Marriage of Necessity

~33~ Locked Tight

I make good on my promise not to talk at all. If I'm being honest, my brain is too jumbled to speak. I don't mutter a single word on the ride to church. I say nothing as we get in the building. I continue to stay silent as soft chatter fills the room before the preacher stands up.

I do sing, but after that, not a word is uttered from me as we make our way out of the church. I go over to Ruthie by our shade tree, and she's looking at me, trying to read my thoughts.

If only she could. They're mixed together like sand and shells, and I'm having a hard time separating the fragments.

"What in the Sam Hill happened to you?" Anthony asks Matthew once he sees his cheek in the sunlight.

"Had a run-in with a milk pail," he says simply. The way he says it, it's obvious to even Anthony not to press.

When Ruthie locks eyes on me, I know she can finally read my thoughts.

Her face goes from confusion, to horror, to...something else.

Apparently I'm not good at reading her mind either—We need to work on that, cause that would sure come in handy in times such as these.

Before anyone else can say another word, Mrs. Salders comes up to us.

"Yur party last night was pretty small, Mrs. Felton. Such a shame not everyone could come. I'm sure if I would've hosted it, like normal, I would've been able to accommodate the townsfolk so everyone could make it."

"You're able to stop a birth, Mrs. Salders? Mrs. Simpson was a touch busy deliverin' her babe, so she didn't much feel like dancin'," Ruthie says in a hard, yet civil tone.

Anthony grabs Ruthie's hand in an obvious warning, but even I can see the fire flickering in her irises. She will NOT be heeding the warning today.

Mrs. Salders turns her attention to me, and I inwardly look to the heavens. I'm not dealing with such foolishness right now.

"I thought Remi would've been dressed a touch more becomin', seein' as how you weren't at home amongst yurselves. Figured you've been here long enough to have a handle on the youngins, Miz Brennan."

I stare at this confounded woman, and I don't utter a single breath. Honestly, I have no energy to—No energy at all.

I see Matthew giving me a look, like he's almost disappointed that I'm not standing up for myself...This man makes no sense. He gets angry when I sass, but upset when I'm prim and proper.

"You don't, do ya? You have no control! Such a shame—She sure would be pretty if she dressed more appropriately. Guess country folk don't find such things a priority. My Natasha looked elegant in the dress I had sent for her aaaall the way from London. If ya would've chosen her as yur wife, Mr. Olton, yur Remi would always be showin' her beauty."

Matthew doesn't say a word as he stares at my face—A face that's still somber and silent.

What's the point? I have no voice, and when I do, I get spanked.

"Where I come from, not conversin' with a person is rude, Miz Brennan," Mrs. Salders spits.

"You and I come from the same place, Mrs. Salders. I'll converse with ya—What would ya like to talk about?" Ruthie asks as she walks away from Anthony and steps in front of me.

"Interruptin' a person is also rude, dear," she says, an evil smile forming on her lips.

"If ya think that's rude, I can't wait for ya to hear what's next," Ruthie begins.

"Natasha looked like a bird who got stuck in a lightenin' storm. Were the feathers on her hat supposed to be moltin' like that? I wanted to pluck her!" She says as she mimics plucking with her fingers.