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Sunday's Child By Ginny Wolf And the child that is born on the Sabbath day Is bonny and blithe and good and gay. Diary Entry: Friday, February 22, 1924 This day I turn 78 years of age. I feel fortunate to have lived such a long life. However, I must unburden my soul before I die which may be soon, given the weakness of my heart. What follows here, dear diary, I swear is the God's honest truth, no matter how strange it may seem. I began keeping this diary on the day I became the wife of Hiram Palmer in June of 1867 and since then I have been known as Esther Palmer and the mother of his children. The last ten years I have been Widow Palmer since the day I laid my husband in his grave, in the dark days of August as the madness of the Great War swept over Europe and only weeks after our 47th wedding anniversary. For four years before I married I was known as Esther Newton. For the first seventeen years of my life I was known as Joel Newton. The tale which follows is true and complete, as God is my witness. I was born the fourth son, the seventh and last child of Innis and Fanny Newton, in a town near Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. I was born on a Sunday and mother always sang to me that little ditty about Sunday's child. My parents, acting out of their faith and belief in the dignity of all mankind, were trusted white workers in that mysterious network known as the Underground Railroad. Even after the War of Rebellion ended slavery, my modest mother never spoke much about that work. Of my own knowledge I am aware of at least 20 fugitive slaves whom they helped on the road to freedom and safety. When war began in April, 1861, my father and my oldest brother Amos answered President Lincoln's call for volunteers. Eventually, my two other brothers and my brothers-in-law did as well. My dear family paid a terrible price for their patriotism. My precious father died in the battle of Antietam, Maryland, in September, 1862. Amos lost his left leg at the battle of Shiloh in April of that same year. My brother-in-law Seth, the husband of my oldest sister Adah, was killed at Hartsville, Tennessee, in December, 1862. My brother Ben died in the fighting at Murfreesboro, Tennessee in early January of 1863. In May, 1863, the siege of Vicksburg, Mississippi took the life of Edgar, the husband of my sister Leah, and the eyesight and right hand of my brother Ethan. My poor mother turned almost mad with grief. All of these sad events help to explain why, on the night of July 4th, 1863, as loyal people in the North celebrated the defeat of General Lee's Confederate army at the terrible battle of Gettysburg in my state, mother took me to see a wizened little old woman named Hortense Sparks. Miss Sparks, with totally white hair and of indeterminate age, lived in a cottage several miles away. She dressed in clothes that went out of fashion forty years before and some of which suggested a style that was not found in the United States or western Europe. Her coal black eyes seemed to look directly into a person's heart. Her wrinkled skin appeared deeply tanned by the sun. Her mouth seemed not to have lost any teeth and when she smiled or blathered on in some language which was not English or French, her pearl white teeth seemed almost to glow. Many called her The Hag, but never in her hearing. She often served as a midwife and babes born under her care were always lively and healthy. Her herbs and potions cured people's ills when physicians and surgeons were of little or no avail. The remedies she offered could heal a burn, stop a toothache or a bleeding wound, comfort upset stomach or bowels. Rumors about her claimed that she practiced ancient arts, long-since forbidden by Christians, Jews and Turks. Because her midwifery and healing benefitted local people, they paid her well for her services. It was said that a chest in her cottage contained a fortune in gold and silver coin but none ever bothered her. More than once she had proven herself to be a crack shot with the two revolvers she owned as well as with an old Pennsylvania long-rifle. Some years before, a local tough, encouraged by too much whisky, bragged about how he was going to rob The Hag. He was never seen again after he left the tavern that night. The spring thaw brought his hat floating down a local stream but no other trace of him or of his horse was ever found. That night in July of 1863, as hard rain fell, mother had me put one of our horses in harness to pull the buggy. Taking the reins herself she drove to Miss Sparks cottage. I felt surprise when the old woman opened the door and invited us in. Shock overwhelmed me. The small house was simply and yet elegantly decorated. Sweet smells wafted from the stove. Miss Sparks smiled and invited us to sit at her little table. "What say ye, Mrs Newton? Dost thou seek right goodly help for this lad?" Sighing, mother nodded and handed Miss Sparks $60 in gold coins. I was shocked. That was a sizeable fortune and I had no idea where she had obtained it. "Do what you must. I can not, I will not lose this one as I have the others." The old woman smiled and took the money. My parents had trained me in good manners so I said nary a word, intending to ask mother later what this was all about. Miss Sparks went to the stove and poured a cup of coffee for herself and one for mother. For me she poured a cup of bubbling liquid from a pot on the stove, the liquid with the sweet smell which filled the cottage. "This be for ye, youngster," she said as she handed the steaming cup to me. I thanked her and blew across the top to cool it. "Not necessary, child. It is the right temperature to drink. Go ahead." To be polite I sipped it. The old woman smiled. She was right. The potion, whatever it was, tasted just warm and was wonderfully sweet. I could not wait to drink it and swallowed it all down in several gulps. Just as I finished I felt faint. The room began to spin. I thought I saw smoke and smelled a strange, exotic aroma. I heard the hoot of an owl and the meow of a cat. The cup fell from my hands and I slid to the floor. To this day, I remember Miss Sparks waving her hands over my face, chanting in some foreign tongue, then saying in English, "Sleep now, my dear child. Only take thy rest. All shall be well when ye awaken." I remember hearing my mother ask, "What will I need to teach her?" To this Miss Sparks replied, "Nothing. Nothing at all. She shall be as knowledgeable as her sisters at this age. When she becometh wife and mother she shall be fertile and pleasing to her husband." The soothing sound of their voices seemed like music, like the kind of lullaby mother sang to me when I was little. Ever so gently and immediately I went into a deep and dreamless sleep. I have no idea how mother returned us to the house or how she moved me into bed. The next thing I knew dawn was peeking though the window and I heard mother calling, "Esther, dear, time to rise. There are chores to be done, my dear." No words can express my shock as I rose from bed wearing a night dress just like my sisters. When I stared into the mirror I wanted to scream but no sound escaped my lips. The image in the mirror showed a young woman of an unmistakably fair and feminine face with characteristics of my sisters. Yet I knew that was me. My head was smaller, rounder than before. Instead of my boyish 5'9" I was a petite 5'2" with a pair of shapely breasts under my night dress. My hands were small and graceful. Chin now rounded and smooth. Lips plump, nose petite, long and curly eye lashes over blue eyes like my mother, in place of the green ones like my father. Long, light brown hair resting on my shoulders and hanging down my back. Cheeks high and rosy. Slender neck. Trim and well-curved waist. Small feet. Clearly I had become the fourth daughter of my parents instead of the fourth son. Instead of the scream of fear which I wanted to make, I heard myself saying in a sweet voice, just like that of my sisters, "Coming, mother. I'm up." The next days and then weeks passed in a strange, dream-like way, although I certainly was awake during the day. The spell cast by Hortense Sparks was so complete, it was if Joel never existed. Family and friends treated me as if I were always Esther. Young men politely doffed their hats to me, held doors for me and called me "Miss." After church I readily found myself gossiping and giggling with other young women my age. Only my sister Ruth and I, along with our blind brother Ethan, still lived at home. As part of the magic, I found that I performed womanly chores with natural skill- cooking, sewing, baking, mending, sweeping. Ethan took special delight when I read the newspaper or a book to him. He would take my slim hand, stroking it gently with his one remaining hand and say, "Dearest Esther, I don't know what I would do without you." At times Ruth played her fiddle, joining me and mother in singing hymns and patriotic songs. I could not sing all the verses to "John Brown's Body" without crying. Mother, Ruth and I attended sewing circle every week, making socks and other clothes for our brave Union soldiers. Some parts of my new life came as a shock. My first monthly took me by surprise. When I tearfully went to mother, she took me by the shoulders, looked into my eyes and said, firmly, yet softly, "Esther, my dear, it is part of the curse we bear as women. You are old enough and know enough to take care of yourself. Calm yourself and do what you know to do." I closed my eyes and after a moment, as naturally as could be, went to mother's closet, found a linen strip and placed it in my drawers. It was bad enough having to wear a corset every day but the first Sunday that mother laced me into my best corset before we went to church made me long for the freedom of my former male clothes. When I complained about how tight she made it, mother simply said, "Esther, at your age, you must look respectable. These are things a proper lady endures. Why look at your cousin Amelia. Only 12 and your Aunt Henrietta has her wearing stays laced just as tight. Be a good girl and stop complaining." As if my Sunday corset was not difficult enough, Ruth insisted that she and I lace each other down to 16" waists for social events where young men were present. I would grunt and moan in agony as she tightened me to which she always answered, "A trim waist is the best way to get a gentleman's attention." When I tied her corset laces, it was always, "Tighter, Esther, make it tighter." Despite the sorrows which had visited our family mother was determined that Ruth and I would find good husbands, so she encouraged us to socialize. When the fall of 1863 came, I obtained a position as one of the teachers in our local school. Fortunately, all the knowledge and brain power which I formerly had, I retained. Before the war I had thought about attending college, maybe to enter business or perhaps the practice of law. When I raised the idea of attending a women's college with mother, she turned purple. "Remove that idea from your head right now Esther. You have more than enough book learning. You can read your Bible and do your sums. You have suitable employment teaching the little ones their primer. That will do you quite well until you are suitably married. I will not have a daughter of mine unsex herself with an excess of schooling. Girls at those colleges are haters of men who do unnatural and unholy things with one another. What they need is a good man to tame them and give them babies. That is the education they need, not becoming fancy blue-stockings who read and speak about things which are beyond a woman's sphere. No more talk of college, Esther. I won't have it." And that settled the matter as far as mother was concerned. In the spring of 1864 Ruth began stepping out with Reginald Lewis, the son of a wealthy Philadelphia lawyer. Reginald was five years older than Ruth. He had purchased a substitute to serve in the Union army for him, a custom allowed under the draft law of the time and one which many well-to-do men used. April of 1865 brought many changes. General Lee's Confederates surrendered to General Grant. The maniac John Wilkes Booth murdered our beloved President Lincoln. At the time and for years afterward I regretted, with much anger and bitterness, that the Government at Washington did not hang Robert E Lee and Jeff Davis. Mother chastised me, saying that such anger was unbecoming in a woman, particularly a Christian woman. In May Ruth became Mrs Reginald Lewis, which made mother happy in the extreme. My dear brother Ethan died in an accident at a railroad crossing, a misstep attributed to his blindness but left me wondering if he had deliberately ended his own life. The summer found me a young single woman of 19 years, without prospects of marriage, just my mother and me living in our house. The school board had notified me that I was hired for the coming school year so I knew we would avoid abject poverty. My life changed when I met Clara Meyer. A year older than me, Clara was attending Mt Holyoke College in Massachusetts. She came from a monied Philadelphia family. My brother-in-law Reginald introduced me to her at a party in the city. Clara was a graceful, talented and beautiful blonde. We quickly became friends and I spent much time with her that summer. Mother seemed not to mind as she thought Clara would introduce me to wealthy and eligible young men. One summer afternoon as we walked together, our parasols saving us from the sun, we reached a quiet place in the park. Clara pulled me close and kissed me, fully on my lips. Without giving the matter another thought I kissed her back. In another moment our tongues entwined. We pressed heatedly together, moaning and as we continued fierce kissing, and she grabbed my derriere and squeezed, hard. Finally we broke the kiss. In a passionate whisper she declared, "Esther, I love you." Both of us knew we dare not say a word to anyone about our mutual affection. That night I shared her elegant bed, not as girl friends did in those days, merely sleeping beside each other, but as lovers. After I slid under the comfortable bed sheet, both of us naked, Clara kissed me on my cheeks and lips, then kissed and licked the soft flesh of both my breasts. My nipples stood up straight and hard. She circled the tip of her tongue around my right breast, then took it in her mouth, held it gently between her teeth and started flicking it with her tongue. I pushed my hips up against her and moaned. Making me more aroused she sucked on my breast a little, biting it gently. I ran my fingers down her back. With kisses she moved over to my left breast, taking it in her mouth, sucking, licking, pulling, giving it equal attention. "Oh God, oh, oh, oh! What you are doing to me," I mewed. "It is only a start, my dearest," she whispered. Clara smiled as she came down on top of me while I spread my legs to welcome her. Immediately we began kissing each other, deeply, without letup. With gasps and groans we kissed each other's face, our breathing growing ragged, both of us wild with desire. All of my pent up frustrations, all of previous fantasizing about love making with a woman as a male youth seemed to explode in my head. She moved her kisses down my neck to my breasts then began to suck and lick my right breast making me gurgle like a baby. I undid her bun, letting her silky hair fall to her shoulders while I buried my fingers deeply in its golden, thick beauty. I felt my sweet womanly honey flowing. I had in the quiet of the night in my own bed explored my body, biting my pillow so as not awaken mother when I enjoyed a womanly pleasure. The touch of another woman excited me beyond belief. Suddenly she slid her right index finger inside me, causing me to wiggle and moan in delight. Without stopping her ministrations to my breast, she added a second finger inside me while her thumb rubbed my most womanly space. Her fingers seemed to reach my very soul. I felt my muscles tighten around her skilled fingers as she made me buck and arch my back. Grabbing my head with one hand, she kissed me deep and hard, her tongue filling my mouth while she added a third finger, reaching more deeply into me. I wrapped my arms and legs tightly around her, squealing as I shook with the richest ecstasy of my life. Clara grunted, feeding off my excitement, her back shivered, her hips thrust forward. I knew she too had reached rapture. I was thrilled to know that I could pleasure my friend in such a way. When our breathing returned to normal, we turned on our sides, facing each other. Clara pressed her three moist fingers to my lips. "Here, darling, taste and see how sweet you are." I licked and sucked, enjoying the sensual pleasure of her fingers in my mouth even more than the surprisingly pleasant taste of my own womanly dew. Out of curiosity, I had tasted myself before but this was different. Here was another woman, a beauty who had pleasured me, sharing my nectar with me from her own pretty fingers Clara kissed me again. Our tongues entwined as we stroked each other's naked flesh with our hands. Her firm, well-toned body felt like velvet to my eager fingers. She put me on my back again and used her leg to push my thighs apart. To increase my desire, she kissed my bare thighs which made me coo. In a twinkling I felt her fingers stroking me gently, then with more firmness. I bucked against her as I felt her rub my swollen womanliness. She understood what I wanted, and in a moment her fingers were inside my wet tunnel. Keeping her fingers at work, she raised her head to my face, kissed my cheeks and whispered in my ear. "Now you are aroused again, my darling Esther, aren't you?" "Oh yes! Oh my!" "Good. This girl is going to play and pluck her sweet little school marm until you can not take any more." "Honestly?" I asked in a kind of wide-eyed wonder with my heart full of desire. My body felt heat such as I hade never before known. I wanted her to play and pluck me as though I was a musical instrument. "Yes, dear. And when you beg me to stop, I'll take you once more," she answered mischievously. Her words sent a delightful sensation up my spine. I was deliriously happy, feeling her warmth, her passion. Such a long, long time. So much desire in me. Never had I been aroused like this. She worked three fingers inside me, filling me, my passage stretched each time she pushed inward. Her fingers slid in and out, twisting, rubbing, massaging, stretching me. My hands gripped her firm bottom, pulling her tighter against me. "Faster. Harder. Oh, please don't stop, dear," I gasped out. "Oh, that feels so good!" Clara increased the pace, her fingers working deep into me as her face nuzzled into my neck. I kissed her shoulder, feeling my delight again begin to rise inside. When I lifted my hips, she pumped even faster, exciting me with each thrust. Whimpers escaped my lips as my head thrashed from side to side. In a husky whisper, she ordered me, "Come, darling. Come for me. I will not stop until you know more pleasure." I cried out as softly as I could, clamping my arms around her back as my stomach danced. My muscles clenched her thrusting fingers. I exploded, excited by my beautiful friend. Minutes passed before my heart settled down. As Clara resumed kissing my face, I reached the fingers of my right hand down to her wet opening. She licked my ear and I slid two fingers into her. Inspired by the way her fingers aroused me, I probed her wet, welcoming channel. When my fingers reached as far as possible, Clara's eyes widened in delight and she clenched her muscles around my fingers, enhancing the feelings of us both. I moved my fingers faster and harder until both of us gasped for air. Finally, excited by how aroused I made her, I felt one more intense exhilaration as she simultaneously went into a convulsion of pleasure. We cuddled tightly together, in quiet, until our breathing returned to normal. We exchanged more tender kisses and fell asleep entwined in each other's arms. In the morning we dressed each other. Being laced into my corset by my precious friend and tying her into hers felt very different from helping my sister into her corset. With gentle rubbing and kissing we helped each other draw on our stockings. Greater happiness as a woman I had not known. That afternoon we walked in the park, holding hands, until I broke the silence. "Clara was it wrong, what we did last night?" "No, darling girl, not unless you want it to be. There are any number of women who live and love together. Some women, like me, just feel more comfort with women. With so many fine young men killed in the war, eligible men of our age are fewer in number. If you, or I for that matter, find someone to marry we shall make fine wives, knowing our bodies as we do. No harm can come of our sharing. I cannot make you pregnant, Esther." I blushed at her use of the word and trembled at the thought of myself big-bellied with child, then squeezed her hand and longed for a private moment when we could kiss. I knew I did not want to consider it wrong. And I did want to do it again. Often. We spent the summer together, hiding away as often as we could to pleasure each other. When the fall came she returned to college and I to teaching my little scholars their ABC's. Clara and I wrote often, expressing the tenderest wishes and greatest desires to each other. My most perfect days where ones which brought a letter from her. Her sweet words and the scent of her cologne on the paper made me feel moist between my thighs. In the privacy of my room I pleasured myself. At Christmas we renewed our clandestine care of one another. However, life was about to change for both of us. My brother-in-law Reginald introduced me to Hiram Palmer at a New Year's Day gathering, a Monday in 1866, at the home of Reginald's parents. I felt an immediate and extremely womanly attraction which somehow I did not expect even though I had been living as a woman for over two years. Hiram stood 5' 10", black wavy hair, a muscular build. He had served in the Federal cavalry under General Phil Sheridan. He left the army with the rank of colonel. His patriotism had cost him his left eye, over which he now wore an eye patch which only served to enhance his romantic good looks. A small but noticeable scar on his left cheek from a saber cut added to the dashing image. Later, when I knew him better, I asked about his wounds to which his only response was, "Both times my reb attacker breathed his last before he could see my blood flow. Their companions lasted not another five minutes before I and my troopers sent them to sing 'Dixie' in the fires of hell." Hiram's good eye seemed to always twinkle with merriment. His deep, rolling laugh gave me pleasant shivers. When the little orchestra began to play, he asked me to dance with him. I was surprised at how graceful he was. His hold on me was firm but not oppressive. The warmth of his hand on my back seemed to pass right through my dress, camisole and corset to my flesh. After he discovered that I was Ruth's sister he asked me to accompany him to dinner that coming Friday evening. "I am in Philadelphia on business for some weeks, Miss Newton. I'm afraid I don't know many people, particularly many charming young ladies in this fair city. I am compelled for purposes of commerce to attend this dinner on Friday and I fear I might be bored to death, that is, unless I had some charming companion to divert me. I would be honored to have your company." I blushed and accepted his invitation. That night I shared Clara's bed. We undressed each other with impassioned quickness and many deep kisses. Once in bed we vigorously licked and sucked each other's sweet places, then went face-to-face and used our fingers to excite each other while we repeatedly filled each other's mouth with our tongues. Only our deep and constant kissing kept us from screaming out with pleasure. Finally satiated, we cuddled together before sleep. "You know, my darling Esther, you would make an excellent match for the charming Mr Palmer,? Clara whispered. ?Really? What do you know of him?? I asked. ?Outside of his devilish good looks, obvious manners and natural charm, I know that he is well educated and extremely wealthy. He is 25 or 26 and graduated from Harvard before he entered the army. His mother?s family is from Connecticut and made just barrels of money in the whaling industry. His father is a Boston merchant who prospered in trade with China and with Europe. He is looking for a wife. You could live like a queen, my dear.? ?And what of you, Clara darling?? ?Well, a Mr Marcus Everett, a brilliant young lawyer in Boston, also a graduate of Harvard, has been paying me a great deal of attention. My parents know his parents and I think he shall ask Papa for my hand this summer. Think of it, my dear. We could be wives together in the best social circles in Boston and still find time for each other. Two pretty young wives from Pennsylvania, new to Boston? What could be more natural than seeking each other?s companionship? Think about it my dear. Let us see what happens in the coming months.? On that Friday evening, with my corset snugged tightly around me, wearing a fashionable gown lent to me by my sister Ruth, and stylish boots with a higher heel than I usually wore, I accompanied Mr Palmer to an extremely elaborate house and a lavish dinner. At the appropriate time I joined the other women as we retired to the drawing room for glasses of sherry and plenty of gossip while the men drank whiskey, smoked cigars and talked of business and politics. My hidden, almost gone male self wanted very much to join in that conversation. But that was not and never again would be possible. Fortunately my darling Clara attended the dinner with her father so I had her companionship and guidance in the circle of high society ladies in which I found myself. Clara and I had several other nights of loving times before she returned to college in Massachusetts. For the remainder of that winter and all through the spring, Hiram Palmer came regularly to Philadelphia and on each trip sought me out. Courting me, he introduced me to a world I had read about but never known, taking me to the opera, to the theater, to elegant balls and fancy restaurants, introducing me to poets, writers, actors, singers, politicians and business associates. Our conversations were lively, our companionship always delightful. At the beginning of summer, he provided railway tickets for me, with mother as my chaperone, to come to Boston. We stayed at the home of his charming parents. His mother assigned a maid to care for me. Lilly, the maid, often whispered excitedly to me as she helped with my toilette, ?Oh, Miss Esther, Mr Hiram is truly smitten with you.? In fact, Hiram eventually stole a kiss from me and I felt the moistness between my thighs which before I had only known when kissing Clara. As the time drew near for our return to Pennsylvania, Hiram asked my mother for my hand in marriage. She happily approved and I nervously accepted his proposal. Shortly thereafter Clara announced her betrothal to Marcus Everett. She returned to college and I returned home to prepare a trousseau. During the fall my mother and my sisters attributed my nervousness to the becoming modesty of any virgin preparing for her wedding. It seemed that mother had completely forgotten that I was ever Joel. My fears concerned sexual relations with a man and how I would cope with that increasingly imminent prospect. Hiram had said that he wanted a family, preferably a large family. Pregnancy and childbirth held no attraction for me. I confess that I trembled at the mere thought of it. After New Year?s Day, 1867, I rode the train to Boston. Hiram picked me up at the station. His man servant placed my trunk and two satchels in the carriage. The coachman took us to the home of Hiram?s sister, Hannah, the wife of a prosperous banker, Ellis Neal, where I would stay until our wedding. Hiram chattered excitedly during the drive while I merely blushed and quietly nodded, wondering if it would have been better if mother had allowed me to remain a boy and take my chances in battle. Over the next four months Hannah and I became close friends as she and her mother took me to their dress maker, their corsetiere, their hat maker, their cloak maker and introduced me to their hairdresser. ?Esther, I am so happy to have you as a sister. I feared my charming brother might never marry,? Hannah bubbled. ?He is an ever so lovely man, yet since the loss of his eye some women have turned away from him. I am just delighted that a beautiful woman like you recognizes him for the fine husband he will be.? In late April I attended Clara?s wedding to Marcus Everett. She looked stunning. Privately she joked with me about the sensation she and I would make in Boston society and the secret love we would share with each other. One night, three weeks before my wedding, I rested my head against Hiram while he wrapped his arms around my waist. I told him of my dream about attending college and my mother?s strong reprimand. As I finished speaking, he said softly, ?Darling, there are many ways to become educated. You have already read more books than most women I know, except for my mother. I promise you that you shall have full run of my library as well as that of my father. I will gladly give you money to buy as many books as you wish. As hostess in our home you shall have poets and philosophers and painters as our dinner guests. My only caution, my darling, is that you shall be busy bearing our children and supervising our household staff. I have already hired a butler and coachman. I suppose I should allow you to hire the maids and cook. Other than loving me, raising our children and running our house, you may develop your beautiful mind as you wish.? I rubbed his cheek, resting my fingers a moment on his scar. ?Yes dear. That will be wonderful,? I answered, with the unspoken hope that it would indeed be so, little realizing how busy I would be with bearing and raising children. Three nights before I became Mrs Hiram Palmer I had a long sisterly talk with Hannah. In our sisterhood we had grown close enough that I could ask what most worried me. ?Hannah, you have been married for some years. How does one, I mean to say, how ought I, or, about being a good wife, how does a woman properly yield to her husband in those most intimate things a man desires?? I turned a bright scarlet as I finished my question. Hannah smiled, showing her dimples. ?Oh, my dear Esther! Most like, your mother, as mine, told you little or nothing.? She laughed. ?I would have gone to the marriage bed totally ignorant had not my older sister enlightened me. Allow me to enlighten you as best I can. It is our fate to have to submit to the rule of our husbands. A true and perfect woman is a wife and mother who is docile, delicate, and virtuous, never saying no to her husband. The passions of a man are hot, their bodies strong. We ought never refuse their desires. However, even as we submit, we can rule our men folk as we rule our homes, by gentleness, softness, our caresses, our smiles and even when necessary by our tears.? She looked deeply into my eyes. ?As for that carnal wifely duty, well, the male anatomy is not particularly attractive and its first entry a bit painful. Encourage Hiram with much kissing and hugging so your own body feels prepared before he spreads your legs. If necessary, at his entry, think of something nice, your favorite music or lovely flowers or even a sweet, like cake or candy. Once your husband is inside of you, his anatomy feels warm, full, increasingly pleasant. The sharp sting fades. Then my dear, follow your instincts. Knowing my brother as I do I expect that he will be a passionate as well as a very considerate lover. You will find, as I did with my dear Ellis, that you want to yield to him, to be possessed by him. When he presses down upon you in that manly way, opening up your thighs, his virility feeling like he is stretching your womanly place, you will find yourself giddy, eager, willing to be taken as wives have been taken since time immemorial. It is both the curse and the gift of Mother Eve that we desire our husbands. They know that we are poor, weak creatures and will use that knowledge to advantage, even at such times as may be inconvenient for us. They can be terribly insistent on their own satisfaction, my dear. Yet their insistence gives us great pleasure. Most women, I believe, want to be taken by their husbands. The pleasures of the marriage bed are exquisite. Added to pleasure, we receive their seed and blossom with our babies, which, I assure you is the most wonderful feeling. I am young and healthy enough to have another, perhaps several, so we may have the good fortune to be in the family way at the same time which would please me no end.? Hannah held my hands in silence for several minutes. ?Esther, you are just what my dear brother needs. You will make a wonderful wife and eventually a fine mother. And we shall be the best of friends. Always, my dear.? She kissed me sweetly on the cheek. ?We shall grow old and fat together, eventually bouncing grandchildren on our knees.? On Saturday, the 8th day of June in the year of our Lord 1867, Hiram and I pledged our vows before Dr Oliver Wickersham in the Congregational church to which Hiram and his family belonged. My mother, my sister Ruth who was in her third month with her second baby, and Hannah helped me dress, lacing me firmly in a new white corset to a 16" waist. Ruth seemed to read my mind, saying, ?Don?t complain, sister. After a couple of babies you will not have such a small waist ever again so enjoy it now. Sooner than you think you shall be as round and plump as me and Hannah. Be proud of a narrow waist while you still have one.? I wore lovely silk stockings and gossamer pantalettes imported from Europe. Bustles were just coming into fashion and Hannah and her mother insisted that I wear one. I hated the exaggerated look of my derriere but made a sacrifice for fashion as I would for next eight or nine years while the bustle was in style. My gown was a beautiful white silk worn over three petticoats and a hoop skirt frame. The sleeves narrowed and fitted tightly at my wrists, the effect enhanced by two inches of lace. The gown?s square neckline, accented by ruffles and more lace showed a daring bit of d?collet?. My white wedding shoes had a modest heel but lifted me nowhere near my tall Hiram. The hairdresser styled my hair in a cascade of barrel curls, piled high on my head. She also applied just the tiniest bit of powder and rouge to my cheeks. At the ceremony my kindly old Uncle Zebulon, my father?s eldest brother, walked me down the aisle and gave me away. Just as everyone else he seemed to always know me as Esther, not Joel. The Hag had done a complete work. A wonderful dinner with family and friends followed. Before we departed, my mother drew me and Hiram to her side. ?Mr Palmer, my Esther is head-strong and foolish. I worried that she might never find a husband. Tame her, sir. Teach her to be a good wife. Make her bear babies for you, as many as possible. That is the best way to teach a young woman her proper place. And do not fear to apply a switch or a strap to her bottom when necessary. A few sessions across her husband?s lap does a young wife much good. Let her know who rules in your house.? I blushed. Hiram just looked serious and nodded gravely. While I had never seen my father apply the strap to my mother?s rear end, I certainly knew that some women were spanked or even beaten by their husbands. I prayed that I might endure it if Hiram should beat me. After dinner, Hiram lifted me into his buggy and drove me away to his parents rural cottage several dozen miles from Boston. Once we arrived, he carried me over the threshold. He closed the door and grabbed me possessively, giving me a passionate kiss. My transformation from callow youthful boy to warm-blooded woman was total. His kiss made me gasp, then suddenly I gripped his head with both my hands, kissing him with fire, my lips and tongue involuntarily urging him on. I found myself wishing that I were naked, able to have his hands all over my bare flesh. He seemed immediately to read my mind. With ever so much gentle care he assisted me out of my shoes, gown, petticoats and hoop until I had on only my silk pantalettes, stockings and corset. With equal gentleness I removed his boots and socks, his pants and his shirt. His firm maleness showed under his drawers. Hiram resumed kissing and caressing me. Smiling tenderly at me he ran his hand over my bare breasts, kneading and tweaking each nipple to erection. He ran his hand over my corset, then my stomach, then reached under the smooth fabric of my pantalettes and played gently with my curls at the most womanly part of me. I breathed his name. I knew I was quite moist. He parted my soft flesh and slid two firm, strong, demanding fingers into me. I grunted with pleasure. ?What a wonderful woman you are, Mrs Palmer. Your husband wants you very much. May I now bed you, my darling wife? I?ll be gentle. I promise.? Still enjoying his fingers within me, I kissed him again and answered, ?Yes, Mr Palmer, your wife is ready for the marriage bed.? He slid his fingers out of me. I undid my stockings and pantalettes, turned my back to him, my face burning both with embarrassment and desire, allowing him to unlace my corset. He did so, slowly, while I trembled. His naked muscular frame was quite handsome, his maleness rigid, pointed at me like a weapon. He scooped me into his arms, carried me to the bed, knelt down and placed me gently upon the bed. Without a word he placed himself between my thighs, nudging them wide apart. Coming down on me he pushed his manhood into me. I caught my breath, my eyes growing wide open. The broad, firm head of his erection pressed into me, stretching my tender passage. I blinked and grimaced, wondering how I could manage his coming further into me. He flexed his back and thrust, hard, deep and irresistible. Sharp, sudden pain lanced through me and I gasped. Quickly I closed my eyes and felt short of breath. Sensing my discomfort, Hiram held still, yet embedded in me, a large, strange, heavy shape. Yet suddenly I wanted his manhood. ?I need not hurry, my darling,? he whispered. Wordlessly I reached up and pulled his face close to kiss him, which pulled him further into me. The sting faded rapidly. He thrust deeply and I wiggled in welcome response. With each additional thrust, each forceful penetration, I clung more tightly to him, enjoying the feel of him on top of me. Suddenly he arched his back and grunted. For the first time in my life I knew I was receiving a man?s precious seed. I cried out with joy and pleasure, knowing The Hag?s curse had become my blessing. I was a woman and now a wife. No trace of manhood remained in me. I continued to hold him close and in minutes my insides shook with womanly pleasure. We uncoupled and he held me close. He kissed my lips with great tenderness and ran his fingers through my hair. ?My darling Esther, I want you to know that I do intend to give you babies. I pray that you are fertile. But rest assured my dearest, that I would never use a strap or a switch on my beautiful wife. My father never so used my mother nor will I ever so use you.? He smiled with merriment. ?Here, in the sweetness of our marriage bed, you shall know my kindly rule. And in bearing my children you will find contentment.? ?Thank you, my sweet Mr Palmer. Thank you for making me your wife,? I whispered, much relieved in mind. I had no idea how often I would find ?contentment? in bearing my children. Within a matter of weeks I knew with certainty that I was carrying my first baby. The last ten weeks of waiting were terribly uncomfortable. My belly was huge, my back hurt, my feet hurt, my sleep always interrupted, and I was constantly in need of the chamber pot. Hiram and the servants took good care of me yet when the baby came on Thursday, March 19, 1868, my labor was long, slow and painful. I thought at one point that I really was about to die. Victoria, my eldest child and first daughter, was a beautiful baby and as exhausted as I was, holding her was a blessing. Soon enough I was expecting again. The joy of this time came when Hannah, my dear sister-in-law, told me that she too was in the family way. In family gatherings our husbands beamed with pride as our swollen bellies grew. My son Hiram was born on Sunday, March 21, 1869 and Hannah?s Samuel was born a week later on March 28. Painful loss came when ten days later my dearest Clara died giving birth to her first baby. I mourned in private. Although I hoped and prayed for a respite, less than ten months after young Hiram I was pregnant again, this time with another daughter. My Sarah arrived on Saturday August 20, 1870. As with her sister, my labor was long, slow and painful. Yet even as I nursed my new born my husband looked at me with lust in his eyes. My husband could never abstain from making demands upon my body. Truth be told, I did not want him to stay away from me. Indeed I too had the curse of Mother Eve and desired him. He was strong and potent and my womb was rich and fertile. I craved the feel of his manhood inside my own body. With three babes under the age of 5, I was soon an expectant mother once more and gave birth to my son William on Monday, December 18, 1871. Soon enough I was again in the family way and birthed my third daughter Rachel on Sunday, September 21, 1873. Ten years after my mother paid to change my life, I was 27 years of age, the mother of 5 children and of the six years of my marriage I had spent almost four years being pregnant. Every time I swore to myself not to give in to my husband?s urges, I very soon found that I wanted him ever so badly. Delivering my babies was a painful trial but making them with my Hiram was delightful. A year passed after the birth of Rachel and when the child turned one, I rejoiced not to be pregnant again. Alas, my joy was short-lived and soon again my belly swelled my husband?s seed. My daughter Hannah, named after her sweet aunt, was born on Monday, October 18, 1875. She was followed by two sons, Simon, born Wednesday, December 26, 1877, and Luke, born Monday, November 1, 1880. The year 1881 began with Hiram leaving for Europe on business. He had taken over his father?s company and made it even more successful. He went to develop contacts in Europe and his six month trip turned into eighteen months. I missed him terribly, although we exchanged letters and telegrams regularly. However, I felt relief that I was not in the family way. When he returned he brought for me many fine items of lingerie. We celebrated our reunion many, many nights until once again I was ripe with child and on Monday November 22, 1884, I gave birth to Dorcas, my ninth and last child. I was 38 years of age, married for 17 years and spent almost 7 years of that time growing great with child. My handsome husband was as straight and trim as the day we married. When he went to meetings of his chapter of the Grand Army of the Republic with his veteran friends, he fit nicely into his uniform. I had turned quite stout. Having my maid lace me into my corset every morning was sheer agony. My social circle consisted of any number of plump matrons. When alone, several of us laughed and giggled together like school girls, comparing in excited and naughty whispers the bedroom antics of our husbands, whom, as my friend Mrs Anderson commented, ?never seem to run out of that manly urge to make their wives squeak and tingle while we feel somewhat like a pin cushion, a contented pin cushion, mind you, but nonetheless a pin cushion.? ?Every time I birth a baby, I swear I will never let my Nathan touch me again,? added Mrs Stockton, ?but soon enough I find that I must let him have his way with me. What is a woman to do?? ?I swear that my husband acts as if he has never seen me in a new dress,? Mrs Hunt commented, ?but every time I come from the dressmaker he wants to hug me, kiss me and you know what that leads to.? We all laughed sympathetically. In 1896, Hiram took me to Europe with him to celebrate my 50th birthday. The journey took five months as Hiram combined business with pleasure. He introduced me to London, Paris, Rome and Geneva. Another part of The Hag?s blessing was that even though my body had changed as women do in time and my womb was closed, I still felt insatiable longing for Hiram. We pleasured each other on many nights. Any number of mornings waiters must have wondered why my husband appeared so happy at breakfast. One other delight was given me. From 1898 through most of 1903 I employed a cute little young woman named Ettie as my lady?s maid. Many a morning or afternoon when Hiram was out and the house quiet, Ettie used her skilled fingers and artful tongue to make me mew with pleasure as I had many years before with Clara. At Ettie?s suggestion I had complained to my physician about certain symptoms. He diagnosed me with ?female hysteria? and described a marvelously wicked little device for home use to relieve my symptoms. Ettie would tie my wrists to my corset lacing bar, close my corset as tightly as I could bear, lower my drawers, spread my legs and use the little device to give me relief. At those times when she and I worried that the butler or the cook or one of the downstairs maids might hear my moans of pleasure I would have her place a stocking or kerchief in my mouth which always seemed to add to my satisfaction. When she left my employ to marry I missed her greatly. My Hiram was a man among men and always had the energy to demand of me that I fulfill my wifely duties. He always made me feel satisfied as a woman. Since his death I have relied upon my little device from my doctor. I have no regrets about the life I have lived. Birthing my nine children was hard work but appropriate for the woman I became. Certainly my husband and I enjoyed making those children. My Hiram expressed his pride at my fertility and with the full-figured matron I became. Diary Entry: Wednesday, February 22, 1933. This day I am 87 years of age. I have not written in this journal for nine years. I shall not write again. I know my time on earth is now short. I have fed to the flames my letters from Clara and from Hiram. This diary I shall bury deep in my garden. Perhaps in a more enlightened time one of my descendants shall unearth it and be able to explain the magic which changed my life. Enough. Out brief candle. Saturday, May 12, 1934 In the quiet cemetery in Boston, Hannah Palmer Andrews, age 58, and her sister Dorcas Palmer Wilson, age 49, placed flowers at their mother?s grave. Her tombstone read: Esther Newton Palmer, born Sunday February 22 1846, died Sunday February 25 1934. Beside hers was the tombstone of her husband which read: Hiram Palmer 1841 ? 1914. ?Hannah, why do you think Mama insisted on the full date of her birth and death on her grave?? Dorcas asked. ?Oh you know how proud she was about being born on a Sunday and for as long as I can remember she insisted that she would die on a Sunday. Remember how used to quote that old nursery rhyme about Sunday?s child being ?bonny and blithe and good and gay?? Papa wanted things as simple as he could make them. I remember him insisting that he be buried with his eye patch on his body rather than having the undertaker shut his eyes. Do you know what happened to the love letters between her and Papa? And her diary? She was always writing in it when we were little, chasing us to the nanny so she could concentrate. Do you know what she did with it?? Hannah looked at her younger sister. Of the nine Palmer children, these two had always been close, despite the nine years difference between them. Dorcas sighed. ?She told me last Christmas that she had burned all of her letters, those to and from Papa, her friends, notes from her club ladies, everything. I wish she would have asked first. When I asked her about the diary, she muttered something about ?dead and buried as I soon will be.? I have no idea what she meant by that. She had some strange ways.?