Texas Born

by Gould, Judith

  'Not anymore, it isn't.'

  'No, perhaps not,' he said quietly. 'Let's go.'

  'But what . . . what about him?' She gestured to the ground beside her.

  Another bolt of lightning lit up the sky and Zaccheus followed her gaze. Mutt Campbell was groaning, his body flickering in the lightning as he suddenly sat up straight. He looked accusingly at Elizabeth-Anne, his face so contorted his features looked as if they belonged on a rubber mask. 'You tole me it was all right!' he cried. 'You promised! You came to the shack and you promised!' He shook his head and started crying like a baby. It was a plaintive wail, a cry of hunger and disappointment and hurt and fury. Then he got up on all fours and scuttled off into the darkness, his pain-filled high-pitched voice receding: 'I knowed it! I knowed it had to be 'nother trick . . .'

  Elizabeth-Anne let Zaccheus lead her slowly up Main Street. Although she moved numbly, with listless obedience, she was already trembling less. The rain was heavy, but neither of them seemed to notice. The lights in the windows of the houses lining the street were a salty scrim in front of her eyes.

  But when Zaccheus took her to the rooming house instead of the Good Eats Café, she stopped and tensed, a cold fear growing in her eyes. 'But. . . but this isn't home.' She stared at him in the light of the porch lamp.

  'Sssssh,' he said softly. 'Just listen to me. I know what I'm doing.' He squeezed her hand and smiled reassuringly. 'Trust me.'

  She bit down on her lip. Then she nodded without speaking.

  'You mustn't lose your trust in me, no matter what happened back there.'

  'What . . . what did happen? I . . . I don't understand. I thought you . . .' She stared at him.

  'Someone,' he said, his voice bitter and angry, 'pulled a loathsome trick on us. And I think I know who it was.'

  'A trick,' she repeatedly dully.

  He nodded. 'When I came home, I found a note under my door. It was signed with your name and said that you weren't well and wouldn't be able to meet me at the bandstand.'

  She stared at him. 'Jenny!' she whispered.

  'Probably,' he sighed.

  She shook her head. 'But why? Why?'

  'Jenny's obviously jealous of us. But don't worry. It's all over now.'

  Elizabeth-Anne shook her head. 'Nooo . . .' she said softly. 'I'm afraid it's not. It may be over for now, but it's not over. Not by a long shot.' She sighed and shuddered. 'It . . . it was horrible, Zaccheus!' Her voice was choked. 'Horrible!' she repeated.

  'It's over now. Come. Let's go upstairs.'

  She stared at him with dawning comprehension. 'First he wanted to . . . and now you want to . . .' Words suddenly failed her.

  'Yes, darling,' he said with gentle wisdom, and she realized suddenly that this was the first time he had ever addressed her so intimately. 'Yes, I want to. But for different reasons. I want to make love to you because I love you, because I don't want this terrible incident to scare you away from something beautiful for the rest of your life. Because now is the time for you to realize that what happened back there had nothing to do with love.'

  'But . . . we aren't even married!' she stuttered weakly.

  He placed his hands on the sides of her face and kissed her lips. 'We will be. I'll speak to your aunt and the reverend tomorrow. Meanwhile, now's the time to love away your hurt.'

  A sudden knowledge glowed deep in her eyes, and together they climbed the steps up to the porch and then quietly tiptoed upstairs.

  7

  It was a night of revelations.

  Once in his room, he took her wet gloved hands in his, held them, and did not take his eyes off her. Then he leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose.

  She felt her shoulders tightening and a prickling of chill fear, featherlike and ethereal, raced up and down her spine. Time seemed to slow, then crawl, then come to a stop altogether. It seemed to her that every tiny intake of breath, even the slightest movement, was magnified in sound and sight and meaning. Everything was at once dreamlike and yet heightened in crystal-clear clarity. She knew instinctively that the mating dance had begun, and she was both grateful and relieved that it was not a frenzied, primitive celebration, but a slow and tender waltz, a graceful, gentle pattern to which she did not know the steps, but through which he was guiding her so carefully.

  Their eyes were locked, two distinct shades of blue, one bright and one aquamarine, communicating without speaking. She stared at him, her irises flaring, her face taking on an anxious expression.

  'I love you,' he said so softly that for a moment she did not realize he had spoken it aloud. She gazed back at him, her lips trembling faintly. Then he let go of her left hand and held her right in both of his.

  She let out a sharp cry of dismay as he began to peel off her glove. 'No!' she whispered in panic. 'Oh, please, God, no!' She snatched her hand back, but he took it again, even more gently, and raised the gloved hand to his lips. She watched him warily as he kissed it. Her body trembled, and she was filled with a mixture of pleasure from the touch of his lips and agony of what would happen when he saw the mutilation the glove sheathed.

  He kept his hand on hers, head tilted downward, and gazed solemnly at her.

  'Don't be afraid,' he whispered. 'I love you. I love every part of you.'

  Her lips trembled as she tried to smile.

  Slowly he peeled the glove off her hand, as if doing it faster would have caused her severe pain. She jerked her head sideways and shut her eyes to avoid looking at the ugly sight.

  He kissed each finger, one by one, then touched his lips to her palm and, finally, the back of her hand. Slowly she turned her head and opened her eyes. 'I want to be perfect for you,' she said thickly, her voice choked with misery. 'But these . . . these hands . . .' She held them up.

  'I love you the way you are, darling.' He smiled, reached out, and touched her hair with his fingertips. 'I love your hair.' He traced his index finger down her nose. 'I love your nose.' He bent down over her hand again and kissed it once more. 'I love your hands. These hands are your hands, therefore I love them. Do you understand?'

  She nodded hesitantly. 'But I can't. . . I can't bear to show them to anyone,' she whispered thickly.

  'But why?'

  'Because . . . because they're so ugly! They're so terribly disfigured!'

  'What?' He stared at her. 'What in hell are you talking about?'

  She frowned, then forced herself to hold up her ungloved hand in front of her eyes and study it closely. She was astonished. 'Why, it's . . . it's healed!' she breathed in amazement. 'Zaccheus! There's nothing wrong with this hand!'

  'I should say not.'

  'But . . . for how long . . . ?'

  'When's the last time you looked at it?'

  Tears suddenly rolled down her cheeks. 'Years and years ago. Oh, God. If I'd only known . . .'

  'But you know now, and that's all that matters.'

  'All those years, those painful years of hiding my hands.' She shook her head in despair. 'If only I'd known.' Suddenly she was racked with sobs.

  'Hey,' he said gently. 'What's the matter? Aren't you glad about your hands?'

  She nodded and sniffed.

  'Then why are you crying?'

  'Because, darling, I love you so very, very much! And for the first time in my life, I'm so terribly, terribly happy!' And she thought: I'll never wear gloves again, never ever, no matter how cold it gets.

  And that thought brought on new tears. They overflowed from her eyes and spilled down her cheeks in moist rivulets.

  He leaned his face close into hers, and with slow flicks of his tongue he licked her tears away, one by one. Then his lips barely brushed the soft downy hairs of her neck and she took deep startled breaths as the tingle of his lips roused the fragile nerve endings to excruciating tremors which rippled in musical waves up and down her spine like nimble angel fingers across a harp. She parted her lips and moaned softly, whispering ecstasy in the night.

  He placed his hands on her shou
lders, leaned into her neck, and inhaled the fragrant sweetness of her body. She shut her eyes and clutched him fiercely. She felt his hands roaming over her shoulders, down her arms, a rhythm of nimble fingers, and she felt the humming vibration flowing through her. These were deep, vibrant chords, more like the rippling chords of a piano than the light fairy tingles of the harp.

  He's playing me, she thought incredulously. He's playing me as if I were an exquisitely rare musical instrument, coaxing a melody out of me.

  His fingers flicked at the buttons at the back of her dress, but his lips remained at her neck. She continued standing, arching her back at the thrill of his touch. He genuflected on one knee, pressing his face sideways into her clothed groin until the dress hung loose. Then he raised the hem of the dress as he slowly rose to his feet and lifted it carefully over her head.

  He helped her out of her underclothes, and then she shook her hair loose. Now she stood naked. He stepped back to look at her. He felt the breath catch in his throat. She was standing awkwardly, her hands at her sides, at once proud and yet at the same time unsure of her nudity. Her eyes sparkled like the jewels that they were. He thought her the most desirable woman in the world. With the pins out of her hair, it fell loosely to her shoulders, thick and golden and lustrous. Her skin was pale, radiant, and porcelainlike in the dim glow of the single candle flickering on the table. Hers was soft skin, incredibly smooth and flawless, yet pulled tautly over a firm flat belly, rounded hips, and perfectly formed breasts which rode high and proud above the curving tautness of her rib cage. Her nipples were erect, a dark, wine-colored red, and her pubis was golden and soft, a glowing, downy thatch of wheat.

  He tore his eyes away from her and slowly stepped out of his clothes. She watched him without speaking. When he was naked, he went over to the nightstand and opened a drawer. She watched him curiously, strangely disappointed that he did not immediately slide his own muscular, satiny skin against the porcelain smoothness of hers. But then he turned around; a thin thread of silver was pulled taut between his hands, and dangling from the center of it was a pansy encased in crystal, surrounded by silver filigree.

  She stepped toward him, and without being told, turned around, her back to him. She raised her chin and felt the soft touch of his fingers around her neck. The chain and charm were cool against her collarbone. Then she turned to him.

  He smiled at her, watching her with an intense, transfixed expression. For the first time, the pansy charm, the symbol of his love, graced the neck it deserved. It had never looked more beautiful. He nodded happily as she raised one hand to the charm and felt it with her fingertips. It was a curious sensation, she thought, actually feeling something with her fingers instead of her gloves. 'Thank you,' she whispered huskily.

  'It is I who must thank you,' he replied, and then his strong arms encircled her while his lips pressed against hers with a demanding urgency. She felt herself drowning in his little nibbles, the flicks of his tongue, and she responded in kind, groping him with equal urgency until her legs moistened with a peculiar wetness she had never experienced before.

  He knew at once that she was ready. He took her by the hand and led her to the bed.

  'Don't . . . hurt me?' she asked in a tiny, quivering voice. 'I've never before . . .'

  'I'll be gentle,' he promised. He kissed first one porcelain shoulder, then the other. 'The first time, it nearly always hurts,' he explained softly, 'but after that, there's no more pain. Only the most beautiful, most driving sensation in the entire world.' He paused and smiled. 'You don't have to worry. I'll go slow and easy. I don't want to hurt you. Never, for as long as we live.'

  She reached up and stroked his cheek with her fingers. 'If there has to be any pain at all,' she said solemnly, 'then do it quickly. Because . . . because I want to be able to enjoy you, my love. I want to give everything a woman can possibly give, and more.'

  The night became alive with the moist, sweetly succulent sounds of love. It was a splendid night, a night filled with passion and urgency, purposeful moans and sighs, nibbles and sweet little sucking sounds and tender words of love.

  It was a night to remember. Slowly, inch by inch, they began to learn each other's physical geography by heart, he discovering a hidden freckle on her thigh, she a peculiar downy spot in the small of his back and the peculiarly sensuous way his sinewy muscles moved when he lifted his arm in a certain way. Every minute, it seemed, they discovered something new about each other. And then he filled her being entirely, driving her to passionate heights, easing off to restful valleys, and then pushing her to ever higher plateaus.

  Finally his thrusts became powerful and demanding as he filled her entirely with himself. She cried out as she felt herself heating up ever more, and her body responded by clasping him tightly, urgently, and she felt the most exquisite, tingling passion welling up inside her.

  The world became a whirling dervish. She closed her eyes and saw a rose blooming and then bursting, and it threw its shattered petals to the wind.

  'My love, my love!' Her voice floated about the room, up the walls, swirled around the ceiling.

  His voice strained with urgency and melded into hers as he felt the world around him contract and expand, and he plunged into her as deeply as he could, until the most exquisite pain rushed over him and his seed burst forth.

  Unknown to them, their first child was conceived during that magical first night.

  8

  Since he had only begun his job at the Sexton ranch, and had no money saved, Elizabeth-Anne knew that Zaccheus could ill afford to buy both an engagement ring and two wedding bands. When he eagerly presented her with the pretty quarter-carat diamond engagement ring he had arranged to buy on credit, she shook her head sensibly and closed the box. 'I like it,' she said. 'In fact, I love it. But we can't afford it.'

  'But I bought it on credit!' he protested. 'I've spread the payments out over the next twenty-four months! We'll never even miss the money.'

  'Credit is fine,' Elizabeth-Anne said with what would become her trademark practicality. 'I'm not against it. But let's save it for something really important. We'll need to get plenty of things as time goes on.

  He looked patently disappointed.

  'Why do I need an engagement ring, anyway? I have the pansy charm.' She smiled as she reached up to her neck to touch it. 'This means more to me than an engagement ring ever could.'

  'But a bride is supposed to have one.'

  'This bride doesn't need it,' Elizabeth-Anne said with finality. She smiled gently, kissed him, and handed him the tiny box.

  The engagement ring went back to the shop, and they settled for the two gold wedding bands, his thick and plain, hers narrow and decorated with a delicate border. She was delighted with it; it was a very pretty ring and she couldn't wait for the moment it would adorn her finger forever.

  Elender was happily making elaborate plans for the wedding. Following the ceremony at the Quebeck church, she wanted the reception to be held at the Good Eats Café. 'The parlor is much too small for all the guests,' she explained. For years she had been secretly planning huge wedding ceremonies for both Jenny and Elizabeth-Anne; since she had never been married herself, she wanted both young ladies to experience the lavish send-off into married life she herself had never had.

  'But, Auntie!' Elizabeth-Anne wailed in distress. 'I don't want a big wedding, and neither does Zaccheus.' She paced the parlor nervously, fidgeting with her fingers. 'We want it nice and small and intimate. Besides, neither of us has any really close friends we want to invite.'

  Elender looked hurt. 'But there are neighbors and acquaintances. A woman gets married only once in her life-'

  'I know that. But please, Auntie, respect our wishes?' Elizabeth-Anne sat down next to her. 'Let's keep it as small and intimate as possible. And we'd really prefer a tiny reception held here in the parlor to a big one downstairs. I talked it over with Zaccheus, and he's of the same opinion.'

  Elender looked slightly mi
ffed. 'You seem to lack,' she said, 'any romantic notions. However, if that's what you want, how can I refuse you?' She sighed heavily. 'Now, off we go to buy some fabric at the Byrd sisters. Then we're going to see Mrs. Velasquez in Mexican Town. They say she makes the finest wedding gowns in town.'

  'Oh, Auntie! I don't want a wedding gown!'

  'What!' Elender looked at Elizabeth-Anne in shock.

  'Really, Auntie. What I'd like is a new Sunday dress instead. I can wear it for the ceremony and every Sunday thereafter. That's much more practical than having something made to wear only once. With a nice new dress, and hat and shoes, I'll be more than satisfied.'

  Elender fanned herself bleakly with a piece of folded newspaper. Her dreams of a lavish ceremony were completely shattered. 'If that's what you want, then I have no choice but to indulge you—even if you don't indulge me.' She compressed her lips. 'Very well. A simple ceremony it is. Now, who do you think we should invite?'

  'You and Jenny.'

  'And?'

  Elizabeth-Anne gazed at her levelly. 'That's it.'

  'But . . . but Zaccheus will need a best man!' Elender sputtered.

  'He doesn't know anyone around here well enough. Won't a witness do?'

  'I think so. Now, about the honeymoon . . .'

  'Zaccheus just started work, Auntie,' Elizabeth-Anne reminded her gently. 'He can't take time off yet. We've decided to delay the honeymoon until next year. He'll have two weeks of vacation coming then.'

  Elender shook her head and clucked her tongue. 'Dear, dear. It won't be much of a wedding, will it?'

  'It's plenty for us.' Elizabeth-Anne noticed Auntie's morose expression. 'Now what's the matter?'

  'Nothing. But you're so . . . so practical.'

  Elizabeth-Anne grinned. 'If I am, it's because I learned it from you.'

  'Perhaps you're right. But you will let me do one thing, won't you, dear?'

  'What's that?'