Four of a Kind: A women's historical fiction (52 page)

“Jeremiah, how can I say goodbye?” My vision blurred and I looked back down at my dove, wishing my heart were made of this wood.

“This can’t be goodbye forever, Ruby. Let’s think of it that way. I can’t stand the thought of it.” He patted the horse’s side as if it had just given him an idea. “I know what I can do. I’ll come back through on my way home from New York City. I don’t know how long it will be but when I do, do you think, Ruby, that maybe we could meet again in the park? We could just talk – there’s nothing wrong with that, now is it?”

“I would love to sit again and talk with you, Jeremiah. That would be wonderful!” I felt a tremendous relief at not having to face forever. “This is not goodbye then. What a horrible word! Let us just say, what was it your mama used to say, win-na-de...”

“...ya-ho,” he finished. “Win-na-de-ya-ho.”

“Thank you for this day,” we said together.

“I love you,” I whispered to the dove and gave it a small kiss on its tiny beak. I laid it back in my lap and continued rocking. I looked down the street to where he had, only hours before, tipped his hat to me, mounted his horse, and rode away. I had watched until he had disappeared. I continued to watch now, as if he would magically appear again. Why not? Wasn’t the last appearance only a dream? No, I had his dove, real and mine. I clasped it to my heart and rocked some more. I heard the distant clip-clop of a horse. I sat up straight, intensely squinting toward the sound.

Finally I sat back, weighted down by disappointment. Buggy wheels, too, not just a horse. I watched, disinterested, as Aimee stepped down from Eunice’s buggy and Eunice waved and rode on. She joined me on the verandah.

“You’re still here rocking away!” she said. “Goodness, it is terribly warm today!” She waved away my offer for a cold drink. “I shouldn’t be here,” she answered. “But first I must tell you what all happened today.” She opened a folded fan from her handbag and waved it front of her face, her strayed blond hair in frizzy curls moving slightly in the hand-made breeze. “First I must apologize. Mr. Jeremiah Bluemountain showed so much concern for your accident, I felt I had no choice but to give him your address. When he left in such a hurry, I grew concerned that it may not have been the appropriate thing to do.”

I saw curiosity, not concern, in Aimee’s expression. I didn’t blame Aimee for wondering. I tried desperately not to blush, as I said as off-handed as was humanly possible, “No need to apologize, Aimee.” I wished to hear more about him; just hearing his name was exciting. My mind scrambled to think of another question about him. “So, why was he there?”

“You tell me,” Aimee answered, shrugging. “He arrived shortly after I did, and quite honestly, from a distance I thought he was stalking something, the way he was watching, hunting for ... I don’t know. Maybe it is because he looks so...Indian. I was uneasy until I recognized him from the convention and remembered he did a good job speaking on our behalf. It’s so terribly unfortunate you couldn’t have stayed. That preacher–”

“I don’t wish to discuss that. Please continue about the Indian.”

“Well, then Eunice told me about how you and he had rebuilt the broken booth - another tragedy, really, why such hostility? Anyway, she said Mr. Bluemountain was very kind to do so in the spare time he has waiting to escort Mrs. Catt to New York City. You should know that Mrs. Catt has been holed up in Cady’s home ever since the convention. Cady collapsed that evening and hasn’t been out of the house since, so Mrs. Catt stayed a little longer than planned to keep
Cady company. We must pray for Cady. Where was I? Oh, yes, well, when Mr. Bluemountain approached me, asking for your whereabouts, and well, I know I shouldn’t say this but,” she leaned toward me and murmured, “I was quite taken back by him. He has very nice eyes and a soft accent – he must be from the south somewhere.”

She became quiet for a moment, curling a strand of blond hair around her finger. “So, did he?”

I flinched slightly in spite of my apparent calm. “Did he what?”

“Did he come by?”

“Oh Aimee, I just feel terribly guilty about the whole thing!” I blurted out. I had to tell someone what nagged at my heart - but not so foolish to tell everything in my heart. Although what I said was foolish enough.

“Guilty? Why?”

“Because if I hadn’t been there building that booth with Jeremiah, fighting for women’s rights and all, Bess would not have been here alone, fighting for her life!”

Aimee stopped twirling her hair and she sat up straight. “Bess is fighting for her life?” She glanced in the parlor window.

“No, not now. She is much better. But it is my fault she is burned in the first place, and if I hadn’t returned home when I did, well I shudder to think.”

“You think it is your fault because you weren’t home? Oh, come on, Ruby, accidents happen! And you can’t go on blaming yourself when … ” She stopped when she saw Robert coming up the steps.

I hadn’t seen him coming either, so absorbed I was under my blanket of shame.

He nodded toward Aimee. “Good day,” he said coldly. He gave me the same cold expression. “Ruby, did I hear correctly that you weren’t home yesterday?”

Aimee jumped up, patting around her skirts as if she had a bee under there. “Well, I must go. Good day, Robert, good day, Ruby.” She ran toward home.

Robert’s eyes hadn’t left mine. “Ruby?”

I raised from my chair slowly and faced him, my judge and jury.

“Yes, Robert, I was not home during the afternoon.”

“This has gone on long enough, Ruby. Get inside and go upstairs now.”

“It is supper-time, Robert, and I must feed the children.”

“How are you going to cook with a burnt hand, Ruby?” His tone bit accusingly.

“Aimee kindly brought over some food.”

“Then place it on the table, and go to your room. I’ll ensure the boys eat.” He followed me inside. “Take some food up to Bess, first.”

I obeyed, praying he did not make a scene in front of the boys, or raise his voice to where Bess could hear.

I sat with Bess and Pearl on their bed, nibbling off our plates, and remained there like a coward until evening darkened the window. I couldn’t insist that Pearl sleep on blankets on the floor while I slept with Bess yet another night. When I heard the boys come up for bed, I decided to face my foe. I opened the door and answered back to the boys’ goodnights, blowing them kisses. Robert stood at our bedroom door. He snapped his fingers and jerked his thumb to that dark place. Yet, I refused to scurry to him like a scared rabbit! I held up a finger for him to wait a moment and turned to the girls’ bed and kissed them goodnight. I was determined to have a civil conversation with my husband.

I entered and he closed the door behind me. He slapped my face so hard that I saw spots. I put my hand over my mouth to silence my cry. He slapped my other cheek, harder this time and I tasted blood. I raised my hand to block a third strike and he grabbed my wrist and pulled my arm behind my back. There were no words; only heavy breathing and choked sobs. He pushed me onto the bed and fell on top of my back, smothering me deep into the feather mattress.

“No more, do you understand me?” he growled into my ear. “No more or I will surely beat the living hell out of you!” He jerked hard at his handful of hair at the nape of my neck. “Do. You. Understand. Me.”

“Yes!” came my muffled cry. I could not breathe and kicked my legs in panic. He lifted himself off and I raised my head to breathe in
air. Blood dropped off my chin onto the white chenille bedspread. I clamped my bandaged hand to my mouth and ran over to the washbowl. The bandage was turning red. I poured some water from the pitcher into the bowl.

Robert stopped pacing and watched me in the mirror over the bowl. “My God, you are bleeding,” he said. He joined me at the washbowl and grabbed a washcloth. He clutched my chin, causing me to recoil.

“Hold still,” he muttered. He dipped the wash cloth into the water and roughly wiped. “The inside of your lip is cut.” I winced with pain and drew back. “Hold still, I said!” He continued to wipe but more gently now. He poured water into a glass. “Rinse.” I obeyed and spit red into the bowl. He turned my shoulders to face him and wiped some more. “I want you to listen to me, Ruby. And listen good.”

Fine, I’ll listen but I don’t have to look at you
. I focused on his flared nostrils.

“You are no longer permitted outside this house, without my permission. You will remain here and look after the children as you are supposed to do.”

I raised my eyes to his. They were examining my mouth with concern, but his lips were pinched and stern. He let go and threw the washcloth into the water. I stared down at the water slowly turning pink.

“I’m going downstairs to read. You stay here.” He turned his back to me and headed toward the door.

To see him turn from me, cut me off, what was he thinking? To leave me here, to
imprison me?
From deep within my gut, a low ember caught flame and I felt the heat quickly spread through to my very fingertips and toes.

“Robert, talk to me!” I cried through clenched teeth, spewing through my swollen lips.

He paused at the door and looked back. “Why should I? I no longer trust you.” He turned to the door and twisted the knob.

How dare he! I snatched the washcloth from its reddened pool and threw it at his back with many years of pent-up anger behind
it. It slapped loudly in the middle of his back and he arched as one might in being shot. He turned and looked down at the limp rag at his feet.

Fear seized me but it was too late now. I raised my chin. I walked toward him, hands clinched in fists and spat out, “Talk to me, I said!”

He picked up the rag and rolled it into his own fist. “Fine,” he said. “Fine!” He came toward me and my body steeled itself for the blow. He shook the fist at me. “I’ll talk to you! I’ll tell you this! My shop has lost a good deal of business, did you know that? Of course you didn’t! And do you want to know why?” He was up in my face now, his cheeks splotched, his brown eyes glazed with fury. “Because of you, Ruby! Ever since the parade, I’ve had to deal with comments in town about how I can’t control my own wife, my own household, so how can I manage a business? Some men stopped buying from me altogether, saying they go into Syracuse now, where they can trust the merchant to know what he is doing. And the jokes about your women’s group parading yourselves around town. Here is one for you: What is black and white and read once a month? I’ll give you a hint; it is not the standard punch line, newspaper. The punch line is, marching women on their periods! Understand, r-e-d? Ha! Not so funny, is it? Jokes are one thing, which I hear plenty of, but there’s more. Do you want to hear more?”

He began pacing the floor. “Of course, a parade was just getting your feet wet, wasn’t it? You had bigger ways to disobey me. You had to go on public display and air out our personal problems into a damn megaphone for the whole town to hear. About how you want to reach others in need, when you can’t even fill the needs of your own children? Hell, you haven’t even spent time with your children, I bet this entire summer! Your idea of spending time with them is to drag Bess to a convention so she can watch her mama berate men with a bunch of bitches!”

He raised his hands up in the air. “And that’s not all, Ruby, no that is not all. You may be quite proud of your little group but let me tell you what it did to
me
.” He stopped and glared at me. “You remember me, don’t you Ruby?” He jerked his thumb to his chest.
“I’m one of those men you hate. Well, I’ll have you know that I lost my biggest contract because of
you
!” He pointed his finger at me. “For years I had a contract with the textile mill for steel-toed boots. After your public outcry in a God-forsaken convention, the owner of the mill comes to me and says he didn’t realize that my wife was part of the petticoat rebellion. That’s right,
petticoat rebellion
! You are a laughing stock! He said that, thanks to this group of women, he has several women now crying for better work conditions, and more money. It may run him into bankruptcy. He blamed
me
for what
you
are doing out there and canceled his order. I now have a stock of one hundred and twenty-eight pairs of boots and no buyer.”

He walked back to me, his bottom lip trembling. “Let me explain that to you in simple English. That means that I have a hell of a lot of money spent on stock, but no money coming back in. Do you see what I mean, Ruby, do you?”

He turned away and I stared at his white shirt – at the large wet spot blotched with red. His shoulders were lower now, his head down, his energy spent.

I felt stronger somehow, as if in relinquishing his words to me he had relinquished his strength to me.

“Robert, how would I have known this, except that you – why, I had no idea!” I touched my swollen lip wishing that this of all nights I could speak clearly. “You and I live in two different worlds. You don’t know mine any more than I know yours. But my world is much more confining. Sometimes the walls are closing in on me, Robert. I don’t mind my chores, I just want to do more! Don’t
you
see? I could help you in other ways, too – I could earn wages, if you are having financial difficulties—”