Chapter 2: A Mundane Routine
Our house is a beautiful two-storey house. It's exterior is like one of those old Victorian style houses that looks like it came straight from a classic novel. I remember falling in love with it the second I saw it, immediately charmed by it. I remember my heart breaking the day I signed it over to my husband; my pride and joy now in someone else's name.
The bedrooms are on the top floor of the house. At one end of the hall is my room. It is very minimally decorated, in Gilead we are encouraged to live simple lives and not be too enamoured by material possessions, as this encourages pride. I think some commanders still like to show their wealth though, a sign of their importance. But my husband is a humble man who encourages a minimalist life.
There are two smaller bedrooms down the hall before reaching the master bedroom at the end of the hall. That room used to be mine, but it was right and proper (so it was said) for the man of the house to have the best bedroom. So now that is Christopher and Genevieve's bedroom that they share together.
I suppose one of the smaller bedrooms will become a nursery if Genevieve or I were to have a child. One could be a guest room, or house a handmaid...if it came to that.
Downstairs we had a beautiful sitting room, a dining room, a study which Christopher spend a lot of his time in, a library and the kitchen. There is also a smaller sitting room that has been converted into a bedroom for the Marthas to sleep. The Marthas spend most of their time preparing meals and cleaning the many rooms in the house.
Underneath the house we have a cellar where we keep wine. The wine is only really pulled out when we have guests.
I spend most of my day in the library. I spend a lot of time in the armchair completing sewing and needlework projects. I also play the large black grand piano in the library. One thing I miss most is reading, but women aren't really supposed to read. I don't think Christopher would stop me, but I wouldn't risk anyone else walking in and seeing me. So I play or I sew.
Out the back of the house we have a beautiful garden. I love to go out there and tend the flowers I planted.
I once tried to help with the cleaning but the Marthas get stressed when I do.
"You're not supposed to do that ma'am, please let us," one of the Marthas, Lucy, said frantically the last time I tried to help. I stopped trying. I don't want to upset her. Lucy is nice, but very quiet. I can tell she gets anxious very easily.
Genevieve doesn't spend a lot of time at home. When she does she avoids talking to me other than the occasional "Blessed Day" out of expected politeness. Most of the time she avoids eye contact with me. On the occasion we do, she just nods in my direction and hurries on her way, getting away from me as fast as possible.
Genevieve fills her days going to teas and luncheons, and other social gatherings with the other wives. Most of the wives she spends time with are the Rachels, the favourite wives. They gossip about their Leahs, their Marthas and their Handmaids, or talk about the many accomplishments of their husbands. At least that's what I imagine they would say.
Christopher, of course, spends a lot of time out of the house too. I don't know exactly what it is Commanders do with their day. He leaves for work pretty early in the morning but I am usually awake before him. He comes into the library where I am sewing something, kisses my cheek, says nothing and leaves. It's our own little routine.
It's the same thing every day. I sew, I practice piano, I tend flowers. Sometimes I'll go for a walk.
I'm sure I am probably depressed or something, but I am likely just numb to it all.
--
Before Gilead I was arguably a workaholic. I was working as a lawyer in a very high end law firm. A named partner. I thrived on being constantly busy. I worked late all the time, or brought my work home. I was very committed to proving myself. My goal was managing partner. And I knew the current managing partner was considering retirement soon. I knew I was capable. I was ready to step up. That firm was my life.
Now it's a lifetime ago.
--
It's another mundane day. It's early evening, so any moment my husband is going to walk through the door. When he does, we start our own little ritual. He goes into the sitting room and he sits on the couch. I kneel at his feet and take off his shoes. I take a basin of warm water and I wash his feet. I don't know why I started doing this. I think it was because it was a way to show some affection, in an odd way. It had biblical precedence too: Jesus washing the feet of his disciples, or Mary Magdalene washing the feet of Jesus with tears.
It is always silent when we do this. I don't even ask about his day anymore, because his answer was always the same. He would tell me it was good and say no more about it.
All of this happens before Genevieve walks through the door.
Then we have dinner.
He stays up a little late in his study. I'm not sure what he does in there, the door is often closed but I presume he is reading. Genevieve and I go to our rooms. I pray a little bit or stay up sewing. I turn out the light once I hear him come up the stairs and down the hall to their room.
--
Once a month he comes to my room instead of hers. He started doing this because some of the other commanders questioned him about our marriage. He was first interrogated about its lack of consummation. He came in that night, took my virginity, and presented the blood stained sheets to prove it. Then he was questioned about how often he visited me. They told him he needed to commit to something more regular. That leaving me childless meant he was not fulfilling his God-given duty as a husband.
So that was the deal, once a month he would visit my bed. We would have sex. It wasn't particularly passionate sex but it wasn't horrible. When he finished, he would go back to his room.
Sometimes I wish he would stay the whole night and just hold me. I never wanted a marriage. But it would be nice to be close to someone, someone I care for very much. I think he doesn't want me to get disappointed that he doesn't love me as a husband loves a wife.
It would be even nicer to have a baby. I never wanted a baby. But caring for another tiny human would at least bring some meaning to this life. And something interesting to do.