Tender Fury

by Connie Mason

  The long afternoon passed into evening without showing any marked improvement in Gabby. During those interminable hours she had drifted in and out of sleep, at times wild imaginings filled her feverish brain. But through it all came the realization that one part of her life was over and done with. She had only Jean to think of now, and Marcel. No longer was there a reason to withhold herself from him.

  Shreds of fog had begun to creep into the streets, half masking the dusk when Marcel returned home, quietly entering Gabby’s room. Tildy had met him at the door with her distressing news and he had sent for the doctor immediately. He lit a lamp and gazed with consternation at Gabby’s sweat-drenched face.

  “Mon dieu!” he cried in alarm. “Why wasn’t I informed earlier? You are ill, cherie, very ill.”

  Gabby moistened cracked lips with the tip of her tongue and tried to speak. Sensing her need, Marcel poured water from a pitcher at her bedside into a glass and held it to her lips. She drank greedily.

  “I’ll be fine tomorrow,” Gabby promised with more conviction than she felt at that moment.

  “The doctor will be here soon,” soothed Marcel, brushing wispy strands of pale hair away from her forehead.

  Within the hour Tildy ushered in Dr. Renaud who immediately sent everyone from the room before turning grave eyes on his patient. Marcel paced restlessly back and forth outside Gabby’s door until he thought he would go mad with waiting.

  Finally, Dr. Renaud came from the room, a thoughtful frown creasing his care-lined face. He closed the door behind him before speaking. “I must have the truth from you, Duvall, if I am expected to cure Madame St. Cyr’s ailment.” His fatigue-rimmed eyes bored into Marcel, his mind a hotbed of speculation. “I would know the nature of the relationship between you and Madame St. Cyr. She and the babe should be happily reunited with her husband at Bellefontaine by now. I was led to believe they would be.”

  “There is… they are separated,” admitted Marcel grudgingly.

  “I suspected as much from the first, but after St. Cyr assisted with the birth of his son I had thought…”

  “Nothing has changed. When Gabby is well I intend to take her and the child to France and obtain a bill of divorcement. We will be married as soon as that’s accomplished.” Marcel offered no excuses, stating the facts as he saw them.

  Dr. Renaud searched Marcel’s face intently before posing his next question. A question he perhaps had no business asking. “Have you been… er… intimate with Madame St. Cyr?” During the doctor’s thorough examination of Gabby he discovered that she had had sexual intercourse within the past twenty-four hours.

  “Certainly not, Doctor!” denied Marcel indignantly. “It’s true I love Gabby, but what do you take me for? I did not touch her before the child was born and since have not wished to hurt her in any way until she was completely healed from her difficult delivery.”

  “Hmm,” mused the doctor rubbing his chin reflectively. He believed Duvall but it did not explain the indisputable evidence that she had been intimate with a man just hours ago. A sudden thought came to him. “Has Monsieur St. Cyr been to see his wife today?”

  Marcel’s eyes narrowed, then widened. What was the doctor getting at? he wondered, perplexed by the line of questioning. Of what possible use could this insane query be in diagnosing Gabby’s illness? Aloud, he replied, “I doubt it, Doctor, but I can find out if it is important.”

  “I believe it to be,” nodded the doctor sagely.

  Without another word Marcel went in search of Tildy and Luella. What he learned troubled him greatly. Had Philippe’s visit upset Gabby to the degree that it brought about illness? How had the doctor known? Suspicion of something he didn’t care to name ate at his vitals. When he apprised Dr. Renaud of Philippe’s visit earlier in the day, the doctor merely wagged his head in affirmation, carefully averting his eyes from Marcel.

  “Do you think St. Cyr’s visit is in some way responsible for Gabby’s ailments?” asked Marcel, clearly upset.

  “Actually, Duvall, the malady has me puzzled.”

  “Then why the questions concerning our… relationship?”

  After careful consideration Dr. Renaud decided to keep his own counsel. Obviously St. Cyr and his wife had been intimate only hours before. And if that had occurred, the dissolution of their marriage was not the forgone conclusion Duvall thought it to be. Especially since Duvall himself had admitted he had never been intimate with the woman. But try as he might, the good doctor could discern no connection with St. Cyr’s visit and his wife’s illness. According to Duvall’s information, St. Cyr’s departure was hasty. Perhaps he and his wife had quarreled, the doctor surmised, and their parting had been less than amicable. The shock alone of first being intimate and then parting with bitter words could have been enough to bring on her illness. His mind finally made up, he answered Marcel’s question. “It was essential for me to learn if something out of the ordinary occurred that could have caused a shock to her system and precipitated this illness. She still has not fully recovered from the birthing process.”

  “And what have you concluded?”

  Dr. Renaud sighed hugely. “If I knew what took place between husband and wife this afternoon I would be more qualified to answer. Undoubtedly Madame St. Cyr is gravely ill. I assume St. Cyr told you about her terrible experience in Norfolk?” At Marcel’s nod, he continued. “This fever may be just a latent manifestation of the drugs still warring in her weakened body.”

  “What can be done to help her?”

  “Not much, I’m sorry to say. Make her as comfortable as possible, plenty of liquids and cool sponge baths. I’ll leave some medicine to control the fever and return tomorrow unless summoned sooner.”

  He handed Marcel a small vial of dark liquid, then started down the stairs. “Oh, another thing,” he reminded Marcel. “I prefer she doesn’t nurse the baby until she is fever-free and has regained a measure of strength. If there is some infection raging in her blood we can’t risk the baby’s health. There is a chance he might pick it up through her milk. If her breasts become too painful,” he added obliquely, “Luella will know what to do.”

  Marcel saw the doctor to the door and returned immediately to Gabby’s beside where he remained during the entire night, bathing her feverish body with cool water and forcing liquids down her parched throat. He strained to make something out of her feverish gibberish but the only word that had come through clearly was, “Philippe,” which she mumbled over and over until Marcel grew to hate the sound.

  Sometime during the night Gabby awoke completely lucid. She reached out tentively to touch Marcel’s hand, causing him to start violently from his light doze.

  “What is it, cherie?” he asked, seeing her violet gaze resting on him.

  “I’m sorry, Marcel.”

  “About what, mon amour?”

  “This night was to be special. I know you hoped… that is… you wanted…”

  “Shhh,” he soothed, placing a finger across her lips. “There will be other nights. We will have the rest of our lives to love one another.”

  “The rest of our lives,” repeated Gabby bleakly before lapsing back into semi consciousness.

  The next day Dr. Renaud found his patient somewhat improved but still subject to bouts of fever and delirium. His original diagnosis and treatment still held so he left after warning Marcel to keep Gabby in bed until three days after her fever was gone. Unless her condition deteriorated, he advised Marcel, he would not return. After the doctor’s departure Marcel reluctantly agreed to leave Gabby in Tildy’s charge while he bathed and took a much deserved rest.

  Several hours later Marcel’s sleep was abruptly interrupted by Tildy who was shaking his shoulder vigorously to awaken him. He was immediately alert. “What is wrong? Has something happened to Gabby?”

  “Madame Gabby is in pain,” Tildy announced somewhat obliquely. “I… I… don’t know what to do.”

  “What kind of pain?” Sensing Tildly’s difficult
y in expressing herself Marcel guessed immediately the nature of Gabby’s distress. “Where is Luella?”

  “Nursing the baby, Monsieur Marcel. Do you wish me to summon her?”

  “No, leave her to her task. I will see to Madame Gabby myself. Go back to the kitchen.”

  Skeptical of Marcel’s ability to alleviate Gabby’s pain, Tildy nevertheless did as she was told. Within minutes Marcel had pulled on a robe and was beside Gabby, his sweeping glance immediately pinpointing the trouble.

  “Jean! Bring Jean to me,” Gabby pleaded. “I must feed him.”

  “The doctor has issued strict orders that only Luella be allowed to feed him during your illness.” At Gabby’s stricken look he continued soothingly, “You must think of your son. There is a good chance you might infect him through your milk.”

  “I… I had not thought of that,” admitted Gabby weakly. “But what am I to do?” Although she had pulled the sheet up to her neck the telltale stain had seeped through her nightgown onto its snowy surface.

  “Let me help you, cherie,” said Marcel softly as he folded the sheet back and unbuttoned her nightgown to the waist, baring her milk-swollen breasts. Marcel was intrigued by the creamy fluid flowing from her engorged nipples that ran in rivulets down the sides of her breasts. Tentatively he reached out and lightly touched one and then the other pale globe. They felt hot and swollen to his touch and Gabby cried out in pain though his touch was infinitely gentle.

  Without further hesitation Marcel lay down beside her and, ignoring her meek protests, took an engorged nipple in his mouth and suckled gently until the milk flowed freely, filling his mouth with the thick, sweet liquid. Loving her he did not moralize his action; he only meant to relieve the suffering of the woman he loved. Almost immediately the pain subsided in that breast, then disappeared altogether. Gabby sighed as Marcel moved to the other breast and began anew his ministrations. Pain free, Gabby grew drowsy. Feeling the tension leave her body, Marcel reluctantly raised his head from his pleasurable chore and tiptoed from the room after he placed a soft kiss on her lips, rebuttoned her nightgown and pulled the sheet up to her chin.

  The following day, though Gabby appeared much improved, Marcel thought it best not to add to her distress by informing her that Philippe’s lawyer had appeared at the door at an early hour with a document outlining Philippe’s intent to seek a bill of divorcement through the French courts. The ground were adultery! Marcel’s reasons for keeping it to himself for the time being were twofold. He feared she would refuse to continue with their voyage to France, and he believed that once they were away from Philippe she would grow to love him as much as he loved her. He had had many long agonizing hours to consider the reason behind Philippe’s untimely visit on the day Gabby fell ill. He wondered what had taken place between husband and wife to change Philippe’s mind about obtaining a divorce. Up until that day she had been adamant in his refusal to consider a divorce. But unless Gabby chose to tell him, Marcel’s thoughts and suppositions were nothing but conjecture.

  That night the city of St. Pierre was jolted from complacency by an eruption of violent proportions, the most forceful by far since Mt. Pelee had started on its road toward destruction. The next morning everything was covered with throat-clogging, gray ash, and hardened fingers of lava reached nearly to the city’s edge. Not only that, but the eruptions did not cease. Pandemonium reigned as residents deserted the city in droves. Even the ships in the harbor prepared to sail out into open water, each taking on as many passengers as they were safely able to.

  Three days later Gabby’s strange malady had disappeared as swiftly as it had begun, leaving her weak but feverless. She was now up and about for longer periods of time each day. From a chair pulled to the closed window she watched in awe while the population of St. Pierre seemed to have gone mad.

  Casting a wary eye on the continual flow of ash from the volcano. Gabby wondered uneasily if perhaps they shouldn’t be making plans to leave the city. She had no wish to jeopardize Jean’s life by remaining a moment longer than necessary in the city. Le Chateau, on the opposite side of the volcano, seemed the obvious choice. She said as much to Marcel when she dressed and joined him for supper that night.

  “I was thinking the same thing, cherie,” Marcel admitted worriedly. “I had thought to wait and leave on the Reliance but I can no longer be certain if that is the wisest choice. I must do what I think best for you and Jean. And right now leaving St. Pierre seems the best thing to do. I suggest you pack tomorrow and the day after we will leave for Le Chateau. Don’t take more than necessary,” he cautioned. “We will make better time if we travel light.”

  The next day the sun did not once break through the thick clouds of ash hovering above the city. It was like perpetual night and Gabby could hardly wait to leave. That evening while Jean suckled ravenously at Gabby’s breast she had once again resumed his feedings Marcel sat nearby, watching, a bemused smile curving his sensuous lips.

  “Our son grows before my eyes, cherie,” he said, savoring his role as father to the infant. “I too would grow content were I in his place.” His eyes sparkled mischievously but his gaze was intent upon Jean suckling contentedly at the tender white flesh.

  Gabby flushed becomingly as she remembered the time Marcel had taken Jean’s place at her breast. And yet, she felt that without him she could not exist. He had been her comfort and her solace since long before Jean was born.

  “You are lovely tonight, cherie,” Marcel continued easily. “In fact, I have not seen you look so well since before Jean’s birth.” Naked desire was evident on his darkening visage.

  Gabby had donned a lightweight silk dressing gown of a soft mauve color accenting the deeper violet of her eyes. It clung softly to her slim body, falling away at the neckline while Jean nursed, exposing both creamy globes. Marcel’s hot gaze feasted longingly on her loveliness.

  “You have taken good care of me, Marcel,” Gabby said shyly. “I owe you so much.”

  Marcel searched her face and drew in his breath sharply, her meaning becoming all too clear. Her eyes had become luminous, almost dreamy, her smile inviting.

  Moving as if in a dream, Marcel approached Gabby slowly, hesitantly, carefully removing the sleeping Jean from her arms and left the room. When he returned moments later Gabby was still sitting where he had left her. She had not bothered to refasten the gaping edges of her dressing gown.

  With infinite tenderness, handling her much as he would a fragile doll, Marcel lifted Gabby to her feet and slowly pushed the robe past her shoulders and over her slim hips until it lay in a shimmering pool at her ankles. She was naked beneath the robe and Marcel drew in his breath sharply as he gazed at her clothed in the mantle of her nudity, proud, regal. He had waited an eternity for this moment and his body reacted violently, hardening instantly. Sensing his emotion Gabby stepped forward until the tips of her breasts touched Marcel’s chest. With an impassioned groan he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. Never taking his eyes from her, he disrobed swiftly, and within minutes his maleness was pressing down upon her.

  “Are you sure, cherie?” he asked, still unable to believe that she would finally be his. “Are you strong enough?” Vaguely he wondered what he would do if she were to say no.

  Gabby’s answer was more than he could hope for. “I want you to love me, Marcel. I need to belong to someone. You have proven your love for me and Jean many times over. Make me yours now, please!”

  “Coeur de mon coeur! Je t’aime, je t’aime,” crooned

  Marcel, his blood singing in his ears. His green eyes raked her, swept the length of her nakedness before he captured her lips with his in a kiss both tender and savage. He found it difficult to control the great surge of desire coursing through his body but was determined that Gabby should enjoy their first experience together as much as he knew he would. Deliberately, almost painfully, he slowed his breathing until his heart began beating normally once again. Assured now of his self-control, with
one hand he stroked the silken flesh, throat, breasts, curve of her slender waist, hips, tasting, taking, savoring the sweet flesh he had dreamed about, longed for.

  The moonlight had turned her checks to living ivory and he traced a finger gently along her jawline. Her hair, spread about her like a cloak appeared as molten silver, her eyes deepening to fathomless pools of velvet. His lips, seeking, questing, burning, touched gently to every sensitive area of her body, the hollow of her neck, her breasts, her navel, the tiny bud of her womanhood. His hands, so gentle, so sure, neglected no part of her body while his turgid manhood pressed urgently against her thigh.

  When penetration finally came it was with a sharp, clean thrust that made Gabby gasp as she rose to his hard body with throbbing joy. If she had any doubt as to the quality of her response, she need not have worried. No woman alive could have withstood for long Marcel’s expert caresses and words of love. And Gabby was no exception. Before long she was quivering and trembling with a passion equal to Marcel’s, her small cries of delight setting his blood afire as no other woman had before nor was likely to again.

  “How I’ve longed and dreamed for this moment,” cried Marcel ecstatically, as spasms of erotic shivers splintered through him signaling the beginning of his journey to a world where nothing existed but bliss. “Now you are mine! Truly mine!”

  Gabby barely heard his words, she was so caught up in the moment, the act, this man who truly loved her, who moved so forcefully within her, prodding her ever higher until she joined him in his journey toward ecstasy. Marcel covered her mouth with his until her cries were stilled. Only when she had quieted did he allow his own climax to rip through his body in tearing spasms. But even at the peak of his ecstasy Marcel was made aware of a name he had come to hate, a name Gabby had cried out before he had smothered her cries. “Philippe!” Mon dieu, how he hated that accursed name!