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The days passed far too fast. Marta helped me to pack, in spite of her constant, muttered protests, and before I had time to get used to the idea, Mark and I were married by a justice of the peace in Kingston, with strangers as our witnesses, and had begun our journey back to civilization.
It seemed strange, to be retracing the journey I had made with such anticipation only months ago. Even stranger to realize that I was married, a gold band on my finger marking my changed station in life. There were changes in me too, and in Mark, although looking back now I find it difficult to fix on a particular time, a particular day when I first noticed these changes. Perhaps this was because I was too busy with trying to keep my mind free of unpleasant and hurtful thoughts. I remember that once or twice Mark mentioned laughingly that once we had stopped traveling he would have to tear down the wall I had erected about myself. On my part, I preferred not to look too far into the future, not back at the past. To live one day at a time was enough for me. Or so I thought then.
When, on our wedding night, Mark only kissed me tenderly at the door to our room and told me I must get the rest I needed, for we would be leaving early in the morning, I put it down to a further example of his consideration and love
for me. I even felt a pang of guilt that my first reaction was a feeling of relief. Mark and I had been friends for too long for either of us to be able to adjust easily to the fact that he now had all the rights of a husband. But as I lay in bed that night, willing myself to fall asleep quickly, I remember telling myself firmly I must make an effort to be a good wife to Mark—to feign my responses when he finally took me, if that would make him happy.
However, it was not until we had reached Socorro that Mark made any attempt to claim his conjugal privileges, and it was on that same night that I realized I had married a man with depths to his character I had not even suspected.
I am getting ahead of myself. Even now I wonder why I did not see certain things that were before my eyes, and why, during the painfully slow days of traveling it took us to arrive in Socorro, I did not question the fact that my husband of only a few days had not yet frequented my bed, but seemed content with a few kisses and almost absentminded caresses. Consideration for my condition and the sickness that plagued me almost constantly? Or infinite patience? Easy to ask myself that later. At the time I was only grateful, when I was not too ill to care. I had always prided myself on my strong constitution and excellent health. Like most people who are not used to sickness I began to despise what I looked upon as weakness, in between bouts of acute misery. I even wished, fiercely, that I might miscarry. Anything would be better than the embarrassment of this constant reminder of a time in my life that I was trying to forget. Why couldn’t I be like the peasant women in India, who never had a day’s sickness in their lives, and would go back into the fields to work the day after they had given birth?
“It’s because you’re not a peasant but a lady,” Mark said. He had entered my bedroom from the adjoining room where he had spent our wedding night, to find me only half-dressed, and trying to fight back the nausea that threatened to choke me.
When I protested that I would be all right in a little while and refused to be the cause of delaying our journey he shook his head at me, a slight smile on his lips.
“That’s nonsense, of course. You must realize, my dearest, that we have all the time in the world. Now go back to bed and lie down, and I will make some other arrangements.” He had never taken such a decisive tone with me before, and I surprised myself by obeying him weakly.
It was almost noon when we set out, and the “arrangements” Mark had made were to hire our own coach and round up an escort of hard-bitten men who looked eminently capable of using the guns they wore.
I was feeling better by then, if a trifle limp. I roused myself to ask Mark, “But how did you manage to do all this in such a short time?”
He smiled at me. “One of the advantages of all the traveling around my uncle forced me to do. I met a lot of people, some of them useful. In fact, it was the owner of the saloon where they gave me a bachelor party last night who arranged everything for me.” He gave me an apologetic look. “You don’t mind? I could see how tired you seemed and did not want to disturb you, so I played some poker with friends, and when they found out I had just been married, well…” he spread his hands, “they insisted there must be a celebration.”
I accepted what he told me, just as I learned to accept the fact that the man who drove our coach swore constantly and spat long streams of tobacco juice that splattered the sides of the vehicle as it swerved and swayed around bends and jounced over every rock on the trail.
“Must he drive so fast and so recklessly?” I said once, and Mark patted my hand, looking at me a trifle reproachfully. “He’s one of the best, they told me. And this is the way they all drive here. You’ll learn not to notice it, after a while.”
After that I made no more protests. In fact, I became too tired and sleepy after a while to care. And that night too, I slept alone in a hastily procured hotel room, while Mark said he would go downstairs and “join the boys” for awhile.
I told myself it was my fault that the journey to Socorro took almost four days instead of two. My fault that we were so late starting out every day. And I continued to be grateful to Mark for his forbearance.
We always took adjoining rooms, and since I had begun to sleep heavily and exhaustedly, I had no idea what time he came up to bed at night. But he had taken to coming in in the mornings, to watch me dress, and although this habit of his made me feel strangely ill at ease, I said nothing. He was, after all, my husband, and the sooner I got used to the idea the better. I learned not to flinch when he came up behind me in the mirror and ran his fingers caressingly over the bare flesh of my shoulders and arms.
“You’re beautiful, Rowena. If you only knew what it means to know that you are mine at last. My wife.”
Mark’s hands were always cool, with no rough calluses to burn my skin. Sometimes I felt that he caressed me quite impersonally, as one would a statue, or a prized possession. Once, as if he had read my mind, he smiled at me in the mirror, bending to kiss my neck as he said softly, “Is it a sin to admire perfection? You have the perfect body, my darling. So slim. So firm. I would like to have a statue done of you, in the finest marble. In the nude of course—does that shock you? A body like yours needs no coy draperies.” And while he talked he slid the robe I had been wearing off my shoulders and began to stroke my breasts, very gently.
I think what made me vaguely uncomfortable was the way he kept watching me in the mirror—first my eyes, and then his hands on my breasts, stroking across each nipple until they stood upright. I broke away with a smothered cry, wondering why I had done so.
“Mark, I…”
“You’re too modest, Rowena. Surely there’s nothing wrong with a husband admiring his wife’s nakedness?”
But he stood back, smiling, and let me dress, and I was angry at myself for being so foolish. For at least the hundredth time I had to remind myself that I was now Mark’s wife, and fortunate that he was so patient with me.
That was the day before we arrived in Socorro. I had no way of realizing, as I dozed through most of the journey with my head on Mark’s shoulder, how everything would begin to change after we got there.
Part VI:
The Tangled Web
Thirty-Nine
From the small village of Magdalena, where we had spent the night, it was only some twenty-seven miles to Socorro—that ancient town by the Rio Grande that seemed to slumber wrapped in dreams of its past glories. Today Socorro was still a large town, as Mark pointed out. A meeting place for ranchers and farmers and businessmen from all over the county.
The two-story hotel where we would be staying was larger and more imposing than any we had stayed in so far, and Mark told me with a smile that he had already reserved the very best rooms for us.
“The honeymoon suite,” he said teasingly, and added that we would be staying here for three or four days in order to give me time to recover from the strain of traveling.
