The Dust of Death

Untitled Part 7

 Marion recovered, but her reputation was left in shambles. Within two months, a few family members received notice that Dr. and Mrs. Melvin Succoth announced the marriage of their daughter, Marion Elizabeth Arabella Succoth, to Mr. Henry Noth Lime on September 16, 1900, at their residence.

Marion was married to Henry in a quiet ceremony in front of her immediate family and a handful of Henry's relatives.

How much had that cost her father?

Plenty, Marion guessed.

No one ever talked about it, but the arranged marriage quietly got their troublesome daughter off their hands. Perhaps, Dr. and Mrs. Succoth thought, they could turn their attention to their remaining two daughters, marry them off, have many healthy grandchildren to spoil, and hope that their twilight years would be, if not happy, at least peaceful.

Marion's marriage was rocky from the start. She and Henry were polar opposites. She had been forced into the union, but for once, she was too humiliated to buck her father's wishes. She knew deep down inside that her father hated her. Since her miscarriage, the old man was more distant than ever.

And for Marion, the feelings were mutual.

She was sure her father had somehow sterilized her permanently that day. She had never been able to bear any more children. Not that she would have particularly wanted any.

But still. Maybe a baby would have been nice. Maybe not.

Was it her fault or Henry's?

Was Henry sterile?

Was she as frigid as Henry claimed?

She couldn't be. Granted the act itself had never taken her over the moon, but she had enjoyed it a little. Henry squealed when she let him inside of her. That always made her want to laugh. But the other men had not. In fact, there'd been one or two men in her life who had not made her want to laugh or who had not disgusted her at all.

Thoughts bounced inside her head like a rubber ball.

She wondered what her baby would have looked like if it had grown to adulthood.

Her father had thrown the fetus in the stove. Burned it up. Incinerated it like a piece of trash. That one thought had always stuck in Marion's craw. Why couldn't he have placed the bloody clot in a small wooden box and given it a proper burial? Like a dead bird or pet dog, Marion wondered.

Oh, no. Not the great doctor. He had had to get rid of it as quickly as he possibly could. It was a control thing, Marion decided.

What would that bloody clot have grown up to look like, she brooded.

Would it have been a strong, handsome boy? A beautiful girl? Would it have had curly hair or its father's eyes?

She would never know.

Dr. Succoth informed Marion that the fetus was too undeveloped to determine its sex. Regardless, her father never forgave her the embarrassment she had caused or for the stain she had brought upon his family's name. He had surely not spoken more than three words to her from then until the day he died.

And she had been tied to the ball and chain called Henry Noth Lime ever since.

But what could she do?

She slipped her hand into her purse and discreetly withdrew her flask. Damn. It was almost empty. And so early in the day.

If those two private detectives didn't sweep up some dirt on Henry soon, Marion thought, she was going to be in for a horrible world of hurt.