by Pamela Morsi
His well-meant action garnered an unexpected reward when Mavis slid her hand down his chest and into his trousers. When her fingers closed around him, Eben's eyes came open.
"Mavis?" he ground out. It was a plea as much as a question.
She gave him no answer, but only looked into his eyes, her own dark with passion, as she continued to caress him. She touched him, not with great skill or expertise, but with a desire to please him. And please him she did. With strong, straight strokes she urged him further and further until he was too near the brink.
"No more, Mavis." He grasped her wrist. "I can stand no more."
She moved back from him then, gazing up at him, her eyes wide, almost curious at the wildness she had unleashed in him.
Eben, still holding her hand, brought it up to his mouth. Tenderly, with near reverence, he kissed her palm.
"Thank you," he said simply. "Thank you."
Slowly, she smiled.
He had barely a moment to catch his breath and regain control when she raised her hands behind her neck to reach the buttons at the back of her dress. His heart pounding, Eben watched her as she got them undone. Deliberately, she peeled away the store-bought brown calico bodice and bunched it at her waist. Covered only in her lace-trimmed josie, her bosom was firm and high.
"Look at me," she said softly.
Eben was looking. His gaze was riveted upon the full round orbs, their dark pink points pressed so formidably against the cotton.
"Beautiful," he answered in awe.
Mavis tossed her wild red hair out of the way and with one daring finger she pushed the left strap down off her shoulder, slowly, so very slowly she drew it down, revealing the bare flesh underneath. When the top half was revealed and only the lace trim covered the nipple, she stopped and looked at Eben.
His mouth was dry, so very dry. He licked his lips.
Leisurely, as if she herself were savoring the moment, she pulled the thin cotton down farther, revealing the full smooth round hillock of her breast. He had never really seen her before. Their night of regretful passion had been in darkness. He had not really seen her, not as he saw her now. The soft pale flesh was so very naked in the morning sunlight. So plump and feminine that reaching out to touch it was so tempting. The hard pink nipple seemed to be pointing straight at Eben.
Mavis reached out her hand to him. He came forward only so much as he dared and she stroked his slightly bristled cheek.
"Come take what you see, Eben," she said.
She smoothed his coat beneath her and lay back in the tall grass. She pulled him to her by her words, her eyes, and the touch of her hand on his cheek alone.
Eben leaned down upon her, eager but uncertain.
"Mavis?"
With her own hand she raised her breast as if presenting an offering. Eben could not resist. He took the hard pink nipple into his mouth. The taste, the texture, the temptation of her, was exquisite. He suckled her eagerly, thoroughly, insatiably. It was as if he were feasting upon life itself.
And Mavis was not passive at this sensual breakfast. As his mouth sought such sweet sustenance, she squirmed beneath him. Tiny cries of pleading and pleasure urged him on.
When her questing hand once again found his rigid reaction, he pleaded for mercy against the soft flesh of her breast. With a moan, he rolled onto his back, pulling her atop him. Together they fought valiantly against the tangle of clothes that constrained them. Freed at last, she hesitated only an instant before mounting him.
She was wet and eager and ready. When she impaled herself upon him Eben ground his teeth against the sheer pleasure of it.
She rode him uneasily at first, as if unsteady in her gait. But as passion heightened, their pace proved in accord. Eben gripped her hips, meeting and melding as the momentum increased.
He forced himself to close his eyes. His senses were overloaded. The sight of her above him, face dazed with passion, hair wild and flying, bosom bouncing as she strained toward fulfillment, had him perilously skirting the brink of his desire. He didn't want to spill his seed and leave her without pleasure. But it was Mavis, not himself, who was in control. It was as if he could only hold fast to her and let her do her will with him.
His eyes came open when he reached his peak. He cried out her name. And he could only be grateful that he saw the same maelstrom reflected in her own expression.
It went on an eternity as the forceful, gasping clenches of her body again and again and again pumped him dry.
She collapsed upon his chest. She was breathing. He was breathing. They were both alive. Just barely. That wild red hair was everywhere. It was wonderful. It was glorious. It was oh, so dear.
Moments passed. Sweet moments. Moments of oneness. Moments unmindful of the past. Eben felt right. He felt good. It had taken the cessation of pain to let him know how much he'd been hurting.
"Mavis, I love you," were the first words he spoke.
She raised up to look down into his eyes. "I've confessed before," she answered finally.
Suddenly she was almost shy again. She moved away from him. Inexplicably eager to right her clothes.
"Rest with me, Mavis," he pleaded. "Rest with me a moment."
She didn't meet his gaze, but she went into his embrace.
"We've been gone a long time," she said. "They might come looking for us."
"Then your father would make us marry," he said. He meant it as a kind of joke. Somehow it was not funny.
She was silent for a long moment. "No one can make you marry me," she said.
He held her more tightly then. Unexpectedly he felt a sense of sadness, of loss.
"I'm sorry that I hurt you like I did," he said. "I was angry, very angry. But that was no excuse. I am truly sorry."
"Yes, I know. You said so already."
"But I was crying then," he said. "I was crying and I never cry. I haven't since I was a boy."
"It's a day for the unusual," she answered quietly.
The silence lingered between them.
Finally she pulled away. "I have to go."
He stood up with her as she retrieved her drawers from the base of the tree. She didn't put them on in front of him, but tucked them in her pocket. Eben buttoned the back of her dress.
"You had me," he said. "You had me."
She turned back to look at him.
Eben's words were thoughtful. "I was none of it. It was you. You had me just the way I tried to have you."
Her brow furrowed. "I ... I'm sorry?" It was as much a question as an apology.
He shook his head. "No, no. It was ... it was heaven, Mavis. It was so ... so much more than I ever . . . well . . ." He couldn't finish.
Her answer was an almost smile.
"I've got to get back."
"Yes," he agreed. "I'll circle around and return by the up-mountain path."
She murmured assent and began walking away.
"Mavis!" he called out to her.
She turned to face him once more.
"I'll keep the bargain," he said. "I mean about your brother."
She pressed her lips together and nodded. He thought she would say no more, but at the last minute she turned and spoke to him.
"The first, what you did to me," she said, "that was for my brother. This last . . . that . . . that was for you. And for myself."
Before Eben could answer, she was gone.
Chapter Nineteen
There were only four days to go before Christmas when Jesse got permission to take Baby-Paisley with him down to Phillips' store. The little boy, deer tail bouncing on the back of his cap, proudly carried the buckskin hide tucked under his arm. The day was bright but very cold. The norther that Onery's bad leg had predicted was upon them. The two were heavily bundled up, their breath coming out of their mouths in bright white clouds.
It had been all Baby-Paisley could do to keep from bragging to his mother that they were going to trade the hide for a Christmas present for her. He'd been as jumpy as a
possum in nettles for over a week. Biting his little baby tongue a half-dozen times a day, he had managed, somehow, to keep his secret. But by the time they arrived at the front porch of the store, he could wait to tell it no longer.
"Jesse and I gonna trade dis deer hide for a present for my mama!" he announced excitedly as he hurried up to the two men standing together on the front step.
From the expressions on the faces of Oather and Buell, Jesse could tell that the conversation they were having was not a happy one. Buell looked bullheaded and determined. He had been doing most of the talking, the tone of his voice brooking no dispute.
Oather had been listening, that could hardly be avoided, but he appeared almost repulsed; still, his expression was determined.
Baby-Paisley's welcome distraction was greeted by him effusively. Oather turned his full attention on the boy as if grateful to him for the timely interruption.
“Trading for a present for your mama? Is that so?" he asked, grinning broadly. "What kind of present are you going to get for her?"
"A Cwissmas present," the child answered.
"Well, that's a really nice idea," Oather told him. "That is a really very nice idea. Isn't it, Papa?"
Buell Phillips looked at them speculatively and shrugged. "Christmas presents are meant mostly for children," he said.
"But we can get Mama something anyway," Baby-Paisley assured Phillips. "Jesse said we could."
Buell huffed disparagingly, indicating his feeling that Jesse's opinion was of no account. But he didn't comment.
"Is it from you or Jesse?" he asked the boy.
"From both of us," Baby-Paisley answered. "We kilt da deer together, so we share the hide."
Buell nodded thoughtfully. As an idea sprang forth and bloomed in his mind, he turned to smile craftily at his son.
"I'm sure Oather here could help you pick out something just real nice for your mama," he said. "Why, he's really family, too. And though the gift would be from you and Jesse, Oather could surely see that you got a fine present for Mrs. Winsloe. This store has anything and everything a young woman might want or need. And if you add Oather's name as one of the givers, he could really get it for you at a sweet price."
Oather, obviously not appreciating his father's meddling, hesitated before he answered. "Well," he said finally, his own expression shrewd, "I suppose I could do that."
"You could?" Baby-Paisley was excited.
"And the present you choose wouldn't be any old picked-over item that Mrs. Winsloe has seen a dozen times. It could be something completely new."
"Completely new?"
Oather nodded. "There's a drummer here today. Come in on a pack mule loaded-for-bear yesterday afternoon. He's got women's folderol and gewgaws a-plenty. Is that what you're looking for?"
Baby-Paisley nodded enthusiastically.
Oather grinned before glancing back at his father, who didn't look a bit happy at all. "Jesse, you trade that hide direct with the drummer. You'll get more of its worth for it that way."
"I will?"
"Yes indeed you will," Oather assured him.
Jesse was surprised. He thought a hide was worth what a hide was worth. It hadn't occurred to him that some might pay more for it than others.
"Why, thanks, Oather," Jesse said. "We cain't make you one of the givers, of course. Mr. Phillips is all wrong about that. This deer hide is Baby-Paisley's and mine alone. But it'd sure be nice of you to meet us up with this drummer fellow."
"I'd be delighted," Oather said.
Buell Phillips cursed under his breath. "You'll never make a businessman," he snarled to his son in whispered fury.
Oather shrugged. "If I marry a fine farm, maybe I won't have to be a businessman."
Buell snorted, but much of his venom had disappeared. "I just don't understand a bit of you. Always reading them dang law books and thinking about life when you ought to be living it. I've said it before and I'll say it again. You get that Winsloe gal or I'll be wanting to know the reason why."
Oather raised an eyebrow. "The reasons why were never your strong interest," he said.
His father's expression looked puzzled; Oather quickly turned his attention back to Baby-Paisley and Simple Jess.
"You'll find something nice for that mama of yours," he assured them. "And be sure to dither on the price as long as you dare."
Baby-Paisley readily agreed, without truly understanding. Jesse's brow furrowed with concern. It would be hard enough just to find the right present. He couldn't imagine remembering to dither for it, too.
He was about to say as much when Baby-Paisley hooted with excitement and his attention turned elsewhere. He saw Eben Baxley coming up the path.
"Mista Eben!" the little boy called out. He took off running in that direction as fast as his short pudgy legs could carry him. "Mista Eben, Jesse and me gonna trade our deer hide for a Cwissmas present for Mama."
Jesse watched as the little boy flew into Baxley's arms. Baxley was laughing and spun him around in the air while the child squealed with delight.
The deer tail had eased the barriers between the two. But it was only the beginning. Eben appeared to genuinely like the boy. And Baby-Paisley, fatherless, craved all the male attention that he could get. Completely gone from the child's mind was the early distrust of this man who once wanted to shake a penny out of him. Eben Baxley was now his father's cousin and his father's best friend, a man the boy somehow saw as very like his father must have been.
"What is he doing here?" Oather's question was low and malevolent.
Both Beull and Jesse looked at him curiously.
"I guess he's come to the store," his father answered.
"I don't want him here," Oather said.
"Well we'd rather have him here than up at the Winsloe place," Buell said easily. He chuckled a little to himself and lowered his voice slightly as if passing on a confidence. “Truth is, I wouldn't be surprised if he's got his eye on our Mavis."
"What?"
"The last few days," Buell told him. "When you're up a-courting on the mountain, that one comes in and just wanders around the store. He stays for hours sometimes."
"He's spoken to her?"
"I ain't seen them pass so much as a word," Buell assured him with a shake of his head. "As well they shouldn't, him being declared to Mrs. Winsloe just as yourself. But I've seen him watching her." Phillips nodded sagely. "And from time to time, almost as if it's against her will, I've seen her looking back."
"I don't want Baxley around Mavis," Oather declared furiously. "I don't want that no-good within a half mile of her."
"Well, I don't know why not," Buell said. "It'd be the best thing in the world for him to get stuck on our girl. You'd get that Winsloe farm easy, fair and clear."
"But what about Mavis?"
Phillips waved his concern away. "That girl makes up her own mind, always has," Buell answered. "And truth is, I'd sooner see her wed to a fence post as not wed at all."
"Not to Eben Baxley." Oather spat the name out like a curse.
"That Baxley wouldn't be such a bad son-in-law," his father speculated. "I love the way he ignores old Beulah; he don't fight against her, he just don't pay her no mind. Puts that woman in her place, he does." Buell chuckled at the memory. "He's got a way with people, too, and the gift of gab. With a little practice he could easy-talk bees into buying bird nests."
Oather's face was black with fury. He looked ready to spit fire, but he did not. Whatever he might have said to his father was forestalled by the arrival of Eben, Baby-Paisley in tow.
"Morning, Buell, Oather," he said. "Morning, Jesse."
Two of the three men nodded to Baxley politely. Jesse noticed that Oather only glared at him.
"What are you doing around here?" Oather's question was contentious, hostile.
Eben shrugged, deliberately unconcerned with young Phillip's enmity. "This is a store, ain't it? I just come to buy something."
"Whatcha gonna buy?" Baby-Paisley
asked.
Eben chucked the child under the chin.
"Got to get me some shot," he answered. "I'm a-thinking to go hunting and I ain't got nary a cartridge one."
"What you hunting?" Jesse asked him.
Eben pursed his lips, appearing indifferent. "Whatever gets in my way, I guess," he answered.
"I saw a fresh rub up near the Sweetwood Meadow," Jesse told him. "Looked like a big one."
"Another deer?" Baby-Paisley asked excitedly. "Mista Eben, are you gonna get another deer for my mama?"
"Well, I suppose I could," Eben answered the little boy. "You think your mama would like that?"
"She liked it when Jesse brung her one," the boy said proudly. "She kisst him for it."
Jesse blushed. The Phillipses looked unhappy. Eben laughed out loud.
"You think she'd kiss me if I brung her one?" he asked.
Baby-Paisley nodded eagerly.
"Well, maybe I will then," Eben said. He looked up at the men on the porch with more than a hint of challenge. "Maybe I will."
"You'll have to beat Oather to it," Buell Phillips said suddenly.
Both Eben and Oather stared at the man in disbelief.
"Oather was just saying this morning that he was going hunting for some meat for Mrs. Winsloe."
Turning his attention to the younger man, Eben's gaze was skeptical. "I've never known Oather to be much on hunting," Eben pointed out.
"You don't know everything about my boy that you think you do," Buell replied snidely.
"Papa, I—" Oather sounded momentarily uncertain.
Buell interrupted him, unwilling to let his son speak. "Jesse," he said. "Maybe you could take Oather up to that meadow, see if the two of you can find that old buck."
"I wanna come," Baby-Paisley cried, jumping up and down. "I wanna come. I wanna come."
Jesse was puzzled. It was so confusing when everybody talked at once, and this conversation was especially so.
"Oather don't like to hunt, Mr. Phillips," Jesse said, somewhat surprised that the man's father didn't realize that. "He ain't never liked it. It ain't his way."
