The Bride Has No Choice

April 15, 1848

Cincinnati, Ohio

“I do,” Gerturde Hengel proclaimed, just as her father had instructed.

After her seventeenth birthday, he had insisted she marry. She had nothing against being married. She had dreamt of having a loving husband and children. However, Cupid’s arrow had never found her heart. Not only was her father unwilling to continue her support, Gertie was blocking the marriage of her younger sister. It was socially unacceptable for the younger sibling to marry first, and Ida had already accepted a marriage proposal. Their mother’s remedy had been to locate Mr. Berg for Gertie to marry.

As her mind wandered, Gertie became aware of a sudden silence. The Preacher was staring at her; he nodded toward Peter. Gertie had missed the Preacher’s announcement that they were now man and wife. She had missed his statement: “And now you may kiss the bride.”

Gertie turned to her new husband. He was an inch shorter than her five and a half foot tall frame. She bent her knees ever so slightly to bring their noses to the same height. Peter Berg lifted her veil. She looked upon his round face and bushy black beard. She looked deeply into a man’s eyes for the first time ever. He held her shoulders. She stood stock-still as he leaned forward and brushed his lips with hers.

Gertie did not move as he backed away — smiling. It was her first ever kiss on the lips, and it was not entirely unpleasant. Her mother had promised she would come to love her new husband — eventually. “He’s a fine man from a solid German family,” Gertie’s mother had said. She had gone on to explain that his first wife had died in childbirth six months earlier. Being the ripe age of seventeen, Gertie would have to settle for an older, previously married man. Peter was twenty-three. The soon-to-be-married couple had been introduced and spoke briefly. There had been no long sighs or deep piercing looks. They had awkwardly held hands. Her father had slaughtered a pig for their hastily arranged engagement party. Gertie had danced with her new fiancé, Peter. And now, they were married — all within the short span of a week. Her life had become a foggy dream and she had no control over what would come next. Gertie’s life was changing.

Tugging on her arm, Peter pivoted his bride to face the small gathering of family and friends. She forced herself to smile. He took a half step forward, and tugged her arm to pull her along beside him. Gertie remained rooted for a moment before taking her first step as man and wife. Arm in arm, the newlyweds slowly walked between the stained oak pews and outside, to the church rose garden.

They greeted their well-wishers. The men kissed the new Mrs. Berg on her cheek, and slipped coins and banknotes into the purse dangling from her wrist. Someone began playing a violin. Their previous dance had been a square-dance in her father’s barnyard. This time, they danced a waltz. Gertie enjoyed having Peter’s strong hands hold her. He held her very close against his chest. Her pulse raced; Gertie had never before been permitted to hold a man so close.

Maybe Mother is right and marriage won’t be too bad at all, she thought to herself.

Gertie was beginning to enjoy being married.

The newlyweds ate, drank wine, and danced as the sun drifted into the west. Twilight settled and the men gathered around Peter to smoke cigars and drink whiskey. Gertie’s mother pulled her aside.

“Dear, I need to tell you about tonight — your wedding night,” she whispered into Gertie’s ear. “Mr. Berg has been married before, and he will know what to do. You must simply lie still and let him have his way.”

“What?” Gertie whispered back, though she knew exactly what her mother was referencing.

The Preacher interrupted, with Peter in tow. “It’s time for me to give the newlyweds their private blessing,” he said.

Peter took her arm and they followed the Preacher into the church. He closed the door. Gertie and Peter sat while he stood over them. The three held hands in a circle.

“My dear,” he looked down upon the new bride, “as you know from your Bible study, Ephesians Chapter 5: Verses 22 through 24 outlines a wife’s designated position of submission in marriage.” He cleared his throat. “Yes, this New Testament verse prescribes to us: Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord. The husband is the head of the wife, as Christ is the head of the Church, and He is the savior of the body. Therefore, as the Church is subject unto Christ, so let the wives be to their own husbands in everything.”

The man wiped beads of perspiration from his glistening forehead, although it was a cool spring evening.

“Gertie,” he continued, “do you understand what this means?”

“I think so.”

“It means,” he ignored her response, “that you may discuss any conflicts that you have with Peter, but in the end, you must do as he decides. Should a wife fail her husband, the Lord instructs the husband to correct her as appropriate. Now, do you understand?”

Gertie had understood him the first time. She was aware her father ruled the household and her mother, as the Lord prescribed. Thus, she nodded her comprehension of the Preacher’s instructions.

“Excellent. And you Peter, do you understand your obligation to Gertie?”

“I do, sir.”

Again, the Preacher ignored the response. “It is written that the husband’s duty is to ensure that his wife is obedient to himself and thus to God. In doing so, he presents his love for his wife. For there can be no greater love than God’s love for his chosen people. The chosen people pledged love and obedience to God and God rebuked them when they failed in their commitment. Therefore, as a wife has pledged love and obedience to her husband.”

Peter nodded.

Undaunted, the Preacher continued, “Peter, it is also written that you must love your wife as you love your God. This means you must put her wellbeing before all others — before your own. If after toiling all day, you can only put one meal on the table, that meal shall be hers. In this way, you two,” he paused to radiate a smile down upon them, “are united. Caring for each other, as the Lord cares for you. You two are now joined as one. Bow your heads.” Placing his hands on their heads, he completed the blessing.

“Amen,” the three said in unison.

During the lecture, the wedding party had prepared their buggy for departure. When the couple exited the church, the rows of cheering family and friends showered them with rice and confetti. Peter escorted Gertie to the waiting buggy. Waving goodbye and grinning from ear to ear, Gertie watched her mother and father fade away.

She was alone with her new husband. She had never been alone with a man before. Silence and darkness surrounded them. Gertie pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders and pressed her body towards Peter’s warmth.

“As you know,” he swallowed before saying her Christian name for the first time, “Gertie, I have already sold my house. We will stay in the boarding house where I have been living until the end of the week.”

“Yes… Peter.”

Gertie watched the street lanterns of Cincinnati spread to the horizon as the buggy descended the hill on the northwest side of town. Ohio had been her home since she turned eleven years old. She could remember no trepidation when her family had emigrated from Germany to America in 1840. They had been poor, starving tenant farmers in economically depressed Germany. The past eight years had been the happiest of her life as the farm that her father actually owned had thrived. Now, she was not only having to adjust to married life, she was going to have to adjust to living in the Oregon Territory. The German immigrants followed the Old World customs and Mr. Berg was a second son and not eligible to inherit the family farm. He was employed at a dry goods store, but had sold his property in preparation to take the Oregon Trail west before his first wife had died. They had intended to seek out land for themselves. In marrying him, Gertie was accepting this fate. And this, as much as the looming wedding night, was giving her chills.

Peter guided the buggy along the waterfront road. The clattering iron wheels on the cobblestones of the wharf-front road alerted Gertie to the end of their trip. She examined the steamboats docked along the Ohio River, wondering which one would take her away from everything she knew and loved. Peter pulled back on the reins and halted the horse in front of the Queen Anne boarding house. A porter collected her valise and followed as Peter led his bride to her matrimonial chamber. Gertie was actually glad he was not taking her to the house where he had lived with his other wife — the house where she and their baby had died.

At the threshold of their room, he scooped her up in his powerful arms and carried her inside. Gertie giggled as he gently returned her feet to the floor. With a finger, he tilted her face upward and kissed her. This time, he took his time. This time, he held her close and savored her tender lips.

Yes, marriage is going to be very nice.

Gertie closed her eyes and pressed her body into his; her spine tingled.

The porter cleared his throat. “Will there be anything else, sir?” He put her valise on the bed and lit several candles

“No,” Peter said. After waiting for the porter to depart, he continued, “I’ll be in the washroom down the hall.” He needlessly pointed. “There is a chamber pot there,” he nodded toward the wooden box in the corner. “And everything else you might need.” He turned away. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

When he closed the door, Gertie examined the ten by ten foot room. She unbuttoned the gown she had borrowed from her mother, and hung it in the wardrobe. She stripped off her blouse and bodice. She rolled down her stockings and used the chamber pot. Finally, she untied the ribbons which held her chemise closed and examined her lanky, nude body in the mirror. She wondered what Peter would think of her.

What had his first wife looked like? Was she pretty? Gertie wondered

After this night she would be a real woman. Soon she would achieve the final step in a woman’s maturity and become a mother.

Gertie unpacked her bag and poured water from the pitcher into the basin. She added lavender scent, a gift from her sister, to the water. After rinsing her body, she pulled on her nightdress. Instead of donning her sleeping bonnet, she brushed out the braids in her straw-colored hair. Blowing out all but one of the candles, she slid under the bed cover. She lay on her back and waited.

When Peter returned, he quietly crept into the room as though avoiding disturbing her. Wearing his nightshirt, he carried his clothing in a bundle. She silently watched as he placed his clothes atop hers. Embarrassingly, she had forgotten to conceal her chemise and underskirt. Now, his gray woolen trousers and white cotton shirt were intermingled with the lace of her undergarments. However, he took no notice.

Peter extinguished the last candle. Illuminated by the slivers of light around the curtain, Gertie watched her husband pull off his nightshirt. The newlyweds lay side by side under the bed cover, panting with anticipation — excitement. She expected that he knew what to do next.

“Are you asleep?” he whispered.

“No,” she whispered back.

He rolled to his side and placed his hand on her abdomen. Touching her in the manner only a husband could touch his wife. Her flesh tingled.

Yes, this is it!

In the darkness, Gertie could hear the sounds of people talking in the distance. She worried that they might know what was happening in the small room.

He nuzzled against her shoulder. His beard both tickled and scratched her neck. She wondered what she should be doing with her hands. He kissed her and she placed a hand on the back of his neck. She did not want him to stop.

Oh, my God!

A burst of thudding of hoof beats came from the street below as a horse galloped by. She thought of the people outside, going about their evening activities, hopefully unaware of what was transpiring a few feet away.

Peter broke their kiss and nuzzled his forehead against the side of her head. His hand inched up her torso.

She gasped.

“Are you all right?” he whispered.

“Yes, I’m sorry.”

“No need to be. I don’t mean to rush you.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat and pulled his lips back to hers. She could smell the smoke from the candle and the scent of the soap used to wash the bedsheets. This was her wedding night and she wanted to remember every detail.

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