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Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony; which is an honourable estate, instituted of God in the time of man's innocency, signifying unto us the mystical union that is betwixt Christ and his Church; which holy estate Christ adorned and beautified with his presence, and first miracle that he wrought, in Cana of Galilee; and is commended of Saint Paul to be honourable among all men: and therefore is not by any to be enterprised, nor taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly, to satisfy men's carnal lusts and appetites, like brute beasts that have no understanding; but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God; duly considering the causes for which Matrimony was ordained.
--- Solemnization of Matrimony, Book of Common Prayer
*
When first I accepted the hand of Mr. Epps in marriage, my father took me to one side and impressed upon me the duties of a Christian wife. Chief among them was the making of a happy home for my future husband: to strive and calculate to please him at all costs, to demonstrate that his wife's affection and devotion was a worthy thing, untroubled by fortune or circumstance. I must never, he said, indulge in ill-temper or spite, I must be frugal and economic, consult him in all things, and always remember that should I find his disposition changed from the face presented during courtship, to conduct myself with patience, discretion and composure, so that I might soothe his perturbed spirits.
Naturally I swore I would, as who would not? Mr. Epps – Edwin – was dashing then. Tall, slender, uncommonly handsome, and fashionably dressed, he caught the eye of every belle in Cheneyville, but it was me he chose, and me he married. I was sixteen, newly out of Miss Kingsley's French School for Young Ladies, where I learned not a lick of French, but needlepoint, penmanship, household sums, and other feminine arts. I was a rose in bud, and Edwin a young man of uncertain origin but endless promise.
Had I known the truth fifteen years ago…had I known of his poor grasp of the bottle, his coarse ways and brutal temper concealed beneath the thinnest veneer of gentility, his predilection for slave girls, that he was of no social account and that we would be all but shunned in the parish…no, I fear I would have accepted him none-the-less. I often despise him and wish him dead, but I will be thrice damned before I give him up. And I may be thrice damned all the same, after tonight.
*
Edwin has been restless these many days and short of temper. Accustomed as I am to his moods, I pay them no more mind than a troublesome fly, but there has been another change in his disposition, a constant hunger unsatisfied by me or by his black whore. Because of this he has been neglectful of the plantation accounts, so I have taken them upon myself. Unlike Edwin, I am adept at this task: I led my class in mathematics as well as deportment. It's no accident, these two accomplishments side by side; any girl who can do sums knows the trick of retreating inside when necessary. It has come in useful often.
I heard Edwin addressing Agatha, our downstairs maid, ordering another bourbon. Three since dinner, and no pretense of mint and sugar. I went on filling spaces:
4 lb oysters .40
6 cheese .50
rice, 2 sacks .20
soap, 10 .50
At half past eight, with the soft purple twilight descending, Edwin was not yet in his cups, though it was only a matter of time. Later he was certain to slip off to the slave cabins and take his pleasure with Patsey.
My pen left a blot. Damn the bitch to hell.
Through the screened window I heard hoof beats and rose from my chair. Edwin had had a portion of his office accommodated for me, with an escritoire and needlepoint chair, penance for a transgression I can no longer recall. It suits me just fine. By and by the office will be mine and the parlor will be his – he can watch slaves dance to his heart's content, and I will run his cotton plantation.
I could not see well past the lace curtains, but did faintly discern the blur of a torch and heard Ephraim's voice, and an answering reply, soft and deep and cultured. I smoothed my hair, for I recognized the voice: William Ford. My heart fluttered and then calmed as I shook my skirts and pinched my cheeks.
In the parlor, I heard Edwin. "Agatha," he snapped, "light the lamps, girl. We have a caller."
Just beneath the screech of the cicadas I heard our soon-to-be guest's voice asking after the health of Edwin and myself, inquiring politely as to Edwin's whereabouts, as if he had all the time in the world, as if this were a social call, as if he were not a terribly desperate man. It's the news in the parish – Mr. Ford is in financial difficulties. He and that high-nosed Emmaline are mortgaging their lives and keeping up appearances. It can't last. Pity to have such expensive tastes. I've only been to their house a few times, but every last carpet and candlestick is the finest. Mr. Ford arrays himself in clothes from the best tailor in New Orleans, a man I have exhorted Edwin to visit many times, but he will not – and Emmaline, why – everyone knows that all her dinner dresses and even some of her morning and afternoon dresses are from Paris – silk taffeta and batiste and satins and velvets in the most delicate colors. And their slaves are treated sumptuously. It's not a secret that Mr. Ford is a nigger-lover, but he is a fine figure of a man all the same.
Edwin's boots sounded heavily on the floor as he strode outside. "William! Glory be, it's been far too long." I parted the curtains in time to see him stretch out a hand, and watched William's mouth pucker slightly as their palms touched. William would never cut Edwin outright – he was too kind, fancied himself a pious Christian. But he preferred to keep his distance from Edwin, though he always had a special smile for me. "Come in, come in." Edwin slipped an arm through William's in a bracing and intimate gesture. They had been playmates as children and young men – it was only when William went off to college that the distance between them grew. Edwin drew him closer and addressed the girl hovering in the hall. "Agatha, run to the icehouse. Fetch Mr. William a julep – he's done in."
I chose that moment to appear in the doorway. "Why, Mr. Ford! Welcome."
William removed his hat. "Mrs. Epps." He took my hand in his gloved one and bent over it. "I'm sorry to trouble you so late in the day."
"It's no trouble." Edwin led William into the parlor. "Been far too long since we've seen each other."
"Indeed." I seated myself and spread my skirts. My waist was smaller than Emmaline's, even if my dresses weren't as elaborate. "How is dear Emmaline and those lovely children? I haven't seen them in an age – you must tell Emmaline to come to call." I examined William's face minutely. Even in the forgiving candlelight, his countenance was weary; his bright eyes were reddened, his mouth downturned. His fine clothes were rumpled, his boots caked with mud. William Ford would not pay us a simple social call, not at this time of evening and looking the way he did. This was business.
"They're just fine. It's kind of you to ask, Mrs. Epps. I'll convey your sweet sentiment to them." William drew a deep breath. "I apologize for the lateness of the hour, but I find myself in dire straits. I'll come directly to the point. I need a buyer for a slave I've mortgaged, and I need it done quickly."
Edwin turned to me. "My dear, this is a conversation between men. Will you excuse us?"
My heart burned and raged, but I rose to my feet with lightness and grace. "Certainly, Mr. Epps. Mr. Ford, good night. Don't forget to tell Emmaline to call." I moved swiftly, silently, from the parlor and closed the door. As Agatha approached with the ice, mint, and sugar, I took it and shooed her away. I set the tray on a table and moved close to the door. An irregularity in the frame afforded a fair look at the pair of them seated opposite each other.
"Well now," Edwin said softly. "I know how it pains you to sell a nigger, Billy. Which one?"
"Platt. He is…he is not possessed of particular strength, but he is a man of parts nevertheless, and a credit to his race. An engineer, a worthy foreman, and a musician besides."
"Well, now. Does he walk on water too?" Edwin gave a snort of laughter and grunted as he rose to his feet and walked to the sideboard to pour himself another bourbon. "I've heard of Platt. Uppity. Hasn't quite learned his place. But then, that's a failing of too many of your niggers, William. You give 'em their heads, and they swell." He drank deeply. "I don't need a god-damned engineer."
"He is a hard and diligent worker, Edwin."
"That's as may be. Why're you selling?"
William rose to his feet and began to pace. "You'll have heard of my carpenter, Mr. John Tibeats. Platt has provoked him, it seems, and Tibeats has taken it upon himself to make an attempt upon Platt's life. I believe Tibeats is in the wrong, but the man considers himself mortally insulted and will not stop until Platt is dead. I cannot have it. He's too valuable, and…." William stopped walking.
"And you have debts," Edwin said. "The mill. It's not paying the way it used to, is it?"
"I've had to mortgage," William muttered. "My brother is in difficulties –"
"He's a shiftless no-account fool." Edwin gulped his drink loudly. "God knows where that girl's got to. I'll beat her senseless. Well, I reckon it's straight bourbon. Here."
"No, I –"
"Take it." Edwin's voice was steel. I shivered, though not in fear. Edwin, in this mood…often quickened me. "I hear stories, Sweet William. You remember my ma used to call you that? I think she liked you better than she liked me."
"I remember."
"Stories," Edwin mused. "You're robbing Peter to pay Paul. That house of yours, with that fancy furniture from England, that piano-forte. All them pretty dresses Emmaline wears. Adds up, don't it?"
I saw William's fine, long fingers gripping the glass tightly. "You could do worse than to buy him, Edwin."
Edwin stood over William, all but quivering in antipathy. It was no secret that Edwin was jealous of William, the gentleness and gravity of his character. That, too, quickened me. "Could I? Could I do worse, Billy? You know Patsey, don't you? My Patsey?"
Oh, Patsey, Patsey, Patsey. Curse the bitch to Hell.
"She's twice as fast and twice as strong as half the men I got. Me and her, we could take over the whole of Louisiana, and maybe we will. Christ knows I don't need one of your uppity niggers putting on airs when I got her."
"The terms are good, Edwin." William got to his feet. "He's valuable, and I won't have him unjustly killed."
Edwin turned and sipped at his drink. I saw him smile. "Nobody else would have him, would they? Surely you must have tried others. Thomas Hedley, Matty Pickard. Cyrus Brooks, maybe?"
Trembling – oh, to see that fine man tremble, it stirred the heart – William clasped his hands. "Tell me you're not utterly without Christian mercy, Edwin, or insensible to kindness. I'm begging you, for the love of God."
And then Edwin wheeled and moved very close to William. He reached up and stroked William's cheek with the back of his fingers, a gesture that I had only chanced to receive a few times during the course of our marriage. I watched that gesture with avid eyes, knowing somewhere deep in my heart that…oh, yes, it was more than an affectionate trifle between boyhood companions. "Oh, my dear Billy," he replied in the merest whisper. "You always did beg abjectly so very well."
William suffered the caress, casting his gaze downward. "What do you –"
"Oh, you remember, don't you?" Edwin went on. "Playing at pirates, the two of us? I was always Blackbeard, and you were Lieutenant Maynard. You remember." He plucked the glass from William's hand and set it on the table. It would leave a ring. "Always trying to cut my head off, but you never did quite manage, did you? I always ended up…boarding your ship." He pulled at the beautifully tied bow-end of William's pale-cream silk cravat, and the knot slithered loose.
A blush had settled itself on William's heretofore placid and pale cheeks. "Edwin, please."
If ever there was a time to act with womanly discretion and withdraw from the premises, that was surely the time, but I could not so much as blink, so torn was I between horror and some darker stirring that set me afire.
I knew, of course, that such things occurred. Why, only last year one of Matty Pickard's bucks, Eliezer, was discovered in flagrante delicto with Matty's youngest son Philippe. Philippe was packed off to a school up North to weather the disgrace; Eliezer, naturally, was hanged. Certainly it was unnatural, unspoken, but not altogether uncommon. And it seemed my husband was not immune to these sinister perversions of the flesh. This, then, was my reward for the affection and attention I had lavished upon him, for my years of forbearance and patience.
I would watch if it killed me.
"Edwin." William's voice trembled. "That was…we were children. Foolish, thoughtless. They were games, stupid games…."
"Sweet William." Edwin's voice was as tender as I had ever heard it. Gently, he eased William's coat from his body and tossed it to the settee. "I'll buy your man Platt, but not unless you give me satisfaction for him."
"I won't. I tell you I won't." The words were fierce, but William stood still, now locking eyes with Edwin, mesmerized as surely as a rabbit caught in a snake's flat stare.
"Then he can hang." Edwin caught both of William's wrists and held them together in one hand. "A half hour's pleasure for Platt's life. Is that so much? I thought he was a valuable nigger." With his free hand, Edwin bore down on William's shoulder, urging him to his knees. He drew the loosened cravat from round William's neck and bound his wrists together.
I could scarcely breathe.
"You know what to do," Edwin murmured. "You pleasure me or you walk the plank. Go on."
With his bound and quaking hands, William fumbled at Edwin's trousers and unfastened them. They were silhouetted, their profiles clean and sharp in the candlelight, and I saw the evidence of Edwin's excitement.
"Please, Edwin. Please don't."
"Won't tell you again, Sweet William."
As I realized the meaning of Edwin's request, I pressed a hand to my mouth lest so much as a breath betray me. He had never asked such a thing of me. Never.
William's dark head moved closer, and his firm, full lips parted and closed round my husband's manhood. Edwin shuddered and sighed and threw his head back. His fingers slipped into William's hair, caressing his curls. Oh, they looked soft and clean, those curls. I'd longed to touch them myself. How I'd longed for it, how I yearned as I watched. I saw the gleam of tears in William's lake-blue eyes. Edwin was visiting the ultimate outrage upon him, but he neither struggled nor attempted escape. Then he closed his eyes, and moved his mouth, in a manner that suggested familiarity, as his bound hands clutched at the crumpled linen of Edwin's trousers.
How many times had this happened before?
"Don't worry, Billy," Edwin gasped. "I won't forget about you. You're just getting things warmed up, I promise." He lunged forward; William made a choking noise. "Good boy. Take it in, all of it."
I should have fainted, but I clung to the door. And as I gazed upon them, Edwin grasped William's hair and pulled back, his manhood stiff and red and wet from William's comely mouth. He stood still a moment, breathing hard, then moved slowly to the oil lamp on the mantel and poured a little in his hand. He brought his hand to himself and moved it to and fro, shivering, as William knelt in silence, his face crimson with shame.
"Against the settee, Billy."
"Edwin, no. Please."
"You always loved it, Billy. Wanted it, begged for it. Have you forgotten?"
"Edwin…." Frantic, William shook his head. "I've a wife. Children. I can't. It's been too long. You'll –"
"Ah, it won't hurt much." Moving with the greatest deliberation, Edwin plucked one of William's gloves from the settee and rolled it into a tight sphere. "Bite down on this."
"No!"
"Shut your mouth, you fucking fool –" In a whirl of violence, Edwin leapt upon William and wrestled him to the floor, pinning him flat, holding him implacably still with his own partially unclothed body. He stuffed the glove inside William's mouth and held it there with his hand. "You listen to me. This is my house, Sweet William. It won't be me that's talked about if we're discovered. You know that, don't you? Hm?"
Struggling, William shook his head and made a piteous noise.
"Ah, now. Now, now." Edwin kissed William's forehead. "No tears, Billy. Come on, now. Take it like a man." He reached down between them and undid William's trousers, then pulled them down. I could not see everything from my vantage point, but I heard Edwin's pleased cry. "See that? You want it as much as I do. Now roll over and get that backside up."
William made another noise of rebellion and tearful rage. It sent fire through my loins. Oh, to be a man….
Edwin pulled off his own cravat, far less stylish than William's, and knotted it round William's head. "Can't have you waking the parish, can we? Come on now, roll over. Keep those hands of yours where I can see them." He forced William to turn, and I caught a glimpse of his organ, full and hard, and then his buttocks, so like a statue of a Greek god I'd once seen. I would not, I could never tell my husband I felt no stronger kinship with him than at this moment. Such a despoiling would never be known between us, but upon my word I wanted to fling the door open and take my part in it, to know the conquering of a man, of the genteel and sublimely handsome William Ford.
I watched him push inside, an indulgent act of purest abomination made wholly desirable in my candlelit parlor. I watched Edwin's hands grasping William's narrow hips and forcing them to meet Edwin's body. I heard William's stifled cries and felt the very floorboards shake as they moved together, as Edwin brought his hand round to William's manhood and caressed, murmuring the vilest filth, as they moved faster and faster, sweat gleaming and flesh slapping roughly together until William let out another muffled cry and Edwin shuddered to a halt, then collapsed, half-falling over William's back and dragging them both to the floor.
For a long moment they lay still. Then Edwin sat up, re-fastened his trousers, and with tenderness urged William up. He unbound William's hands and plucked the cravat and glove from his mouth, and rubbed his thumb over William's swollen lower lip. Edwin kissed him then as he would kiss a woman, cradling William's face in his hands. "Sweet William."
"Leave me be." William's nerveless fingers attempted to re-fasten his trousers.
Edwin pushed William's hands away and did the deed himself. "I'll meet whatever price you ask, Billy."
"A thousand." William's voice rasped from his chest. His long throat gleamed with sweat.
"Done." Edwin got to his feet and held his hand out to William.
I turned and fled up the stairs, waiting until I heard the parlor door creak open. Sedately, thankful that there had been time for my cheeks to cool, I moved downstairs, pausing at the landing. "Mr. Ford! Is my husband keeping you? Can't I offer you some refreshment?"
William's hand flew to his open shirt collar. "Why…no, thank you, Mrs. Epps. I was on my way out. Thank you all the same."
"I do hope you'll come back and bring that lovely Emmaline." I gave William my most melting smile. I was grateful to him; even if I could never speak a word of it to my husband, I had learned much, and I was not as impotent as I'd once feared. From now on, when my husband coupled with me, I would imagine something new altogether. Myself in Edwin's place, and a man beneath me. Sweet William beneath me, abased and helpless.
We saw him out, Edwin and I. I clung to Edwin's arm, inhaling that most familiar aroma emanating from manly bodies.
Marriage is a long and binding contract. I will conduct myself with patience, discretion, and composure, and no matter how many black whores Edwin takes, I will forbear, and hold this secret safe until it no longer suits me to do so.
And then, who knows? With a little feminine persuasion, perhaps it will happen again.
End.