Just Jessie

by Lisette Belisle

  Frowning, Reverend Bissette mouthed, “The ring?”

  Chapter Eleven

  The ring.

  Ben stared blankly. He’d forgotten to buy Jessie a ring. How could he have forgotten? He looked into her face and watched a humiliated flush «creep over her pale cheeks. Like little flags of defiance, she’d applied lipstick, blush and eyeliner. In her ears, tiny pearl earrings gleamed like tears and matched the unshed moisture swimming in her eyes.

  She was going to hate him for the rest of their lives. Ring or no ring, they were man and wife. With a battery of eyes looking on with varying degrees of condemnation, disbelief and censure, Ben hid his guilty conscience with a small shrug. Unable to look at the contingent of guests witnessing his wedding—a few nurses, doctors, and Hazel and Fred Cromie—he stared straight ahead at a huge arrangement of flowers. A basket of tall, wilting, pink, white and red gladioli filled his vision. Attached to it, a greeting card read, Get Well, Ira.

  Inwardly, Ben groaned. Flowers. Another lapse. He hadn’t ordered a bridal bouquet, not even a posy. How could he have overlooked a ring and flowers? In their male contest of pride, he and Ira had cheated Jessie out of a decent wedding.

  Ben took a good hard look at himself. He didn’t like his conclusions. He was just as guilty of negligence as Ira. And poor Jessie had probably just become the most uncelebrated bride in Aroostook County history. The gossips would have a field day over it. The remaining ceremony seemed anticlimactic.

  Jessie was aware of the lack of frills. But then, no amount of props would change what was happening. “Will you take this man?” the reverend had intoned while her mind screamed in silent protest.

  With a heavy heart, she had whispered, “I do.” She didn’t want to take; didn’t want to be taken. She didn’t want to commit herself to this strange, silent man. Dear Lord, for the rest of her life. A life sentence—if it lasted that long. Men took without giving anything in return. She wanted to be free, free.

  He hadn’t even bought her a ring.

  After the sham formality of a marriage ceremony, Ben’s mouth lightly touched hers. Jessie felt nothing. If she allowed herself to feel an emotion, it would be hatred, and she knew how that could corrode the soul. She didn’t want to hate Ben, she wanted to love him. And there lay her dilemma. This should be a day to celebrate; instead it was like any other day of her life—loveless. Colorful bits of confetti rained on her head. There were gifts, a bottle of champagne, a set of lovely crystal glasses, a hand-painted ceramic lamp. A camera went off in her face. She blinked rapidly, stemming back tears.

  Hazel presented a gift-wrapped box and whispered, “This is just for you.” With Fred looking on with a watery smile, she hugged Jessie fiercely. “Be happy.”

  Be happy.

  It sounded like a long shot. All the way home, Jessie kept thinking, now what? At the house, they entered through the front door. If Ben dared to sweep her over the threshold…

  She never gave him a chance. She swept past him before he could say a word to add to her humiliation. Clutching Hazel’s gift to her heart, hoping to contain the pounding rhythm inside, she climbed the stairs to her room. She couldn’t wait to shed her wedding dress. She’d purchased it with Ben’s money. Her money. What was his was now hers, and vice versa, she thought with a growing sense of panic. In her bedroom, she tossed the box on the bed and slipped off her shoes.

  Curiosity drew her back to Hazel’s gift. The gorgeous wrapping came off to reveal a labeled box from a pricey dress shop in Caribou—the same shop where Hazel had taken her to select a wedding dress. Lifting the cover, Jessie parted the thin pink tissue paper to expose a sheer white confection of silk and lace, an exquisite bridal set. How extravagantly foolish and wasteful, Jessie thought with a rueful smile. Letting it sift through her hands, she sat down heavily on the edge of the bed and stared at the white negligee. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Hazel must have spent a fortune for it. How could she ever thank her? It was lavish, sheer and sexy, white and virginal. How could she ever wear it? It was such a waste. She absolutely loved it.

  In her rush, she’d left the door ajar. Ben stood in the opening. “Jessie,” he started to say and broke off when he saw her sitting on her bed surrounded by yards and yards of delicate fabric spread on her lap.

  When she rose hastily, the negligee drifted to the floor. Mesmerized, Ben watched it float down. For a long moment, he could do nothing but stare at the transparent froth of white lace and silk pooled at her feet. He wanted to rescue it, wrap it around her, then slowly peel the layers away. What had he forsaken in this marriage, besides love?

  “What do you want?” Jessie asked, her voice cool and remote. She clutched her hands at her waist.

  What did he want?

  He would be damned if he knew. All day, he’d expected her to crack under the pressure. She hadn’t. He’d waited for tears and recrimination, a last-ditch effort to back out. He’d waited for some sign of emotion, passion, even hatred. There was none. Did she feel nothing at all? It struck him that he knew precious little about his stoic Yankee bride. “We have guests,” he said.

  Revealing the first sign of weakness since his proposal a week ago, Jessie rubbed her forehead. “I can’t go down there.”

  “We’ll do our piece, then get rid of them.” He smiled when she glared at him. Not letting her lack of welcome deter him from entering her room, he stepped inside. It wasn’t a large room—only slightly larger than his, with dormered extra windows. With widening eyes, she stepped back when he came close, until she came to an abrupt stop against the bed. When he raised a hand to her hair, she tilted her head, then flushed when he held out a flake of confetti. His eyes gently mocked her.

  Embarrassed by her overreaction and confused by the tender gleam in his eye, Jessie straightened her spine. “Shall we go?”

  Ben nodded. “After you,” he said with that slow ease that made her want to throw something at him. Herself?

  The sound of Fred’s reedy harmonica drew her outside, where friends had gathered in a clearing by the apple orchard. Several tables were loaded down with food, drinks, and a three-tiered wedding cake complete with a ceramic bride and groom on top. There were fresh flowers—not the hothouse kind, but wild natural flowers.

  Fred broke into a rendition of “Here Comes the Bride.”

  Jessie faltered. She looked at the sea of smiling expectant faces and wanted to run and hide. As if sensing her panic, Ben reached for her trembling hand. A tight feeling filled her chest. Then someone greeted her and someone else reached to shake Ben’s hand. From some reserve, Jessie found the presence to greet their guests.

  At some point, Ben drew her against his side. She felt as if she’d come home. But then she saw Drew watching them with a cynical expression and wondered if Ben had done it to present a solid front. Some guests were openly curious, but too polite to voice any disapproval.

  The dancing started. With everyone watching, she went into Ben’s arms. Her smile felt false, yet it felt so right to be with Ben; to dance with him. A hard pulse beat in his jaw. He drew her closer as the dance came to a swirling end.

  He released her with obvious reluctance. It was time to cut the wedding cake. Ben held her gaze for a long moment. She had so few options left. Cutting the cake was only part of a ritual. It didn’t have to mean anything. Just because his eyes were burning into hers and her body was melting at the core didn’t mean anything. Jessie picked up the knife and placed it on the cake next to a pair of white confectionery doves.

  Ben’s hand slid over hers. He bore down firmly. Together, they cut the first slice of cake. He broke off a piece and held it to her lips. His eyes compelled her to accept his offering. She opened her mouth and felt his hard fingers against her lips for just a moment before his hand dropped. They were standing close, closer than they’d been in days.

  Jessie wanted to deny the wild beating of her heart, the fear, the expectation.

  Ben couldn’t shake the feel
ing of possession. It was his wedding night; she was his bride. His. Suddenly, it was all too real. And not real enough. There would be no wedding night. This was the hollow bargain he’d made—one more sleepless night to add to his long list. The sweet cake icing reminded him of the time he’d kissed Jessie’s cotton-candy mouth at the carnival.

  It had all seemed so simple then—just a man and a woman. Now, there was this farce of a wedding, Ira and the farm, and heaven only knew what other complications. Ben saw the wariness in her soft gray eyes and realized he’d handled the situation—meaning Jessie—all wrong. A man couldn’t compel, coax, or command a woman like Jessie. She was too proud. This wedding had wounded her.

  He had to give her back her pride. Those bare silken lips drew his gaze. His head bent toward her, his lips landed to the left of her mouth. He heard her shaky breath and felt a small sense of satisfaction. She wasn’t totally immune to him.

  Someone toasted the bride and groom, and the celebration continued. Cal got into the wrong punch and asked Serena Morales to dance. His father glared and her father opened his mouth to object when Ben stepped in between the young couple.

  “Come on, Cal, cool it.” Ben grabbed the boy’s arm and hauled him off for a walk and a private chat.

  When they reached a fence, Cal shrugged Ben off. “What was all that about? I just asked Serena to dance.”

  “Is that all?” Ben said dryly. “Look, you’re going off to college soon. Are you going to just drop her? Are you going to invite her to your fraternity parties?”

  On the defensive, Cal retorted, “Why not?”

  “She’s only sixteen, Cal,” Ben reminded him. “Give her a chance to grow up.”

  “Oh, I thought you meant—”

  “That you’d feel ashamed of her because her parents are migrants. No, I didn’t think that. But you did, Cal.”

  “Oh, hell!” Cal looked shaken.

  “If you’re not serious about the girl, maybe you should reconsider before you go playing with her feelings, hmm?”

  Cal turned the tables. “Are you in love with Jessie?”

  The question nearly stumped Ben, until he turned it around with a question of his own. “Would I have married her if I didn’t?” Good question. He wished he knew the answer. Loving meant taking responsibility for someone’s life and happiness. He wasn’t sure if he could do that.

  Cal frowned, then his face cleared. He grinned. “Yeah, right.” He wandered off.

  Ben returned to the party. Before leaving, Drew shook his hand. Ben was surprised at how much the thought of Jessie ending up in her neighbor’s careless hands had bothered him. Face it. He wanted her for himself. He knew she didn’t love him, but he would see that she didn’t lose out in their arrangement. As Fred had said, Stone’s End was in her blood. Ben intended to save it for her. Content with his bargain, he relaxed.

  Drew appeared subdued. “I won’t say the best man won, but congratulations.”

  While Ben absorbed that, Fred gave him a hearty cuff that almost dislocated his shoulder. “You be good to that girl, you hear me?”

  “Yes, sir.” Ben rubbed his arm.

  As if cued, everyone left. When the last car disappeared in a cloud of dust, Jessie turned toward the house. Ben stopped her with a few words: “As long as Drew can make trouble, he will. The best way to handle him is to pretend this marriage is real.”

  “It isn’t real. Anyone can see our marriage is fake.”

  Ben drew her against him and placed his open mouth on hers. His tongue teased her lips apart, stroking until she clung to him. He tasted champagne and wedding cake—a heady mixture. They were both gasping for air when he lifted his mouth. As the full moon broke through the clouds, he saw her expression. Her eyes looked dark and stormy, with passion alight in their depths. Jessie was staring at his mouth as if she were starved. Despite her objections, she looked lit up from inside.

  With a groan, he bent his head and kissed her again, slowly this time, giving her time to adjust and respond. His reward came when her tongue returned his exploration with small licks that felt like fire.

  He dragged her closer, letting her experience the full potency of his arousal. “Does this feel real to you?”

  Turning her head, she whispered. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

  Ben drew in a deep breath, then released her. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

  “I won’t,” she said, and marched into the house.

  Despite his physical discomfort, he grinned. A man had to admire a woman with determination and the will to keep her brand-new bridegroom out of her bed. His eyes drifted over Jessie’s ramrod spine; a man would be a fool to overlook the obvious—a trim waist and hips, long silky legs. She slammed the screen door. Ben winced. Cut off from their brief but tantalizing romantic idyll, he waited a moment or two before he entered the house.

  To his surprise, Jessie was still downstairs.

  He called out softly, “Jessie, whatever today lacked in the way of frills, I was proud of you. No man could have asked for a more beautiful bride.” She had looked beautiful—her youthful features serious, pure, delicate; her hair streaked with gold, and her soft gray eyes filled with secrets. Graceful and feminine, she’d held herself erect, with touching dignity.

  At his words, Jessie looked startled, as if compliments were the last thing she expected. Her eyes lowered, shielding her thoughts. With a murmured word, she drifted away, her skirts gently rustling. A moment later, Ben heard the sound of her bedroom door closing and felt a deep visceral pain.

  Champagne bottle in hand, he went looking for a glass, resigned to toasting his bride alone. There was a certain irony in that. On top of the oak sideboard stood the glass mason jar.

  The jar was empty. Ben smiled, glancing toward the stairs where Jessie had disappeared. She’d spent his money on a wedding dress. Perhaps their wedding day had meant something to her after all. His smile faded. On the other hand, she’d left the jar sitting there in plain sight

  The morning after was business as usual.

  Ben hadn’t realized how the situation would appear when he and Jessie, newly married, showed up for work just as the sun was rising. The workers were visibly taken aback. Cal wore a puzzled frown on his face.

  “Let’s not disillusion the kid,” Ben said, appreciative of the sight of Jessie in a blue shirt and tight jeans. Her narrow feet were bare in strappy sandals. “He thinks we’re in love.”

  “How could he think that?”

  “Ah, well.” Her pursed lips drew his gaze to her mouth. “I told him,” Ben admitted. When she turned bright red and her mouth thinned with indignation, he added, “Well, what did you expect me to say?” Before she could raise an objection, he took her mouth in a satisfying kiss. He was satisfied, sort of….

  Chuckling, the men walked off. Cal was grinning.

  Jessie was furious, sputtering, “How dare you!”

  “Then get even.” He bent over her again. “Kiss me back.”

  Of course she didn’t, but it was worth a try. She was even more furious when he released her. “What was that for?” Her eyes sparkled with banked fire.

  “That was for me.” When her cheeks flushed to a rosy hue, Ben walked off the porch. “See you later, honey.” He winked.

  Honey!

  Jessie didn’t feel like anyone’s “honey” and certainly not like a blushing bride. She hadn’t fooled Fred. As she walked toward the barn, he fell into step with her, muttering something about, “Damn stubborn fools. Never seen a pair make such a mess of things.” He shook his head. “Bet all that fine silk and lace went to waste, too.”

  Jessie felt her face getting hotter.

  “I knew it,” Fred groused. “Damn shame. That lace was imported all the way from France.” He looked thoroughly disgusted. Homer’s bellowed greeting didn’t help.

  Watching Fred stomp off, Jessie decided he seemed more put out by her lack of a wedding night than she did. She’d been relieved—hadn’
t she? Did that explain the gnawing emptiness?

  The day was hot. By noon, Jessie felt exhausted; she hadn’t slept well. Fred sent her back to the house. She was dismayed to find Ben there.

  “The men insisted I’m on my honeymoon,” he said wryly. “I couldn’t very well argue.” A honeymoon.

  This was an unforeseen complication. “It’s so hot.” She needed to escape. “I think I’ll go for a swim.

  “I think I’ll join you.” He issued the challenge.

  She hesitated. Coward, an inner voice mocked. Was she going to let Ben curtail her single enjoyment? How could she stop him? Her father had given Ben rights to Stone’s End, and to her. She trembled at the thought. “What about lunch?”

  Ben smiled tightly. “I can wait.”

  Last night he’d discovered sleeping under one roof with Jessie was one thing—sleeping under one roof with a wife was another. In addition, he’d developed a nagging ache that only Jessie could ease. Along with that, he’d discovered some pretty archaic, traditional sentiments on the subject of marriage. Yes, he was feeling possessive. It wasn’t just a matter of vows, it was a gut feeling. Jessie was his.

  “I could fix sandwiches,” she offered.

  “Jessie,” he said in a driven tone. “If you don’t want to go for a swim, then just say so.”

  She sighed. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Do I need a reason?”

  She shrugged. “I suppose not. Well, let’s go.”

  “What a contrary female.” He shook his head. “Now I’m beginning to sound like Fred.”

  She laughed. It was a pleasant sound, a release, and he felt it to his bones. Jessie didn’t laugh much, but when she did, it was rich and musical, like a finely tuned instrument. Jessie. She made him want to weep and laugh and hold her close to his heart where nothing would ever hurt her again. Including him.

  That had become his greatest fear—that he would hurt Jessie. He didn’t know if he could stay, if the nightmares would end, if he could stop looking backward. The other night, Fred had tried to tell him he’d just gotten lucky. Maybe. Ben didn’t know about the future. But Jessie was fine and good, and she deserved to be happy. If he couldn’t be a whole man, free of shadows, he would leave rather than drag her into his nightmare.