“You call me Teacher and Lord, and you are right, for so I am”. -John 13:13
‘You’re mighty late getting food on the table tonight, ain’tcha?’
Susan hurried to bring him the crusty bread she’d baked earlier.
The truth was, she was only ten minutes tardy. But it was better not to say it.
‘I know. Sorry Matthew. Shoulda been on the table when you came in.’
He tore off a chunk and mopped it around his swimming dish of meat, taters and barley, before ramming it into his churning slobbering mouth. The same mouth that would be all over her body in just a little while, if she knew anything.
He glared. Petulant.
‘Damn straight it should.’
‘I planted some beets today,’ she told him, with a ghost of a smile. ‘And them greens will be ready too in a couple weeks.’
‘I really couldn’t give a mouse shit.’
She looked down meekly, then nodded apologetically and set about cleaning his filthy boots that he’d left by the door, so that they’d be ready in the morning.
As predicted, she received a mauling from him a few hours later. Unwashed, totally naked excepting his socks, he mounted her, biting, licking and everything else. The food she had so dutifully made, mixed with the few jugs of ale he had supped, swilled and sloshed in his big barrel arsed belly, while he thrust and pounded her, like he was making butter for an entire village. He took all that was owed him for the privilege of being a man and then rolled over most casually, taking most of the covers with him in a fist that could easily be mistaken for a ham.
In the dark, squeezed by still quaking raw valleys of flesh, a river flowed.
No bairns. No bairns. Please God, no bairns, she prayed.
Instead of gentle arms, these dark thoughts funneled her towards sleep.
The next day brought light – and with it the promise of a good ten hours all to herself.
Her life wasn’t all that bad was it?
She fetched the eggs, milked the cows, made cheese and butter and of course the bread. Clothes were mended. The garden was tended and what had come to fruition was harvested.
It was in the midst of a few quiet moments later, where she sat on the veranda with a half empty glass in her hand and a moustache atop her fulsome lips, that they made their first appearance.
Since she wasn’t expecting them, she jumped a little, but stifled a modest curse. Eighteen was old enough.
‘Howdy Ma’am. My Sister Lucille and I are on our way to Yorktown to serve in the Tennessee Freedom of The Lord Bible Mission College there, and, well, we seem to have got ourselves a little lost. Is it far, do you know?’
Susan was not a woman slow of wit. She was aware of the new evangelical movement that had sprung up in the nearby settlement of Yorktown. She had heard rumours of its influence, even in her isolated location. Dorothy Edmunds at the next small holding had told frankly unbelievable and fanciful stories about it. She was pretty sure her husband had beaten her to shut her up.
‘Well, no. Not that far. Twelve miles. But you’re unlikely to get there before nightfall and there’s a bit of a storm a comin’. My husband is stern but not an unchristian man. He ain’t home yet, but I don’t think he’d mind if we put you up for the night. Since you’re brother and sister and all.’
The pair smiled and the young man tipped his hat.
‘Much obliged to you Ma’am. Please lead the way.’
She did. And she, charitable soul that she was, put them up a tray of victuals. Cold cuts and such. She brought it to them out in the barn where she went on to also set two pillows and a comforter each on account of them being siblings.
Still, even after all she had done, she felt it all so very inadequate.
‘Well, if you need anything else, let me know. I’ll be back again just to check before lights out. My husband should be home soon. He’s pretty late but it ain’t uncommon. Mining ain’t a regular pastime or the easiest of jobs.’
‘I’m sure it isn’t Dear,’ smiled Lucile, the sister. ‘This broth is delicious by the way.’’
Susan glimmered and then ducked out of the barn just like a firefly dimmed.
Back in the house, by the fireside, she waited and simmered, until news came. Eventually, a small boy from the pit arrived, alone and a tiny bit breathless. Matthew was hurt. A compound fracture of the lower left leg, he said. The doctor was operating that night. Guilty relief flowed through her and was walled away as quickly and comfortably as possible.
Still, in the wake of it, she did something she had never done before. She took off her boots and stockings and rested her bare feet on the rough pine wood table. She rolled up her skirts and let the heat of the fire stroke her delights. And she thought of the odd couple that looked nothing like each other in her barn.
She thought of his eyes and the purse of his lips as he spoke. And she? The girl? Well…
And just then, that very girl, she, Lucille interrupted her reverie, by returning the tray.
‘Heavens almighty! I am sorry! What must you think of me?’
Susan leapt to her feet and flung her skirts down.
‘Not a bit of it. I intruded without thinking.’
‘I’ve neglected you. My husband shall not be home tonight. He is too unwell and is to be tended by the doctor. I am a little unsettled by it.’
‘I am sure. I am sure. We will look after ourselves. Don’t you worry.’
‘I would be ashamed to my death if you did. I will sort these what nots and then bring you pece meal and malt directly.’
Lucile nodded shyly and left. An angel…
Susan stayed to watch them sip the malt and crumble their singular oat biscuit, festooned in hay in the barn and modesty covered by her poorly made quilts. They told her about their lives and spiritual mission. Where their journey had taken the, all over God’s land. What they hoped for. Their dreams.
The lantern and their voice cast a soft glow that cocooned her, unreadying her for what came next.
Joel, the handsome preacher and brother of Lucile, fell abruptly on his side in a fit of dreadful paroxysm.
‘We must help him!’ cried Lucile.
‘What can we do? What ails him?’
His hands plucked fitfully at his body as he shook.
Susan’s eyes went wide.
‘He needs release!’ shrieked Lucile. ‘Help me!’
She tore open his breeches but Susan slapped away her hands.
‘This is improper! You are his sister and I, I a married woman!’
‘There is nothing improper at all in saving a man of God’s life! And I am not his fleshly sister. Merely of spirit, assigned by God and the Church to assist him in such times of need! Sometimes his episodes are more than even I can contain. Help me sister! Please, I beg you!’
And they did so, selflesslessly, until daylight broke and God spared him.
Matthew returned home the following day after they left, too concerned with his own suffering to notice his wife’s puffy lips and happily glazed expression or the peculiar stiffness of the quilt in certain areas of their marital bed.
Susan came to term this day ‘The Transfiguration.’
Matthew required no Laudanum and they remained childless, always.
© 2025, SamanthaJWright.com. All rights reserved.