Free The Diary of Ellen Rimbauer: My Life at Rose Red by Ellen Rimbauer Page B

to deliver what every other woman delivers so
    naturally?
    How, if ever, will I now ?nd internal peace? How, if ever, will
    I recover my soul? For I fear it has ?ed with this almost-child—
    his little heir running from his father before even entering his
    world. And as I read back what I’ve written, I know that the
    answer to these questions is itself a dichotomy: motherhood.
    That which I seek to deny him is itself the solution to my grief
    and anxieties. I am so confused. Tired now, I must rest. I must
    close my eyes, even if sleep won’t come. I will listen to Sukeena
    humming by my side, those tribal melodies and rhythms. I will
    fall under her spell, this enchanting woman who loves me and
    cares for me like a sister. Where would I be without my dear
    Sukeena? We are bonded now, the two of us. And it shall remain
    so, forever.
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    9 december 1908—seattle, washington
    After nearly a year away, John and I returned to Seattle to-day by
    train. Met at the station by my mother and my former governess
    (who now works as my mother’s secretary), I threw myself into
    Mother’s arms like a schoolgirl returning from summer camp. I
    had written home at least a letter a week, and so it is that my
    mother is quite aware of both the pregnancy and the miscarriage.
    She greeted Sukeena, not like a Negro kitchen maid, as I feared
    she might, but as a member of the family, with kisses and the
    warmest of welcomes. This, above all else, meant so much to me.
    My mother took Sukeena to her home. We are to live apart for
    a short time, until John and I are moved into the grand house, an
    event that is expected to take place within a matter of days but may
    stretch out a few weeks due to the holiday season. Oh, how grand
    it is to see this city I love so. Muddy roads and all. Gray, wet skies
    and all. The lush green is a welcome relief to eyes that have
    looked out train windows for days as we crossed the wheat ?elds of
    Kansas and Colorado and the barren reaches of Idaho and eastern
    Washington. These endless rains are not without their lush
    rewards.
    John and I took to his rooms. Sukeena met me later in the day
    and together we began the arduous task of unpacking my twelve
    steamers. Added to our burden is the job of overseeing the
    inventorying of the goods shipped home over the past year. They
    have been assembled in a downtown warehouse—crate upon crate
    upon crate. Some are to be unpacked, some will wait for relocation
    to the grand house, but all are to be counted and accounted
    for. It is a task that will occupy both Sukeena and me for weeks to
    come, as by my count no fewer than ninety-?ve shipments should
    have arrived. Rugs, furs, John’s African shooting trophies, urns,
    vases, lights—the list is nearly endless. Christmas indeed. I have
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    never been so excited as to unwrap these treasures. I am like a little
    girl under the tree.
    The long train trip afforded me the opportunity to refuse
    John’s advances time and time again. I gloated in the pleasure of
    it. Con?ned as we were, he had no opportunity to take to the
    streets. Instead, day by day, he became both more frustrated with
    me and more subservient. I had him serving my every need, calling
    for porters, for dining service, acting as manservant to me.
    What a sensation! I cannot explain it here, it is the ?rst time I’ve
    felt so since the loss of the child. He wilted under my glare. He
    trembled when at night we took to bed and I pressed my warm
    body against him, only to deny him the ultimate prize. I will surrender,
    of course. It is hard for me to deny myself his pleasures as
    well (though I never indicate this!). And now that we return to a
    place he can ?nd such satisfactions without me, it is time I give
    in, hoping to stem that tide. I prepare myself for that eventuality.
    John and I spent much of the train trip writing a list of guests to
    be invited to the opening of the grand house. We have scheduled
    a party for January the ?fteenth, allowing