Carol Ritten Smith (23 page)

He’s a rogue, a tyrant! Whatever made you even consider marrying him?

Because he turns me inside out with desire. Lord, help me, but I want him.

Much to Beth’s relief, Tom barely glanced up when she entered the parlor fifteen minutes later.

“Do you have any sevens?” he asked Davy.

“Go fish. Do you got any fours?”

“Ah, nope. Go fish. Do you have any nines?”

“Shoot!” Davy handed across a card. “Wanna play, Beth?” he asked.

“No, thank you,” she answered, feigning indifference, while her body still throbbed traitorously. “I prefer to watch.”

“Actually,” Tom stood, holding out his cards, “you can finish my hand while I go empty the tub.”

Anything to get him out of the room, she took his cards. She had just settled into his chair when he yelled from the kitchen, “I haven’t seen water this murky since I gave Jack a bath after he got stuck in Millar’s slough. I can’t believe one person could be this dirty!”

That degenerate.
“Okay, whose turn?” She turned a deaf ear to any further comments coming from the kitchen.

“Mine. Do you got any jacks?”

Nearing the end of their second game, Beth announced, “Right after this, bedtime.”

Tom entered just as Davy collected the last pair. “Where am I gonna sleep, Tom?”

“You can sleep in the guest bedroom upstairs.”

“What about Beth?”

“She can sleep in my bed.”

Cards flipped out of Beth’s hands and scattered in as many directions as her flustered thoughts.

Tom grinned. “And I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

Beth bent to collect the cards and her senses. “I wouldn’t think of putting you out of your bed. I’ll sleep on the sofa,” she said.

“If that’s what you want. The sofa’s all yours.”

• • •

The guest bedroom was at the top of the stairs on the right. Beth set the lantern on a chair beside the bed, and then pulled back the quilt for Davy. She listened to his long litany of God blesses, even a God bless Tom which she thought probably was wasted on a man so full of the devil.

“Good night, Davy,” she whispered, bending to kiss him.

“Beth?”

“Hmm?” She reached for the lamp.

“Did ya ever notice how Tom smells like peppermints?”

Her heart did a little skip. “Yes. Yes, I’ve noticed.”

“I like it. It makes me think of nice things — like candy canes.”

She smiled.
And Christmas and mistletoe and kisses.
“Go to sleep, now. Sweet dreams, little man.”

Closing the door behind her, she paused at the head of the stairs. Across the landing was another room — Tom’s room, for it smelled faintly of peppermints.

She stole a furtive glance down the stairs.
What would it hurt?
She tiptoed into his room, knowing it was improper, but doing so regardless.

Tom’s bed was bigger than the one Davy slept in, higher too, and she ran her hand over the patchwork quilt to smooth out the wrinkles he’d missed. Which side did Tom sleep on, or did he sleep in the middle?
Pulse, pulse, pulse.
She quickly removed her hand.

Along the opposite wall stood his bureau. She moved across to it, cautioning herself not to touch anything. Tom’s personal belongings were scattered on top: loose change, armbands, cufflinks, horseshoe nails, peppermints, and at the back, a framed photo of Abigail.

Beth stood the lamp on the bureau, and disregarding her own advice, picked up the photo, studied it momentarily and turned it over. There was no inscription on the back, no endearment.

She peered again at the image, studying Abigail’s comely face, her full breasts covered by a lacy white blouse dotted with pearl buttons down the front, her tiny waist cinched by the wide waistband of her skirt and her broad hips flaring out the pleats. Not much wonder Tom had been attracted to her.

Compared to Abigail’s voluptuous figure, Beth felt as flat as unleavened bread. Tiny breasts, flat tummy, narrow hips.
No wonder he thought I was a boy when he tackled me in his barn.

“I’m making coffee now,” Tom called up the stairs. “Do you want a cup? Or I can brew some tea if you’d rather.”

Beth almost dropped the photo and she hastily returned it to the bureau.
Don’t come up, don’t come up,
she prayed, but the creaking of the stairs told her he was on his way. Other than diving out the second story window, there was no avenue of escape, so she stood silently steadfast, awaiting her humiliation. Certainly this couldn’t be any more embarrassing than being caught bathing in his kitchen. Surely not.

“My, my,” he drawled as he peered around the doorway, grinning like a cat having just cornered a mouse. “Did you get lost? Or are you just checking out what you’ll miss by sleeping on the sofa.”

She lifted her head proudly, as if she had every right to be in his room. “Maybe I was checking to see if you had any skeletons in your closet.”

“And did you find any?”

“One.” She reached for the photo.

Tom’s eyes seemed to dull. “Oh,” was all he said.

“Did you love her?” Beth asked, her vocal cords tight.

“I thought I did,” he answered and she gave him credit for his honesty.

Suddenly, one question burned in Beth’s mind and no matter how embarrassed she was to ask, she had to know. She needed to know. “Were you … I mean … did you … ”

“Beth, are you sure you want to hear the answer?”

She nodded, though by asking his question, he’d answered hers. Her eyes brimmed.

“Okay, yes, we had been intimate. But after a while it became routine.”

“Routine?”

“Beth, you have to understand, we were comfortable together. It just became an unspoken agreement we’d be together on Friday nights. Yes, I made love to her, but I was never really
in love
with her. Does that make any sense?” She didn’t answer, so he continued, “Then things began to change and I didn’t feel right about her and me and we drew apart. If it makes you feel any better, the last couple of months or so, we weren’t intimate.”

Seized with a need to get away, Beth pushed the photo against his chest, and tried to go by him. Tom grabbed her arm. “Beth, I am sorry … really … but I can’t change the past.” His grip tightened.

“Please let me go. You’re hurting me.”

“God, Beth, I’m in love with you. I have never loved anyone more than I do you. You have to believe me.”

Her brain felt numb, her heart rock heavy. “I don’t know what to believe. I need time to think. Please.”

Sighing deeply, he released her arm. Beth fled from the room and scurried downstairs, leaving Tom alone to stare at the smiling image of Abigail. Why hadn’t he rid himself of the photo? It meant nothing to him now. Shaking his head, he dropped the photo, frame and all, into the wastebasket, and then picked up the lamp.

Before going downstairs, Tom opened the door to Davy’s room.

“You still awake?” he asked when the boy rolled over to look at him.

“Uh huh.” Davy sat up.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Stuff.” He picked at the tufts of yarn used to tie the quilt. “Tom, if you was to marry Beth, would that make you my dad?”

Tom certainly was not expecting that question. “Did your sister say anything to you about marrying me?”

“I was just wondering.”

“Well then, if I married Beth we’d be brothers-in-law.”

“Oh.” Davy’s shoulders sagged with definite disappointment.

“But I guess,” Tom continued, “being how as I’m so much older than you are, it would seem like I’m your dad.”

Davy looked up. “I’d like that a whole bunch.”

Tom smiled. “Between you and me and the bedpost, I’d like that a whole bunch too. Now slide back down and try to go to sleep. It’s late.” He tucked the quilt under the boy’s chin. “Goodnight, Bud.”

Beth was seated at the kitchen table when Tom came down. He poured her a coffee, slid the cup across the table to her, and then poured himself one. He flipped a chair around, and sat astraddle, draping his arms across the chair back.

She couldn’t look at him. The silence between them almost echoed with unasked questions and unsaid explanations.

It was Tom who braved the first words. “I’m sorry, Beth. I guess maybe I should have told you earlier about my relationship with Abigail, but somehow the timing never seemed right.”

When would the timing be right to say such a thing?
she wondered dismally.
I love you and by the way I was intimate with Abigail Craig on Friday nights, but don’t worry, it was as routine as washing clothes on Mondays or ironing on Tuesdays.

“You don’t owe me any explanations,” she said quietly, striving to keep the hurt from her voice.

“I shouldn’t have kept something so important from you, especially since I asked you to be my wife.”

What did he expect her to say? That she was glad he had told her now? Besides, considering the enormity of her secret, who was she to cast the first stone?

Tom traced the rim of his cup round and round with his index finger. “I just assumed you would have known. Most men my age have been with a woman.” Beth turned her head aside. She couldn’t bear to hear affirmation of his carnal past.

“Are you angry with me?” he ventured gently.

“Yes,” she answered hastily and then dropping her forehead into her hands, said, “no … oh Tom, I don’t know. I’m so confused.” It was difficult to elucidate her emotions when she didn’t know herself. Hurt, jealous, fearful, angry.
Dear Lord, I have no right to feel these emotions. His indiscretions are like a speck of dust compared to what I’ve done.

Bill burst through the door. “Dammit, Carver, but you’ve got a passel of mice in your barn. How’s a fellow supposed to sleep with them crawling through the straw?”

Tom pointed. “At the top on the right.” Tension clipped his words.

Bill grunted.

Beth felt relief at her brother’s inopportune timing. She wasn’t going to marry Tom, so what difference did Tom’s past relationship make. He was not obliged to give her any explanations. Emotionally spent, Beth pushed herself slowly up from the table. “I’d like to retire for the night now.”

“Beth, we need to hash this out. At least let me try to explain.”

“I’m too tired to think. Please, I just want to go to bed.”

He nodded. “I’ll go get you some bedding.”

• • •

Long after the house was quiet, when the crackling in the fireplace had ceased and the logs had settled down into powdery coals, Beth was still awake. The steady ticking of the mantle clock counted off the seconds, while its chimes marked the hours of the passing night. Three o’clock.

She wanted so desperately to go to sleep. Her body was tired, her emotions hurt and confused, but her mind was actively mulling over and over all the evening’s events. When her thoughts collided with Tom’s admission he’d been intimate with Abigail on Friday nights, her heart ached.

Every Friday night. That meant he likely had been with Abigail just before he tackled her in his barn,
and
with Abigail the night he brought Bill home and confronted them in the kitchen. It struck her there had been many more Friday nights between then and when Abigail left.

Beth rolled onto her back, staring at the dark ceiling above her. When Davy had been born, her mother had explained the very basics of procreation, but Beth was left with more questions than answers. Her mother had promised she would explain it all in more depth when Beth was older. Sadly, their parents were killed soon after, and she and her brothers had been sent to live with her father’s brother, Mead, and his wife, Tilly. Beth didn’t dare broach the subject with them so what she learned initially about sex she got from glimpses of domestic animals mating on the farm. At the time, she thought it rather repulsive. The animals grunted, but displayed none of the affection her mother had spoken of.

Then once, while she was picking Saskatoon berries, Beth had come upon an amorous young couple. They were on the other side of the bushes, kissing and fondling, and totally unaware of her presence. She watched in curious fascination, but when the lovers started removing their clothing and Beth realized their intentions, she looked away.

The amorous couple had presented her with an awful dilemma. Should she go or should she wait? She knew if she went home with an empty pail, she’d receive a beating from her uncle. So she quietly sat on her side of the bushes, with her back to the passionate activity on the other side. Though she could see nothing, she certainly heard plenty. Again there was lots of grunting and moaning, except Beth got the feeling they were enjoying themselves. When the two finally dressed and left, Beth quickly filled her bucket. As she stripped the branches of their berries, she had pondered the perplexing idea of sex being enjoyable. Was that possible?

Now, here she was, nineteen and still as naïve as when she had picked those berries. As she shifted on the sofa in Tom’s parlor, she almost wished she
had
watched the young lovers. Then at least she wouldn’t be so ignorant. Other women, younger than her, knew what sex was all about. The rate she was going, she would probably end up an old maid, provided she wasn’t captured and hanged for murder first. Either way, she would
never
have a chance to experience the act of love making even once, let alone once a week.

Immediately her mind was back to Tom and Abigail.

Beth tried to sort out her feelings about Abigail. She wanted to hate her, but it was difficult to hate someone she barely knew. Still, she recognized she was jealous, jealous that Abigail had known Tom intimately. Without a doubt, their time together had been enjoyable because whatever Tom did, he did well.

He certainly was an adept kisser. The past couple of months, Beth had found Tom’s kisses very pleasurable. She warmed just remembering the feel of his lips on hers and his tongue inside her mouth. She could only imagine how much more pleasurable it would be if he were to …
Pulse, pulse, pulse. Stop it! You are only making yourself crazy. Tom will never be intimate with you. He wants you as a wife first.