A Timely Concerto (14 page)

Just as soon as a gift was unwrapped and displayed, Shugie or Daisy would remove it. Lillian wondered where they put the gifts and how she would ever sort them out into any kind of order, let alone remember who gave them what. The gifts ranged from simple things like pretty knick-knacks to cut crystal vases and silver items. They received matching silver hair brushes engraved with their initials and a silver cake stand. Some gifts were linens, tablecloths, napkins, doilies, and pillow shams. There were handmade knitted items, painted china cups, a lovely relish plate, a coffee mill, a copy of Dr. Hood’s Plain Talk and Common Sense Medical Advisor, a fancy gilt-edged family Bible, an ornate wooden cabinet clock, a painted and ornate “banquet lamp”, and from Howard’s parents, a complete set of Rogers 1847 silverware, Shell pattern, with an intricate shell pattern on the handle of each piece of flatware, and much more.

So many gifts overwhelmed her and she had no idea how she would ever get them all put away. She had a suspicion that each gift would require a hand-written thank you note, a daunting prospect. Maybe Howard would recall who gave them what gift because she knew she would not.

She heard the grandfather clock in the entry hall chime six before the wedding events were over and the guests began leaving, in small groups, each pausing to offer one more round of congratulations or best wishes. Lillian felt so tired that she would not be able to drag upstairs to retire but when Howard leaned over to kiss her as the last group of guests left, she felt that same rising fire she felt when they kissed at the farm. Some of her fatigue vanished as she realized this was almost over and that soon, for the first time since she came, she could be alone with Howard, private and personal.

The house fell quiet after hours of bustle, leaving wilted flowers and debris behind as the guests departed. Lillian, still dressed in her wedding finery including the veil, sought refuge in the small, cozier second parlor and Howard followed. She sank into a seat with a sigh, tired but blissful.

“Dear wife, would you like to retire now?” Howard asked, perched on the piano stool, tinkling the keys in a faint reprise of the wedding march. “The guests are gone and I think my parents are prepared to give us the solitude we require.”

A delicious sensation crept up her spine and she shivered in anticipation.

“I would like that very much, Howard,” Lillian said.

“Then let us retire. Your things have been moved to my,
our
room. Shall we?”

He rose and crooked his arm; she accepted it and they strolled out of the room, her veil sailing behind them. They hurried up the narrow back stairs and slipped through the upstairs hallway as if they were thieves sneaking about. That gave Lillian a case of the giggles that she could not quite stifle and they reached the bedroom on a burst of laughter.

“Wait,” Howard said at the doorway. He stopped, swooped her into his strong farmer’s arms, then carried her over the threshold. “I should have done this at the front door but this will have to do, my love.”

She smiled. “This is fine, honey.”

Lillian felt sensual, stirred by the wedding, by being carried over the threshold and heady with anticipation. She wanted the veil off, the dress gone, and no barriers between her skin and his body. Although she was not a virgin – a few college experiences had seen to that – she was inexperienced but eager. Yet she wasn’t so excited that she did not take care removing Daisy’s dress and veil; her borrowed finery might be an heirloom keepsake and it deserved TLC.

When Lillian undressed and Howard came to love her, her heartbeat quickened with anticipation. As Howard’s hands, those work-worn, calloused farmer’s hands, touched her, she realized that he caressed her with the same gentle gracefulness with which he played the piano. His touch evoked physical music in her; delightful shivers coursed through her and she trembled with pleasure.

As they progressed, systematically, toward that ultimate release, Howard ran his fingers through her unbound hair and she touched his sinewy, muscular body. When they reached the massive, hand carved lime oak bed, Lillian grew bolder and so did he. His strong fingers caressed the mount between her legs before his body, charged with electricity, climbed that summit and claimed it.

At the crescendo, their bodies sang together, the music of physical love, a living force that sprang out of them, overflowing and bringing them to the pinnacle of pleasure. Lillian ached to scream like a wild woman, to give in totally to her passion but she retained enough restraint not to embarrass Howard. When she reached her climax, she made sounds of pleasure, hoarse, guttural sounds but he knew her for what she was, a passionate woman, his wife and he laughed, with joy. When they were sated, afterward, they lay together, swaddled despite the lingering heat of the day, cuddled and comfortable, fulfilled and very happy.

1905

Chapter
15

1905 arrived with such warm weather that it felt like spring, so like sweet April with balmy breezes that Lillian opened up the windows to let inside. It even smelled like spring but Howard warned her not to trust it, that winter would be back with a vengeance. After the sweet summer, the hazy, beautiful autumn, and their first holidays together, she cared little about the weather. Pregnant with their first child, fussed and petted over so much that she sometimes rebelled, she had never been happier. Still, Lillian focused on Howard’s health, wondering when and if he might fall ill. She moved through her days, content, but always with that at the back of her thoughts.

The weather turned bitter just a few days after New Year’s, with sharp north winds, freezing rain, and cold temperatures.

“Howard, you were right,” Lillian said, staring out at the gray skies as ice pellets skittered against the glass like gravel in a strong wind.

“I would rather not have been,” he said, standing behind her with one hand on her shoulder. “Weather extremes like this sometimes make a fat graveyard.”

“What does that mean?” she asked, not liking the sound of it at all.

Howard sighed. “Going from spring like weather back to cold winter seems to make more people fall sick and some die.”

Although it was warm in the house, she shivered and he pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders but her chill wasn’t physical. In the first two weeks of January, Howard attended four funerals and served as a pallbearer at two of them. Two of the four deaths were from pneumonia, Henry Kemper, one of Howard’s oldest farmhands and Tim O’Brien, a high school student at the brick Central School overlooking downtown Neosho. The two men died just days apart and on the day before young Tim was laid to rest, Daisy, the young wife who loaned Lillian her wedding gown, died in childbirth, the child with her. The fourth death in two weeks was Amanda Scroggins, wife of another strawberry grower who died with consumption after a long battle.

Daisy’s death sobered Lillian; it was hard to think of that slender young woman, so full of laughter dead but it affected Howard even more. He feared losing her when the child came and she realized for the first time how many women did die in childbirth. Medical conditions treated without much risk in her time were fatal here; women could die of a hemorrhage, a breech birth, extended labor, or even ecclampsia. Lillian now understood why he worried so much when she had a pain or fainted; she sensed his fear for her life in hers for him.

Pneumonia scared Lillian more than childbirth did. Until now, she had not admitted it was a common, a leading cause of death or that lung fever, as many still called it, could rob even the young and strong of life in short order. Before, Howard was one of them and her fears that they might somehow fail to change fate rose as the outside temperatures dropped.

“You will wear your overcoat, won’t you?” she asked, as she straightened his tie on the morning of the O’Brien boy’s funeral. Howard looked handsome in his black wool suit but she thought he should wear his heavy overcoat, his Fedora, and gloves.

“I will, dear heart,” he promised. “I will be warm so don’t worry.”

She would, though.

“Is it sleeting again?”

“I believe so, Lillian. I shan’t stay out in the weather any longer than I must,” Howard said.

“I must go or I will be late.”

Lillian put her arms around him and hugged him as close as her belly would allow. He chuckled and kissed her, then sobered.

“Are you distressed about Daisy?” he asked. “I am sorry.”

She nodded. “I wish you would let me go to her funeral.”

“It is not a good idea, dearest. Remember her as she was. I must go. I promise I shall be home for dinner.”

He was, stamping snow in the back hallway so he would not track it into the house. Lillian met him but her gladness at his return but the somber look in his eyes tempered her joy. She guessed young Tim O’Brien’s funeral had not been an easy one for Howard.

“Come out of the cold,” she said, instead of asking about the service. “Shugie has a nice, hot meat pie ready to serve.”

“Excellent,” Howard said, hanging up his coat and hat with his gloves tucked into the pocket of the overcoat. “That will warm me up.”

That niggling fear tensed her again.

“Are you very cold?”

“It’s very frigid outside,” Howard said, “Certainly, I am cold but I am also very well.”

Lillian said no more but at dinner, he announced he would be making a trip to Arkansas later in the month.

“There is an orchard near the War Eagle Mill, down in that valley, selling off their equipment.” Howard said, as he broke open and then buttered a biscuit. “We could certainly use many of the saws, ladders, and such. I think I will go down to Rogers and see what I can procure.”

“That sounds like a fair deal,” Papa Speakman said. “You should be able to purchase at bargain prices.”

“Yes, I shall,” Howard said. “I plan to spend the night. Rogers is not that distant but it is too far to make the return journey on the same day. Lillian will have all of you to watch over her during my brief absence.”

Maggie nodded. “We will spoil her while you are away.”

“I am well aware of that,” Howard said, with a grin. “She will scarcely know I am gone.”

Yes, she would. Lillian’s appetite faded but she forced down her slice of pie so Howard wouldn’t fuss. He made the trip just before he fell ill; she remembered from his story when he was still just a ghost. He shouldn’t go, she thought, and that would prevent his illness. She couldn’t tell him in front of his parents but she would. As soon as she finished dinner, she excused herself for her daily nap and glared at Howard with a toss of her head to follow.

“I don’t want you to go to Rogers,” she said, as soon as they were in the bedroom, door closed. “You told me that was where you went, before, and came home chilled. It was after that you got sick so you can’t go. If you don’t, then you won’t come down with pneumonia.”

Howard smiled at her the way he would at a silly child.

“Darling, I truly don’t believe I will succumb as I did. It would be childish to miss this opportunity to buy things needed at the farm at such a low price. I will make every effort to stay warm, Lillian, and if fate returns to what it was, then you have your medication to cure me, do you not?”

“I do.” Lillian exhaled hard. “But, Howard, there is no guarantee that it will work. I may not have enough. Please just stay home.”

“Dear heart, I cannot. I will be gone a mere twenty-four hours and I will return to you hale and healthy.”

Tears brimmed over in both eyes and made her throat tighten. He should be more reasonable and when she protested again, he shook his head.

“Lillian, you must not do this. You will make yourself overwrought again. Be calm, my dearest love. Everything will be well.”

Annoyed by his stern
Pater familias
act, Lillian kicked off her shoes and crawled into bed for her nap.

“Yeah, right,” she muttered as she did and when he frowned, she felt a momentary rush of victory but it faded. He would go and she would have to wait, worried every moment he was gone.

After the four funerals, if anyone else the Speakman family knew died, no one told Lillian. Everyone knew she did not want Howard to go to Rogers but they all agreed with his position so no one spoke about it. Instead, they treated her with such genuine kindness and allowed for her mood shifts so much that she felt ashamed. She wanted to ask her mother what the last months of pregnancy were like but that was impossible. Maggie had no children and Mama didn’t like to talk about the details of the delicate condition. Lillian could ask Shugie and would, if she had the opportunity, but she wrote another letter to her mother instead, sealing it and placing it with the others.

Dear Mom,

You would not recognize me if you could see me right now. I am dressed like an old-fashioned lady in a long dress with petticoats beneath, a chemise instead of a bra, and underwear longer than most of my summer shorts. I am also very pregnant so my belly stands out. Your grandchild – I think he will be a boy – will be born in early April, I think. It is hard to tell; no one apparently believes in prenatal care now but women die in childbirth so I am a little scared.