by Lisa Gregory
❧
James and Julia spent the next week working together in restrained formality, a little distant and uncertain. What they had discovered about each other and themselves had shaken them.
They drove out to Gideon the following Saturday. James picked Julia up in his buggy early in the morning. Most of the way to the gravesite they rode in silence. The closer they got, the more Julia's nerves clanged inside her. When she had left here a few months ago, she had wondered if she would ever see her daughter's grave again. Now she was returning to it with James. She was afraid that the anger James had felt against her would come again when he saw Pammy's grave. Yet at the same time she couldn't deny the pleasure she felt at being alone with him like this. Both the feelings were equally disturbing.
Julia directed him to the Antioch cemetery. When they reached it, he came around and helped her down from the buggy, then took her arm. Julia walked with him to Pamela's grave. James looked down at the small grave with its simple wooden marker. He wasn't sure what he felt. The child buried here was his flesh and blood, the fruit of his seed. Yet he had never known her. He didn't even know what she had looked like or how her voice had sounded. He'd never heard her laugh or seen her tears. The ache he felt seemed more for that loss than for anything else.
"What was she like?"
Julia smiled, remembering. "She was a special child. Beautiful, like an angel, like a gift from God. She had dark brown hair, just as thick and straight as yours, and big, soulful brown eyes. When her eyes filled up with tears, I wanted to cry, too, and when she smiled, it turned the whole world bright. I loved her so much. If only I'd told you, if only I hadn't married Will, maybe she would still—"
"No!" James interrupted fiercely, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her to him. His arms sheltered her "Don't say that. You can't second-guess fate. What happened, happened. It wasn't your fault that she died. She might have died anyway, if not in that way, then in another way, at another time."
Tears spilled out of Julia's eyes, and she clung gratefully to James. "I was so wrong not to tell you. I'm sorry."
"Hush." His hand smoothed down her back. "I don't blame you. I just wish I had been there with you, to share your sorrow, to comfort you." He kissed the top of her head. "I'm sorry you had to bear it all alone."
Julia leaned against him, her eyes closed, soaking in the comfort of his hard masculine strength. If only he had been there... "She was so sweet." She began to tell him stories about Pamela—the precious things she'd done, the funny, lisping way she talked. The pain receded, and gradually Julia moved away from him, until they were standing separately, the sorrow once more in the past.
"I'm glad you brought me here," James told her. "Thank you. I thought—if you don't mind—that I might have another marker put up, a small one in white marble, with her name on it."
"And a lamb." Tears sparkled in Julia's eyes, but they were tears of happiness and gratitude now. "That's what I wanted for her, but we didn't have the money. Thank you. It would be very kind of you."
"It's not kindness. She was my daughter." He looked back at the small grave. "You know, I never thought much about children. What they'd be like, whether I even wanted any. But now I..." He drew in a breath. "I think about how much I've missed. I want children."
He glanced at her. He knew that what he wanted was children of her body.
"You should have them." Julia didn't look at him. It pierced her heart to think of another woman bearing his children.
James wished she would look at him. He wished he knew what she was thinking. He wondered if she had any feeling left for him after all that had happened. He wondered if she could love him again, if she would even think of marrying him. It was what he wanted. Suddenly everything that had seemed so confused and murky the past week became crystal-clear. Except for what Julia thought, what Julia wanted.
He moved to the side, thinking, his hands clasped behind his back. He glanced down at the ground in front of him and saw Will Dobson's grave. It was fresh, the earth still raw, the marker legible. He didn't like to think of Will Dobson. Most of the time it was easy to block him out of his mind. He'd never seen the man; Julia didn't speak of him; there were no reminders of his presence. But now, with his grave right there, James couldn't keep him out.
"Did you love him?" His voice was low.
"What?" She glanced at him and saw where he was looking. "Oh. No."
"Not at all?"
"No. Not in any way."
Her statement only partially eased the tension in his chest. "Did he know?"
"That Pamela wasn't his? Yes. I told him before we married; I couldn't go into marriage with a lie like that."
"Yet he married you anyway."
"Yes."
"He must have loved you very much." The idea burned in him; he didn't like to think of another man's loving Julia. Even worse was the thought of another man taking care of her, helping her when she needed it, instead of him.
Julia shrugged. "I don't know. He wanted to marry me. He was obsessed with it. But I don't know if it was love or just.. "
Her voice trailed off. James knew what she didn't say: just desire, just lust. He knew what Dobson had felt; he'd felt it often enough himself. Just last night he'd dreamed about Julia and awakened stiff and throbbing. But Julia hadn't been there in the bed with him when he woke; with Dobson, she had. Revulsion crawled in him at the thought of the other man's touching her, taking her, having the right to claim her body. But even worse he hated knowing that she had had to submit to him, even without love.
"Was he good to you? Kind?" Did he hurt you? Force you? Hit you? The words screamed inside him, but he couldn't say them.
"He wasn't a bad man." Julia saw the strange look in James's eyes, the unaccustomed wildness, and she didn't want to tell him the truth. He would feel too guilty, too angry, but with no one at whom to lash out,
"What does that mean?"
Julia shrugged. "That he was like most husbands, I guess."
"Like your brother is with his wife?"
"Like Luke? Oh, no. No. Luke is so . .. sweet, so loving."
"And Dobson wasn't."
"No. James, must we talk about this?"
He reached out and grasped her arm. "Yes. I have to know. Did he take it out on you that the child wasn't his? Did he yell at you or—or raise his hand to you?"
Julia pressed her lips together tightly and turned partly away. "Sometimes he yelled, of course. He got angry. Every once in a while he would . . ."
"Would what?"
"Hit me."
The color washed out of James's face. "Oh, Julia." His hands went out to her, but he didn't quite know what to do. They settled lightly on her arms. "I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry."
"It happens. He wasn't so bad. Daddy was worse."
"Sweetheart." He wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her back against his chest. His cheek rested upon her hair. "I wish I could take all that out of your life. I wish I could go back and change what happened."
"You can't. Nobody can." She slid her arms over his. It felt so good and warm in the circle of his arms. "Like you said awhile ago, what happened, happened. We can't go around thinking how it could have been different, or what we should have done."
He kissed her hair. "I can't bear to think of him hurting you." His fingers lightly stroked down her cheek. "Of that lovely skin being bruised. I can't even stand to think of him touching you, sleeping with you."
"I slept with him because it was my duty. But he never touched me inside like you did. I never made love with him."
"Julia." The word was a whisper, a sigh. He rubbed his cheek against her hair. Her words stirred him. He wanted to kiss the delicate pink shell of her ear, so temptingly close. He wanted to bury his face in the flesh of her neck. He wanted to touch her all over, and with his touch obliterate the memory of Will Dobson's hands on her.
But they were standing in a cemetery, beside the graves of their daughter and Julia's h
usband, and he could not. She was not his. He didn't know if she ever would be. He didn't even know if she would welcome his touch or resent it.
Again he kissed the top of her head, then let his arms fall away from her. He stepped back. Julia felt empty at the loss of his arms, but she said nothing. She smiled at him a little awkwardly. "Well. Shall we go now?"
He nodded, and they walked back to the buggy. This time he did not take her arm as they walked.
They left the cemetery and drove into Gideon, and there they stopped at the little cafe on the square to eat lunch. Julia hadn't eaten in a restaurant since that time years ago when she and James had first met. She was delighted at the treat of having a meal served to her. James watched her enjoyment, smiling, and wished he could have given her things like this for years. He watched her hands, delicate and white, as she held the utensils. He watched the fork carry a bite of food to her mouth and saw her lips close over it. He gazed at her smile and the sparkle of her eyes. And he wanted very much to pull her over into his lap and kiss her. He wondered what she would say if she knew what he was thinking.
After they ate, they drove back to Willow Springs. James's hands were lax on the reins. He enjoyed sitting next to Julia like this, alone and tree from the rest of the world, and he had no desire for it to end.
When at last they did reach Julia's house, she invited him in for a glass of lemonade. James accepted with alacrity. He followed her into the kitchen and watched her while she made the drinks, even though she protested that he sit in the more comfortable parlor. He preferred the cozy intimacy of her kitchen and seeing her perform the simple domestic chore. He thought of her being his wife, preparing his food and drinks for him. He thought of her small hands on his clothes, on his furniture, making his bed—their bed. Heat started deep in his abdomen.
He glanced around, searching for a safe topic to think about. "Where are the children?"
"Luke and Sarah took them out to the farm. They'd been wanting to stay out there again, and it seemed like a good opportunity, with me being gone all day."
They were alone in the house. The thought increased the heat inside him. It wasn't proper to be alone in the house with an unmarried woman. He could understand why; it led to all sorts of licentious thoughts. He wondered what would happen if he kissed her. Probably better not to think about that.
He wished he knew how she felt about him. He wanted to pour out his feelings to her, but he was reluctant, too, afraid she would find his love ridiculous after all these years.
Julia brought the pitcher of lemonade to the table and poured each of them a glass. "Would you like to sit in the parlor?"
"I like it fine here."
"All right." They sat and sipped at their lemonade, neither of them saying anything. Julia was as aware as James of the intimacy of their situation. They were alone. There were no parents, no children, no servants. Only the two of them, and the memory of the love they had shared long ago.
Julia looked at James. Her forefinger slowly, rhythmically circled the top of her glass. Little beads of sweat formed on the glass like balls of crystal and rolled down its smooth sides. James watched Julia's hand, mesmerized by the movement of her finger on the glass. He could feel it on his own skin, cool and wet, arousing him with delicious circles. He gripped his glass tightly and tried to think of something else. Something besides the kiss they shared weeks ago; something besides the hot blood gathering in his loins; something besides Julia's mouth and breasts and legs.
Julia saw his face change, saw the faint slackening, the heaviness of his mouth, and the darkening of his eyes. Her hand trembled on the glass. "James."
He touched her, his fingers sliding down hers and along the back of her hand to her wrist, feather light. Sensations raced from Julia's hand through her body, sparkling and tight, delightfully shivery. His thumb inched back up hers. Desire pulsed through him. Her skin was so soft and inviting. His fingers curled around her hand and brought it to his mouth. He kissed the back of her hand, his eyes closing at the aching sweetness of tasting her flesh again.
His voice shook. "I love you."
"Oh, James." She had not expected to hear him say that. That he desired her, yes—she had seen that in his face—but not love.
He pulled her out of her chair and into his lap; she went easily. One hand went around her shoulders, the other came up to cup her face. "You're so beautiful."
He kissed her. His mouth was gentle, his arm loose around her, as though to let her escape if she needed to. But Julia's arms went around his neck; her lips answered his. His kiss deepened, his tongue filling her mouth, his lips moving eagerly on hers. His arms crushed her to him. They kissed again and again, long, hungry kisses that sought to wipe out the memory of eleven lonely years. Passion swelled in James, fierce and demanding, sending his blood racing through his veins and his lungs laboring for air.
James buried his hands in her hair, popping loose the pins and sending her heavy hair tumbling down over his arms. He ached to feel it against his bare skin. His hand slid down her neck and over her chest, finding the sweet weight of her breast. He stifled a groan. She felt so good, so right, as if he'd come home after years of searching. He broke away from their kiss and buried his face in her neck.
"God, I want you. I love you so much."
"I love you, too."
His arms tightened convulsively around her. "Thank God."
Julia slipped out of his arms and stood up. He looked up at her, startled and confused. Her hands went to the top button of her dress and unfastened it. They slid down to the next button. James understood what she was doing. He jumped to his feet and took her hands, stopping her.
"No. Wait." He drew a long, calming breath. "That's not what I want." He smiled wryly and shook his head. "At least, not all I want. I love you. I want to make love to you. But first, I want to marry you."
"What?"
"I want to marry you. I'm not a kid anymore, so hungry to have you, so selfish, that I can't think of anything else, including your good name. I don't want to take you secretively or hastily. I want to sleep with you in my bed. I want to make love to you all night long and not worry about anyone seeing me leave your house. I don't want just tonight or a few nights. I want you every night. I want my ring on your finger. I want you to bear my name." His hand went to her stomach and spread out over it possessively. He smiled with a purely male pride. "I want you to carry my children."
"Oh, James." Her eyes filled with tears.
"Well? Will you marry me?"
She looked down at the floor. "No."
"What?" James stared at her as if he'd been poleaxed. "But you said you loved me."
"I do!"
"But not enough to marry me."
"That's not it. I love you enough for anything, even refusing to marry you."
"I don't understand."
"I love you. I want you. I'd go upstairs with you right now. But it wouldn't be right for us to get married."
"Why not? Don't you think we've waited long enough?"
"It's not that. I'm not the right person for you now any more than I was eleven years ago. I'm not good enough for you. I'm a Turner. You're a Banks. You're a doctor! You need someone else, someone better. Someone your own kind, a woman like your mother. Refined and elegant."
"Damn it! I have a mother like my mother. I don't need a wife like her. I want you, not someone else."
Julia shook her head. "No, please, I don't know how to act around people like your mother. I'd embarrass you. Heavens, that day at your house when we ate dinner, I didn't have any idea what all those spoons were for. I couldn't give parties right. I couldn't talk to your friends. The kind of people you know would think I was ignorant and low class. You'd regret it."
James sighed. "I don't know why this should surprise me. You've never been able to see yourself as you really are. You are a jewel, a treasure. Any man would be happy to have you for a wife, and I, most of all. If people thought you were ignorant or low cla
ss, I wouldn't want them for friends. And I can't find it in me to love a woman because she knows what the spoons in the table setting are for. I'm far more impressed by the fact that you know what my medical instruments are for. If that kind of thing worries you so much. Mother can teach it to you."
"Your mother won't want me in your family."
"I think you'll be surprised by my mother Why don't you give her a chance? She likes you. She's the one who pointed out how wrongly I acted eleven years ago,"
"You told her!" Red surged up in Julia's face. "She knows that we—that I—ohhh..." She turned away on a moan of humiliation. "She must think I'm terrible. Cheap. She would die if you married me!"
"She would not. She doesn't think badly of you, I swear."
"That's not true. She must think I'm a slut."
"Don't say things like that! She does not, I told you, she likes you, and she wants me to be happy. Even if she did dislike you, it wouldn't make any difference. I have no intention of marrying to please my mother. I will marry to please myself, and it will please me to marry you!"
"We can't."
James slammed his hand down flat on the table. "Damn, but you're exasperating! You're bound and determined to make us both miserable, aren't you?"
Julia began to cry. "No. It's because I don't want you to be miserable."
"I have been miserable for the past eleven years because I didn't marry you, and I don't intend to spend the next eleven years of my life the same way. I won't accept your answer. I am going to court you."
"James..."
"No. I'm leaving now, but I'll be back tomorrow morning to take you to church with Mother and me."
"James, no."
"Yes." His voice was flat. It took all the willpower he had not to put his hands on her or kiss her again, not to take the willing offer of her body. He stuck his hands in his pockets and left the kitchen. Julia trailed after him to the front door. He turned. "You be ready at ten forty-five. And you're having dinner with us, too."
