Blackwater (8 page)

I can't help but wonder if Margery Banks really wanted the attentions she received, or if he persuaded her, violently. I wonder what her momma really walked into, poor Margery Banks. The thoughts make me instantly uncomfortable, "Mr. Whitlock, it's truly indecent for you to be carrying me out in public."

He looks at me and smiles and my stomach flutters, "What public? We are the only people out in this garden. I think even Mr. Ryan has made his cowardly way back into the party." When he reaches the stairs he climbs them gracefully, as if I'm no burden in weight or balance. He places me on the bench like I weighed nothing. I know that's not the truth of it though. I was forced to weigh myself this very morning. I know I weigh one hundred and thirty-four pounds. I know I'm not light, my momma told me that as she weighed me.

I raise an eyebrow, "You're very strong."

He frowns, "You weigh next to nothing. I must outweigh you by at least a hundred pounds."

I laugh. He is huge, but not in a way that would suggest a hundred pound weight difference.

He holds a hand out, "My tip, madam."

I smile. Through it all, he makes me smile. I look down at my dress, "I'm sure you've noticed I have neither a clutch, nor room for change in this dress."

I look up at him and notice the way his eyes burn. He nods, "I did notice that there is very little space in that dress for change. I was hoping you would be indebted to me."

Chills run up my spine. I feel my smile drop. He is no longer the sweet savior who played chess with me and fed me hospital pudding. Now he's the other one, the one who made me think things I shouldn’t. My mouth feels dry when I speak, "Indebted?"

He shakes his head, "Your mind tends to wander down the dirtier streets does it not? A dance. I would accept a single dance as payment."

I feel ridiculous, but I stand on my wobbly feet. "Do you mind if I kick my shoes off? They're making an attempt at my life."

He shakes his head, "I have never understood the point to high heels. They're sexy in a boudoir for a few moments, but they seem horrid to wear for an entire day or evening."

I choose to ignore the boudoir comment and laugh, "Horrid ain't a strong enough word." I lean against the beam next to me, as I step out of my shoes and walk into his outstretched arms. The jazz band is playing next to the open windows of the house and when I touch his hands, it's as if the sound of the music travels to us. The thick air is heavy enough to bring a song with it, all the way to the back yard.

His huge arms wrap around me and hold me tightly to him.

"You are so beautiful. I have a feeling you don’t see it." His voice is low, as if we are sharing a secret. "You are hard on yourself. Your mother is hard on you. I don’t mean to pry; Mrs. Kirsch told me."

I shake my head and lean into his broad chest, "I am what she tells me I am." The words don’t sting, not like they used to. I'm used to them now.

He kisses the top of my head, something I'm growing fond of and whispers, "You are perfection and I swear, I will end anyone who says otherwise."

I laugh. He's crazy like Emily. It's not the first time I've heard him say it. It doesn’t bother me as much as it should, Em is always threatening to kill people. Of course she's a hundred and ten pounds. He's massive compared to her.

"I would. I would do anything to make you happy, Lorelei. Anything."

I glance up at him and shake my head, "You don't have to do anything. I'm happy right now. You made me feel safe. Thank you, again."

His eyes say things his lips don't. I see the emotions bubbling inside of him. "It was my pleasure, both times."

I close my eyes and relax into his chest and the sounds of the jazz. If I really slow down my mind, I can feel the bourbon and smoke shift the world slightly. I let myself melt into him. He doesn’t press my chest into his. He doesn’t let his hand stray beyond the small of my back. He doesn’t hold my hand tighter than he would an egg.

Without shoes, my face only reaches his breast pocket. I knew he was tall but not as tall as he is and I'm not a short girl.

I let myself forget everything that has happened in such a short space of time until his voice ruins it. "Do you want to tell me about what I witnessed between yourself and Mr. Ryan?" His voice is soothing.

I shake my head, "I'm happy. Remember what we were just saying about being happy?"

He chuckles, "I want to know. Tell me."

I don't want to but his voice makes me, so like a good girl I explain it the way I should. "He was drinking I think, and got a bit overzealous. It's my fault. This dress, it's ridiculous. I'm sure he'll be plenty sorry tomorrow."

His hands slip up my arms fast like a rattlesnake moves. Instantly he's holding me by my shoulders and shaking me. His eyes are fierce. "It's not your fault. That dress is tempting and yet I'm able to keep my wits about me when you're near. No true gentleman ever puts his hands on a lady without her saying so."

He's angry. I'm not afraid though, not like I should be. I have a feeling he won't hurt me. I trust him more than I trust any person in the world. He has saved my life twice. He snarls when he continues, "You could walk across the grass naked," I blush and feel a fire cross my flesh in a ripple that resembles a shiver, "and I would remain a gentleman." His lips curl into a grin, "Until you gave me permission to be otherwise."

My breath is escaping my lips in puffs of hot air that resemble a laugh. My parted lips tremble, as I look up into his dark eyes and forget what we're talking about.

He bends his face and brushes his lips against mine, "That look will suffice as permission."

Time stands still for us, in fact it might have frozen across the world. His kiss is intense and yet delicate. He doesn’t part my lips further. He ends the kiss with a slight nibble of my lower lip and a very low growl, "I will end his life if he manhandles you that way again. He's lucky I ran into you tonight and not him."

I shake my head, "Please, stop saying that."

He straightens up his back and looks around, "We should be getting back." His words hurt. I want to stay here forever, dancing in the gazebo with his arms around me. I don't want to rejoin the real world. I want to stay with him, locked in the time warp we have created. I want to stay up all night, letting him hold me and kiss me and tell me how pretty I am. Looking back at the house, I scowl. That house has a man I am meant to marry and a way of life I don't want to live. I could live out here in the grass, live off of his kisses. I don’t even know who I am anymore.

"Let's go before I do things I can't take back," he takes my hand and picks my shoes up. My face flushes at the millions of responses floating through my dirty mind. I fan myself a little and try not to think about the possibilities in the words he's spoken.

I grip him as we leave the gazebo and smile at how refreshing the damp grass feels on my tired feet. My momma chose shoes that were too small, as always. She is always trying to make me smaller than I am.

The overhang of the huge willows and black walnut trees makes me feel safe and hidden, like our deeds are hidden from my parents. The world in the window is real. The world out here is what I want. I didn’t know it until this second.

"Do you like it here?" I ask trying to break the silence and delay the inevitable rejoining of the party.

He looks down on me and shakes his head. "I miss home."

"Why don’t you go back?"

His lips curl into a grin, "I will. One day." His voice grows serious, "How do you know Mr. Ryan? He isn’t from here?"

I knew it would come out eventually. I have dreaded telling him since I met him. I sigh and spill it, "My parents and the Ryans are making a marriage deal. It's more like a merger than a marriage. It's just how things are done down here for debs."

His grip on my hand tightens. He turns me to face him. He ain't letting up with the Mr. Ryan annoyance. When he spins me, my shoes hit the grass with a thud. He lifts me to my tiptoes. "You're marrying him?" He's disgusted.

I gulp and nod, "Yeah, but I don’t want to."

"Are you kidding me? You're joking? They'll sell you off to that little shit? What about us? What is this to you?" He looks at where our skin is touching.

I stammer, "I-I'm s-s-sorry. I sh-sh-should have said s-s-something. The deal ain't final. I'm fixing on getting out of the deal."

He grips my arms tighter, "Deal? Deal? This is your future and you call it a deal? Are you insane? Are they? He tried to rape you. I was on my way to beat the living shit out of him when you got away. I saw everything. I was crossing the grass just as it happened. You can't marry that man, that boy."

I shake my head, "I won't-don’t have a choice who they choose. All I can do is tell them I don’t want to."

He lets go of my arms and turns away from me. He's fighting his anger. He covers his face and moans; he is angrier than I expected him to be.

I look up at the house and wonder if anyone has seen me romping about on the grass, getting manhandled the entire party. I smooth my dress and lift the top up to cover my breasts that are spilling out.

I clear my throat and repeat myself, "I don't have a choice, Mr. Whitlock. I'm not free the way you are. My parents have a lot of say."

He paces and runs his hands through his hair. Finally he turns; anger is spread clear across his face, "You have a choice. You do. It's 1964 for Christ's sake. You are a grown woman." He is shouting now and pointing to the sky, "The civil rights act is going through this summer. Jesus. You southern belles with your manners and breeding are about as stupid and ridiculous as a girl can get. You'll let them sell you off like cattle?" His words are spit at me.

I'm ashamed of myself for too many reasons to try to sort through them all at once. I feel the hardening look creeping across my face. My lip is quivering and my eyes are watering again, but I will not betray my emotions to him. I pick my shoes up from the grass and turn away.

He grabs my arm, "Don’t you turn away from me." My shoes go flying across the grass and my dress makes a tearing sound.

I shake my head softly, "You are acting like an ass. No different than Martin was." I step away from him but he grips me harder.

When I look up I see the desperation in his eyes, "Is this what you want? You want him? A savage who would take away your innocence on the back lawn of the Governor's mansion?"

I shake my head. I can't blink. My eyes are brimming with their maximum capacity for tears. I manage a whisper out, "No."

He loses the control he has over his emotions and bends his face to kiss me with the kind of passion and intensity, I only have dreamt of. When his lips meet mine, my eyes close involuntarily forcing streams of wetness to slip down my cheeks. My lips are pressed against my teeth roughly.

He pulls me back and shakes his head. "You won't marry him. I don’t care who I have to kill; you won't marry him." His accent is noticeable when he's angry, like the hold he has over it's undone by his emotions.

He lets me go and walks past me. He leaves me standing in the mist that is building in the humid air under the canopy of a massive black walnut tree.

I leave the shoes where they are and walk back toward the house. I walk past it and down the driveway. The lit torches make it easy for me to see where I'm going.

If my momma could see me she would disown me. What a fantastical daydream that would be.

Instead of taking the road, I cut through the hayfields that separate our plantations.

The tear in my dress has given me room to breath, but it's still too tight. I unzip the back and slip the dress down my body. My white slip and bra feel like they glow in the dark, but I don’t care. Who is gonna see me? Who will even care about a girl running through the fields in a white slip?

I step away from the dress and break into a run. Ramón and I used to run barefoot a lot. Momma hated it. My shoe size went from a size six to an eight. The running flattened my feet out; this was her theory. My theory was that my feet grew because I grew. If she coulda stunted my growth by the time I was twelve, I think she woulda. At nineteen, nearly twenty, I'm too tall, too fat, and my feet are too big. She calls them manly. She calls everything about me manly.

Her criticism makes me run harder. I'm flying through the field. My toughened feet hit rocks and sticks and hay but it doesn’t hurt. I know it will tomorrow, but tonight my heart hurts and that takes precedence over any other pain.

"Danger Lorelei. You're in danger now."
Voices filled my head. I groan and roll away from the cold breath. I'm too tired to feel it against my face. There is warmth in my bed and I roll to it. I think it's Em until it too whispers to me, "Sleep my love."

It's like there is a battle on my bed. Cold on one side whispering of danger and warmth whispering of sleep. I choose the warmth and sigh in the warm whispers, "Sleep, Lorelei. My sweet, Lorelei." The warm breath hits my face as a kiss is planted against my forehead. I nuzzle into it, whispering, "Emily?" Sometimes she sleeps with me. Sometimes when the whispers get to be too frightening, I scream out in my sleep.

"No. It's me." I wake completely when I realize the voice is a man's. I freeze. I know that voice. I gulp and feel the solid mass in the bed next to me. My heart is racing and my throat is dry. I look up at the man who got angry with me and left me on the grass after calling me stupid. I'm nervous and scared and yet stupidly angry that he wounded my pride after making me like him. Like it matters more than him being in my bed.