Earth Angels (6 page)

Emma read it and looked up at him, her eyes dancing. “Why, Joseph, I’m shocked. This is really quite wicked.” She pressed a palm over her mouth and giggled.

“Accurate, however,” he said with a remorseful grin.

“Not at all.” She laughed outright, her eyes filled with mischief. “You’re much better looking—than the horse.”

Joseph laughed with her, relieved beyond belief that the card had been such a success.

A plate heaped with food was thrust into his hands. “Here ya go, young feller. Take that coat off and bide a spell. You could use some feedin’ up, yer downright skinny in places,” Granny said.

As he removed his heavy overcoat, Granny gave him several irreverent prods in the ribs and grinned up at him, baring her toothless gums in delight.

He smiled fondly at his old friend. “Good to see you, Granny.”

“And you. I been sayin’ its about time ye took some jollification. Ain’t that a fact, missy?” She winked at Emma, who blushed scarlet and fingered a small locket she wore on a leather thong around her neck.

“You certainly did say that, Granny, and you were right.”

Joseph noticed that for some reason Emma was suddenly ill at ease, shooting Granny a reproachful look.

Granny chortled and Emma blushed an even deeper pink. She took his hand and whisked him further into the room. “Come and say hello to everyone. You know Belinda, of course.”

Belinda, her freckled face as fiery as her hair, looked up at him from under sparse pale lashes. “Why, Doctor Gillespie, I can hardly believe my eyes. Does this mean we’ll see you at the next church social?”

Joseph greeted her politely while managing not to commit himself.

“And here’s Benjamin and Prudence Irvine,” Emma went on.

Prudence looked surprised but pleased to see him. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Doctor.” Her young husband stood up and shook Joseph’s hand, smiling a friendly welcome.

Joseph liked the young couple, whom he knew well. They’d married the year before and Prudence was now his patient because they were expecting their first child in early June.

He scrutinized the young woman, trying to figure out if she was quite well. Her pregnancy had been extremely difficult from the very beginning, but tonight she seemed well and happy. Benjamin’s arm twined protectively around his wife’s fragile shoulders. Joseph noticed the loving glances that passed between them, and something like envy stirred in his heart.

Some of the guests were more welcoming than others. Oscar Mackie wasn’t his usual exuberant self. “Thought you wasn’t much for social occasions, Doc.”

“Joseph’s turning over a new leaf,” Emma said, squeezing Joseph’s hand. “He’s decided to become a social butterfly, haven’t you, Joseph?” Her wide smile and her glance were only for him, and the affectionate use of his name lightened his heart.

There were far more men than women present, and several of them besides Oscar seemed less than enthusiastic when Emma drew him over to say hello. She was still holding his hand, and the men gave him cool, appraising glances. Something basic and primal and deep that he’d never noticed in himself before stirred, and he enfolded Emma’s hand more firmly in his own and gave them back glance for glance.

“Gentlemen,” he said with cool aplomb, knowing full well that battle lines were being established, and that as far as Emma’s attentions were concerned, it was every man for himself. The competition didn’t bother him. Instead, it evoked a competitive instinct he’d never known he had apart from his studies.

During the next hour, he relaxed, joining in and enjoying the playful social banter. Old Mr. Bodsworth played the fiddle and everyone sang, first, “Jeanie With The Light Brown Hair,” and then the romantic, “Lorena.”

“Sing us that Irish ballad your papa used sing, Emma,” Belinda urged.

With the fiddle playing softly in the background, Emma, in a husky, true contralto, sang, “I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen.”

Joseph watched and listened, downing several glasses of the pink toned punch. He also made short work of the plates of food Granny kept handing him. And every moment, every second, he was aware of Emma, flitting from one group to the next like a crimson firefly, shining gossamer in the lamplight.

Gradually the older people left the party, and soon there was only a small group of younger people left.

“Blind man’s bluff,” someone suggested, and everyone shouted their approval.

“Blind man has to kiss the one he captures,” Oscar declared, his dark, knowing eyes on Emma.

But when the blindfold was around his head and he groped his way towards her, Emma slipped behind Belinda. And it was that giggling young woman Oscar seized and after a moment’s hesitation, gallantly kissed while the others giggled and cheered.

“Joseph’s turn,” Emma insisted.

He wanted to refuse, but Emma’s look challenged him. He removed his glasses and bent low so she could tie the blindfold around his head. Then he was spun around and around. Dizzy, he took a moment to orient himself, but then his nose told him exactly where Emma was—her evocative lavender perfume was like a beacon. He touched others and they laughed and slipped from his grasp, and then his hands were on her satin covered shoulders. She didn’t resist or move away. He felt tension in her softness, a quivering in her body, but when he took her in his arms, she came willingly.

Catcalls and teasing voices rose around them, but Joseph barely heard them. He dipped his head, searching blindly for her lips, finding instead the velvety softness of her cheek. His nose bumped hers and then, like a miracle, his lips met hers.

His heart hammered as if it were going to burst in his chest. Her lips were sweet, parting the slightest bit beneath the pressure of his. For the moment that propriety allowed, he gave himself up entirely to the kiss, feeling elated by the shudder that rippled through Emma.

He was astounded at the depths of his own reaction. One short kiss wasn’t nearly enough. He longed to enfold her tightly in his arms, feel her breasts crushed against his chest, her body close to his. Instead, he released her and the blindfold was snatched from his face by Oscar.

“Hey, Doc, yer hoggin’ the show. Give one of us other fella’s a turn now.”

Joseph blinked, nearsighted without his spectacles. The only face he could see clearly was Emma’s, her skin golden in the lamplight, her cheeks flaming as her startled gaze met his and then fluttered away.

The rest of the evening passed in a rosy haze for Joseph, until one of the women yawned delicately and suggested it was time to leave. The other guests rose, but when he got to his feet to accompany them, Emma restrained him, her hand on his arm.

“I haven’t opened your gift yet, Joseph. Please stay another moment, won’t you?”

So with Oscar shooting murderous glances his way, Joseph sat back down on the sofa until the others were gone.

“Phew.” Emma leaned back against the closed door, feigning exhaustion, the back of her hand pressed against her forehead.

Joseph fantasized that is she were really his and alone with him at last, they would have the whole delicious night for loving.

Emma retrieved his gift from the table by the door and sat down beside him. He watched her unfold the clumsily wrapped package. He was nervous all over again as she untied his crooked attempt at a bow. He was relieved beyond measure that the others were gone.

He’d thought long and hard about what to give her, wondering what might be both meaningful and not readily available in her own store.

“Oh Joseph, how lovely!” The wrappings had fallen away revealing the soft shawl, and he saw that her eyes were wide with delight and pleasure.

Crocheted in fragile woolen yarn, the shawl was a huge triangle with elaborate fringed edges. The color had always pleased him, variegated shades of bronze and gold and a particularly rich chocolate that he now realized was the exact shade of Emma’s eyes.

“It was my mother’s. She made it. I hope you don’t mind.”

She clasped it to her chest, her eyes shining. “Oh no, indeed I don’t. I’m so honored, Joseph. That it belonged to your mother makes it very special to me. Thank you.”

She shook it out and placed it around her shoulders, and when it caught on the back of the sofa he reached out to help her. As naturally as breathing, she was in his arms. This time, there was no clumsiness as he bent his head to kiss her.

Her arms encircled his neck, and her head tilted up like a flower to the sun. His hands ached to cup her breasts, and desire raged through him as her lips parted beneath his, fully this time.

He stripped off his spectacles when they got in the way, aware of the curve of her cheek, the length of her sooty lashes, the contrasting creaminess of her skin against the crimson satin of her gown. He groaned and kissed her, enveloped by heat and passion.

His hands slid up to cup her half-exposed breasts, his thumbs gently rubbing her nipples. She gasped and then slowly pulled away, her breathing making the bodice of her dress rise and fall sharply. She looked mussed, her lips swollen, her brown eyes smoldering with the same desire that coursed through him.

He leaned back, aware they were progressing too far, too fast. He held her hands, raising them, turning them so he could plant a lingering kiss in each palm.

“I must go, Emma.” His voice was unsteady as he got to his feet, found his glasses and put them on his nose. He reached down and drew her up, succumbing to temptation one last time. His arms around her, he kissed her soundly, tasting the delicious echo of his own passion in the shy probing of her tongue with his. This kiss was meant as goodbye, but it felt like hello instead, and it went on until once again he could hardly tear himself away.

With great reluctance he held her at arm’s length, his hands on her shoulders.

“Thank you, Emma, for a wonderful evening. This is the best Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had.”

She laughed softly. “I’ll bet you don’t usually even remember it. A man who forgets his birthday isn’t likely to remember Valentine’s Day.”

He laughed with her, because she was right. It took all his self-control to resist the urge to hold her again and kiss her senseless. He opened the door instead, tugging on his coat.

“Good night, Emma.”

“Sweet dreams.” Her words floated out as he closed the door behind him.

Outside, the frosty night sky was awash with distant stars. As he strolled, he whistled the lilting ballad Emma had sung with such poignancy.

He felt an arm around his shoulders, and grinned like a fool at Nathaniel.

“Pipe down, you’ll wake the entire town.”

“I don’t care. I never knew I could feel this way again.”

Nathaniel smiled and shook his head. “That’s because you haven’t allowed yourself to feel this way again, Joseph. It’s like opening a door. It’s simple once you locate the doorknob.”

CHAPTER SIX

During the weeks that followed, Emma was convinced that Granny was indeed part sorceress, because Joseph’s courting had begun on Valentine’s eve. The charm Granny had given her that evening contained a lock of Joseph’s baby hair and heaven alone knew what else. Granny had slipped the locket around Emma’s neck that night and it had worked.

Joseph had sought her out almost every day since then, inviting her for a walk, a sleigh ride, a church supper.

At first shy, often endearingly clumsy, sometimes nearly inarticulate, he was always attentive. He gradually relaxed with her, allowing her to discover how truly wonderful he was. He had a quirky, droll sense of humor, often making himself and his absentminded behavior the brunt of his funny stories. He was intelligent, and their conversations encompassed politics, literature and religion, as well as local social issues. But it wasn’t their discussions that made her heart hammer and her body burn for him. It was his kisses, his caresses.

Emma had realized that first time his lips met hers in front of everyone in her parlor that Joseph’s kisses made her knees weak and her heart hammer. She’d longed to twine her arms around him and further explore the delicious sensations he created.

So she’d done exactly that over the past weeks every time they were alone. Joseph participated eagerly and ardently. But now their kissing was no longer enough to satisfy the hunger he stirred in her. She wanted more and it irked her that Joseph continued to be a gallant gentleman, always stopping their love play before it reached the point where there was no turning back.

Early in the March evenings, she sometimes accompanied him as he visited the patients in the country. It was on those visits that she came to know another side of him, and on one visit, a part of Joseph that puzzled and intrigued her.

The Fishers had five grown sons who logged and farmed their hundred acres of land. The boys were all married, and parents, sons, wives and grandparents lived communally and happily in one huge house. Grandfather Elmer Fisher was eighty-six, much beloved, and Joseph was called because the old man was having trouble breathing. He was in a small bedroom on the main floor, and Emma could hear the old man’s labored, whistling breaths from where she sat in the kitchen, being served tea by the women.

There was only a curtain closing off the bedroom. Joseph had gently but firmly ushered everyone out so he could examine Elmer. Over the soft murmur of the women’s voices, she could hear Joseph talking, and at first she thought he was addressing Elmer. But she soon realized Joseph was talking to himself, asking peculiar questions about Elmer’s lungs, about what course of treatment should be followed. He’d say something and then wait, as if he were listening for an answer. She’d never heard him do that before.