Mary — May 30, 1861
Mary locked the door of her room before she undressed and changed into the shift she wore at night in the summer heat. She noticed that the touch of the fabric irritated the skin of her bosom that had been so tender of late.
Did I bump into something? she wondered. I can’t recall doing so. She sat on the bed and began braiding her hair. Every time one arm or the other brushed against her breasts, she felt the annoyance of pain.
She must take a look, see if she had bruised herself.
She swallowed. A proper young lady did not look at her body. She kept it covered, always.
She swallowed again. Except when Rulon asked me to disrobe so he could gaze upon me.
The request had disturbed her, but she had finally come to terms with it and acquiesced. Several times. Over and over and over. She felt herself warm and swallowed again. She had done that to please her husband. That was permissible.
I have injured myself somehow, she temporized. I must discover where.
She took the lamp to the looking glass and set it down. She took a deep breath. Her mouth had gone dry and now she couldn’t make saliva to swallow. Holding her breath, she took the shift from her body. She breathed out. She examined her form in the glass. She lifted the lamp aloft to cast a wider pool of light. She held her breath again and looked closely at her breasts, careful not to touch them. They looked larger than she had imagined they were, but they had no bruise upon them that she could see. It was evident that she had not run against anything that had injured her flesh.
She let out the held breath in a shaky sigh. Mortified that she had been gazing at her own body, Mary placed the lamp on a chest of drawers and blew out the light. She stumbled to the bed, frantically replacing the shift. Whispering a prayer for forgiveness, she got into bed and covered herself with the bedclothes, although the night continued warm.
She lay in the bed, clasping the quilt to her chin. Tears stung her eyes. Why had she done that? Why had she looked upon herself? A tear slid down her cheek. Would God punish her for that sin? She trembled. What if she was... what if Rulon had truly left a child in her belly? Would God strike out at that child? Cause it harm for her sinful glance? She sobbed, letting her tears soak the bedding. She couldn’t believe in a vengeful god who would punish a baby that way.
Perhaps there was no god. No! No! That would mean there was no one to watch over Rulon, to keep him safe. She could not believe that, either.
Growing so hot that she began to perspire, Mary flung aside the bed covering, keeping only the sheet on her body. That was better. That was sensible.
The bed seemed so empty now that Rulon was not here to fill it with his vitality and strength. How she missed him! A scrap of contrariness arose in her and she ventured to touch one breast. It remained tender.
Something was happening to her body; that was sure. Was this a sign that she truly was increasing? Who could advise her?
She quickly ruled out speaking to her mother. Mama never talked about such matters.
She had no close friends who were married ladies.
In despair, she realized she had no one with whom she could counsel.
She lay quietly, thinking of Rulon’s last embrace on the morning he had left. How she wished he were here to comfort her! Certainly her own mother had not been the tenderest soul of late. But Rulon could be as tender as a mother when she needed that of him. Perhaps his mother had played a part in shaping a gentle part of his being.
His mother. Mother Owen. Mary inhaled deeply. She can advise me.
Mary covered her mouth with her hand, then thought how foolish that movement was. The audacious thought had come from her brain, not her mouth.
Mother Owen. She was a forthright, courageous lady if there ever was one. Did she shrink from discussing matters of... anatomy?
There was but one way to discover if she did or did not. Mary had to ask her.
~~~
Mary — May 31, 1861
The next day, Mary sat in the back room of the store, sorting skeins of embroidery thread by color, when her father entered and looked down at her. When she glanced up, her heart froze at the sight of his frown.
She had difficulty getting any words through her suddenly-dry throat. “Papa?” she finally forced out. Has he some news of Rulon?
He shook his head with an effort. “Rest easy, daughter. My mind was elsewhere.”
“May I help, Papa?” What was causing him such a concerned look?
“You must not worry yourself, Mary.” He forcibly thrust his hand through his dark hair. “Your mother is not as excited as I had hoped she would be about her condition.”
“What do you mean, Papa?”
“Perhaps you shall have a brother by and by,” he said. “That is my hope.”
Mama is increasing? That certainly would account for her irritable attitude of late. “Felicitations, Papa,” she said, a bit staggered to think that her parents partook of the same delights that Rulon and she had discovered together. She banished the thought, unable to lend it credence. Mama would not take delight in intimacies.
Papa extended his hand, in which he held a letter. “The missive is addressed to you. I’ll leave you to read it in peace.”
As her father left the room, Mary examined the folded paper, her hands shaking. Yes, it was from Rulon. She recognized his script from the notes he used to leave her in the fork of the elm in the backyard of her father’s house. She got the letter open and smoothed it across her knees.
Berryville, Berkeley Co. Va.
Twenty-fourth May, 1861
My pretty wife,
We have arriv’d at camp. I only have a momunt to scribbl this note Thank you for the token which I will wear over my heart until I see you again.
The wether looks like rain. We hope it holds off until nite. The fellows in the company are mostly of the regular sort. I will get along with them.
A trumpet is soundin. Corp’rl Lovell tells me the call is ment to get us on the march. I must post this now. I will rite to you later. Tell the little one his papa lovs him. Mary, my sweet Sugar, I see yor face each nite in my dreems.
Yor husband
Rulon S Owen, Private
Co. I, 1st Reg’t Va. Cav.
Mary sobbed as she clutched the note to her bosom. Rulon was well. He loved her. He hadn’t written that, but she could feel the strength of his esteem from the words he used. She briefly touched her skirt where it covered her abdomen, hoping there was a “little one” there to whisper to, hoping it was the son Rulon seemed to expect.
After a while her tears dried, and she tucked the note into her bodice, listening—for the rest of the day—to the crackle of the paper every time she moved around, going about the tasks that earned her keep while her husband was at war.
~~~
Ben — June 5, 1861
Ben took his noon break alongside the creek behind the mill, eating the first of two sandwiches Ma had packed that morning. He had just begun to wash it down with a bottle of milk he’d retrieved from the creek when small hands crept across his face from behind him and covered his eyes.
“Guess who,” demanded a voice he knew so well that he choked as desire rose in him.
Keeping himself very still, he said softly, “Marie? How’d you get here? Did Pa bring you into town?”
“No! Guess again.”
“Julianna? You sound so grown up.” He put as much incredulity into his voice as he knew how.
“No-uh,” said the girl, exasperation making her draw out the word.
He put the bottle on the ground beside him and placed his hands over the top of the ones touching his face. “I do not know any other women but my ma and Ella Ruth Allen.” He heard the huskiness of his voice. “Ma is busy weedin’ the truck garden today. I conclude that you are...” He brought the hands to his lips, kissing first one, then the other. “My love. My all. My Ella Ruth.”
A long and satisfied sigh answered him. Then the hands were tugged free of his grasp and Ella Ruth dashed around, planted herself in his lap, and put her arms around his neck. “I’m not your Ella Ruth yet, Benjamin. You have to get Poppa to let us marry.”
He groaned as he bent forward and found her mouth, muttering, “Lordy, lordy, don’t tempt me so.”
She let him kiss her for a while, then shoved him back.
“Ben, Poppa is home from his trip. Come to supper tonight and plead your case to him.”
Ben felt his eyebrows rise. “He’ll let me come to supper?”
“I haven’t asked him, but I’m sure he won’t mind. I told Momma I would invite you, and she shrugged her shoulders, so I do not feel she will object if you arrive about six o’clock.”
“That’s some progress, at least,” Ben muttered. “I’m obliged that you’ve been working on your ma to change her opinion of me.”
“Momma does not hate you, Ben. She quite likes you, in fact. She is concerned that you don’t have property. You must be able to support a wife, after all.”
“Sweet girl, you do remember I’m goin’ off to fight the Yankee hoards?”
“Oh Ben, that is so tiresome. Don’t talk about that anymore.”
He took her face between his calloused fingers and held it still. He gazed into her eyes. “Ella Ruth. The Rifles are leavin’ this month. You know that, but you persist in disbelievin’ that I’m obliged to go. If I come to supper, it will be to ask for your hand on the spot, and to tell your pa that we’re going to be married as soon as may be. There will be no fancy weddin’. It’ll be only you, me, and our folks.” He swallowed. “Or it will be nothin’ at all.”
Ella Ruth drew in a sharp breath. She let it out slowly, shakily. When at last she spoke, she said, “Benjamin, you do not mean that. You cannot rob a girl of her dreams.”
“If you truly want me, girl, the time has come to act like it. Now... or never.” His throat felt as though it burned as he uttered the ultimatum.
She stared at him, frowning slightly. “You are serious,” she finally said.
“I never have been more.”
She gave a little shake of her head. “This talk is so unlike a gentleman, Benjamin. You are mistreating me.” She got off his lap.
“No. I am offering you my heart, my life.” He felt himself quivering from the strain as he arose. “But you must take them now, or you must leave them alone.”
She raised her chin. “I don’t like this talk, Benjamin. When you can treat me nicely, you may see me again.” She turned her back and picked her way across the yard toward the front of the mill.
Ben exhaled. The girl would not see reason, could not see that life was spiraling out of her grasp, that she must bend her will to the times or they would break her. He felt as though his heart were cracking into pieces as she slipped around the corner.
~~~
Mary — June 7, 1861
Several days after Mary had determined to speak to her mother-in-law, Julia Owen came into the store with a basket of eggs. Mary headed off her father and beckoned her mother-in-law to the side counter.
“Mother Owen,” she said, hoping her smile was bright and cheerful, and not the wan greeting she was afraid might be seen on her face. “This is a good lot of eggs. You must be delighted with your hens.”
“Hello, Mistress Mary. They are laying well. I’m mighty pleased to see you. I received a letter from Rulon a few days ago. He is unhurt and busy. Have you heard from him?”
Mary dropped one hand behind the counter and started to touch her stomach, but thought better of it. She couldn’t keep up that action every time Rulon’s name was mentioned. What if she did it where others could see?
“Yes, ma’am, I mean Mother Owen. He wrote about the men in the company and the trumpets. He sounded very excited.”
“Young men are excited by fightin’, it seems. Are you well? You look a little green around the gills.”
Oh, I’m feelin’...” Mary hesitated, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “Ma’am, may I ask your advice about a delicate subject?”
Julia looked perplexed, but nodded.
“It is a somewhat personal question, a very personal, delicate question.”
“Mary girl, you may ask me anythin’ you have a mind to.” She looked around the busy store. “Would you prefer that we speak in the back room, or the garden?”
“Thank you. The garden is a peaceful place.” Mary removed her apron and came around the counter. “The eggs will be fine sittin’ there for a few moments. I promise not to take much time. I—”
Julia took her arm. “Let’s go to the garden, my dear.”
Once they had settled themselves on a bench under the elm tree where Rulon used to leave notes for her, Mary began in a soft voice. “Mrs... Mother Owen. I cannot speak to my mama about this. You appear to be made of sterner stuff than she is. I must ask... please advise me... how am I to know—”
“If you are to have a babe?”
“Yes!” Mary’s relief left her limp. Rulon’s ma would not shy away from the difficult topic.
Julia smiled and took Mary’s hand in her own. “You have a vital young husband. You are young and in good health. You undoubtedly have come together in the good Lord’s way, if Rulon’s dash up the stairs on your weddin’ day is any measure.”
Mary felt herself blushing at the mention of her husband’s haste. She nodded.
“It’s not been a month since that time, but mayhap your visit did not come around?”
“My visit?”
“The monthly. The accursed nuisance of womankind.”
“Oh. I understand. I did not think to notice.”
“Pay heed if it don’t appear.” She looked Mary over, top to toe. “You may feel a strangeness, a difference in your being?”
Mary slowly nodded, feeling wonderment at her mother-in-law’s knowledge.
“Are you overly fatigued?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Julia placed her arm across her own chest. “Do you have soreness in your bosom?”
“Yes. Certainly that.”
“Do odors offend you?”
“Now that you mention it, ma’am, yes, there are particular odors I cannot bear to smell.”
Julia smiled. “It is early to know for sure, but it appears I am to be a granny.”
“Pardon me?”
“You are likely increasin’, my dear girl. You will give me a grandchild.”
Mary sighed at the woman’s confirmation. She said in a shy tone, “Rulon hopes for a son.”
“Of course he does,” Julia said, then laughed. She added, “Every man upon this earth thinks only of sons.” She sobered, her smile fading. “Daughters can come later, but sons are highly valued for the first of the offspring. For some reason, begetting a man child is a proof of manhood. I don’t pretend to understand it. Men are strange creatures.”
Mary stared at the woman. Unlike her own mother, Mrs. Owen wasn’t afraid to speak about anything. She herself knew only a little about a man’s pride, but did know it was a thing she dared not meddle with. Her own father had exhibited a longing for a son not many days ago.
Swallowing, Mary asked a final question. “Will there be other signs to mind?”
“There are many. You may have difficulty keeping food down. Experience aching in the back.” Julia patted her chest. “These will swell, increase in size. You will need to alter your bodices. Then, of course, you will need to let out your waistbands, as your belly will gradually enlarge to accommodate the growin’ child. You must have seen that in your mother.”
Mary lowered her head. “We were not encouraged to take notice, ma’am.”
“Your ma is a mite squeamish on that head, but since she is with child, you might take heed, this go-around.”
Mary gasped. Mother Owen knew everything. “I only learned that a little while ago. She has been so irritable, and treated Rulon in a miserable way.”
“As long as you treated him well, I reckon he didn’t even pay heed to that.”
“Mother Owen, how you do talk!”
“No offense meant, my dear. I did mean treating with him in more ways than just the one. Always feed your man well. Tend whatever wounds he may carry, be they physical or to his spirit, with gentleness and a good try at understandin’ his pain. Listen to his complaints, and soothe his soul. Those are the secrets to happiness in a marriage.”
“I will remember your words for when he comes home.”
Julia nodded. “Store them up. This fight can’t last many months. Mr. Lincoln must be given to understand he cannot invade our homeland. We will resist firmly.”
Mary let go of Julia’s hand and clasped her own hands together. Rulon would return soon. They would have a child to raise up together. She looked at her mother-in-law and remembered something.
“Mother Owen, this isn’t your homeland. You weren’t born in Virginia.”
Julia Owen raised her chin. “This valley is my home, girl. I married my man here, and bore my children in the house he built for me. This,” she nodded, “this is my home.”
Mary felt a slight rebuke in her words, but forgave her the bluntness of them, glad that Mother Julia Owen was like a rock, the firm foundation that had nurtured Rulon to manhood. Mother Owen would be a loving granny to her child. What kind of grandmother her own mama would be had yet to be determined.
~~~
Mary — June 12, 1861
Upon arising one morning, Mary barely made it to the washbasin in time to empty bile and not much else into the ceramic vessel. Her stomach heaved past the point where there was anything left to expel, and when the cramping tightness in her abdomen had ceased, she sank back to the bed, shaking with weakness. Mother Owen had mentioned that one symptom she’d likely have was an inability to keep food on her stomach, but she had yet to eat anything today. Was this some other illness? She touched her face to check for fever, but there was none.
When she felt steady, she approached the basin for the purpose of emptying it into the slop bucket, but the smell made her gag. Oh-h-h. She retreated toward the bed. Who could she get to take this vile, odorous mess away? Ida wouldn’t do it. Of that she was sure. Perhaps she could bribe India with a sweet from the store? For now, she would have to leave it in place. The smell was insufferable. She could not bear to approach the basin to deal with it herself.
Brushing her hair away from her face, she made an attempt to make herself presentable for the day, but she hardly felt presentable. Instead, she felt queasy, and several times had to restrain herself from renewing the debacle at the basin.
She couldn’t work at the store in this condition. What if she had an accident at the counter, or on the merchandise, or, worse yet, on a customer?
At last she gave up the attempt to dress, and crawled back into bed.
It must not have been much past eight o’clock when a quick rap on the door woke her up. Who was disturbing her hard-won sleep? She took a tentative breath and said “Come in,” hoping the effort to use her voice wouldn’t roil up her stomach.
Her mother entered, moving so rapidly that the scarf she wore in a vain attempt to cloak her condition fluttered aside, revealing a thickness in her waist and a roundness at the front of her skirt.
“What is this nonsense?” she asked. “Why were you not in the kitchen preparing breakfast? We had poor fare for your father’s meal this morning. He works so very hard to meet our needs.”
“Mama,” Mary wailed. “I’m sick.”
Mrs. Hilbrands laid the back of her hand on Mary’s forehead. “There is no fever. What ails you?” She turned her head back and forth, sniffing. “What is that horrid stench?”
“I vomited,” Mary confessed. “Please, get someone to take it away. I cannot bear the odor.”
“You are— He—” Gasping, Mrs. Hilbrands put her hand to her mouth, then removed it so she could speak. “I told you not to marry. He has made you, gotten you, left you with child. How could you, daughter?”
“Beg pardon? How could I do what?” Questions. Why is she asking so many questions when my stomach is reeling?
“Engage in carnal intercourse with that boy.” Mrs. Hilbrands looked as though she thought she herself had broken all the Ten Commandments by speaking of it.
“We are wed.” Mary wanted to vomit again, and threw off the covers so she could swing her limbs out of the bed. “It’s the way of married folk.”
“And in this house!” She pointed at the bed, accusation written on her face.
“You wouldn’t let me leave. Mother Owen had a place for me, but you—” Mary couldn’t finish her thought, and she scurried to the basin to vomit again.
When she had finished, Mary begged, “Go away. Please, go away, and take this basin with you.”
~~~
Rulon — June 15, 1861
Rulon had spent the last three nights on picket near the Potomac River and had just come back to the camp. As he rubbed down his horse, thinking of nothing but getting into his blankets and catching a few hours of rest, Ren Lovell approached and gave him an envelope.
“I thought you might like to have this, Owen. It got here with a packet of dispatches after you left.”
Rulon took the letter and stuffed it into his pocket. “I’m obliged, Lovell.”
“Go get breakfast before you sleep. We might all be hauling our tails out of here later today.”
“Where are we bound?”
“The general is moving his headquarters. I’m not certain if we’re going along or staying put. The colonel likes being in the thick of the fray.”
“I wish we were better armed.”
“We’re supposed to get sabres soon. Not that I’m convinced they’re good for anything. Not when some Yank troop is shootin’ lead balls at us.” Lovell grinned wryly.
“How soon can we expect carbines from Richmond?”
Lovell snorted. “Maybe in a month. Maybe longer. There is a good deal of confusion in the armaments department. I swear old Beauregard gets all the arms shipments before any thought is given to us here behind the Blue Ridge.”
Rulon made polite conversation as long as he could stand to do so, itching to get away so he could pull out the paper burning a hole in his pocket. He was almost certain the letter was from Mary. He’d caught merely a glimpse of the script on the face of the envelope before he’d put it away, but those rounded letters could only have been written by a young female, and he doubted his sisters would think about writing to him.
When he finally found a moment to himself, he snatched the letter from its hiding place and tore it open. He forbade himself the assurance of looking at the signature, and instead started at the top.
Mount Jackson, Chenandoah County, Va.
Tenth of June, year of Our Lord one thousand Eight hundred sixty-One
Dear husband,
I cried from relief to receev your lettr Thank you for writin altho it must needs be in hast. All are well here.
I have discover’d the cause of my Mother’s late ill humor toward you. She is breeding with child increasing. How much fun we shall have raising our children togethr.!! That is, if I am to have a child. I do not kno at this time if my suspicions are true. I only kno the joy that corses through my bosom when I think of the possibility. That thot warms my being.
Yor Mother was in the store three days back and sends you her greetings. I was able to converse with her for a few moments. She seems assured that the signs I told her that I have been having are good ones concurning carrying a child. She is hoping along with me that I will soon kno for certun ab’t the matter.
I pray you will take caution in all your manuvrs manoeavrs whenever you move about in sight of the Yankees. Hold the memry I left you close to your heart always.
The wife you love,
Mary Margaret Hilbrands Owen
(That is the first time I have writ my name down to you in its entirety)
Rulon stood very still. Merely reading Mary’s words about the memory she had branded upon his soul aroused him, and he fought to curb the need it brought before it engulfed his body. A handful of tents had been pitched behind the hill on the Winchester road. He knew who inhabited them, but with Mary dancing around the notion that they really would have a child, he felt a strong compulsion to renew the pledge he’d made to himself, and he supposed, to God, not to take himself off to seek relief there.
Von and a few others of his acquaintance in the company were not so circumspect. Their boastful talk would drive him mad today if they had been with the harlots last night.
Clamping his teeth on his lip to divert his pain elsewhere, Rulon put the letter away and went to eat whatever the cook had prepared.