Historical Horror of a Wife Who Can't Let Go

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 The first time I saw Henry, I had just been crowed Miss South Carolina Cotton Honey. The youngest in town, and damn proud. While they crowned me, all I could see was the most handsome man I had ever seen. He had the most beautiful hazel eyes, and a smile that would make any woman swoon for him. Well, that was then and this is now.

We were married in 1928. By golly, I was the most stunning bride you had ever seen. And Henry, well my Henry was just something else. I felt like the luckiest woman in the world. To think I would be this man's for all of time, just him and I, and maybe some children of our own. It was everything you would ever want a wedding to be. Our friends and family were gathered for us of course, the minister from New Hope Church (the oldest one in town), and I had a beautiful white lace dress. My Henry in a black suit with his hair slicked to the side, and his mustache is perfect style. It was nothing short of a picturesque day. Beautiful flowers, and dancing under the moonlight in my sweetheart's arms with a jar of moonshine to feel the night away.

All those dreams I wove around Henry and I dissipated when the stock market crashed. It wasn't Henry's fault, of course not. Presient Hoover claimed things would be all okay. So he said. The amount of guilt I felt was unbearable. I was the one who told Henry it was a smart idea to buy stocks. What the hell did a southern belle like me know, clearly nothing. It was due to my stupidness that we lost everything. Had to move back to South Carolina, and live in my parents old abandoned house. How we would make ends meet I had no idea, at the time that is.

Years went by, and things weren't getting any better. We managed off of scraps of everything; food, clothing, everything. We couldn't even have sex out of fear. We would never be able to support a child under these cirumstances. Life was miserable, and for a long time. Thinking back now, I was so young, and Henry was so young. I didn't know anything other than him though. I suppose that's why when the time came, I couldn't let go. He's still here with me, that Henry. And it's where he'll be forever, as long as I have anything to do with it.

When you've been married as long as I have, you learn a few things along the way. Who you are, and who you want to be. Who you want your husband to be, and that he won't be the same person you married. People change. The key to marriage though, is to keep falling in love with the same man your whole life. That's what my mama always taught me. And I'd like to think it worked out well for me and Henry. Until the stupid bastard tried to leave me.

With FDR's New Deal things were getting better, we would be able to move out of South Carolina and back to New York City. That's where our home was. That's where we'd raise our children. So I thought. In no time things returned to the normalcy I was used to. Back in New York, shopping and attending shows. Making meals for Henry, and gossipping with the girls in my book club. It's as if everything was perfect again. The life I always wanted again. Soon, we even forget the Great Depression even happened. It was amazing, day in and day out and the love between Henry and I couldn't be any stronger.

When World War II struck, Henry was called to war. And he went, like the good man he is. We would write to each other every day. I would be lying if I said I wasn't the wife who was always working herself up whenever there was news of the war. This one Tuesday I was expecting a letter from Henry. I had schedued when we would be sending and receiving letters, and I knew today was the day. Immediately, my mind wandered to the worst possible conclusion. My heart sank, as I was walking to the post office for the fourth time today. What if my Henry had died? Or something bad had happened to him?

While my thoughts of Henry wandered, I was struck by an automobile. That's truly when life changed for us. I laid there in the rain, bleeding from every place I could see. I wish I could say the blood was the worst part of my accident. The worst part was not even my dreams crashing and dying. It was Henry and how he reacted to the news.  Men and women who saw my accident from the distance, called an ambulance and I was taken directly to the largest hospital in the city. I underwent emergency surgery. I shuddered and ran my fingers across my scars as I remembered. After what seemed like ages the doctors told me I regained consciousness. How desperately I wished Henry was here, or any family at all. Laying there on that hospital bed, I thought of all my memories. Growing up on the country side, and how I would go to school in the field. It was always my job to milk the cows before I left for school. With everything with mother, father expected me to step up and take responsibility.

I was supposed to have two brothers, but they both died inside my mother. We prayed a lot and father always praised God and said my brothers were in a better placed. Mother never fully healed from the loss. Some days she would not leave bed. She would not eat or sleep, but rather just yell. She would pull her hair, and scream at father. Sometimes after I had gone to bed, I could hear her screaming and crying through the house.

I thought back to this one night in particular. I made the mistake of peeking outside my door, the big oak door. I saw her in her night gown, her hair wild and eyes crazy. She looked like a mad woman slamming doors and cursing at father. I slowly closed the door again, and hid under the blanket. I recalled all the memories I had of father building our house. I thought back to every room and how we decorated. I remembered how he built our dining table. It was the only comfort I had when mother got this way. Many times, I had seen her try to kill herself. I tried not to think of those nights.