Daughter of Australia (41 page)

James took her shoulders in his hands. “Now, lie down.” Leonora's eyes popped open.

“Trust me.”

She closed her eyes again, fidgeting nervously. “What about snakes?”

He laughed. “No snakes, I promise.”

He helped her to the ground, cradling her head until it lay cushioned in thick grass. The sounds of the crickets leveled with her ears, seemed to rise from her body. She felt the heat of his length as he lay down, her pulse quickening with the proximity. “Now, open your eyes,” he said.

She gripped the grass with her nails, a sudden vertigo rushing over her. The endless night sky seemed to surround from every side. There was no ground to be seen, no edge to the universe as she lay embraced in its enormity—an orb of midnight blue dotted with pinholes of brightness. The infinite magnitude above and around her made her gasp. “It's like I'm floating in space.”

“Amazing, isn't it? Makes you feel tiny and large all at the same time.” His tone grew gentle. “Seems like the stars are shining extra bright. Like they're showing off for you.”

The words melted, nothing completely real anymore. Together they lay side by side, each out of view of the other, their bodies eclipsed by the halo of night. She breathed out in a long sigh and relaxed into the ground. The side of her hand brushed against his—the delicate touch sending an electric charge through her limbs.

Leonora did not move her hand away. With the lightest of touches, James slid his hand closer and placed his hand atop hers. Her breathing stopped as his fingertips whispered over her knuckles and etched the curves of her slender fingers. Her whole body tingled, each minuscule movement amplified through her fingers, then her arm, before radiating through her whole body. She stared at the stars, but her focus did not leave the feeling of his hand across her flesh.

Leonora turned her hand over and their palms pressed hard. She touched the soft and firm spots of his hand, felt the full tenderness of his long fingers as they intertwined. She thought of his hands on the rest of her body—the strong hands, the tender touches, the agility of his body against hers. Her face flushed. If he turned to her now and kissed her, she would give herself to him gratefully. She was tired of fighting.

James turned his head and looked at her profile. His face glowed like porcelain in the moonlight. The stars reflected off his pupils and she drowned in them, the vertigo returning as she fell into the pure pools.

“You're so beautiful,” he whispered.

The words swept over her with sadness. He really did think she was beautiful, maybe even loved her, and it hurt like embraced grief. Her longing for him was an almost physical pain and she waited for him to pull her to his body—wanted him to make love to her, here, now, forever. She parted her lips and squeezed his hand—the only signal she had the strength to show.

His breathing quickened and his face shadowed with restraint. He closed his eyes, fought as metal against a magnetic pull and forced his concentration back at the stars. “We should go.”

James stood and pulled her to her feet, then let go of her hand. Her mouth opened with disappointment and her stomach sank. He wouldn't meet her gaze as he turned back to the house. “The girls are light sleepers.”

 

James lay on the library couch and slammed the book closed, dropped it with a thud onto the floor. He rubbed his eyes with his palms and flung his arm across his forehead.

She ain't your wife,
Tom's voice echoed in his head.

James opened and closed his fist. He tried to recall the sensation of her fingers laced between his and he tried to forget it all at the same time. He didn't know what he was doing. One minute he could stay away from her; the next minute he was reaching for her, touching her. But the wanting never stopped and it pricked him like sharp hunger pains.

Seeing her with the Shelbys made it worse. She was happy. The simple joy glowed from her skin. At the stove, he wanted to wrap his arms around her waist and kiss her neck. At the sink, he wanted to lean her against the counter, lift her around his hips. Wanting her. Waiting. A kiss, an embrace, a caress—mere tastes that only increased the craving.

In a few days, Leonora would be back with Alex, her husband. They would share a bedroom again—share their bodies again. And he would be left with the memory of her rose perfume, the softness of her hands and the reality that she was not his, the reality that he was nothing more than a distraction.

James ran his fingers through his hair, let the brown strands remain tousled and spiked. He thought about her body lying next to his under the stars, remembered her profile as it angled in the moonlight, sending a subtle light down her smooth forehead. He melted into the memory of her slender, perfect nose and the smiling lips.
Those lips!

At that moment, under the night expanse, he had almost taken her in his arms, almost let his body meld against her body until they became one, almost let the urges swallow him blind. He had wanted to make love to her. There. On hard, cold ground, he wanted to make love to her. Under the black blanket of night, surrounded by the sounds of the night, he wanted to touch her—all of her—and bring their own noise and movement and pleasure to the night and send their own vibrations into the earth.

Leonora was asleep down the hall—three doors down. Three. Only a few walls and a door separated them and he could feel her breathing against his neck, feel her hair across his chest, feel her smile stretch across his skin. A few steps down the hall, a turn of the knob, and he could be in her bedroom. He could pull back the covers and slide in next to her and find her lips, find her hands searching and her body willing. Only three doors down. His legs tingled for movement, slid to the edge of the couch; his back wanted to rise.

She ain't your wife.
With a frustrated, audible grunt, James thrashed onto his stomach and wrapped the pillow around the back of his head, clasped his hands in a lock around his ears.

“I know!” James shouted into the sofa, the sound muffled and lost within the cushions.

 

Upon their return, Tom and Mrs. Shelby shed the raw grief of the previous days and settled into mourning. The weight of the funeral no longer hung on their shoulders. Mrs. Shelby buried her sons; Tom buried his brothers. Life moved forward again, be it slowly and thick with gray.

No one wanted to sit within the confines of the house or walk past the two empty chairs that had been moved to the side of the dining room, so Mrs. Shelby packed a picnic and they all set out beyond the golden wheat to a placid lake nestled at the far end of the property. The day was hot and dry and bright. The ground filled with flowers and butterflies, the sky cloudless and pale blue. James carried Charlotte on his shoulders, her fingers covering his eyes now and then in play, sending him into blind staggers and protests.

Tom walked backwards, the sun against his back. “Where you say the dance is, Mum?”

“Tessler's,” Mrs. Shelby answered. “Whole county will be there.” Tom turned back and faced the sun, his shoulders slumped.

“Should leave after supper,” Mrs. Shelby directed.

“You know I ain't goin', Mum.” Tom plodded sullenly. “Wouldn't be right.”

“Hell it's not! Nothin' you like more than a good dance!” Mrs. Shelby scolded. “Been workin' too hard, Tommie. You need a break. Be good for you.”

“Really?” Tom turned around tentatively. “You wouldn't be sore?”

“Sore? I'd be thankin' the good Lord to have an ounce of peace without your yabberin'!” She wagged a finger at him. “You're goin' to that dance even if I got to drag you there myself!” She pointed at James and Leonora. “You're all goin'. Hear me?”

Tom smiled from one ear to the next, ran at his mother and kissed her hard. Mrs. Shelby wiped her hand across her cheek. “Gawd, hope you're a better kisser than that with the ladies!”

Tom was a different man now—looked at the sun like he saw it. He stepped back and put an easy arm over Leonora's shoulder. “Ever been to a barn dance?”

“Can't say I have.” She thought about James and Tom dancing with all the pretty country girls. “But I'll stay back and help with the house. You don't need me tagging along.”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Shelby said. Then she leaned into Leonora's ear. “Besides, somebody needs t'look after him. Can see that look in his eye. He's drunk on grog and women already.”

“Heard that!” Tom shouted. He poked James in the ribs. “But she ain't lyin'!”

The lake came into full view. Mrs. Shelby laid the blanket onto the thick grass, spread out the food baskets.

“Can we go for a bogey now, Mum?” the girls hollered.

“Long as you stay close to the boys.” Mrs. Shelby held up a blanket as the girls changed into their suits. Tom and James stripped off their shirts and socks and boots and piled their clothes on a smooth boulder.

“Coming in for a swim?” James asked Leonora with a grin.

She shook her head, tried to keep her eyes from drowning in his chest and stomach muscles. “I didn't bring a suit.”

He winked playfully. “All the more reason.” She blushed and threw an apricot at him.

“Last one in is a sheep's arse!” Tom shouted.

“Tommie, watch that mouth!” Mrs. Shelby scolded, but the men were already off toward the water, the girls screaming to catch up.

The two women sat under the shade of the wide, warm pepper tree and gathered their skirts under their legs. They watched the boys play tag with the little girls, feigning leg spasms and slow feet so the girls could knock them to the ground. Then, with a series of big and small splashes, they all plopped into the lake.

“You have a wonderful family, Mrs. Shelby.” Leonora stroked a grass blade wistfully.

“Thank you. They're a good bunch,” she said with visible pride. “That Tommie'll be the death of me, though.” She chuckled. “He don't think much past what's sittin' right in front of him whether it's a beer, a woman or a fist. Just like his father, that one. Always has been.” Her eyes twinkled, then grew distant. “Tommie's always seemed like a fleetin' wind.”

Leonora plucked the grass stem, twirled it. “How so?”

“He was a sickly child. Wouldn't know it by lookin' at him. Doc said it was general malaise. What a load a crap! That first year, my Tommie nearly died more times than I could count. I nursed him, but I wouldn't hold him, didn't want to get attached. Sounds cold, eh?” The woman grimaced. “But I couldn't do it. Only reason he made it is because his dad never put him down. He strapped little Tommie to his chest an' brought him everywhere, just like a kangaroo with a joey in her pouch.” She chuckled then, but her forehead wrinkled. “Still get my heart stuck in my throat when I see Tommie, fearin' something's gonna happen to him.” She shook the ghosts away and slapped her knee. “Must be on account of those sickly years. Probably just the guilt I got for not holdin' him. That stuff plays silly tricks on a sentimental woman.”

Mrs. Shelby picked at a loose thread on her dress, scanned the lake, the pepper tree and the purple violets hidden in the grass. “I'm sellin' the property,” she said suddenly. “Tommie don't know yet.” The woman lowered her eyes and her face paled, the skin around her jaw slacked. “Too many ghosts. I still wake up every morning lookin' for my Tom snorin' on the pillow next to me. Man's been dead well over ten years an' I still reach for him. Now the fields are filled with Will an' John. Think I see 'em sometimes, movin' with the wheat. Every time it breaks my heart. Like I'm losin' 'em all over again, a hundred times a day.”

“Where will you go?”

“Don't know.” Her lips straightened. “Can't stay here, though. I'll break right in two.”

Mrs. Shelby inhaled and closed her eyes, her voice hushed and drawn with effort. “My boys are dead. Can't hardly breathe with 'em gone. Like I'm being choked all the time.” The woman's chin shook quickly before hardening. “Thought I could handle it. When the boys left for the war, I prepared myself. Had hope but told myself over an' over again, they might not come back. But you can't prepare for death any more than you can prepare your stomach for starvation.” Mrs. Shelby touched her red hair, patted it down around her ear. “My boys are gone an' it feels like there's hardly anything in the world that's not movin' in a dream.”

Mrs. Shelby looked far into the distance, her pupils moving left and right and back again frantically searching for a world she recognized. She turned to Leonora then, looked over her features gently, the heavy words floating away like the seeds of a dandelion puff. “Look at me yabberin' on.” She pulled out the basket and took out a bowl of strawberries. “Help yourself. Not worth waitin' for the rest of 'em. We'll have to drag 'em outta that lake.”

Leonora took a piece of fruit, the juices warm and sweet. She watched as James crawled out of the water, his skin slick, his pants slung low on his waist showing the bones of his pelvis. He hollered something out at Tom and then dived over his head. James emerged amid splashing hands and laughter.

“He's a good man.” Mrs. Shelby's tone was sober. Leonora knew who she was talking about and chewed the berry slowly.

“He's in love with you, you know. Saw it the first time he looked at you. Never saw him look at anyone like that. Ever.”

Leonora's whole body flushed, her throat too frozen to swallow.

“You love him, too.” Mrs. Shelby kept her gaze steady on Leonora's face.