this time. She thanked the Lord for this small scrap of peace. It meant she wouldn't be expected to submit to his advances that night.
The decision to remain in her father's house had been hers. She had hoped being close to her father would both stifle the blow of her unwanted marriage and would keep her father close so that she could care for him. She hadn't anticipated that she would spend her nights hoping her father couldn't hear her husband taking what he wanted from her, violently if necessary.
She took the soup back to the kitchen and rinsed out the bowl. She ascended the steps to her room and locked the door behind her upon entering just in case. She sighed aloud comforted by the fact that Johnathan was to be sent on a mission the next day that would keep him until at least Monday. It gave her a minimum of four days in peace. Little did she know, it would be his last mission from His Majesty's Army.
