Vows (10 page)

 
Then Charles did the most unexpected thing. He opened his lips and touched her with his tongue, holding absolutely still everywhere else, waiting for her re action. The warm wet contact sent a jolt of fire to her extremities. He rode his tongue along the seam of her lips, wetting them as if to dissolve some invisible stitches holding them sealed. She forgot about the prickliness of his mustache as he touched her teeth, drew wider circles, inscribing upon her a message that seemed shocking. Yet her virgin body hearkened to it. Curiously, timidly, her tongue reached out to touch him, too. She felt the difference in him immediately. He shuddered, and expelled a great gust of breath against her cheek, and held her hard against him while their tongues tasted each other for the first time and increased their ardor in a great, grand rush.

 
This, then, was the forbidden, the reason for all the veiled warnings, a thing only husbands and wives were supposed to do. His head began moving, his mouth opened wider, and his hands caressed her waist, her spine. She allowed it, partook, because it was the first time and she had not expected such an immediate response. Phrases from the Bible crossed her mind—sins of the flesh, lust—now she understood. His hand began moving toward her breast and she quickly drew back.

 
"No, Charles … stop."

 
His eyes glittered, his cheeks blazed; a lock of hair had fallen on his forehead.

 
"I love you, Emily," he uttered through strident breaths.

 
"But this is forbidden. We must not do it till we're married."

 
Surprise wiped his face clean of passion and replaced it with elation. "Then you'll do it? Oh, Emily, you really mean it?" He embraced her fiercely, rocked and hugged her till the breath whooshed from her lungs. "You've made me the happiest man on earth!" He was ecstatic. "And I'll make you the happiest woman."

 
So she had agreed. Or had she? Perhaps it had been an intentional slip of the tongue, a way to agree without having to agree. Whatever her intention, wrapped in Charles's arms Emily knew there was no reneging. How could she say to this glad man, No, Charles, I didn't mean it that way? And must she not love him to have allowed such a kiss, and to have experienced such a forbidden thrill? And wasn't it almost predestined that she marry him? And to whom else in the world could she talk as she could to Charles? And with whom could she trust her tears?

If that wasn't love, what was?

 
But rocking in his arms she opened her eyes to a blue sky and a hawk still circling and felt again a ricochet of panic.
What am I doing, hawk?
She squeezed her eyes closed and willed away her apprehension.
Oh, don't be silly, who else would you ever marry but Charles?

 
He kissed her once more, jubilant, then cupped her face and looked into her eyes with adoration so palpable she felt small for her misgivings.

 
"I love you so much, Emily, so very, very much."

 
What else could she say? "I love you too, Charles." And it was true, she told herself,
it was!

 
He placed a light, reverent kiss on her lips, then rested his fingertips on her jaws and looked into her eyes. "I've dreamed of this day for years. I've been dead certain for so long. I even told your father when I was thirteen that I wanted to marry you some day; did he ever tell you that?"

 
"No." She laughed, but it felt forced.

 
"Well, I did." He, too, chuckled at the memory, then his face took on a satisfied expression. "Your mother and father are going to be so pleased."

 
That much she knew indubitably and it was a great reassurance. "Yes, they will."

 
"Let's go home and tell them."

 
"All right."

 
They packed up their picnic gear and made a quick trip across the meadow for golden banner before heading home. Charles chattered all the way, already making plans. Emily held the flowers and replied to his exuberant questions. But long before they reached town she realized she'd been squeezing the flower stems so tightly they'd wilted and stained her palm green.

Chapter 4

«
^
»

F
annie Cooper was due to arrive on the 3:00 P.M. stage from Buffalo, thirty miles to the south. Emily had promised to be back by three but at ten minutes before the hour she hadn't returned. Frankie was gone fishing and Edwin tried his best to appear unruffled as he fetched a clean bed jacket for Josie and helped her rebraid her hair.

 
"You'd better go, Edwin," Josie said.

 
He pulled his watch from his vest pocket, needlessly flipped open the cover—he already knew the exact time—and agreed, "Yes, I'd better. When those children get back here they're going to get a good talking-to."

 
"Now, Edwin, you know Fannie isn't one to s…stand on formalities. She would rather have them off enjoying themselves than pay … paying duty calls on their o…old-maid cousin."

 
He pocketed the watch, patted Josie's shoulder, and asked, "You're sure you'll be all right?"

 
"Yes. Just help me into b…bed, then you must hur…hurry."

 
It had been months since he'd seen Josie this excited about anything. It robbed her of breath. Leaning over her, Edwin smiled as he lifted the coverlets to her hips. "If the stage is on time I should have her back here in twenty minutes. Now you rest so you'll have plenty of strength to visit with her."

 
She nodded, settling back on the pillows stiffly as if to keep her hair undisturbed. He smiled into her eyes and squeezed her hand before turning to leave.

 
"Edwin?" She spoke anxiously.

 
"Yes, dear?"

 
When he turned, she was reaching out a hand. He put his in it and received a squeeze. "I'm so happy Fan…nie is coming."

 
He bent and touched his lips to her fingers.
"So am I."

 
Once free of the room he paused at the top of the steps, took a deep breath, and, with eyes closed, pressed both palms against his diaphragm.
So am I.
Did he mean it? Yes. Lord help him, yes. He took the steps at a jog, like a twenty-year old.

 
Downstairs he sidetracked into the dining room, where the mahogany sideboard contained the only mirror on the main floor. It was built in at rib height, separating the upper glass from the lower dresser. He ducked down to check his appearance in the beveled glass. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes too bright, his breath fast and shallow. Damn, had Josie noticed? This was insanity, trying to fool her. Why Fannie wasn't even here yet and his hands were shaking as if with chills Abruptly he made two tight fists, but it helped little, so he pressed their butts against the sharp dresser edge and locked his elbows, feeling his heart sledge until it seemed it would rattle the dishes above his head.

 
His intentions had been good: to have the children with him when he went to collect Fannie, to avoid at all costs their being alone. But it hadn't worked out that way.
Emily, I was relying on you! Where the devil are you? You promised you'd be back by now!

 
Only his thumping heart answered.

 
He checked his reflection once more, happy it was Sunday, and that he'd been able to leave on his worsted suit after church and hadn't had to worry about how it would look if he changed clothes in the middle of a workday. He reworked his black four-in-hand tie, tugged at his lapels, and ran a hand over the graying hair at his temples. Will she be gray, too? Will I look old to her? Are her hands shaking like mine and her heart pounding as she rides toward me? When our eyes meet for the first time will we see breathlessness and blushes in each other, or will we be lucky and see nothing?

 
What do you think, Edwin, when your hands are already sweating and your heart is galloping like the leader of a stampede?

 
He dried his palms on his jacket tails, then spread them wide, studying their backs and their palms. Great, wide, callused hams that had been a young man's hands—soft and narrow and unmarked—when they'd first held Fannie. Hands with three chipped nails, ingrained dirt, and scars meted out by years of hard work; two crooked fingers on the left upon which a horse had stepped; a scar on the back of the right from a run-in with barbed wire; and the ever-present rim of black beneath his nails that he was unable to clear, no matter how hard he scrubbed. He hurried to the kitchen, pumped a basinful of water, and scrubbed them again, but to no avail. All he had done was make himself late for the stage.

 
Grabbing his black bowler off the hat-tree in the parlor he took the porch steps at a trot. Within half a block he was winded and had to slow down lest he arrive at the stage depot panting.

 
The Rock Creek Stage—better known as the Jurkey—pulled in at the hotel at the same time as Edwin. It stopped amid a billow of dust, the clatter of sixteen hooves and the roaring of Jake McGiver, an ex-bullwhacker who'd miraculously made it through the Indian Wars and last year's blizzards with neither arrow wound nor frostbite. "Whoa, you sons-o'-bitches," Jack bawled, hauling back on the reins, "before I make saddlebags out o' your mangy, flea-bit hides! Whoa, I said!"

 
And before the dust had settled, Fannie was peering up at McGiver from an open window, laughing, holding onto her mile-high hat. "Such language, Mr. McGiver! And such driving! Are you sure my bicycle is still on board?"

 
"Indeed it is, ma'am. Safe and sound!"

 
McGiver clambered onto the roof to begin untying both the bicycle and the baggage while Fannie opened the door.

 
Edwin hurried forward and was waiting when she bent to negotiate the small opening.

 
"Hello, Fannie."

 
She looked up and her mirthful face sobered. He thought he saw her breath catch, but immediately she brought back the wide smile and stepped down.

"Edwin. My dear Edwin, you're really here."

 
He took her gloved hand and helped her down to find himself heartily hugged in the middle of Main Street. "How good it is to see you," she said at his ear, quickly backing away and studying him while continuing to squeeze both his hands. "My, you look wonderful. I worried that you might have gotten fat or bald, but you look superb."

 
So did she. Smiling, as he always pictured her, her hair faded from its earlier vibrant red to a soft peach color but still with its unruly natural curl that looked as if it were put in with tongs. It was—he knew—part of her own natural sizzle. Her hazel eyes had crow's-feet at the corners but more merriment and sparkle than a gypsy dance. She had retained the tiny waist of her teen years but her breast was fuller. The spare cut of her copper-colored traveling suit pointed out the fact, and Edwin felt a swell of pride that neither had she gotten fat nor lost her teeth or her inimitable spirit.

 
"I've wondered about you, too, but you're just as I remember you. Ahh, Fannie, what has it been? Twenty years?"

 
"Twenty-two." He knew as well as she but had intentionally miscalculated for the benefit of those looking on. When he would have pulled free she held him anchored with a two-handed grip, as if she had no notion it was as improper as the hug had been. "Imagine that, Edwin, we're middle-aged."

 
He chuckled and released himself under the pretext of having to close the stage door. "Middle-aged and riding bicycles, are we?"

 
"Bicycle—oh, my goodness, that's right!" She swung around and looked up, shading her eyes with one hand. "Be careful with that, Mr. McGiver! It's probably the only one for three hundred miles around."

 
McGiver's head appeared above their heads. "Here it comes, all in one piece!"

 
She reached up as if to take it herself, asking no help from Edwin.

 
He suddenly jumped. "Here, let me!"

 
"I've lived without a man's help for forty years. I'm perfectly capable."

 
"I'm sure you are, Fannie"—he had to move her bodily aside—"but I'll help just the same."

 
The contraption was passed into his hands and dropped to the ground with a thud. "Good Lord, Fannie, you can't mean to say you actually ride this thing. Why, it's heavier than a cannon!"

 
"Of course I ride it. And you will, too, as soon as I can teach you. You'll love it, Edwin. Keeps the legs firm and the blood healthy, and it's great for the lungs. There's nothing like it. I wonder if we could get Josie on it. Might do her wonders. Did I tell you about the trip to Gloucester?"

 
"Yes, in your last letter." Edwin found himself smiling already. She hadn't changed at all. Unpredictable and unconventional, and spirited as no other woman he'd ever known. He had grown so accustomed to Josie's weakness that Fannie's robust independence was startling. While he stood examining the bicycle she reached up as if to take the luggage Mr. McGiver was handing down.