21.
~ Ariadne's body was exhausted, but strangely charged. She was in no shape to do anything but rest, but suddenly, her legs and mind itched for physical activity.
Arthur had rolled her body into his. Her back to his chest again as his nose breathed in the smell of her hair.
"So." he sighed and she felt he was grinning. "Why the broken vase? That was a wedding present from your cousin."
"It was the nearest thing I could find to throw." she said logically as she watched his hands play with hers. She was fascinated with his hands and how they made hers look so small. How he had calluses on his thumbs and how his nails were smooth and worn down.
She felt him smother a chuckle in her hair.
"Yes, dear." he said. "But why did you have to throw anything at all?"
"Sometimes a wife has to throw things at her husband." she explained simply.
"Hmm." he said and she grinned at feeling his feet rub against hers. "I suppose it keeps the spark alive."
"Spark?"
It was her turn to laugh now.
"More like a fire." she told him and rolled over.
Arthur allowed her to face him and she was treated to a face that, for once, looked relaxed and happy. Gone was the scowl he always wore. Instead, he looked younger somehow. As if he were just a teenage boy, and not a grown man.
"I kind of like this fire in you." he said as his hand played over her bottom that tingled at the contact of his palm.
She grinned and tried not to blush.
"Tell me the truth." he sighed. "Why are you so angry all the time? Do you really hate being my wife? Do you not want to be a mother?"
She opened her mouth to say she loved being his wife, but closed it. Afraid of what she might say instead.
"I don't know sometimes what I want." she admitted.
She swallowed hard as his hands were in her hair.
"I want to be able to have a choice." she said at last. "I want to be able to choose what I want to do with my life. I wasn't given a choice to marry you, remember? My father told me you would propose to me that night and I had better accept it. I was scared not to say yes. I didn't have a choice about... about laying with you either. I can't exactly refuse. Even though I've never even kissed a boy until I married you and the whole thing terrified me. I don't have a choice in who my friends are either. I'm supposedly not of the right mind to listen to politics or understand them. That it's dangerous and disgraceful for me to think I should even be treated like your equal. So much so, people think I'm mentally unbalanced or that I want to be a man."
Arthur said nothing as she went on. His eyes looking over her carefully.
"Now..." she sighed. "Now, I'm going to have a child and that wasn't my choice either. My whole life will change and yours will be the same as ever. Men talk about babies and their legacy only as it's convenient to them. Women have to bear the child, care for it and give up their lives to provide that convenience."
"Ariadne." he started to argue.
"No." she said. "If I told you that you weren't allowed to go to social clubs with your friends, you wouldn't listen to me. How can your happiness be more important than mine? Why can you be friends with whom you want, marry who you wish and live as you like? Why can't I have the same?"
He opened his mouth to argue again but she went on.
"When I got involved with the suffrage movement, I felt alive. I felt I was accomplishing something greater than myself. I wasn't just Mrs. Arthur Brandon. I had my own name, my own ideas. I was surrounded by women who told me I didn't have to accept a life where I wasn't happy." she told him.
"So you are unhappy?" he asked in ernest.
She wasn't sure how to answer that.
He seemed to grow angry.
"Answer me." he demanded. "Do you not want this child? Do you no longer wish to be my wife?"
She felt a rush of cold terror flood her body as he shifted and moved away from her. The warmth of his skin leaving hers and she felt the harsh chill in the air.
"Is that what this is all about? You don't want to be my wife? You want to make me hate you so I'll request some kind of barbaric divorce?"
She watched her husband climb out of bed and walk naked to where he had shed his clothing hours before.
She sat up and clutched the bedding to her chest.
"This isn't about you!" she told him.
"The hell it isn't!" he told her. "You basically said you were forced to marry me. Forced to be in my bed and now you're forced to carry my child."
His voice was icy and annoyed.
"No, that's not what I meant!"
"Because, I don't remember forcing you to do anything tonight, or for the past few nights." he said as he pulled on his pants. "As I recall, you were a willing partner."
"How dare you speak of what we did!" she hissed. Embarrassment tinting her face red.
"Well, we all have to live with our choices Mrs. Brandon." he sighed. "I have to live with you as my ungrateful wife. You have to live as a proper lady with a husband and child. We can't change that." he said.
He was walking away from her.
"Arthur, this is your room. Where are you going?" she called back. Fear as she had never known was turning her body cold.
"I'll sleep in the spare room tonight. Alone." he said hotly and slammed the door behind him.
~Despite all the sleeping she had done the day before, Ariadne managed to fall asleep with ease. Her body felt exhausted and Arthur's bed was very comfortable.
She woke up before dawn needing to be sick again, and was grateful he had a bathroom so close.
She didn't want to rest anymore after she was sick. A feeling that she was too disgusting already was making her grumpy and unpleasant.
Arthur had chosen not to sleep in the same bed as her after their fight. He hadn't even asked her to go back to her own room. Instead, he slept in the guest room and she in his large comfy bed.
She rinsed out her mouth with water after she was sure she wouldn't be sick again and washed her face.
She hated looking at herself lately. Her whole appearance had drastically changed over the past few days and she wasn't sure yet if it was for the better. True, she felt more like the person she wanted to be, but everything she was doing seemed to result in some kind of disaster.
She let out a sigh and retreated to her own room.
She din't care for morning sickness.
It was unpleasant to feel like she was really sick with some horrible illness instead of pregnancy. Which, the way she felt just now, was as good as death sentence.
She took a hot bath, dressed and carefully pinned back her hair into the braided piece Mrs. March made for her.
She looked at her reflection, the high collar, the prim well starched ladies blouse, and the hair tucked neatly.
She didn't like what she saw. She looked like every other lady in the city and she didn't want to be that way anymore.
She stripped naked and started over with the dressing.
She put on a pale blue suit dress that was really more appropriate for spring that late fall. But it would be warm enough for her to go visiting in. She liked the modern cut and low collar of it with her shorter hair.
It brought out a certain flair no one else would have.
She had curled her shorter locks with a hot iron and pinched her cheeks red when the sun came up.
'I'm not going to let anyone dictate my own happiness.' she thought as she practically ran down the stairs. 'Not Arthur, not anyone.'
Her husband was sitting in the dinning room reading his cursed newspaper as she arrived next to him.
"Good morning, dear." she said brightly.
He didn't say anything except to look up in surprise.
"In a cherry mood I see." he said dully.
"I think I'll go visiting today." she said as she buttered her toast and nibbled on some fruit. Hopefully eating something would make the dizziness stop.
"Dressed like that?" he laughed and looked down at her dress and short hair.
"Yes." she told him carelessly.
"And whom do you think you'll visit?" he asked gruffly as if she had to ask his permission to go out.
"I was going to call on mother." she told him.
Arthur looked hopefully at her. His eyes softer.
"I think that's a good idea." he said. "She doesn't know about the baby yet."
She only shrugged.
"I'm not sure it's a good idea to tell anyone. It's still very early." she said and stood. "Mrs. Marsh?" she called.
The old lady appeared, cleaning her hands on her apron.
"Yes?" she asked.
"Is that little errand boy we use nearby?" she asked as she walked past the housekeeper and into the kitchen.
"Oh, yes ma'am. I was giving him some porridge."
The child, who went by the name of Frankie, was the son of poor immigrants. He was the middle of a loathsome brood of kids whos parents had little time for. Thusly, he made a coin or two running errands for the maids of the nicer homes. Mrs. Marsh, as well as other kindly house keepers were always feeding the skinny boy who was willing to run to the green grocers for milk or eggs at a moments notice for a nickel.
"Frankie?" she asked the skinny child who wore dirty clothes that were too small for him.
The child looked guiltily up from his porridge. His eyes large and frightened.
"Yes, Miss?" he asked.
"Do you know Fisherman's house?" she asked. "There is a driver there by the name of Eames. Go there and tell him to collect Mrs. Ariadne Brandon."
The boy snapped to attention.
"There's an extra dollar in it for you if you bring him back here in less than an hour." she said and the child ran out the door.
Ariadne felt a rush of pleasure as she turned on her heel, marched passed her husband and didn't say a word to him.