A Homosexual Homestead – An Assumptive Anthology

Read Time:19 Minute, 32 Second

Introduction

Hello!

Today I have a story to share with you, which is told through Journals. I really enjoy the story here; however, I do need to preface these with some information.

This story involves a lot of discussions and actions related to the Westward Expansion of white people in the United States. Specifically the Homestead Acts of 1862.

This expansion was done with little to no respect for or acknowledgment of Indigenous Peoples and their cultures or their use of the land. While the people whose stories are chronicled in this journal never encounter indigenous people (or they never wrote it down if they did), they are still using a racist tool of a colonizing government to lay claim to land which their government had no ownership of.

At the end of the story, I’ve linked information and resources if you’d like to learn more about indigenous people, westward expansion, or The Homestead Acts.

I think there is still value in sharing this story, but I wanted to make sure it existed with the proper historical context.

The story below is precious and heartwarming. I hope you enjoy it.

Happy reading

Content Warnings:

Familial expectation to marry
Mentions of family death
Colonization of Indigenous land

Journal

April 29th

I’m suffocating here. There is not enough space to love her.

Today I told Opal I wished we could leave this town. We fought, and I think we nearly left each other over it. I would not blame her if she left me. I have become irritable and upset as of late. The frustration of this life is binding me so tight that I lash out at her. If we could leave, perhaps it would be easier for me. But she does not want to leave, and I am trying to make peace with this knowledge.

It would be different if she acknowledged that she felt the same, but it’s like she doesn’t even care. It’s as though the fact that no one understands what we are is perfectly fine to her. It’s not fine to me, though. I want to love her loudly. I don’t know if I should be hurt or not, that she is okay to love me quietly. Not just quietly, but to love me in secret. I guess maybe I should be happy she doesn’t need what we can’t have. Maybe I should do what she does and not let it bother me. I could try, at least.

I don’t like hoarding all of this anger within me. Which I suppose is why I told her about this in the first place, though she wanted nothing to do with that anger.

The candlelight is dwindling, and she is coming to bed soon. If only she could sleep beside me. Our separate bunks will once again haunt my dreams.

April 30th

I deemed it necessary to write in the morning today, for late last night, I spoke with her. I was mistaken. She is not happy either. She merely does not see a solution and has thus pushed her pain aside. I also see no solution, but do not possess the same ability to ignore this. We spoke for quite some time about the pain and strife, and I was reminded of the joy of sharing my life with her. I felt much lighter after having spoken with her. We shared our fears, and we have similar concerns. It felt good to hear that I was not alone. As I have grown to expect, she is walking with me on this journey.

May 4th

Opal’s ability to hold her pain so close to her chest has broken. When I returned home from dropping off a client’s dress today, I found her inconsolable on the floor of our kitchen. She would not let me touch her for some time. She only handed me a letter from her mother’s sister. Her aunt informed her that Opal’s mother intends to steal Opal away from me. She does not trust my seamstress wage to sustain us both. She doesn’t understand why Opal moved away from home- she never has. Apparently, she is insisting that Opal would do better living at home. She wants to come remove her from my life- from our life.

I have rarely in my life felt so helpless. I sat with gentle tears rolling down my face as the love of my life sobbed with all of her energy. It is a testament to her strength how long she was able to continue the exhausting act.

Eventually, her body’s shakes turned to trembles and the sobs to sniffles, and she allowed me to hold her. I carried her to her bed and held her until she fell asleep. I tried to think of something to say, but every word rang hollow in my mind, and I knew it would be meaningless in her pain. I only left her now to use the restroom and write down my experiences of the day. I have forgotten what else of my day I had intended to write here.

Nothing matters except her.

Opal is stirring. I shall rejoin her and stay in her bunk tonight.

May 5th

Today was better. I had several dresses for local girls, which I was to finish sewing, and Opal is to hear back soon on her application to the new shoe factory. We are hopeful that if she gets a job, her mother will relent in her insistence that Opal is better off at home.

It is said this factory will accept female workers there if they are skilled, and I know my love is skilled. Her father taught her much when she was young, and now I suspect she knows more about shoe making than many of the men who are hired. (Sometimes, I have heard her wish aloud that she was a man, that this might help her receive better jobs and higher wages. I remind her that her feminine charm is what attracted me to her, and she often grows quiet. There is a smile on her face in those moments that I yearn to understand.)

With Opal’s permission, I burnt the letter from her aunt in the fire. She was not in the room, but I couldn’t pull my eyes away. The anger at those who have caused her such pain roared within me as the fire turned their words to embers.

May 7th

Opal did not get the job.

May 8th

I have been talking a lot about running away. I don’t know exactly where I’d go, but I know I want to leave. The idea of getting out to a world where I can dance with my love without worrying someone will enter without our noticing is intoxicating. I desperately long to be near her in public, outside of the confines of our home, and to live our life together with less interference and opinions.

I do not think Opal likes these conversations, though she has told me she doesn’t mind. Her expression sours when I bring it up. Yet I cannot help but talk about it. I feel trapped, and I can see the way the cage is holding Opal as well.

I think the discussion of leaving makes her feel guilty. I think the idea may be more radical than she is comfortable with. She has a family here. She has a life and a history here.

And I would stay for her. If she is never ready to go somewhere else, then I will never leave. I hope she knows that. Maybe tomorrow I’ll tell her. Right now, she is asleep across the room.

The moonlight is perfectly angled tonight. It glows upon her pink cheeks and shines off of her brown hair. She always insists she is jealous of the curl of my hair, but the glow of the moon would not bounce off of mine in such a luminous way.

She sighs a lot in her sleep, as though she is having an exhaustive conversation with me in which I insist eating nothing but bread and butter would be perfectly acceptable for the rest of our lives. I can nearly hear her mutter “flavor” as she sighs. But she does not. I know this. In the 3 years we have been living together, I have never once heard her speak in her sleep. One night when both of us were suffering from a fever, I believe I heard her whistling through her nose, but otherwise, she remains a quiet sleeper.

Her eyelids are moving gently in dreams. It crinkles her face some, and a selfish part of me hopes that one day she grows wrinkles where sleep folds her face. Wrinkles that only I would understand.

Part of me hopes I one day will get to kiss those wrinkles with the window’s blinds open without the fear of gossip.

To write by only the light of the moon has begun to give me a headache. I shall retire to admiring her silently until sleep takes me.

May 12th

Opal’s mother, April, came over today. She has never been a shouter (According to Opal), but the disappointment was clear on her face. She did not take her shoes off as she entered. Upon arriving (without giving us more than a half day’s notice), she began to judge the size of our small home. She asked about money and how much work I got. At one point, she implied that no husband would ever let Opal live in such a terrible place.

The worst was over dinner. Our friends Austin and James (two gentlemen much like ourselves in their struggles) came over since we did not have time to cancel our plans. She spent much of the night trying to enquire about why none of us were dating. Had we ever dated? Well, why not? Surely it was worth trying? What types of dates would one even go on around here? Oh, to the pond? Well, HER Opal loves the pond.

It was exhausting. And we did not yet get a chance to apologize because April insisted on walking them out with us. The only thing which would have made the evening more embarrassing is if April had thought it appropriate to comment on the brown color of either man’s skin. Thankfully she held her tongue in this regard.

We went to bed early, and I didn’t dare even hug Opal before we went to bed. To risk such behavior would have caused Opal nothing but worry. Her mother is staying the night. We hope she will leave in the morning.

May 13th

Opal spent most of today with tear stains trailing down her face. I did not see her cry, though I suspect she pulled herself together whenever I entered a room. I wish she knew she did not need to do that. I tried to talk to her several times today about what had happened, but all she would say is that we should have Austin and James over soon to apologize.

We sat together for much of the day. I had sewing work to be done as she looked through the paper and read a book. Since losing the opportunity of employment, she has taken to reading more during the day when chores do not occupy her.

Austin and James were able to come over tonight. Opal cleaned up well before dinner and seemed less upset throughout. Though once our friends (who were more than understanding about last night) left, the facade fell, and she left me alone to clean up. I found her on her bed. When I attempted to hold her, she asked for space. She apologized and said she hoped her spirits would be raised tomorrow. I hope so too. And I hope April never visits us again.

May 14th

We are moving next week. For a small fee, we can move to land in the countryside that is uninhabited and claim it as our own. The government will basically give us this land if we help them to cultivate the empty space. They say no one inhabits the entire center of our country.

It wasn’t even my idea, my Opal, my radiant Opal, the joy of my life and keeper of my heart, read of this opportunity in the newspaper yesterday. She recommended this path for our lives, and I had only to imagine our free future to become convinced it was the best option for us.

Opal seems better today as well, her spirits are not quite as crushed as they were yesterday, and my optimism about her suggestion seems to be contagious. She suggested we discuss this with Austin. He is more like me and has often talked of “getting out of this town.” Now we have our chance.

I am going to retire from writing early tonight in hopes that my Opal’s mood is optimistic enough that she will let me lay beside her tonight. Oh, how she makes my heart flutter.

June 3rd

We have bought a wagon and a mule, and tomorrow morning we will head west. James has been conversing with several more knowledgeable people about the best paths to take. He shall lead our small caravan out to our freedom. We four will share a plot of land to start. Though we hope to each own our own plots eventually. They say single women, such as myself and Opal, and men with brown skin, like James and Austin, can own and farm the land. We will start with a single home to house all four of us, but we plan to eventually build two homes on the land we amass. One for each couple. Though we will eventually separate our living quarters, we will always visit frequently. I have had to promise this to Austin many times in the past week in order to assuage his fears. He may be more nervous than my Opal.

My Opal has just sent the letter to her mother, and I await her anger and wrath tomorrow morning. I pray we will leave before her fastest carriage can pull her to our home, but I fear she will be determined to have her words heard. Though a part of me worries she will convince my heart to stay here and that, by extension, I will stay here, I also trust Opal. She has said that she will go no matter what her mother says. I shouldn’t doubt her.

I must go. Opal has beckoned me to bed with her one final time in this cottage. It would be unforgivable for me to leave the dazzling lady waiting a moment more.

June 4th

It was her singing which made the travel bearable. When making our plans, we did not prepare for the possibility that my stomach would turn in knots as our mules pulled us forward. The only thing that brought some peace (in the form of distraction) was her singing. She has such a beautiful voice. Like a gentle wind chime playing just for me.

James and Austin stopped less frequently than we were forced to, but our friends were kind enough to stop before the sun set. We caught up to them just as the darkness overtook the gentle colors of the sky. I am grateful for the solid ground tonight. In our plans, we had discussed driving in shifts and sleeping on our wagons. I do not think I would have slept. The ground does not move and sway beneath me. My stomach has finally settled as my head rests on the ground beside my love.

She sang me a song I had never heard her sing before. It was mournful and gentle in its tale. It wove beautiful melodies together with the tale of an absent father. I wonder if her mother taught her the song. I wonder again why she has never mentioned a grandfather.

In her song and the lyrics she chose to share with me on our first day’s journey, I felt her pain. To leave behind my family was simple. We are not close, and my parents are not kind. My only regret is that I am leaving behind the graves of my 3 siblings, who never got to grow up. I do not mourn for the living. I think Opal does. I think she misses her mother, despite the misfortune of their last few encounters.

April was a kind woman. She was not one to give in to bouts of rage and, until the past year, had loved each of her children equally and loudly. The clearest image of her in my mind is of her face as her eldest son was wed. She wore a face of such ecstasy as tears of joy were patted away with a handkerchief. It was the kind of joy that leaked out of a person and into everyone lucky enough to stand around them. I only wish she could have seen a future for Opal in which she wasn’t dependent on a father or a husband.

Opal is telling me to stop writing by firelight and go to sleep. She is, of course, quite wise, so I shall listen to her advice.

[After the the two pages shown above, there were many small notes about how the building is going. They seem to eventually have a house that the 4 of them will share for the winter, and they will build a second one on a second plot of land next spring. Homesteading was hard and a lot of effort. The journal passages are short and often just venting frustrations. None of them contain many contexts and seem quickly written. They’ve been omitted here for length and continuity of the story I’m trying to tell.]

September 21st

I have had too much on my mind to write for the past few months. This journal has sat abandoned. Yet tonight, I find I must record the events that have occurred.

I have never had a better day than today. This morning as the world began to wake up, I had my breath stolen from me by Opal’s easy beauty. I couldn’t help but once again profess my love for her aloud. She giggled and kissed me sweetly, telling me how she felt the same about me.

I thought both men had been out in the yard working, but as we held each other close, James asked, “Would you be married?”

After we were startled for a moment, Opal said, “We can’t.”

The magic of the moment had left her quite quickly. Wanting to keep it alive a little longer, I said, “Yes, of course I would.”

Opal stared at me as if this surprised her, though I don’t understand why it should.

“Of course, I would marry you,” I repeated, taking her hands in my own.

“You’ve never said,” Opal told me.

“I thought you knew,” I told her. Besides, it’s not like we’d been able to be loud about how we felt before. Even now, to have spoken those words makes me nervous.

She kissed me, and I swear I melted into the floor. Her answer was as clear as day. She’d marry me too.

We didn’t stop until James coughed from where he stood and got our attention. I tried to pretend to be ashamed of it, but I wasn’t. I moved west, so I didn’t have to be ashamed.

Then James asked, “Wanna have a ceremony?”

It took Opal and me about 10 minutes of questioning to understand what he meant, given that there were only four of us and none of us was a pastor, but we did it today. We all put on our best clothes, and Austin married us.

It’s not official, but it was never going to be. Opal couldn’t stop crying the entire day. She kept looking at me, blushing, and looking away. At first, I was worried this wasn’t what she wanted, but just before we went outside to hold our “ceremony,” she kissed me and told me she’d been spending the whole day trying to figure out how lucky she was to love me and to be loved by me. It took a lot of restraint not to kiss her senseless right then.

We stood holding hands as Austin spoke of our love and what he’d seen in the time he’d known us. He journals like me, but I think his is more poetry than mine. When I’ve seen him get drunk, he often starts trying to speak in verse. It’s clear to me now that when sober, his words can hold so much weight. He told our story with joy and tenderness.

I’ll admit that I cried. So did Opal. (So did James, but he denies it even though I absolutely watched it happen).

I’d sewn some cloth into rings for us. They won’t last long, but they served their purpose today. Maybe eventually, we’ll have the money to buy real rings. I don’t care either way, and I don’t think Opal minds either.

I didn’t realize just how much this small party would mean to me until later in the evening. Drunk on the excitement of the day (and two mugs of ale), James sat with me, watching Opal and Austin dance like fools.

“You’ve got a beautiful wife,” he told me.

A wife! I’ve got a wife!

I’m getting so excited by this that I nearly can no longer write. The only thing keeping me from putting down my journal and dragging her to bed is the sound of her voice singing songs with James by the fire. It would be a sin to stop her from singing. And she looks so happy and free. I think I’ll just keep watching her, soaking in her joy and turning it into my own love, until her songs grow quiet for the night.

Outroduction

I hope you enjoyed reading this charming love story!

I didn’t have enough information to find the record of their official acquisition of the land, so unfortunately, we don’t know how the story ends for these couples.

We do know that for that moment in time, they were in love, and they were able to exist happily within that love.

I hope that moment lasted for a very long time.

Thanks for reading.