Morgan's Child

by Pamela Browning

  "I have a friend who is a judge. He can marry us in his chambers."

  "Good," Kate said, although that kind of wedding sounded so cold. So sterile.

  "Are you sure you want to do this?"

  "Of course," she said.

  He led her to bed then, removing her clothes as she stood quietly, admiring the intricate lacing of blue veins beneath her skin before reverently massaging the sensitive dark tips of her nipples until they rose between his fingers. He slid his hands down to cup her abdomen and felt the stirring of his child; it moved him so much that he couldn't speak. When he finally wrapped Kate in his arms he rocked her silently, unable to express his emotion.

  In the dark her eyes were large and glowing, and in bed she was especially inventive, and he thought that if she was this way when she was pregnant, she would be even better when she was not.

  And when she was no longer pregnant, they would have how long? How long before Kate got her old job back and left him?

  He had married Courtney for all the wrong reasons, and he knew that the reason he was marrying Kate was wrong, too. Oh, it was true that by marrying Kate he could avoid taking Courtney to court, but he was hoping to use the marriage to convince Kate to stay with him. It might not work; in fact, he was sure it wouldn't. But he had to try, because—heaven help him—he loved her.

  * * *

  On Friday they were married.

  Kate felt a sense of unreality about the whole thing. The judge spoke in resounding tones, lending dignity to the occasion, and Morgan was handsome in his dark blue suit and highly polished shoes. He looked directly into her eyes as he spoke his wedding vows and said them as if he meant them.

  Kate felt graceless and dowdy in her hastily bought white pique dress with a collar of lace cutwork, a dress she wouldn't have worn under any circumstances in her other life, where she felt most comfortable in shorts and T-shirts.

  She also wore a painful new pair of pumps with medium-high heels. They, like the dress, had been Joanna's idea. Joanna insisted on taking her shopping on Thursday morning, dragging an unwilling Kate into a shop called Baby Chic, or maybe it was Baby Chick. It had all happened so fast that Kate didn't remember. She was relieved when Joanna pronounced her adorable and she could stop trying on dresses.

  Her bouquet had been supplied by Morgan and was a tasteful and expensive cascade of white orchids. He also gave her an unexpected wedding gift of a lovely diamond-and-pearl pin, which she wore on her collar.

  "Is it real?" she had asked when he'd presented it to her, and Morgan had laughed.

  "Of course," he said.

  "Oh," she'd replied, embarrassed. In Morgan's set, it was a given that jewelry was always the real thing, not costume. She'd have to remember that she was a Rhett now—at least, she was a technical member of the Rhett family. She planned to keep her own name. It would make it so much easier when she and Morgan were divorced not to have to change her driver's license, passport and other documents back to her birth name.

  At the end of the ceremony, when the judge said gravely to Morgan, "You may kiss the bride," Kate almost looked around to see who the bride was. Then Morgan folded her in his arms, taking his time about it, and kissed her warmly and thoroughly and with just a hint of passion that Kate hoped no one else in the room noticed.

  "Congratulations!" Charlie, Joanna's husband, said, clapping Morgan on the back. For Kate he had a quick kiss on the cheek, as did Joanna, and then Joanna put her arm through Kate's and said, "Now for your wedding feast!"

  The four of them went back to Joanna and Charlie's house and sat down to a sumptuous repast of Cornish game hens reposing on a bed of wild rice and served on a big heirloom silver platter that looked to Kate to be about the size of the skating rink at Rockefeller Center. In fact, Kate found the big dining room with its long sideboard and pictures of hunt scenes on the walls intimidating, and the conversation was stilted despite Morgan's valiant attempts to make it a festive evening.

  Throughout the dinner, Kate, still suspended in an aura of disbelief, kept sneaking glances at the lovely wedding band Morgan had chosen for her. It had been a complete surprise, Morgan producing it this afternoon before the ceremony. Kate's eyes had grown wide when he snapped the little velvet box open to show her.

  "I didn't think—I mean, I forgot—" she stammered.

  "We can't get married without a ring," Morgan said. "I tried to choose one you'd like."

  "It's beautiful," she said, thinking it was exactly what she would have chosen for herself. It was a heavy gold band, extremely wide, and deeply carved in an elaborate leaf-and-circle design that reminded Kate of loops of sargassum seaweed. It was perfect for her finger, and now she clasped her hand around it protectively. She, who never wore jewelry, who in fact owned no valuable pieces, would treasure this.

  When at last dinner was over and they were in the car driving back to Morgan's house, Morgan said, "I'm glad that's over, aren't you?"

  Kate stared straight ahead. She wished they were going back to Yaupon Island or even to Morgan's house on Teoway instead of staying in the city. She stole a look at Morgan, wondering if it was too late to suggest that they drive to Teoway Island tonight. It would take less than forty-five minutes to get there.

  "I'm tired. How about you?" Morgan asked her.

  "A little," she said, and decided against suggesting Teoway.

  "How's the baby?" he asked, resting one hand on her abdomen.

  "Practicing punting," Kate said, perhaps too brightly.

  "I hope it's not too wide awake. Didn't I hear you get up several times last night?"

  Kate glanced at Morgan's face as it was momentarily illuminated by the streetlight at the corner when they turned into the driveway of the Tradd Street house. He looked subdued and not quite himself. Maybe all this was more of a strain on him than she realized. Maybe he was having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that he had actually married Kate Sinclair, marine biologist without a job, a person who had never been to a St. Cecilia's Ball in her life and who was so unimpressed with the Rhett name that she refused to use it.

  "I didn't keep you awake last night, did I?" she asked anxiously.

  "No, no, nothing like that," he said, coming around to her side of the car to help her out. He reached behind the front seat for her bouquet. "You might want to keep this," he said.

  The orchids in her bridal cascade were crushed, the edges of their petals brown. Kate didn't want Morgan to see her sentimental streak—she considered it a weakness—but she touched one of the petals gently, as if the tactile sensation on her skin could reassure her.

  "It's a lovely bouquet, Morgan," she said softly. "Thank you. And—and I've never had such an expensive pin in my whole life. Thank you for that, too."

  His eyes bored into her. "You're welcome, Kate," he said.

  "I wish I had something to give you for a wedding present," she said as they started into the house.

  "You're giving it to me," he said.

  "What? I have nothing." They had reached the bottom of the staircase by this time.

  "You've given me a family," he said.

  She realized that he was serious, and his earnestness embarrassed her. She started up the stairs.

  "I should have carried you over the threshold," he said suddenly.

  She paused and looked down at him. "I'm five feet ten inches tall and weigh more than I ever have, Morgan. I'm glad you didn't." She continued up the staircase, but he galloped up the rest of the steps to beat her to the bedroom door. Before she realized what was happening, he had placed one arm around her shoulders and one under her knees and was swinging her into his arms.

  "Morgan, stop!"

  He looked down at her, an amused expression on his face. "Whatever the future holds, let it be said that we started off right," he said, carrying her through the door of the master bedroom and striding to the big bed.

  So close to him, inhaling his scent, thinking how sexy he looked with his hair slightly disheve
led, she felt desire curling up from somewhere deep inside her, the same desire that she had come to know so well.

  He kissed her, deepening the kiss and letting it become more fervent, and she felt herself tremble in his arms and so did he.

  He laid her gently on the bed, never removing his lips from hers, and slid his body close to hers. His tongue traced the line of her jaw, leaving a damp trail, his breath hot on her skin. Even though she was immediately aroused, she nevertheless gasped when he slid his hand up her leg.

  "What's that?" he murmured when his fingers encountered a barrier.

  "A blue garter borrowed from Joanna," she whispered.

  "Doesn't it cut off your circulation?" he asked with interest, his fingers sliding it down over her ankle.

  "My circulation has been curtailed for the past eight months," Kate said.

  "Where'd you get that dress?" he asked.

  "It was a wedding gift from Joanna. She said—"

  "I don't care what my esteemed sister said. It makes you look like a huge marshmallow."

  Kate pulled away. "Morgan!" she said, not knowing whether to be offended or not.

  He pulled the dress up and she sat so he could slip it over her head.

  "It so happens," he said, unhooking her bra, "that I love marshmallows," and Kate subsided, wanting only to feel his lips upon her flesh.

  He was gentle, and she responded as she never had before. For the first time Kate realized that she was Mrs. Morgan Rhett, a strange circumstance but not without its rewards, one of which was that they would be together at least until after the baby was born.

  On this night she wanted nothing so much as to feast her eyes on his long, lean body and on his square-jawed face with its sweet smile, gathering him to her with moans of pure delight. The joy built inside her until she exploded with passion, and then she coaxed him, teased him until he cried out, exultant, again and again and again.

  It was a wedding night, Kate thought hazily, to end all wedding nights. Although they might be mismatched socially, they were ideal sex partners. There might be a lot of things wrong with this relationship—or rather, this marriage—but their sexual adjustment was certainly not one of them.

  Some people worked a whole lifetime to achieve a union such as this, Kate thought with remarkable lucidity before she finally fell asleep. How lucky that it hadn't taken her and Morgan long at all.

  Of course, they didn't have long. They were going to be divorced, weren't they?

  Chapter 13

  The next day, at Kate's urging, they returned to Yaupon Island.

  "Wouldn't you rather go to my place on Teoway?" Morgan had asked her, but Kate turned the offer down flat.

  "I want to live on Yaupon Island as long as I can. After the baby is born, Morgan, we'll go anywhere you want, I promise. But right now I can't wait to get back to the island."

  "What are we going to tell Gump? And Ye Olde Pribble?" Morgan wanted to know.

  "We'll tell Gump we're married. He'll be relieved, and maybe he'll be able to think about something besides me for a change—like sobering up, for instance. As for Willadeen Pribble, I wouldn't tell her if her house was on fire. No, let me change that—I wouldn't tell her if her hair was on fire," Kate said.

  They told Gump as soon as they boarded the ferry, taking him below deck and sitting him down on one of the row seats in order to break the news. He hemmed and hawed before wishing them good luck, but finally his mustache, always the true indicator of his mood, curved upward to frame a broad smile.

  "Only thing is," he said, "you ought to live in Charleston, not on this fool island."

  "You said the same thing to Dad when he was sick, but you might as well have held your breath for all the good it did. He wanted to stay on the island as long as possible, and so do I."

  "Don't mean it makes good sense," Gump said before disappearing up the stairs and into the wheelhouse.

  Kate actually felt a thrill of anticipation as they approached Yaupon Island. She'd missed the eerie beauty of the twisted live oak trees and the wide gold-and-green stretches of marshland, and it seemed too long since she'd seen the weathered bricks of the lighthouse silhouetted against the sky. She gripped Morgan's arm as the ferry eased up to the landing.

  "The island means a lot to you, doesn't it?"

  She only smiled and squeezed his arm.

  The bulldozer had finished its work, the new septic tank presumably reposing beneath the raw gash in the sandy soil beside the lighthouse. Despite the damage to Kate's flower bed, which somebody had ineffectively tried to repair, the quarters looked much the same. The only negative thing Kate could find to complain about was the oppressive heat, which seemed to hang over the island more heavily today than she remembered. By the time they unlocked the quarters, Kate's forehead glistened with perspiration.

  "We've never discussed it, but do you want to stay in the keeper's quarters or at the lodge?" Morgan asked.

  "In the quarters, of course," Kate said, looking around the familiar and beloved little sitting room with its family pictures and her father's bifocals still on the table where he'd left them. "This has been my home most of my life. I want nothing so much as to spend my last days on the island in this house." She felt her eyes grow misty at the thought of leaving.

  Morgan took her in his arms. "If that's what you want, then here we will stay," he said.

  Morgan went to gather his belongings from the hunting lodge, and while he was gone, Kate busied herself with unpacking her suitcase. She was soon interrupted by a knock on the door. When she looked out the window, she saw that Gump was standing there, and Kate hurried—well, tried to hurry—to the door as fast as her bulky body would allow.

  "What are you doing here?" Kate said. They'd just left him on the ferry.

  "Your news took me by surprise so that I forgot something important. Here's your mail for the past couple of weeks," Gump said, thrusting it under Kate's nose.

  "Mmm, thanks," Kate said as she thumbed through the envelopes, plucking out one with the return address of the Federal Health Foundation and slitting it open with a fingernail.

  Gump sat down in a convenient chair. "I had some second thoughts, and I just wanted to tell you, Kate, that if you don't want to be married to this fellow, this Morgan Rhett—"

  Kate looked up from the letter. "What?" she said.

  "You don't look like a woman in love to me. In like maybe, but not in love." Gump glanced at the wide gold ring on Kate's finger and looked away.

  "I never said I loved him. It was the best thing to do under the circumstances," Kate said.

  "Best thing for who? Him? Courtney? What about you? What about integrity?"

  Kate's eyes scanned the letter she held in her hands. She paled but kept reading.

  "Well?" Gump said.

  "I'm sorry, Gump," Kate said, looking up. "My mind is on something else."

  "I said what about integrity? And what's so all-fired important about that letter? What's in it that keeps you from telling me all about this business of getting married to someone you don't even love?"

  "Actually, the letter is relevant to the topic if we're talking about integrity," Kate said, handing the letter over with a trembling hand.

  Gump took the letter and skimmed through it. Kate sat as if lost in thought, her mind seemingly a million miles away.

  "What does all this mean?" Gump asked impatiently. "You know I don't understand government bureau-ese."

  "It says that according to the FHF's investigation, I'm exonerated of all wrongdoing in the case that caused me to lose my job. The director of the Northeast Marine Institute will be asked to resign, and my co-worker, Mitch, the man I was going to marry, will be fired."

  "Kate," Gump said, letting the letter drop to his lap. "This is what you've been waiting for. I'm glad for you."

  "But—" and Kate made a frustrated gesture with her hands, which she then allowed to drop to her sides.

  "Your reputation will be restored, won't it?
You'll be able to get a job now, won't you?"

  "I suppose so," Kate said, tears beginning to roll down her face. She didn't know what was the matter with her; tears kept coming, and she was powerless to stop them.

  "What's the matter? You should be delighted!"

  "I—I—" Kate couldn't finish the sentence. She wasn't even sure what she had been about to say. All she knew was that her pent-up emotions were brimming over, and at the moment she wouldn't have been able to identify her tears as happy or sad even if her life depended on it.

  "There, there," soothed Gump as he patted Kate awkwardly on the shoulder. "You're just easily upset right now."

  Morgan, carrying his bag from the lodge, appeared in the doorway. "What's going on in here?" Morgan asked with a frown at Gump and a look of concern for his sobbing wife.

  "Oh, Kate here is going through what every pregnant woman goes through," Gump said so cheerfully that Kate briefly thought of throttling him.

  "This letter came," Kate managed to say between sobs.

  Morgan glanced at the letter and arranged his expression so that when he looked up he looked pleasantly surprised.

  "It's good news, Kate. Why are you so upset? Is something else wrong?"

  "I don't know. I'm happy. Now that this has happened, I feel vindicated. But all those long months of being reviled by everyone in my profession, and not being able to get a job, and—oh, I don't know. I'm happy."

  "Well, since you're so happy and a storm's brewing outside, I guess I'll get back to the ferry. I'll check on you tomorrow and see if you're feeling any happier. Though I don't think any of us could stand it if you was," Gump said, disappearing out the door.

  Kate wiped her eyes. Now that Morgan was here, she felt better.

  Morgan sat down and regarded her solemnly. "What will you do now?"

  "Continue my job search. Pursue employment interviews. Things like that," Kate said. Her nose was stopped up and she fumbled in her pocket for a tissue, but there wasn't one. Morgan handed her his clean pocket handkerchief.

  "You won't start interviewing until after you have the baby, I suppose," he said in as businesslike a voice as he could muster. In truth, his heart was pounding in his chest.