“You’re thinking again,” he said. And: “I can fix that.”
He moved her on the bed, nudging gently as he tasted and rubbed and suckled, her flesh pebbling and flushing hot with his attention. Then oddly enough she was lying crosswise on the bed with her legs dangling over the side, pillows under her head and shoulders. Daniel stood before her and, bending at the waist, he covered her. Hip to breast she felt him hovering there, with his weight on his feet. It left his good arm free for things other than holding himself over her.
And he made excellent use of that good right arm and hand and every finger on it. Except he hadn’t yet touched her where the ache was worst. She was wondering if she dare ask him for such a thing when his hand moved up her thigh into the soft folds of her sex. At the same moment he drew her nipple into his mouth and suckled so hard that something deep in her belly flexed and began to flow. The sound she made shocked her but she could no more be silent than she could stop breathing.
There was no place to put her legs; she drew her knees up and then dropped them, ran her heels down his thighs rock hard with tensed muscle and she realized first, that he had lost his breeches somewhere along the way and second, that she had wrapped her legs around him and his sex was pressed up against hers.
At that moment he let her nipple go with a soft plop and she saw down the length of her body to his. Her new husband, naked and fully aroused. Clearly what they were about to do must be possible, but now the mechanics struck her as absurd.
“Dear Lord.” She put her head back and closed her eyes. Then Daniel was beside her, flat on his back.
“I meant to distract you,” he said.
She burped a small laugh. “I have this image in mind, of somebody trying to put a cucumber through a buttonhole.”
She pressed a hand to her mouth, and giggled anyway.
Daniel lifted himself up over her on his good arm, his expression blank. Then his mouth twitched and they were laughing, both of them, like loons.
She said, “Is it hopeless, do you think?”
Daniel cupped her face. His smile was so open and sincere she had to love him just for that. He said, “I’ll do my best to get you ready.”
She wanted to ask what he meant, how it was possible to make her ready and what that had to do with the pain she knew was coming. But then they had talked enough, and Daniel’s expression was so focused and intent that she was drawn in and curious and eager, less worried about pain than she was fearful of disappointing him.
At first the lightest of touches, nothing more than the brushing of his mouth against her neck and cheek and brow. Then his teeth nipped at her earlobe, worried her lower lip. Before she realized what she was about, she reached up, grabbed one earlobe, and brought his mouth to hers so she could kiss him properly, a tender kiss that made her whole body soften and open to him.
Because she did want him; that was the simplest truth.
He moved, his mouth sliding down her chest, back to her breasts where he lingered until she was gasping, and down farther and farther until he was kneeling on the floor, his head buried between her legs.
Her breath hitched and caught as he spread her flesh with two curious fingers and then kissed her, hot and openmouthed, where she had been expecting an invasion of another kind.
Martha moved under his touch, twisted and opened, wrapped herself around him.
She was trying to catch her breath when he got to his feet to stand between her legs and press himself against her. Arched over her, he whispered into her ear, his voice deep and sweet, every word as powerful as his touch. He told her things she never realized she wanted to hear, about her own body and the feel of her skin and the taste of her. Salty sweet, like the sea.
She said, “I’m ready now. I think I’m ready.” That she could blush in this situation was a mystery, but she felt her color climbing.
He said, “I’ll be the judge of that.” And he went back to his work, though she was already dissolving like sugar in hot water.
And when it was time, when the urge to lift her hips to welcome him was irresistible, then he came to her. Sealed their marriage by penetrating her body with his own, stretched her to the bursting point and filled her to overflowing.
The pain was sharp, upward-spiraling, all-consuming, and then it fell away to a throbbing ache. He inhaled her cry and spoke to her, his voice reedy with the strain, and breathless. Hold and wait and feel me. Feel me inside you.
With his forehead pressed to hers she could not hide what she was feeling, or ignore the things she saw in his face. Concern, worry, and a flickering of pleasure that caught and flared. His whole body trembled but he held himself still while she shifted and adjusted herself around him. He throbbed within her like a heart grown suddenly too large.
When the pain began to fade Martha let a long hitching breath go. She realized then that his hand was on her breast, cupping it as gently as an egg. One finger traced the lower curve and then he opened his hand and touched her nipple with his palm. A strange sound came from her own throat and he dropped his head and drew that nipple into his mouth. Her muscles began to twitch and spasm around him and her hips rose of their own volition as if to ask for more.
He pressed deeper and deeper still and Martha cried out not in pain so much as welcome.
He moved inside her, and the dance began.
When the clock struck eleven Martha startled awake. Daniel, sitting cross-legged beside her on the bed, watched it happen.
His own sleep had lasted maybe a quarter hour, and then the pain had roused him as effectively as a sharp stick to the ribs. It was the way of things, and any vague idea that this time might be different had to be put away.
While he waited for Martha to wake he tried to sort through the logistics of getting back to Paradise and the problem of the weather, what the best way would be to come face-to-face with Jemima, where they would live, if Martha would want to be so far from the village. These things occupied his mind but it was the sight of Martha asleep that eased him as the pain ebbed.
Her plait had come undone and her hair was spread around her and over one breast. The rise and fall of her breathing was enough to make his flesh stir, impervious, apparently, to both pain and common sense. At least when it came to Martha.
He had had many years’ practice subduing his natural urges and he drew on that now. It would be brutish to expect more of her, as tender as she must be. Hours in the saddle would only make that worse. It might be days before he could touch her again. Long after they were back in Paradise and had taken up housekeeping.
When he woke in the morning she would be there, and when he came through the door at the end of the day, she would be there. For as long as they lived they would sleep in the same bed and eat together at the same table.
On the long ride to Johnstown Daniel had asked himself if he was sure about what he was doing. If maybe he had a picture of Martha in his mind that had nothing to do with the truth, out of loneliness and the need to have a woman in his bed. But then, he knew where to find companionship when the need was unmanageable. Twice a year, at most, he had sought that kind of release. At Good Pasture there was a woman who welcomed him warmly, a woman he liked, but one he rarely thought about in the long months between visits. The time they spent together had never been anything like the last few hours with Martha, who was unschooled and anxious but who came to him without hesitation. She had been through a lot in the past weeks, but she always held tight to her courage and her wit.
A cucumber through a buttonhole.
He pressed his mouth hard, determined not to wake her by laughing.
—
Martha woke and was immediately aware of her surroundings. Daniel was sitting beside her, naked, which brought to mind what had been going on in this bed. Tentatively she flexed muscles to see which of them could be relied upon.
Everything was sore, but the worst was the deep burning itch that reminded her of the obvious: She was well and truly married.
/>
She sat up. “You’ve been watching me again,” she said. “Second thoughts?”
He leaned forward and kissed her. “Not me. You?”
“Of course not. But then I got the better deal. I got you and all the rest of the Bonners, and you got—well, you know who you got.”
She was babbling, but he dealt with that by kissing her again. The weight of his arm around her shoulders was so comforting, she could almost hear the unspoken words.
I’m here. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.
He said, “I’m not worried about the baggage that comes along for the ride.”
“Oh, Jemima would like that, being called baggage.” She tried to hold on to her smile but it faltered.
Daniel touched his forehead to hers. He said, “She can’t hurt you anymore.”
Martha wanted to believe it was so, but she would need time before she could trust her good fortune.
They were having a conversation about what came next when there was a pounding at the downstairs door. It was at that moment Martha realized that the storm wasn’t going away. In fact, the sky flickered with lightning.
Daniel raised one brow and inclined his head to say she should stay where she was. Then he pulled on his breeks and went down the stairs three at a time to answer the door. Martha, wrapped in her night rail, came out onto the landing.
The boy who stood there was perhaps Birdie’s age. He wore an old wool tricorn that was too big for him, water rolling off it in a steady stream. He was saying, “A message from the old Mrs. Allen, sir. She said it was important.”
“Go on, then, I’m listening.”
The boy straightened.
“Mrs. Allen says, don’t you think about setting off for home in the middle of a storm. She says that Michael will stay put in Little Falls until it’s safe to travel, and so should you. Stay here, not Little Falls. At least I think that’s what she meant. Why would she tell you to stay put and go to Little Falls as well?”
“I understand what she meant,” Daniel said. “Go on.”
“There’s food and firewood enough, and you aren’t to worry about the animals because Henry will take care of all that. She wants you to stay another night so you can meet up with Michael tomorrow. And I’m to take back word what you want to do but hurry if you would, Mr. Bonner, I saw a cow struck dead in a thunderstorm last spring and I don’t care to find out what it felt like.”
Daniel glanced up at Martha. The idea of staying another night appealed, certainly more than going out into the weather. She nodded, and Daniel sent the boy on his way with his answer.
Before he could close the door, the boy was back again.
“I forgot something. Mrs. Allen says I should say about the hip bath in the workroom. Please help yourself to towels and whatever else serves.”
Martha said, “Bath?”
37
Ethan and Callie ate breakfast together at nine in the hotel dining room. She studied the food on her plate as though it were a painting, and picked up her fork with reluctance. She had done her best with soap and water, but her scrubbed hands and face only made the traveling dress she had worn yesterday look worse.
He had hoped that she would be rested enough to talk about what was before them, but now Ethan doubted it could be done. He was wondering how best to proceed when she looked up at him.
“About the boy she named for my father,” she said. “He could be anyone, an orphan she picked up off the street.”
“True.”
“I don’t believe he’s my brother. I think it’s one of her tricks.”
“You may be right,” Ethan said.
“That’s her plan,” Callie said firmly. “If she can’t get everything, she’ll get at least half, through the boy.”
“And the good news about that,” Ethan said, “is the nature of the law. They can file a claim on the estate, but that’s the kind of thing that can take years to make its way through the court system.”
Callie snorted softly. “And in the meantime she’ll be sitting there like a spider, just waiting. I don’t know why I agreed to this plan; she will have her way in the end and there’s nothing you can do to stop her.”
Her tone was so bitter and fraught that at first Ethan couldn’t think how to reply. She was prickly and always had been, but her temper was always countered by a sense of humor and love of the absurd. Now she seemed to be on the verge of something much darker.
Maybe, Ethan reminded himself, because she had no illusions about Jemima. Jemima knew no bounds and accepted no limits. And of course the boy might be who she said he was. Callie’s half brother. Her only blood kin in the world.
He said, “If he is your brother, he’s your last tie to your father.”
Her expression softened. He had said aloud the thing she wouldn’t allow herself to hope for.
“If he is,” she said. “If he is my half brother, I don’t want her to have the raising of him.”
Ethan studied the pattern of bluebells on his plate and tried to think of a way to tell her the truth. No court of law would take a son away from a mother to be raised by an underage sister.
She said, “If I were married, it would be easier to make the case, wouldn’t it?”
“It would make many things easier,” Ethan said. “But not everything.”
She went away into her thoughts, her gaze fixed on a point somewhere behind him. Finally she raised her gaze to his.
“When would we go to see Mr. Cady?”
“In the afternoon,” Ethan said. “If that suits you.”
In the long silence that followed he was almost sure she had decided against the whole plan.
“And what do we do in the meantime?”
“Shopping,” Ethan said. “We go shopping.”
She started to object, and then stopped herself. Callie had lost everything in the flood, and so for the past weeks she had been relying on borrowed clothes, ill fitting and much the worse for wear. He knew that as much as she disliked the idea of a trip to the shops, she was too practical to deny the need.
“All right, then,” she said. “Let’s go.”
—
They borrowed an umbrella from the innkeeper and made their way across the cobblestones to the dry goods store, trying to avoid puddles and mud and only partially succeeding.
Just before they reached it, Callie said, “I wonder where they could have gone.”
Ethan was spared the necessity of a reply by Mr. Turner, who came to the door to welcome them, with his wife standing just beyond. The Turners were always very happy to see Ethan and they greeted Callie too, as though she were dressed like a lady of means rather than a farmwife in difficulties.
With a minimum of fuss Mr. and Mrs. Turner took Ethan’s list—he saw Callie glance at it suspiciously as he handed it over—and began to gather things together. Mrs. Turner paused now and then to cast an experienced eye over Callie to gauge her size, and in a very short time the counter was piled high with chemises, stays, vests, petticoats, two pairs of fashionable drawers that made Callie’s eyebrows peak; six pairs of cotton stockings, six of wool and one of silk, garters, a substantial shawl, a hooded mantle, a pair of light slippers for indoors, a pair of fancy leather boots such as a lady wore on the street, another pair of solid work boots, neckerchiefs, and gloves.
The gowns were the most difficult, as Ethan knew would be the case.
She said, “I have no use for finery like this when I’m in the orchard or cider house.”
From the corner of his eye he saw the vaguest hint of surprise pass over Mrs. Turner’s face.
“Mrs. Turner, we’ll need three very simple workday gowns, of solid construction. What do you have that will fit Miss Wilde?”
There wasn’t much of a choice in ready-made gowns, but they seemed to suit Callie’s sense of what was appropriate. Sturdy osnaburg in muted colors, without ornamentation, cut unfashionably full in arm and shoulder. Made for a woman who ran a household and kept her
own garden.
“And that one.” Ethan stepped forward to touch one of the gowns that had been set aside. A simple printed summer-weight cotton, pale yellow with a scattering of small flowers and trailing greenery. There was a simple ruffled collar and a green plaid ribbon to go with it, and a matching straw hat with a scoop brim lined in pale yellow.
“I don’t need it,” Callie said. “Three gowns are enough.”
“Nevertheless,” Ethan said calmly.
Callie’s expression darkened, and then she seemed to tire of the conversation. She walked away to examine buckets on the other end of the crowded store.
“If you would please have these things delivered to Miss Wilde’s room at the White Horse right away,” Ethan said. “We have another list.”
They bought split-oak baskets, barrels and spigots, buckets, shovels, rakes of three different sizes, pitchforks, a sturdy shovel, two tin washtubs, a gross of gallon jugs, rope and wire, nails, saws, axes, a turnscrew, mallets and hammers, a ladder, and a great variety of other tools and supplies that had been lost in the flood. Halfway through this process Callie seemed to come awake, and some color came into her cheeks.
Ethan said, “I think a Franklin stove would be a good addition to the cider house.”
She turned to look at him, and there was not a hint of anger or cynicism in her face. “Ethan. You will bankrupt yourself.”
“Hardly. Mr. Turner, will you make sure that the stove comes on the wagon with the rest of the supplies?”
Her mouth pursed, as if she had to resist the urge to argue with him.
Ethan said, “You could go back to the inn, if you like. I have a few more matters to settle, but I will join you for lunch.”
It was still raining, but Callie took her new umbrella and after studying the mechanism for a moment, opened it and went out into the street to make her way back to the White Horse. With a certain girlish pleasure she stepped hard in every puddle she passed.
Herlinde Metzler, employed in the kitchen of Mrs. Louise Kummer’s boardinghouse until that substantial lady was felled by apoplexy, was busy in the scullery at the White Horse when she was called to the front desk. She had joined the staff just two weeks earlier, but the innkeeper and his wife seemed to be satisfied with her work, and thus far she got along well enough with the other servants. A better place than the one she had had with Mrs. Kummer. More than she had dared hope for.