Yesterday, Ruth came home. It was a very appropriate and welcoming homecoming from the village and I regret that I was too nervous to enjoy it. She is the most striking woman and my picture and memory do not seem to do her justice. She wore a blue gown and traveled light.

My wife is a good woman who feels untouched by the war. She is young and still very prone to whimsy as I have discovered quickly. I am both proud and shamed by my wife's virtues. She is very beautiful, the most beautiful woman in the county by far. I do not deserve her. Still, she has chosen to fulfill the promise made for her to me. She was the one who said "I do" and stampled the seal as the bombs began to drop. I will give her a good life as she deserves good things.

Last night was our first night together. I slept in her bed because she requested it and because I felt as if I should be the one to come to her now. I was glad to see she had already gotten in bed and lowered the lights when I found myself beside her in my pajamas. Her eyes had been shut and I wonder now if she had supposed I wouldn't join her at all. I had brushed my teeth. Why? She is my wife and not my sweetheart. We lay stiffly alongside each other with the seams of our arms touching. I could not sleep. My mind is too busy now and this night was no exception. I wonder if we had not been interrupted by war, would we have held one another? I think back to the bonfire Theo and I attended years ago on Scutter's Farm. One moment, he was excited and loudly talking in my ear and the next, he was gone. Led off by the hand of his intended-sweetheart. I searched every inch for him and Clara. I found Theo in the barn finally. He had his back to me and was angled over a bale of hay. His legs were pale and skinny in the window of light at the top of the barn. There was a rustle of sound and I watched another set of legs lift to wrap around his waist. It was Clara and I turned away before I could see any more of her. I could not escape her voice though. The way that she said his name: Theo, Theo. I felt horrified and confused by the most natural sight. I wonder how many children Theo and Clara would have had by now. Couples like them tend to reproduce frequently. Will Ruth and I have children? I imagine that eventually we will, but will she ever say my name like that? Nathaniel, Nathaniel. The thought laces me up tight and sends me from her bed. I felt hot and itchy in my pajamas. It was a feeling that a walk through the house could not erase. She had brought it with her, tucked inside her suitcase next to all her sweet smelling things. I left the house and walked to the pond. It was safe. The house was still well in view and if Ruth needed me, Icould return easily. I stripped off my clothes and began to walk into the water. The mild summer felt good against my skin but the pond was terrifically cold and murky. I began to disappear from the ankles, from the knees and hips, and finally until I was waist deep. I could not see myself, but for a moment, I wished that the rest of my could disappear. A terrible thought.

Ruth, Ruth. It is improper, but I have begun to think of what it would be like to kiss her. One day here and she has made me doubt myself. I feel dangerous. I will not be like the other men. I will not be driven to rough, grappling want just because she is my wife and there is a certain idea of obligation between a wife and her husband. No, that is not true. She owes me nothing of her body. She is not property. Her mind is enough amusement for me. She is clever and intelligent. She fills the house with conversation. I do not like all that she says or brings up, but the noise is welcomed. There has been too much quiet in the house. She fills it in the most unexpected way. It is like her hands. They are delicate and thin boned, but open wide enough to fill my head. When she touched me, I felt dizzied by the sensation. My head dropped into those hands and I fought the urge to leap on her there in the grain. It was a momentary want that passed quickly. I am ultimately shy. Let me look at my husband, she said then. She is very interested in possessives. Mine, ours. My bed. Our house. Our apple tree. What do you taste like, Ruth Green? Do you cling or are you the sort that begs to be clung to? I could grow dependent on her. It's a dangerous idea. People are always the first thing taken away.

My wife sleeps in our house on our wedding night. She is whole and untouched. I do not know her, but I redress from my swim and walk across the lawn to where the apple tree sits. I reach high into its branches and pull down one of the apples that hangs high and marbled red-green from its stem. It is an offering, a small token. I place the apple on her nightstand while she sleeps and hopes that the sweet smell gives her good dreams. I do not linger for too long.