The Architecture of the Arkansas Ozarks - Donald Harington [28]
But Jacob did not know this, and he never would know it. Ignorant as he was of women and their ways, and having had experience only with an Indian squaw who was no maiden by a long shot, Jacob approached the debut of his bride’s charms with no expectation of difficulty and therefore no disappointment or anger in having encountered none. When the infare was over and all the guests had departed and Jacob was tipsy enough for the nerve, he ran Noah out of the cabin and closed the door, darkening the interior, then he laid Sarah on the bed. That was it, he just laid her, with no more howdy-do or ceremony than the wedding itself. He was surprised, however, that her reactions during the process were not at all comparable to those of the Indian squaw; namely, she did not utter the ghost of a sigh, she did not move, she did not enfold him with arms and legs alike, and, above all, she did not make, at the end, the long taut but smooth arc: ark: bow. She was foursquare, flat; not even her gables peaked. So for him it wasn’t lightning and thunder but maybe just cloudy and windy, chance of showers. Afterward he wanted to ask her if she’d had any joy in it, but he couldn’t ask her things like that. They never would talk about sex…until the very last day of Jacob’s life.
And these were the children of Jacob and Sarah: Benjamin, the firstborn; Isaac, born two years later; Rachel, born two years later; Christopher Columbus, born two years later; and Lucinda, the last, born two years later.
Why was it, Jacob often wondered, that when he really, truly, honest-to-God, sure-enough, straight-up-and-down wanted his woman, she wasn’t much feeling like it, whereas the only times he ever got her was when he wasn’t much feeling like it? That was a hell of a trick for Nature to play on a man…and a woman. Once, when he was upon her, she whispered in his ear, “Jake, if I go to sleep afore you git done, will ye pull down my nightgown?” It must be noted, however, that it was an excess of sexual frustration, no doubt, which caused Jacob single-handedly in a couple of weeks to build the imposing structure which we shall examine in the following chapter, leaving his cabin to Noah. He must have been aware of Noah, up there in the loft, listening, but hearing nothing except a random small grunt of Jacob’s, no sounds whatever from the woman.
If that is cause for pitying Noah, there was a worse one. Sarah’s next-youngest sister, Aurora, encouraged by the success of her older sister’s presentation of the cornbread to Jacob, began to give thought to baking some cornbread for Noah, and her mother approved of this scheme. Noah certainly wasn’t as desirable as Jacob, but Aurora was accustomed to being second to her older sister, getting her hand-me-downs and being next in line for everything. So eventually she baked the cornbread and took it to the Ingledew cabin, but Noah wasn’t there; Jacob said he was out milking the cow. Aurora took the cornbread out to the cowlot and offered it to Noah. By this time Noah understood the significance of the offering and he eagerly reached to take the cornbread, but dropped it, and bending over to pick it up, he tripped and fell to the ground. Aurora couldn’t help giggling. While rising up from the ground, much flustered, he snatched at the cornbread, and it broke in two. Still eager to signify his acceptance of it, he grabbed both pieces and clutched them to his bosom, whereupon they disintegrated into many fragments that showered around his feet. He was so discomposed that he turned and ran off into the woods to hide himself for a long time. Aurora decided she didn