Eden Creek

by Lisa Bingham

  “Perhaps you’d like to bring that pie up to my room later.” As he rose to his feet he said next to her ear, “Cherry. And two spoons.”

  That night Orrin hauled the last of the scrap lumber away from the new addition and stacked the bigger pieces neatly inside the barn. Walking back to the house, he paused.

  Heavy clouds hung low overhead, and a gusting breeze brought the smell of rain. The yard lay in early shadow. But it wasn’t the storm that held Orrin’s attention. It was the dark outline of the new addition. Ginny’s bedroom.

  Hers and his.

  The air crackled around him.

  He didn’t know exactly when it had happened, but he freely admitted that he loved his new wife. Body and soul. He knew that they would build a life together in time. And a home.

  And starting tonight, they had just what they needed to begin strengthening their relationship.

  Time.

  And a whole lot of privacy.

  The chiming of the clock on the mantel marked the passing of another interminable minute. Outside the onset of dusk had been heightened by the heavy thunder-clouds that had been accumulating since early afternoon. Now and again lightning lit the room, adding to the tension already charging the air.

  Ginny glanced up from her sewing, saw that Orrin was still watching her, and blushed. He’d been whispering highly improper suggestions in her ear all evening.

  “It’s getting late,” he said, as if reading her thoughts.

  “It’s only seven-thirty.”

  “It’s already dark.”

  “That’s because of the rain.”

  The clock measured a half dozen more minutes before Orrin announced, “Time to sleep.”

  Unfortunately, as much as Orrin and Ginny longed to be alone, Orrin’s children chose that minute to refuse their father’s wishes. Eunice stretched out on the floor and began to pound it with her fists. Imogene dodged out the front door, and Baby Grace hid under the bed. By the time Orrin and Ginny had rounded up the children, washed them, changed them, and put them to bed, the storm overhead had gathered even more force. Lightning seemed to crackle and spit in the air around them; thunder boomed like cannon fire.

  At long last Orrin slammed the door to the children’s room. “We’re alone,” he said with a playful leer.

  The kicking and screaming from the other side of the door belied his statement, but Orrin pretended not to notice.

  Ginny backed into the new addition, teasingly offering, “Would you like some more coffee?”

  “No.”

  “You know, I really should finish a few more ruffles.”

  Orrin grinned. “No.”

  In seconds Ginny was scooped high in Orrin’s arms. “It’s bedtime,” he announced, striding toward the new addition.

  She laughed and offered a token resistance. “Orrin, it’s much too early to sleep.”

  “It’s late enough.”

  He walked into the room, closing the door behind him with his foot, effectively shutting out the light from the lamp he’d left in the other room.

  “The light.”

  “We don’t need it.” He set her on her feet, dipping his head to plant a searing kiss on her lips.

  Ginny spread her hands against his shoulders, delighting in the firmness she encountered. How she yearned for this man. Each time she touched him a warmth flared through her body, as intriguing and insistent as ever before.

  He broke away and grinned at her in triumph. Then, issuing a hearty rebel yell, he picked her up and dropped her onto the bed.

  “Orrin, I need my nightdress.”

  That caused Orrin to pause. He had hoped to have her in his arms without the encumbrance of her nightgown, but was aware that her pregnancy had only added to her shyness.

  “Fine.” He backed toward the door. “I’ll just go … check on the children.”

  As soon as he’d gone Ginny hurried toward the bureau to grab her nightgown. She would have only a few minutes at best, but she knew that she could not let Orrin see her without at least a modicum of covering.

  She was climbing into the high bed when the door whipped open. Orrin’s gaze slipped from the top of her head to the tip of her toes.

  “Damn, you look beautiful in my bed,” he said, stepping toward her.

  The intensity of his scrutiny caused her to lower her eyes, while the sense of fun he brought to the evening made her blush in delighted expectation.

  Thunder rolled overhead. Rain pounded upon the roof with a ferocity that made the room seem even more intimate, since the noise of the storm made all but the most necessary speech inaudible.

  A drop of water plopped onto his shoulder, and Orrin blinked, then offered Ginny a self-conscious shrug. “Guess I was in such a hurry to finish the room, I didn’t pitch the roof enough. But a drop or two of water never hurt anyone.”

  Orrin paused, some of the humor fading from his face beneath blatant anticipation. Slowly he reached for his collar and began to release the buttons. Though he was all but cloaked in the shadows of the room, intermittent flashes of lightning marked his progress as he stripped off his shirt, his shoes, and his socks.

  As he pushed away his pants and began to unfasten the buttons of his union suit Ginny leaned over to the dresser and pulled out Orrin’s nightshirt. But before she could give it to him he slipped into the opposite side of the bed.

  “Your nightshirt.”

  “I don’t think we’ll need that again, do you?”

  “No, I guess not,” she breathed as his lips began a tormenting exploration.

  A flash of lightning splintered overhead, followed almost simultaneously by a huge growl of thunder.

  The last dregs of sound had barely faded from the air overhead when the bedroom door was thrown open and Orrin’s three children stood silhouetted in the threshold.

  “We’re scared. It’s dark.”

  Orrin swore.

  Ginny giggled and gave him his nightshirt.

  Another clap of thunder boomed overhead, and Orrin just managed to drag the nightshirt over his head before the girls dived into the bed and burrowed under his arm.

  Ginny nearly laughed aloud at the look on Orrin’s face as the children lay between them like a human island. But her amusement faded when Orrin settled his daughters into sleep with nonsense tales and snatches of song, all the time caressing the curve of Ginny’s cheek.

  Within an hour the children had fallen asleep. Orrin slipped from the bed, carrying them one at a time into their own room.

  “Alone,” he breathed when he returned. “Again.”

  “For how long?”

  “I locked them in.”

  She chuckled.

  “You were right, you know.”

  “About what?”

  “The girls should have their own room.”

  “Oh?” She scooted toward the opposite side of the bed so that Orrin could climb into the space she’d provided.

  “This is much, much better.” He gently twined their fingers together. “Parents in one room. Children in another.” He gave her that long, slow smile. “I think that we can finally enjoy the new room.”

  A drop of water splashed onto Orrin’s head. He frowned. The ceiling groaned.

  “Oh, hell!”

  Orrin yanked Ginny from the bed and flung open the door, pushing her into the keeping room just as the roof to the new addition caved in beneath a torrent of water.

  Ginny whirled and found Orrin standing in the middle of the deluge of rain pouring from a huge hole in the roof.

  He sputtered against the water streaming over his face and down his body. “Hell,” he muttered, blinking up at the hole above him.

  Huffing in irritation, Orrin brushed past her, tugged on his boots, and headed toward the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’ve got to get that hole plugged up before everything is ruined.”

  Wanting to do her part to save the room, Ginny threw a shawl over her head and rush
ed to gather Orrin’s clothing from the pegs on the walls. Then she tore at the bedding and dumped it near the fireplace.

  She heard the pounding of a hammer where Orrin was boarding up the roof with leftover planks and covering it with canvas. By the time he finished with the repairs she’d gathered an armload of pans and bowls and placed them beneath the worst of the drips.

  The door to the kitchen opened to reveal the tall, bedraggled shape of her husband dressed in nothing but a nightshirt and a pair of boots.

  He stumbled into the house, closing the door behind him. Prodded into action, Ginny removed a towel from one of the linen chests she’d brought with her from Plymouth. Taking Orrin’s hand, she dragged him toward the table and pushed him onto one of the benches.

  “You’re soaked clear through to the skin.”

  “It’s raining.”

  “But you could have worn a coat.”

  He shrugged.

  Briskly Ginny began to rub his hair dry. Orrin fingered the fabric of the towel.

  “This is nice.”

  “I brought it with me from home.”

  “Your things are always so soft.”

  As she worked he toyed with the ruffles cascading down the front of her damp nightdress. Too late she realized that the rain had rendered the fabric all but transparent.

  She faltered in her task, her movements becoming unconsciously slow and gentle. Long moments passed, filled with the hiss and splatter of the rain outside and the repeated growls of thunder.

  Orrin spread his legs wide and rested his hands in the hollow of her back.

  “I’m sorry.” His voice was a near whisper.

  Ginny frowned. “About what?”

  “I meant for the addition to be special. I wanted a place where you and I could be alone together.” He rested his cheek against her stomach.

  As always, his nearness brought warmth, sensation, pleasure. She cupped the back of his head. At first her fingers skimmed against the damp curls, then touched his neck, then held him close.

  She drew back, and he looked up at her, not knowing what she would say or do next. Evidently he had not anticipated her intent, for when she tugged at his wrists until he stood beside her he raised his brows in confusion.

  Lacing their hands together, Ginny drew him to the ticking she’d piled in front of the fire. It was only a tiny bit damp now, but she added a few extra blankets.

  Orrin noted the way the light shone through her nightdress, gilding the ripe curves of her body. Curves that were all the more lush and inviting because they nurtured his child. Her hair curled about her in rain-crimped strands. Her skin was flushed and kissed with firelight.

  She took a hesitant step forward and slipped the first button of Orrin’s nightshirt free. Then the second.

  When she paused, he encouraged her to finish with a gentle nudge. Then, as she continued, he touched her cheek, her hair.

  “You’re so sweet.” He barely believed how Ginny had become his wife, stolen his heart.

  When she’d unfastened all the buttons, leaving a gaping expanse of flesh to his waist, she hesitated, then laid her hands on the taut skin over his ribs.

  “Show me.”

  He tipped her chin up with a finger so that he could see the beauty of her eyes.

  “What, Ginny?”

  She licked her lips. “Show me what to do. I want to please you.”

  “You already please me. More than you’ll ever know.” Even so, he tutored her. “Touch me the way I touch you.” His head bent, and he brushed her lips with his. “Here.” He dipped to nuzzle her neck. “And here.”

  She snuggled against him, and Orrin felt a burst of pleasure spread through his body. Still exploring her cheeks and temples with his lips, he knelt upon the ticking and drew her down beside him.

  In the fire’s glow he taught her once again about passion and anticipation. To his surprise, she showed him things as well. Gentleness. Patience.

  In the aftermath Orrin held her and whispered again, “I love you.”

  This time he heard her response.

  “I love you, too.”

  Orrin thanked heaven above that fate had somehow found it fitting to bring this woman into his life. He couldn’t imagine what he would do if he lost her joy, her respect.

  Her love.

  But most of all, he didn’t know what he would do if she were ever to leave him.

  Chapter 16

  Carrying a picnic hamper full of food, Ginny stepped onto the porch. Shielding her eyes against the glare of the sun, she stared out past the yard to the looming slopes of the mountains in the distance.

  Finally she understood how Eden had received its name. Overhead the sky hung like a clear glass bowl with barely a trace of horsetail clouds. The mountains basked in the summer warmth, gleaming with rich purples, browns, and greens. The craggy slopes were thick with pine and aspen, scrub oak and grass.

  Even the creek had changed with summer. It wound through the valley like a twisted ribbon—deep, lazy, cool. The edges were fringed with rich plants and soft dust. The center was a swirling strip of blue beneath the reflection of a brilliant sky.

  “Ready?”

  Orrin and the children waited for her to join them in the wagon.

  “Yes, I’m ready.”

  Orrin jumped from the wagon and rushed to her side, taking the basket.

  She tried to step onto the hub of the wheel, but with the added fullness of her stomach the movement was awkward.

  To her surprise, Orrin set the hamper on the ground and gingerly lifted her onto the wagon bench. Then, for one fleeting moment, his hands lingered, his grip tightened. When he drew away, Ginny thought that his knuckles deliberately brushed against the fullness of her breasts.

  Grinning to himself, he settled his hat on his head and circled around to climb onto the wagon bench. He clucked to the horses, and the wagon jerked into motion.

  Since Independence Day had dawned hot and dry, Orrin had persuaded Ginny to abandon the household chores and organize a picnic for them on the bank of Eden Creek. For the first time that Ginny could remember he’d forsaken all but the most necessary chores and had come with them for an outing.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, clutching the wagon seat as they bounced down the rutted road.

  Orrin’s eyes were warm in the heat of the day, his skin tanned and beaded with sweat. “You’ll see.” The wind teased the wheat-brown strands of his hair.

  At that moment Ginny realized that Orrin was a man who would age gracefully, kindly. His features would become firmer, leaner. His hair would grow lighter, with just a hint of gray that would appear at his temples and move back as the years advanced.

  She wanted to be there when that happened.

  When he caught her intense study he asked, “Are you sure you’re feeling up to this?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “No pain?”

  “No.”

  He glanced back at the children, but they were absorbed in their own play. “It appears we’re going to have a big baby,” he commented quietly, his lips twitching in a faint grin. “Just like his daddy.”

  Ginny grew still at his words. “Oh?”

  “Before she passed on, my mama always bragged that I was nearly ten pounds when I was born.”

  She tried to smile even as her heart thudded in her throat.

  “That’s a good sign that it will be a boy. Those three”—he motioned to the girls with a jerk of his head—“were all really tiny when they were born.”

  Ginny nearly wilted in relief when he turned to drive the rest of the way in silence.

  Orrin brought the team to a stop beneath a grove of oak trees and pointed to the grassy bank. “This is the best spot in Eden for a picnic,” he announced to his children. “And the only place for a Fourth of July swim. Last one in the creek feeds the goat tonight!”

  The girls squealed and clambered from the wagon, already stripping their clothing away so that they could s
wim in their underwear.

  “Now stay close to the edge until I can get in the water with you,” Orrin warned. Jumping from the wagon box, he lifted Ginny from the seat.

  This time she could not mistake the way his hands lingered and his eyes traced her features. Then he walked away.

  Taking Baby Grace, Ginny helped the little girl out of her shoes, all the while shamelessly watching as Orrin stripped down to his union suit. The summer labor had darkened his skin and toned his body so that the woolen fabric cloaked a lean, masculine frame.

  Giving a yell, he grabbed Imogene around the waist and ran toward the creek.

  Laughing at the way he splashed and cavorted with his two elder daughters, Ginny tucked her skirts into her waistband, took Baby Grace, and waded near the edge, sighing in delight when the cool water lapped around her calves and teased the pinned-up hems of her skirts.

  They played in the water for the better part of an hour, then collapsed on a quilt beneath the oak trees and devoured the lunch that Ginny had prepared.

  “You’re getting to be quite a cook,” Orrin commented when Ginny packed the last of the meal away. There had been little in the way of food left over.

  Pure delight filtered through her at the compliment. “Thank you.”

  Orrin lay back against the quilt and observed the three girls, who had curled up on a blanket spread beneath a second tree. They slept in childish abandon, their cheeks flushed.

  “They’re tuckered out.”

  She watched them indulgently. “They enjoy spending time with you.”

  “I enjoy spending time with you, too, Ginny. I’m glad I was able to come home in time.”

  Orrin had been on several freighting trips in the past few months, but none had lasted much longer than a week.

  The peace of the afternoon settled around them. The lazy grup-crup of the frogs and the rustle of the grass seemed to lull them.

  “Why don’t we take a swim?”

  She started in surprise, then shook her head. “No, I’ll just sit here in the shade.”

  “Ginny.”

  “You go in.”

  He regarded her for a moment, then stood and moved toward the bank. To her surprise, he began to unfasten the buttons of his union suit. Too late, she concluded his intent to swim naked.