Maybe it was a fantasy played out, but I loved putting my hair up in a bun, the way Opal used to, and making everything around me spotless, as a good woman would. Though it was a small cabin, it was as first-rate as any home I had ever lived in, and thought of it as my own, and I worked hard to scrub the floors. I also used the bathing tin, filled with hot water boiled over the fire, to wash my dress, using vegetable soap to scrub out the small stains. Then I hung it over the porch rail to dry. I hoped Warren wouldn’t mind me wearing his shirt for the rest of the day.
I had the cabin as clean as a whistle when Warren arrived with the box of supplies. I was anxious to cook him some eggs and sausage.
“I’m a good cook,” I told him. He stepped back and allowed me to work in the kitchen and watched with amusement. At first, maybe he thought I hadn’t learned a thing about how to cook, but when breakfast was served, he was quick to compliment me.
“I must say, this is the best meal I have ever eaten,” he said after his stomach was stuffed.
“Opal taught me how to cook.”
“I imagine you’re as fine a cook as she is, if not better.”
“I think Ayden thought so,” I said, recalling how much he enjoyed my meals.
Warren sat back into his chair and lovingly looked at me. He was pleased with me.
“Can I get you anything else?” I asked, and began to clear off the table, taking the dishes outside to the pump for a washing. I needed to show him I would be a good wife.
“No, Lillian. That’s fine. I’m going to split some wood. I will be outside for a while,” he said, kissing the top of my head as he walked out.
It was a good start to our new beginning. I spent the rest of the day on the porch, watching him work and waiting for my dress to dry. It was the first warm day in weeks, and I was no longer cooped up in a stuffy room. I enjoyed the sweet fragrance of the fresh air and noticed the sounds of the trees swaying in the gentle breeze, and once again was mesmerized by Warren. I knew he held back and was reserved with his affections, but in time, he would learn to let go and see I was good for him, that I was devoted and my love would take him to new heights.
Days went on much the same; Warren had his chores, and I had mine. I kept up with the housework, and I cooked almost all day to feed his healthy appetite. I learned his favorite food was bacon and collard beans, apple butter, and anything with cheese—especially macaroni. But the nights were full of longing and anticipation of the moment Warren came to me. I would lie awake in the stillness and watch him sleep; at least, I thought he was asleep. Sometimes I wasn’t sure. If the light of the moon shined in just right, I’d think his eyes were open, staring over at me, but I wasn’t certain. I often felt his gaze, and only rarely did I catch his wandering eye—most often when I was walking about in the shirt that I used every night to sleep in. My slender legs were exposed, and I liked that he found them attractive. But as soon as I caught him, his eyes immediately shifted and he would step outside for a smoke of his pipe under the bright stars of the early winter nights.
“Up there; that’s Horologium,” I said pointing to the constellation as I stole up next to him.
He was sitting on the steps of the porch, looking up at the sky. I wanted to impress him, to teach him what I had learned from Heath. As I gazed at the stars, I remembered how enamored I had been with him. Heath was the most brilliant boy I had ever known, and he remained so. Barely a day went by that Heath wasn’t in the shadows of my mind. No matter what, Heath would always be my first love, my most special love because he stole my heart, and I never asked for it back.
Warren nodded and took a long draw of his pipe, then motioned for me to sit next to him. We hadn’t talked about his trip; he persistently avoided my questions, though he said he would tell me the very first morning. Maybe, I thought, he told me nothing so I would be surprised when we did head north. I hoped that was it, and he wasn’t holding something back.
“Hold out your hand,” he said, putting his pipe down and taking my hand in his. “Now close your eyes.”
I did as he said, and when he told me to open them, I gasped. In my hand was a beautiful hair ornament—tortoiseshell with ruby-colored rhinestones.
“What is this for?” I asked him, filled with thankfulness.
“It’s Christmas. This is my gift to you.”
My heart sank. I had no gift for him. I had long given up on the luxury of such a holiday, and of course, Santa never left me a gift during my imprisonment. Warren saw how sad I was.
“I bought it for you because I thought it would look lovely in your long hair. You do like it, don’t you, Lillian?”
A small tear escaped the corner of my eye, and I quickly brushed it away then said, “I have never seen anything so lovely.”
Warren was pleased and asked me to put it in my hair. I did and took him off guard when I placed a kiss on his cheek.
“Thank you. This means so much to me. I will treasure it for always,” I said softly then I went inside to leave him to his thoughts.
He came in late, hours after I had gone to bed. I felt him sit on the edge of the bed; his stare brought me out of my light sleep. I slowly sat up and allowed him to climb in next to me without a word. He rested beside me, his clothes still on, then turned and brought me close. My heart pounded, my body tingled as his soft breath fell onto the nape of my neck. I was wide awake; I was scared and anxious. I wanted to be loved the way a man loves a woman, but the fear of the unknown made my pulse race and my stomach turn into one big knot.
“You’re so lovely,” Warren whispered then nuzzled my hair and fell asleep. He hadn’t tried to undress me. I was surprised, also relieved, and went back to sleep in the warmth of his breath and the comfort of his love.
Warren came to me every night; he cuddled me, he held me close, and he whispered that I was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him. In the beginning, I was frightened of what I believed would happen—that he could take me and have his way with my body, but he never once did, and sleeping together became ordinary.
Then my fear was gone, my yearning took over, and I wanted more than anything to have him desire me. I didn’t understand how he could love me so much, yet want to sleep with me the way a brother would a sister. He kept his feelings distant, the way Heath had, and while the months passed and he didn’t pursue me, I became annoyed. I saw the yearning in his eyes when I caught him gazing at me. I knew I was beautiful, yet he remained standoffish with his manly desires.
We made periodic trips into Savannah, and Warren purchased a new dress for me to wear when we went into town—a more modern, mature dress, so I wouldn’t be made fun of any longer. I always wore my hair comb, and he especially liked that. And while I sat in the buggy waiting for him while he purchased items from the store, men young and old, would tip their hats and smile at me; some would even come over to talk. Warren hated this and warned me never to talk to them after he shooed them away.
“You’re a proper lady. You have no business speaking to men that approach you,” he said sternly.
“Why? They mean no harm,” I said, secretly amused by his jealousy.
“You do as I say, you hear?” he barked, urging the horse on. I didn’t like his tone and scowled at him.
As we made our way through the streets, I heard my name being called. The voice was unfamiliar, but I immediately recognized the face. Richard was walking along the congested street with a heavy-set, older, red-haired woman with a stony appearance. I waved to him, but Warren refused to stop. When we were on the outskirts of the city, he sternly asked me who the man was.
“His name is Richard Parker. I met him the day you returned from the trip you never speak of,” I snipped back, crossing my arms over my chest.
“What business did he have with you?”
“That business is none of your business,” I firmly replied.
“Now, Lillian, don’t be angry with me,” he said, in a much softer tone. I turned and faced him, then bl
urted, “Why won’t you tell me about Cape Cod?”
“There is not much to tell. I don’t want to disappoint you.”
“What does that mean? Did you not purchase land to build our house on?”
“I didn’t have enough money,” he confessed, keeping his eyes on the road.
“That means that we can’t move there?” I cried.
“In time, Lillian. Give me more time,” he begged.
“More time. I don’t understand. You were gone for so long!”
He didn’t respond and refused to look at me when he lifted me off the buggy. I marched into the house and turned my back on him when he stepped inside. I was annoyed at him for snapping at me, frustrated he did not find me desirable, and hurt that he didn’t fulfill his promise. I was not going to return north any time soon.
“Please don’t be mad. I didn’t mean to yell at you today. I just think you need to be careful around men. You are beautiful; they all see that. You have no idea what they are capable of,” he said, then came behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders. “And I’m still trying to gather the money so I can take you away.” Warren’s voice was soaked in sincerity, but his words sounded so much like Daddy’s it made me cringe. I didn’t want him to treat me like a little girl; I knew what men were capable of. That was exactly why I was confused. Warren turned me, and with his finger lifted my chin, and said, “Don’t be angry at me. I love you with all my heart, Lillian. You do believe me, don’t you?”
Of course I believed he loved me, but not in the way I fantasized. He had no idea what I dreamed of, how I yearned for him to make me into a woman, to make me his own. Warren didn’t see it in my eyes; he didn’t feel it when our bodies lay in the same bed every night.
He leaned in and tenderly kissed my cheek, and again asked me not to be angry. I nodded, just to appease him, and excused myself, telling him I wanted to take a bath. I went to the well to fetch some water. Warren brought in the tub for me and said he would work outside until the end of the day. I was glad to have some time to myself, and while I was soaking in the hot water, I thought of how I could make Warren jealous. If he couldn’t see on his own how desirable I was, I was going to force him to see it. I didn’t care how angry he got.
I also thought of Richard and remembered what he said to me. He thought my beauty could bring me fame and fortune. I didn’t know if I necessarily believed that, but it was exciting to think about. It was wonderful that he remembered me, spotted me, and called out. If he weren’t married, I could make Warren jealous of Richard. But I would have to use patience; something I always struggled to do.
That night, just as Warren came to share the bed with me, I asked to sleep alone. Warren looked perplexed, almost offended.
“It’s my time of the month,” I lied.
“Oh, I see,” he said, climbing over me then he made himself a place on the floor. I smiled with great satisfaction and watched as he tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable. The bed was lumpy and stiff, but nothing compared to the cold, hard floor.
The next morning, he was exceptionally grumpy.
“What’s wrong?” I asked as I served him his eggs and sausage.
He refused to look at me and decided not to eat. “I have a new job, starting tomorrow,” he said before he stepped outside to gather some wood.
“A new job?” I hadn’t realized he was looking for work. In fact, I had no idea where he obtained his money.
“I purchased a grindstone and will be going around to farms to see if any need sharpening services. I’m going into Savannah today to bring back a wagon to haul it around in.”
I didn’t know whether to be glad about the job or unhappy. It meant he would be able to save for land to build a house for us on the ocean, but he would be out all day and I would be left alone. I didn’t want to be alone again.
“Can I go with you? I can sit in the wagon while you work.”
He heard my desperation and said he would think about it. I reminded him that I would still keep a clean house and do all the laundry.
“And the cooking?”
I wouldn’t be able to prepare supper if I was out all day with him. My heart slowly sank.
“We’ll see. Maybe on an occasional day,” he said, before he departed.
Warren’s work took him away all day and well into the late hours of the evening. I found my own way to cope with his daily absences, cooking and cleaning with fervor. When he came in after a long day, he was hungry, his face was blanketed with lethargy, and I felt guilty, for I knew all of his hard work was to save up enough money to take me away. So I did all I could to ease his stomach with my tasty cooking and offered to rub his achy muscles.
The first time I suggested it, he was unsure, but I insisted and told him to take off his shirt and sit in the chair.
“Momma used to do this for Daddy when he had been up for days working the light during a heavy fog, and it helped him relax and sleep better,” I told Warren. He was almost too tired to refuse and appeased me by taking off his shirt.
The skin on his back was red from carrying the grindstone, and his rippling muscles were extremely tight. I stepped behind the chair and gently placed my hands on his shoulders, then began working my fingers around each stiff muscle, slowly at first, working into a harder rub.
“You’re so tense.” I could only see the back of his head, but I could tell by the way the side of his jaw locked, that he was in more discomfort than he let on.
“It’s helping; don’t stop.”
I smiled and continued rubbing through his pain, moving my hands and fingers around each ripple on his back. It was the first time I had touched his bare skin, and I noticed every one of the freckles scattered along his broad shoulders.
When he relaxed, as his muscles loosened, he closed his eyes and rested. My hands slowed to a light stroke, just the tips of my fingers easing over his skin. I noticed his goose bumps as I led my fingertips up his spine, toward his solid neck, then I started to stroke his hair. He began to ease his head back. His eyes closed, and he drank in the massage then just as his head gently fell back into my bosom, he jumped up, sending the chair crashing to the floor. I jumped back, and we both stood staring at one another, until Warren said, flustered, “I must have drifted off. I thought I was floating away when the chair slipped out from under me.”
We bent down to reach for the chair at the same time, and our heads bumped. I started to laugh, but Warren wasn’t amused. He was flushed and embarrassed, and hastily rushed outside. I was left standing, not understanding what I did to upset him so terribly. Outside, he paced the porch and ran his hands through his hair. He was without his shirt, and it was cold outside. I picked it up off the floor and went to give it to him. The quarter-moon gave just enough light to see through the night.
“Put on your shirt so you don’t catch a cold,” I said, handing it to him.
“Thank you,” he replied, and hurried to put it on, though he left the buttons undone. I didn’t respond and went back inside to clean up before bed. Warren sat on the porch and smoked his pipe, coming in later, just as I was situated in the bed. I had already blown the lamp out and wanted only to go to sleep. I had imagined he would be grateful for the massage; Daddy always was when Momma was kind enough to do it for him, but Warren seemed unappreciative. All I wanted to do was make him happy. I tried everything to please him, and supposed I should have been content just knowing he allowed me to live with him. After all, he had no real reason to take me in, except for the kindness of his heart. He owed me nothing, yet I felt as though he owed me the world. I was flooded with mixed feelings. Perhaps I was trying too hard, and that’s what pushed him away. Maybe I was overly grateful, or had he sensed I was taking advantage of his kindness? I didn’t know.
I lay there and listened as he changed for bed, and I cringed when he banged his leg into the footboard of the bed. “Damn it!” he said, walking off the pain. “Damn it, damn it, damn it!”
I wanted to go
to him, to apologize and say I was sorry for blowing out the lamp and making it so dark that he hurt himself, for giving him a massage that made him unhappy and mad at me, for coming to my rescue so long ago, and for making me fall in love with him.
I finally won up enough nerve, choked back my tears, and said, “Warren, I’m sorry.”
He stopped pacing like some kind of caged circus animal and whisked over to me. He knelt down and took both my hands, then pressed them against his cool, scruffy cheek. I began to sob. I felt so unbelievably lost when people were angry with me, and I couldn’t help but become overwhelmed by all of his mixed signals.
“Dear, Lillian; stop crying,” he said in a hushed, muffled voice. He took my hands and pressed my palms against his tender lips. “I hate to see you sad.”
I continued to drop tears as he told me he was sorry, and he wasn’t mad at me. “You have a way of making me crazy inside,” he whispered, then bowed his head. I didn’t know what I had done to make him feel such turmoil; all I wanted to do was love him and have him love me in return.
“Is it the money, Warren?” I softly asked. Maybe his struggle was due to the overwhelming financial burden. “I want you to know I will be happy with you no matter where we live. I know what I said in the past, and I was wrong for insisting you take me back to the sea.” As I lay on my side against the lumps of the bed, I reached over, ran my hand through his thick hair, and added, “You will make me happy wherever we live.”
Warren lifted his heavy head and proceeded to get into bed with me. I felt his woe; I sensed his encumbrance and thought I should give him an opportunity to free himself from the burden of caring for me.
“All I need is a few dollars, and I can be out of your life for good.”
It pained me to offer such a thing; it broke my heart to think he might jump at the chance to be a single man again, but I loved him enough to set him free.
_______________
Chapter Twenty-one
Warren gave a weighty sigh, rolled over, and placed his arms around me. I closed my eyes and held my breath, waiting for his response. Outside, I heard the hoot of an owl, and the wind caused the branches around the cabin to scrape the tin roof. The night went on, but time for me stood still. Would Warren want more than anything to share his life with me, or was he having second thoughts? Did he regret the day he found me in the marsh, alone and scared? Was it merely pity that caused him to take me under his wing, or was it love at first sight, as it was for me? Only Warren could answer that.
Box Set: The ArringtonTrilogy Page 55
