Thorne's Way

by Joan Hohl

  * * *

  “Are your parents dead, Jonas?” Stosh asked quietly five minutes after he’d reported for work the following morning.

  “My mother is. She died while I was being born,” Jonas answered stiffly. “I don’t know about my father. She was alone when she had me. I’m a bastard,” he finished starkly.

  The bright blue eyes resting on his suddenly harsh-looking face flickered with compassion. “Were there no grandparents or relatives willing to take you in?” Stosh asked in astonishment.

  “No.” Jonas shook his head slowly. “She wasn’t from Tamaqua. In fact, no one could find out where she was from. She just showed up at a rooming house across town one day and rented a room. She worked as a waitress somewhere up until a couple of days before I was born. Apparently she never saw a doctor and if it hadn’t been for the owner of the rooming house who heard her muffled screams and sent for his own doctor, she probably wouldn’t have lived long enough to deliver me.” Jonas paused, amazed at himself for offering the information so freely. He’d never told anyone about his history before, and yet, there was something about Stosh’s shrewd blue eyes that instilled the urge to confide. With a fatalistic shrug, Jonas ended his story. “She lived long enough to name me, but I don’t know if Thorne was her name or the name of the man who fathered me. When they couldn’t find out anything about her I was made a ward of the court and placed in a foster home.” As had happened the afternoon before, Jonas’s lips twisted cynically over the word “foster.” “I’ve been in five different homes in seventeen years.”

  “Bad, huh?” Stosh probed.

  “A couple of them were okay.” Jonas lifted his shoulders in an unconvincingly careless shrug. “Mostly the people just wanted the money they were paid for my keep.”

  “And the people you’re with now?” Stosh probed deeper.

  Jonas hesitated, then, looking him straight in the eyes, said bluntly, “He’s a brutal slob and she’s a shrew.”

  Stosh was not altogether successful in masking his surprised shock at the open disgust in Jonas’s tone.

  “That’s a strong condemnation, son,” he said quietly.

  This time Jonas’s shrug was careless. “Not saying the truth out loud doesn’t change it. The day I turn eighteen, I’m getting out.” His mouth curled in a sneer. “They’d probably throw me out anyway—that’s when the money stops.”

  “Have they treated you very badly, Jonas?” The slow, measured tempo of Stosh’s question revealed the outrage he was feeling.

  Jonas shook his head slowly. He was done talking. There was no point in complaining about the physical abuse he’d taken from the heavy-fisted man, or the shrill, vocal abuse he’d been subjected to from the strident-voiced woman. Or even the long hours he’d had to work on the small farm his foster parents owned. Jonas had always been too thin for his long frame and the authorities had genuinely believed that the fresh country air would be beneficial to his health when they’d placed him at the farm. And, in truth, it had been. At least, physically. For, even though he still appeared undernourished, the seven years of hard physical labor he’d put in on the farm had toughened his muscles to tempered steel. The last time his foster-father had struck him—just two months previously—Jonas had curled his large hand into a fist and knocked him flat. Jonas hadn’t been abused since. The memory brought a satisfied smile to his face.

  Stosh frowned, wondering at the meaning behind the young man’s unpleasant smile, but, prudently, he did not probe any further. Leading Jonas into the workroom behind the shop, he said, “Okay, kid, let’s get started.”

  For Jonas, that day was the beginning of a lifelong love affair between his mind and everything electrical. While he was on the job he lost himself completely in his work. During the other hours of the day and night, he was consumed with thoughts of the golden-haired Lynn.

  Unwittingly, Stosh himself arranged their second meeting a little over a week after Jonas began working for him.

  Although it was not yet nine o’clock that Saturday morning in late July, it was steamy hot. The unusual length and intensity of the heat wave had left even the most hardy residents of Tamaqua wilted and gasping. A humid haze hung like a pall over the city and in every dip and hollow of the heavily mined mountains surrounding it. Even the ugliness of the slag banks was softened by the shimmering heat waves.

  Jonas entered the shop as Stosh was putting the telephone receiver in its cradle.

  “You remember what I showed you about replacing the timer in a refrigerator on Wednesday?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have a driver’s license?”

  “Yes,” Jonas repeated.

  “That was the wife I was talking to when you came in.” Stosh indicated the phone. “She called to tell me the fridge is acting up.” Stosh grimaced. “And in this weather, too. From the way she described it, I think the timer went. Do you want to take a shot at fixing it?”

  “Yes, sir.” Jonas grinned.

  “You’re on.” Stosh grinned back. Digging into his pocket he withdrew a ring of keys and tossed them to Jonas. “Take my car. There’s a replacement timer in the parts case in the trunk.” He gave Jonas directions to his small ranch house on the outskirts of town, then waved him off with a warned, “Take your time. I want it done right.”

  Jonas had no trouble at all finding Stosh’s home. He did have trouble with his breathing when Lynn opened the door seconds after he rang the bell. She was dressed in tight shorts and a halter top that barely covered her small breasts, and it was obvious she’d been sunbathing—her body was covered by a mixture of glistening suntan oil and perspiration.

  “Hi, dopey,” she said dispiritedly. “What do you want?”

  “Your dad sent me over to fix the refrigerator,” Jonas managed to articulate without stuttering. To an older, more experienced man, Lynn’s moody eyes and pouting lips would have been a clear indication of her sulkiness. To Jonas, however, her eyes looked sexy and her lips wet and inviting.

  “I didn’t even know the dumb thing was broken.” She shrugged, pulling the door wide as she stepped back. “I was lying in the sun. Come in.” As Jonas walked past her she said, “I hope you know what’s wrong with it, ’cause Mom’s not here to tell you; she went shopping.”

  “I know what’s wrong with it,” Jonas assured her, his eyes following her every movement as he trailed her to the kitchen.

  Plopping herself onto a kitchen chair, Lynn chattered at him the whole time he worked, her petulant tone changing to one of interest as she observed the play of previously unnoticed muscles in his broad shoulders and long arms. She left the kitchen while he was washing his hands at the kitchen sink after the fridge was again running smoothly.

  “Jonas, can you come in here and help me, please?”

  Lynn’s voice floated to him as he dried his hands.

  “Sure,” he answered, wandering out of the kitchen and into a short hallway. “Where are you?”

  “In here,” she called from a room about halfway along the hall. Jonas walked to the open doorway and stopped dead when he saw it was her bedroom. “I can’t get this knot open. Will you see if you can untie it?” Lynn was standing beside her unmade bed, her back to him, her fingers tugging at the knot closing of her halter top.

  His pulses hammering, Jonas crossed the carpeted floor and with trembling fingers brushed her hands away and went to work on the knot. The second the cotton ends fluttered apart, he dropped his hands to his sides.

  Before he could move, Lynn swung around to face him, curling her arms up and around her golden head as she turned. Jonas sucked air into his suddenly tight chest as the swathe of white cotton dropped to the floor.

  Chapter 6

  A part of Jonas’s mind knew he should get out of that room, that house, but a bigger part wanted to feast his eyes on the perfection of her small, round, upturned breasts. The bigger part won.

  “Do you want to touch me?” Lynn asked softly, teasingly.

>   “Yes,” Jonas answered in a croaking whisper.

  “Well, do it then, dopey,” she laughed.

  Raising an arm that felt weighted by lead, Jonas reached out and touched the tips of his trembling fingers to the smooth skin at the outside curve of one breast.

  “Oh, you dopey,” Lynn chided. “You call that touching?” Lowering one arm she caught his wrist with her hand. Following the pull of her fingers, he cupped the silky mound with his hand. The hard little nipple seemed to poke at his palm, sending a sweet stab of pain shooting into his loins.

  His fingers clutching convulsively, Jonas bent his head to hers, his mouth opening as it made contact.

  The feel of her small tongue sent a shudder along the length of his spine. Lynn’s hand still grasped his wrist and when she sank onto the rumpled bed she pulled him down on top of her. His lips were dislodged from hers when they hit the mattress and Jonas heard the breath go out of her body.

  Concerned that the force of his body striking hers might have hurt her, he rolled over, then pulled her tightly against him. His hips thrust against Lynn’s body in automatic urgency.

  “Ohh, dopey,” Lynn whispered thickly, wriggling her own hips slowly. “Aren’t you going to kiss my breasts?” she half demanded, half pleaded.

  “God, yes,” Jonas groaned, the very idea of placing his lips against her skin exciting him further. The feel of her oiled skin on his lips set his body on fire, and taking the hard little nipple inside his mouth, stroking it with his tongue, was exquisite torture.

  Without even being aware of the motions, his hands moved down her slippery body to tug and yank at her shorts. Lynn’s hands brushed his away impatiently.

  “I’ll do it,” she whispered. “You worry about your own.”

  Fumbling in his haste, Jonas got to his feet. After yanking open the snap on the waistband of his worn jeans, he undid the zipper. His shorts followed his jeans to the floor and he stepped out of them.

  Jonas was a virgin. Lynn was not. And so, it was Lynn who guided him at first, teaching him the art of lovemaking until instinct took over. And it was in her soft embrace that Jonas gained a knowledge of full manhood.

  * * *

  Summer limped along, and Jonas’s life seemed suddenly comprised of highs and lows. The highs were reached simply by stepping into the workroom behind the appliance shop. The lows were caused by the fact that seeing Lynn proved not only difficult, but nearly impossible. He knew she was dating another guy, because he had seen them together. And that knowledge only increased his frustration.

  As the weeks of unusually hot humid weather melted one into the other, Jonas burned in two ways: on the outside from the heat of the sun, and on the inside from the constant rage of desire.

  That rage was appeased briefly at the very beginning of September. An organization Stosh belonged to was having a Labor Day clambake and when Stosh asked Jonas if he’d like to go as a family guest, Jonas accepted eagerly.

  Jonas had never been to a clambake, and although he enjoyed the early part of the day, and the food, he did not enjoy the party’s deterioration as the sun trekked westward. Laughter grew shrill and voices grew raucously louder as more and more beer was consumed. At seventeen, Jonas did not like the taste of beer. At eighteen, thinking it adult and sophisticated, Lynn did.

  Jonas was not the only one to frown in Lynn’s direction when she asked for her third glass of beer. In fact, Marge Kowalski did more than frown. Although she spoke softly, Jonas heard Lynn’s mother’s words of rebuke.

  Jonas had spoken to Marge several times when she’d stopped by the shop, and he liked her. She was friendly in a soft-spoken, quiet way that appealed to him. If one were allowed to choose a mother, Jonas would have chosen Marge without hesitation.

  Lynn did not share his opinion. Spoiled by Stosh, who indulged her slightest whim, she resented every attempt Marge made to control her.

  At Marge’s cautionary words about the beer, Lynn drained her glass, slammed it onto the wooden picnic table and flounced off fuming. Jonas trailed behind her like a devoted puppy.

  Ignoring everyone who called out to her, Lynn stormed away from the picnic grounds into the wooded area of the foothills. Up until that point Jonas had followed her quietly, but it was growing dark, and he was afraid he’d lose sight of her.

  “Lynn, where are you going?” he called out.

  “None of your business,” Lynn snapped peevishly. Then, as his lengthened stride brought him alongside her, she whined, “Go away. You’re as bad as she is. I saw your face when I took that last glass of beer.”

  “I don’t know how you can drink that stuff,” Jonas observed mildly.

  “I like drinking that stuff.” Lynn pouted. “It makes me feel good.” Coming to an abrupt stop she turned on him angrily. “So what?”

  “Oh, Lynn, let’s not fight.” Jonas sighed longingly.

  His tone was not lost on her. With a lightning change in mood, she pouted prettily, suggestively, “Can you think of something better to do?”

  Desire, never far away, licked through Jonas’s body. Slowly he leaned toward her. With the touch of his lips on hers, Lynn took the initiative from his far less experienced hands.

  Clasping her arms around his waist, she arched her body up against the hardness of him. Jonas stopped thinking entirely. Allowing himself to be led, he obeyed her dictates with hands that shook in his eagerness to learn. Even in his inexperience Jonas realized, jealously, that someone with a certain degree of expertise had been tutoring Lynn.

  * * *

  Jonas started back to school the day after the clambake. Soon his time was completely taken up with his studies and work in the appliance shop and he saw even less of Lynn.

  One day near the end of November he found her waiting for him in her father’s car when he left the shop.

  “I have to talk to you,” she said tersely the minute he’d folded his long frame into the passenger seat. Not a hint of premonition gave warning of the bald statement that followed.

  “I’m pregnant, Jonas.”

  Everything froze inside him—his muscles, his blood, his mind.

  “Did you hear me?” Lynn cried, breaking into the numbness that gripped his mind. “I said I’m going to have a baby. What are you going to do about it?”

  What was he going to do? What could he do? His dreams of college and a career in electronics dissolving in his mind, Jonas answered steadily, “I’m going to marry you.”

  They drove directly to her home, Lynn’s nervousness apparent in the restless movement of her hands on the steering wheel. Jonas was every bit as nervous, though he succeeded in hiding it. He hated the thought of facing Stosh and Marge with his betrayal of their kindness.

  The telling was every bit as bad as Jonas had feared it would be. Stosh was at first shocked speechless; then he was very vocally furious. Marge, ever quiet, sat motionless in stunned disbelief. The expression on her face hurt Jonas far more than Stosh’s angry tirade. When, finally, Marge did speak, her quiet words surprised them all.

  “Stosh, that’s enough.” Marge’s tone held soft command. “What’s done is done. At least Jonas is willing to marry Lynn.” It would be months before Jonas would understand the emphasis she placed on his name and the knowing look she ran over her daughter. “But I think it would be a mistake for him to quit school in his senior year.”

  Jonas had declared that he’d leave school at once to work full time at the shop. Listening to Marge, hope for his future was reignited.

  “As a matter of fact,” Marge continued, totally ignoring Jonas’s attempted protests, “I see no reason why he should not go on to college as planned.”

  “Now, Marge, be practical,” Stosh began heatedly.

  “That is exactly what I am being.” Marge cut him off with unaccustomed sharpness. “One of Jonas’s teachers is an acquaintance of mine. When she found I know Jonas she told me that, in her opinion, Jonas has a brilliant mind and if he did not continue his education after hig
h school it would be a sinful waste.”

  Jonas learned two things about Marge that night. First, that when she took a stand she could not be budged. And second, that she could not be intimidated. Nothing moved her, not Stosh’s anger, not Lynn’s tears, and not Jonas’s own persuasive tactics. Marge set down the rules, and the rest of the family meekly carried them out. Lynn and Jonas would be married at once. They would make their home with Marge and Stosh. Jonas would stay in school.

  Jonas and Lynn were married in a private ceremony conducted in the rectory of the church the Kowalski family attended. After the wedding Jonas went back to school and back to work. The only difference in his life was that now when he left the shop at night he went to a real home and to the accommodating body of his wife.

  For the first three months of their marriage, Jonas delighted in their lovemaking, firmly ignoring the realization that his bride was well versed in the art—too well versed. With satisfaction came doubt. And with doubt came the cooling of his ardor.

  In late February an ugly suggestion made to Jonas by one of his classmates sent him home in a rage. Slamming into the house, he ordered a startled Lynn into the privacy of their bedroom where he demanded, hotly, “How do you know that kid’s mine?”

  “W-what do you mean?” Lynn stuttered, obviously frightened.

  “I was just informed that the only reason you married me was because the guy you tried to trap into marriage wouldn’t have you.” Jonas yelled. “Is it true?”

  “No, no—I,” Lynn’s denial dissolved into tears, but Jonas could read the guilt in her pretty face. Sick at heart, he cried, “Who is he?”

  “His name is unimportant, Jonas.” The answer came from Marge, who had entered the room unnoticed. “He has looks, and money, and a very bad reputation. Lynn fell for his line and became infatuated with him.”