The Woman in the House
Our wedding was simple. Hoss was my best man, smiling and proud; I'm sure my family had discussed how they hoped I would now be happy and this was seen as a turning point in my grief. In a way it was but problems don't resolve so quickly and one solution raises another issue. The only manner to escape your demons is to go away yourself but that wasn't an option.
Before the ceremony, while I was pacing on the front porch, Hoss came out to join me.
"You ain't nervous, are you, Adam?" He grinned.
"A little. How's Asher doing?" I wanted to keep the conversation off me.
"Fussing about his starched collar—says it itches him-but Hop Sing took him and all the cousins to the kitchen and is givin' 'em some of what he calls, 'wedding cakes.' They's supposed to bring good luck."
"Good." I stared out into the vista as far as I could before the dense trees rose up as a barrier. But the mountain range stood guard high over them and a hawk glided above us, probably looking for chickens or a piglet to steal. Hoss moved to stand beside me and looked up as well.
"You plannin' on moving back to your house soon?"
"Think Pa can't wait to get us out?"
"Nah. I think he'd be happier if all of you'd stay. He loves Asher, you know that. And he'd like to get to know Mrs. Chandler better."
"I'd like to get to know her better too." I didn't know why I said that. I hadn't intended to but where Hoss was concerned, well, I found I told him things I'd never tell anyone else.
"How d'you mean that, Adam?"
I turned and gave him a brittle smile. "I just don't know her well—what she thinks and such. All I know about her is what everyone else knows. She never talks about herself—never."
"Have you talked about yourself? 'Bout how things are with you? "Bout losin'…"
"She knows-remember? She was there when…" But I reconsidered. "No. I guess I haven't."
We stood in silence-waiting. "Well," Hoss said as he clapped my shoulder with one big hand, "Men marry them mail-order brides. Guess it's kinda the same thing. And I s'pose marryin' is one way to get to know someone really well." He was right, of course, but I also felt how ridiculous my situation was. And I had jumped in with both feet and eyes open. "'Sides, Asher seems to like her a whole lot. Think it's cute he calls her Miss Miriam and crawls up into her lap even bein' five now. But Jessie and Willis, they still like their momma and go runnin' to her for every little cut and such. Kinda makes men like us realize what we missed, not havin' a momma, don't it?"
"Yeah. I guess it does." I didn't want Asher to go through that. Not having a mother was…well, it left a man with a hole in his soul. Men learn things from a mother—tenderness and kindness and the feel of soothing hands and a soft voice. Hoss had at least been young enough to be held against Marie's bosom when he smashed his thumb or skinned a knee, but not me. I was in my early teens when Marie, Joe's mother came into our lives and I never sought her out for comfort although I longed for her touch as well. But I couldn't. To me, she was too beautiful, a grown woman who my father took to bed every night. Marie was my father's wife but she wasn't my mother.
Then Joe stepped out on the porch. "It's time, Adam." He was grinning and when I stepped in, I saw why. Everyone, even Asher who stood holding Hop Sing's hand while he finished off a small, fat cake, was lined up and Mrs. Chandler was waiting. And she was beautiful.
~ 0 ~
I discovered that Mrs. Chandler had asked no one to stand up for her—no close friend or relative. I then considered that she was more than likely alone and lonely and perhaps that was why she'd accepted my proposal. Her only income was the sewing she took in and she had lived frugally. All in all, I knew nothing else about her or the way she lived other than what I'd observed the times I'd take her home from church and she would invite Asher and me in for a cold lunch.
But as I said, she and Asher seemed delighted with each other and after only the second visit, my son would ask for a hug and a kiss when we left and she, smiling, would kneel down and take him into her arms. I wished I had the courage to ask for an embrace as well—I wanted so much to feel the warmth of a woman again.
You see, after my wife died, the world seemed dark, like a veil had fallen over my eyes—the sun never shone as brightly as it had before. I spent nights longing for sleep and often took a dose of laudanum to escape the seeming eternal darkness. I had no appetite, not for food or a woman. But Mrs. Chandler, she started to stir me and the clouds parted and the sun shone again. I found myself truly smiling when I saw her. Life took on a familiarity with stretches of dulled emotions and then her and the way she made me feel.
I knew Mrs. Chandler didn't love me, as I've said, and I didn't truly love her at the time. And although our wedding night was awkward, I made her mine and she was surprisingly receptive. She helped me to remove her gown by pulling it over her head and tossing it aside.
"I'm not a young girl anymore," she said quietly sitting up in the dark. But I had no complaints; I wasn't a young man either and if I didn't work every day I'd be soft-bellied like those merchants and bankers in town. My new wufe raised her eyes to look at me. It seemed that she expected me to reject her but no man would have and as eager as I was, it would never have occurred to me.
I spoke her name for the first time that night. In the darkness, I whispered, "Miriam." But she didn't call me by anything—not Mr. Cartwright or Adam. And the morning after, as I pulled her to me to keep her from rising from the rumpled sheets, she called me "husband." She said, "Husband, I need to wash and tend to breakfast."
"You don't have to cook breakfast or anything else." I pulled my bride back into my arms and looked down at her lovely, gentle face. "You're now a lady of leisure. As long as we stay here, Hop Sing will do all the cooking as he always has. And once we move to our own house, I'll find a cook and a housekeeper. You won't have to do anything but sit and eat bon bons and grow fat and lazy." And I kissed her throat, pleased that she arched her back slightly, exposing the length of her white neck almost as if she was a flower opening to the day. I wasn't displeased with her.
And it is interesting that what is to be the most intimate human act, congress, surprisingly doesn't bring people closer. It's the emotional nakedness, the revelations of fears and hopes that bring husbands and wives closer, but we, Miriam and I, weren't on that level yet. She had no modesty about rising from the bed as naked as Aphrodite rising from the sea but we had no conversations about what we kept hidden inside, not just from each other but from the world. But I was happy with her and the way she shared my bed even if we only shared the superficialities of life.
My father wanted us to stay on at the Ponderosa and so did Hop Sing although he never said it outright—just made comments about being happy when he has more people to cook for and to eat his meals. And as for Asher, he was happiest of all. Up to that point, he had called my wife Miss Miriam but now, shyly, he began to refer to her as "momma." One night as I tucked him in, he asked me to come close; he had something to whisper to me. I bent down and he put his small hands on the sides of my face and looked at me with his dark, serious eyes.
"Pa, is…momma going to stay with us?"
"Yes. She's going to stay."
"When we move back to our other house, is she going to come with us?"
I suppressed a smile. "Yes. Don't you want her to?"
No longer concerned with whispering, Asher released my face and I sat down on his bed. He sat up to face me. I admired my handsome boy, my chest swelling pridefully.
"I want momma to stay, but I was wonderin'—is it okay if I tell people I got a momma now? I mean when Willis or Frank or Jessie ask me, I can say I got one, can't I?"
"Of course, you can. But have they said anything? Is anyone saying you don't have a momma?"
Asher picked at his thumbnail and I put my hand over his to stop him. He didn't seem to want to answer me until he had thought it through.
"Willis said that if you had a momma, you can't ever have another. He said somethin' about the stairs and that's why she's not my real momma."
"The stairs?" I thought for a moment and then I knew. "Did he say Miss Miriam is your 'stepmother'?"
"Yeah, that was it? What's that mean, Pa? Willis said it's cause she's not my real momma."
I sighed and considered putting off the explanation but my son looked at me, expecting an answer so I did my best.
"It's just a name. It means that she didn't give birth to you but it doesn't mean that she can't love you as much as your true mother did or that you can't love her. That's all it means. She's still your…'momma'. Do you understand that?" He nodded his head. "Okay, now go to sleep." I tucked him back in and bent down and kissed his forehead. But before I turned down the lamp, he had another question.
"Pa? What's a stepbrother? Willis says you and his pa and Uncle Joe are stepbrothers. He says now that you married a stepmother that I might have one too?"
"This is the last question I'm answering tonight and then you have to go to sleep, understand?" He nodded. "Okay. If Miss Miriam, your momma, and I decide to have a child, it would be your stepbrother or if it's a girl, a stepsister. Actually a half brother or sister." Asher looked confused; I imagined the terminology of "half" was confusing so I backed off. "All it would mean is that you and your new brother or sister have the same father—me. But you'd still be brothers—or brother and sister—just like Frankie has Bethy as his sister and just as Willis and Jessie are brothers." He opened his mouth to ask another question but I cut him off. "Now go to sleep." I turned down the lamp and the room fell into semi-darkness. My son had fears of what hid in dark corners so I always left the lamp low until he fell asleep. "Goodnight." I left the door ajar so that I could hear my son if he had another nightmare—something he had whenever his usual routine was disrupted and lately he had been having one every night.
I descended the stairs and there, in the light from the fire sat my wife, darning the knees of Asher's small trousers. She looked up at me and I smiled; I wasn't in this alone anymore.
