Mrs. Templeton's Secrets

All characters in this script are over eighteen where there is reference to sexual content.

The story looks at the world through the eyes of Nancy Templeton and how she sees herself and how she changes over time, overcoming her inertia to grow into a woman of substance, controlling her own identity and destiny. There are sixteen chapters in this story. I would appreciate your comments on what you think of the main character, Nancy Templeton. Is she manipulative or a woman of her time looking for equality in her marriage and in her life.

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Mrs. Templeton's Secrets

Chapter One

At the end of the Second World War, John and Nancy Thomas Templeton had been married for ten years. Nancy was young when they married and John was twenty-seven. The marriage was encouraged by her father who'd, for the past five years, worked with John and his father and were family friends. Nancy fell pregnant soon after the wedding with Steven, with Clive their other son, born the following year.

The war years were difficult for everyone, especially so for young Nancy with two children. John firmly believed it was a woman's work to look after the house even when she was called upon to work in a munitions factory to help the war effort while her mother looked after the children. The house was her responsibility and John was strict, like her father, in making sure everything was correct. Nancy had never kissed a man intimately until she married John and he became her protector, provider and father figure.

John owned the house before they were married and after the wedding, he gave her housekeeping to purchase groceries but made all the decisions and paid the bills. When she was working to help the war effort, she was allowed a little extra to spend and was grateful for his generosity, accepting, without hesitation, when her parents and John told her how fortunate she was to be married to such a fine man. The war had passed; rationing was no longer an issue and the standard of living was rising. They'd been married for twenty-two years. John would be fifty next birthday, Nancy thirty-nine. John had insisted her place was in the home looking after their children Steven and Clive, even though they were now independently working as recently qualified electricians in the pit. Their relationship with their father was always strained and a constant worry to her, having to continually intervene to keep the peace. Eventually, they'd had enough of the squabbling and emigrated to Australia as soon as Clive qualified. It had been hard for the parents to accept; they wanted the best for them but the job offers were good and they wished them the best, Nancy crying for days after they left.

They wrote regularly but their loss was still keenly felt by both, especially since John's health had deteriorated over the last two years. Working underground, in dark, often damp, warm, cramped conditions among minute specks of coal dust and silica, which floated in the air, affected most colliers. Pneumoconiosis or lung disease, colloquially known as the coal worker's illness, came from inhaling these airborne particles. A toxic mix leading to severe inflammation of the lung tissue, silicosis, bronchitis, and lung cancer.

Most long-term miners had these diseases in varying degrees, which lowered the immune system, impaired concentration, resulting in a severe shortage of breath. Many miners had crippled bones twisted or broken out of shape by crawling in confined spaces and from accidents and rock falls. Many developed beat knees, a joints disease in the kneecaps from kneeling all day, which built fluid on the knees, and unless removed early, caused the walls of the bursa to permanently thicken, poisoning and crippling the person.

Often, when out of doors, it was common to see a miner walk a few hundred yards and stop, unable to breathe from the exertion of simply walking, gasping for breath. John was one of these; even to walk down the stairs from the bedroom was a major feat. Neighbours often called to see him and when the weather was clement he would, with Nancy's help, take a short stroll outside. John wasn't alone; it was a common occurrence throughout the village, men broken and old before their time. The wives managed the best they could, but it was hard seeing their loved one waste away.

Nancy had an easy-going personality, always smiling and ready to help others. She missed her sons more than John and cried when alone while her husband rested upstairs. John had a small pension and, providing she was careful, they managed to make ends meet, especially when the neighbours brought fresh vegetables from their garden. She had her own little patch of garden at the back of the house which John used to tend, now she had to do the work. Often when in the garden, little Phil, living a few doors away, would help her. He was eighteen but looked twelve because he was so short, had a cherubic face and always smiled when he saw her. His sister, Alice, was three years younger and straight as a bean pole, always pleasant and ready to help when she saw them in the garden. Their parents, David and Joan, were firm friends with John and Nancy, often calling around each other's houses. David also suffered with his lungs but not to the same extent as John so life went forward in their little community with neighbour helping neighbour.

The houses were in rows of terraces, mostly two bedroomed. A reasonably sized kitchen and a small front room, which everyone called the parlour, believing it sounded better than calling it the small front room. John and Nancy's bedroom was directly above it. The other bedroom, of similar size, the boys used but now Nancy often slept there, especially when John was up most of the night coughing. John handled the household budget and paid all the bills, advancing Nancy an allowance for food but he always insisted on checking the receipts. Not because he was mean, it had been always been that way so why change, even telling her what clothes she should wear. His father did it with his mother, so did her parents and he carried on in the same tradition. With John's illness, that all changed. He was no longer able to do those things and it fell to Nancy to take over and became the dominant one when it came to running the home.

One afternoon, while Joan and Nancy were nattering over a cup of tea, Nancy excused herself hearing John coughing upstairs and went to see to him, returning later with tears in her eyes. "I'm so worried about him and with the children gone, oh, it's difficult not to cry in front of him. I can't let him see me crying. I must stay strong for him," she sobbed, taking a sip from her cup. "I'll soon be a widow at this rate. I can't live without him. Often with his coughing, he can't even sleep and insists I go into the boy's old bedroom to sleep. I hate it but what am I to do? He's up most of the night coughing and dozes most of the day. I know coal helps to keep our country afloat but is the price worth it with the lives it destroys? I often wonder."

"David is the same but not as bad as John. He hasn't been himself for the last few years but can still, you know, do the married thing."

Nancy smiled. "I used to enjoy that but John is no longer up to it. I have tried on a few occasions and it worked sometimes, but with his coughing and shortage of breath, any exertion takes a toll and I'm afraid to do anything remotely energetic, not that I moved much, John preferred me to lie still. That part of our marriage is over for us. I tried recently but he gets embarrassed and I feel for him and pretend I'm only doing it to make him happy.

"I can tell you miss it."

"Sometimes... No, a lot if I'm truthful, but I don't dwell upon it, sickness and in health forsaking all others, that's what we promised each other; over time I'll get used to it. At least you are getting a bit so be grateful while it lasts."

"I am, believe me, for every one man in our village, there're at least six widows and a lot of the husbands are dead from the waist down. You know what I'm saying. In our street alone out of thirty houses, only twelve have husbands and half of them are out of it. So we are luckier than most and should be grateful for small mercies. Look at Johnson two streets down, he volunteered to leave the pit to go to war, now look at him, a shell of a man coming home, both legs gone, one arm useless. He doesn't know what day it is and sits outside in his wheelchair when it's not raining, often asleep. So what's the point of moaning. My John has always treated me right."

Joan looked around the room and whispered. "Talking of Johnson, I heard Daisy is putting it out a bit."

"She's so house-proud. He's outside when it's not raining so he's not in the way when she cleans the house."

"What's being house-proud got to do with Daisy putting it about?"

"Nothing, I suppose. What are you saying?"

"Johnson is outside when she's inside with Anthony. You know, he's the lad living at 42. He goes in the back way, spends an hour with her while her husband is outside and leaves the same way. When she comes out to bring him inside, her face and chest are flushed and she has that smile on her face, you know the one I mean."

"He can't be more than sixteen. A big lad I grant, but she's forty-eight."

"Nearer nineteen, he's been four years working in the pit. There's only a few weeks between him and my Phil."

"Your lad is back and fore our house, often he helps me in the garden and helps me move the furniture when cleaning and spends time upstairs talking with John. It doesn't mean anything. It could be the same there, gossiping is dangerous and can cause no end of trouble."

"Winifred, who lives next door to them, mentioned it to me. She said she was in the garden and could hear the groans and went over the fence to try and see what they were up to but the curtains were closed."

"They could have been moving furniture."

"Placing furniture more like but not for cleaning. Winifred is a gossip but she wouldn't lie. Faster, faster, there, good boy, don't stop, that's it, keep doing that, was what she told me in confidence she'd heard outside the window."

"At least she's getting some," Nancy giggled. "More than what I'm getting and you're not getting much more. Who have you told?"

"Only you but Winifred can't keep her mouth closed."

"How often does he go there?"

As soon as he sees Johnson outside, he creeps in the back door. I think she waits until he finishes his shift, he works days and afternoons. When he works afternoons, Johnson is out there in his wheelchair covered with a blanket in the morning and when Anthony is working the early shift, I see him outside in the late afternoon. I'm sure they plan it between them."

"Anthony is a good looking lad, I'll give him that and he looked a lot older than my Phil and they're practically the same age, but he looks a lot older, and from what you say, a lot more experienced when I comes to wooing the ladies. How did it start?"

"Nancy, you should be ashamed of yourself thinking that way."

"Does he come around when Johnson is in the house?"

"Not sure, he could creep in when he's in bed. She has to call a neighbour to help her take him up and down the stairs so if they do it in the kitchen at the back of the house, who's the wiser?"

"Winifred will know. Come on Joan, Daisy is old enough to be his mother and a few stone overweight, what would Anthony want with her? As for Winifred, she's old enough to be his grandmother. What interest will she have in listening to them grunting and talking dirty?"

"Daisy still has the equipment and Anthony is not averse to using it when offered, most men would. We all need a bit of the real thing now and again. Self-help gets monotonous after a while. With Winifred, it won't be long before it'll all over the village. I bet she's outside the window as soon as Anthony is inside."

"Surely her husband has something to say about her snooping," said Nancy.

"When he's not working he's down the pub, she's alone most of the time, her children have long gone. With the size of his belly, whatever is between his legs is covered with rolls of fat."

Nancy giggled. "Perhaps she's hoping Anthony will call on her."

"If I thought I could get away with it, I'd do him."

"Oh, Joan, you don't mean that. You can't. I could never disrespect my John that way."

"You're right, forget I said it, something really drastic would have to occur before I went outside my marriage but I don't know if I could manage if I was getting nothing like you," her face reddening as if she held a secret.

"There are other, private ways to meet needs without going outside the marriage. Let's leave it, I need to go and see if John wants something to eat."

"I'd better be going, I'll keep you informed about Daisy."

Nancy, sitting alone, gave a lot of thought to what Joan had said. She hadn't had any meaningful sex with John in over three years. She'd tried a few times, but it always ended in disaster. Her libido was on the increase but she daren't discuss it with him. One time, when they tried to have sex he started to wince and take breaths from the oxygen mask at the side of his bed. She felt bad, saying it wasn't important but her frustration was there and later that evening, she did what she had done repeatedly for most of her married life. John's libido was never high even when he was fit and always left Nancy wanting more, believing she was the problem and needed to curb herself.

She closed her eyes, thought of Daisy with Anthony and wondered what it would feel like if he was thrusting into her but killed the thought before it gained traction. He was younger than her sons. She went to bed and cried quietly into her pillow, relieving the tension in her body by masturbating for the second time that day. She should be content; most women in the village were without husbands so why didn't she feel lucky. What did other women do? The same as she did, have private sex with her fingers or hairbrush. She needed sex but John controlled sex like he controlled everything else and she'd hid her shame away for those private moments which she couldn't share with her husband to feed her fantasies. As time passed, they grew in magnitude bringing in other men and women into her imagination. She tried to think about her husband but her sexual memories with him were failing.

Guilt was eating into Nancy's mind, making her unhappy. Every time she saw a good looking man she wondered what he looked like naked. Once, when she took her husband to watch a rugby match, hiring a car to take them from the door to the field and back as an anniversary present, she watched these young virile men attack each other and it had her on edge throughout the match, imagining all matter of wicked thoughts. When she arrived home, she had to change her panties, they were soaked. That night, in her room, her imagination played with her mind. She couldn't sleep, couldn't stay still, couldn't focus away from what those men looked like in the shower, making her question herself, thinking she was turning into a closet nymphomaniac. Could she really be unfaithful to her husband? She loved him, that she was sure of, disloyalty had never been a part of her psyche and she would gladly give her life to save him but could no longer deny the feelings her body kept throwing into her mind. They were powerful, or perhaps it was her subconscious mind controlling her body, she wasn't sure and wished they'd go away.

She went to see John. "I heard you coughing, anything I can get you."

"I'm good, but you are not yourself. You haven't been yourself for a few weeks, what's wrong, love?"

"I'm fine, I'm just worried about you."

"You're tense, make an appointment to see the doctor, you look run down. Ask him for a tonic," placing the oxygen mask over his face, shooing her away.

"I'm sleeping with you tonight, I don't care how much you cough."

He was in his pyjamas; she wore a long nightgown and tucked her body next to him, rested her head on his shoulder and kissed him gently on the cheek while rubbing her hand across his neck, slowly moving downward. Finding his pyjamas opening, she held his flaccid penis and lightly cupped his testicles, sending shivers through her body. She unbuttoned his top, kissed his neck and moved her head down toward his nipples, swirling her tongue around, moving lower, kissing his stomach, his abdomen. Holding his penis, she kissed the top of it.

He turned. "No, don't do that, you know I've never liked you doing it."

"John, please, I need to do this, I need to give you pleasure."

"Nancy!" Her body froze.

He tried to pull her head up. "What are you doing?"

"Let me do it or at least try. I have never done it before."

"Stop! You're being disgusting. Act as a married woman and not some whore." Reaching for a handkerchief, he violently coughed, gasping for breath and spat black phlegm into it and placed the oxygen mask over his face. After a few moments, he pulled the mask off and stared at her. "What were you trying to do, are you turning into some kind of sex maniac? You'll be asking me to do the same to you next. What's gotten into you?"

Nothing had gotten into her in a long time. "John, I'm sorry, I felt lonely and wanted to do something to show you how much I love you."

"That's not the way, any woman who enjoys doing that is two cents away from being a prostitute." His voice hard, face red with rage.

First, he called her whore then prostitute, did he really think she was like that? "You don't mean that. I was only trying to get you hard to help you. To give us a little enjoyment, to enjoy each other's body as we used to a few years back."

"You've never tried to put it in your mouth before and I'll never do it to you, the very thought turns my stomach. Get a grip of yourself. I may be ill but I still have my values and yours are going downhill. If your father were alive, he'd disown you as his daughter.

"I haven't been myself since the boys have gone. It won't happen again." She placed her head on his shoulder, her arms around his waist and drifted off to sleep only to be woken two hours later by John coughing. She loved this man so much. They had shared so much together over the years and wished she could take his pain away but his life was wasting before her eyes and she felt ashamed thinking about sex.

The pit had taken its toll on his body, crawling, digging coal since he was fourteen so they could have food on the table. The war and aftermath had been hard on everyone but it was over and the economy was getting stronger. Pity John's health couldn't also improve but that had gone and they must live in the now and not with the if only and she determined to do nothing more to fuel his ire. She'd never had a penis in her mouth nor a mouth near her intimate parts. She'd read an article which said most men liked it and she wanted to see what it felt like but it proved a grave mistake and she needed to curb her licentious thoughts and felt profound guilt, which brought tears to her eyes. She was selfish to be thinking of sex when her loving husband was battling to stay alive but try as she could, the feeling wouldn't go away and contemplated seeing her doctor to ask for some type of medication to stem her lustful thoughts.

The following day, while finishing the washing, Joan called around for a cup of tea and asked how John was doing. Nancy burst into tears. Joan placed her arm around her shoulders, hugged her until she was calm and waited for her to say something. "I miss my boys. I need them here not the other side of the world. I may never see them again. John is getting worse and I'm at a loss to know what to do. I miss what we had, I tried last night but... Am I a bad person, Joan?"