Chapter 5

He did spend the night, but he stayed the whole night on his knees in prayer apparently. Widow Carry was expecting to deliver what Wilton had suggested was her duty; she wasn’t entirely sure whether she was pleased not to. She was pleased not to have a large man mounting her with little consideration for her comfort. Then she felt guilty for being pleased not to fulfil her Godly duty. Then she still wished she could have a child. Then she wished she could have a child with someone pleasant. Then she felt more guilty for thinking of her minister in terms of sexual attraction (or lack of it) rather than ethical and theological leadership.

That day, I proposed to Maeve McVeagh. I had found a small plot where we could build a house, grow food; and I could offer some medical help to those in need, and religious help to those in need of that. Naturally I would tread carefully on the religious side, but it seemed plain to me that some element had been lost in the Puritan faith, that element was joy. I would let Mr Wilton preach about sin and damnation, I would help people be joyful that they were saved from eternal damnation.

Wilton, at first, was convinced that his loss of libido was only temporary. He continued preaching that the lack of children was the result of sin. It was God’s punishment. Actually, perhaps it was. Perhaps God was using the Indian’s knowledge of the deleterious effects of this weed to punish the greedy, grasping, and cruel interlopers.

I was able to treat people with broken bones, bad bowels, painful boils and even one or two diseases. The community improved. Maeve stayed with her ex-husband-to-be and his wife until I had the house built to a standard that she approved. She wanted to leave as soon as possible – so was willing to accept a basic house; but she also wanted to have a good place to live – she was quite demanding.

Maeve had had her faith in men destroyed; she told me that she would marry me but had little expectation of a happy relationship. I told her I would try and be a good husband. I was not a good Puritan, I could not be so joyless; I told her I would try and be kind and cheerful. She smiled at me and thanked me. We both knew that she could not stay in her ex-husband-to-be’s house; eventually something would come out; and we had shared trials too which few couples had. I knew I loved her, and hoped she might love me in time.

We were married in November. The weather was turning cold, but our new house was warm and snug. In fact it was a model for others to follow. I had studied the problems other houses had. I put the doors offset so wind could not blow straight through. I had the carpenter build much better fitting doors and windows; lining the closures with soft leather to create a seal. I also had internal and external shutters built so the openings were better insulated. The roof had normal shingles on the outside, but then a layer of thin wood inside which I lined with grass (this, it transpired, was ideal for mice nests. Not all my ideas were complete in their success). We had the warmest house in the village.

On our wedding day, we prepared another feast for all; and Maeve made her special dish. I suspected, I should have forbidden her, but I was too much in awe of her. She was making sure that the village men all lost any desire for ever. “Why?” I asked, and she smiled at me. Women are a mystery. I think she disliked most men anyway, she found their easy assumption that it was the women’s fault objectionable, and she had some other thought too.

Our wedding night was good. She had been badly used by so many, she needed coaxing. When we finally said goodbye to the last visitors, closed the doors and shutters, we were alone in our cosy nest (as she called it). It was her first night here, I had spent many nights and had managed to block all the draughts. By the light of the fire, I laid skins and furs on the floor. “Here? I thought the bed...” she started to say.

“All in good time, come.” Obedient, she came to me and prepared to disrobe. I had seen her naked, I had seen her piss, I had even seen her shit (on our walk, at one part we were both too scared to move far enough apart). “No, not yet, just lay beside me, warm enough?” And so it began, I was desperate to take her body for my own, but I delayed for hours; gently coaxing some small degree of appreciation from her unquiet soul.

I softly kissed her mouth and neck and equally softly stroked her legs with my hand, but made no effort to move higher up to the cleft in her body that offers such delights. She offered to handle my body but I said no, I wanted to concentrate upon her delightful attributes. It was true that I did want to concentrate on her, but was not entirely true, but I hope to be forgiven by The On High since I was saying it for the best of reasons. I wanted her to feel that she could relax and enjoy such as might be done with and to her.

After an hour or more of soft caresses, she was ready to lose her clothing, and I mine. She looked at the branch that had sprouted between my legs and I had to assure her that I shouldst not impose on her at all unless she wished it. “Not so, my good sir. I am your wife and this is our wedding night. I will be ashamed not to provide you with a receptacle for your pleasure.” Which was a pretty speech, but, as I told her, it would be wrong to say so if she did not wish me to enter her; our marriage was more than a sexual contract, it was a contract for life. We reminisced about her father and her poor sister “I think you loved her did you not, Peter?” I agreed that I would have willingly taken her for wife, but was not sorry to have Maeve instead. We prayed too: for sister and father. We agreed that ‘our’ God would not exclude people for following the slightly wrong path of righteousness; all our ways are at fault, that was why we needed Grace. So we continued. The candles burnt down and I could hear the wind outside increasing. I stoked the fire and it lit us, once again, with its flames. Then I finally allowed my hand to ventured between her legs.

She was refreshingly wet. I had spent some time of misspent youth learning how a girl must be well lubricated for that entry to be enjoyable. Pretty Maeve was reaching that point for the first time in her life. Still I forbore to enter her. I let my fingers encourage her cunny become inflamed with desire until she could bear it no longer. I think a woman’s ecstasy was a surprise to her; she had heard that it might be possible, but the evidence to prove the same was a surprise. Her experience so far had been that sex was at best a duty and at worst a punishment. After she bade me assure her that it was not wrong that a woman should enjoy what God had decreed was travail for the female.

“Silly child. It is not congruation that is the travail, it is the birth. God gave us the pleasure as a compensation for the later difficulty in birth for the woman and having to provide for a family for the man. No, God wants you to enjoy this sexual-conversation. And I think you did?”

She nodded, and begged me to make her feel a real woman – she meant that previous impositions had been a man on a slave or a whore; this was her first time as a dutiful wife and she saw that as her real step from virgin to full-womanhood.

Now she expected a wild and rough entrance as her past experience had been. I tried to be as slow as possible, despite now being desperate to finish the job. I was as hard as a sword and nearly as long; when I entered her I felt a surge up my body. I was barely half way before I could stand it no longer and her slot received my life-producing spend. She gasped. I explained that I was not fully in, but she had inflamed me so much I could not stop.

“I am sorry, Peter my husband. I shall not let you encourage me thus again since you did not achieve your desire as a result.” Still the dutiful wife, she was saying she would put aside her orgasm for mine. I told her that I would not wish that. We would work our way to our mutual satisfaction – which pleased her.

The village had long learned that sex was a duty not a pleasure. Even the men. When they were doing it, they had always prayed for forgiveness after. They thought their prayers were being answered as they lost interest in fucking their wives for God. We two newly weds tried our hardest to procreate – five times before the light finally found its way in. Each time Maeve found herself more willing to accept what was happening. I was telling her to enjoy it, and she did.

That last time, she was sore and wanting to rest so I explained an alternative approach. “But that cannot fulfil the directive to go forth and multiply. How can it be right?” I explained that there was never one single reason for things.

“The tree grows to give us wood, and shade, and food if it has nuts. This experience, let us call it fucking since that is what it is, can be for making babies, for pleasure, or for both. If you are willing, this time it is simply for pleasure.” So it was that was that Goodwife Wilton knocked and walked in at midday with an apple pie for the newly weds and found me naked with a naked wife kneeling before me and sucking my member. She didn’t leave.

“I ... oh my. The good reverend has not asked me to do that for many a year. I used to enjoy it.” I beckoned her to join us and so she became the recipient of my last small delivery. “He produced more, but perhaps you are tired. My dear, cover yourself; it is unseemly to be seen undressed. I did knock.” I laughed and I resolved to put a bolt on the two doors. I found that, more and more, I liked Mistress Wilton for her down-to-earth common sense. She laughed with me and Maeve found herself relieved to have a friend who would not be so judgemental.

She smiled and continued “My husband, Mr Wilton, has made quite something of the need for the community to find a good man to sire some children with the sinful women of the village. I rather think he was hoping it was him. It seemed it was not to be. I wonder if you will prove to be the prophet we need to lead us out of bondage. Do be sure to tell me if you become with child, my dear.” This last to Maeve of course. “Now, I suspect it is time I left. I should put a bolt on the door if I was you Sir Peter. We don’t stand on ceremony about entering houses; the more so since there has been little activity not to see. Yes, I can see you would be popular if you do prove to be a father, Sir Peter.”