Seasons of Her Life (28 page)

Ruby bent and twisted in his arms, yielding up to him and aiding him in his discoveries. Her hands found the smoothness of his back, the hardness of his firm arms, the softness of his chest hair. She tenderly nipped at the slope between shoulder and neck, burrowing downward to the hollow under his arm. She was headily aware of the quiver of delight that rippled through him.

Andrew's hands worshipped her, his lips adored her, carrying her into a world beyond reality to a place of passion and desire known only to lovers. His arms encircled her, drawing her tightly against him, reveling in the soft yielding of each curve against his solid length.

She wove her hands through his sandy hair, pulling him down to her breast, arching her back, and murmuring a whispered entreaty. He lavished kisses on her breasts, his tongue trailing little circles around the crest before taking the tip full into his mouth. He heard her gasp, felt the writhing of her hips against him. She opened her legs, trapping his thigh between them, clenching rhythmically against it.

In the dim bedroom light her skin took on a sheen, pale ivory against the burnished gold of the bedcovers. She twisted her head away from him, her lips parted, the tip of her tongue visible as it pointed outward, as though tasting a rare delicacy.

Her mouth tempted him, invited his kiss, the explorations of his tongue. She returned his kisses, opening her lips, inviting him to enter. Straining against him, her body rose and fell, desperately seeking to fill their mutual need.

Andrew turned over on his back, bringing her with him, his thickly muscled thigh still locked between hers. She lifted herself, tipping her head backward, offering him the hollow at the base of her throat and the fullness of her breasts. She brushed against the column of his neck, the ridge of his shoulders, arching upward again to increase the pressure of his thigh against her center. Her nipples grazed the fine furring on his chest and roused an exquisite tension in her lower belly.

His skin seemed to come alive beneath her touch and her lips, and she was ever more aware of his throbbing expectancy, hard and hungry between them. Her eyes met his as he gazed up at her; she saw his lips tighten in a grimace of constraint as he fought to bridle his passion. Following her instincts, seeking only to satisfy their mounting passions, she straddled him, using her hand to bring him into her, gasping at the first slice of pain and then recovering quickly as his sheath filled her and created a new and different pain and hunger deep within. Supporting herself on her knees, she rode him, moving against him, bringing him together with her to the height of their desires. Her eyes were locked on his face, and he gazed up at her with wonder. He could see the astonishment in her eyes and noted the intake of her breath. His hands held her hips, directing her in her motions, lifting her haunches to help her find the friction between them that she craved. Her hair fell over her brow, and there was a feline litheness to her body, slender and strong, supple and graceful. She rotated against him, drawing the hunger and tenseness from his loins. Her body was offered to his hands, and she brought her hungry mouth to his. Together they found what they sought, each sharing with the other, knowing that only in each other would they find everything they would ever need.

A gentle wind beat against the sparkling clean bedroom windows, seeming to isolate the lovers from the world outside as they lay in each other's arms, breaths warm and humid against each other's face. Andrew smoothed the golden curls back from Ruby's face, burying his lips into the back of her neck. She sighed, relaxed, in his arms. As he drifted into sleep, he muttered, “I'll be goddamned, who would have thought it?”

Ruby lay awake all night, staring at the ceiling. She stirred once to turn off the lamp. How was it possible, she wondered, that she could do what she'd done and not be totally, completely in love? And she'd enjoyed it. Remember that, Ruby. You enjoyed it, and wanted more. Right now, this very second, she wanted to do it all again, to feel that wonderful exhilarating burst of fireworks deep within her.

Shortly before dawn she dozed, content with her new life. If it was all one had, then one had to be content. To be otherwise would be foolish. “I'm going to be the best wife a military man ever had,” she vowed sleepily.

The following weeks were blissful for Ruby. Her days were spent working on the apartment with her new friends, shopping at the commissary, cooking economical, nutritious meals, and making love twice a day with her husband.

The small apartment took on a life of its own as slipcovers were fitted snugly on the old worn-out furniture, the bare wood floors were waxed with six coats of beeswax, which was buffed every afternoon before Andrew returned home. Each corner, each windowsill, held a starter plant in a baby-food jar. Gertie proved how adept she was with a screwdriver and hammer when she installed plywood shelves in the kitchen. They were painted white and now held every herb imaginable. Ruby nurtured them lovingly, longing for the day when she could pluck off a leaf or stem for a recipe. By serving Andrew hamburger twenty-eight different ways for a month, she'd managed to scrape up the money for material for drapes for all the windows. The soft earth tones of the nubby material brought a warmth and coziness to the ratty apartment she hadn't thought possible. Even Andrew commented on how pretty the room looked. Her own kitchen now had curtains, bright yellow and green checks, with wide sashes and ruffles that hid the rotting wood of the window frames. At the same store where she purchased the material for the drapes and slipcovers, she bought a gunnysack full of rags and odd lengths of material and was now hooking her own kitchen rug to cover the new but ugly kitchen linoleum.

The two cabinets over the kitchen sink held what the girls called the makings for cheap dinners. Rice, pasta, packaged gravies and sauces that gave just the right dash to a dollar meal. She learned that if she made a hearty soup, she could get by for a week with a rich dessert and thick sandwiches. Leftovers were a challenge, with a prize given each month to the wife who came up with the most ingenious ways of serving a meal that didn't smack of leftovers with a capital L. The prizes were small and handmade, usually nothing more than a square of net filled with dried leaves or pine needles and tied with a length of satin ribbon. Ruby intended to win one. She had cooked a concoction of leftover brussels sprouts in cream of mushroom soup, which she ladled over leftover meat loaf crumbled on the bottom of a casserole dish. Parmesan cheese was sprinkled on each layer. Andrew raved over it the first time and had two helpings. When she doctored it up a second time with a shredded cheese topping, browning it until it was crisp, he ate three helpings. The final consensus, according to Andrew, was that it looked awful but tasted wonderful.

The day Ruby prepared the casserole for the girls' end-of-the-month recipe test, she could barely contain herself. She wanted the little net bag of dried flower leaves so badly, she thought she would burst. And she won it. The moment it was in her hands, she raced to her apartment and placed it in her underwear drawer, but not before she danced a little jig around the small bedroom. She belonged. They liked her.

Dixie proved her best friend, possibly because she lived next door and was always available with a smile and her sense of humor, which never changed.

Ruby was curious about one thing. She had noticed that the plump girl limped slightly. She hoped that someday they would be close enough as friends for the girl to confide. As it was, Ruby was startled when Dixie told her she'd been married for seven years and was actually twenty-eight years old.

Ruby had noticed the sly looks some of the other girls directed Dixie's way. It was as though they knew a secret concerning Dixie but wouldn't share it with her.

Ruby's curiosity came to a head the week before Christmas, when a small white engraved invitation arrived in the mail from Captain Everly's wife for a trim-a-tree luncheon. She immediately ran next door, but Dixie didn't answer. She knocked a second time and then called out. She walked around to the kitchen door and was surprised to see that all the curtains were drawn in the back as well as the front. She rushed back to her apartment to call her friend, but again there was no answer. She waited an hour before she tried again, with the same results. When she couldn't stand the worry she was feeling another minute, she put on her coat and walked down to Christine's apartment and explained the situation, the invitation still in her hand. When Christine wouldn't look her in the eye, she knew something was wrong.

“For God's sake, Christine, tell her,” Monica shouted from the kitchen, where she was lacing boughs of evergreen together to make a garland.

“Tell me what?” Ruby demanded.

“I guess you'll find out soon enough,” Christine muttered as she heated the coffee on the stove. “Look, we don't talk about it, okay? It's . . . it's really none of our business, and all we can do is be here when Dixie needs us. By now you must know we don't stick our noses into each other's private business unless asked.”

Ruby's heart thudded. Dixie must be sick and didn't want anyone fussing over her. “You've said a lot of words, but you haven't said what the problem is. Maybe I can help.”

“You'd better not,” Christine said sourly. “Hugo doesn't like it when people interfere in his and Dixie's business. Our husbands don't like it, either.” Her plain face screwed itself into miserable lines as she poured out coffee. Christine was fond of saying her coffee was like Missippi mud. Ruby thought it was strong enough to curl a person's hair, but she drank it anyway. She brought the cup to her lips, her eyes on the two women who refused to meet her gaze.

“Is she dying, is she seriously ill?” Ruby asked in a trembling voice.

“Of course not,” Christine barked, her lips drawing into a thin, tight line.

“Then, what is it, for God's sake?”

Monica threw the garland she was working on to the floor. “All right, already. We know . . . we suspect, I should say, that Hugo slaps Dixie around. In places where it doesn't show. That's how she got her limp. There's nothing we can do but be Dixie's friend. When . . . when Hugo does that to her, we don't see her for a few days. She kind of holes up and closes the drapes. We knock on the door and call, probably just the way you did, and then we come home. At least she knows we aren't . . . ignoring her. He's a real ... prick!” Monica said vehemently.

Ruby's stomach roiled. She set the cup of muddy coffee on the table before she gripped the edges to steady herself. “My ... father . . . beat my mother,” Ruby said in a strangled voice.

“I knew we shouldn't have told her,” Christine said, putting her arms around Ruby's shaking shoulders. “Take deep breaths, Ruby. Please, don't let Dixie know you know. She has so much pride. If she thought any of us knew, she'd never be able to face us. You have to promise.”

Ruby nodded shakily. She shivered, but not with cold, all the way back to her apartment. She had to keep busy, to try not to think about her friend. A cake, she would bake a cake for Andrew, chocolate and gooey, just the way he liked it. If she sliced the layers in two, she could spread chocolate pudding in between and then make a powdered sugar frosting mixed with the leftover pudding. That's it Ruby, bake a cake. Keep your hands busy.

If she could put Dixie out of her mind, she still couldn't help but think about Hugo Sinclaire. She'd met him, of course, on more than one occasion, and hadn't liked him at all. Andrew didn't like him, either, but wouldn't down the lieutenant the way he did most people he didn't like. It probably had something to do with Hugo being a fellow marine.

For some reason, Ruby thought as she creamed the butter and flour against the sides of the bowl, she never thought of Hugo as the violent type. Obnoxious, foul-mouthed, and arrogant, yes. How had she missed that other streak in him? She thought about how normal her own father looked, and she slapped the wooden spoon against the thick bowl in frustration.

Ruby searched in her utensil drawer for an egg beater, wondering why someone hadn't complained to Hugo's commanding officer about the way he treated his wife. Her mouth worked itself into a grimace. Because it isn't anyone's business, that's why. Why had her mother kept her beatings secret? Was it because nothing could be done? Was it because of shame and weakness? Or was it because other people didn't want to become involved? She wished she knew. She didn't know what she could do, but, by God, she would do something. At least she would make the effort. She knew in her heart that if she brought the matter up to Dixie, their friendship would end and Dixie would deny the story she'd just heard. But somehow she would find a way.

The egg beater whirred to life. In her mind Ruby was pulverizing Hugo Sinclaire to a pulp. Her mind whirled and twirled as fast as the beater in her hands. If there were only someone to talk to, someone to discuss this with in the hope of coming up with some sort of solution to Dixie's problems. Andrew, of course. Andrew was the only person she could discuss it with. The beater stilled.

Ruby scraped the cake batter into the tin and slid it into the oven. She looked at the clock. If she hurried, she had enough time to take a quick bath, get herself powdered and perfumed before Andrew walked in the door. If there was one thing Ruby learned in the few weeks of her married life, it was that she could get Andrew to smile and do just about anything if she made wicked bedroom promises and honored them. Above and beyond the call of duty. For Dixie, she would do whatever it took.

When Andrew walked into the fragrant kitchen an hour later, he found his wife frosting a still-warm cake that smelled almost as good as she did. His eyebrows shot up. He nuzzled her sweet-smelling neck.