The Diary of Ellen Rimbauer: My Life at Rose Red Read Online Free Page A

wrong time.
    I am quite surprised, in fact, that he could not see clear to delay
    this engagement. Even a day or two might have helped. And after
    so long, what difference is in a day?
    But there was a difference in John Rimbauer. I wonder if it
    took another man’s death to create in him a desire to extend his
    lineage, or if one had nothing to do with the other? With life so
    seemingly ?eeting, did he rush to judgment to marry? I feel certain
    we will discuss Mr. Williamson’s demise for many months,
    even years to come. I believe that I saw in John a fascination with
    death. I know that for me, Dear Diary, life will never be the same.
    I wonder where it is that Mr. Williamson has gone. Is there any
    return from there? So many unanswered questions.
    What, if anything, does John’s hesitation to include me in his
    thoughts tell me about the upcoming marriage, this voyage on
    which I’m about to embark? How far, how smoothly, can this ship
    sail if Captain and First Mate are not sharing their thoughts? Are
    we doomed to the rocks? Or is there some lighthouse yet to be
    seen around the next spit of land? Captain, oh, Captain. My
    breast swells with thought of my marriage and all the new experience
    it will bring to me, I tingle head to toe. And yet my heart
    goes cold at the thought of John’s carefully kept secrets and his
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    refusal to let me in. He is so reluctant to share his thoughts. Will
    I ever gain entry, or am I doomed to live in isolation despite our
    union? I fear this is how it’s to be, and I dread the thought of a
    life spent in a lie. I dread the thought of this marriage as much as
    I am thrilled by it.
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    18 august 1907—seattle
    As the future Mrs. John Rimbauer (it’s the only plausible explanation
    for this) I was invited to join to-day an elite group of
    twenty-three women, led by Anna Herr Clise, to address a health
    care crisis in our great city, namely the lack of a facility to treat
    crippled and hungry children. Over an extravagant lunch at
    Anna’s home, we all agreed to contribute twenty dollars each to
    launch the Children’s Orthopedic Hospital. The press gave us
    great attention, both because of our sizable personal donations
    ( John provided me the twenty dollars, thank God) and because
    our board is to consist entirely of women, unthinkable to the
    bankers downtown.
    I have subsequently invited all twenty-two of my fellow
    founders to our wedding, this November, and expect all to
    attend. I can’t imagine what it would be like to have a crippled
    child, and I hope and pray (yes, even to my darker god) that I
    shall never have to endure such a hardship. John and I plan on a
    large family, and I, for one, can’t wait to get started—though not
    without a great amount of nervousness do I approach my wedding
    night, quite afraid as I am of the actual physical union of our
    love. (The idea of a man inside me both sickens and excites me.)
    I wouldn’t have bothered to even mention the fete at Anna’s
    except as a way to preface my anxiety over one Priscilla Schnubly,
    a ferret of a woman with an exacting manner, pinched face and
    scandalous tongue. Yes, I invited her and her husband to the
    wedding out of proper social intercourse, but my how this woman
    vexes me! When I mentioned John, Priscilla Schnubly snickered
    for all to hear. She then whispered into the ear of Tina Coleman,
    who blushed as rose as the spilled blood of Mr. Williamson and
    went on to refuse to share with me the exchange that had transpired
    there between them. And yet I know in my woman’s heart
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    that whatever it was had to do with John and the rumors of his
    nighttime activities.
    Do I dare condemn John for actions taken prior to our marital
    union? Does such an eligible man owe me his chastity before
    we are of?cially wed? All these questions circulate in my mind,
    with me knowing nothing of the truth to begin with. Would I not
    prefer my future husband sow his oats prior to his promises than
    to break