Four of a Kind: A women's historical fiction (23 page)

Jesse had brought this home without a word about it to me. I now understood what he meant by his “not even if you marched with the Confederates” statement. If only such unconditional love would be contagious with the
women
of this household.

The three female family members sat silently at the other end of the long wooden table, coffee cups in hand, looking at me with shock, confusion, and yes, I believed with some awe.

I lowered myself heavily onto the first chair I came to and pulled the newspaper over to me with both hands as if the words weighed more than the paper they were written on. Resting my elbows on the table, I involuntarily brought my hands up to my forehead to shield the oncoming stares and began reading. Below the picture was a short paragraph describing the parade, its participants and its path. The text referenced editorials on page 6, one of those from a Mrs. Thomas Pickering. Cady’s letter! I couldn’t continue the day
or any discussion without reading this. I read as hungrily as I ate; eggs, biscuits and coffee sliding into my peripheral view.

Cady’s letter had a precursory clause that stated the newspaper upheld the constitutional right to freedom of speech and thus published said article with the understanding that the opinions of the author were
not
those of the publisher.

Her letter assured the public that we were the same steadfast and dedicated wives and mothers of always, continuing to love our husbands, fathers and brothers, living and dying for our children. “We do not wish to
be
more, but simply
do
more,” she wrote. “An evolution of government is required. Enfranchisement of women is the next logical step in improving government thinking regarding domestic life. Our government must be brought up-to-date to harmonize with the present social conditions.” She went on to talk about reform required in laws for marital rights and the workforce, covering all our discussions during our secret teas. I was neither surprised nor alarmed until the end when she announced the July 18
^th
Women’s Rights Convention. Robert would be sure to read this and would now know about it. And it being only two weeks away and I’m totally out of reach here at the farm, my lady friends would think I had deserted them when they needed me the most.

Waiting for Robert to cool down – or to tire of Bess’s inexperienced cooking – was going to be grueling.

I looked up at my family staring at me as if I were a stranger. I suppose I was one - they’d had no warning.

“You must read this to understand. Cady Pickering explained it better than I ever could.”

Opal forced a token smile. She stood up suddenly from the table. “I apologize, Ruby, but I must go. Jacob is due here soon and I’ve got to pick some garden goodies for a gift basket to his parents.”

“Jacob?”

“You’re not the only one with surprises. Jacob is my fiancée.” That explained her light rose dress and pink glow. Her rounded face reminded me of a cherub.

I glanced at Mama and Edith but they didn’t seem to show the same glow. Mama’s written notes to me referred to their neighbor – and now fiancée - as ‘Amish-Jacob-Penn’ as if all one name.

“Has he been courting you?” I asked.

“If you call courting wearing a path down between the back door and the orchard like you and Robert used to do, then the answer is yes. Is he still such a creature of habit?”

“Let’s just say, if I moved the furniture, he’d be lost.”

“Oh you girls. Shame on you Ruby for criticizing your husband!” Mama said, slowly lifting her heavy frame from her chair. She looked upset over this Jacob.

Opal glanced over and saw the same thing. She sat down and fiddled with an empty cup. “Jacob’s a decent man,” she said. “Recently, he came around offering to help Jesse. Jesse was short-handed with the dairy business growing like it is and gladly accepted. He worked for several hours a day for a week. Jesse then attempted to pay him a week’s wages, but Jacob would not accept payment. He asked that instead he be permitted to call on me and begin courting. Can you imagine?”

This isn’t the dark ages
, my scowl told her.

Opal quickly added, “He’s very shy you see.”

“Let me understand this,” I said. “He worked into the good graces of Jesse in payment to court you? What about
your
good graces? What do
you
feel for Jacob?”

“I’m touched by this, Ruby. And naturally he would go to Jesse for permission. After all, Jesse is head of the household now that Papa is gone.” Her tone sounded defensive. “Furthermore, since we are not Amish, Jacob was concerned that Jesse would forbid it.

“He had great difficulty asking me to marry him, especially with German being his mother tongue. I didn’t think he would ever get the proposal out of his mouth. And do you know what he gave me with his proposal? A mantel clock!”

“Was this symbolic?” I asked. “Did he mean that time is quickly marching by on your way to being an old spinster?” I smiled but Opal was in no mood for humor.

“No, it’s Amish tradition. But time is marching by, Ruby. Is it not part of God’s plan that we marry and have children? And here I am twenty-five years old, for goodness sake. You were married at seventeen! And God will know me in that church as well, won’t he?”

It sounded odd to me. “What does Jacob’s family say about this? Does he have their blessing?”

“Yes. Of course they told Jacob that I must be baptized into the Amish faith and join their church. I am now reading the
Ordnung
, which is their written set of rules for daily living.”

Mama and Edith busied themselves with the dishes but I knew their volume was turned up. Now I understood why Mama looked so upset. Opal must leave our church. I’d miss Opal not sitting in our customary pew, but it would be harder for Mama not to have all of us there. Sometimes I thought Mama lived to go to church and was dying to rest in the church cemetery next to Papa. Eternally in her one church dress of dark green wool, its high collar pinned with her garnet brooch.

“Your heart matters here, too, you know,” I said.

Opal licked her lips and her misty blue eyes finally met mine. “What would you have me say? That I love him? Love, I believe, comes with time and ... and … children. Living with one another, learning one another. How do you know a man before marrying him? Our courting is no different than yours and look how well you faired.”

Who said,
Silence is golden
?

“You are right, Opal. I am in no position to question your decision. However, may I just say that a wife’s obligations are many. I admit I find these difficult at times. A man’s needs…”

Mama and Edith both turned and looked at me open-mouthed. I hesitated but if I was going to talk in front of a convention, I’d better start practicing now. In spite of my heated face, I continued. “… are often. And you worry when he is meeting his needs that conception will occur. And conception means childbirth. And childbirth could mean death, for you, for the baby. And it repeats itself. And sometimes, it seems…there is no end…” They all looked so shocked, I couldn’t go on.

“What hogwash, Ruby,” Opal said. “I only want the married life that you have and no more. Why isn’t that enough for you?”

“Look, little sister,” I said, sounding angrier than I intended. “I only wished to prepare you for the worst. I only wish you the best. There are some scary moments ahead of you that you should know about. It is no wonder women never speak of it.”

“I will not allow any more of that talk in here,” Edith said, her back to us. She was pumping water at the sink faster than normal, filling a large washtub stacked with fresh-picked green beans.

I was outnumbered. “Congratulations, Opal,” I conceded, trying to sound calm, although I trembled inside and wished to cry for some strange reason. “Can I help you with your wedding plans?”

Opal stood and shrugged her shoulders. “What little there is to do. Amish folks have a very simple ceremony at their homes, from what I understand. I should know more today. We’re going to his house to discuss the wedding with his parents.” Poor Opal had always talked about having a big church wedding, wearing her own wedding dress creation.

Mama began stacking jars into a large wicker basket. “I’ll go outside,” she announced to no one, “and have one of the boys help me start the fire to sterilize the canning jars.” She waddled away under the basket’s heavy load. Edith followed her and called out to one of the boys to come quickly and help grandma with these jars.

The day’s work had begun, just like every other day I could remember. They would be grateful for the extra pair of hands. Yet I felt out of place drooping here in an oversized dress, like a half-sack of year-old apples that no one quite knew what to do with. I settled at the table and listened to the many sounds around me; the ticking grandfather clock coming from the front room, the dripping water from the sink pump behind me, the outside voices of boys, dogs, commands from Jesse. Keeping his boys busy doing their chores during the summer months was a challenge. At the core of it all hummed the softer resonance of Mama and Edith, tones of harmony that knew their parts by heart in working the summer-long task of food preservation.

Everything around me felt distant, like I wasn’t part of the living, but only a ghost wandering old places where I once belonged. My place was in my own home with my own chores – my garden, my children. How long must I wait before Robert called me back home?

I laid my head on the table at this juncture of my self-pity and that’s when I spotted the Annan Newspaper editorial by Mr. Edrite Formen, titled
Evolution: Girl, Government, or God?
It read:

4
^th
of July. Celebration of our Independence. Independence that granted us freedom. Freedom of religion. Freedom of speech. Freedom from being subjects of a king, from monarchy, from burdening taxes to royalty. Celebration of the spirit of man. Of self-government. Celebrate the men, the real soldiers who fought for our liberty. This is a time to celebrate democracy as we know it: the best government, the best society in the world.

‘Yet, best is not good enough for some amongst us. We, in our peaceful town, were abruptly confronted with a group of women marching like soldiers in uniform, carrying banners of protest through our serene streets, as if marching to war. Who are her enemies?

While the band played America the Beautiful, these female fighters of disruption seized the opportunity to sew strife amongst us, to turn us against ourselves, man against his wife, to attempt to divide us so as to tear at the fabric of our families, to conquer us back to the era of cave men. Evolution of Girl? I think not. Devolution, perhaps.

This legion of women carried a banner saying ‘give us a voice’. I ask this: What are they going to say that we haven’t already provided? America the beautiful has the best system of governing in the world. Our democracy is a vast improvement over any former system of government. I thank our forefathers who struggled tirelessly to prepare our constitution. I thank our fathers of today: state governors and our mayors, who work to provide us with effective government. The issues of the day are complicated and difficult. It is foolhardy to have female fighters voicing opinions to further complicate today’s issues and delay governmental proceedings. With such angry female voices in our legislature, we would not get any laws passed! They ask to change the law in the institution of marriage. Yet women have the choice to accept or deny a man’s proposal of marriage. When she says yes, she is accepting the rules
that protect this institution. The old adage applies here: ‘If you can’t take the heat, stay out of the kitchen!’ Evolution of Government? Not required. I say ‘If it’s not broke, don’t fix it!’

‘This legion of women asserts to change the order provided by our God, but I ask you, who are they to improve on God’s work? They advocate that men and women are created equal. Have they not eyes to see? Do they not know that the contents of men’s britches differ from the contents of women’s petticoats? Do these female fighters not see that men naturally carry the seed of life, women naturally carry the child, and women naturally nourish the child at their breast? Can they not see that men and women are not created equal, but are complimentary? Do these women pretend that they will fight to defeat nature? Evolution of God? Read your Bibles, ladies: ‘He is the same yesterday, today, and always’.

It is unnatural for women to fight. These legionnaires who fight against our established order, God’s order, against good government and good family, are fighting against our children growing up in the images of their parents. It is right that a son should grow up in the image of his father, and a daughter grow up in the image of her mother. From an early age our children start to assume their proper roles. If these female fighters are successful in their battle against government and God, then our whole order of society will be tossed upside down. Our children will not know what is expected of them. They will not know what path to follow through life.

‘The Ladies Legion, as their group is called, have chosen to fight Our Father, our forefathers, our fathers, and to fight the natural order of hierarchy of family and state. It is no wonder they are also called men-haters.

Fueling my doubts first planted by Formen’s article, I wandered out to the front porch and around to the backyard, long ago memories running through my mind like a nickelodeon, showing me what family is supposed to be. The scene in the backyard and beyond to the garden stopped me in my tracks, so much like an oil painting, so much like my childhood here. Opal was off to my right in the distant garden, her large pink bonnet shading her face from the bright sun, walking, bending, stooping, basket on her hip. Edith stood in the center of the scene, bent over the large black iron kettle, a hungry fire licking around its grate. She was dappled in sun and shade from
the trees behind her, her face flushed, her bonnet dangling down her back. Mama sat on the left of the scene, on her red chair with the cane bottom, her favorite place to sit in the shade by the back door, churning butter, her hand moving the thick handle up and down inside its clay crock without notice. Her attention stayed on Joey who was chasing a chicken.