“No! I mean, no thank you, Felton. I'd like to be by myself for a while, to think.”
“All right. Can I—”
“May I—Oh, I'm so sorry, Felton. I just can't seem to stop myself.”
“It's all right,” he said with a rueful smile. “So long as nobody else is around,” he hurriedly added.
Eden relaxed and smiled back at Felton, who then said, “May I call on you later this week?”
Miss Devlin hesitated so long, she wondered herself what her response would be. But her pragmatism got the better of her. Felton Reeves wouldn't be a bad husband. He was certainly attractive enough to face every morning across the breakfast table, with his wavy blond hair and light blue eyes. More to the point, he was not put off by her plainness, or her height—or the fact she felt compelled to correct his grammar. If she didn't enjoy his company, or if she discovered any disagreeable bad habits, there would be plenty of time later to cry off. “Of course, Felton. I'll look forward to seeing you.”
Miss Devlin used the solitary walk home to think about how she could help Bliss and Hadley, since dealing with the problems of others was infinitely preferable to dealing with her own. If only there were some way to end this war before it got started. If men would just learn the lessons history had to teach, they would know that violence never solved anything. It was seldom, however, that women were able to convince them otherwise—though they certainly had tried their best throughout the ages.
If only there were some leverage she could bring to bear to make the ranchers and nesters see reason. Women had so little ammunition they could use—tears and pleading exhausted her list. Unless, of course, she considered ridiculous options like the one used by the women in the bawdy Greek comedy Lysistrata, which she had been reading when the gunslinger interrupted her last night.
In the play, the women of Greece had all taken a sacred oath not to perform their marital duties until their husbands ended a destructive war. Amazingly, the women's ploy had worked. Miss Devlin grinned at the thought of Regina Westbrook or Persia Davis vowing to withhold the pleasures of the bedroom from their husbands until they agreed to settle their differences peaceably. Why, the very idea was—
Miss Devlin stopped in her tracks. She had to be out of her mind even to be considering what she was considering. The very idea was crazy!
Why not? she thought. Desperate situations required desperate measures. After all, men today weren't so very different from the men of ancient Greece, were they?
It would never work. How could she even broach such a subject to the rancher and nester wives?
The Sweetwater Ladies Social Club was meeting this very afternoon. Every woman in Sweetwater belonged, although lately, they divided into factions the instant they walked through the meetinghouse door. All she had to do was show up and . . .
And convince the wives to withhold S-E-X from their husbands? The very idea was absurd.
In the first place, how was she going to introduce such a delicate subject? It made her cheeks pink even to think about it! Although, what one must do, one could do.
In the second place, when the rancher and nester husbands found out what their wives were doing they would—When she thought about it, what could they do? It was hardly likely Oak Westbrook could intimidate Regina. And despite his size, Persia Davis was well able to stand up to Big Ben. Surely, if she could talk Regina and Persia into supporting her idea, the others would follow their lead. Miss Devlin felt a spark of excitement. The whole business was so farfetched, it might even work.
She reversed her direction and began walking back toward town so fast, she was practically running. The ladies of Sweetwater would—
Miss Devlin stopped again.
The ladies of Sweetwater would think she had lost her mind. They would tell her to go home and mind her own business. Or worse, she would find herself out of a job and run out of town. Besides, she wasn't even sure Regina or Persia still enjoyed conjugal relations with their husbands. And she would be too embarrassed to ask.
But unless somebody did something, there was going to be more suffering and bloodshed. Bliss Davis and Hadley Westbrook would never be able to get married and raise their child in Sweetwater. Her chin jutting in determination, Miss Devlin marched the distance to the combination town meetinghouse and church where the Sweetwater Ladies Social Club would just be gathering.
Sure enough, when Miss Devlin entered the wooden frame building the women had rearranged six of the benches that had served as church pews into two semicircles facing either side of the stove. The nester wives had taken the set of benches in one corner to work on squares for a they were making for the Christmas bazaar. The rancher wives worked on squares for the same quilt in the opposite corner. The ladies were talking quietly among themselves and didn't notice her at first.
“Good afternoon, Persia, Mabel, Amity.” Miss Devlin nodded at the three nester women while she pulled up an empty chair and sat precisely in the center between the two quilting semicircles.
Miss Devlin turned to the rancher women in the other circle and said, “Good afternoon, Regina, Claire, Lynette.”
In a town as small as Sweetwater, everyone knew everyone, so Miss Devlin was at least acquainted with the other women, who included the wives of the butcher, the blacksmith, the wholesale and retail grocer, the boot and saddlemaker, and the owner of the Townhouse Hotel.
“What brings you here, Miss Devlin?” Persia asked. “Not that you aren't welcome,” she hastened to add.
“As long as she's not here to make trouble,” Regina muttered, glaring at Persia.
Miss Devlin saw the battle lines had already been drawn. It might be too late for the women to join forces, but she had nothing to lose by presenting her idea—if she could only think of a way to do it.
She picked up a half-finished quilt square from each of the two circles and dropped them in her lap. She stole a needle from a nearby pincushion and began to thread it, stalling while she thought of how to begin. In the end, she realized there was no easy way to say what she had come to say. So she just opened her mouth and started talking.
“What would you ladies say if I told you I've found a way to get the rancher and nester menfolk to settle their differences peaceably?”
“I'd say that would truly be a blessing,” Persia replied fervently.
“I'd say it would truly be a miracle,” Regina said dryly.
Not allowing herself to be dissuaded by Regina's sarcasm, Miss Devlin continued, “What if I said your participation—agreement by all of you to get involved—is crucial to my plan?”
“What do you have in mind?” Mabel Ives asked.
“I don't care what it is,” Amity Carson interjected. “I'd do anything to get things settled down the way they used to be. Ollie spends half of every night oiling his shotgun.”
“I want to see an end to the violence,” Lynette Wyatt said. “If I could I'd have stopped it long ago.”
In her quiet but earnest voice Claire Falkner added, “I don't see what we can do to stop the fighting. We're only women.”
“That's precisely why my plan will work,” Miss Devlin said.
Persia set her quilt square down in her lap and gave Miss Devlin her full attention. “What do you have in mind?”
You could have heard a pin drop on the varnished wooden floor, it was so quiet. Miss Devlin took a deep breath and blurted, “It worked for the Greek women. I don't see any reason why it won't work for you.”
The multitude of confused stares demanded an explanation, which Miss Devlin struggled to provide.
“I got the idea from a Greek play I've been reading. The women of both Athens and Sparta—that is, the women from both sides of a conflict—got tired of their men fighting one another. So, they refused to perform their marital duties until the men agreed to settle their differences. It worked. The men capitulated
to the women's demands and the war ended.”
A moment of stunned silence was followed by a babble of excited female voices.
“I never heard of such a thing!”
“I couldn't say no to Ollie.”
“Rusty would break down the door if I tried to keep him out.”
“You've got to be joking!”
“Did she say what I thought she said?”
“My Bevis would never stand for it.”
“Ladies! Ladies!” Miss Devlin's schoolteacher voice quickly pierced the din and the assembled ladies fell silent. Miss Devlin had hoped for immediate support of her proposition, but it looked like she had her work cut out for her.
“I know what I've suggested sounds outlandish,” Miss Devlin conceded.
Someone giggled.
“But before you reject my idea, let me warn you that unless something is done, and done soon, Big Ben Davis won't be the last husband or father who's jailed for shooting someone. And Hadley Westbrook won't be the last son or brother who's seriously injured—or killed.”
“She's right,” Persia said. “Ben didn't shoot Hadley—”
Regina Westbrook harrumphed.
“—but I know it's only a matter of time before he's provoked to violence. Since he got out of jail, he never goes to the fields without his Winchester.”
“But Persia, you aren't seriously considering Miss Devlin's suggestion, are you?” Amity Carson demanded.
“I aPersia answered.
“What if our husbands threaten to leave us?” one of the women asked Miss Devlin.
“They won't.”
“Suppose they go to someone else?” another wondered.
“I'll talk to the ladies at the Dog's Hind Leg. We'll get them to join us,” Miss Devlin said.
“Suppose my husband drags me by the hair into our bedroom,” Claire Falkner suggested dramatically.
“Hang on to the doorposts.”
“What if he threatens to beat me?”
“He wouldn't dare!”
“What if he flies into a rage and . . . takes me anyway,” Claire said in a breathless voice.
Every woman in the room waited with bated breath to hear Miss Devlin's reply.
“Then, of course, you yield. But you can lie there like a . . . like a dead fish, denying him—and yourself—any pleasure. I shouldn't have to tell you there can be no joy for him if you don't share it.”
“I could never do that to Bevis,” Mabel Ives wailed.
“Of course you can,” Persia snapped. She turned to Miss Devlin. “You have to know that even if we manage to make our husbands capitulate to our demands, unless everyone joins in, our efforts will be wasted.” Persia glanced significantly across the room at Regina.
Regina's eyes narrowed in speculation. “It just might work. And contrary to what others might think, I am as anxious as the next person to see this ridiculous feuding settled.” Regina glanced significantly across the room at Persia.
“Good,” Miss Devlin said. “If you're all agreed—”
Miss Devlin wasn't expecting opposition at this point, so Lynette Wyatt's shrill voice startled her. “It's easy for you to say we should bar our bedroom doors, Miss Devlin. Since you've never enjoyed the pleasures of the marriage bed, you don't know what you're missing. Quite frankly, I'm not sure I could stand it for very long.”
There was a prolonged silence while Miss Devlin swallowed the intense mortification she was feeling. “I may not know the precise nature of the deprivation I'm asking you to endure,” she said in a surprisingly steady voice, “but I assure you that were I in your bloomers, I would not hesitate to keep them up—and sacrifice the pleasures of the bedroom—for the promise of peace.”
A single pair of clapping hands applaed this statement before Regina intoned, “I'm sure your sentiments are in the right place, Miss Devlin. It really is too bad you won't have a chance to put your principles to the test.”
A titter and a girlish giggle punctuated Regina's observation, but sharp looks from several women in the room quickly squelched the laughter. Anyone even mildly acquainted with Miss Devlin agreed it was a shame the spinster schoolteacher hadn't found a husband yet. Not that they hadn't tried to arrange things here and there over the years she had been in Sweetwater. But somehow the man had never suited. No one had ever been so cruel as to suggest it was Miss Devlin who had been found wanting.
Under the circumstances, no one regretted more than Miss Devlin the fact that she wasn't in a position to make the ultimate sacrifice. She promised herself she would not be so quick to dismiss Felton Reeves when he came calling, as he had promised to do.
“Lynette has a good point,” Regina continued. “How long do you suppose we'll have to carry on this charade?”
“I can't help but think a concerted effort on the part of every married woman here will yield results in a very few days. To be certain, I would suggest—if you're going to emulate the Grecian ladies—that you do your best to flirt with your husbands, to tease them and make them desire you, even as you refuse them.”
Claire's breathy voice floated into another silence. “Why that's . . . that's . . .”
“The most devilishly sneaky trick in the book,” Regina finished for her with a smile.
Persia grinned. “I can't wait. It sounds like it might even be fun.”
“For a while,” Mabel cautiously agreed. “Exactly how long is it likely to take them to give in?”
“In Ollie's case, not very long,” Amity said as she looked down at her fifth daughter, who was nursing at her breast.
The warm, wholesome laughter that greeted Amity's tart comment came from both circles. For the first time in the nearly eight months since the first fences had been cut and the first cattle had been rustled, both rancher and nester women were in accord.
“We're willing if you're willing,” Persia said to Regina.
“We'll do it if you will,” Regina answered.
“The Greek women took a solemn oath, and sanctified it with a toast of wine,” Miss Devlin said, tapping her chin thoughtfully with her forefinger.
Lynette Wyatt pointed to the kettle brewing on the stove. “We've got some hot apple cider.”
“That'll have to do,” Miss Devlin murmured. “Everyone gather round and get a cup of cider.”
Excited by the adventure on which they were all about to embark, the rancher and nester wives clustered around the cider kettle until everyone was holding a steaming cup of the potent brew.
“Each woman here swears there will be no more conjugal relations until her husband agrees to seek peace. And you all take an oath to that effect. The oath the Greek women took started something like this:
“On this sacred cup of . . . of friendship
We swear this oath of sacrifice.
“I guess I'll have to make up the rest, since I don't remember it exactly. But you repeat it after me as I say it,” Miss Devlin instructed.
“From this day forth until peace is declared—”
“From this day forth until peace is declared—”
“Although my heart aches for my husband's love—”
“Although my heart aches for my husband's love—”
“And though he seeks me out afire with passion—”
Several sniggers were heard before the ladies repeated, “And though he seeks me out afire with passion—”
“I will take no man into my bed.”
“I will take no man—”
“I can't! I can't take such an oath.”
Every eye in the room focused on the woman crying hysterically in their midst.
“Stop it, Claire,” Regina said.
“I can't do it,” Claire sobbed.
“You must!” Regina captured Claire's free hand in hers. “We must all stand firm together, or this will never work. Now, repeat after me: I will take no man into my bed.”
“I will take no man into my bed,” Claire wailed.
“She'll probably take him on the floor,” Persia muttered under her breath.
Everyone laughed again, and Miss Devlin had to quiet them before she could say, “I think under the circumstances there should be a little more to this oath. Repeat after me: And if he overcomes me by sheer force—”
“And if he overcomes me by sheer force—“I'll lie as cold as ice and not respond.”
Sweetwater Seduction Page 6
