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May 1866
Saint Paul, Minnesota
The front door slammed, making Bertha jump. Who would come into the house without knocking? Footsteps pounded down the hallway toward the parlor. When the door was thrown open, Bertha set down her knitting. Since James had left, her life had revolved around knitting hats, mittens, and scarves for the poor, something James abhorred.
“Bertha, I’m home.” James grabbed her in a hug and twirled her in a circle. “Did you miss me?”
Bertha’s heart clenched. Miss him? Even though she been mainly isolated the past year, she hadn’t missed him one bit. Unless he’d changed since he left, she didn’t dare tell him how peaceful life had been. “What do you think?” was the safest answer.
“Probably as much as I missed you.” Without asking how she was, he grabbed her hand, pulled her from the room, up the stairs, and into their bedroom. “Undress.”
Refraining from sighing, she did as he asked as he removed his. She tried to keep herself calm, but his pale body, which was at least twenty pounds heavier than a year ago, repulsed her. He pushed her to the bed. As he had his way, all she could think was, Do my duty. Do my duty.
****
“I understand you spent some time at your grandparents’ farm while I was gone.” James set down his folk and knife and narrowed his eyes at her. “I thought I told you to stay in Saint Paul.”
“Did you have the staff spying on me, James?” It was a stupid question as she knew he had. Every time she left the house, she was followed.
“How else was I supposed to know what you were up to?” He retrieved his fork, stabbed a large piece of beef, and shoved it in his mouth, the juice running down his chin.
Why couldn’t he have stayed away? “I guess because I wrote to you and told you what I was doing? And,” she couldn’t help getting in a dig, even if she’d pay for it later, “the next time you leave, you might want to have someone follow me who isn’t so obvious.”
James flipped a hand in the air. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He took a swallow of brandy. “And I was supposed to believe what you wrote in your letters?”
Bertha took a deep, shuddering breath. Except for his size, he hadn’t changed one bit. “I told you I went to see Mamaw and Papaw. And I told you Mother went with me each time.”
“Was your lover there?”
She tossed her napkin beside her plate. “What are you talking about? I don’t have a lover.”
“What about that farmer you danced with?”
“Good heavens, James. That was a long time ago. Why are you bringing him up now? Why, I barely remember his name.” Which was a lie since she thought about Sy every single day.
“What about the parties you went to? How many men did you dance with?”
“Are you’re referring to the Christmas party Mother had, or the Fourth of July picnic, or Thanksgiving? Since you had people reporting back to you, you know darn well I danced with no one. I sat on the side with the old ladies like a good little wife and was always, always with my mother.”
“I was rather surprised to come home and not find you either with child or with a newborn.”
Bertha pushed back her chair and stood. A red haze covered her eyes. “How dare you? How dare you accuse me of being with another man? How dare you when I know darn well you could never remain celibate for a year.”
“That’s different. I’m a man.”
Oooh. Had she really expected him to deny it? “So that’s your excuse? You’re a man. Well, a man, a real man wouldn’t accuse his wife of such an awful thing. A real man would remain true to his wife just as she remains true to him.” His smirk made her want to climb across the table and scratch his eyes out. “For one full year I sat and waited for you to come home. Waited for my husband to appear. I rarely went out, and when I did, I was never alone.”
A sudden though occurred to her, one that made her heart drop. “Why did you marry me, James? Did you ever love me?”
James threw back his head and laughed. “Love you? Why, my dear, there’s no such thing as love. Lust, yes. I lusted after you. You were so young and innocent. Besides, your mother was quite persistent and excited about her daughter being a banker’s wife, like her. The money your father paid me didn’t hurt either.”
Her father had paid James to marry her? Was she that awful a person? Ugly? Mean spirited? Stupid?
He stood, held out his hand, and wiggled his fingers at her. “Now, my dear. It’s time to take care of why I married you. I need heirs. And it’s time to show you what type of man I can be.”
****
Bertha couldn’t move. Every inch of her body hurt. After the third time, she’d lost count of the number of times he’d forced himself on her, each time yelling she’d bear him a son. How many times had he hit her? How many names had he called her, some which she didn’t even know the meaning of? The way he said them, though, made his feelings for her perfectly clear.
When he’d left this morning, he’d ordered her maid to leave her alone, that she’d be able to dress herself this morning. She fingered her cheek. At least he’d left her face alone, but the rest of her—heavens, she must look like she’d been trampled by a herd of horses. Lord knew she certainly felt that way.
She eased back the covers, wrapped the sheet around her naked body, and slid her legs over the side of the bed. When the room swam before her eyes, she grasped the bed post and held on until her head cleared. At least her hair would cover any marks he’d left when he’d pulled her hair and made her do unspeakable things to him.
“Ah, I see you’re up, my dear.”
“Quit calling me that.”
“Ah, you have claws this morning.” He stood before her and ran a finger down her cheek. “I’ll have to make sure you retract them before you use them on me.” He sat in one of the red brocade chairs before the cold fireplace. “Come join me, my dear, so we can discuss how things are going to be from now on.”
With the sheet trailing behind her, she walked across the room, hoping her fear didn’t show on her face. Her insides were quivering, and her heart pounded against her chest. What did he have in store for her now? She eased onto the other chair, holding back a whimper when her battered back and backside touched the seat.
James leaned his forearms on his knees. “Where shall I begin?” He tapped a finger against his lips. “Ah, yes. First of all, my trip south was a complete success. I now own four large properties down there, along with two banks.”
She didn’t dare ask how he acquired them. If she didn’t ask, he couldn’t tell her, and the less she knew, the better off she’d be.
“Secondly, we’ll be traveling back to one of the properties, where you’ll oversee the remodeling and staffing. I will then sell it and we’ll move onto the next property. I expect you to handle everything with decorum and a firm hand. Many of the servants have gotten above themselves and need to learn how to behave.”
He didn’t mean beating them, did he? Because there was no way she could do that to another human being—unless she paid him back for what he’d done to her last night.
“After all the properties are sold, we’ll head west where I intend to buy up more land and create more banks. We’ll be rich.” His eyes glittered as if he were mad. “You’ll do what I say, when I say it. You’ll give parties for investors.” He pointed to a pile of hats, scarves, and mittens she’d knitted for the poor. “As the wife of a rich banker, you will no longer be sewing, knitting, cooking, or any of the other things women of the lower class do. Other than plan parties and see to my needs, you won’t have to lift a finger.
“When we have children, they will have a wet nurse and a nanny. In public we’ll act like the loving couple people believe us to be. You’ll tell no one, not even your mother, about what has occurred here.” He squinted his eyes at her. “Do I make myself clear?”
She nodded.
“What?” He reached across the space between them and squeezed her chin. “I’m afraid I didn’t hear you, my dear.”
“Yes, sir.” At that moment her heart hardened. Hatred filled her. Hatred for her husband. Hatred for her parents for selling her to this evil man. In that moment she went from a young woman still with dreams of love in her marriage to a woman so embittered, she visualized hitting him over the head with the fireplace poker sitting beside her. It would only take a second to grab it and . . .
James picked up the poker and slapped it against his hand. “In case you have any ideas about doing me in, if anything should happen to me, I have it in writing for the authorities to look into my death and make sure you’re accused of it. No matter how my demise should come about.” He returned the poker to its stand, rose, and held out his hand to her. “Now come, my dear, we need to celebrate our future.”
With James’s quick tug, the sheet fell to the floor.