Her marriage was becoming a scattered line of disjointed dismissals. He waited patiently for what she needed to ask him. But what could she say?
Why don’t you touch me anymore?
Why does it seem to pain you to even look into my eyes?
How are you surviving this ache between us?
“I … I need to feed.” It was a pitiful attempt at contact, but one he would be dutybound to oblige. She was starved for the warmth, the connection, the evidence that she still owned some part of him.
In sixty years of marriage, he never put her in the position to ask for his affection. He always gave it freely, yet recently she had to beg for him to simply hold her hand.
“I think I would sleep better if my belly were full.”
He hesitated, his mouth opening slightly, but his voice choked by more silence. “I’ll fetch you another glass.” He left before she could argue.
A tightness seized her chest. Dismissed again.
Being insignificant to her husband was too much to bear in this godforsaken silence. Her fist clenched in the bedding as she fought a rage building inside of her. She wanted to pierce his reserve with cries of injustice. This never-ending quiet was suffocating her. She was trapped in her head, screaming into the hollow abyss overtaking their marriage, yet her lips remained obediently closed.
The heft of his returning footsteps caused her to shut her eyes. She would not turn to face him. He would have to step past more than just their doorway. Let him see her displeasure in his solution to her hunger. Let him know that his disregard for her has gone too far and force him to face what his neglect has wrought.
He should see that his endless rejection hurt her. The Jonas she married would never abide her heartache. He would cross any distance to reach her. So who was this man approaching her now with such timidness in his eyes?
She waited for him to apologize for neglecting her so. She was his wife, not a jar of jam to be ignored on a shelf.
Shutting her eyes, she waited for his fingers’ press or his palm’s caress across her cheek. She waited for any sign that he saw her pain and desired to make amends. There was no doubt he could sense her sadness.
The sound of a pewter goblet touching down on the nightstand interrupted the silence. She sensed him watching her.
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
She winced, choking back a sob and pressing her eyes tight to keep the tears from seeping free. At the click of the door closing, her mouth gaped open in a soundless wail. Cold air tripped into her lungs, and she shivered uncontrollably. Why was he doing this to her?
The pressure in her chest was too tight. There was no room to breathe.
Turning, she pressed her face into the pillows and released a guttural cry. Nothing should hurt this much. What had she done? Why was he punishing her away with such indifference?
A dam had broken. She cried until her energy depleted. Her tears waned into shuddering whimpers. Body numb, eyes unblinking, she watched as the silver moonlight tinged to shades of gold.
Dawn arrived, and he had not returned to her. The goblet of blood remained untouched. Too exhausted to sleep, she stared through the endless silence.
When she heard Gracie emerge from the room down the hall and heard pots heating over the stove, her treacherous mind snidely questioned if she should rise. For what? Would anyone really miss her if she did not attend breakfast?
Gracie would spend her mornings tending to the baby calves in the barn. Jonas barely touched his food anymore, so she doubted he’d attend breakfast.
Abilene thought of the grief after her miscarriages and how her sorrow caused her appetite to lag. Was Jonas depressed?
After she heard Gracie leave for the morning, Abilene finally dressed. Methodically pulling on her shift, she pinned her apron extra snug, needing something to hold her tight. She braided her hair until it pinched her scalp, hoping the pain would distract her from the ache in her heart. As she reached for her lace bonnet, she noticed her fingers trembling.
Shutting her eyes, she willed her body to settle. She would be a good wife and patiently wait for her husband to seek her company once again. Even if it took a century, she would abide by the pain and loneliness because she had complete faith in Jonas’s love.
But when she spotted that pewter goblet still sitting beside the bed, a cold substitute for her husband’s care, she snapped. The back of her trembling hand lashed out, smacking the goblet off the nightstand. The heavy pewter cup crashed against the plaster wall, spewing its crimson contents over the surface and clattering heavily to the floor. She stilled, horrified, as rivulets of red crawled down her clean walls and onto the floor.