Chapter 10 – A Marriage, a War and a Goodbye (1917)

The bruises healed and the welts faded, but the damage was done. The marriage that had seemed to offer me so much began to feel like a trap, and some days were like walking through quicksand as I waited for the moment that I would slip and be consumed.

It wasn't always like that though, and in some ways the confusion and uncertainty made it more frightening. I never knew quite what would make Charles' eyes narrow and his fists fly. Some days he met my mistakes or failings with kind tolerance, and other days he would punish me for almost nothing. He never talked about the times he would 'discipline' me once they were over.

He learned to hit me where no one would see the marks. I learned to sit, poised and smiling, on a bottom that still smarted from the previous night's touch of the the belt and pretend that nothing was amiss. He learned how to control me with only a look and a word, because I was so afraid of what he might do to me later. I learned to walk beside him with a bruised, aching arm tucked into his and a smile on my face, and sing in church as though I thought God cared that I was caught in this hell on earth.

When Charles wasn't angry with me he could be gentle and loving, and there were sometimes long stretches of time in which peace reigned in our house and I remembered why I had thought he was so nice that I had been wiling to marry him. Sometimes, when he would hold my face and kiss me until I was dizzy and tell me that he loved me, I almost thought that I must have imagined the dark Charles with his heavy hand.

I didn't get pregnant, despite Charles' best efforts. Every month like clockwork I would bleed, and have to tell him that it hadn't happened yet. There was nothing more we could do to make a baby happen, but it became another source of tension between us nonetheless.

I didn't know if I really wanted a baby then or not. Charles wanted a son, and I wanted desperately to do anything that would make him pleased with me. At the same time I knew that a baby could do nothing to heal the ugly seam of violence that underlay our marriage. Indeed a baby, who would cry and make messes and have needs and demands, and who might even be the daughter he had no interest in, would only raise the levels of tension in the house. While I dreaded telling Charles each month that I wasn't carrying a baby, I always felt a quick, almost painful flash of relief when I saw the first spots of blood and knew that, for another month at least, I was safe.

I wasn't always miserable though, despite the constant unease deep in my belly when I thought of Charles. I spent time on the house, adding little touches that made me love it. I was proud of how scrupulously clean I kept it, and how much my cooking improved with practise. I kept up my walks, exploring further and further afield and continuing to draw what caught my eye. When cold winter days kept me inside I read and painted and knitted, quite happy with my own company and the cosy fire. I became very involved with the ladies' group and our efforts for war orphans, particularly as time passed and it began to seem inevitable that America would soon deploy our own troops to Europe. We expanded our efforts from just knitting to holding bake sales and craft stalls to raise money, and coordinated with a group in England to organise shipments of things they needed but that were not readily available any longer. I was so busy that it almost came as a surprise to look around and notice the signs of spring bursting out all through the city.

My hands full of blossoms I had picked from the public gardens, I entered the house humming. I thought the flowers would look beautiful in the centre of the dining room table. I'll make a pie after I arrange the flowers, I planned. A chicken pie and mashed potatoes and greens, and rice pudding for dessert. Charles will like that, and I can tell him everything that Leila told me Robert was saying about the war and we'll have a nice evening.

I stopped dead in the doorway to the kitchen, the flowers dropping soundlessly from my hands. Charles was slumped at the kitchen table, an empty glass in front of him and a half full whisky bottle to hand.

"Charles?" I said faintly. "Why are you home so early? Is something wrong?"

He looked up me with bloodshot eyes and with a lurch of my heart I wondered how long he'd been sitting here drinking. It was always worse when he'd been drinking.

"Yes," he said bluntly, pouring out another half glass and throwing it back. "They've closed the plant and I'm out of a job."

I dropped in to the chair across from him and looked at him in astonishment. "But…it's so sudden! Why?"

"It's not that sudden," Charles said, staring at his glass. "I didn't want to worry you, but it's been a long time coming. Profits are down, and with the uncertainty of what America's involvement in the war might mean, the owners don't want to take a chance on things improving. They're getting out now while they've still got something left, and they've let everyone who worked for them go."

"I'm sorry," I said softly, tentatively touching the back of his hand. "You were a good employee Charles. You know it wasn't anything to do you with you."

Charles didn't answer, pouring another glass with a slightly unsteady hand and continuing to look morosely at the table in front of him.

"What will we do?" I asked after a long silence. "Are there savings?"

I knew nothing of our financial situation. Charles gave me an allowance for the household groceries and I managed as best I could with that. If I wanted extra money I would ask, and Charles would usually give it once he knew what it was for. Whatever his other faults, he was not stingy. But he kept the household expenses record and paid the bills, and I didn't have any access to or knowledge about the bank account and what it contained.

"There are some savings," Charles muttered. "Not much. This last year…the wedding, the house, you…it's been costly."

Of course it's my fault, the resentful part of my brain thought angrily. You think everything is my fault.

I took a deep breath and tried to sound matter of fact when I spoke. "Well, we'll manage. I think I can cut back on the grocery budget and save us some money that way, and I'm sure you'll find another job right away. You're very clever and a hard worker- another business will be glad to have you."

Charles grunted unenthusiastically. "Business is down all over the city."

"Well perhaps I can do something to help!" I said eagerly. "I might be able to get a job doing something…"

"No," Charles interrupted with a scowl. "You don't have to work. You're my wife and you'll stay home where you should be. You don't need to worry yourself anyway," he added with another gulp of whiskey. "I've already decided. I'm going to enlist."

"What? Are you mad?" The words slipped out before I could think twice, and I cringed away from the black anger on Charles' face.

"Well, that's a good response from my wife," he said aggressively. "I put myself on the line to earn a living for you and…"

"I was just…just worried for you!" I gasped. "The war, and the rumours of American troops going to Europe, if you enlist….you might have to go and you…you could get hurt…" I stuttered to a stop.

Charles gave me a grim smile. "Well, that's touching Esme." He sighed heavily, and when he spoke again he was quiet. "We're weeks away from declaring our involvement in Europe. Looking at things realistically, once we do that the government will have to bring in conscription to meet our obligations. I might miss out on that because of my age, but then again I might not. I'm in good health, I believe in what we're doing over in Europe, and I think it will all go better for me if I enlist now. I'm good with accounts and bookkeeping and organisation, and those are skills the army can use. There's a good chance that I won't end up on the front lines if it's done this way."

"I don't know what to say," I whispered dazedly.

It had never occurred to me that Charles would decide to enlist. There had been a great deal of talk amongst our friends and church acquaintances about enlistment, but none of the married men had seemed inclined to go. At thirty four Charles was probably beyond the age for compulsory enrolment and conscription, even if it should come in, and although he had always been fascinated with the war's progress and the politics behind it he had never expressed a desire to be a part of it.

Charles rose heavily to his feet and brought another glass to the table. Sloshing a few fingers of whiskey into the bottom of it, he pushed it across the table to me. "Drink up. You look like you've had a shock."

Shakily I took the glass and swallowed, choking a little as the liquor burned my throat. I'd never drunk whiskey before, and the warmth of it curling through my stomach felt surprisingly pleasant. I took another drink, my eyes watering. "What will happen?"

"I suppose I'll go down to the recruitment office tomorrow," Charles said. His voice was beginning to sound slurred. "There'll be a few months of training- not anywhere nearby. After that it depends on the situation in Europe and America's part in it whether I'm shipped overseas or sent somewhere stateside."

"What about me?" I said hesitantly. "What shall I do while you're gone?"

Charles shrugged. "It'll be all right for you. You'll be able to go on as you are, with your women's group and walks and things. My pay will go into the bank account and I'll arrange for you to have access to it, and I'll show you how to manage the bills. I'll have my brother call on you frequently to check how you're doing and if you need anything he can help you. I'll have leave too, and I'll be back then."

I swallowed the last of the whiskey and burped, which made Charles laugh.

"You're a good girl Esme," he said, almost tenderly, reaching across the table to cup my face in his hand. "I'm going to miss you."

I smiled at him, hiding my confusion. How could he be like this, tender and caring, and then at other times be so horribly brutal? It made no sense! But I held my hand over his, stroking the strong fingers that were capable of both such pleasure and such pain.

"Shall I start on supper?" I asked gently. "I was going to make chicken pie and rice pudding…I know you like that. Perhaps you could take a nap while I cook?"

"No." Charles lurched to his feet and wrapped me in a tight hug. "Don't worry about supper now. I'm not hungry…I don't want food anyway. Come to bed with me now Esme, that's what I want."

And even though it was still afternoon, and the whiskey was making me light headed, and I knew he'd been drinking so much that it would go on forever, I kissed him and did what he wanted.

Charles enlisted the following day, and with the army already preparing for war things moved fast.

It was only weeks between enlistment and when he left for basic training, but they were, without doubt, the most difficult weeks of my marriage to date. There were many arrangements to be made, such as giving me access to the bank account and showing me how he kept the books at home. It wasn't at all difficult, and I couldn't help but feel a little put out that Charles had always made it seem like such a serious and onerous task that I couldn't possibly get my silly little head around.

His training would only be a couple of months, but there was no guarantee about what would happen after that or how much leave he might get between training and being stationed somewhere. So Charles did what he could to prepare for a long absence, cutting and splitting enough wood to last a winter, fixing everything around the house, selling the pony so I wouldn't have the bother of it. We visited friends so he could say his goodbyes.

The few months Charles spent in basic training were like a revelation to me. So this was what real freedom was like! No one telling me what to do, no one watching me to catch slip ups and see me make mistakes, no one telling me in a thousand different ways that I wasn't good enough. Keeping house for only myself was bliss- I could eat what I wanted when I wanted, I could stay up late reading and sleep in the next morning if I felt like it. If I felt like singing and dancing while I dusted there was no one to make me feel foolish. Best of all was the fact that I didn't have to be afraid. The house became my home in a way it had never been, not when every time I stepped through the door my stomach tied itself in knots because of what might be waiting for me.

America entered the war in Europe in April. Charles finished his basic training in August, and came home on a beautiful late summer day to tell me that he had his orders and he was going to be shipped out to Europe in September.

If the time between his enlistment and his training had been difficult, the weeks we spent together between his training and deployment were almost unbearable. Charles drank constantly, and he was not a nice drunk. Instead he turned all his fear and anger on me, and he lashed out at me because he couldn't fight back against the world. He hurt me, and all I could do was pray for it to be over.

Charles was one of many soldiers leaving on the train that September, and I was one of many wives and mothers and daughters and fathers who stood on the platform and waved our American flags. Celebrating American freedom as we sent our men across the water to fight for it again.

But amongst the sobbing, cheering masses I stood alone, ice in my heart as I watched them go, possibly the only heart that was not aching as I said goodbye. I was maybe the only person who was not wishing with everything in their heart for a soldier's safe return.

Even as I smiled and waved my flag, I couldn't stop the rebellious thoughts in my heart. I hope you never come back. I hope you die.