The night before Joshua sailed for England, he came to my room wanting to talk. Though he had his school chums and my parents, he sometimes liked to ask my opinion about things.
It made me feel grown up.
“Hey, owl,” he said, knocking gently and using the nickname he’d given me after learning I needed spectacles. “Are you awake?”
“Now I am,” I quipped, throwing on a robe, and turning up the lantern. “Why aren’t you in bed? Tomorrow is a big day.”
“I can’t sleep,” he answered softly, entering, and leaving the door cracked. His hair was a mess, and he had large circles under his eyes. “I’d hoped Father was up, but you’ll do, I guess.”
“Gee, thanks.”
He took a seat on the trunk at the foot of my bed. “I don’t know about this job,” he said, reaching up to scratch his perfect nose. “I keep thinking I’m out of my gourd.”
“Maybe you are.”
“Ha-ha. But seriously, owl. London’s so far away. What was I thinking?”
“You weren’t. You were thinking with your empty wallet.”
“Are you implying I only took this job because of the money?”
“Well, you wanted to help pay for the house. Oh, and you want to send Eileen to a good school.” I drew the blankets up around me. “I don’t suppose you thought about teacher’s college for me.”
“Of course I did, you noodle.”
“Then what is the problem? Weren’t they the only ones who offered benefits and the flat?”
“It’s a basement flat, Anne.”
“It’s got hot and cold running water, Josh. Count your blessings.”
“I suppose I should. But I still have my misgivings.”
I leaned forward. “About what? I know moving to another country is a giant undertaking. But you’ll manage.”
“It’s just a lot to take in. I thought I could handle it. Now, I’m not so certain.”
“Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I have to make new friends. Find my way around the city. Get used to converting foreign currency.” He grinned. “It’s all so new.”
“It’s supposed to be, Josh.”
“And what of you, owl? What will you do without my blinding presence?”
“Sleep?” I answered hopefully. I ducked when he threw a toss pillow at me. “Watch it!”
“Listen, owl,” he said seriously. “I shall miss our talks.”
“So will I.”
“Promise you’ll take care of them, Anne.”
Something in his voice alarmed me. He sounded… afraid. “I will, Josh,” I promised. “But you’ll be back for Christmas and birthdays. Won’t you?”
“I’ll try.”
“And we’ll write. Even if it’s a postcard.”
“Of course.”
That seemed to pacify him. We talked long into the night, reminiscing about holidays spent in Vermont and the time he shoved me down a slide and broke my arm. “You’ll make a fine teacher someday, owl,” he said before he left to get some sleep. “Promise never to punish your students.”
“I don’t know if I can. Discipline is a must in any classroom.”
“I mean, don’t smack them with a ruler.”
“I’d never!”
“Goodnight, owl.”
“Goodnight, Joshie.”
The next morning, I stood among hundreds of other families waving farewell to their loved ones. I forgot what Joshua wore that day. But I’ll always remember the look in his eyes when I spied him on deck.
It was the same look Colonel Havelock wore when tormented by Anjuli.
When I opened my eyes, it was dusk. “What time is it?” I called over. “Is something wrong?”
“How are your legs?” he called back.
“Why?”
“Because we need to move. Like, right now.”
“Oh!” I struggled to my feet, grabbing the shawl and tucking it into my bag. “What has happened?”
He stormed over, donning his jacket with impatient movements. “Grandfather forgot to send the coach, and I think we’ve been followed.”
“What—Where?” My head whipped about, trying to see shapes that might have been lurking in the woods. “Are you sure?”
“I can feel their eyes on me,” he said with a shudder. He gathered the rest of our bags and kept the sari close. “If we can make it to the next village, we can get a mail coach to Briarwood.”
“Will they take us?”
“For enough money, yes.”
I nodded sleepily, wishing this nightmare was at an end.
We left our makeshift shelter and made for the main road, keeping to the shoulder, and stopping periodically to let my feet rest. I suddenly knew what a death march felt like. “How much further?” I called, knowing we weren’t even close.
“I’ll tell you when we’re five miles from the village. Try not to think about it too much.”
That was easy for him to say with his long legs. My legs were short stubs that had failed me on several occasions. As we marched, my thoughts soon turned to Anjuli and the night she fled with Joseph. “Do you know the story?” I huffed, unused to such exertion. “About the night she ran away with your grandfather?”
“Don’t you know?”
“Not all of it.”
“My grandfather can no longer remember every detail. But he said it was freezing the night they left. Anjuli caught a cold.”
“Tell me about it.”
“You really don’t want to hear this.”
“I do.”
“Lord,” he rasped, pausing to let me catch my breath. I leaned against a broken fence, dragging air into my lungs. “You’re not going to pass out on me, are you?”
“I don’t think so. I’m just tired from the voyage.”
“Uh-huh.”
Hearing the annoyance in his voice tempted me to tell him the real reason I was unwell. But since he wasn’t my husband—at least not yet—I didn’t think he’d care to hear about my monthly struggles with the gift that keeps on giving. Corporal punishment had nothing on Mother Nature. “You wouldn’t feel that way if you knew what it was like,” I flung, wanting him to feel bad.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You have sisters and a mother. Try to diagnose my… ailment. I dare you.”
Jon looked at me like I had just sprouted wings. His eyes narrowed, then widened as his cheeks grew in color. “Er… why didn’t you say something?”
“And deprive you of this wonderful jaunt in the country? I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“I have some brandy. It might help.”
“No, thank you. I am fine.” Doubling over as another spasm seized me, I longed for a hot water bottle and my mother. “Just tell me we’re close to the village.”
“This is ridiculous!” he shouted into the night, startling a group of dozing sheep. They took off in the opposite direction. “Look,” he said after the wool cleared. “This isn’t going to work. I may have to go on ahead.”
Glancing up hopefully, my eyes sought a place where I might rest. We were out in the open, surrounded by endless pastures with nary a tree in sight. I suppose if I had to, I could bed down with the sheep. “Tell me there’s an abandoned cottage nearby.”
Jon laughed. “Out here? The best we can hope for is a shed.”
“I’ll take a shed.”
“Wait here,” he said, handing me two of his bundles. The sari never left his side. “There’s got to be something around here. “I shan’t be long.”
“Certainly.”
I tried. I really tried. But the spasms were too much to bear, and I slowly sank to the ground in a sudden paroxysm of weeping. In the grand scheme of things, perhaps I could have borne it better. Stress had always aggravated my condition. My mother used to shut herself in her room until hers was over, calling the episodes her “sick headaches.” My father would bring her chocolates and a dozen long-stem roses, while Joshua and Eileen would bring her trays of tea and croissants. I would dote on her, never fully understanding why she felt the need to hide.
Now I did.
History was full of stories of women shamed because of what occurred naturally. In the Bible, women were relegated to tents and deemed “unclean.” Everything they sat on would also be considered unclean. In patriarchal societies, women and girls were humiliated and even punished for the simple crime of displaying evidence they could bear children.
Jon’s reaction only confirmed my suspicions that men held a secret contempt for women and what they had to endure each month. I thought about how men were discouraged from attending their children’s birth and decided then and there that I would not be a party to such blatant disrespect. If I were to marry Jon, I would not tolerate such a blasé attitude towards my monthly discomfort and childbearing. He would be an equal partner or suffer the consequences.
I thought an extra-large rolling pin would suffice.
Macha would have approved.
“Maybe I should refuse,” I said once the spasm had passed. Men were such flighty creatures, attentive one minute and coldly indifferent the next. Their temperaments could change as suddenly as the weather, with icy retorts and disparaging remarks that could prove far more damaging than a physical confrontation.
Anjuli had taught me that.
When she married Michael, he had been the devoted husband until they arrived in England. His parents’ disapproval influenced his decisions relating to the care and treatment of his wife. He purposely abandoned her so he wouldn’t have to face their disappointment. Joseph was the same in many ways, seducing his brother’s pregnant wife, only to view her as a burden when times grew bleak.
If I married Jon, would he treat me the same? Now that I thought about it, I wasn’t certain I wanted to marry a man who viewed me as a nuisance. Better to go through life with the only person I could trust not to abandon me in my time of need.
Myself.
Macha’s prediction was not set in stone. I did not have to be a slave to it. If Jon asked me to marry him, I could refuse. I needn’t be a millstone around anyone’s neck. Better to get it all out in the open before I ended up like Anjuli. When Jon returned, huffing and puffing, he did not inquire about my comfort. He merely indicated he’d found an abandoned cottage five miles down the road and wanted to know if I could travel the distance.
“Why not?” I replied, feeling another spasm tightening my womb. “Just be certain to navigate passing vehicles around my dead body.”
“You’re being ridiculous!” he admonished, helping me to my feet. “It cannot be that bad.”
“Care to wager on it? Why don’t you wrap a vise around those—”
“Anne!”
“I don’t care! I’m in pain and I don’t care who knows it!”
“Then scream if you like.”
I thought he was being facetious. But as he escorted me down the road to the cottage, I opened my mouth and let fly. I’m certain my shrieks must have carried for miles. Jon said I’d rendered him deaf.
“Good,” I decided after he left me lying on a rotten table with only his jacket for a blanket. “Good riddance!”
He wouldn’t return until morning and had to carry me to the coach.
“Um… Miss Gibson?” he said before handing me inside the velvet interior. “Why are you wet?”
I peered up at him as though he had lost his mind. “Really, Mr. Powell?”
“Never mind,” he sighed, asking the driver for something to drape over the seat. “Grandfather will not be pleased.”
“That makes two of us!” I retorted, gathering my soiled skirts around me. “Heaven forbid I sully his precious seats!”
“Will you need the services of a physician?”
“What do you think?”
He climbed in and shut the door. “And does this happen… often?”
“If you mean if hemorrhaging through my garments is a common occurrence, then yes.”
“Have you sought treatment?”
“As if they can treat this!”
“I’ll take that as a ‘no.’”
“Take it as you will. But don’t worry, I never bleed on Mondays.”
“Today is Wednesday.”
“See?”
He leaned his head back, looking much the worse for wear. “The village was further than I thought. I had to run.”
“Run? Why?”
Jon shrugged. “I was worried.”
“About what?” I said warily, wishing I’d thought to wear flannel underdrawers. “We weren’t followed.”
“I was worried about you,” he informed me brusquely before turning his head to look out the window.
“Oh...”
Ashamed for doubting him, I could not even muster a lame apology and steadfastly avoided his gaze all the way to Briarwood Hall.
My pride would be the death of me.
In more ways than one.
