the edge of the bed, she heard a door shut and suspected her
father had gone outside. Perhaps he was going to pick up her aunt, who would be
travelling with her to Philadelphia. Mary Ellen had never been to Philadelphia.
She had never been outside of Virginia. Her only adventures and travels were
through the books she read.
“Mary Ellen?” came a
small child’s voice from the doorway. She looked up to see two of her younger
brothers standing at the entrance to her bedroom.
“Billy, where are your
brothers?” Mary Ellen asked as the two edged their way into her tiny room.
Being the only girl, she was afforded her own bedroom, which doubled as her
mother’s sewing room. The brothers had long since learned they were not allowed
in without an invitation, something they seemed to have forgotten; yet just
this once, she did not mind.
“In the barn, finishing
morning chores. We just passed Papa and he said you’re really leaving today. I
thought he was just fooling us. Do you really have to go?”
“I guess so,” Mary
Ellen said sadly as her two young brothers moved closer, standing by her side.
Although the boys were both the same height, Billy had just turned eight, while
Johnny was a year younger.
“But who’s gonna take
care of Mama?” Johnny asked.
“Or cook for us?” Billy
wondered aloud.
Instead of answering
their questions, Mary Ellen stared at her two brothers. Aren’t you going to
miss me? she silently asked. Her brief moment of self-pity ended when
Johnny climbed onto her lap and gave her a hug, insisting he was going to miss
her — Mary Ellen Browning, his big sister.
Her other brothers, those
who hadn’t gone off to war, finished their chores and came to say goodbye
before she was taken to the train depot with her Aunt Rachel. There were tears,
even a few from her mother who seemed to finally grasp that her only daughter
was leaving home. Yet aside from giving Mary Ellen a brief hug and kissing her
on the cheek, Sally did not ask her daughter to stay and seemed accepting of
the girl’s fate.
At the train station,
Edward awkwardly patted his daughter’s shoulder, kissed her forehead, and told
her to be a good and obedient wife and to attend church every Sunday.
“Will you write me,
Papa, and let me know how you all are?” Mary Ellen asked as she started to
board the train.
“I suspect I’ll be all
too busy to write, considering your mother’s condition. But I imagine you
mother will write when she’s feeling better.”
• • • •
“Are you alright dear?”
Aunt Rachel asked Mary Ellen a half hour later. The two women sat side by side
in the train car as it rolled bumpily down the tracks. Neither woman had
spoken since boarding the train, each lost in her own personal thoughts.
“I’m just nervous, Aunt
Rachel. I don’t really know Mr. Coulson, yet I’m to be his wife.”
“Has your mother talked
to you,” Rachel lowered her voice so the other passengers wouldn’t overhear,
“what goes on between a husband and wife?”
“Yes, Mother explained
things to me when Gertrude got married last spring.”
“Your mother’s niece?”
“Yes. Aunt Bertha and
Uncle Harvey’s oldest daughter.”
“Oh, I remember. Bertha
was a sweet girl, looked a great deal like your mother.”
“Yes, I’ve seen
pictures of her. Uncle Harvey’s last wife died a few months before Gertrude’s
wedding.”
“Harvey did have bad
luck with his wives. She was his third, wasn’t she?”
“She was, which is why
it fell on my mother to explain things to Gertrude.”
“Makes sense. I can’t
imagine Harvey having that talk with Gertrude.”
“Mother decided to
tell me at the same time, I guess she figured she’d get it out of the way all
at once.”
“So you understand
then, what is expected of you?”
“I — I suppose so. But it all sounds
so strange, and mother says it will hurt at first. It all seems very
embarrassing.”
“It’ll help if you
close your eyes,” Rachel
father had gone outside. Perhaps he was going to pick up her aunt, who would be
travelling with her to Philadelphia. Mary Ellen had never been to Philadelphia.
She had never been outside of Virginia. Her only adventures and travels were
through the books she read.
“Mary Ellen?” came a
small child’s voice from the doorway. She looked up to see two of her younger
brothers standing at the entrance to her bedroom.
“Billy, where are your
brothers?” Mary Ellen asked as the two edged their way into her tiny room.
Being the only girl, she was afforded her own bedroom, which doubled as her
mother’s sewing room. The brothers had long since learned they were not allowed
in without an invitation, something they seemed to have forgotten; yet just
this once, she did not mind.
“In the barn, finishing
morning chores. We just passed Papa and he said you’re really leaving today. I
thought he was just fooling us. Do you really have to go?”
“I guess so,” Mary
Ellen said sadly as her two young brothers moved closer, standing by her side.
Although the boys were both the same height, Billy had just turned eight, while
Johnny was a year younger.
“But who’s gonna take
care of Mama?” Johnny asked.
“Or cook for us?” Billy
wondered aloud.
Instead of answering
their questions, Mary Ellen stared at her two brothers. Aren’t you going to
miss me? she silently asked. Her brief moment of self-pity ended when
Johnny climbed onto her lap and gave her a hug, insisting he was going to miss
her — Mary Ellen Browning, his big sister.
Her other brothers, those
who hadn’t gone off to war, finished their chores and came to say goodbye
before she was taken to the train depot with her Aunt Rachel. There were tears,
even a few from her mother who seemed to finally grasp that her only daughter
was leaving home. Yet aside from giving Mary Ellen a brief hug and kissing her
on the cheek, Sally did not ask her daughter to stay and seemed accepting of
the girl’s fate.
At the train station,
Edward awkwardly patted his daughter’s shoulder, kissed her forehead, and told
her to be a good and obedient wife and to attend church every Sunday.
“Will you write me,
Papa, and let me know how you all are?” Mary Ellen asked as she started to
board the train.
“I suspect I’ll be all
too busy to write, considering your mother’s condition. But I imagine you
mother will write when she’s feeling better.”
• • • •
“Are you alright dear?”
Aunt Rachel asked Mary Ellen a half hour later. The two women sat side by side
in the train car as it rolled bumpily down the tracks. Neither woman had
spoken since boarding the train, each lost in her own personal thoughts.
“I’m just nervous, Aunt
Rachel. I don’t really know Mr. Coulson, yet I’m to be his wife.”
“Has your mother talked
to you,” Rachel lowered her voice so the other passengers wouldn’t overhear,
“what goes on between a husband and wife?”
“Yes, Mother explained
things to me when Gertrude got married last spring.”
“Your mother’s niece?”
“Yes. Aunt Bertha and
Uncle Harvey’s oldest daughter.”
“Oh, I remember. Bertha
was a sweet girl, looked a great deal like your mother.”
“Yes, I’ve seen
pictures of her. Uncle Harvey’s last wife died a few months before Gertrude’s
wedding.”
“Harvey did have bad
luck with his wives. She was his third, wasn’t she?”
“She was, which is why
it fell on my mother to explain things to Gertrude.”
“Makes sense. I can’t
imagine Harvey having that talk with Gertrude.”
“Mother decided to
tell me at the same time, I guess she figured she’d get it out of the way all
at once.”
“So you understand
then, what is expected of you?”
“I — I suppose so. But it all sounds
so strange, and mother says it will hurt at first. It all seems very
embarrassing.”
“It’ll help if you
close your eyes,” Rachel