Helpless

Spring 1790

"Say you're sorry, Mariah! Say it!"

Well, she wasn't sorry, but she did say it. She hated the sniveling, anxious side of her that always consented to her husband. She hadn't even done anything wrong! Mariah smirked, thinking of how James would react if she really did have an affair. Heaven knows he did enough gallivanting of his own.

"Are you even listening to me, woman?" James shrieked again. His eyes were hard and smooth, almost buttonlike. "Why in hell I ever married a whore like you...so damn stupid! Where were you today?"

"I was out, James. I was enjoying the weather," Mariah said lightly. She felt her own eyes stinging, and she hated that too. Even if James was drunk, even if he'd be somewhat more amiable in the morning, she despised him and the way she acted around him. "I'm going out again. For a walk."

"That's what you think, you little bimbo! I haven't gotten my supper!" Mariah stood up decisively and ran toward the door of their bedroom. He reached out, as if to grab her, but she was quick and slipped away. James pouted stormily in response.

"Fine then! Fine! Go! I don't care! See if I even care! No sir, don't give a-"

Mariah slammed the door on James and his rambling. She flew haphazardly down the winding staircase, across the hall, and into the night. It was chilly, the first of March, but she didn't think of a cloak. Mariah breathed deeply of the sharp air and let the darkness swallow her up.

She walked for a few blocks on the outskirts of town. The city was sleek and bustling, full of life and joy but selfishly absorbed in its own ambitions. The city was no place for an upstate girl like Mariah.

She had been raised in the countryside, running wild over the land with her older brothers. She remembered the fresh mist, the endless lakes and ponds, the comfort and predictability of her youth. At 15, James had stolen her away to be free of all that. Now, Mariah was nearly 23 and a caged bird. The cage was her city and the cage was James.

She wandered the city for an hour or so, glossing over the muddy streets with her skirts. There were a few lights yet burning in windows, and she enjoyed marveling at the silhouettes, the shadow plays that were real. I wonder what people think when they pass my house, she mused. The candlelight might flicker across her husband's angry face, twisting his features evilly. Less likely, but much preferred, an onlooker would hear them whispering to each other in bed, Mariah reading aloud and James holding her in his arms. She sighed, wishing for someone wonderful to pass her life with. She wanted a child, a handsome stranger, someone. A family of her own.

The next morning, the house was cold and damp and dark. James had not started a fire in the stove before he left. Shivering, Mariah hurried downstairs in her nightclothes to light some kindling in the stove, then climbed back up to dress. She brushed out and then pinned up her honey-coloured hair. Until recently, she had cared quite a lot about her appearance, carefully applying rouge and powder to her face and rarely leaving home without a wig. Today, however, was not the kind of day for dressing up, so Mariah laced her corset more loosely and donned a modest purple cap. The grandfather clock downstairs rang eight o'clock as she went to her husband's study to write a letter.

"Dearest Grandmama

I hope sincerely that you are well, and am writing to express my affection towards you. I also have a small favor to bring to your attention. I would most dearly like to spend the summer with you upstate. Not wishing to infringe upon you, I would be happy to rent the lake cottage if it pleases you.

Yours Most Devoted,

Mariah."

Mariah hastily shoved the slip of parchment into her pocket, planning to mail it later today. It was Friday, so she had to get to her position as a governess before noon. Downstairs, she set out a plate for James should he come home for luncheon, but she doubted that he would. For herself she took a thick slice of rye bread, as well as a small sack of storybooks and french primers to read to her young wards. Then Mariah set off down third avenue.

"Dear Granddaughter,

I would be most happy to have you as a guest this summer, provided your husband does not object. It would be convenient for you to arrive in late-May, and leave at your discretion. I know that you shall find the weather most refreshing in the countryside.

Affectionately,

Ms. Francine L. Baune"