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Mr. & Mrs. (standard:other, 469 words)
Author: Sweet NothingsAdded: May 10 2003Views/Reads: 2753/1Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Newly weds in the 1800's

Mr. & Mrs. 

Are we home yet?  The new wife wanted to be home.  Married her husband,
and wedded a new never seen, family. 

April is my name.  Yes.  We are newly weds.  We are very much in love. 
My only words of advice from my mother, her name is Katherine, is to 
not fight my man. 

Your daylight hours are always used as a matter of work.  Your night
time hours are used to read, sew, or mend the harness.  We round the 
bend and lo and behold, there in front of me is a whole community of 
settlers waiting for us, the wedding couple.  They gave to us things we 
would need daily.  A churn.  A bucket.  A hoe and rake.  New dishes.   
A new washboard.  My wedding day jitters began to melt away as I was 
greeted by such lovely people.  I tried not to cry, but the big round 
tears rolled down my cheeks.  A woman came to me and washed my face in 
her gentle way of saying, I know just how you feel.  When the time 
arrived to go to our cabin, we were escorted by people chanting and 
clapping we, the newlyweds, to our new home and to our new life as 
husband and wife. 

We were shy in our own skins knowing we had signed a contract, and now
we were to consummate our marriage.  Abe, my husband, with work worn 
hands, took my virginity, and from that moment to this, we are truly 
husband and wife.  It is the duty of the wife to be willing when her 
husband, all of a sudden, wants to have intercourse. 

Women are treated with disregard, keeping their own feelings or needs,
locked up somewhere inside.  Your duty, of course, is to be a good wife 
to your husband.  A helpmate.  We work side by side to make wares to 
fill our cabin.  We made a table and benches, and pegs on the walls.  
We make the things we need for daily use.  Our world is work from sun 
up to sun down. 

We were never too much for talking.  The words spoken were just for the
necessary communication.  We didn't start a week with the husband 
talking all day, runnning his mouth and not doing things of importance. 

There are acres to work, to clear, to harvest. We act more like mules
than people.  Young love is not a thing.  The thing is being successful 
and bringing in a good crop for the winter.  There is no play in our 
lives.  At the end of the day my mister and me, take pleasure in 
sitting in silence.  Dark comes, jobs are finished for the day, so we 
get to wash the dirt from our faces and eat a hearty meal. Mr. and Mrs. 


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