Black Locust Letters (17 page)

With
that, he looked to the others, who nodded, and he gave the letter
back to Betty. When she took it, she sensed an air of finality
about them, so she voiced her appreciation and left, going back the
way she came.

Her
heart trembled against her rib cage, and for a horrifying moment,
she saw herself as Exica and Slim as Tate. What a fool she had
been, to put so much thought into him, after he'd proven himself to
be made from the same mould as her father. Yet, who was she to
blindly let a story—for that was all it was, a story—to mislead her
life?

For
some time, at least five more races, she milled about the crowd,
losing track of her own thoughts in the cheers and cries of the
crowd as the urged on the hot rods. She sat, mostly numb and
exhausted, and lost herself to the vibrations through the metal
bleachers, the vigor of the crowd, and decided to leave when five
people down front started a fist fight which threatened to ripple
up the bleachers.

While the crowd was occupied trying to break up the fight,
Betty slipped away and followed the shadows towards her bicycle,
feeling exhausted and glad that she could soon be home in bed where
she could warm herself up.

She'd nearly convinced herself that the stories were
that—stories and not secret messages—when she heard voices around
the other side of a moving van parked between her and the bike
rack.

Remembering the way the fight had broken out over seemingly
nothing, Betty decided to remain hidden until the tense voices were
gone, but while she stayed there, she realized that she couldn't go
back, either, without getting involved in the brawl which seemed to
have spread instead of calmed. And while she stood there, shivering
a little in the night, Betty overheard their louder
words.

“
I
told you I can do my job. It's what I'm known for, isn't it?” the
voice was male but the frustration in it was the most noticeable
characteristic. Betty instantly felt she was eavesdropping and
glanced nervously back towards the bleachers.

“
I'm
not questioning if you can do it. I'm asking if you
will.”

There came an angry protest, something that she couldn't make
out, from a third party, which was cut off by the second, a woman.
“Hush, you. I'm talking to him.”

The
night was chill, and even with the loud speakers, the brawl, and
the cars in the distance, she could hear gravel crunch underfoot,
so she didn't dare to make a noise while this other quarrel was
going down.

“
What do you have to say to me? Will you take your duties
seriously, or will I have to assume duty over your
watch?”

There was silence in answer. The woman pressed on, “The Thin
Man, for sky's sake! Even you know this is true, not just some lie
spread about.”

“
I
will do it, if need be.”

As
though Betty had stepped into cold water, she realized with
astonishment that she knew that voice. Betty just didn't want to
believe it.

“
Say
that again,” the woman challenged. “Say it like you mean
it.”

“
You
know full well I can and will silence any voice. Even a pretty
one,” said a man who was undeniably Clarkin.

With
that, the woman snorted and strode off towards the bleachers, not
looking back where she would have seen Betty hiding in the shadow
next to the van's mirror. Betty waited with bated breath as the
brunette moved out of her vision, then the same happened to the
other male, a man built like a mouse and with all its scurrying
tendencies.

Of
Clarkin, she saw no sign, even when minutes passed and she finally
walked, pretending to be calm, to her bicycle. It was as though he
had never been there, and as Betty rode home, she felt the sting of
betrayal, although she shouldn't have counted on his loyalty to
begin with.

Betty sat in her drawing room crocheting a new set of mittens
using the spun wool that Liza had bought for her when Betty heard a
faint whistle in the street.

Her
heart stilled and while her head placed the whistle, her hands
misplaced the next stitch. Irritated, Betty tugged on the string,
only to have it bind itself into a tight little knot. The
frustrations with her father and the nearness of Christmas made her
anxious and crabby, particularly as the neighbours had brought home
a small tree not long ago.

The
whistle would pass by, she told herself firmly and tried to pass by
this one stitch, thinking that one mistake wouldn't be noticed amid
the other rows. She could hide it.

Then
the whistler came nearer, and she heard her gate squeal. She froze,
her nerves quivering. Slowly, she put her work down on the coffee
table. A shadow fell over her window, then came a light, brisk rap
at her door. Betty took her time finding the keys and unlocking the
door, half-hoping he would go away.

Then
she opened the door, and there Clarkin stood, a slight smile on his
lips, snow on his shoulders and on the fedora he held in the same
hand as a bushy wreath speckled with holly berries. His eyes
skimmed up her shawl-clad shoulders and lingered on her lips, his
dark lashes flicking with the motion of his eyes. He seemed utterly
at ease, as though he hadn't disappeared from her life for
weeks.

Betty's heart thudded, and she resisted the urge to either
scream him off the porch or throw her arms around him. Heat seared
her cheeks and she realized she was blushing again.

“
Decapitaria Clarkin Hannah.”

Clarkin quirked a brow. “No more first-names?”

He
lifted the wreath and stepped inside, his body filling the petite
entryway as he first hung the wreath on her door, then closed it
and took off his boots.

Betty's jaw dropped and her pulse soared—then her indignant
objections caught in her throat as he passed a smaller bag into her
hands.

“
Hot
chocolate, coffee, and the best of China's tea.”

Betty said stiffly, “What are you doing?”

Clarkin ignored her question and took one of her hands,
rubbing his thumb over the back, his eyes serious. “Won't you
accept my apologies for my absence as of late?”

Betty pursed her lips. “Hannah. Why are you here?”

Eyes
searching hers, Clarkin stepped nearer. “Would you send me out into
the cold?”

“
I
ought to,” Betty snapped, pulling her hand out of his, looking away
but not moving. She would not drop a hint of what she'd overheard.
It would do no good to let him know what she knew. Let him think
she was mad at him for neglecting to pay her attention.

The
tips of his fingers touched her chin, turning her face towards him.
“I am sorry, I know I shouldn't have left you like that.” His voice
had gone from melodic to low and raspy. “I have missed you. I
didn't want this any more than you did, but I couldn't walk away
from it. Though I tried.”

One
thumb flicked over her lips then slid back along her jaw to cradle
her head, and the other hand encircled her waist and drew her to
him. Her breath shuddered out of her lips, and she wrapped her own
arms around him, entwining one hand into his short hair and
wrapping the other around his shoulders. His lips covered hers. A
stifled moan left her body and he responded, drawing her closer
still so their bodies pressed one against the other.

Their kisses grew hot and wet, and her breasts became hard
and heavy, and she pressed them against his chest, wishing that he
would caress her. Long-repressed desire flooded her senses, and she
eagerly felt his tongue on hers, his hands in her hair and on her
back, and she ran her fingers down his coat, wishing all at once
that he was wearing much, much less.

Something boiled over in the kitchen, causing a great hiss
and corresponding stench of burning food. Betty jumped and broke
away, reaching the kitchen in time to take the pot off the stove
and saving the fire in the tray underneath.

For
an instant, Betty gripped the counter and swayed on unsteady legs,
placing a hand over her thudding heart. Clarkin stood behind her,
nuzzling the crook of her neck. He murmured, “I meant to ask if you
would join me on a sleigh ride.”

“
With Froglips?”

His
chuckle warmed her all the way through. “Charles Smith. Yes. He
just received his order of a jingle-bell sleigh, made by none other
than the finest Amish woodworkers.”

“
It
sounds beautiful.”

“
It's the first snowfall which has covered the roads well
enough to use it,” Clarkin said. “I thought we could warm something
to drink and put it in a thermos before he comes.”

Betty grinned at the thought. “I've got a throw we can put in
our laps, too.”

“
Then you will go?” Clarkin's happy tone made her think that
he was perhaps not so confident in his eventual victory as he had
made her believe.

“
I
should tell you no.”

“
But
will you?” There was that playful grin, and he kissed her again
before she could deny him.

Somehow, they found a thermos and warmed up hot chocolate for
their ride, but by the time Charles knocked on her door, their lips
were plump and swollen and Betty had a hard time breathing for the
giddy kisses they'd been sharing.

The
sleigh was out of a movie set with its high, elegant rails polished
to a gleam, its sides a swooping curl of scrollwork. Lanterns hung
on the front and back, and bells decorated the horses' bridles and
harnesses. A red bow was tied to the blinders of each horse, and
the smaller one nibbled on his friend's ribbon before Charles
scolded them with a “heeey” that sent both horses forward. The jolt
sent Betty plopping down into her red-velvet clad seat, laughing,
while Clarkin hastened to get in before he got left behind. Charles
wore an oversized Santa hat, and he nodded to Clarkin while Betty
sorted out the lap blanket.

“
Where are we going?” She asked, suddenly realizing that it
had never been mentioned.

“
Tulles? It's a good jaunt, plenty enough to give my beauties
a stretch. They've felt cagey since it got cold,” said Charles,
then gave the reins a quick snap which sent the two horses into
motion. “What do you think of her? A real gorgeous bit of work,
right?”

“
Never seen anything so fine,” Betty said, and Clarkin
launched into a lengthier praise of the sled which made both
Charles and Betty smile. Charles wasn't truly satisfied until he
drew excited points and exclamations from children they
passed.

Happily situated snug under Clarkin's arm, Betty let her head
droop off to the side and sighed contentedly, relishing the heat
uncoiling in her abdomen.

“
You
are very quiet,” Clarkin commented after a few streets had gone
by.

“
It's the noise the snow makes as it crunches beneath us. Only
fresh stuff does that, and the steady beat of horse hooves. You
don't get that when you're in a motorized rig.”

“
And
certainly not in a jetpack. Or dirigible.”

“
You've been in those?” Betty asked, reminded of his service.
Before Liza's warnings could intrude on the moment, Clarkin
muttered a word then pulled her lips to his.

This
time, their kiss became rough and unrestrained. The desire behind
it made Betty soften her lips and let his tongue claim her mouth
possessively. She surrendered to the touch of his hand on her
cheek, the thorough kisses revealing a deeper passion. He pulled
back and she buried her face in his neck, kissing it then blowing
on the moisture teasingly. She still had his striped scarf at home,
in a hatbox so she wouldn't have to look at it and be reminded of
him.

Clarkin gave her a squeeze and said, “Remember our
thermos.”

“
Forget the thermos,” she whispered back, nipping lightly on
the lobe of his ear. His breath froze and he shuddered.

Satisfied with her work, Betty sat forward again and took the
thermos, pouring a bit into the lid and pretending that she hadn't
intentionally given him ideas. It was the better part of two
minutes before Clarkin found the voice to whisper,
“Flirt.”

“
You
have no idea,” she said back.

“
You've met your match, Hannah,” Charles
said over his shoulder, his voice thick with laughter. “Tulles is
just up here. The beasties aren't tired in the least. I'll take a
pierogie
³³
to go, and by the
time we're done with our loop, you should be ready to go home as
well.”

When
they stopped in front of the entrance to Tulles' parking lot,
Clarkin got out of the sleigh first and extended his hand to Betty.
“Shall we?”

But
there was more to his question than met the eye. Behind the words,
there was another question, one that was asking what sort of hunger
she wanted to sate. With a wicked smile, Betty feigned ignorance.
“You say the locals think this place is pretty good, huh? I think
it's worth a try.”

Apparently they weren't the only ones who thought so. Though
the parking lot was relatively empty, the restaurant itself was
full. Clarkin managed to lay hands on a table up in the loft next
to the window, granting them a view of the forest under a blanket
of fresh snow.