Sister of Silence (12 page)

Seeing her pay for it added to my guilt. I knew she had stretched our thin finances to the limit already by buying me a senior class ring, a yearbook and my senior photos. Now, she was paying for my wedding gown
because I was pregnant and had to get married. I knew I would probably never be able to repay her for everything she had given me.

Soon afterward, Eddie drove a shiny new sports car to our house. I knew it was his peace offering to me, paid for with guilt money.

Then suddenly it was graduation night and I was wearing my cap and gown while marching across the football field. Mom was there, but Dad was still overseas. Upset and disappointed in me, he refused to come home.

While I nervously marched to “Pomp and Circumstance” beside a friend I had known since childhood, I wrestled with myself. I was so mixed up—I was leaving school, forever—and in seven days I would again be walking down another aisle, but a very sacred one.

I felt like all the people in the
audience could tell I was pregnant, but I knew the flowing graduation gown covered my waist, which hadn’t even begun to expand. I still felt like everyone knew—as if something about the way I held myself, or the expression on my face, would give away my secret.

I was also annoyed with Eddie. He said he had to work, so he couldn’t come to my graduation or the party afterwards. I was hurt and disappointed, and had no idea how that same excuse would soon become a constant in our life.

We were
to be married the Saturday after graduation. The setting would be a state park, in a ceremony under a canopy of spruce trees in front of a small group of family and close friends. It would be just two months before I turned seventeen.

While I was getting ready, I thought about the upcoming ceremony—how important it was, and
about everything that had led me to Eddie.

On that day I
believed we were meant to be together. I was always looking for connections in my life and in the lives of others, so when I learned Eddie’s parents had both been in San Francisco not far from where I was born and later, that they, too, had returned to West Virginia to be near family, I truly believed it was meant to be. At least that’s what I told myself.

The romantic story Mrs. Leigh told was made more so because she had sworn off men—and love—forever, and there Mr. Leigh was, tearing down all the barriers she had built. After her
first marriage had ended in divorce, she had gone to California to visit her brother’s family and when she later returned to West Virginia, she met Mr. Leigh while working in a little Morgantown café. Fresh out of the Army, Robert had immediately asked her out.

A petite woman with chiseled features and thick, dark hair worn in an elegant coiffure, she was the perfect foil for his own movie star looks. Because she’d become bitter,
a fresh divorcee, she turned him down cold, and was annoyed to find him waiting for her, after her shift ended. He’d insisted on walking her home. Those walks quickly became a ritual, which was how she learned they had been in San Francisco at the same time, how it was destiny that they meet, and later marry.

I pulled myself away from
thinking about the past and looked out a window, seeing the tall green branches that scraped against the blue sky. It was lovely weather, and as I changed into my wedding gown, I couldn’t help but feel ashamed. As though she sensed what I was thinking, Kathryn hugged me.

“It doesn’t matter, white is for brides—all brides,” she
said as she smiled.

I hugged her and felt tears well up behind my eyes. She was so kind and understanding.

Then it was time to walk down the aisle, a green, grassy path beneath the tall trees. I passed our guests, and then stood nervously beside Eddie. I loved him with all my heart, and just knew we would be happy. He looked down at me and smiled, and then Mr. Leigh began the sermon. We took our vows, and my finger shook ever so slightly as Eddie placed the slender gold band upon it. Then it was my turn, and I wondered if he was nervous. Mr. Leigh told us we could kiss then and Eddie lifted my veil.

He lowered his head and I felt his lips meet mine, very gently, but then, more passionately. I had my arms around him, but didn’t feel comfortable kissing
like that in front of so many people. I tried to pull back, but he wouldn’t stop so I just turned my head some, hoping that would keep everyone from seeing so much. The next thing I knew we were walking back down the aisle, hand in hand, amid joyful shouts from our guests. We posed with the bridal party while cameras flashed from every direction.

We cut the
wedding cake that sat just a few yards away under a covered pavilion and fed a small piece to each other. We talked to our guests, accepted their congratulations, and opened our gifts. Then it was over, and we were in our car, pulling away from the curb. A timid look at my new husband told me he was equally immersed in his own thoughts. As if sensing my gaze, Eddie grinned. “Boy they really did up the car good, didn’t they?”

Several relatives had decorated
the car with crepe paper streamers and tissue paper flowers. They wrote “Just Married,” on the rear window and tied pop cans to the bumper of our little black sports car.

“I’m going to pull over before we get on the highway and take those things off. I don’t want them dinging the new paint job,” he said. Eddie took particular pride in making sure all his vehicles were clean and well-maintained. That sense of responsibility was one quality that had endeared him to me, and I was certain it would make him a good husband.

So what if he had never said those three words: “I love you”? I was convinced he did and, more important, that he would be an excellent provider.

The overhanging branches in the dense forest created an umbrella over us as we left the waving crowd behind. It darkened the car’s interior, immediately making it more intimate. I glanced into the visor mirror: my cheeks were flushed and my eyes sparkled, reinforcing my belief that new brides are supposed to glow from happiness. I certainly felt happier than I had in a long time, which reinforced my belief that I had done the right thing for our baby, our families and most of all, for God. I didn’t know where life would lead us, but I knew with enough faith, we could accomplish anything together.

That’s when the full force of what I had done hit me. I was honoring God’s family arrangement by marrying my unborn baby’s father, trying to give that child the best life possible. Saving my family the embarrassment of having an unwed daughter—something that seemed to happen in so many other houses in our county—was just a bonus. Most important, from that day forward, never again would sex be wrong or leave me feeling dirty and ashamed. So in a way, I was saving myself, too.

By the time I realized that wasn’t even possible, it was too late.

As I sat next to my new husband, I mused on the past three years and a twinge of conscience caused me some concern, as I again remembered no one but us—and God—knew what we had done. With a mental shrug, I pushed my guilt out of the way.

We’re married now, so everything is going to be all right. Nothing will ever make me feel bad again
.

That’s when I realized sex would
now come without shame, and felt a blush creep up my neck.

Nothing can make it wrong now
.

As we drove Eddie broke the silence, interrupting my attempts to talk to God, and reassure myself. “I can’t wait to get to the hotel. Are you hungry? I’m not
,” he said to me.

I felt the blush return, but ignored my embarrassment. “I’m getting there. Remember, I’m eating for two now, so by the time we arrive, I’ll probably be famished.”

“That’s too bad, but, oh well… If you must eat, you must eat…” Then he sighed.

Thirty minutes later we walked through the hotel lobby in our wedding finery, making me wish I had changed clothes after the ceremony. Everyone we passed gave us a big smile and all I could think was:
they know we’re going to have sex. They know what we’re going to do.

I tried to banish the thoughts from my mind, acknowledging that making love was something every couple
in love did. Since we were married, there was no reason to worry that other people would know we were intimate.

And it worked—until Eddie picked me up without a word, sweeping through the bedroom doorway.
My old fears and feelings returned as he lowered me onto the bed and began kissing me gently.

I tried to kiss him
back, wanting to regain the sense of pride I felt when his dad pronounced us husband and wife. But within seconds the intensity of his kisses changed and I found myself just staring at the hotel room ceiling, my eyes chasing the new pattern there. I gave myself a mental shake, while wondering if he really expected me to make love right away.

I knew I needed to tell him I had to get something to eat, or I would be sick.

“Eddie, can we go get dinner? I’m so hungry I feel sick.”

His eyes looked sorrowful. “Are you going to make me wait some more? I already hurt bad, can’t you take care of me first? You don’t know how good it feels to hold you again, to touch you.” He ran his hands over my breasts. “It’s been so hard, going without you these last few weeks. I thought I would die.” He groaned into my ear, as he began caressing me.

“But Eddie, if I don’t eat now, I’ll get sick,” I protested.

“Oh all right.” He was pouting, but showed no sign of stopping. The more he kissed me the worse I felt, and as the seconds slowly ticked by, I knew with a certain amount of anguish that we wouldn’t leave the hotel
room until he had gotten what he wanted.

It’s not that he doesn’t care about my feelings
. He just can’t stand his own anguish, that’s all
.

“Oh Daleen, I have to have you now. I can’t wait anymore.”

I believed the consummation of our marriage was something that should be savored, but by then I was so ill I could barely respond.

I felt like an observer watching the stage as Eddie
helped me get up and then unbuttoned my gown, trailing kisses down my back as he did so. The dress fell in a crumpled heap. Eddie got undressed too, but without clothes on, he always frightened me. It was still difficult for me to touch his naked skin and not feel odd. In that instant I realized getting married hadn’t changed that.

H
e was in such a hurry that it was over in a matter of minutes. When he was done, I felt awful. I forced myself to get up and go into the bathroom because I feared I would throw up in the bed. When I returned I begged Eddie, who was nearly asleep, to get up and get dressed. I felt hot anger building within me.

Finally he complied.
We went to dinner but I was so nauseous I pushed my half-eaten meal away and drank my soda. It seemed to calm my stomach and by the time Eddie finished eating, I was feeling better.

Back at the hotel, I showered and
then came out of the bathroom wearing a new negligee I’d bought for my wedding night. I had no sooner gotten under the covers than Eddie was all over me, as if the pre-dinner sex hadn’t even happened.

As the night wore on, my body became the basis for some kinky sexual experiments
he must have had planned for this first night together as a married couple. After the first interlude I drank two glasses of champagne—more than enough to dull my senses—so I wasn’t always completely conscious. Or at least not enough to try to get him to stop.

When I opened my eyes the next morning, I realized I was imprisoned within Eddie’s embrace. I came awake more fully after smelling the alcohol, and suddenly had the sensation of swimming in a wine vat. With a jolt, memories of the previous night came flooding back.

I lifted Eddie’s arm from where it lay across me and stumbled into the bathroom to take a hot shower. My head felt heavy and I was dizzy. I leaned against the shower stall to keep from falling when the thought hit me.

I don’t feel any different now than I have during the past three years. No wonder I drank so much champagne.

I wondered if all new brides felt that way—dirty and ashamed—or if all new husbands behaved in a seemingly sex-crazed manner. It wasn’t the hot water that made my cheeks burn, as some of the more daring things he had tried came floating back into my consciousness.

I’m just his toy, to be used for his own sexual gratification.

Stepping from the bathroom, I saw he was still asleep. As I watched him, I didn’t know what to think.

But he does love me. And I love him. Maybe if we just work on it, maybe if I try to tell him how I feel, that’s all it will take.

Less than twenty-four hours after our wedding, I began to wonder if I really knew the man sleeping beside me.

By August, I was plagued with so many questions and doubts I had trouble concentrating. Our nightlife was filled with what seemed to me might be scripts taken from a porn magazine. Except for one thing: I wasn’t a willing partner to Eddie’s outrageous sexual desires. Still, that did nothing to stop him from trying to convince me to take part—or coercing me, if nothing else worked. Force was used as a last resort, but frequently enough to keep me from erasing the wedding night memories branded into my consciousness.

Maybe that’s why I suddenly remembered Eddie’s furious rages before our marriage, and all the times he would jump in his truck and squeal the tires, speeding away from whatever had angered him. After only eight weeks of marriage, the full impact of that behavior struck me literally and figuratively.

Eddie often worked day and night. If I said anything about his penchant for spending more time in the coal mines than at home, he exploded, calling me a nag. The first huge argument came one balmy summer evening as we were on our way to see a movie, as he tailgated another car crawling along at a snail’s pace. Eddie grew angrier and edged closer. Nervous and frightened, I finally asked him to slow down. When he ignored me, I repeated my request. Suddenly he jerked the steering wheel and the car veered sharply. I could smell hot rubber as the tires squealed to a stop and only my seatbelt kept me from hitting the windshield.

Nausea gnawed at my stomach and my fingers clenched and unclenched nervously as he hurtled a string of obscenities at me. Eddie jumped out and slammed the door so hard my ears hurt.

“Since you’re such an expert you can just drive the damned thing yourself!” He kept screaming obscenities as he walked away.

“Where are you going?” I yelled frantically, climbing halfway across his seat. But the desire to go after him died with his next words.

“I don’t know. But I’m sure as hell not going with you! Get out of here and enjoy your movie!”

“Come back. Please don’t leave!” I yelled again. But he didn’t turn around.

I sat there for a few seconds, trying to decide what to do. I knew I could just leave and go to the movie, but I no longer wanted to. It felt like I sat there forever, wondering what I had done wrong.

Obviously, it must be my fault, since he’s furious with me
.

But he was doing the tailgating—not me
, another voice in my mind cried out.

That doesn’t matter, though. I never should have criticized his driving habits. I know he’s sensitive, but I didn’t pay any attention to that. I was just concerned about myself
.
The ping-pong ball bounced back and forth inside my head
: I was in the wrong. No, he was. No, I was.

I heard vague sounds of music coming from the console and suddenly realized I was sitting inside a
running car that was parked in the middle of a dangerous curve.

I could be killed!

I finished crawling into the driver’s seat and turned the car around, hoping to reason with him. When I saw him walking along the road I slowed down, begging him to come with me.

“I’m not going to, so forget it. Just get out of here and leave me alone!” he shouted.

“Eddie, come on. You can’t walk home,” I pleaded with him, inching the car alongside him.

“Why not?”
he demanded, looking like a pouting schoolboy.

“Because it’s too far. Come on, get in and we’ll go home.”

He said nothing and kept walking, giving me no choice but to drive home without him. Back at our trailer, I went inside, knowing it would be hours before he got home. I tried to sit down and read, but the words on the page kept blurring and my eyes burned with unshed tears. I couldn’t concentrate. I looked outside at the darkening sky, and felt a return of the familiar fear I felt whenever I was alone at night. I felt like such a failure.

My husband had run away from home, and it was my fault.

After hours, I finally picked up the telephone and began dialing. But when Mrs. Leigh answered the phone, I wasn’t sure what to say.

“Mrs. Leigh, is Eddie down there?”

“No, should he be?” she asked.

“Well, I thought he might be
…” I stopped, unsure of what else to say. It was hard enough just to tell her that much. “We had a fight, and I just thought maybe he had come down there,” I heard a stranger’s voice say.

“Well, he’ll be back when he’s not mad
.” She laughed. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to laugh. But you know what a hothead he is.”

That much I did know. After all, she had warned me about his temper enough times, hadn’t she?

July arrived before we knew it and we began preparing for our belated honeymoon
, that night at the hotel merely being our “wedding night” and not our real honeymoon. I longed for the beach and an entire week together. Our trip coincided with Mom’s visit to Gaithersburg, Maryland, to see Bruce, so Eddie and I planned to stop there on our way to Virginia Beach. We pulled in late at night and went right to bed, knowing the next day was going to be full of activities Uncle Bruce had planned for us.

After a full day of sightseeing, we went out for pizza and then returned to Bruce’s apartment. I told Eddie I was really exhausted, and after telling everyone goodnight, I went to bed. But it was too warm and I kicked the covers off, trying to sleep. I could hear laughter and talking from the living room, and I knew everyone was busy playing Gin Rummy. I had almost dozed off when I heard someone yell. I realized it was Carla. She was screaming, and I heard her voice through
my closed bedroom door.

“Stop it, you pain in the butt! Don’t ever touch me again or I’ll have my boyfriend take care of you. He knows what you’ve been doing and he’s just waiting for a chance to beat you up!” Then I heard her crying, and other voices joined in.

I quickly threw my robe on and when I opened the bedroom door, I could see Eddie, looking surprised from where he sat on the couch. Seeing me, Carla began yelling again, “I mean it, Daleen! So help me God, if he ever lays a hand on me again, I’ll kill him!”

“What’s going on?” I was dumbfounded.

I looked back and forth between the adults. I felt a sick feeling begin in the bottom of my stomach because I already guessed what had caused Carla’s outburst. Eddie just sat there, not saying a word. Mom was trying to calm Carla down, and Bruce was at the table, his cards still in his hands, his face a mask of something similar to shock. The two little kids had stopped playing on the floor, and looked confused and frightened.

“He’s had his hands all over me for months and he won’t stop it. I wasn’t going to tell you, Daleen, but he won’t stop. I just can’t take it anymore!”

I turned to Eddie, the anxious feeling growing stronger. “Eddie, what did you do?” My quietly spoken words hid the anger and fear I felt. He shrugged, and seemed to be trying to figure out what to say, when Carla spoke up.

“He kept rubbing his foot against my bottom, that’s what he did! I was sitting on the floor watching television, and I told him to stop, but he just kept right on doing it!” She looked daggers at him, and I knew she was telling the truth.