by Mercy Levy
“I want to know how a woman should… how a woman should kiss a man.” Emmaline blurted. Stephen was torn between relief and disappointment. He already knew no matter what his young charge had asked of him, he would have given it gladly and shamelessly.
“Then close your eyes for me, sweet Emmaline.” Her heart raced as she closed her eyes and waited. The first brush of his lips was like silk sliding over her mouth, and she gasped with the pleasure. Taking his cue from her, he deepened the kiss and gently parted her lips with his. He teased her with his tongue, slipping it between her lips and holding her against him when she pulled back in surprise. She clutched at his arms and mingling her tongue with his until he pulled her bottom lip into his mouth and sucked it until she moaned. When he finally pulled away she made a small sound of disappointment and he chuckled.
“Did I make a mistake?” She whispered. Her lips felt thick and heavy as she spoke, and her thighs ached with a need she did not understand. He watched as she pushed her hand down toward her maidenhead and his body reacted with almost violent need.
“Oh, sweet girl, I am not finished with you yet.” He growled, reveling as she shuddered. “You taste like the sunrise, sweet and new and untouched. I do not know how I can teach you what you wish, without teaching you that which you did not ask for.” The look in his eyes made Emmaline feel weak, and she ached to touch his skin and to be held as she’d seen men touch the wonton women when she had peeked out of her carriage traveling through the city.
“I want to learn everything you will teach me.” She declared, breathless and resolute. “I have never felt anything like I do when you look at me, and when you touch me I cannot tell if I am more alive, or dying from need.” She stood and touched his face, gently stroking it with her soft hands, the hands of a privileged lady. “I came here wishing I had fallen into my mother’s grave, because no one else cared if I lived. I cannot imagine not meeting you, although I hardly know you at all.”
“It is because of that, I am unwilling to teach you too much, Emmaline. You are a lady, and I will treat you as such, even though I am in agony keeping my distance.” He leaned into her hand and she moved his face to hers. Her kiss was as chaste and pure as she herself, but it still stoked the fire of desire in him until he yanked her against him and forced the kiss deeper. He held her throat and bruised her lips with the intensity of his need, nipping her lips and delving deep into her mouth with his tongue until he was forced to stop for air. She wavered on her feet and he held her steady, thrilling at her glassy gaze and swollen pout.
She smiled at him and reached up for another kiss as his hand brushed her breast arousing her even through the fabric. She was speechless and nodded her assent and he leaned in to kiss her back as his hand slid around her small breast and his fingers slid under the neckline of her dress. She gasped and her eyes flew wide as he squeezed her breast in one hand and pulled her so tightly against him she could feel the thick hard heat of his arousal even through her voluminous skirts.
He glanced around for a place to lay her down, to loosen her stays and free her from the cursed clothing that stood between him and his prize. He half dragged her to the settee in the corner as she laughed in delight and as he lay her down, the door burst open again with a bang and Izzy called out to an unseen person.
“Oh, here you are miss, I was afraid you had wandered off for a promenade. Let me show you to the parlor!” Izzy’s voice was unnaturally loud and cheerful, and belied the panicked look on her face. Immediately understanding the dire circumstance that he and Emma were now in, Stephen leapt away from the object of his desire and grabbed his satchel. Izzy pointed him toward the serving halls behind the library and he disappeared through the doorway with a quick grin and a wink to reassure Emma.
“Tell her I will return for her.” He whispered to Izzy as he passed out of sight. She turned to her mistress, who was disheveled and confused on the settee.
“Towers has returned and he is demanding to speak with you.” She whispered as she straightened the frightened girl’s hair and dress. Once she had returned Emma to a presentable state, she poured her a glass of brandy and cautioned her to sip it as she joined the others, holding the glass near her mouth until the puffy, just kissed look dissipated. Shocked and dismayed at her own lack of self-control, the contrite Emma did as she was asked without a word.
She allowed Izzy to lead the way into the parlor, marveling at the slave’s bravery as she came face to face one more time with her cruel former master. Emma was terrified to meet him again, but took strength from her maid and held her head high as she entered, even giving Izzy her tumbler of brandy as she walked through the double doors. She saw her aunt and uncle almost cowering in a corner. Her aunt was tear-stained and sniffling into a handkerchief, and her uncle was pale and sweating, holding his arm as if he was in great pain.
“There you are, you sneaky girl.” Towers stood from his seat and advanced, shaking a finger at her. “You’re a sympathizer, just like your highbrow Yankee mother. I demand to know where you took the property you stole from me!” His voice rose as he spoke, until he was shouting, and some of the spittle flying from his lips landed on Emma’s arm. She cringed back and stared at her aunt and uncle in frightened confusion.
“I already told you, Harold,” her uncle shouted in exasperation, “my niece arrived a full day after your slaves escaped. Maybe if you weren’t such a goddamned sadist, you wouldn’t have to spend so much on new slaves and bounty hunters.” Mister Towers spun and took one angry stride toward her uncle and Emma made an involuntary noise of anger and fear.
“Mister Towers!” She exclaimed, praying that she could talk sense into the man before he hurt her uncle, “Uncle Dennis is correct. I was not anywhere near Charleston when your slaves escaped. If I came across them, I might have felt sympathy for them, but I was in the care of my carriage man from the train to Shamballa.” She gasped as he pivoted and she saw the stark evil burning in his eyes. “Please don’t take out your anger on my family. We have done nothing to harm you.” She added softly, opening her hands palm up, in a gesture of peace.
He nodded and continued to pace the room then shook his head and stared out the window.
“I understand that you did not arrive until after the slaves escaped,” he admitted as he stared out the window. “But, I also know you spoke to the driver of your carriage and money exchanged hands when you arrived. Money, he said when questioned, given to him to spirit my slaves over the state line to aid them in making their way north.” As he spoke, Taggert stepped into the room, dragging a broken, bloodied man by the neck. His face was so damaged; Emma could hardly tell it was the man who had driven her hired carriage the day she had arrived.
“I’m sorry,” the man mumbled, casting his one open eye upon her. “I tried to tell them it wasn’t so, but they wouldn’t believe me.”
“I did no such thing.” Emma declared, hot rage at the sight of the poor old man bleeding in her aunt’s parlor burned away her fear until she felt reckless and indignant. “I gave him money because my father taught me to treat those who provided me with good service well. I absolutely would have helped any slave to escape you, was I given the chance, because you are evil,” she spat at him, shaking and white with anger. “But I would never have endangered this kind old man or put him in your path to do so.” She tried to step toward her uncle, but he motioned her to stay back with his good hand.
“What have you done to my family? They are your neighbors, good people who have never done you wrong.” She gasped as his hand appeared out of nowhere and struck her across the face hard. She tumbled to the floor and stayed there for a long moment, waiting for the room to stop spinning before she looked up at his sneering face. “I wish I was a man today, Mister Towers, so I had the right to beat you as you beat the old man,” she snarled, shaking her head to clear the cobwebs forming at the very edge of her peripheral vision.
She glanced up at Taggert, who was holding up the carriage driver and
staring into the room with disgust.
“You are a monster, Mister Taggert,” she hissed.
“I did not do this,” he replied. “Everything you see here is courtesy of a bottle of cheap whiskey and your fat friend over there.” He looped the old man’s arm over his shoulder wincing as the other man gasped in pain. He led him to a couch and set him down. “This is not what I was hired to do, or what I wish to be known for. I believe it is time for me to escort you home, Harold.” The pudgy, mealy man curled his thick fingers into a fist and shook it at Emma.
“I’m not done here.” He growled. He took two steps toward Emma and she closed her eyes and flinched back from the fist that was bearing down on her. Instead of a fist against her skull, she felt air whoosh past her face and looked up in alarm to see Stephen grappling with Towers, as Taggert rushed to her side. He helped her to her feet and led her from the room as the men fought. Emma tried to break his hold on her arm to go back to Stephen and her family, but Taggert held fast and didn’t let go until she was well away from the house, hidden among the dismal little building the field slaves called home.
“I must go back. You can’t make me stay here!” She lashed out at the bounty hunter.
“No. I must go back, and you must stay here. I will tell your man where to find you once we get Towers out of the house and into a jail cell to sleep off his whiskey.” She backed away and nodded once.
“Run.” She commanded, and Taggert bowed and obeyed without a word. Minutes passed and Emma paced the dirt floor of the hut, nauseated and scared. She nearly screamed when the door opened and Izzy poked her head into the hut, then dragged her into her arms and hugged her tight.
“I’m all right, Miss Emma, and your aunt and uncle are too.” She reassured her mistress, who broke down in ragged sobs of relief.
“And Mister Du Morney, is he hurt?” Emma choked out the words as she struggled to control her weeping.
“I am well, Dearest Emmaline.” Stephen stepped into the darkness of the hovel and swept her into his arms. “Your uncle is fine, as is your aunt. Do not fear, Edwin sent the house boy running into town to fetch the constable, and they said he didn’t stop running the whole way. He nearly collapsed and had to be carried back. Towers is likely going to spend a couple of days in a cell, while the rest of us enjoy the Thanksgiving celebration without him.”
“Good riddance to bad rubbish.” Emma replied tartly, relaxing a little when Stephen laughed. “I am glad you are not hurt,” she sighed, her eyes searching for any sign of pain or injury. He kissed her gently on the top of her head and reminded her that she needed to return to the big house to start receiving guests that were expected to arrive any minute.
“I left the North expecting to be afraid and alone forever,” she admitted as he took her arm and escorted her back to the big plantation house. She looked up at the lanterns being lit as the servants readied the house for the beginning of the festivities and sighed. She felt the warmth of her mother’s hand on her shoulder as she walked, and happiness flooded through her.
Stephen led her to the library, where her aunt and uncle rested. She looked from the man she desired to the family she had realized were her new home. She was at peace, grateful to her father for sending her away to a place where she could love and be loved. She embraced her family and reintroduced Stephen as her beau, noting wryly the satisfaction on her aunt’s face.
Her uncle gave him permission to continue courting Emma, and Izzy was commanded to chaperone the young couple as they walked the grounds and attempted to leave the ugliness behind them. They walked in silence for a bit, arm in arm, as Izzy trailed far behind them.
“There is much I still need to learn, Mister Du Morney,” Emma reminded him coyly as they rounded the lake behind the estate by the light of the moon. “The feast of Thanksgiving is a very good time to adjust one’s view and renew one’s life, don’t you think?” She let her voice trail off as he stopped and turned her to face him.
“I am grateful for the opportunity to celebrate this American tradition with you, dearest Emmaline,” he replied, leaning in to kiss her softly. “I will endeavor to teach you everything I know, and embrace the culture of the colonies with all my strength.” His hand slid to her waist and she trembled in anticipation.
“Thanksgiving is all about gratitude for what we have been given, Mister Du Morney. If you are willing to teach me, I will do my best to show that gratitude by learning quickly and being a most enthusiastic student.” Her audacity startled a laugh from the handsome man.
“Then I must show my gratitude to Mr. Taggert for alerting me to your plight, and young Isabella for keeping you safe for me. I am not a great man, Sweet Emmaline. But, for you, I think I will try to be a good man.” He held her close and kissed her forehead, then her cheek, and her lips. “I will teach you everything a man can give a woman he desires, and if you let me, I will teach you all that a man can do when he is in love.”
“I do not believe in love at first sight, Mister Du Morney,” she began, turning her back to him. “And because of that, I am so very, very grateful that you came back a second time.” She rested her back against his chest and felt the steady beat of his heart.
She had arrived a bird fallen from her nest, bruised and unable to fly. The plantation was healing her, pushing air under her wings and lifting her up to fly. That was a thing to be grateful for indeed, and in the once unbroken blackness of mourning, Emmaline found the light of hope as she watched the lights of the plantation spark to life and welcome all travelers to the feast of feasts, on the day of Thanksgiving.
THE END
Valerie
CHAPTER 1
Valerie tossed a stone into the spring and watched the ripples it created. Her heart was aching, her body felt like lead. She had hoped against hope that things would not come to this but life was never easy. She knew that this was another trial sent by God to test her but, oh, it was hard. Today, as she sat away from the wedding party, having wandered deep into the woods, she wondered if this was what her life was meant to be like.
Thirty-one years old and still without a husband. It had pinched her of course but she had been content with her life. Today, she had paid for her sister’s wedding and she had been happy. It had never occurred to her for one minute that her parents were unhappy, that they thought her a shame on their family. She had kissed her sister’s cheek and sat down behind her parents. She had been about to tap her father’s shoulder, wanting to see if he wanted something to drink, when she had heard his words, “How much longer does she plan to stay with us, Susan?”
Her mother had told him to lower his voice and he murmured, loud enough for her ears, “I can’t even show my face to my friends. They keep asking what is wrong with her. What about Wilson’s son? He’s been looking for a wife.”
“He’s a drunkard and he gambles, Tom. And I heard from Peggy that he beat up two of the women at the local pub.”
“Baseless rumors. He seems like a fine young fellow. So he has a bit of a temper, who doesn’t? Talk to Wilson tomorrow.”
“What about Valerie? Shouldn’t we ask her first?”
“Just set the date for the wedding with Wilson and I’ll tell Valerie. She should be grateful that someone wants her at least.”
Valerie let her tears flow unchecked. Her own father? She earned, she worked very hard, hard enough that she had been offered a managing post by her very modern employer. No longer did she have to sew bonnets herself. She managed six women from the village and whatever she earned, she handed every penny into her father’s hands. And yet he thought she was a burden. She knew Wilson’s son. She knew of his abusive habits. They would throw her at the mercy of that beast? Without a thought?
Getting up, she started walking and soon came upon a familiar path. She had used to play here with her sister when she was a child. If she went straight ahead, an hours walk at the very most, she would find herself at her house.
She took off her hat. And crumpled it in he
r hand. Everybody in town would be at Laurie’s wedding so she didn’t have any fear of running into anybody. She dragged herself home and changed her clothes. And then she sat on her bed and stared at the floor. She was not going to marry Benny Wilson. She could not!
The local church was visible from her bedroom window and she clutched at her cross. Was this another trial for her? But God was kind. He was fair. And the pastor had once told her that God would always help her if she helped herself. She closed her eyes.
Faith. She had to have faith!
Opening her eyes, she clenched her teeth. Everything happened for a reason. If her parents were so tired of her then she would leave. She looked at the time and got up. It was three in the afternoon. Her office would still be open. She had taken a leave for the day but maybe it was time to make some changes.
She put on her dress and her bonnet and left.
It was not uncommon for women to work but it was rare for them to be in a managerial position. However, Valerie was such a hard worker, that despite the protests from some of the people, her employer had appointed her as a supervisor. So it was to him she went today.
“Miss Reiner, I thought I had given you leave for the day.”
Her employer was a man in his fifties, who had a penchant for smoking and had a dozen grandchildren whom he loved to brag about. He was also one of the kindest men she knew.
“You said, a few weeks ago, that you wanted me to transfer to your country branch in Bampton and I said no.” She looked him straight in the eye, “I want you to transfer me there today. I want to start working there tomorrow.”
Samuel Whitford considered himself to be a reasonable man. However, he was quite taken aback by the sudden request from his favorite employee, his most hard working employee. He leaned back in his chair, “Has someone said something to you at work? Are you being bothered?”
Valerie rubbed her eyes, not wanting to cry. Her voice was choked as she told him, “My parents, it seems, think that I am a burden on them and a stain on the family honor. So they wish to marry me to Benny Wilson with or without my consent. So,” She drew in a shuddering breath, “Will you give me the job or not?”
