Eden

by Carolyn Davidson

  He needed her with an urgent yearning that would not be eased by her body next to his at night, for he ached to possess her, his body hard and aflame with desire. Katie seemed to be unaware of his problem, and he felt a surge of impatience as he drew the covers over her one night, over a week after her accident with the knife.

  He circled the bed and crawled in behind her, then turned her to face him, his hands urgent on her as he lifted over her slender form. “I need you tonight, Katie. I don’t think I can spend another night in this bed with you and not make love to you.”

  She did not speak, only widened her legs to make room for him, pulling her nightgown up to allow him access to her body. He felt almost like a marauder as he lay atop her, seeking out the softness of her woman’s flesh. He touched her carefully, intent on bringing her to a climax before he took his pleasure within her warmth, but she pulled from him and only murmured that he should take his ease in her body.

  With a sigh of frustration, for he had wanted desperately to give her the pleasure that was her due, he took her quickly, then felt a pang of regret, for he had used her as a man might a woman whose body was his by way of money having exchanged hands.

  He could not enjoy the relief that was his, for it was not the true essence of loving that he had come to find in Katie’s warmth, but a temporary easing of his need. He almost resented her for her disinterest in his lovemaking.

  She rose from the bed and washed behind the screen, cleansing herself and then coming back to the bed in silence. He waited there, his mood edgy, his conscience bothering him that he had used her so.

  “I don’t know how much longer I can stand the distance you’ve placed between us,” he said after long moments had passed, and awaited her reply, hoping against hope that she would give him some notion of her thoughts.

  “You’ve treated me without trust, John, and I find I cannot feel the same as I did a month or so ago. You accused me, perhaps not aloud, but in your heart, for the problems with Clay Thomas, and I find no fault within myself in all of that. Your hands have not been gentle against my body, your words have cut me deeply and I am but a woman, not a machine that will operate to your bidding.”

  He moved restlessly beside her and his thoughts reflected his ambivalence. “He kept watching you and you didn’t seem to discourage him, Katie. Clay seemed to think he was quite a ladies’ man and maybe you didn’t know how to give him the cold shoulder. It just seemed to me that you were enjoying his attentions, and it made me angry with you. I suspect I’m a jealous sort of man from way back.”

  “Your first wife wasn’t faithful to you, John. But I’m not Sadie. I think you forget that sometimes. Maybe you just don’t trust women, not just me.”

  “I’ve tried, Katie. For the most part, I’ve trusted you. But when Clay kept on chasing after you the way he did, it made me think that maybe you were encouraging him.”

  Her voice trembled as she denied his words. “I never wanted his hands on me. I never asked for his attention, John.”

  She turned from him then and he found himself viewing only the back of her head, the form of her body beneath the quilt a temptation he could not resist. He moved closer to her, fitting himself against her as he had been wont to do in the past, but tonight there was no softening of her curves against him, no melting of her slender form, no giving of herself to his comfort. She was stiff beside him, her body apart from him as though she were miles away instead of inches.

  He could not bear it, this distance she offered and he pulled at her, tugging her close to his body, shaping her to his will. She did not dispute his right to touch her, only remained silent and unresponsive.

  He would not have it, for his manhood was crushed by her lack of warmth, her total disinterest in him. He turned her to face him and his hands touched her gently, with care, brushing against her breasts, his lips finding ease on the peaks that formed to his caresses. He was determined to find a response of sorts in her and his touch ventured lower, across her belly to the soft curls that hid her womanhood.

  He found the crease there, opened it with gentle care and touched the responsive nub that had hidden beneath a hood of flesh. Bending over her, he kissed her tenderly, his tongue venturing into her mouth, seeking out the hot depths of her throat and moving with a rapid thrusting that only imitated the movement he would soon initiate upon her soft parts.

  She caught her breath with a sob and he determined to ignore the small sign of distress and only found new areas to conquer, his hand moving to pierce her body, his palm caressing her mound with gentle movements. She bucked once against him and he smiled carefully, lest she sense his triumph. He had trained her well over the past months, her body attuned to his, her womanhood responsive, perhaps unwillingly, but nonetheless finding pleasure in his touch.

  With long strokes and careful probing touches, he brought her to her pleasure and she moaned against his chest, her sounds swallowed up in the firm muscular lines of his body.

  “Katie…don’t hold back from me, love. Let me have your warmth tonight.” His words were almost harsh, so great was the renewed need he felt for her. For even though he had taken her body less than an hour before, he was more than ready to possess her again.

  She lifted her arms to encircle his neck, her breasts firm against his chest, her legs twining about his as she raised her hips to receive him. She was well prepared for his taking, soft and wet, and he slid within her depths easily, sinking to his full length in the heated channel she offered.

  Again, she lifted her hips and caught his rhythm as he blended their bodies in a union such as they had not enjoyed for a matter of weeks. For since his spat of jealousy over Clay Thomas, she had not responded to him in such a fashion. As though her body ached for his possession, as if she hungered for the union they shared in these moments, she clung to him, holding him against herself, her voice a soft murmur he strained to hear.

  “I need you, John. You’re strong and warm and…Hold me close, please,” she whispered. His response was immediate, his arms tightening around her slender form, his body fitting itself to hers, their linking that of a man and wife seeking out the joy only to be found in the marriage bed.

  He held her close, unwilling to disturb their union, turning to his side, the better to keep her in his arms, her head pressed against his shoulder, her face buried in his chest, her soft breath warming him in the night hours.

  He awoke in the middle of the night, when the sky was darkest, the moon a sliver on the horizon, the stars standing out sharply against the midnight covering them. She stirred against him and he pulled her snugly against himself, aware that she was awake, that she moved in a sleepy fashion to gain comfort for herself, her legs shifting, her arm circling his waist.

  He spoke then, words that had been in his mind for the past days, words he had not found it possible to speak when he knew she was not happy in his bed. When he recognized her pain in the tension that had existed between them.

  And so he whispered his query, his voice soft against her ear, and felt for a moment that he strayed into territory that was almost forbidden to him. “Katie, isn’t it past time for your woman’s stuff to be happening? Seems like it’s been a while.”

  She lay quietly, thinking, and yet he knew she had almost expected this line of questioning from him. “You’re right, John. I thought about that the other day, but I kinda forgot it. It has been longer since the last time than usual.” As if caught up now in the passing of time, recognizing that the passing of days and weeks had come and gone, she pondered the thought. “I haven’t really considered the length of time since my last time being a woman. It’s been quite a while, hasn’t it?

  “In fact, I haven’t done that kind of stuff for ever so long, John. Maybe seven weeks or even longer than that. It’s mid summer already and I came here early in February. I haven’t had my time of the month since April or maybe May. I can’t remember for sure. In fact, I cut and folded up all that flannel you bought me to use for my
monthly time and I’ve only used them a couple of times. They’re still piled up nice and neat in the drawer waiting.”

  She stirred against him, worry racing through the corners of her mind. “I haven’t even thought about it. Maybe I better ask Berta if she thinks I’m all right. I don’t want to be sickening or anything. I suspect I could be having some kind of woman trouble. I know I heard Agnes talking one day to her sister, a long time ago, about their mama, and how she had woman trouble and sickened up and died.”

  He smothered a chuckle. “You’re not gonna die, Katie. You’re not even sick or anywhere close to it. Let’s just wait and see what happens. I suspect things will work out just fine all on their own.”

  He held her close, his thoughts awash with the prospect of Katie having his child, and the pleasure that idea brought to his mind was so great he felt almost foolish, for he was but one in a long line of men who had fathered a child. Surely this occasion would be not very different from any other child born to a husband and wife.

  And yet he sensed a difference, for Katie was the woman who would bear the child, the one who would suffer the pains of birthing, whose body would provide the shelter for his son or daughter. That prospect gave him pause, for he knew the tales of women who had died during childbirth. Those who had not survived the delivery of their child, and should Katie ever be one of that number, he would not be able to forgive himself for subjecting her to such a fate.

  He held her closely, his thoughts a jumble, his heart more involved in this process than he’d thought possible. For the future loomed as an unknown entity, one in which he would either find the joys of fatherhood or perhaps the pain of losing the woman he held in his arms. He knew, in the depths of his mind, that such a happening was not likely, that Katie was strong and healthy, that she would no doubt survive the future that faced her, but his humanity was such that he faced days and nights of worry over her.

  And perhaps that was all a part of the marriage vows, the promises he had made to love, honor and cherish this woman above all else. He had failed miserably in that of late, but made a silent vow now to make amends for his bouts of jealousy, his unkind treatment of Katie and the weeks of tension shared between them in this house.

  IT WAS A WEEK OR SO later when John again joined her in the bed late one night and spent long moments in caressing her body, fitting her soft parts against himself, and touching her where he would, hearing her soft sounds of pleasure. It was more than his hungry body could bear, being apart from her and he considered whether she would be acquiescent to his needs.

  He rolled atop her, his big body pressing hers into the mattress, and his mouth was warm against hers, his arousal pressing firmly against her belly. “Is it all right, sweetheart? Do you mind if I do this?”

  She shook her head, her words slurred as she moved languidly against him. “You’ve already got me halfway there, John, what with all your messing around a few minutes ago, pokin’ at me and touchin’ me the way you were.”

  “Well, this won’t take long then, will it?” he asked, shifting his body to where it yearned to be, spreading her legs to make room at the shrine he had attended frequently over the past days. He slid within, warm and slick and then lay still, soaking up the rapture of this communion with his woman. But it soon became imperative that he move, and so he did, carefully, gently and slowly, willing to withhold his final pleasure till she should achieve her own. And it was not long in coming, for he caressed her, murmuring soft words of encouragement, dropping kisses where he would, his hands ever careful to urge her toward the ultimate completion of this act that so completely surrounded them, that filled them with the joys incipient in the marriage relationship they were fast repairing.

  “John, I asked Berta about things…you know what I mean, don’t you?”

  He smiled, aware that she was embarrassed. “Did she answer all your questions, sweetheart?”

  “She said I was probably in the family way. I told her about missing my monthly and all and she said she’d wondered, that I’d been looking a bit peaked lately. In fact, she didn’t act a bit surprised.”

  “Well, if making love with your husband results in a baby, I’d say that’s something to be happy about, Katie. Don’t you think so?”

  “I reckon I do, John.” Her sigh was replete with happiness, with the savoring of the warmth and beauty he showed her with his body, with the expressions of his heart. She clung, for there was no other word for her actions, her arms, her lips, and indeed, the essence of her being. Wrapped tightly against him, his weight easy on her, she bent and flowed, each curve nestling where it would, each rounding of her form blending with an essence that rose about them, the aroma of the loving they had experienced once more in this simple bed of pleasure.

  JOHN HELD THE KNOWLEDGE of Katie’s pregnancy within himself, aware that even though she’d talked with Berta, she was not totally knowledgeable about such things, that her education in such matters lacked much. And so he waited, not speaking again of the matter, but watching her for signs that her body harbored a child of his making. Two weeks passed, their relationship seeming to be strengthened each day, Jane taking on much of the work that had been Katie’s for several months. And then events moved quickly, one morning finding them about their business, John working on the chores in the big barn, Jane gathering eggs and Katie in the kitchen, ready to prepare breakfast.

  The smell of bacon and coffee, always the aroma of early morning, ever the call to breakfast, rose above the cookstove, dissipating into the room. And as John entered the cabin, he felt the emptiness of the kitchen. For the back door was still closed against the early-morning air, Jane still in the chicken coop, and Katie nowhere to be seen.

  As for Katie, she’d run to the bedroom, leaving the bacon frying in the skillet, the biscuits browning in the oven. She crouched in the corner of the bedroom, behind the screen, where the slop jar sat before her. With her face lowered, her eyes closed, her stomach revolting against the very scents that normally assured her that her day was off to a good start, she bent low over the slop jar, her very saliva tasting of green bile, her head swimming with the nausea that poked revoltingly from her belly into the depths of her stomach and thence out into the bucket before her.

  “Katie?” John’s strong voice called her from the back door and she stood upright, holding a damp cloth to her lips, her eyes wide.

  “I’m in here, John. I’ll be right out.”

  But he did not wait, whether alerted to some tone in her voice that drew him or perhaps the unusual circumstance of Katie not being where she belonged while breakfast cooked, he didn’t know. Only that his bride was not where he was accustomed to finding her at this time of day, where she should have been when he arrived for his morning meal. His heart quickened as he strode rapidly across the small room to the bedroom door.

  She was bent over the bucket, her mouth streaming, her hair falling about her face in disarray and her body bent forward. He went to her, sliding his arm around her waist, holding her against himself, his hand gentle against her belly.

  “Sweetheart, are you sick? What is it?” His other hand went to her forehead, fulling expecting to find heat radiating from her skin, only to find the clammy flesh of a woman who had just lost every bit of substance in her stomach.

  “Something didn’t sit right, John. I just took a good whiff of the bacon and it turned my stomach.” She stood erect now within his embrace, one hand rising to dab the wet rag against her mouth once more. “I’m all right now, I reckon. Just a spell of some sort.”

  He felt his heartbeat slow with her assurance, knew the relief of her safety assured by the strong tones of her voice. “We talked about this the other night, Katie, and I’m wondering if this isn’t just what happens when a woman gets in the family way.”

  His hand touched carefully a bit lower, in the cradle formed by her hips, where the soft skin seemed just a tad more firm to him. A thrill of anticipation shot through him, and he held her upright again
st himself, aware of her silence, of the steady heartbeat he felt vibrating from her slender body.

  He turned her swiftly in his embrace, holding her against himself, his arms banding her close and his head bent to touch his forehead against her shoulder. “I think Berta’s right, sweetheart. We’ve made us a baby, sure enough.”

  She tilted her head back, her hands touching his face to lift him within her view, and a tear slid down her cheek, even though the smile she offered belied sorrow. “Well, if making a baby is what we’ve done together, John, I’ll be so happy, I swear I’ll just pop.”

  His grin widened. “Yeah, you will, sometime after the first of the year, I’ll warrant.”

  She shivered, and he relished the excitement she radiated. That this lovely girl would want to carry his child, would yearn so to give him a son or daughter, was more than he could absorb. It would be the ultimate expression of their love and caring for each other, the evidence of their joining, of the acts of marriage that had cemented their relationship in this place.

  He wanted to jump in the air, click his heels, shout the news to the world, and knew that Katie would not have that. That her modest soul would cringe from such a display, for she was womanly in the extreme, and if there was ever a girl prepared to be seemly and act the part a woman should during her months of waiting till a child should be born, Katie was the one to play the part. Part girl, part woman, she was the epitome of femininity to his narrow vision. For certainly he’d not spent an inordinate amount of time investigating the females of this world, his experiences were not wide, his hands had not touched more than a dozen other females until now, and his appetites were modest.

  But there was within him the certain knowledge that after all his problems in the past, he had managed somehow to snag the one woman in the world who could complete him as a man, whose presence would provide fresh, new substance for each day of his living. He would protect her and the children she gave him and be thankful for the rest of his life that in spite of his own faults and foibles, he’d been granted the rare joy of finding happiness.