Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
Maura
We take the ferry to the Isle of Man and I’m sick a couple of times shortly after we board. Christy gathers me into his arms and dots kisses on the top of my head as we stand on the deck, watching the coastline of Dublin fade out of view.
“Don’t worry, darling. Everyone suffers a little seasickness from time to time.”
The sea is calm and the ferry glides through the water like a swan on a lake. I want to scream at him. I want to tell him that the sight of him is making me ill.
Instead, I wrap my arms around myself, rubbing my hands up and down them as the sea breeze bites.
“I’ve never left Ireland before,” I say, followed by some deep breaths.
“You see,” he says, his voice as gentle as the sunlight kissing the sea. “It’s just a touch of travel sickness. It will soon pass.”
He takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over my shoulders.
“I love you, Maura. You know that, don’t you?”
I nod.
“And I wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt you. Not on purpose.”
My mouth opens but no sound comes out. There are no words to fit this moment. I stare into the dark blue sea, watching as the bow of the ferry slices through the water like a knife. I push the thoughts of what happened on the steps of The Shelbourne deep down into my gut but they bubble back up like the churning waves.
There are many couples and families on board. Christy smiles at some children playing tag. The sound of their laughter in the air soothes me.
“You don’t need to worry yourself with fashion anymore, darling,” Christy says. “You’re a married woman now—soon to be a mother, if the good Lord blesses us. You’ll have to change the way you dress, it’s as simple as that. You don’t see women in trousers out pushing a pram. Oh darling, I can’t wait until we have a baby. Lots of babies. You’re going to be the most wonderful mother.”
I let myself imagine it for a moment: small, chubby arms wrapped around my neck, bedtime stories and good-night kisses.
I want to be a mother so much. I want it more than I want anything in the world. I want it even more than I want to stay angry with my new husband.
“I can’t wait too,” I say, and then I let him kiss me.
We’re the first car off the ferry and Christy entrusts me with reading the map as we navigate the sleepy island.
“There should be a lighthouse around here somewhere,” he says. “And the B and B is just around the corner on the left.”
Sure enough, as we round the next bend, a white-and-red-striped lighthouse comes into view. There’s a small cream bungalow opposite. A woman stands waiting at the door. Her gray hair is pinned back. Her round-rimmed glasses take up most of her face, and there are baking stains on her floral apron.
There doesn’t seem to be anywhere to park amid the lush green grass and the wild hedging that seems to punctuate the island. Christy settles on parking at the side of the road, but I can tell he’s uncomfortable about it.
“You must be Dr. Davenport,” the lady says, breaking into a wide smile as we get out of the car and walk toward her house. “I’m Rita. It’s lovely to meet you.”
Rita extends her hand and Christy shakes it. “Nice to meet you too. Will my car be all right parked there?”
“Oh, I should think so. We don’t get many vehicles on the island if not for deliveries.”
Christy’s stiff shoulders relax.
“And this must be your lovely new wife,” Rita says, smiling at me. “My goodness, if you’re not the spitting image of that actress who plays Calamity Jane. Oh, I do love that film. Beautiful music.”
Christy glares at me, once again sweeping his eyes over my trouser suit that he detests so much.
“Come in, come in,” Rita says, ushering us inside.
She leads us down a narrow corridor to show us to our room and tells us her husband, Bert, will fetch our luggage. She stretches her arms out and opens her hand, waiting for Christy to pass her his car keys.
“We couldn’t put him to that trouble,” Christy says, clearly having no intention of parting with the keys to his pride and joy. “I’ll fetch our things.”
Rita retracts her hand.
“You’ll be all right for a moment on your own, darling, won’t you?” he asks, smiling at me like Prince Charming.
I nod again and close the bedroom door when Christy and Rita leave. Now that I’m alone for the first time all day, tears begin to fall. I catch them on my fingertip and flick them away. There’s a small white dresser in the corner with a bottle of holy water and a mirror on top. I brace myself before I look at my reflection. To my surprise, there isn’t a mark on me. I touch my face. I palpate my cheeks and the side of my nose with my fingers. It’s tender to the touch but thankfully there is no redness or bruising. Christy mustn’t have hit me as hard as I thought. Maybe I’m making too much of it.
The door creaks open again and Christy walks in with a bag hanging from each of his shoulders. His and mine. He sets them down next to the bed and places his hands on my waist.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
My breath catches and he looks at me, waiting for an answer. The answer, we both know, must be yes .
Last week, as Ma and I sat crocheting booties, I asked her what to expect on my wedding night. She set her crochet hook down, took me by the hands, and said, “Maura, m’dear, God has blessed you with a healthy body. That is as much as you need to know about it. Do you understand?”
I understood. My body and how it functioned were outside the realm of socially acceptable conversation.
Christy reaches for the button on my trousers and my legs tremble just a little. Undressing is slow and embarrassing. I have to fight the urge to cover up with my hands as my husband sheds my clothing. He’s confident and critiques me with hungry eyes. I must admit, I can’t take my eyes off him and the shape of a man’s naked body. He smiles when he catches my eye and he guides me to lie on the bed. He climbs on top of me and kisses me. He tastes like cigarettes and desire. His skin is warm and soft and I can feel his eagerness to push. The pain is hot and sharp and I gasp out loud more than once as I squirm. I wonder if we should stop. Surely if there’s pain then something must be wrong?
Christy groans and quickly I ask, “Does it hurt?”
He steadies himself.
“It’s all right, Maura,” he says between gentle kisses on my lips and cheeks. “It won’t be as bad next time.”
“Did you know it would be like this?”
“It’s just the first time or two. You’ll get used to it.”
I stare at the ceiling. It doesn’t surprise me that my doctor husband knows more about my body than I do, and yet I still feel like an uneducated fool. I let him continue, and I distract myself from the burn by thinking about the children I am so looking forward to having. I close my eyes and promise myself in this moment that if I have a daughter, I will not raise a fool. I will tell her anything she ever needs to know.