A Lantern in the Window (5 page)

"There’s one more thing,
though.” She was agitated, twisting a bit of her skirt between her
fingers, unable to look at him now. "There’s another thing I didn’t
tell you that probably will make you—make you change your mind
after all. I—I was wrong, not telling you before,” she added, and
for the first time, there was outright panic in her voice. "You
have to know, you'll find out anyway soon enough,” she added
miserably.

Her expression, the quaver
in her voice, told him that this was far more significant than
anything else she’d lied about. Noah felt his stomach clench. What
terrible thing was she about to reveal?

"It’s—it’s—ummm, it’s my
sister, Bets.” Now her words tumbled out, one on top of the other.
"She's— she’s the sweetest girl, and smart as a whip, but— well,
she got a fever when she was a baby, not even two years old.” She
still wasn’t meeting his eyes, and he frowned, confused.

He’d expected some
damning, shoddy confession about herself, and instead Annie was
talking about her sister? Puzzlement furrowed his brow.

"After it left her—the
fever, I mean—well, she— she couldn’t—she didn’t—she was—” her eyes
were enormous as they met to his. "Bets didn’t hear us anymore.”
Her breath came out in a quavering sigh. "It affected her ears.
What I didn’t tell you was that my sister is stone deaf, Mr.
Ferguson.”

A log fell in the stove,
and from the bedroom came the muffled sound of Zachary
snoring.

Noah stared across the
table at this woman he’d married, feeling the strangest mixture of
compassion, impatience, desire—and outrage.

What miserable kind of man
did she take him for, to think that her sister’s affliction was
something he couldn’t accept? The other things she’d lied about,
her knowledge of farming life, for instance, those things were
serious, they would mean he’d have to take precious time to teach
her all the things he’d thought she already knew. But deafness . .
.

"Having a deaf sister
seems to me to be a fact of life and nothing to feel shame over,”
he said, and his reward was the astonished relief that slowly
mirrored itself on her mobile features.

"There are practical
matters to consider, of course,” he added. "Does she
talk?”

Annie shook her head. “She
makes sounds, but they’re hard to understand. She lip-reads well,
and we have hand signals that mean different things. They’re not
hard to learn,” she assured him eagerly. "I can easily teach you,
if you want to learn.”

He nodded. “I do. I want
there to be good understanding between me and the girl.”

Annie suddenly seemed to
droop, like a candle burning down. Her shoulders, held high and
tense, relaxed now, and her hands fell to her lap. Her full lips
parted, and the small, worried crease between her delicate brows
smoothed away.

"I do thank you, Mr.
Ferguson,” she breathed, her voice husky and low. “I truly think
you are a kind, good man.”

Noah's face reddened at
her compliment, and he cleared his throat, embarrassed. "Enough of
this calling me Mr. Ferguson,” he said gruffly. "It makes me feel
old and downright doddery. Call me Noah.”

"All right, Noah,” she
said with a quick, almost mischievous grin.

“Annie,” he responded
formally, trying the feel of it on his tongue and lips.

Annie, his wedded
wife.

They sat in silence for
several long, charged minutes, each realizing that what had passed
between them just now was a commitment, a true beginning to their
life together.

Whatever the future held,
they would face it united.

Not with bonds of love,
Noah assured himself, never that, never again, but instead, those
of responsibility, of mutual commitment to the common purpose of
making a decent life for themselves in a difficult land.

The clock chimed eleven
and Noah stood up, uncomfortably aware that although they’d crossed
one dangerous abyss, another yawned right in front of
them.

"Time for bed." He did his
best to make it casual, but there was a tension in his tone he
couldn’t seem to hide. There was also tension in his body,
anticipating the act he’d missed so sorely for so long.

She nodded and rose, and
he could see the flush that crept from the demure neck of her gown
all the way to her hairline. Her eyes slid toward the door of his
bedroom and away.

New questions sprang into
his mind, questions he couldn't ask. Earlier, he’d suspected her of
being a whore. Now it crossed his mind that perhaps she was a
virgin.

"You go in.” He handed her
a candle and motioned to the door of his bedroom. “I’ll douse the
lamps and stoke the heater,” he said.

He waited until the door
closed behind her, then turned the wick down on the lamp and filled
the wash basin with warm water from the kettle. In the dim glow, he
shucked off his shirt, pants, woolen socks, and long underwear and
swiftly, thoroughly, washed himself from top to toe. He’d shaved
that morning, but now he drew the straight razor over his jaw and
neck again.

It was a habit he’d grown
away from since Molly’s death, this ritual grooming every night
before he went to bed. It was a legacy from his father.

Before his wedding to
Molly, Zachary had talked with Noah about women and their ways, and
part of his practical advice had been always to go to the marriage
bed washed of sweat and clean shaven.

Unbidden came the image of
Molly, wrapped in his arms, her nose buried in his neck, her shy
whisper tickling his ear.

Dearest Noah, you
always smell so good
.

He thrust the memory away
as he toweled himself dry, dumped the basin in the slop bucket, and
after a moment’s indecision, tugged his pants on again. He took a
deep breath, willing his thoughts away from the quicksand of
remembrance as he opened the bedroom door.

She was already in bed.
Only the high, ruffled neckline of her white flannel gown showed
above the patchwork comforter. She tried for a smile when he came
into the room but didn’t quite succeed. After a single, startled
glance at his uncovered chest with its mat of dark hair, she looked
away.

He took the candle from
the dresser and carried it to the small bench beside the bed. He
blew it out, removed his pants, and climbed in naked under the
covers. His weight made the mattress sag, bringing her closer
toward him.

For long moments, he lay
perfectly still, aware of her light breathing, the smell of the
soap they’d both used, wondering if she could hear the way his
heart was hammering against the wall of his chest. At last, he
propped himself on an elbow and reached out and gently drew her
closer, one hand on her shoulder, the other on a narrow
flannel-covered hip.

She was trembling, and he
was conscious of how delicate she was, how big he must seem to
her.

"Are you afraid of me,
Annie?” he whispered. “I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

“I—I’ve never done this
before.” Her choked whisper was so soft, he had to lean close to
hear it.

“I’ll try to make it as
easy as I can for you.” She didn’t answer, and for long moments he
stroked her shoulder and arm with his fingertips, and when she
began to relax, he unfastened only the top buttons of her gown so
he could slip his fingers in and touch the velvety skin of her
neck.

Soft. She was so
soft
.
He’d
forgotten the delightful
softness of
a woman’s body
—Molly's body—.

Ruthlessly, he slammed the
top on the treacherous box of memory and nailed it tightly shut,
forcing himself to think only of here and now.

This wasn’t love, he
reminded himself ruthlessly. This was seduction, but it wasn’t
love. As long as he kept them separate—

He bent down and put his
mouth over hers in a light, feathery kiss. He took his time,
savoring the sweet taste of her skin, the warmth and softness of
her neck. Her lips were soft and full, closed until his tongue
teased them open. Her breath, the taste of her mouth, was pleasing.
He felt her catch her breath as the kiss deepened.

“You taste good," he
murmured to her.

Tentatively, her chapped
hand came up and lightly rested on his bare arm, and he could feel
the tips of her small breasts against his chest, the supple and
surprising strength of her long, narrow frame teasing him through
the maddening fabric of her gown.

His starved body reacted
with violence to her nearness. He drew back for a moment, regaining
a shaky control.

“Can—can we take this off?”
His voice was rough with passion. Before she could answer, he found
the hem of the garment and pulled it up and over her head. She
didn’t resist.

He wished he’d left the
candle lit so he could see her. Her skin was satin smooth. He
groaned with impatience as his trembling hands learned the shape of
her, the gentle curve of hip, the hollow of concave stomach, the
slight swell of breasts. He took a tender nipple in his mouth and
suckled it, and she gasped.

Pleasure knotted inside of
him, a sweet delight.

“I’m not hurting you, am I,
Annie?” His voice sounded strangled, and his breath was coming in
short bursts, as if he’d been running.

“No. It doesn't hurt,
it’s—it’s, ummmm, peculiar.” It was little more than a breath of
sound against his cheek.

Peculiar? He grinned and
slid a hand down over her velvety stomach, his fingers discovering
her silky mound. Soon she was hot, damp. With the last remnants of
his control disappearing, he deftly positioned her beneath him,
insinuating himself between her legs, trying not to
hurry.

Her arms came around him,
and her lips met his in shy, eager acceptance. She moved, clumsily,
against him, and he gritted his teeth against the exquisite,
driving urge to plunge into her.

He tried to make his entry
smooth and slow, but the unbelievably hot, wet tightness of her
passage combined with his own long abstinence undid him. At the
last moment, when he knew without doubt that she was a virgin, he
fought for control, but it was too late. With a strangled cry and
an inner sense of despair at his impatience, he lunged, once,
again, and at the final instant—

There must not be a
child—there must never be a child of his again.

With superhuman effort, he
pulled out of her, groaning as his seed spilled on her belly and
legs and on the sheet beneath them.

He collapsed beside her,
the swirling delight of release making his body seem boneless and
light. In the aftermath of passion, he was ashamed of his
haste.

"I’m sorry, Annie,” he
murmured. “Next time, it will be better for you, I promise.” He
gently disentangled their bodies and moved a careful distance away,
so that no part of him touched her. Within moments, he
slept.

Annie felt somehow bereft.
She heard his breathing change, becoming deep and even. She waited
until the pattern was well established before groping for her
nightdress and struggling into it, careful to keep her movements
from waking him, conscious of his warm, wet stickiness on her belly
and legs.

She lay on her back,
scrupulously keeping the distance he’d drawn between them. She'd
always slept with her sister, and having this man beside her was
going to take getting used to.

Her private parts throbbed
with the strangest mixture of pain and thwarted pleasure. She
stared wide-eyed into the darkness, confused and a little
frightened by this act that had changed her from spinster to
married woman.

Elinora had done her best
to explain it. "It's either heaven or hell, dearie, depending on
the man,” her landlady had said, but this hadn’t been either one.
There must be something between the two extremes that Elinora
hadn’t told her, Annie deduced.

Would it be possible to
ask in a letter? Elinora had told her to write about anything at
all and promised to do her best to answer honestly.

Dear, forthright Elinora.
Tears filled Annie’s eyes as she thought of the countless miles
that now separated her from her best and only friend. The night
before her proxy wedding, Annie’s rotund little landlady had brewed
a pot of ginger tea and spoken candidly to her about this entire
aspect of marriage.

"Some men are thoughtful,
see. They try to pleasure their women. But there are others
unskilled at such things, unaware, or just uncaring that women can
enjoy the act as much as men. I was lucky in marrying Mr. Potts; he
was one of the giving sort. I pray your Noah Ferguson is like him,
pet.”

Was he, Annie wondered? So
far, Noah was a puzzle. One minute he was friendly, and the next
there was this vast distance.

He’d been gentle at first,
but then a madness she didn’t wholly understand had taken him over.
And just when the first, fierce pain inside her dwindled and
another sensation began, he’d made that strangled sound and torn
himself away and it was over.