"Why didn't you ever say so before?"
"I didn't know if people did that."
He catalogued her features, branding each in his memory, then replied softly, "I reckon they do, Elly."
"All right, Will." Her hands trailed down, catching one of his as she turned and led the way to the bathroom. Inside, he lit a lantern on a shoulder-high shelf while she knelt to place the plug in the tub and turn on the taps. He closed and locked the door, then leaned against it, watching her.
"Put in some Dreft," he said. "I never took a bath in bubbles."
Her head lifted sharply. He leaned against the door, freeing his cuff buttons, marveling that they could be shy after he had delivered her baby, washed her, cared for her. But sex was different.
She reached for the cardboard box which was wedged between the copper pipes and the end of the clawfoot tub. When the bubbles were rising, she stood, turned her back to Will and began unbuttoning her dress. He pushed away from the door and captured her shoulders, swinging her to face him.
"Let me, Elly. I never have before, but I'm gonna have the memory—just one time." Her dress was faded green, a housedress as ordinary as quack grass. with buttons running from throat to belly. He took over the task of freeing them, then pushed the garment off and let it fall to the floor. Without hesitation he lowered her half-slip, then held her hand and ordered, "Sit down." While she perched on the closed lid of the stool, he went down on his knee, removed her scuffed brown oxfords, her anklets, then stood and drew her to her feet, reached beneath her arms and unclasped her bra. Before it hit the floor he was skinning her last remaining garment down her legs.
He stood for a long moment, holding both her hands, letting his eyes drift over her—weighty breasts, enlarged nipples, rounded stomach and pale skin. Had he the power, he would not have changed one inch of her contour. It spoke of motherhood, the babies she'd had, the one she was nursing. He wished it had been his babies that had shaped her this way, but had it been so, he couldn't have loved her more. "I want to remember you this way."
"You're a sentimental fool, Will. I'm—"
"Shh. You're perfect, Elly ... perfect."
She would never get used to his adoring her. Her eyes dropped shyly while beside them the water rumbled and the hubbies rose in a fragrant white cloud.
"Who's going to undress me?" he teased, wanting other memories to carry away. He tipped up her chin. "Elly?"
"Your wife," she answered quietly and did what she'd never done with Glendon, what Will had to teach her a man liked. Shirt, T-shirt, boots, socks and jeans. And the last piece of clothing, which hooked on something on its way down.
They stood a foot apart, heartbeats falling like hammerblows in the steamy room, studying each other's eyes while anticipation painted their cheeks shining pink. His head dipped, her face lifted and they kissed lingeringly, letting their bodies brush, swaying left and right, experiencing a hint of textures. Straightening, he slid his hands to her armpits, ordering, "Hang on," as he boosted her up. With her legs and arms wrapped around him, Will stepped into the tub. When he sat, the water rose to their elbows. She reached beneath his arms to turn off the taps, and when she would have backed up he clamped and held her there.
"Where you goin'?" he whispered near her lips.
"No place..." she breathed, closing the distance.
The first was a soft kiss—suspended anticipation. Two mouths, two tongues, sampling before the glut. With Eleanor's legs still looped about Will's waist, their intimacy below the water made mockery of their guardedness above. Still they played at the kiss, letting it laze as it would—crossed mouths, brushing lips, teasing tongues, then a lackadaisical repeat at a new angle. A nudge, a parting, a search of eyes, a sinking together once more.
She pressed her warm, wet palms to his back and he settled her breasts against his chest. She was smooth, he rough. She soft, he hard. The difference intensified the kiss. Eagerness fired it and he clasped her close, running hands and arms over her soapy skin above and below the water—sleek, warm wife's skin so different from his own. He acquainted himself with her flaring hips, narrowing waist, firm back and bulging breasts that ruched tightly at his touch.
The water lapped her breasts as she reached down to cup bubbles over his shoulders until his skin turned to satin beneath her hands. Her fingertips found the three moles on his back, three slick beads which she read as braille. Her palms skimmed his ribs, arms, shoulder blades, learning each dip and furl, each shift of muscle as his hands moved likewise over her.
With her legs she clung, compressing him, herself, so nearly joined that they could not tell her heat from his.
"It'll be all right tonight, won't it, Elly?"
"Yes ... yes."
"Will it hurt you?"
"Shh..." She muffled his question with her kiss.
He pulled back. "I don't want to hurt you."
"Then come back to me alive."
Neither of them had voiced it before. Desperation now became part of their embrace while urgency moved their hands to fondle, explore, stroke. They drew deep breaths, holding momentarily still, the better to absorb the moment, the memory.
"...ohhh..." she breathed, and her head dropped back until her braid touched the water.
He uttered a throaty approval, licked the underside of her chin and kissed what he could reach of her breasts. She was limp with acquiescence and he bade his time, pleasuring her, being pleasured, watching her eyelids flicker open, then close, her lips grow lax, her tongue tip appear as she drifted in a mindless torpor. In time she began moving, stirring the water until it lapped against his chest. Her caresses kept rhythm and he set his teeth, then arched like a strung bow.
The water became quicksilver. Tomorrow became an illusion. Here and now became the imperative.
"Oh, Elly, I wanted to do this so long ago."
"Why didn't you?"
"I was waiting for you to say it was all right."
"It would've been all right two weeks ago."
"Why didn't you say something?"
"I don't know ... I was scared. Shy."
"Maybe I was, too. Let's not be shy."
"I never did things like this with Glendon."
"I can show you more."
She hid her face against his neck.
"Can I wash you?" he asked.
"You want to?"
"I want to be in you. That's what I want."
"That's what I want, too, so hurry."
They shared the soap. They shared each other. They got to their knees and forsook washcloths in favor of hands. They lathered and kissed, sleek as seals, and twined together and murmured sweet sentiments and adored with hands and tongues. And when the compulsion was magnified to a welcome ache, he grasped her wet arms and pushed her back, freeing his lips. "Let's go to bed."
They stood in the steamy bathroom, impatiently wielding towels, caring little about dry or wet, watching each other, grabbing a quick kiss, laughing excitedly—tense, aroused, ready. He plucked his jeans from the floor and found in a pocket a prophylactic.
"What's that?"
He closed it in his palm and looked at her. "I don't want to get you pregnant again. You got all you'll be able to handle with no man around the place."
"You won't need that."
"I don't want to leave you with another one, Elly."
She stepped across his wet towel, took the packet from his hand and laid it on the high shelf.
"Women don't get pregnant when they're nursing, didn't you know that, Will?"
By an arm she tried to lead him from the room, but he balked. "Are you sure?"
"I'm sure. Come."
He took the lantern and they tiptoed into their own bedroom. In it she turned, placed a finger over her lips and mouthed, "Shh." Each one taking an end of the basket, they moved Lizzy out into the front room for the night.
When their door was closed they turned to each other. Their pulses seemed to do a stutter step, but neither of them moved. Alone ... suddenly hesitant. Until she took the first step and they came together swiftly, kissing and clinging, reminded again of the hourglass shifting its sand. So little time ... so much love...
Impatiently he hooked her beneath her knees and carried her to the bed, whispering, "Pull down the covers." Riding in his arms, she dragged the spread and blanket over the foot of the bed. On knee and elbows he took her down, dropping across her with their mouths already joined in a frenzied kiss, tongues reaching deep, arms and legs taking possession. It was untamed, that prelude, all lust and anticipation drawn to its maximum. Twist and roll, thrust and rut. Sexual greed such as neither had experienced until now.
When it stopped, it stopped abruptly, he above, she below, their breaths gusty, labored.
"Do you need anything ... to make it easier?" The baby's Vaseline was on the bureau. He'd studied it dozens of times while imagining this moment.
"I need you, Will ... nothing else."
Her kiss silenced him as she hooked his neck with an arm and brought him down.
"I want to make it good for you, Green Eyes."
He knew how. He'd been taught by the best in a place called
La Grange
,
As he eased into her body she closed her eyes and saw him as he'd looked that first night, standing on the edge of the clearing, lean and hungry, wary and secretive, hiding beneath his hat—hiding his feelings, his loneliness, his needs.
She closed her eyes and opened her body, offering solace and love to equal his own. It hurt after all, but she hid it well, grasping his head and pulling it down for a deep kiss within which she disguised a soft moan. But soon the moan was dictated by pleasure instead of pain. He took her to the tallest tip of a tree, where she poised—a graceful bird at last, trembled upon the brink of flight, then soared for the first time. Becoming one with the sky, she called his name, twisting, lifting, reborn.
And when her cataclysm had passed, she opened her eyes and watched him follow the way she'd come, watched his gold-beaten hair tapping his forehead, the muscles in his arms standing out like formations in stone, beads of sweat dotting his brow.
He quivered, groaned and pressed deep, arching. He uttered her name, but the sound was trapped by his clenched jaw. When he shuddered in release, she found it glorious to witness, a blessing to receive. She held his shoulders and felt his deep tremors and thought it more beautiful than the flight of an eagle.
When it was over he fell to his side, draping a limp arm on her ribs, waiting for his breathing to slow. Eyes closed, he laughed once, satisfied, replete, then rolled her close, held her in a powerless caress with their damp skins touching.
He rolled his head tiredly and let his eyes caress her. "You all right, Elly?" She smiled and touched his chin. "Shh ... I'm holdin' it in."
"What?"
"Everything. All the feelin's you give me."
"Aw, Elly..."
He kissed her forehead and she spoke against his chin. "I had three babies, Will—three of 'em—but I never had this. I didn't know nothin' about this." She clutched him close. "Now I find out about it on our last night. Oh, Will, why did we waste two weeks?"
He had no answer, could only hold her and stroke her hair.
"Will, I felt like I always wished I could feel—like I was flying at last. How come that never happened with Glendon?" She braced up on an elbow to look him in the face.
She was such an unspoiled thing, innocent like no woman he'd ever known. "Maybe 'cause you were married to a good man who never visited a whorehouse."
"You're a good man, Will, don't you say different. And if that's what you learned there, I'm glad you went." She drew up the covers while he smiled at her unexpectedness: shy one minute, earthy the next. He gathered his wife close and found reason to be glad. It had been a circuitous route that had led him to her. Without
La Grange
, without Josh, without prison, he'd never have ended up in
Georgia
. He'd never have married Elly. But he didn't want to dwell on it tonight.