Freedom

I don't know how, but somehow I lived through the first week after my marriage. It was mostly filled with fear, and I thought it hell, but of course, I didn't know there was worse yet to come. I was quiet, subdued, and melancholy, obeying Charles' every word.

I stayed at the Evensons', and for the first three days, Amelia stayed, too.

Those days were the hardest, because I had to pretend the hardest. Amelia was my closest friend, and she was shocked at the change in me. I think she had expected it to be fun, with me and Charles chaffing each other playfully, as it was during the days before her wedding. She was expecting my bold, determined, and cheery persona to both subdue and change Charles' overconfidence and pride, but, well, the opposite had happened. Charles had all but killed me, and she could see it in my eyes.

She was concerned, but she didn't push it. I merely relegated it to the 'recent tragedy', keeping in mind that I was not to speak Edward's name. It was like Charles had drilled that rule into me, tortured it into me. I would never take Edward's name, period.

Perhaps she saw the truth. Perhaps she could see me dying inside. A woman always knows. The way I moped around the house- shattered, battered and what-not, not merely grieving, I knew she knew. But she didn't say a word. I was hurt and even slightly hated her for it, but I understood. He was her brother. Her beloved big brother who had always stood in front of her like a protective wall, who loved her like she was a baby. It is naturally hard to associate a loving person like that to the horrid, sadistic monster that was my husband.

So whatever she suspected, she kept to herself, and tried her best to cheer me up. She always observed me and Charles together, but what she saw, she didn't like. I was being timid, demure, even though he acted like the perfect gentleman. Whatever little noises she heard from our bedroom in the night, she chose to ignore.

And thus I was quickly alienated from everyone in my life- turned outsider to everyone. The worse part was that I understood their intentions, and didn't find it in me to blame them. It is the human tendency to find someone to blame for any bad occurrences- but it is terribly hard to reconcile oneself to the fact that often, there is no one to blame. So somehow, without it being anyone's fault, I found myself caught in a death-trap.

On the fourth morning after my wedding, Charles and I went downstairs for breakfast and found Amelia dressed to leave, her packed valises and trunks at the doorstep.

"I must go, Esme," she said on seeing my dismayed expression. "Robby's waiting for me. I was supposed to have left days ago."

I opened my mouth to argue, but my husband was faster. "Oh, well, Melly, I understand. Hell, I want to you stay… but, well, you're Robby's girl now. Best not stay away from him too long." He grinned at her, gave her a quick one-armed hug and turned to me. "What do you say, Esme?"

My face was already drained of all emotions by the time he turned to me. So I just said tonelessly, "Yes, of course. I'll miss you, Mel."

Amelia was staring at me. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then she glanced for a moment at Charles' hand still wrapped around her shoulder, then closed her mouth again. I gave the tiniest of shrugs which only she saw. It was a silent message from me to her that I had already accepted her choice to chicken out of helping me. She looked perturbed as she left, even as she was riding away in Charles' motor- he was dropping her. Well, I didn't give a damn. I just predicted –rightly, I found out later- that our friendship would never heal from this wound.

Two more days seemed to go by in a flash. I remained at home with stern old Mrs. Evenson, servile and obedient, while Charles went to work at a bank- he'd only started a few months previously. The daytime hours would be quiet, with me mostly helping my mother-in-law with her knitting or reading to her, dusting up the numerous ornaments every now and then- little domestic jobs, not amounting to much. It was quiet, peaceful and uneventful- but no, it wasn't peaceful, since I always dreaded the evenings when Charles would return.

He had very obviously stopped his loud torture of me, keeping in mind the fact that his mother lived under the same roof. When Amelia was at home, he hadn't tried to dominate over me much, knowing that Mel thought me a very dominating person, too. After she left, he dropped all such pretences and ordered me about blatantly. He wasn't rude- he was only insolent.

I realised the difference between those two words, which I had previously thought synonyms, thanks to him. Rude seems to denote something brash, crude- like swords being roughly hacked into you. Insolent seemed to mean a more smooth, suave, twisted way of making someone feel miserable and inferior, like painful pokes from a razor sharp rapier.

And Charles was insolent. If his mother noticed, she didn't say anything, probably thought it was in his place to treat me in whatever way he wanted.

The dull grey Tuesday morning, not very different from my wedding morning exactly a week previously, started uneventfully. I helped Charles get dressed and ready for work(I'd always have time to tend to myself after he left- and I didn't ever again want to bathe with him in the house), we went downstairs. I set the table for breakfast, quickly making toast and eggs and the special Ceylon tea Mrs. Evenson drank immediately after breakfast.

Then I went to her room- on the ground floor, she couldn't manage too many stairs- and helped her up and to get dressed. When I led her into the dining room, Charles was already seated at the table, wolfing down toast in enormous bites.

"Morrin' mo'er."

"Don't talk with your mouth full," his mother snapped, not bothering to reply with the generally accepted reply. "And stop eating in that horrendous way. Take in small bites, for heaven's sake. You're torturing me."

Really?- I thought as I poured her tea. You haven't seen torture in its face, lady.

"Charles let out an absent-minded "Hmm", his stock-phrase for his mother's interminable lectures. He had his nose buried in the morning newspaper, which he used to serve as an explanation for the absent-mindedness.

We ate in silence for several minutes, Mrs. Evenson regularly punctuating it with some snappy criticism or the other. I had quickly learnt from Charles and Mel to ignore it; I was thus studiously concentrating on my plate as I ate, as though I was expecting it to turn into green frogs any moment.

Then we heard the click of the gate, a few quick, shuffling footsteps, the soft thud of paper hitting something metal, then the footsteps fading away, the click of the gate as it shut. The morning post had arrived.

I stood up mid-breakfast to collect the mail, another job unanimously thrust upon my shoulders. It wasn't a big deal, but who knew when they'd start taking me for granted and relegate bigger tasks to me without a care?

Slowly, languidly, I sorted through the mail as I made my way back to the dining room.

Two letters to Mrs. Evenson- one from an old friend, another from some obscure church to which she was a regular donor.

One for me and Charles, congratulating us.

One for Mel, from a friend who didn't seem to know she was happily married and lived in Pittsburgh.

A couple of bills, some of the first ones I had seen of my new household.

And finally an official-looking letter to Charles.

I handed Charles the letter and his mother her mail while I absently ran though the long and flowery congratulatory note from someone I didn't really know.

I was interrupted by a gasp. Charles was frozen, his eyes fixed on the letter. My mother-in-law asked sharply, "What is it?"

He seemed to gather himself with an effort. "Well," he said, smiling grimly, "it looks like America is finally going to war."

His mother let out a wheezy, fluttering gasp. I just stared at him silently, not daring to comprehend what he meant by that.

"You had enlisted?"- I asked him.

"Yes, just in case, and all that, you know. Never thought I'd actually have to go."

Well, of course you'd go eventually, I thought. What did you think you were getting into- Broadway? Just send in your name and hope you get picked?

"I'll have to report myself in a week. Since I'm a civilian with no previous military experience, I'll have to undergo some sort of training. For a few weeks." He spoke smoothly, complacently, almost nonchalantly. I already knew him well enough by now to know that he was feeling far from complacent at the moment.

His mother sensed it, too. "Don't worry, Charles, my boy! You're a good shot, as it is. They'll probably even make you a sniper!" She was already past her initial shock and worry for her son's life. She was already thinking about the nobleness of the cause, of patriotism, and of course, about how much more respect the family name would earn.

But I wasn't really concentrating on anything that they said. A week. He would leave in a week. And I'd be free. Temporarily, perhaps(the other alternative being widowed, but I wouldn't think about that), but free nonetheless. Oh, how much this freedom meant to me!

So I gave him a radiant smile as he acknowledged that he could, perhaps, become a damn good sniper(all nonsense and just stuffed pride), and said enthusiastically, "Oh, darling, I'm so proud of you!"

For once, I was thoroughly glad that there was a war, and my patriotism for my country increased by several degrees.

For I was free.