Just North of Bliss (40 page)

As if at his wits’ end, Win hollered, “Will
you stop talking about poetry, dash it? Say you’ll marry me before
I have a stroke of apoplexy, damn it!”

Belle pretended to consider his outrageous
proposal. She only did it to punish him. She knew she’d accept his
offer of marriage. Not because she had to, either, but because she
absolutely adored this aggravating specimen of northern
mankind.

“Belle . . .” His face took on a glowering
expression.

“I’m thinking.”

“Think fast, will you? My knee’s getting
sore.”

After another few seconds, Belle decided
she’d tortured poor Win long enough. “Very well, Win. I’ll marry
you.” Then she threw her arms around Win’s strong shoulders and
burst into tears.

# # #

Exhausted and happier than he’d ever been in
his entire twenty-six years of life, Win stroked Belle’s breasts,
gleaming now with perspiration after their energetic bout of
love-making, and gazed upon her perfect body with disbelief. She’d
agreed to marry him. Him. Win Asher. Loathsome Yankee personage and
defiler of the virgin Belle. Not to mention loud, obnoxious, crass,
and . . . He couldn’t think of all the ways in which he fell short
of Belle’s ideals.

“I can’t believe you agreed to marry me,
Belle,” he mumbled, kissing first one delicious breast and then the
other.

“I can’t, either,” said she.

Disappointed that she hadn’t yet confessed
to being wildly in love with him, Win said, “You might sound more
enthusiastic.”

She turned on her side and smiled sweetly.
“I love you, Win. God alone knows why, because I surely don’t.”

He smirked in spite of the singing in his
heart. “You just couldn’t resist my Yankee charm.”

She laughed. “That must be it.”

He wasn’t satisfied. “Dash it, Belle, I told
you I was madly in love with you. The least you could do is sound
as if you mean it when you say you love me.” Win was glad the
lights were low, because he was sure he was blushing.

“Oh, Win.” She threw her arms around him and
hugged him hard. “How can you even doubt me for a second. If I
didn’t love you madly, would I agree to marry you.
You
? A
man whom I thought was a masher when you accosted me on the Midway?
A man who sweet-talked me into doing something antithetical to my
very upbringing? A man whose station in life is so far different
from mine, there’s hardly any common ground at all?”

“Shoot, Belle, keep it up, and I might just
get cold feet and back out of this marriage scheme. I thought we’d
worked most of those things out.”

Pushing him hard, Belle then flopped onto
her back and mashed the pillow with her now-messy hair. “Ha! I have
a feeling we’re going to be working things out for years to come,
Win Asher.” Pushing herself to a seated position, she grinned down
at him. She’d shoved him to the edge of the bed, and he was
struggling to keep himself from falling to the floor. “Personally,
I’m looking forward to it.”

He grabbed her and wrestled her onto her
back. They were both laughing so hard, it was difficult to breathe.
“Oh, yeah? Well, just don’t forget who wears the trousers in the
family, Belle. You’re a delicate Southern lady, don’t forget.
You’ve been taught to kowtow to the man of the family,
remember?”

“Oh, my, you big brute.” She fluttered her
eyelashes. “I know my mama taught me that all you big men are wild
beasts.” She dropped the honey-thick southern accent and went back
to her more mellow, less drawly normal tone of voice. “I also know
she taught me exactly how to get what I want from you big, strong
men.”

Win collapsed at her side, laughing. “Ah,
Belle, we’re going to have quite a life together. I wonder who’ll
give in first.”

“You will,” she averred positively.

Win lifted his right eyebrow in an arch of
incredulity. “And exactly how do you figure that?”

“‘Cause I’m going to make you go to Georgia
to get married. And Mr. H.L. May can write all about it if he wants
to.”

“Georgia?” Win swallowed, visions of Belle’s
irate southern relatives swarming in his mind’s eye, all scowling
hideously and making threatening gestures, some holding shotguns.
“Um, I suppose you have your heart set on getting hitched in
Georgia.”

“I do.”

He liked the
I do
part, but had grave doubts about the Georgia part. “Will they lynch
me, Belle?”

“What?” She sat up abruptly. “Whatever do
you mean, Win Asher? If you think all southern folks are illiterate
lynch mob members, you can just clear your mind of
that
image! You wretch!” She smacked him on his shoulder. The blow
stung, since he was buck naked and his flesh tender.

“Ow.”

Belle looked stricken. “Oh, Win, I’m so
sorry.” She lavished kisses on the red mark.

As he watched her, his sex growing hard with
renewed energy and his heart filling with love, Win guessed the
next twenty or thirty years might be painful in spots, but they’d
never be dull.

# # #

Winslow Montgomery Asher and Rowena Belle
Monroe were married at the Blissborough, Georgia, Baptist Church on
November 20, 1893, less than a month after the World’s Columbia
Exposition closed its gates, after six months of universal
acclamation. Almost all of their friends attended the nuptials,
even the Richmonds, who had been happy to take the train to Georgia
to view the happy event. Amalie was Belle’s flower girl. Garrett,
scowling the entire time, bore the rings down the aisle on a blue
velvet cushion. He’d already made his opinion of the blue velvet
suit he was forced to wear plain.

Kate Finney, whose mother had passed away
recently, was unable to attend the ceremony because she was taking
an around-the-world honeymoon trip herself. She wrote a lovely
note, however, and Belle was so happy for her, she cried. Win was
sure he’d never understand women. They cried at a word and blew up
at silence. Still, they were better than nothing.

Belle made a ravishing bride, and Win was a
most handsome groom. H.L. May made sure the whole world knew it,
because he took pictures of the ceremony, the attendants, the
church, the minister, Belle’s parents, his parents, assorted
kinsmen and women, and even set up a delayed-action camera to
capture several likenesses of himself and his wife with Win and
Belle in their wedding finery.

Neither Win nor Belle were sorry to leave
Blissborough. As Belle herself said to him, “I do believe I’m
turning into a Yankee, Win Asher.”

Win sincerely hoped so.