by Kit Morgan
“Quite right,” he agreed. They parked the wagon in front of the Morgans’ pretty house and Zadie felt a tingle of excitement at the prospect of getting to see the interior. It was all she could do to wait for Anson to catch up. Finally he did, they went to the door and knocked.
“Come in,” Mrs. Tisdale called from inside.
They stepped through the doors into a vestibule and went through another set of double doors into a wide front hall. Zadie had the distinct feeling her mouth was going to start watering again.
The hallway led to a parlor on the right and what looked like a study on the left. In the parlor, Mrs. Tisdale stood beside a well-dressed woman, slight of build with a narrow face and plain features. Not the elegant beauty Zadie had conjured in her head when the women at the store spoke of her. Mrs. Morgan was simply … Mrs. Morgan.
But she had kind grey eyes and a welcoming smile. “Good to see you again, Mr. Jones,” she greeted. “And you must be the new Mrs. Jones.”
Zadie smiled as the woman extended her hand. She took it and gave it a light squeeze. “It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Morgan. My husband has told me all about you and Mr. Morgan.”
Mrs. Morgan gave Anson a bemused look. “Has he now? Well, I’d love to give you a few things to tell of your own by hosting this tea. I think it would be a lovely way to welcome you to the community.”
“Thank you – I’m looking forward to it. I’m so happy to have found such friendly ladies today.”
“You’ll find the women in this town very sweet. Besides, there are so few of us we have to band together, don’t we?”
“Yes, I suppose,” she said with a bright smile.
“I don’t want to keep you,” Mrs. Morgan said. “And I have work I must do. Mrs. Tisdale and I will figure out a day and let you know.”
“Thank you. She’s probably told you I’ll return to town Thursday – she and Mrs. Garr were kind enough to offer me some sewing lessons.”
“No, she hadn’t mentioned that. But you couldn’t ask for a better teacher. Between the two of them you’ll learn a lot.”
“I’m sure I will,” Zadie beamed. The loneliness that had attacked her the day before was quickly being shoved aside. Perhaps life here wouldn’t be as bad as she’d first imagined. Who knows, maybe in time she and Anson would have as grand a home as the Morgans …
“Tell your husband hello for me,” Anson said as he took Zadie by the hand. “We have things we need to finish before we head home.” He tipped his hat. “Ladies.”
“I’ll see you on Thursday,” Zadie told Mrs. Tisdale.
“I’m looking forward to it, dear!”
Zadie left the Morgans’ home with a wide smile on her face. She was surprised at how happy she felt, which could only mean she’d plummeted into despair the day before. It was her fault for letting her mind wander where it would, conjuring up a cold existence in a tiny, lifeless cabin in a mountain hollow. The mere thought sent a shiver up her spine.
“Why don’t you wait here with the wagon and I’ll see about that tub?” Anson suggested.
“All right.” He helped her up onto the wagon seat, gave her a wink and went back to the store. While he was gone, Mrs. Tisdale emerged from the Morgans’ home, said goodbye again and went to take care of business elsewhere. Zadie was left alone with her thoughts.
But this time she refused to let her mind wander anywhere but where she wanted it. She concentrated on the time she’d spend with the other women come Thursday. She might even get the melancholy Mrs. Rossmoor to join them. Perhaps she should ask Mrs. Tisdale about her … but was it really any of her business? Well, if there was something about Mrs. Rossmoor the other women thought she should know, they would tell her.
It didn’t take long for Anson to return with a huge zinc washtub. “Oh my,” Zadie whispered as Anson put it into the back of the wagon. She hoped he had a bucket somewhere, then wondered how many it would take to fill the thing – especially since they could only heat one bucket at a time on their tiny stove. But no matter – they could work all of that out later.
Anson climbed up, sat next to her and took up the reins. “Well, Mrs. Jones, are you ready to go home?”
She blushed, wrapped her arm around his and smiled. “Yes, I am.”
He smiled back and kissed her on the forehead. “So am I.”
* * *
When they got home, they put the supplies away (no great chore, as there was only a single shelf to put them on) before Anson took Zadie by the hand and told her he wanted her to watch him unhitch King Lear from the wagon. “You’ll need to know how to do this in case you ever want to drive to town by yourself one day.”
Zadie’s eyes widened. “With him?”
Anson patted the horse on the neck. “He had some pent-up energy this morning is all. He’ll be fine as long as he puts a bit of work in every day.”
“What kind of work? Are you going to use him to pull a plow?”
“No,” he said, amused. “But I plan on riding him more.”
“Are you going to sell him?”
“Only to the right buyer with the right price. I’m not sure I want to part with him.”
“He is a beautiful horse. It almost seems a shame to make him pull a wagon.”
Anson glanced at his new purchase. “It’s enough for a start. At least we have something to drive to town now.”
She touched him on the arm, wanting to feel the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric. “Yes, much easier.”
Anson stopped what he was doing and turned to her, and Zadie’s heart skipped a beat. He was going to kiss her – she knew it!
He bent his head, closed his eyes … and sighed. “I have work to do. And so do you.”
Zadie’s eyes popped open. Good heavens, she hadn’t realized she’d closed them! “Work?”
“I’m sure you want a bath. Neither of us paid a visit to the bathhouse, you’ll recall.”
Her stomach fluttered. He was so close – the heat of his body, the brush of his breath in her hair … “No, we didn’t,” she whispered.
His head moved closer. If he started whispering in her ear now, she might faint. Her whole body warmed, and the sensation was almost unnerving. “You’ll want one, there’s a bucket next to the pump.” he said, his voice low. The sound was affecting her far more than a whisper. She trembled. His arms came around her in response. “I want one too.”
“I’ll have to … h-h-heat some water,” she managed as her heart raced.
“Yes,” he said, brushing his lips against her hair.
His hands began to roam her back, sending tingling sensations all through her. She couldn’t think, her mind too full of sensations. And the man hadn’t even kissed her yet!
“I’d best finish here, then get the stove going. You’ll have to learn to do that too,” he said.
The familiarity of it sent a thrill up her spine. She nodded, unable to speak. She felt his hand against her face, stroking her right cheek. And finally, he leaned down and kissed her …
… and her knees gave out.
But Anson didn’t break the kiss. Instead he held her to him, one arm at her back, the other on her delicate posterior. The latter was still a little sore from her hours in the saddle the last few days, but she didn’t care. In fact, she could’ve sat on hot coals and been oblivious to any pain so long as Anson was kissing her.
His tongue demanded more of her and delved into her mouth, tasting the sweetness within. His arms tightened around her, and it was all she could do not to dissolve into a puddle. He’d made her his prisoner, just like that.
He broke the kiss slowly and gently, as if she might shatter if he didn’t, and drew away from her. “You’d, um … best get inside, Zadie,” he rasped.
“Anson …,” she whispered.
“Now. Right now.”
Zadie didn’t understand. Had she done something wrong? “But Anson …”
“In the house, woman – now!” he pleaded. When she didn’t move, h
e turned away to the wagon.
Pain stabbed her out of her shock, and she lifted her skirt and ran for the cabin. Once inside she sat on the cot, tears stinging her eyes. What was that all about? Why did he get angry? What had she done? Didn’t he enjoy kissing her? “What if he decides he doesn’t want me?” The thought was in her head – and out of her mouth – before she could stop it. But it was ludicrous; of course he wanted her. If he didn’t he wouldn’t have married her.
Okay – he wanted her. Then why did he pull away, just when she was ready to give him everything? It didn’t make sense! “Oh, Father,” she sobbed. “Why did you tell me to leave Denver? Why couldn’t I have stayed and tried to work things out?”
The cabin’s silence was her only answer. Her father had his reasons, she supposed – she just wished she knew what they’d been.
Zadie took a few deep breaths and stood. She went to the stove, opened it as she’d seen Anson do, and poked at the dying embers with a piece of kindling. They brightened, so she pushed them into a pile and set the stick on top. There was a crate full of wood by the door, and she grabbed a couple of pieces and put them in the stove. “There,” she said, brushing her hands against her skirt. “I got you going by myself.”
Now, that bath. She went to the pump, hoping to find the bucket Anson had mentioned. She glanced at the barn as she went, but there was no sign of him – he must still be inside. Just as well – she didn’t want to talk to him right now. Her hurt at his odd behavior was turning to annoyance, with anger a future possibility.
She reached the pump, filled the bucket and tried not to spill too much as she hauled it inside and hefted it onto the stove. “I can do this!” She wiped her hands on her skirt again and realized that if she kept that up, her blue day dress would soon be filthy. She should have thought to get some fabric while they were in town to use as an apron. Well, she’d just have to make one instead. And she’d do it too. She could do a lot of things.
Zadie mentally grabbed hold of her sudden fervor to accomplish something. Maybe if she hung on to it tight enough, she wouldn’t feel so inadequate.
Twelve
Anson wanted her – badly. He was beginning to understand what “burning for a woman” really meant. Furthermore, they were married.
And he couldn’t do anything about it. Not yet.
Another few moments there and he’d have lost control, dragged his wife to the nearest pile of hay and bedded her. But no, that was no way to start off their marriage. They were, for the most part, still strangers to each other. And before he’d received word about Mortimer Penworthy, his father had given him a piece of advice: “No woman likes to bed a stranger, son. They want to make love with their husband.”
True, he’d also heard of marriages involving a mail-order bride that turned out quite well even when consummated on the wedding night. So why was he waiting?
“Because I care,” he said to no one. His father had courted his mother for weeks before they were married. Even his Uncle Ryder, though he and Aunt Constance married with no courting whatsoever, still took the time to get to know his bride before any sort of lovemaking was involved. Like Anson, they’d had nothing but a single cot in their tiny one-room cabin when they met …
He chuckled to himself. If he remembered right, his uncle hinted that he’d consummated his marriage to his aunt in their barn – after he’d held out as long as he could. If Uncle Ryder could do it, so could he. But that didn’t mean it was going to be easy.
Anson finished his work in the barn, fed the stock and returned to the house. Maybe now he’d be able to keep his hands off his wife.
Then again, maybe not …
He froze as he entered the cabin. Zadie had stripped down to her chemise and was standing in the metal tub he’d purchased. She was just lifting it over her head when he entered. He gasped in wonder.
She let it drop over her again as she yelped and spun to face him. “What do you think you’re doing?” she screeched.
“Er … coming into the house?” he said, his eyes glued to her right leg, which was still exposed from the mid-thigh down. Drat, he’d had no idea she’d get the tub ready herself. He swallowed hard.
“Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?”
Her words were like a slap to the face – an unwarranted one, he thought. “I live here!” he snapped.
She was beet-red by now. “Please leave. I’d like to bathe,” she replied, more softly this time.
He nodded, slowly backed his way out the door and closed it. His mouth was dry, his body tense. He’d never seen a woman in her underthings, let alone such a beautiful leg … “Oh boy.”
He finally sat down on the porch, the burst of resentment gone, but his head still spinning. Zadie’s exposed skin and flushed face was going to haunt him for sure. Maybe he should saddle Hamlet back up, ride to the river and jump in. But that wouldn’t solve anything – he still had to get through the night. And the night after that, and the next, and the next …
No, he was going to have to come up with a plan. He wanted to give her time, but wasn’t sure he could hold out. For now, sleeping in the barn was the only thing he could think of. But then what? How long could he keep doing that? Would he break and seduce her so he could get what he wanted? What kind of a person would that make him?
He grimaced and sighed. “A selfish one.”
Anson left the porch and headed for the barn. He stopped just short of it, reached down, grabbed a blade of grass and absently chewed on it, then paced back and forth. What it came down to was that he needed to be wooing his wife. “Good grief, it’s not like I have to wait until next year!” He looked at Julius Caesar, who was happily munching hay in his corral. “You’ve got it easy, boy. But I can’t afford to be just an animal.”
Even at that distance, the horse seemed to sense he was being talked about - his ears came forward as he raised his head and stared at him, still munching.
“No offense, I mean,” Anson called and then walked over to the horse. “It’s just that among humans, things are more complicated.”
Julius seemed to let him off the hook, sticking his nose back in the hay pile. Anson watched the horse a moment, then looked back at the cabin. A beautiful woman was in there. His woman.
He laughed. “What kind of a fool am I, thinking I could just … well, there’s no rushing it, is there? I just have to give her the time she needs … however I can manage it.” He headed into the barn, grabbed Hamlet’s blanket and saddle and went to his stall. “C’mon, boy. You and I need to make a trip down to the river.”
* * *
After a tense few minutes, Zadie stepped out of the tub, went to the door and opened it a crack. There was no sign of Anson, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Of all the nerve,” she muttered as she closed the door. “He’s the one who suggested I bathe.” But what did she expect? She didn’t tell him she was going to take a bath immediately. How was he to know?
She returned to the tub and stepped in, careful not to get her chemise wet. She’d managed to heat a second bucket of water, or at least get it to room temperature, and poured it in. The end result wasn’t very warm, but it was tolerable. She bathed as quickly as she could, then washed her hair using a third bucket she’d placed on the stove, hoping it would gain some warmth by now. Alas, it was lukewarm, but it did the job.
Shivering, she dried herself off, dressed and began to comb out her wet hair. From beginning to end – even with Anson’s interruption – it had taken less than three-quarters of an hour, which gave her a feeling of accomplishment. She knew that from now on, she’d have to inform her husband of when she was going to bathe. Likewise, he’d better inform her – how embarrassing would it be to walk in on him in a state of undress? At least she’d still had her chemise on, mostly. But if she were to walk in to find him without a single stitch of clothing on …
Zadie’s cheeks burned at the thought, less from embarrassment than from curiosity. What did her husband look like under a
ll those clothes? Eventually she’d find out, but for now she didn’t want to think about it. They’d get around to consummating their marriage soon enough – it was, after all, her wifely duty. But she didn’t have to like it.
Although … what if she did?
Enough of that! she told herself. She stared at the tub, suddenly realizing that she’d have to drag it outside and empty it. She’d need Anson’s help with that.
Then she looked at the cot against the wall and sighed. How she wished her mother had been alive to explain these things. She hadn’t expected to get married so soon, and hadn’t had the chance to seek the advice of another woman on the matter. She’d envisioned herself taking care of her father for years to come – but those years had only been months. Hmmm … perhaps she should ask one of the married women in town …
“Oh, but I couldn’t!” She quickly finished braiding her hair and twisted it up into a bun, pinning it in place. Then she went to look for Anson, wanting to apologize for snapping at him the way she did. Opening the door on her like that was probably just as embarrassing for him as it was for her. She hoped he wasn’t upset.
She went to the barn, but there was no sign of him nor Hamlet. “Where did he go?” she asked, hands on hips. The only other animal she saw was Anson’s stud horse Julius Caesar out in the corral, but he didn’t give her so much as a glance.
“Maybe he went to check his fence line,” Zadie mused as she left. He did tell her he was going to start working on sections of it, and after she’d shooed him away, he was probably in no hurry to come back.
This meant she had some time on her hands. “Wonderful,” she said. “What am I going to do until he returns?” A good question – they’d already put their supplies away, and even as strong as she was, she had no hope of emptying the washtub alone. She supposed she could look over the recipes Bertha gave her … yes, that’s what she’d do. Maybe Anson would be more willing to forgive her if he came home to some hot food.
