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“Hold still, Bertie.” Mamaw threaded a light-blue ribbon matching her wedding dress through her hair. “I know you’re nervous. Every woman is nervous on her wedding day.”
Bertha bit her bottom lip and quit fidgeting. Wedding day. Her wedding day. Thank heavens the two-month preparations were over, or she’d go crazy with her mother’s insistence that every detail was perfect. One would think she was one of Queen Victoria’s daughters. The invitation list grew daily. Heaven only knew, because she didn’t, how many people received an invite. Trying to explain to her mother how she wanted a simple, small wedding with only family and friends was like trying to hogtie a bull with a feather.
“Do you think men get as nervous as women?”
Mamaw shrugged. “I would imagine so. While a woman worries about her wedding night, when she’ll have children, and what type of mother she’ll be, I believe a man worries about protecting and providing for his bride. I know Papaw often expressed the fear that, as a farmer, he wouldn’t be able to provide a home and food for me.”
Did James worry about that? He was always so self-assured, plus from what she could tell, his family was rich and once he took over his father’s bank, those riches would pass to him. She had a feeling she’d not want for anything. But what about love? James had yet to profess his love for her. Desire, yes. Love, no. Did she love him? She twisted her lace handkerchief in her hands. If she had to be honest, the answer was no. On the surface he seemed like a nice man, but there was something about him that raised the hair on her arms.
There was no one she could talk to about her feelings. Letty thought it was wonderful she was marrying a rich man. All she could talk about was the large house James had bought them—without her input of course. How was she supposed to take care of the monstrosity? Who in their right mind needed ten bedrooms? When she spoke of her misgivings, he patted her on the head like a child and told her he’d hired a housekeeper, cook, and lady’s maid for her. She was to do nothing but be the lady of the house and raise their children.
She hadn’t heard from Becky since the Christmas party. She’d written her friend several times, but she hadn’t responded. Was her friend angry Bertha had chosen James over Sy? She’d explained in her letters how she’d had no choice in the matter. Even though she hadn’t known Becky as long as Letty, her silence hurt more than if her childhood friend had dismissed her.
Was it wrong of her to think of Sy on her wedding day? Did he know she was getting married today? Did he care? There were times when her mother went on and on about tablecloths, food, what she should wear as a young, mother-of-the-bride, she let her mind wander to Sy and his kisses. The way they’d been able to talk and laugh. The way her heart had soared at the mere thought of him and his kisses.
“All right, my dear.” Mamaw patted the sides of her hair. “You look absolutely lovely. You’ll be the prettiest bride Saint Paul has ever seen.”
But was she the happiest? Several times James had alluded to the fact she would be his when they married. What did he mean by that? Once when they were taking a stroll and he’d said that and she’d responded with “And you’ll be mine,” he’d stopped in the middle of the wooden sidewalk and jerked her to face him. His face was red, his lips turned in a grimace, and his eyebrows were tucked together. A jolt of fear had gone through her. “A man can own his wife, but a woman can never own her husband,” had been his angry response. She didn’t dare say no one could own another person. It didn’t matter who they were, what color they were, or their station in life, owning a person was wrong. She had a feeling James would disagree.
Since there was no mirror in her room, she could only guess at how she looked. She certainly didn’t feel beautiful. If she ran from the house, how far could she get before she was caught? Mamaw faced her and cupped her cheeks.
“Don’t worry, my dear, sweet Bertie. Everything will turn out all right. You’ll see. You and James can come to visit whenever you wish to get out of Saint Paul.”
She doubted it, but she’d keep it in mind. “Thank you, Mamaw. You’ve been . . .”
“Shhh.” Mamaw kissed her forehead. “In time, once the babes start arriving, you’ll forget all about Sy.”
How had Mamaw known? Before she could ask, her bedroom door opened, and her mother stepped in.
“My don’t you look . . .” She paused and gave Bertha a once over. “ . . . lovely.” She tugged at the lace surrounding the bodice, pulling it lower, showing more chest than she’d ever done before. “There, even though I’d have rather seen you in beige, I have to admit the blue complements your eyes. James won’t be able to take his eyes from you.” Her mother took both of Bertha’s hands in hers and bounced on the balls of her shoes. “Aren’t you just excited? Imagine, my daughter marrying into the Woods family. Why all my friends are green with envy.”
“Yes, Mother.” She tugged her hands away. “Can we get this over with?”
“Why, of course, my dear. I know how excited you must be and anxious for your wedding night. Just remember, it’s a woman’s duty to submit to her husband.”
Over her mother’s shoulder, Bertha didn’t miss Mamaw shaking her head. Good thing they’d had their talk this summer, or she’d believe what her mother said.
A knock came on the door and her father poked his head in. “Ready? If we don’t get started, James is going to wear a path in the living room rug with his pacing.”
“Yes, Father. I’ll be out in a minute.” Finally, alone in her room, Bertha took a deep, shaky breath and took a last look at her childhood room. Pink, frilly canopy over her bed. Lacy curtains covering the windows, and dolls and bric-a-brac covering every surface. Thank heavens, except for her clothes which were already at her new home, nothing would come with her. At least that was one thing she and James agreed on—no cute ceramic dogs, cats, and elephants. No adorable pigs or ladies in wide hoops holding parasols. Their house would be clean and uncluttered.
Even though she wasn’t sure about marrying James, she was definitely sure how she wanted to run her own home, and her mother had better not interfere.
With another deep breath, she picked up the Bible and left the room into the unknown.
****
“To the bride and groom, Mr. and Mrs. James Woods.” Her father raised a glass in the air. “May their marriage be long, happy, and fruitful.”
“Here, here,” someone yelled.
Two hours, she’d been married for two hours. The ceremony had been brief. She barely remembered the vows she’d repeated, but did recall the long, searing, embarrassing kiss James had given her in front of everyone. They’d never kissed in front of anyone before. As he released her, he’d whispered You’re mine now, sending shivers down her spine.
Her lips hurt from trying to keep a smile on her face. She’d shaken hands, been kissed on the cheek, and had her backside patted by too many geezers in their cups. Supper could have been made from sawdust for all she’d been able to eat. More than once, James pressed a glass of wine to her lips telling her to drink up to prepare for their wedding night. For every one sip she took, he’d taken five. His words were becoming slurred. Did he need to drink to get through their first time together? Weren’t men supposed to know what to do?
James swung an arm around her shoulders. “Ladies and gentlemen, I believe it’s time my lovely wife and I retire to our new home.” He raised his glass in the air. “Thank you, everyone, for witnessing our wedding.” He aimed his glass at her. “To my lovely wife, Mrs. James Woods.” He tipped the glass to her lips and whispered, “Drink up my dear. You’re going to need it.”
****
By the time they’d reached their new home several blocks from her parents, James had kissed her and not only on her lips. He pressed his lips to her ears, her neck, and, pulling her cape aside, her chest. Good heavens, what was he doing? When the carriage stopped, he re-tied her cape and helped her down. Holding her hand, he led her up the few steps to the front door and pushed it open. Once they were through, he slammed it shut, locked it, and turned to her.
Standing behind her, he untied her cape and let it fall to the floor. “Finally, we’re alone,” he whispered in her ear. “No one can hear us. No one can interrupt us.” Before she could react, he swept her up in his arms, ran up the stairs, and into the room designated for their use. He slammed the door shut with his foot and set her on the floor. She saw stars when he pushed her against the door, making the back of her head smack into the wood.
“You’re mine, Bertha Mae Woods.” Placing his hands on her bodice, he ripped the front of her dress in two. “You’re mine to do with whatever I want, whenever I want, and no one can do anything about it.” Her chemise followed the way of her dress and landed on the floor, exposing her bare flesh to his eyes.
“They’re not as big as I like, but they’ll do.”
Something in his eyes or maybe some inner instinct told her not to cover herself or things wouldn’t bode well. Maybe Mamaw was wrong, and Mother was right. If she simply submitted, everything would be all right. Maybe.
****
The next morning Bertha rolled over and bit a moan into her pillow. Was there any part of her body that didn’t hurt? She tested her toes. Possibly them. Surely what happened during the night wasn’t right, was it? Did married couples really sleep naked together? Did men go after their wives three times? Were they supposed to bite, slap, and shove . . .? She shivered. Best not to think about this part of it. She was sure she wouldn’t be able to walk for a week. But if that’s what it took to have children, she’d put up with it. She just wasn’t sure how.
“Good morning, my dear. How are you faring this fine day?”
She stiffened at the sound of James’s voice filled with sweetness.
“I brought you breakfast.”
He’d brought her breakfast? Maybe the way he’d treated her last night had been a dream. Maybe he did have some feelings for her. Dishes clattered. He pulled the covers from her. “C’mon, my dear. Roll over and join me in some tea and scones. You do need to keep up your strength.”
As she rolled over, he fluffed up some pillows behind her. “Now lean back while I get the tray.”
She sat up and pulled the covers over her naked chest. James wagged a finger at her.
“No, no, my dear. Don’t cover yourself up.” With those words, he set the tray on her legs, untied his robe, and climbed into bed. “We aren’t done.” He popped a piece of scone into her mouth and trailed his fingers over her bare leg. “Oh, my, no. We aren’t done by a long shot. It’s time you learn how to pleasure a man.”