Box Set: The ArringtonTrilogy (73 page)

I lifted my head, and noticed his shirt was
saturated with my tears. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled.

Warren smiled, and said, “It’s okay.”

I began the tale of what led me to him—the
beating, the brutal murder, the hasty abandonment, the tragedy, and
my eventual freedom. He looked at me with disbelieving eyes, and I
wondered how he could be so stunned; after all, he knew of
Grandmother and the evil kingdom she ruled.

When we arrived at his cabin, he hurried me
inside and sat me down, and told me how very sorry he was for not
being there to help me in my time of need, for not protecting me
the way he should have.

“I feel like a good-for-nothing,” he said
with sorrowful, defeated eyes.

“It’s not your fault,” I said, reaching for
his hand.

He squeezed it, then told me to lay down and
get some rest. “I’m sure it has been a long day for you.”

I agreed, and he allowed me to use one of his
shirts to sleep in. We eased into an understanding; Warren slept on
the floor, his coat rolled up as a pillow. It was too chilly to
sleep out on the porch I insisted.

“Will you tell me everything about Cape Cod
in the morning?” I asked, just as I closed my tired eyes.

After a long silence, he said, just before we
fell asleep, “What there is to tell you, I will.”

To wake up to the first light of day and have
my gaze fall upon Warren, peacefully sleeping on the floor, was
almost a dream come true. I felt safe and finally embraced my
freedom. My despair was behind me; I no longer had to look over my
shoulder and wait for something bad to happen. I had a whole new
outlook on life, and I was happy, so much so, that I couldn’t wait
for Warren to wake. I needed to hear all about the Cape and when
our house would be ready.

I quietly slipped out of bed and went to
stand over him. I watched for a while as he slept with a small
smile on his rosy lips and breathed softly. Warren appeared years
younger when he was like that. I wanted to lie down and cuddle up
behind him. I needed to place my lips on the back of his neck and
tell him how grateful I was to him, but I contained my eagerness,
knowing how important it was to be proper, and woke him with a
gentle tap on the shoulder.

Warren rolled over and wiped the sleep from
his face, and then a huge smile filled his attractive face. “Hello
there,” he said

“Good morning, sleepy head,” I giggled.

“I bet you’re hungry,” he said, sitting up.
“I need to get some supplies.”

“How about you go, and I will straighten up
while you’re gone? Then, after breakfast, you can tell me
everything about your trip.”

Warren agreed and said, “You’re a planner,
that’s for sure.”

I took that as a compliment and practically
shoved him out the door so I could start cleaning.

Maybe it was a fantasy played out, but I
loved putting my hair up in a bun, the way Opal used to, and making
everything around me spotless, as a good woman would. Though it was
a small cabin, it was as first-rate as any home I had ever lived
in, and thought of it as my own, and I worked hard to scrub the
floors. I also used the bathing tin, filled with hot water boiled
over the fire, to wash my dress, using vegetable soap to scrub out
the small stains. Then I hung it over the porch rail to dry. I
hoped Warren wouldn’t mind me wearing his shirt for the rest of the
day.

I had the cabin as clean as a whistle when
Warren arrived with the box of supplies. I was anxious to cook him
some eggs and sausage.

“I’m a good cook,” I told him. He stepped
back and allowed me to work in the kitchen and watched with
amusement. At first, maybe he thought I hadn’t learned a thing
about how to cook, but when breakfast was served, he was quick to
compliment me.

“I must say, this is the best meal I have
ever eaten,” he said after his stomach was stuffed.

“Opal taught me how to cook.”

“I imagine you’re as fine a cook as she is,
if not better.”

“I think Ayden thought so,” I said, recalling
how much he enjoyed my meals.

Warren sat back into his chair and lovingly
looked at me. He was pleased with me.

“Can I get you anything else?” I asked, and
began to clear off the table, taking the dishes outside to the pump
for a washing. I needed to show him I would be a good wife.

“No, Lillian. That’s fine. I’m going to split
some wood. I will be outside for a while,” he said, kissing the top
of my head as he walked out.

It was a good start to our new beginning. I
spent the rest of the day on the porch, watching him work and
waiting for my dress to dry. It was the first warm day in weeks,
and I was no longer cooped up in a stuffy room. I enjoyed the sweet
fragrance of the fresh air and noticed the sounds of the trees
swaying in the gentle breeze, and once again was mesmerized by
Warren. I knew he held back and was reserved with his affections,
but in time, he would learn to let go and see I was good for him,
that I was devoted and my love would take him to new heights.

Days went on much the same; Warren had his
chores, and I had mine. I kept up with the housework, and I cooked
almost all day to feed his healthy appetite. I learned his favorite
food was bacon and collard beans, apple butter, and anything with
cheese—especially macaroni. But the nights were full of longing and
anticipation of the moment Warren came to me. I would lie awake in
the stillness and watch him sleep; at least, I thought he was
asleep. Sometimes I wasn’t sure. If the light of the moon shined in
just right, I’d think his eyes were open, staring over at me, but I
wasn’t certain. I often felt his gaze, and only rarely did I catch
his wandering eye—most often when I was walking about in the shirt
that I used every night to sleep in. My slender legs were exposed,
and I liked that he found them attractive. But as soon as I caught
him, his eyes immediately shifted and he would step outside for a
smoke of his pipe under the bright stars of the early winter
nights.

“Up there; that’s Horologium,” I said
pointing to the constellation as I stole up next to him.

He was sitting on the steps of the porch,
looking up at the sky. I wanted to impress him, to teach him what I
had learned from Heath. As I gazed at the stars, I remembered how
enamored I had been with him. Heath was the most brilliant boy I
had ever known, and he remained so. Barely a day went by that Heath
wasn’t in the shadows of my mind. No matter what, Heath would
always be my first love, my most special love because he stole my
heart, and I never asked for it back.

Warren nodded and took a long draw of his
pipe, then motioned for me to sit next to him. We hadn’t talked
about his trip; he persistently avoided my questions, though he
said he would tell me the very first morning. Maybe, I thought, he
told me nothing so I would be surprised when we did head north. I
hoped that was it, and he wasn’t holding something back.

“Hold out your hand,” he said, putting his
pipe down and taking my hand in his. “Now close your eyes.”

I did as he said, and when he told me to open
them, I gasped. In my hand was a beautiful hair
ornament—tortoiseshell with ruby-colored rhinestones.

“What is this for?” I asked him, filled with
thankfulness.

“It’s Christmas. This is my gift to you.”

My heart sank. I had no gift for him. I had
long given up on the luxury of such a holiday, and of course, Santa
never left me a gift during my imprisonment. Warren saw how sad I
was.

“I bought it for you because I thought it
would look lovely in your long hair. You do like it, don’t you,
Lillian?”

A small tear escaped the corner of my eye,
and I quickly brushed it away then said, “I have never seen
anything so lovely.”

Warren was pleased and asked me to put it in
my hair. I did and took him off guard when I placed a kiss on his
cheek.

“Thank you. This means so much to me. I will
treasure it for always,” I said softly then I went inside to leave
him to his thoughts.

He came in late, hours after I had gone to
bed. I felt him sit on the edge of the bed; his stare brought me
out of my light sleep. I slowly sat up and allowed him to climb in
next to me without a word. He rested beside me, his clothes still
on, then turned and brought me close. My heart pounded, my body
tingled as his soft breath fell onto the nape of my neck. I was
wide awake; I was scared and anxious. I wanted to be loved the way
a man loves a woman, but the fear of the unknown made my pulse race
and my stomach turn into one big knot.

“You’re so lovely,” Warren whispered then
nuzzled my hair and fell asleep. He hadn’t tried to undress me. I
was surprised, also relieved, and went back to sleep in the warmth
of his breath and the comfort of his love.

Warren came to me every night; he cuddled me,
he held me close, and he whispered that I was the most wonderful
thing that had ever happened to him. In the beginning, I was
frightened of what I believed would happen—that he could take me
and have his way with my body, but he never once did, and sleeping
together became ordinary.

Then my fear was gone, my yearning took over,
and I wanted more than anything to have him desire me. I didn’t
understand how he could love me so much, yet want to sleep with me
the way a brother would a sister. He kept his feelings distant, the
way Heath had, and while the months passed and he didn’t pursue me,
I became annoyed. I saw the yearning in his eyes when I caught him
gazing at me. I knew I was beautiful, yet he remained standoffish
with his manly desires.

We made periodic trips into Savannah, and
Warren purchased a new dress for me to wear when we went into
town—a more modern, mature dress, so I wouldn’t be made fun of any
longer. I always wore my hair comb, and he especially liked that.
And while I sat in the buggy waiting for him while he purchased
items from the store, men young and old, would tip their hats and
smile at me; some would even come over to talk. Warren hated this
and warned me never to talk to them after he shooed them away.

“You’re a proper lady. You have no business
speaking to men that approach you,” he said sternly.

“Why? They mean no harm,” I said, secretly
amused by his jealousy.

“You do as I say, you hear?” he barked,
urging the horse on. I didn’t like his tone and scowled at him.

As we made our way through the streets, I
heard my name being called. The voice was unfamiliar, but I
immediately recognized the face. Richard was walking along the
congested street with a heavy-set, older, red-haired woman with a
stony appearance. I waved to him, but Warren refused to stop. When
we were on the outskirts of the city, he sternly asked me who the
man was.

“His name is Richard Parker. I met him the
day you returned from the trip you never speak of,” I snipped back,
crossing my arms over my chest.

“What business did he have with you?”

“That business is none of your business,” I
firmly replied.

“Now, Lillian, don’t be angry with me,” he
said, in a much softer tone. I turned and faced him, then blurted,
“Why won’t you tell me about Cape Cod?”

“There is not much to tell. I don’t want to
disappoint you.”

“What does that mean? Did you not purchase
land to build our house on?”

“I didn’t have enough money,” he confessed,
keeping his eyes on the road.

“That means that we can’t move there?” I
cried.

“In time, Lillian. Give me more time,” he
begged.

“More time. I don’t understand. You were gone
for so long!”

He didn’t respond and refused to look at me
when he lifted me off the buggy. I marched into the house and
turned my back on him when he stepped inside. I was annoyed at him
for snapping at me, frustrated he did not find me desirable, and
hurt that he didn’t fulfill his promise. I was not going to return
north any time soon.

“Please don’t be mad. I didn’t mean to yell
at you today. I just think you need to be careful around men. You
are beautiful; they all see that. You have no idea what they are
capable of,” he said, then came behind me and placed his hands on
my shoulders. “And I’m still trying to gather the money so I can
take you away.” Warren’s voice was soaked in sincerity, but his
words sounded so much like Daddy’s it made me cringe. I didn’t want
him to treat me like a little girl; I knew what men were capable
of. That was exactly why I was confused. Warren turned me, and with
his finger lifted my chin, and said, “Don’t be angry at me. I love
you with all my heart, Lillian. You do believe me, don’t you?”

Of course I believed he loved me, but not in
the way I fantasized. He had no idea what I dreamed of, how I
yearned for him to make me into a woman, to make me his own. Warren
didn’t see it in my eyes; he didn’t feel it when our bodies lay in
the same bed every night.

He leaned in and tenderly kissed my cheek,
and again asked me not to be angry. I nodded, just to appease him,
and excused myself, telling him I wanted to take a bath. I went to
the well to fetch some water. Warren brought in the tub for me and
said he would work outside until the end of the day. I was glad to
have some time to myself, and while I was soaking in the hot water,
I thought of how I could make Warren jealous. If he couldn’t see on
his own how desirable I was, I was going to force him to see it. I
didn’t care how angry he got.

I also thought of Richard and remembered what
he said to me. He thought my beauty could bring me fame and
fortune. I didn’t know if I necessarily believed that, but it was
exciting to think about. It was wonderful that he remembered me,
spotted me, and called out. If he weren’t married, I could make
Warren jealous of Richard. But I would have to use patience;
something I always struggled to do.