When Darkness Loves Us

Fern heard Harry curse under his breath, but she wouldn’t let anything spoil this, their first real day of marriage. It was too new, too special; there would never be another first day like this, not ever again. She consciously put a lilt in her walk. This was a project they could work on together, be proud of together, a lifetime work of making the farm beautiful, a happy place to be, a healthy place.

They walked up the sagging porch steps, through the torn screen door and into the house.

It was stark. The furniture was heavy, wooden, and unadorned. The big room housed both kitchen and living area, with a wood-burning stove and scarred enamel sink. Filthy curtains that had been red-checked hung in faded tatters above the sink; the cupboards were open and the dishes filled with dirt. Dingy sheets were spread over the sofa and the overstuffed chair. The place had a look of hot summertime in the dust bowl.

They carried their bags into the bedroom, where Harry immediately changed into overalls and a white T-shirt while Fern modestly turned her back. Fern unpacked the bags, hanging their clothes next to the ones in the closet, and put on a cool housedress. Without a word to each other, they went to work, Harry outside, Fern inside.

She discovered a rather pretty, though faded, green and pink floral print on the sofa and chair. Under another filthy, dusty sheet, the bedspread was a hand-sewn quilt in a starburst pattern of gold and brown calico. She changed the linen, dusted, swept, and washed dishes. She hummed to herself as she worked. Her new husband would be pleased with their life here. She would make it so.

At sundown, neighbors came over with fried chicken, cold beer, and news of the neighborhood. Sam and Addie Smith lived on the next farm over. They’d taken all the livestock to their place when Harry’s folks took sick, and were mighty glad to see him and his pretty little bride come home.

Harry and Sam went out on the porch after dinner for a beer and a smoke, while Addie and Fern cleaned up the dishes. Fern admired Addie’s strong, plain hands, her generous size, and the way she wasted no motions in cleaning up after dinner. Fern felt young and small and inadequate next to this obviously capable woman.

When they had finished, they sat at the scrubbed wooden table with fresh coffee.

“So. Here you are. Now what?”

Fern was surprised by this directness. She was soon to learn that farm people are rarely anything but direct.

“Well, I don’t know. It’s all a bit overwhelming.”

“This place has been going to seed since Harry left. It’s going to take more than three years to put it back together again.”

“We’re young and strong. We can do it.”

Addie eyed her skeptically, then looked down into her coffee.

“A farmer’s wife doesn’t have an easy life,” she said. “There’s never any money, and there’s always too many kids. The tractor breaks and the best milking cow gets sick and corn prices go down. You have to really want to do this.”

“I really want Harry.”

“Well, good. I hope you can do it. Remember, we’re just yonder. Sam and me have been doing this a lot of years; our kids are all grown now and gone away to better themselves. I know a few shortcuts, so just ask. In the meantime, I’ll pick you up early tomorrow and we’ll go into town to buy you some supplies. After that, you’ll be walkin’, I reckon, so make your trips short and frequent.”

“I will. Thank you. I appreciate the help tomorrow. We are out of, of”—Fern gestured around the room—“everything!”

They laughed together, the big lady with the wide-open face and light blue eyes, and the young, slim, darker girl with fresh hope in her heart and panic in her soul.

That night, Fern and Harry made love for the first time, not very successfully. Their inept fumbling shamed Harry and he was reluctant to repeat his performance. As it turned out, this was a blessing in disguise, for Martha wasn’t conceived for two years.

Harry drew out half of his parents’ savings and bought a sewing machine for Fern and paint for the house and barn, had the tractor fixed and bought seed for the garden. Fern went to Addie’s house to learn to sew, and made curtains and work clothes. Addie taught her how to make bread, how to cook breakfast for a farmer, and how to kill and cook chickens. Addie was a godsend.

Her days were filled with hard work—chopping wood, weeding with a scythe, cooking, cleaning, gardening, sewing, and working with the chickens and cows. She walked to town every second day, and walked to Addie’s every day in between. She lost weight, began to look gaunt and bony, while Harry grew healthy and hardy and muscular and brown.

Addie fed her often and well, asked after her health, worried over her like a mother, but Fern adamantly said she felt fine, she was just getting used to things.