“There you are, my little beauty,” Lincoln says as he strolls into the room. He bends and grabs Gemma by her legs, hoisting her up so she’s dangling upside down. Of course, this makes her laugh hysterically. “Give your mom a kiss goodnight,” he adds, holding her up to my face.
“Goodnight, Momma.” She grabs both of my cheeks and pulls my face toward hers. “Love you.”
“Love you too, Gems. Sweet dreams.”
Her grin is big, and she waves dramatically as Lincoln carries her from the room. Before walking out the door, he maneuvers her so she’s lying in his arms bridal style and blows a raspberry on her stomach. Her loud giggles can be heard all the way down the hall.
I’m still laughing at their playfulness when I sit down and lean back against the arm of the couch. My eyes land on one of the journals I found in the attic. I’ve managed to read a few of them that belong to Betsy Miller. Well, it’s actually Betsy Young, since she married. Apparently, like me, she started writing in a journal at a young age. Her first entry was in 1856. I finished her earlier journals a couple of days ago, in which I learned she’s a farmer’s daughter, has a younger sister and an older brother, and loves to help her father tend to the farm animals, but also enjoys her time in the kitchen with her mother. She was ten when she first met William. He and his father came to the farm to talk about forming a trade between the two. I could practically see the stars in her eyes just from her words. After that, most of the pages were filled with him.
Yesterday I read about them getting married, her move to the farm, and the adjustment of going from being a farmer’s daughter to a farmer’s wife. She went into detail the first time they made love, which had red tinting my cheeks. It kinda made me feel like a voyeur, but I couldn’t stop reading. She also wrote about how much she enjoyed being his wife and how much he dotes on her. There’s one thing that’s very clear; she absolutely adores her husband, and from her words, he loves her equally. It’s quite beautiful to read about.
The more I read about her and William’s life, the more I want to know. It’s strange, but I feel a connection with Betsy. Her and William’s love reminds me of mine and Lincoln’s. It’s pure, unconditional, and irrevocable.
I grab the journal and prop it on my bent knees, anxious to continue from where I left off. The date on this entry is on June 26, 1861.
I discovered something new about William yesterday. We’ve always made love in the dark because I’ve never had the courage to do it when he could see my body. I always worry he won’t like what he sees. I know he’s wanted to, but he’s never asked. Yesterday, after he came in from the fields, I surprised him with a special birthday gift. I was nervous the entire time, but I actually took off my clothes in front of him where he could plainly see my body. The expression on his face helped my nerves a lot. At first, it was shock, which didn’t help at all, but the look soon became something else. Something that had me forgetting my nakedness and had my body warming and quivering in anticipation. Our lovemaking was—not what it normally was. It was rougher. William acted like he couldn’t get enough of me. And I must admit, I loved it. A lot. But that’s not what I discovered about him. It was after we were done and lying in bed with my head on his chest. He has this adorable little birthmark in the shape of a flower on his ribs. We’ve been married for six months, and it’s taken me this long to notice it. Of course, it’s my fault because I was always too embarrassed to really look at his body anytime he didn’t have clothes on. Now that I have though, I don’t think I ever want to stop. Would it be normal if I asked him to stay naked all the time while he’s in the house?
I lay the journal down on my lap and smile while my mind wanders to Lincoln’s birthmark right above his hipbone. I remember the first time I saw it. We were in his room playing Go Fish a couple of months after we met. His mom came in the room with sandwiches for us. Lincoln got up to help and his shirt rode up a couple of inches, showing his hipbones. I asked him about it when his mom left, and he explained what it was. We had this thing where if one of us needed to get a good grade on a test or really wanted a certain item for our birthday or Christmas, we’d go out hunting for four-leaf clovers for luck. I always told him he didn’t need to because he already had one. That’s what his birthmark looks like.
My smile grows when I remember the four-leaf clover he drew on me with permanent marker in the same spot as his when I complained that he always had luck with him. I purposely didn’t wash that part of my body for a week, because I wanted it to stay there as long as possible.
I pick the journal back up and continue reading.
I think I’m pregnant. I can’t believe I just wrote that. To think that I’m carrying another human being in my body, someone who is half William, is exhilarating. My monthly flow is three weeks late, and I’ve always been on time. My breasts are tender and bigger than normal as well. William and I have talked about having children before. We both want three; a boy and two girls. I can just imagine a little boy who looks exactly like him following behind his daddy, wanting to be just like him. I can’t wait to tell William—he’s going to be so excited—but I want to talk to the doctor first.
A small pang of envy hits me at the thought of Lincoln and our recent failed attempt at getting pregnant again. The feeling soon fades when I recall the first weeks after I found out I was pregnant with Gray. There’s no better feeling than knowing you’re carrying something so precious inside of you. Those first weeks, Lincoln and I were walking on cloud nine. Even when the morning sickness hit. There was nothing that could take away our joy. Lincoln was so attentive, making sure all of my cravings were satisfied. Even going so far as trying the weird ones with me.
There are several more entries talking about Betsy’s pregnancy. As expected, William was thrilled about the news. The best estimate from her doctor is she’ll be due around mid-April. Her parents come visit for a week during Christmas and William’s parents come the week after. She writes about her excitement the first time she felt the baby kick. William’s reaction when he felt it almost had her crying. He dropped to his knees and kissed her stomach, right over her baby bump, and spoke softly to the baby. Apparently, he’s become obsessed with doing everything for her. Just as expected, Mary Young was born on April 15, 1862, and it was one of the best days of her and William’s lives.
She also mentioned the civil war and her and William’s concern of the Confederates moving closer to their homestead in Washington, D.C.
“Hey, Mom.”
I look up from the journal as Gray walks into the room, tiredness dragging down his eyelids.
“Hey, sweetie.”
I stand from the couch and hold out my arms. He walks straight into them and wraps his own around my waist. I never have to fight him on my nightly hugs. I’m already dreading the day he finally does.
“You off to bed?”
“Yeah. Dad keeps kicking my butt at the game,” he grumbles. “I keep telling him it’s because I’m tired, but he doesn’t believe me.”
I laugh. Boys and their games.
“You’ll get him the next time you play.” I let him go and ruffle his hair. “Want me to tuck you in?”