Morning Glory (31 page)

“Jew like, eh, hombre?” She growled low in her throat and took him in hand with little gentleness and less pause. Firmly stroking him, she let her eyes flash wickedly. “Jew will like this even more.” She dove down without invitation, opened her mouth and narrowed his world to a thin corridor where carnality was all that mattered.

“Will... wake up, Will!”

Disoriented, he opened his eyes to find himself not in a field of Texas bluebonnets but in an iron bed; with a face dampened not by creekwater but by his own sweat; not with Carmelita, but with Elly. His body was swelled like a cactus in a March rain and his hand was inside Elly’s cotton underwear, in her pregnant body.

Startled, she looked back over her shoulder. He held himself rigid, too near climax to risk even the faintest movement.

“I was dreaming,” he managed in a raspy voice.

“You awake now?”

“Yes.” He withdrew his hand and rolled onto his back, covering his eyes with a wrist. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“What were you dreaming?”

“Nothin’.”

“Of me?”

Afraid of hurting her feelings, he remained silent, damning Lula, and the dream, and his own body for needing release. “Elly, you scared to let me touch you?”

“You touch me all the time.”

“Not there.”

Silence... then, “I don’t want you to see me. Pregnant women aren’t so pretty to look at.”

“Who told you that?”

“They just aren’t.”

“I’ll see you when the baby is born.”

“Not for long. And afterwards I won’t look like this.”

He moved his wrist and stared at the ceiling, thinking,
It isn’t natural, two people lying beside each other, married all this time and never touching deliberately.
“I’m gonna turn off the lamp, Elly.”

No reply, so he reached over and lowered the wick. In the unaccustomed darkness they lay in the strong scent of kerosene smoke.

“Come here.” He reached, closed his hand over her arm and pulled gently. “It’s time for this, don’t you think?”

“Will, I like it when you kiss me and hold me, but I can’t do any more.”

“I know.” He found her hips and rolled her to face him. “But I’m dying every night, wondering. Aren’t you? I’ll be gentle as anything you ever felt.” He pulled her nightgown up and laid both hands on her. “I want you to know somethin’, Elly.” He kissed her mouth, breathed on her, felt his heart drumming everywhere, everywhere. “I wish this baby was mine.”

He explored her skin as if it were braille, leaving no further secrets. “Ah, Elly... Elly...” he murmured throatily. Then he found her hand and placed it upon himself and his breathing became a battle for air. He shuddered and ejaculated in her hand. Swiftly. Afterward he felt healed and renewed and reached for her again, to repay her in kind. But she pushed his hand away, sighed and curled close against him.

He lay holding her while emotions came to cleanse him. He thought of thanking her, but considered himself inarticulate
in a moment too precious to jade with words. So he enfolded her, rubbed her back, her spine, her hair, pressing her even closer at intervals when his sense of fulfillment cried for expression.

Outside a solitary woodcock called, rising on whistling wings. The wind rested, stilling the tree tips. Off in the distance a barred owl called, like the bark of a dog at first, then, as if questioning,
Who-looks-for-you? Who looks for you?

Inside, entwined, Will and Elly drifted to sleep.

And neither of them thought to turn the light back on.

Elly went into labor near noon of December fourth. She’d had a low backache all morning, then a bloody show, and by dinnertime her first two distinguishable contractions had come, fifteen minutes apart. The second hit hard enough to perch her on the edge of a chair, trying to catch her breath for the better part of a minute. When it ended she braced her back and rose awkwardly, then waddled into the front room.

Will was working on the bathroom, sitting crosslegged on the floor, whistling. He had cut a doorway through the front-room wall and sectioned off an end of the porch, which already had a window installed and the pipes jutting up from the crawl space underneath. With his first check he had proudly purchased bathroom fixtures—used, though neither Will nor Elly cared in their excitement over the prospect of having such a room. The sink and stool were stored elsewhere, but the tub was in place, standing inside the skeletal walls which, too, awaited finishing after the pipework was done.

Elly paused in the bathroom doorway, watching Will, listening to him whistle “In My Adobe Hacienda,” which they’d been hearing on the radio lately. Wielding a pipe wrench, he faced the far wall. His cowboy hat sat at a jaunty angle on the back of his head. Sawdust coated its brim, and the back of his
blue shirt was smudged with dirt from lying on his back in the crawl space. She smiled as he hit several sour notes.

He gave the wrench a last mighty tug that interrupted his song, then set it down with a clatter and tested the pipe junction with his fingers, picking up the tune again, softly, through his teeth. He got to one knee and picked up a copper elbow joint, bending forward while figuring the height at which it should adjoin the pipe connections on the tub.

“Hey, you,” she greeted amiably, wearing an appreciative smile.

He twisted at the waist and sent her an answering grin. “Hiya, doll.”

She laughed and leaned against the doorframe. “Some doll, shaped like a bloated horse.”

“C’m’ere.” He fell to his seat, legs outstretched, leaning against a wall stud and reaching out one dirty hand. They grinned at each other silently for a long moment. “Over here.” He patted his lap.

She boosted off the doorframe and picked her way through tools and pipes scattered upon the floor to stand above him.

“Right here.” He patted his lap again as she turned sideways.

“No, not that way—this way.” He grabbed her ankle and planted it beyond his far hip, grinning suggestively. “Come on down here.”

“Will... the boys,” she whispered, throwing a cautious glance over her shoulder at the doorway.

“So what?” Gripping her hands he forced her to straddle him with her skirt bunched up to midthigh.

“But they might come in.”

“So they find me kissing their mother. Be good for ‘em.” He linked his wrists behind her waist and settled her paunch against his belly while she crossed her arms behind his neck.

“Will Parker...” She smiled into his upraised face. “You’re the crazy one, not me.”

“Damn right, woman. Crazy for you.” He lifted his mouth for a long, involved kiss—lips, tongues, and plenty of head motion. It was something new for Eleanor, necking in the middle of the day. With Glendon there had been restraint during
daylight hours, perhaps even less than restraint, for the idea of an interlude like this never entered their heads. But with Will... oh, her Will. He was insatiable. She couldn’t carry a stack of clean laundry through his vicinity without being waylaid, and pleasantly so. He was a devilishly good kisser. She’d never before given much consideration to the quality of kisses. But straddling Will’s lap, with his mouth wide, sucking gently on hers, with his silky tongue stroking everything reachable within her mouth, she appreciated his skill. He didn’t simply kiss. He lavished, then lingered, then drew away by slow degrees, as if he would never tire of her. Sometimes he murmured wordlessly, often nuzzled, making parting as sweet as joining had been.

The kiss ended with all due reluctance, and with Will’s nose buried in her collar, his hat fallen to the floor.

“My hands are dirty or you know where they’d be, don’t you?”

Eyes closed, face tilted up, she held his head and lightly raked his skull the way he loved. “Where?”

He closed his teeth on her collarbone, chuckled and teased, “In the kitchen, building a sandwich. I’m starved.”

She laughed and pushed away in mock rebuff. “You’re always starved. What do you think I came in here for?”

“To call me for dinner?” He leaned back and grinned into her happy green eyes.

“What else?”

“And instead you pinned me to the floor and wasted all this time when I could’ve been eating?”

“Who wants to eat when you can neck?”

He feigned disgust and reached for his hat, plunking it on his head. “Here I am, minding my own business, puttin’ in a bathroom, when out of nowhere this woman jumps me. I mean, I got my wrench out and I’m connectin’ pipe and not botherin’ a livin’ soul when—”

“Hey, Will?” she interrupted teasingly. “Guess what.”

“What?”

“Dinner’s ready.”

“Well, it’s about time.” He tried to rise, but she remained on his lap.

“Guess what else.”

“I dunno.”

“My labor’s started.”

His face flattened as if she’d struck him across the Adam’s apple with the pipe wrench.

“Elly. Oh, my God, you shouldn’t be sitting here. Lord, did I hurt you, pulling you down? Can you get up?”

She chuckled at his overzealous reaction. “It’s all right. I’m between pains. And sitting here took my mind off ‘em.”

“Elly, are you sure? I mean, is it really time?”

“I’m sure.”

“But how can it be? It’s only December fourth.”

“I said December, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but—well, December’s a long month!” His brow furrowed as he carefully boosted her up and followed. “I mean, I thought it’d be later. I thought I’d have time to finish the bathroom so it’d be ready when the baby came.”

“It’s a funny thing about babies.” She held his dirty hands and lifted a reassuring smile. “They don’t wait for things to get done. They just come whenever they feel like it. Now listen, I got some things to get ready, so if you’d fix the boys’ plates and your own it’d sure be a help.”

Will became a bundle of nerves. She shouldn’t have found it amusing, but couldn’t help smiling covertly. He balked at being out of her sight, even for the short time it took him to settle the kids at the table with their plates. Instead of filling a plate for himself he followed her to the bedroom, where he found her stripping the bed.

“What’re you doing?”

“Getting the bed ready.”

“Well,
I can do that
!” he reprimanded sharply, clumping inside.

“So can 1. Will, please... listen.” She dropped the corner of the quilt and clasped his wrist. “It’s best if I move around, all right? It could be hours yet.”

He elbowed her aside and began jerking the soiled bedclothes off the mattress. “I don’t see how you could’ve just sat there on the bathroom floor letting me make jokes while it was already started.”

“So what else should I do?”

“Well, I don’t know, but Jesus, Elly, there I was, pulling at your ankles, making you sit on me.” She moved as if to resume her chore, and he erupted. “I said I’ll fix the bed! Just tell me what you want on it.”

She told him: old newspapers against the mattress, covered by absorbent cotton flannel sheets folded into thick pads, and finally the muslin sheet. No blankets at all. It looked so stark and foreboding, the sight of it scared him worse than ever. But while he stood staring she had a new surprise in store for him.

“I want you to go down to the barn and get a pair of tugs.”

“Tugs?” His unblinking eyes grew round.

“Tug straps. From Madam’s harness.”

“What for?”

“And you might as well start carrying water. Fill the boiler and the reservoir and the teakettle. We need to have both warm and cold on hand. Now go.”

“What for? What d’you need those tug straps for?”

“Will... please,” she said with forced patience.

He raced down to the barn, cursing himself for not getting the running water in before this, for not hooking the water heater up to the wind generator, for not realizing babies sometimes come early. He tore the spare harness from the wall and fumbled with the leather, removing the tugs. Less than three minutes later he panted to a halt at the bedroom door to find her poised on the edge of a hard wooden chair, back arched, eyes closed, her hands gripping the edge of the seat.

“Elly!” He dropped the tugs and fell to one knee before her.

“It’s all right,” she managed, breathless, her eyelids still closed. “It’s going away now.”

He touched her kneecaps, quaking with fear. “Elly, I’m sorry I shouted before. I didn’t mean to. I was just scared.”

“It’s all right, Will.” The pain eased as she opened her eyes and slowly sank back in the chair. “Now listen to me. I want you to take that harness and lay it out flat on the porch floor and scrub it hard with a brush and that yellow soap. On both
sides. Scrub good around the buckles and even in the buckle holes. And scrub your hands and fingernails at the same time. Then bring the tugs inside and boil them in the dishpan. While they’re boiling in one pan, I want you to boil the scissors and two lengths of hard string in a separate one. You’ll find them in the kitchen in a cup next to the sugar bowl. Then as soon as the water is hot, bring some in here, and the yellow soap so I can take a bath.”

“All right, Elly,” he answered meekly, rising, backing away doubtfully.

“And put the boys down for a nap as soon as they’re finished eating.”

He followed her instructions minutely, rushing from task to task, afraid something would happen while he wasn’t at her side. When he brought the empty washtub into the bedroom he found her drawing fresh white baby clothing from the bureau drawer—a tiny flannel kimono, a receiving blanket, an undershirt, a diaper. He stood and watched as she lovingly catalogued each item and placed it on a stack. Next came the pink shawl she’d crocheted herself, and a pair of incredibly small booties to match. She turned and found him watching.

Her smile was so peaceful, so unafraid, it brought a measure of ease to him. “I just know it’s going to be a girl,” she said.

“I’d like that, too.”

He watched as Elly got the laundry basket from behind the bedroom door, emptied it of dirty clothes and prepared it with a white pad, followed by rubber and cotton sheets. Then came the pink shell-designed shawl and lastly a white flannel receiving blanket. “There.” She smiled down at the basket with the same pride a queen might have exhibited over a golden cradle lined with swansdown.