Dorothy Garlock (34 page)

“We’ll fix a room upstairs for you, Uncle Gus. Owen and I want you to live here in the house with us—and you, too, Soren, for as long as you want. It’s big enough so that we’ll not be stepping on each other’s toes.”

“Well . . . I declare,” Gus seemed to be overwhelmed.

“Baby Harry will have a grandpa,” Ana exclaimed happily.

“Don’t forget a handsome uncle.” Soren’s devilish smile widened.

“How could I forget anything as important as that?” Ana spoke to Soren but her eyes were on Owen’s face.

“The house will need a little fixin’ before it’s suitable for Esther, but nothing we can’t take care of in a few days,” Gus said to Owen, then spoke to Ana. “Are you sure, lass, you want to take on the chore?”

“I know it won’t be easy. The alternative is an insane asylum, and we can’t let her be put there. I’ve heard that they are terrible places. Owen is going to try to persuade Mr. Knutson to let Lily and Hettie come here to help take care of her. Esther will be with her family.”

“He’ll not do that.” Soren shook his head. “Huh-uh. Who’ll do for him and Procter? Owen, you know Jens won’t let Lily go, and Hettie can’t manage Esther by herself.”

“He might let them come here when I tell him it will cost him at least ten dollars a month to put Esther in an asylum.”

“That much? When are you going to put it to him?”

“In the morning.”

“I want to be there to see Procter’s face when we drive away with Lily,” Soren said gleefully and stood.

“The house is in good shape for bein’ old as it is,” Gus said “If Esther don’t get any worse than she is, we can put chicken wire ’cross the windows and—

“C’mon, Pa.” Soren interrupted. “Let’s get out of here and leave Mr. and Mrs. Jamison alone. Oh, Lord. I wish Foster was sober. We’d have us a wingding of a shivaree tonight.”

Owen got to his feet, laughter rumbling up out of his broad chest. It was so unusual to hear him laugh that there was a short unexpected hush in the room. He didn’t seem to notice as he went to the door and held it open in invitation.

“Good night, Soren. Good night, Uncle Gus,” he said still chuckling. After his cousin and uncle went out, he turned to Ana. “I never thought I’d be thankful for Foster’s fondness for drink. When those two get together, they can raise the roof.”

Ana lifted the dishes to carry them to the dishpan. Golden eyes smiled into blue with a look that spoke of everlasting love. Owen’s heart jumped like a caged beast in his breast. Not knowing what to say or what else to do now that he was alone with his wife, he picked up the half-empty waterbucket and headed for the well.

A brisk wind was blowing from the southwest. As lightning blinked, he heard the distant sound of thunder. He stood beside the windmill and stared unseeingly at the sky, thinking of how Ana had felt in his arms as they lay in her bed. She had felt as if she had been made to fit only him. Good Lord! She was sunshine; he was rain. She was the brightest flower in the garden; he the thistle that grew in the ditch along the road.

He shuddered. No matter how much he loved her, he couldn’t forget where he had come from. The seeds of a carnal appetite could be lying somewhere inside him, just waiting to sprout and come out. A picture was clear and sharp in his memory—an ugly, wicked, degrading picture that would be with him for the rest of his life. At times he could feel it burning deep into his soul as if it were alive and eating him.

When he was with Ana, he could almost imagine he was an individual set apart from the past. He loved her with all his heart and soul and, miracle of miracles, she loved him. But she deserved someone who could come to her unblemished.

“It’s her choice to make,” a voice inside his head insisted. It wouldn’t be fair to her to turn away now without telling her why. She expected him to come to her and take her as his wife. The thought set his limbs to trembling. He drew the water and headed back toward the house.

Ana was covering the necessaries in the middle of the table with a clean cloth when Owen came. He made a to-do about getting a drink of water and hanging the dipper back on the nail.

“It’s going to rain.” He looked around, surprised that the dishes were done. He had stood pondering at the well longer than he thought.
He didn’t know if he could bear the look of utter revulsion on her face when he told her.
“We don’t need more rain. The ground has got to dry so we can cultivate the fields.”
Would she despise him?
“If we get much more rain the melons and cabbage will rot.”
Lord, how he hated to wipe that smile from her eyes.

“I plan to pick beans tomorrow.”

“You don’t need to do that. You’ll be eaten alive with mosquitoes. Soren and I can do it after supper. It’ll take no time at all.”

“We’ll see. I’ll change the baby and get him settled.”

“I’ll . . . ah . . . fill the wood box.”

Ana escaped to her room, lit the lamp and softly closed both doors. She held her hands tightly against her heart in an effort to slow its beat. Baby Harry was lying on his stomach, sleeping peacefully. She had dressed him for bed and given him his bottle before the men came in for supper. Hurrying, she removed her clothes and washed in the lukewarm water she poured from the china pitcher, all the while listening for Owen’s footsteps in the hall. After she slipped a clean nightdress over her head, she took down her hair and brushed it. Should she let it hang or confine it in one loose plait? She would let it hang—this was her wedding night.

Ana was sprinkling lilac water down the front of her nightgown when she heard Owen’s door open. She held her breath for a long moment wondering if he would come to her, or if he expected her to come to him. She couldn’t open that connecting door, she just couldn’t! After what seemed an eternity, she heard a soft knock. She opened the door. Owen stood fully dressed except for his shoes. He had washed and shaved. She could smell the bay rum he had patted on his face.

“Is the boy asleep?”

“Yes. Did you want to come in?”

“Why don’t you come in here? We can leave the door open so that we can hear him.” He reached out and stroked the golden mass of hair on her shoulder. The look of sadness in his eyes caused her heart to quiver in apprehension.

“I’ll turn the light low.”

Ana adjusted the lamp wick until just a faint glow lit the room. Before she went into Owen’s bedroom, she looked down to be sure the ribbon at the neck of her gown was tied. Owen was sitting on the bed with his forearms resting on his thighs. His eyes were on his hands clasped between his knees, and he didn’t look up. She sat down beside him. Time passed. He didn’t move or speak. The unease in her chest began to expand.

“Owen? Is something wrong?”

The eyes he turned on her were full of torment; his voice when he spoke was a raspy whisper. “Ana! Ana—”

When he spoke her name it seemed a call of distress, lonely in the silent night.

“Has something happened that I don’t know about?”

“No. It’s just hit me that you deserve more, much more than a man like me.”

“What do you mean?” she asked in a quiet voice.

“I’m . . . not very good husband material, Ana.” Sadness sagged the corners of his mouth.

“How can you say that? You’re a kind, gentle man who sacrificed his own happiness to spare Harriet and her child a life of shame.” Tears coursed down her cheeks, and she begged helplessly, “Owen? Did you mean it when you said you loved me?”

“God, yes! I love you more than life.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear.” Ana sniffed and managed a weak smile as she stood and stepped between his knees. With gentle, loving hands she drew his head to her breast and smoothed his hair back from his forehead with her fingertips. His arms went around her thighs and he turned his face into the valley between her breasts. “We love each other. Nothing is more important then that,” she whispered against the top of his head.

Ana turned out the lamp and moved out of his embrace. She crawled onto the bed and lay down. Waiting was agony until she saw him taking off his clothes. The ropes creaked under his weight when he stretched out beside her. The mattress tilted her toward him. In an instant his arms were around her and she was pressed tightly to his naked chest.

“God forgive me for being so damn weak! I can’t resist you,” he whispered hoarsely, his face buried in her hair.

“I’m glad, so glad,” she crooned. “I’ve waited all my life for you, Owen Jamison. There’s not a problem in the world big enough to keep me from you.”

“You’re everything I’ve—”

What he was about to say was never said. Hungry mouths searched, found each other, and held with fierce possession. Oh, her lips were so warm, she gave of herself so freely, the feel of her was so good! Logic fled his mind. Ana was in his arms. This was now. He held her mouth with his for a long moment, trying to memorize the feel of her soft lips, silky skin, so that he could relive this moment. He broke away gasping and rained fervent kisses on her face.

“Beloved . . . my beloved wife—” he whispered hoarsely.

Ana gloried in the feel of him. Her hands couldn’t stop caressing the smooth skin of his back—up and down they moved, and into the waistband of his low-slung, cotton underdrawers. She caressed his hips, so taut they made deep hollows in the sides. Tenderly she massaged the dent in his hair-roughened thigh where the bull had gored him. She was in a dreamlike state where nothing existed but the warm, hard body pressed to hers, lips that moved coaxingly over her mouth, parting her lips, making love to them in a tender, caressing way.

Drugged with sweet strangeness, she felt the wild beating of his heart as his hand began to roam softly over her flesh. Every nerve-ending had come alive, and with eagerness she curled her arm around his neck and gave him access to her breasts. His hand slid upward over the soft curving of her hips and inward to the arc of her waist and up over her rib cage. Strong, tender fingers cupped her breast with the lightest touch as if what he was holding in his hand was so precious and so fragile it would break.

Gently he turned her on her back, leaned over her as if he worshiped her, and put his mouth to her tender breast. Ana felt the wetness of his stroking tongue through the cloth of her gown. Burrowing her hand in between them, she pulled on the ribbon that loosened the neck and bared her breast for him. He grasped her nipple with firm lips, and soon her hips began a slow, undulating motion against him. She urged him to suckle her more fiercely. The fires of eternal passion stirred, starting with the delicious feeling of his mouth on her breasts, to the wild pulsing of her heart, on into her belly, and down to her womb.

Her arms held him closer; her body strained against his. His hand moved up under her gown and between her thighs, stroking her soft, inner skin, moving upward. Her cry was muffled when his fingers found her wetness and probed gently inside. His mouth moved to hers. The kiss was deep and long and trembling with desire.

After a prolonged delicious discovery of each other, they came together. Ana never knew how it happened. The bottom of her gown was about her waist, Owen’s strong, rough thighs were between hers. She raised her hips and opened to him. Fully engorged, he moaned his pleasure as he probed her gently. She received him eagerly when he inserted himself into her yielding warmth. Together they breathlessly surrendered to a voracious hunger. For Ana there was only an instant of acute discomfort; then they were one fierce flesh, seeking peaks that could not be found alone.

“I love you, love you—” His voice was a breath in her ear.

“I love you—oh, my dearest one—”

He moved within her with a fevered rhythm, emitting soft, stirring gasps. Soaring, he clutched her to him fiercely, as he ascended swiftly into ecstasy.

“Oh, God—” he cried, clutching her against him.

Her heart racing, her mind whirling, her arms and body deliciously full of him, Ana delighted in the weight of his body on hers. Love for him filled her heart. Now that she knew this pleasure she could give him, she would banish that lonely look from his eyes and fill his life with love.

He turned on his side, bringing her with him, wrapping his powerful arms around her, pulling her thigh up over his so that they could stay united. He was too mindless yet to form words; he could only stroke her and kiss every inch of her face. He had not hoped for or expected her sweet willingness to explore with him this intimacy. The swift honesty with which she had given herself overwhelmed him.

“Ana . . . sweetheart, I . . . finished too soon. I wanted to wait, but I couldn’t.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No, sweetheart, no! It was wonderful. My heart is still racing like a runaway mule. I wanted you to . . . to . . . feel what I felt.”

“Glory!” she laughed nervously. “I was afraid you didn’t like doing it with me.”

He hugged her. “You innocent. You don’t know much about men, do you?”

“Not about
this.
”

“What I meant was . . . did you have this wonderful kind of let-go feeling, tingling pleasure that made you feel as if you went out of your body for a little while?”

“I liked it. I don’t think women are supposed to, but I did. I’ll not deny it,” she added staunchly.

“You’re wonderful! I’m almost afraid that all of this is a dream, that you’re a dream, and I’ll wake up alone in this bed.”

“You’re not dreaming,” she whispered and nibbled his chin with her teeth. “Have you heard of anyone getting bitten in a dream?”

His hand moved down to her hips and pressed her soft down tightly to his groin. He felt the part of him inside her harden again. He held still for one delicious moment, then with a quick intake of breath, and a hungry, eager, forward motion of his hips, he began moving in that slow, ecstatic rhythm again.

Ana met his thrusts and his eager mouth. His firm tongue caressed her inner lips and entered her mouth with sweet invasion. She could feel a flame kindle in her belly that could only be put out by the driving force inside her. The flickering fire went on and on, leading her to a joyous peak. The pleasure was so profound that the widening circle of ecstasy sucked her into a swirling eddy where she thought she would drown. Her flesh leaped and shuddered with an exquisite splintering. Her blood danced the leaping dance of delight. She sobbed his name over and over as together they let go and moved into another world.