Dream Weaver

by Shirley Martin

  "Indeed. I'd never have guessed it."

  "Well, it was a real surprise to see Lieutenant Shelbourne again. When I saw him several months ago, he told me he was selling his commission. Now--"

  "Now the two lovers have reunited. What a happy ending!"

  "Hey, you got it all wrong!" Before he could say anymore, Gwen decided the best defense was a good offense. "I didn't even hear you arrive at the house."

  "Obviously."

  "Well, where's your horse?"

  "Not that I owe you an explanation, but I left him with the blacksmith to be shod. The man seemed quite busy, so I told him I'd come back later."

  "Oh." Sorrier than she could say for the pain she saw in his eyes, Gwen studied his face--every line, every feature, as though seeing them for the first time. She loved him so much. How could she convince him of her devotion?

  She touched his arm but winced when he drew back. "Honestly, I'm sorry for--"

  "No doubt!"

  "It was nothing," she said, aware that was a lame answer.

  He smirked. "Another man tries to kiss you, and you call it nothing?"

  "But I didn't return his kiss. Didn't you see me draw away?"

  "Only because you saw me."

  "You know that's not true." She raised her hand to him again, then let it drop to her side. "Let's not have any arguments between us." She moved closer. "I love you so much," she whispered.

  "Do you? You'd do anything to be back in your own world now, wouldn't you? You can't wait to get out of this time, back to the twenty-first century."

  "Come on, you're changing the subject." She edged closer to him, catching his masculine scent of tobacco and the outdoors. Desperation tinged her voice. "You're the only man I love, don't you know that? You're my life, all I ever wanted. Please don't draw away from me." She splayed her hands across his muscular chest and felt his steady heartbeat, his body heat. Easing her fingers under his shirt, she touched the matted hairs on his chest.

  "Let me show you how much I love you," she said in a throaty whisper. His expression softening, she rested her head on his chest and absorbed his scent, the warmth of his skin. She moved against him in sensuous persuasion, her breasts molded to his chest.

  "Ah, Gwen!"

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a long, slow kiss, then opened her mouth for him to explore. Closing her eyes, she drifted in a dreamworld of sensual images and sensations. She'd never wanted him as much as she wanted him now, this very minute.

  He smiled lazily, hot desire in his eyes. "Let's go to bed. I don't care if it's morning, noon, or night. How can a man resist you? But first, I'd better give us privacy, don't you think?" Quickly, Christian left her to close the door, then returned to lead her to their bed in the corner.

  Gwen helped him undress, unbuttoning his shirt with tantalizing slowness.

  "Gwen, please! I want you now. Can't wait any longer."

  "That goes for me, too, sweetheart." After tossing off their clothes, they pushed the counterpane back and slid into bed.

  "Let me make love to you," she murmured. Wanting to set the pace, she leaned over him to kiss him on the mouth, moving her body tantalizingly against his chest. Taunting him with her breasts, she offered them for his enjoyment.

  She covered his face with kisses, caught in the lure of his sighs, his gasps of pleasure, the desire she saw in his eyes. She stroked and teased, caressing him where it gave him such pleasure, driving them both to greater joy than she’d ever imagined, even in her wildest yearnings.

  “Christian!” she cried as their bodies joined. “You see how much I love you.”

  * * *

  Much later, after they both drifted from their sensual bliss into a contented doze and awakened to darkening shadows, Christian joined Gwen for the evening meal of leftover roast turkey and biscuits. Their lovemaking had kept her from fixing anything else, but who was she to complain? And Christian didn't seem to mind. Is this what people meant when they spoke of living on love?

  Christian swallowed a bite of turkey, his eyes only for her. "Something I wanted to tell you--Captain Ecuyer has invited us to dinner Friday of next week. Others will attend, also," he added, cutting another bite. "Does that appeal to you?"

  Gwen met his look, his kisses and caresses still fresh in her mind, her body warmly satisfied. "Hey, sounds like a pleasant change. Um, yes. Definitely." She enjoyed things like that ‑ dinners with friends, stimulating conversation, meeting other people. In her own time, most people considered TV the ultimate entertainment. That time seemed so far away, and in many ways, this time seemed better.

  * * *

  Besides Captain Ecuyer, several other distinguished men and women sat at the lace-covered table, Gwen at the captain's right. Here in the commandant's house at Fort Pitt, she admired the setting, every bit as beautiful as any she'd seen from her own time. A vase of deep pink phlox presided over the center, the table sparkling with sterling silver and fine china in a pattern of pink rosebuds with a gold rim.

  She loved to hear the rustle of her whisper-soft silk gown, one a local dressmaker had skillfully made with only a few days notice. So glad Christian had discovered the seamstress, she smoothed her fingers across the luxurious fabric. Its soft rose shade complemented her own coloring very well, she thought, after noticing in her mirror how it brought out the glow of her skin. A froth of lace edged the low neckline, adding a touch of elegance to the gown's simple cut.

  Her hair was arranged in soft curls with a bow of rose ribbon in front and loose tresses that caressed her shoulders, a casual style she'd decided long ago suited her best. Christian likes it too, she observed, catching his appreciative look across the table.

  Raising her crystal wine glass to her lips, it appeared to her that the captain managed quite well with entertaining, although he was stuck on the edge of civilization. And that's a pretty good description of Fort Pitt, Gwen mused as she forked a bite of tasty trout.

  Intrepid as ever, George Croghan was there, sporting a black eye. Christian had once told her that Croghan was a wealthy and influential fur trader who'd dealt with the Indians for years. He was married to an Indian, even knew a few native languages. As for the black eye, he'd gotten it in a fight with an Indian chief.

  Amid low-voiced conversation, Croghan spoke up. "Heard about Indian atrocities east of here. Cabins burned to the ground, whole families murdered."

  Ecuyer dabbed a linen napkin to his mouth, then took a sip of wine. "Isolated incidents, I doubt not, melancholy as they must have been for the poor victims." His gaze covered the table, and he caught Gwen's worried look. "But I fear we are distressing the ladies, so shall we discuss something pleasant? Have any of you heard of this young musician in Salzburg? Mozart, I believe. Making quite a name for himself."

  "Oh, yes!" Gwen replied, eager to join the conversation. "I just love his music, everything he does--sonatas, operas. Such a great pianist and composer, too. I especially like Don Giovanni."

  A look of surprise came over Ecuyer, along with a few gasps around the table. "Madam, I fear you endow the child with a most prodigious number of achievements. The lad is only seven, I understand. Mayhap you're thinking of someone else," he said with a kind smile.

  "I...I suppose so," Gwen answered, her face warming. "Yes, I'm sure you're right, captain." She glanced across the table, observing Christian's sympathetic look. "I must have been thinking of someone else."

  "In any event, that brings me to an announcement. It appears that everyone is finished with dinner," Ecuyer said as he glanced around the table and nodded toward an officer. "We are honored to have Lieutenant Edwards with us tonight, who, I assure you, is a most excellent violinist. He has kindly consented to play for us, so shall we retire to the parlor?" Ecuyer scraped his chair back and stood, everyone else following suit.

  Ecuyer stopped to address Gwen along the way, speaking in a low voice. "Mistress Norgard, it seems you are either prescient or else privy to inside information. At an
y rate, Colonel Bouquet shares your concern about the Indian menace. The colonel has instructed me to increase the fortifications at Fort Pitt. I didn't want to say anything in front of the others." He frowned. "I do hope the colonel is wrong."

  She hoped so, too, but she knew better.

  * * *

  "I hear someone on Wood Street has started a discussion group," Christian said the following morning as he dressed to make his rounds farther east. Early morning darkness still hung over the room, his face appearing in shadow. "Political discussions and the like, I doubt not. Should prove interesting, and it's something I miss from my days in Philadelphia." He flashed her a grin. "Of course, conversation with you is often an intellectual challenge. But 'tis not the same as being amongst other men to engage in more spirited talk."

  "You're s-o-o-o right, darling." Gwen took a sip of her second mug of tea while she thought of all the jobs that awaited her. She didn't want to do anything but read and go for a long walk on this pleasant spring day, but what choice did she have? Forget about the housework, that's what she'd do. She brought her mind back to the present. "A discussion group. Um, that sounds like a good idea. When do they meet, do you know?"

  "I'm not sure, but I think Thursday evening." Christian tossed slices of jerky and an apple into a pouch and slipped his belt through the pouch, then fastened the belt in back. "I believe we dine together, too, so I'll let you know ahead of time. Then you won't wonder at my absence."

  Gwen paused with the mug halfway to her mouth. "Wait a minute, honey. I'd like to go with you."

  Bullet bag in hand, he stared at her. "Mayhap you didn't understand me. The membership is open only to men."

  "Only to men?" She slapped the mug down on the table, slopping the tea. "Why can't a woman attend?" she asked, wiping her apron across the spill.

  "It just isn't done. Can't you accept things as they are?" Reaching for his powder horn from a peg on the wall, he paused. "Tell you what. No doubt you miss feminine companionship. Why don't you get together with some of the ladies from around here and have a sewing bee now and then?"

  "A sewing bee! What the hell do you--"

  "Hold your tongue, wife!"

  "Well, come on, Christian! You've known me for a year. Do you think I'm some stupid Hausfrau who can't carry on an intelligent conversation?"

  "I never said that," he replied, looking contrite. "But in truth, we have so few enlightening opportunities for women." A thoughtful expression came over his face. "Why don't you start something?"

  "I may do just that." Taking a deep breath, she tapped her fingers on her thigh. Were all these eighteenth-century men so narrow-minded?

  Glancing her way, he grabbed his tricorne from another peg. "Let us not argue. I'll be gone all day, so you won't see me until this evening. Think on how much you'll miss me," he said with a teasing grin. He bent low to give her a long kiss and brushed his hand across her breast, then strode out of the cabin.

  So the discussion group was just for men. Well, well. Gwen looked around the drab, cramped one-room home, as if seeing it for the first time. I'll load up the dishwasher now, she mused with an attempt at humor. Then I'll run the vacuum cleaner and throw the clothes in the washing machine. Slumped in her chair, Gwen silently repeated for the hundredth time she must accept things as they were. But it wasn't easy.

  She shoved her chair back and sprang to her feet, then grabbed the dishes to stack in a large tub of soapy water. Damn, she'd be mad as hell if she didn't get to attend this discussion group.

  She paused, her hand on a pewter mug. Here was her chance to warn others of the coming Indian uprising! Why hadn't she thought of that sooner? She nodded, dropping the mug into the tub. Right, if she could only show them of the approaching danger, it would be worth the risk of crashing an all-male discussion group. She gathered the remaining dishes, her mind awhirl with complications. She doubted if Christian would approve of her decision, no matter the reason.

  Suppose she just showed up. Christian might be a little upset at first, but eventually he'd see the injustice of excluding women from these all male get-togethers. And if he stayed angry, too bad.

  She smiled with sly anticipation, planning to discover the location in a roundabout way.

  * * *

  "...and so, gentlemen, do we need England more than the mother country needs the colonies? I'd like to state for the record that the colonies can manage perfectly well on their own. Gentlemen, I should like to hear your opinions." The moderator sat down amid a hubbub of noise in the expansive parlor, everyone eager to express an opinion.

  "Gentlemen," he said, casting an admonishing glance around the room. "Let us not all talk at once. I see Dr. Norgard has something to say, and since he is recently arrived amongst us, let him speak first."

  Christian rose and bowed. "Thank you, Mr. Gordon. Thank you, gentlemen. Let us never forget that we are all Englishmen, and that our relationship with the mother country is mutually advantageous--" He paused as a commotion erupted at the door, all eyes turning in that direction.

  Gwen! Claiming his seat again, he heaved a deep sigh and rested his chin in his hand. She swept into the room with head held high and a rustle of silk, like a ship under full sail. Hesitantly, all of the men--except Christian--stood to make a slight bow, as if unsure of the matter of etiquette when a lady interrupted an all-male function. His face set in icy composure, Christian stared at a painting on a far wall, arms folded across his chest.

  A servant girl hurried behind Gwen, wringing her hands. "Sir, I tried to tell her this was only for gentlemen, but she wouldn't listen. Just kept on walkin'."

  "'Tis all right, Betsy. Not your fault. We shall deal with the matter betimes." Mr. Gordon offered Gwen a smile. "Madam, I don't believe I got your name...?"

  "Gwendolyn Emrys," Gwen replied. Having thought all this out beforehand, she didn't want to embarrass Christian by giving her married name. "Sir, I heard about this discussion group and realized how much I'd enjoy it. Besides, I think a woman's opinion is every bit as meaningful as a man's. I'm sure you'll agree."

  Mr. Gordon frowned. "Madam, I fear there has been a misunderstanding. While we all enjoy feminine company at times," he said amid low chuckles from the others, "nevertheless, there are times when we prefer the companionship of other men. And madam, er, Mistress Emrys, this is one of those times. This discussion group is only for men."

  Gwen's heart pounded against her chest, her palms wet and clammy, but she wouldn't back out now. "Sir, I'm aware of the purpose of this group and its membership qualifications, too. But it occurred to me that a woman's opinion would be welcome."

  He inclined his head. "Indeed, madam, we welcome a woman's opinion on household matters. But my dear lady, we are having a political discussion and--"

  "--and you don't think women know anything about politics. That's what you're saying, right?" She licked her lips. "But sir, I had another, more urgent reason for coming this evening. As I'm sure you're aware, the Indians can cause a lot--much trouble in this st--or province,

  and I–“

  Clearing his throat, Christian rose from his chair. "Sir, I believe my wife has many notions which may seem far-fetched to us. So--"

  "Your wife, sir?"

  Christian nodded. "Just so. I assume she gave her maiden name in the belief--unfounded as you can see--that her presence might prove distressful to me. She has this notion that women have the right to express their opinions, political or otherwise, at a male gathering. In this belief, she is either wrong or ahead of her time, or possibly both."

  "But Christian, I wanted to make them understand about the danger from the Indians, so--""So now is not the time for that," Christian said. "Some other time, mayhap."

  Gwen sighed, knowing that further argument was useless.

  Christian made another slight bow. "And now, I want to tell you how greatly I've enjoyed meeting all you fine gentlemen and how much I look forward to the next meeting. But I think 'twould be best for all concerned
if I escort my wife home." He bent to retrieve his tricorne on an empty chair beside him. "Good evening, gentlemen."

  His face was a mask of control as he approached Gwen and offered his arm. "Shall we leave now, my dear?"

  Once outside the room, Christian dropped her arm and hurried past the entranceway and on outside, not bothering to see if she followed him. He walked in his quick stride, the skirt of his frock coat flapping. He clamped his tricorne on his head and finally turned around.

  "Let us return home," Christian snapped over his shoulder. "You shamed me, madam." She struggled to keep up with him along the dusty street while a few passersby threw puzzled expressions their way.

  He glowered at her. "What d'you mean by barging in on a group of men as if you belonged there?"

  "Listen to that, would you?" Skirts held high, she increased her pace, walking in a very unladylike manner and nearly losing her balance in her wobbly high heels. "Yeah, and what do you mean by talking to me like this? Why shouldn't a woman speak her mind about politics or economics or whatever? Do you think we're all some empty-headed idiots?"

  "Yes, judging from your example tonight! First you're willing to let another man kiss you--"

  "So you're bringing that up again? Anyway, I didn't let Richard kiss me. Didn't you see--"

  "--then you think nothing of embarrassing me in front of my peers."

  "Honestly, Christian, I just wanted to warn them of the danger that's staring them in the face, if only anyone would listen."

  "Those men need no warning of the Indian danger. But don't expect anyone to accept the idea of a concerted Indian uprising, a fear which exists only in your mind." He pointed a finger at her. "And for your own good, you had better learn to adjust to our way of life. Remember that things are done differently than in your time. When will you ever learn?"

  "When hell freezes over, that's when I'll learn!"