When he released her he smiled smugly at her expression. He then reached behind her, undid the buttons on the waistband of her skirt, and tugged the skirt down until it pooled around her knees. The blouse came off next. She knelt before him scandalously clad in her thin drawers, dark stockings, and ribbon-fronted camisole. It took him only a heartbeat to undo the tiny ribbons, and as the garment gaped open to her waist, his manhood surged as his eyes feasted on her beautiful dark breasts in the moonlight. He ran his palm over one satin bud, then the other. He kissed each one in turn, then raised to kiss her lips. "Remember the morning I promised to take you in a variety of ways?"
He didn't wait for a reply, his hands began roaming sensuously over her behind, squeezing the backs of her thighs and journeying up to tease her breast before sliding down again to her hips. "Do you remember?"
He circled hotly over the shrine between her spread, stockinged thighs and she'd no idea how on earth he expected her to reply. She moaned as he boldly slid his hand inside her drawers.
"You're supposed to answer, not moan..." he reminded her softly.
She'd gone without his touch for so long, the initial feel of his hand pleasing her so magnificently had her already tightening on the edges of release. "Yes, I remember..."
Release hovered but she didn't want to die the little death so soon. She wanted the sensations to build even higher, wanted to let the pleasure of his hands continue to make her bloom and flow. His dalliance tempted her damp warmth with increased abandon, circling, and tenderly plucking, making her hips rock sensually and her body's desire to gain release harder and harder to stave off.
She was almost beyond control. Through eyes lidded by the haze of passion she saw him watching her, his own gaze diamond-hard. She heard him say huskily, "Don't fight it, princess, let yourself go. I'll give you more, I promise..."
And on those words she exploded with such shattering force, she shook as his fingers continued to stroke. She buckled under the soaring impact, then buried her strangled cries into his chest as the little death swept her away.
When she could move again he helped her out of her drawers, then rose to undress. Vivid sat on the settee and marveled at his stature as he stood nude in the moonlight. She wished she had a gift for sketching so she could put on paper the powerful grace in his arms and shoulders, the trim waist, and the sculpted chest. Because he would be her husband, she would even be bold enough to render the beauty of his readiness presenting itself so gloriously.
She reached out and closed her hand around warm hard velvet and felt the familiar throbbing. Holding his power rekindled her own desire, as did seeing the passion on his handsome face as her hand began to move lazily.
Their eyes mated hotly and she heard him say, "You keep that up and you're going to miss out on my adding to your...medical training."
His last few words had been uttered in a voice, barely above a whisper. She smiled the smile of a woman who had her man in thrall and said, "Well, we wouldn't want that to happen...would we?"
She leaned forward and treated him to the same loving he had a habit of lavishing upon her, then as she heard his soft groans of pleasure, leaned back and reveled in the sight of his closed eyes and muscle-tensed stance. "You were saying?" she questioned, then treated him to one last lingering lick before lifting her eyes.
It took him a moment, but Nate finally managed to reply, "I was saying you are sometimes too vivid for your own good."
She smiled.
He sat, saying, "Come let me introduce you to something I think you'll enjoy."
And she did, immensely. She'd no idea love could be made while a woman sat astride a man, but the wonder of it soon passed, replaced by the feel of his desire impaling her so magnificently. The positioning made for an erotic, languid climb back up to pleasure's peak and they took turns setting the pace every step of the way.
Nate reached the pinnacle first. Gripping her hips, he poured out his soul and she spiraled over the edge.
Chapter 22
Vivid slept late the next morning. No one minded. Everyone figured she still needed to recover from the fire. Only she and Nate knew her tiredness stemmed from riding a Thunder God until dawn.
Sara James came by to visit one afternoon a few days later, and Vivid was so glad to see her, she hugged her as tightly as she could manage.
Sara looked around the quiet front room and asked, "Is Miss Gail here?"
“No, she and my mother have gone to Kalamazoo for a few days to do some shopping."
"I'm sorry I missed them," Sara said. She had a yellowed handkerchief in her hand and spent a few minutes fidgeting with it while Vivid waited to hear what else Sara might have to say.
"I came by to thank you for all you've done."
Vivid could feel her heart breaking all over again at the remembrance of Sara's double loss. "You've been very strong, Sara."
"It hasn't been easy. That's the other reason I came today, to say goodbye."
"You're going away?"
"Yes, down to Tennessee. I've been staying with Kate, but my uncle's a preacher outside Knoxville and he and his congregation are trying to buy some land in Kansas. They plan on migrating in the spring and I've decided to go with them."
"Then I wish you happiness, Sara. Is your husband, Quentin, going along?"
"I haven't seen him since we buried little Quentin. Can't say I miss him any, not anymore. Last I seen him he was cursing you and me both, holding us to blame for little Quentin's death. I don't know where he is and don't much care."
Vivid then told Sara that she had seen Quentin at the lacrosse field.
Sara hadn't seen her husband but when she heard about the fire she expressed her condolences. "Good thing you were able to get out."
"Yes, too bad we haven't been able to find the culprit so far."
"Well, as the reverend always says, the Lord works in mysterious ways. You're a good person, Dr. Lancaster, if you weren't you would have burned up."
Vivid smiled warmly at the genuine tone of Sara's words, then listened as the young woman added, "Wait and see, the person who set that fire will be found out, especially with Mr. Nate on his trail. It won't be long."
"Well, we do have what we believe is the arsonist's shirt. Nate's been showing it around the Grove, but no one recognizes it."
"Can I see it? I probably can't help but it can't hurt to make sure."
Vivid went into the study. Using Nate's hidden key she retrieved the shirt from a locked strongbox in his desk drawer, then carried the shirt back out to show it to Sara.
Sara stared at the material, slightly confused, as Vivid held it out, and asked, "Turn it around so I can see the back."
Vivid complied, pointing out, "Miss Edna has sold hundreds of these flannel shirts over the years. It could belong to anyone."
Then Sara said coldly, "Not anyone. Just Quentin. Hand it here, let me make sure."
Vivid felt the chills race over her body as she passed the shirt to Sara's outstretched hand.
"See," Sara said, pointing to a spot on the shirt's back. "He ripped it on a nail in the barn wall. This is where I stitched the tear."
Vivid saw the stitches. They were fine enough to be overlooked unless one knew they were there. "Is Quentin capable of doing something so awful?"
"Quentin will do anything if someone pays him enough."
Sara took one last look at the shirt and gave it back to Vivid, who asked, "So you haven't seen him?"
"Nope. Like I said, haven't seen him since the day my son died, but that doesn't mean he can't be still around. Have Mr. Nate ask the barkeep over at Miss Maddie's old place. If anyone has seen Quentin, he has; they're old drinking mates."
Sara then offered Vivid a short list of other people and places that might help them discover Quentin's whereabouts. "I want to say I can't believe he would do something so horrible, but I know he would, especially if he was paid to."
Vivid asked, "Sara, do you think someone did?"
&nbs
p; She shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. Like I said, he was mad at both of us. Could be he thought of burning you out on his own, but not likely. He's never been smart enough to plan nothing, at least not since I've known him. What are you going to do, Dr. Lancaster?"
"Wait until Nate and the others return and hear what they think, but in the meantime I'll see what I can learn from these names and places you've given me."
"You be careful," Sara warned.
"Don't worry," Vivid replied. "That last encounter proved a bit close for my tastes. I never want to be in such danger again."
They spoke for a few minutes more, then Sara had to depart. They shared another long, fierce hug of goodbye, and Sara asked, "May I write to you, Dr. Lancaster?"
"Only if you agree to address me as Viveca."
Sara smiled with what looked like shy elation and said, "I'd be pleased to."
"You know, Sara, according to Nate and the Committee men, over the next few years many others of the race may follow you and your uncle's congregation to Kansas to form new towns. So yes, write me so we may gauge their progress and yours.''
They parted and Vivid waved until Sara and her wagon disappeared from sight.
Vivid reentered the house and gathered up the cups and other items from the tea. She couldn't help speculating on Sara's startling identification of the red shirt. Could Quentin really be so distraught over the death of his son that he wanted to burn her alive, or had he been paid by someone? Like Sara, Vivid had no way of knowing.
Nate and the men returned late the next day. They were startled by the news of the shirt's owner.
"Do you think he'll be easy to locate?" Vivid asked, looking into Nate's hard eyes.
"The longer it takes me to find him, the angrier I'm going to be. So for his sake, I hope he shows up soon."
Once word got around that the shirt's owner had been identified, the people of the Grove began combing the woods for Quentin James. It took only three days.
Nate found him lying on the Grayson front porch one morning, trussed up in a large burlap seed bag that had been secured at the neck with knotted rope. Only Quentin's head was visible above the bag as he flopped around like a landed fish. The gag on his mouth kept his angry curses from filling the air.
Nate called for everyone to come and look. Vivid crowded around, as did everyone else. Quentin flopped more intensely as they all stood gawking, the muffled curses rising, but he wasn't going anywhere. They all knew that.
Magic piped up, “Looks like someone pinned a note on him, Pa."
Sure enough, under Quentin's bouncing chin a note had been attached.
Quentin tried to keep Nate from retrieving the piece of brown paper, but Nate planted his big booted foot atop Quentin's waist, only inches away from the most vulnerable portion of his anatomy, and he stilled immediately.
Nate smiled as he leaned down and snatched the note free.
"What's it say?" Joseph Lancaster asked.
"It says, 'I found this varmint in my barn last night trying to run off with Chester. When you're done skinning him, send him back.' It's signed Hiram Farley."
"Hooray for Hiram," Abigail said with a smile.
"Who's Chester?" Francesca asked curiously.
"Hiram's rooster," Adam explained with a laugh. "Much as Hiram loves that ornery old cock, we might want to look and see if Quentin's been gelded down inside that bag."
Nate looked down at his daughters and said, “Majestic and Satin, isn't it about time you headed off to school?''
Magic dropped her head, then uttered slowly, "Oh, I suppose so." It was plain the girls found the idea of attending school today far less interesting than the man on the porch. However, Vivid went back into the house with her soon-to-be daughters and helped them gather their papers and books. "Think of it this way," she told them, "you'll be able to tell everyone at school Quentin has been found. None of your classmates know."
"You're right, Viveca, but I'd still rather be here today."
"I know, but school's very important."
The sisters reluctantly agreed, then trudged out to the road to await Vernon and the ride to school.
Back on the front porch, Vivid found only her mother and Abigail. The man and the bagged Quentin were gone.
"They took him to the barn," Abigail said.
"To chat," Francesca added.
The chat took only a short while.
Quentin had been hired by Evan Cole. Paid to burn the Grayson home, he had let his grudge against Vivid override his instructions.
Quentin said Cole had been in the area for weeks but that he didn't know the man's present whereabouts. Vernon took Quentin to Niles the next morning, to be jailed there until his trial.
The presidential election intruded upon the search for Cole as the men of the Grove cast their votes. Black men had been given the vote in Michigan in 1867 and had always voted Republican. Like their brethren in the South, they stood solidly behind the party of Mr. Lincoln, even though President Grant's refusal to send troops into the blood-soaked counties of Mississippi had left many Southern Republicans at the mercy of the Redemptionists.
The Centennial year's pre-election wranglings had been rife with backroom deals, political scandals, and Republican party infighting. For the first time since 1860 the Republicans began the year with no clear candidate to represent the party as presidential nominee. Former House Speaker James G. Blaine, one of the most popular Republican leaders, seemed almost assured of gaining the nomination until last April, when his name became linked to one of many influence-peddling scandals prevalent in Washington, and within the Grant administration. As Blaine's reputation went up in flames the liberal wing of the party called for a reformer to lead the ticket, thus canceling out the hopes of men such as Roscoe Conkling and Oliver P. Morton. The liberals wanted Secretary of the Treasury Benjamin H. Bristow, but Bristow's investigation of the Whiskey Rings had revealed the involvement of President Grant's personal secretary Orville H. Babcock, and the red-faced party bosses were adamantly opposed.
In the end the Republican name on the ballot turned out to be that of Ohio Governor Rutherford B. Hayes, described as "colorless" by some when compared to Lincoln and Grant, and termed "a third-rate nonentity" by Henry Adams.
Francesca's orders of medical books, supplies, and instruments to replace the ones Vivid had lost in the fire began to arrive the day after the election. Vivid stored some of the boxed goods in the Grayson cellar and the rest at the church. Adam and Nate promised to erect a clinic for her once the weather broke in the spring, but until then she planned on practicing out of the church activity room and from her office in town.
Satin and Magic were now inseparable. Satin had taken to mimicking her older sister s every move. She seldom wore dresses anymore, preferring to romp in the denims Vivid had given her as a gift for her birthday. She could now climb trees, fish, and snare rabbits. She'd even gotten over her fear of Hector and had joined Magic and the big hawk on many of their adventures in the woods behind the Crowley place. The watchful eyes of the family and neighbors were on the children wherever they roamed.
It was Saturday and a beautiful crisp November day when the girls went out early in the morning to see Mr. Crowley's new kittens. By late in the day they had not returned. Vivid could feel ice spreading over her heart. Where were they?
Nate immediately went out to look for them, as did Adam Crowley, Eli, and Vivid's father. Vivid, needing to do something besides wait, grabbed her coat and medical bag, hitched up Michigan, and with her mother, went to fetch Maddie and the dogs.
Maddie's yard was eerily quiet as Vivid and France-sea approached the gate.
"Do you think she and the dogs are out for a walk?" asked Francesca.
Vivid had no answer as she glanced around the dark yard. The sense of something being wrong was strong enough for Vivid to touch. Vivid knocked on Maddie's door. When there were no sounds of movement, Vivid knocked again, harder this time, while Francesca peered into the
windows.
Vivid raised her fist to pound again but stopped when she heard Francesca gasp. "Viveca, Maddie's on the floor, bleeding. We must get to her!"
Vivid pushed her weight against the door but it was locked from the inside. She frantically glanced around for something to aid her in forcing the door and saw a pile of split wood stacked off to the side. Vivid grabbed a log she hoped would be heavy enough and hurled it into the panes of the big front window.
Vivid and Francesca gingerly climbed through the gaping hole and moved immediately to Maddie's side. Even in the silvery shadows Vivid could see the blood pooled near Maddie's side.
"We need light, Mama." Vivid quickly stripped off her coat, then leaned over her friend's chest in search of a heartbeat, while Francesca hastily lit lamps.
The light showed that she'd been beaten very badly but she was still alive. Her face was a mess of bruises and cuts, her lips split and swollen. Vivid could feel the tears stinging her eyes as she whispered, "Maddie, who did this to you?" Maddie's eyes were both battered shut and there were knife slashes on the sleeves of her buckskins and on the backs of her hands, but Vivid was more concerned with the serious wounds in her side.
Francesca came out of the kitchen carrying a basin of water and a clean cloth. Vivid sent her back for a large knife, which she applied to the seams of Maddie's buckskin shirt. When she peeled the material back she saw that the wound was serious. Maddie began to stir, and Vivid, gently cleaning the wound, said, "Maddie, I'm here. Just lie still."
Maddie moaned and twisted her head slowly. She murmured, "Viveca..."