Marjorie's Story

It was common knowledge, that his Grandmother's heirloom engagement ring was a specific bequest in the old lady's will. That it was to go to the first of their three sons who married and neither of Malcolm's brothers were even engaged.

It quickly became apparent that his parents were reluctant to hand over the ring. I overheard Malcolm and his parents having a very loud argument behind closed doors before they would release it to us.

Malcolm was so visibly proud when he slipped this beautiful ring onto my finger as a symbol of our engagement.

We returned to Youngstown after a couple of days, Malcolm had put on a brave front but I could tell that he was disappointed at his parents reluctance to bless our union. I never did discover if it was me the Meade's objected to? Or, perhaps their own son? To this day I include them in my prayers, that the Good Lord will teach them charity and grace.

I know that I mustn't judge, but the Lord only help's those who are willing to help themselves.

His younger brother Randolph, just a few months later eloped with a girl from his College. The older brother Clarence married a couple of years later but I never heard that their unions prospered. The last I had heard was that after the failure of his second marriage, Clarence adopted a second-cousin, to raise the boy to be the heir apparent of what was left of the family estate.

Whatever dark family history prevented the Meade legacy from continuing is lost in the fading memories of time. Pride goeth before the Fall!

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Upon our return to Youngstown, enroute to my home. We stopped at the First Presbyterian Church to be counseled for our nuptials as well as the final interview for the position of Assistant Pastor and wife, by the Senior Reverend, Dr. Rodney McDowell.

I was surprised and I think Malcolm was embarrassed, at how our restraint impressed the elder cleric, that we had mutually agreed to forego premarital relations.

"You two will be a fine addition to this community. You are setting a sterling example towards fulfilling the multitude of duties required in this position."

Leaning forward from his seat, the Good Reverend slapped a hand on his desk in in anger at the threat of degeneracy afflicting America's youth.

"Strong leadership is required that your flock can feel that they are in safe hands. Too many young people today are careless in their dress and thoughtless in their comport. They sin without regard for the consequences and chase every frenzied fad as a sign of modern progress."

I listened troubled at this vision of public debauchery as Malcolm sagely nodded his head in agreement with the Reverend's assessment.

"They have no regard that these modern temptations are merely but another golden calf of idolatry. My concern is compounded as I observe the careening course of today's American society."

I said a silent prayer, while preserving the proper modest silence for a woman of faith.

As the good Doctor leaned back in his wooden swivel chair and took a sip of water from a glass on his desk. My fiance leaned forward, holding one hand out and with the finger of his other hand, tapping in cadence for emphasis with his comments.

Malcolm propounded, "Dr. McDowell, as you wisely outlined in your History of Reverent Nations. 'That the greatest danger to God's Chosen are the seductive wiles of this world.'

You conclude with, 'It is not foreign enemies who will endanger our people but the internal seduction of the Elect by their own gross weaknesses and slothful observance of God's Commandments."

The good Doctor was visibly moved that Malcolm had been thoughtful enough to read his works. It would simplify preparing his new protege for the hard labor of tending the Lord's flock.

I, on the other hand, would be working for Mrs. McDowell. With whom I had already worked for before leaving for the Covenant Institute and is as thoughtful an instructor as I could hope for.

The lack of an older woman I could turn to for advice has been difficult for me. My mother's chronic illness had left her incapacitated and unable to teach me what every young woman needs to know.

I have been fortunate in gaining the friendship of several women, at the Institute and Overseas. However, they were all of my age and almost as limited in worldly experience as was I.

Mrs. McDowell quickly recognized my immaturity and took me firmly in hand to teach me what I needed to know for my marriage and my domestic pastoral duties.

The good Reverend insisted that our banns be immediately posted, that our marriage could take place in June.

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Chapter June 1956 - August 1957

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Amidst my jubilant family and the tepid enthusiasm of the Meade relatives we were married.

When I was writing the thank you letters for the modestly generous gifts my family and friends had given us, it became obvious that the much wealthier Meads had been very parsimonious in their choice of gifts.

At the reception after the ceremony, Malcolm's mother pulled me aside and made it clear in a condescending tone of innate superiority. That the engagement ring was the major extent of his parent's charity to us.

Her words, not mine!

In addition, it was to be considered as Malcolm's inheritance. I meekly turned my other cheek and thanked her for their benevolence as sincerely as my saddened heart would allow.

I am sorry that I did not inform my new husband of his mother's crass words. I did not want to risk spoiling his jovial mood. Besides, I think that he knew his family better than I and was always discounting their paternal roles.

As I replied to the gift-givers, I graciously included a letter to Mr. & Mrs. Meade effusively as I could stomach, thanking their family for their modest effort.

Later I would hear from another daughter-in-law that the Meade's had privately accused me of "insult by faint praise." There could be no one, who was not a Meade, who could possibly keep up the pretension of acting so much more holier than they.

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After a brief honeymoon to Niagara Falls, we assumed the role of junior minister and wife at the First Presbyterian Church in Youngstown, Ohio.

I gradually realized that relations with Malcolm were all about him getting me pregnant and keeping God's commandment of not denying your mate physically.

That meant twice a week, in the dark, if I wanted it or not. Unless I was in my monthly courses.

After pulling the hem of my nightgown up out of his way. He would climb over between my legs, push himself into me and grunt until he was done. Hr would go clean himself off before returning and once laying down, he would quickly fall asleep.

I was expected to then go wash myself and upon my return to be careful not disturb him as I got back into our marital bed.

I accepted that this was my lot, to take what satisfaction I could from sharing these moments of closeness with my husband

Than again, at that time I did not even know that I was suppose to receive any pleasure from intercourse. It makes me sad to think, that Malcolm had never received love from his family and did not know how to give love to me, his spouse.

As Malcolm strived to gain acceptance in hopes of receiving his own Ministry. I had to take on more responsibility in the church. At first it was managing the nursery. Then came teaching a Sunday School class for older girls. Next I served as a moderator of the single women's Bible Reading Circle. To prepare them for a God centered marriage.

I had my own small income, because I was employed by the church. My salary was expected to pay the household expenses.

Malcolm had his own salary of course. He paid the rent and utilities and bought us an old, 1939 De Soto S-6 4-Door Sedan. He kept promising to teach me how to drive but never did.

Other than that, I have no idea what he did with his income. According to my husband, it was none of my concern.

This was the picture of my happy marriage. Again, looking back on it, it wasn't so happy. At one time I did feel content but as the months passed, I was no longer even that. I think complacent would be a better word?

Please do not misunderstand. My husband was never overtly abusive. He never hit me or yelled belittling things at me. At best, most days I was treated with lukewarm indifference, as he led his congregation down God's path.

To all outward appearances, I was the perfect Minister's wife. I had suppressed so far the happy go lucky little girl I once was. I no longer believed that Margie Howard existed any longer.

I determinedly ignored the sad fact that I was always more comfortable around other people, than my with own husband.

That I never had the opportunity to enjoy making love with Malcolm.

That I had to conceal that I ever had any opinions of my own.

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Two months later, my menses did not appear and I began suffering morning sickness. I have never been comfortable with the female need for seeing and being "seen" by Ob-Gyn doctors.

I'm not sure, I have always been personally modest. I suspect it has a lot to do with my feelings of despair of the Doctors inability to stop the remorseless progression of the malignancy that had inflicted my Momma and would excruciatingly slowly, finally kill her.

It was my duty to our unborn child that I go to Dr. Prentiss at regular intervals, but I won't pretend I was ever happy about having to submit to those indignities.

I think that the blasé attitude of the nurses was another sore point with me. I just could not accept their blatant lack of respect for a lady of my position and standing in the community.

I just realized, that my sin of pride was being subtly encouraged by my husband. That his vanity, and I suspect envy, of more successful men. Compelled Malcolm to demand public acknowledgement as his due for him being the second leader of our religious community. Therefore his wife, myself, as the Mrs. Reverend, I was expected to reflect his level of status.

Otherwise I cheerfully accepted becoming pregnant, though it would add to my burden of duties. Maintaining our snug apartment and assisting in Malcolm's pastoral duties.

My beloved Malcolm was so happy and proud. He was cock-of-the-walk at the promise of being a new father. Even though his salary was small, there would be an increase in the family allowance.

Suddenly, at the start of the third month of the pregnancy, I woke up one morning from painful cramping and found my bed clothes soaked in blood.

This miscarriage was a stunning blow to both of us. Though the older and more experienced women tried to comfort me. That this is not an uncommon occurrence for women during their childbearing years.

Reverend McDowell had thought he was successful in counseling Malcolm and that his young protege could come to terms with our loss. Unfortunately my husband was adept at concealing his true nature behind a mask of public piety.

It took a few weeks for our lives to return to a semblance of normality. The doctor had told us that there was no specific cause for the miscarriage.

After a few months, not without trepidation and prayer and with a certain intimate awkwardness, we decided to try again. This second pregnancy, confirmed in April 1957, was greeted with cautious optimism.

When I passed the first trimester, hope blossomed in all of us. That this time, I would successfully give Malcolm a son.

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Chapter September 1957 - October 1957

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Midweek on a cool, overcast Ohio September day, I walked to the market. Malcolm had the car as it was his turn to visit with the unfortunates at the County Mental Asylum.

I was feeling uncomfortably bloated and cooped up in our little apartment and I welcomed an excuse to get out of the house and stretch my legs.

My preference has been to prepare for our hectic weekends by cooking several meals in advance and then refrigerating them to be taken out as needed. I refused to purchase those awful pre-packaged TV dinners.

I suspect that they are not really safe. How do you know what some factory worker put into those things? Besides, we do not have a television set to eat the tinfoiled meals in front of. It is much more important for us to save whatever money we could spare, for buying a newer car for Malcolm.

While I was in the produce section of the market, picking through a bin of potatoes for those that were unblemished and dry without mold.

I overheard Mrs. Larson and Mrs. McNeal loudly gossiping over on the other side of the can goods aisle. They were going on about some rumors that several members of the wealthy Reynolds family had been arrested during a police raid on an illegal roadhouse and gambling hall. Then quietly released without charges.

Bless Me! But those two could go on for a week describing everyone else's failings. I was starting to feel tired and my feet were swelling up and I just plain wasn't in any mood to tolerate the two parishioners clucking over me.

With their endless prying questions, leering innuendoes flaying the reputations of their fellow parishioners and their bony fingers poking at my body.

I suddenly decided to forego any more shopping today. By carefully judging the direction the two noisy women were moving in, I was able to get around them without being intercepted.

I was fortunate that I was able to quickly check out and leave. This meant I would have to come back tomorrow for meat and fruit but at least I had escaped being pinned down by their harrowing tongues.

As I headed home, I puzzled over why I was feeling so cranky and out of sorts. The baby was just starting to show and I thought that I was adjusting well to the daily discomforts.

I crossed with the light at 15th Street and North Avenue, as there was little traffic. Suddenly, as I reached the other side of the street and stepped back up on to the curb from the crosswalk, there was a shockingly painful twist in my lower region.

My left hand grabbed for the lamppost, my right hand dropping the bag of groceries to clutch at my midriff. Staggering to a halt, I leaned against the streetlight for support as waves of pain and nausea and an embarrassing urge to urinate swept through me.

I dimly heard the sounds of stopping cars and people asking if I was okay? Then a blast of siren as a police car pulled up to the traffic jam. A minute later I vaguely remember hearing the officer's urgent voice calling for an ambulance over his radio.

A large woman rushed to my side with a blanket, I think from the house on that corner, and wrapped it around me. I felt a sudden gratitude at her covering up my humiliation.

It shows you how confused I was, being more concerned with my public image than my medical emergency. I was still refusing to comprehend that I was about to lose another baby.

That woman had shrewdly realized what must have been happening to me. She grasped me in her strong arms and in a husky voice said, "Hang on to me dearie, I gotchyah. The cop has called an ambulance. They'll getcha to the hospital in no time."

I vaguely remember thinking that Malcolm was going to be petulant that I had caused such a public scene. Dimly, I heard the policeman gobbling at me and a rushing sound from all the people around. Thankfully I must have passed out before the ambulance arrived.

Another miscarriage, this time during the sixth month, at the start of the third trimester. This was not as simple and safe an event as the first miscarriage.

I lost a serious quantity of blood and was hospitalized for more then a week after losing the second baby.

I was sedated for a couple of days. I am told that I was rather incoherent. My sister Anne stayed by my side continuously. Father was shuttling back and forth between me in the hospital and Mother at home, being cared for by Aunt Ruth. It was several more days before anyone but family and Pastor and Mrs. McDowell were permitted to visit.

Between the tranquilizers and being fussed over by everyone else I failed to notice that Malcolm was perfunctory in visiting me. When he was with me, he showed only a mechanical pretense at affection and concern.

The Reverend McDowell shrewdly noticed the turmoil in his younger cleric, and as I would hear later, forcibly confronted my husband about his failure to display the loyalty of love to me, his spouse.

Malcolm scarcely acknowledged the good Reverend's counsel with any more then a pretension of sullen contrition.

I was barely able to contain my own grief and self-recrimination only with the dual comfort of tranquilizers and my faith that Christ's mercy will eventually overcome my inherently sinful female weakness. Finally I was released to go home to our little ground-floor apartment.

It was a relief that someone had removed the crib and other baby items given us. That small, second bed room had been Malcolm's home office for preparing sermons and lessons.

When we announced that it would become a nursery, Rev. McDowell arranged an office for Malcolm at the Church.

I found that Malcolm had moved in a single bed and would be sleeping there. Telling me that he was leaving the larger bedroom for me and my needs.

Finally, we were alone in the house, together. And that is when the emotional dam broke in a flood of grief and recriminations, that would tear Malcolm and I and our marriage apart.

I was sitting on the couch in our living room sunken in misery. Anne had finally left back to our parents home for the night. As everyone thought it would be a good idea to give us some privacy for our grief.

Malcolm came home and found me sitting in the dark. He went around the apartment and turned on all the lights. Then came back in and looked at me with such contempt.

I was paralyzed by the anger on his face. He could not be blaming me for this tragedy, could he? I had began to reach out to him. Suddenly timid, I pulled back as if I had been burned as he ignored my silent plea and threw himself into the large chair on the other side of the coffee table.

In silence he glared at me and I could see the growing fury work it's way across his face like a storm cloud across a range of mountains.

I tried to speak but only stammered out a rush of confused apologies before he cut me off with a sharp wave of his hand. Then, in tone of hate such as I have never experienced, before or since. He spat out,"You stupid bitch! I told you to stay home."

His nasty insult stunned me as the accusation confused me. When did he ever tell me such a thing?

"You had to go shopping and buy something instead of staying home like a proper minister's wife. You are such a stupid woman and haven't the common sense God gave a fencepost."

I was already crying at these words, mortified that my own Malcolm would utter such venom to me, his wife.

"My child, both my children, are dead because you are a sniveling weak and worthless woman. Unable to complete your wifely duty for me and bear my children safely. How can I trust you when you cannot keep your sworn commitment to me!"

He was practically shouting at me as my cries increased in volume. "You have turned out just as everyone warned me. A barren waste of my time and efforts to raise you up out of the poorhouse. Your bloodline is degenerate trash as you have proven by taking after your decaying mother."

I think I screamed at this flood of verbal poison. In my weakened state, I was unable to defend myself any more than by curling up into a wailing ball on the couch.

Malcolm saw the effect his words were having on me and, as a hungry predator goes after its crippled prey, he returned to the attack. "I let myself be seduced by a sniveling female failure. Daughter of Eve. Unable to bear me my sons! How fooled I have been by your empty charms. You are a dullard and would have corrupted my seed to produce idiots."