Lily of the Springs

by Carole Bellacera

  “Jake! Help!” I screamed, suddenly absolutely sure it wasn’t Jake out there, but a mad-dog killer, eager to slice me into little pieces and feed me to his German Shepherd. I lunged across the car to roll up Jake’s window and lock his door. Over the sound of my panicked breathing, I thought I heard a wild laugh somewhere in the underbrush. I gave another shriek.

  With the windows up, it was stuffy in the car, and the heat combined with fear made my palms clammy and my armpits ooze sweat. My heart pounded hard against the cotton bodice of my dress; I could feel the fabric growing wet under my arms, and despite my fear, one tiny, vain section of my brain wondered if my brand new dress would be ruined by sweat stains. Better sweat stains than bloodstains, though. Still, the possibility of the most beautiful dress I’d ever owned being ruined added a big dose of anger to my fear, and that had the effect of reining in my troublesome imagination.

  A dollar to a doughnut that was Jake out there, just messing with me. He was so darn backward; that was probably the only way he knew how to court a girl. The thought brought me up short. Jake courting me? Where had that come from? Nevermind. That had to be Jake out there, and if he thought scaring the daylights out of me was going to make me sweet on him, he was a doggone jackass.

  “I mean it, Jake!” I hollered. “This ain’t funny! Now you come on out and show yourself, you hear me?” I glared out the window into the dark woods.

  Suddenly something thumped against Jake’s window, and I jumped, whirling around. The breath left my body and shock iced through me at the sight of a painted face wearing a feathered headdress leering at me through the glass. I screamed at the top of my lungs. The face disappeared.

  Heart slamming, I flattened a palm against the car’s horn. It blared through the night in an eerie yodel accompanied by my screams. The figure outside the car appeared again, but this time, instead of grinning at me, the creature jumped up and down, waving his arms. I drew in a sharp breath. It looked like he had…oh, Jesus!...a hatchet in one hand.

  “Get away, you lunatic!” I shouted, still pressing my hand against the horn. “Somebody help me! There’s a madman after me!”

  “Lily Rae, stop your caterwauling! It’s me!”

  My mouth clamped shut. I stared at the lunatic who’d stopped dancing around, and was now peering in through the window at me, the Indian headdress in his hand.

  “It’s me--Jake. I was just funning with you.” Seeing that he finally had my attention, he flashed his familiar grin. Familiar, even with the war paint on his face. “Come on, Lily Rae, don’t be mad.”

  My eyes narrowed. My heart was still racing even as relief coursed through my body, immediately followed by red-hot fury. I turned to my door, unlocked it, and threw it open. A second later, I was on my feet and flying around the back of the Plymouth. Jake stood beside his door, grinning his stupid ain’t-I-just-the-cutest-thing-you-ever-saw grin. My eyes raked over him. Lord above, he was dressed in nothing but an Injun loincloth, and I’d swear that was a real tomahawk in his hand. But that wasn’t as appalling as the fact that he was half-naked.

  “Simmer down now, Lily Rae,” he said, chuckling as he backed up. “Can’t you take a little joke?”

  That made me even madder. I stopped a few inches away from him, glaring into his mischief-filled eyes. Tightening my right hand into a fist, I punched him, just the way Landry had taught me, smack-dab into his stomach.

  “Ow!” The tomahawk thumped to the ground as Jake clutched at his mid-section. Eyes flaring, he stared at me in amazement. “God damn it, Lily Rae, that hurt!”

  Breathing heavily, I locked gazes with him. “Good,” I snapped. “I meant it to hurt.” And I started to punch him again.

  This time he was ready for me. Laughing, he grabbed my flailing fists, one in each hand. His blue eyes danced with amused excitement. “Don’t get frosted, Lily Rae. I was just playing a little joke on you. Just like the old days.”

  His grin infuriated me even more. I struggled to wrench my hands from his grip. “That was just downright mean, Jake Tatlow! You scared the dickens out of me!”

  His hands tightened on mine. “Aw, come on, Lily, I don’t believe that for a minute. You knew it was me all along. Don’t you remember them summers? I’d tell you ghost stories, and jump out and scare you as you was walking home.”

  I narrowed my eyes in a deliberate glare. He was still trying to use his charm on me. It wasn’t going to work. “Yeah, I remember, alright. I was eight and you were nine. Your body may have grown up, Jake Tatlow, but your dadblamed brain is still nine! Now, I want you to take me home right this minute!”

  Again, I tried to wrench my hand free, and was surprised—and a little disappointed—when he released me. I turned to head back to the car, but before I could take a step, Jake grabbed me again and pulled me against his nearly-bare body. Our gazes locked, and suddenly my heart was beating harder than before. He bent his head and kissed me.

  My first instinct was to struggle, and I did—for about two seconds. Until I became aware of the heat of his mouth, the silky, hot touch of his tongue darting between my lips, the damp, warm press of his palm against my back where my dress scooped low. Even when his mouth broke away to skim down the side of my neck, and then up my jaw to my earlobe, I could no more utter a syllable of protest than I could stop my heart from beating.

  “Oh, Lord, Lily Rae,” he whispered into my ear, his lips nibbling at my lobe. “Is this grown up enough for you?”

  I couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, knew it would be impossible to string three words together. Delicious goose bumps prickled my arms, my neck, my back. My legs felt heavy, as if I were wearing Daddy’s steel-toed work boots through a mud-slogged field. The blood pulsed through my veins like warm molasses. I felt a yearning to have Jake’s mouth on mine again.

  He must’ve read my mind, or maybe it was my body he was reading. I pressed against him, releasing a soft, shuddering moan. His head turned, and again, his mouth found mine, but this time, the kiss was softer, slower, almost teasing. The heat in my lower belly blossomed and arrowed directly to the part of me that was so shameful and dirty—the part that Chad had unsuccessfully tried to stroke just last night.

  I was burning down there, wanting…needing to be touched. I’d never felt like this with Chad. Never, ever.

  Then I felt it. A hot, hard nudge against my lower belly. His thing! The sword of sin, Mother had called it back when my first monthly curse had arrived, and we’d had “the talk” about boys and how they wanted only one thing from a girl, and how it was the girl’s job to make sure he didn’t take any liberties, and if she did allow him to take liberties, she was nothing but low-down trash like Pat-Peaches.

  That’s how I was acting right now, I realized. Like Pat-Peaches! I tried to pull my mouth away from Jake’s, but he deepened the kiss, sliding both hands down my back, molding me against him so the brick-like object under his flimsy loin cloth felt like it was burning right through my dress. Alarmed and excited at the same time, I moaned what I intended to be a protest, but even to my own ears, it sounded like a cat in heat. He reacted by sliding his hands down until they cradled my bottom, nestling me even closer against him. I gasped sharply into his teasing mouth. He broke the kiss and gazed down at me, blue eyes luminous in the light of the crescent moon.

  “Do you remember how we used to kiss down by the creek?” He whispered. Before I could respond, he drew my bottom lip into his mouth and nibbled gently.

  My head spun. Over his right shoulder, I saw the big dipper glimmering in the sky like diamonds on black velvet. My heart raced, the fine hairs on my arms tingled, and my knees trembled. I’d never felt more alive in my life.

  His teeth released their gentle hold on my bottom lip, and he rocked against me slowly, his gaze holding mine. The subtle pressure of his forbidden maleness sent hot arrows of flame shooting up into my womb. I knew I should push him away and demand he drive me home or, better yet, run as fast as my legs could carry me. But I just coul
dn’t do it.

  “You were the first girl I ever kissed,” he said, a husky note in his voice. “And you said I was your first, too.” One hand moved leisurely from my bottom to my thigh, and with a sense of fascination mixed with something close to horror, I realized he’d taken hold of the skirt of my dress and was gathering the fabric up in his hand.

  Another long, sweet kiss. His mouth tasted of Winston cigarettes and peppermint candy. I could feel his heart thumping against mine. His chest was warm and muscular, and that earlier glimpse of him half-naked had revealed a soft-looking carpet of light brown hair veeing down past his belly button. He smelled of gasoline, motor oil, Brylcreem, and something else that was pure male. His fingers skimmed the bare skin above my stockings, and a jolt of electricity jagged through me. I cried out in surprise. His mouth slid along my cheekbone, and slowly, he thrust against me, one hand molded to my left butt cheek, the other stroking my thigh. His thing is growing, I thought dizzily. You’d better stop things right now, girl, or it’s going to get out of control. That was the voice of the good Lily Rae talking in my brain. The one who went to church every Sunday morning, the one who earnestly cared about fire and brimstone and everlasting hell for bad girls who let boys touch their secret female places. But as Jake pressed his strong body against mine, nibbled at my lips and stroked his fingers closer and closer to that forbidden place between my legs, the bad Lily Rae moaned in delight inside my brain, inside every tissue of my body.

  Oh, my good Lord, this must be what Heaven feels like, the bad Lily Rae thought. His fingers touching me. His mouth…and oh, my word…his sword of sin pressing against me…no one ever said how good this would feel. Was that why it was bad? Because it felt so good?

  And I wanted more, Lord in Heaven, I wanted more, and I couldn’t help but press myself against his strong, masculine body, kissing him back as eagerly as he kissed me.

  “Remember how we played house?” He whispered, nuzzling a path down my neck to the hollow of my throat. “You told me once you wanted to marry me for real.”

  His mouth returned to mine for another deep, wet kiss. I moaned, feeling as if I wanted to crawl right into his body and stay there forever. His questing fingers moved to my inner thigh, stroking the soft hollow, damp now with sweat and secretions that were not new to me, that had flowed whenever Chad kissed me, but not like this. It had never been like this.

  His moist breath fanned my face. “Let me touch you,” he said raggedly. “Let me dip into your honey-pot, sweetheart.”

  With a soft moan, I thrust my pelvis against his hand and parted my legs to give him easier access, and that’s when I knew for sure that the bad Lily Rae had taken over, and now, also for sure, I’d go straight to hell. But even that made no difference. Because Jake’s fingers had slid under the elastic of my panties, burrowing gently into my aching flesh, where no boy had ever touched me before. I gasped, digging my nails into his muscular arms, and closed my eyes, giving myself up to the pleasurable sensations rivering through me.

  Jake kept up a steady rhythm, stroking gently. His breath caressed my face, warm and staggered. I kept my eyes closed, my mouth ajar, as soft, kittenish cries issued from my throat. I felt like a flower opening up to him, a fragrant rose, warm from the sun, wet from the rain, unfurling secret petals.

  The pleasure became so unbearable that I thought I was surely dying. My mewling cries turned into impassioned moans, and from somewhere far away, I heard a ragged, feminine voice crying out, “Yes, yes, oh, yes. Please don’t…oh, please…oh, oh…Jake!”

  His fingers moved faster, harder, mining my depths with a sure, steady purpose, bringing me higher, closer to a mountain I knew I had to reach, or I would die. He pressed his half-open mouth against my cheek, his gasping breath in rhythm with every sweet plunge of his fingers.

  “Yes,” he murmured against my skin. “Come for me, baby. Just let yourself go. I want to make you feel good, Lily. Don’t it feel good?”

  I drew in a sharp breath and stiffened, teetering on the edge of a different kind of cliff than the one I’d stood on at the beginning of this night. Jake’s hand stilled, and for a heartbeat of a moment, the world stopped turning. Not a breath of air stirred between us as I stared into his glazed eyes, indigo in the light of the moon.

  Finally, his fingers moved again, and the night exploded into a dazzling firework of stars. White-hot flames shot through my core, radiating out from my belly to sizzle along nerve endings from my toes to my fingertips. Clutching him, I gave a sharp cry and shuddered against his hand, still moving, still caressing, still sending ripple upon ripple of glorious pleasure through me. And even when my last gasp had trailed away into silence, and I sagged against him like a limp dishrag, he cupped my female essence, as if reluctant to move away.

  He spoke first, his lips soft against my cheek, “Tell me you didn’t let Nickerson do this for you,” he said huskily. “Tell me you saved this for me.”

  To my bewilderment, tears burned behind my eyelids as I realized the truth, a truth I’d never admitted to myself. He was right. I had saved this for him. That’s why it had never felt quite right with Chad. It wasn’t because I was a good girl, trying to follow the strict rules of my God-fearing parents. It was because Chad had never been the right boy.

  A memory came to me then. Of a sun-striped summer afternoon, sitting on an old deadfall, drying off after a splash in the swimming hole. A suntanned boy with sapphire eyes and wheat-colored hair, a little girl with curly, dark hair and wide brown eyes, a first kiss in the dappled sunlight, and words spoken by childish voices.

  “When we git big, Jake Tatlow, will you and me git married for real?”

  “I reckon so, Lily Rae. Ain’t no other gal here in the holler, ‘ceptin fer Alma May Mackelroy, and she’s as fat as my pa’s old sow. I reckon I ain’t partial to her a-tall.”

  With this romantic declaration, Jake had fashioned a ring out of a twig from a blackberry bramble and placed it on my hand.

  I still had it, wrapped in a bit of cloth and tucked in the cedar jewelry box Uncle Virgil had brought me from England when he’d returned from the war. For years, I’d kept it there along with mementos from high school—a dried, flattened corsage from my first formal, the first Valentine’s card Chad had given me, and a picture of Marlon Brando in “A Streetcar Named Desire,” cut out of Daisy’s mother’s Look Magazine.

  “No,” I whispered, my face hot against his warm, bare chest. “I never let Chad do that.”

  He released a deep sigh and withdrew his hand from my panties. “Good.” Still tingling from his touch, I bit my bottom lip to keep from protesting.

  He kissed me gently. “Let’s get in the car,” he said. “You feel how hard I am for you? Let me love you, Lily Rae.” He took my hand and placed it firmly against his massive hard-on.

  That’s what boys called it, I remembered. Once, after a heavy make-out session in Chad’s car, he’d complained about having a hard-on and I had had no idea what he was talking about.

  Curious, I traced my fingers up and down Jake’s rigid member. He drew in a sharp breath and closed his eyes. A thrill of power went through me at his reaction. With a sense of wonder, I grew bolder, molding my hand to his flesh, exploring.

  Jake uttered a muffled oath and grabbed my hand. “Stop,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Let’s get in the car.”

  I stared at him, my heart racing. Touching him so intimately had rekindled sweet fire between my legs, and now I knew Jake’s touch would put it out.

  Bad girl. That’s what I was. The bad Lily Rae had completely taken over. But I’d crossed that line from good to evil ten minutes ago. There was nothing I could do now but follow this path wherever it led, even if it was the road to Hell and eternal damnation.

  Great Aunt Ona’s Old Fashioned Chocolate Cake

  1 ¾ cup sifted flour (cake flour)

  ½ cup cocoa

  2 ¼ teaspoons baking powder

  1 teaspoon salt

  ½ cup shorte
ning

  1 cup plus 2 Tablespoons sugar

  2 eggs unbeaten

  ¾ cup milk

  1 teaspoon vanilla

  Sift flour, cocoa, baking powder and salt together. Cream shortening thoroughly, add sugar gradually and cream together until light & fluffy. Add eggs one at a time, beating well after each, then add flour alternately with milk, beating after each addition until smooth. Stir in vanilla. Pour batter into 8” pans. Bake in moderate oven at 375 degrees 25-30 minutes.

  Chocolate Buttermilk Icing

  1 cup sugar

  1/3 cup cocoa

  ¼ cup butter or margarine

  ½ teaspoon soda

  2 cups buttermilk

  3 teaspoons corn syrup

  1 teaspoon vanilla

  While cake is baking, bring icing to low simmer. When cake is done, poke holes in it with fork; pour icing over hot cake.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Jake’s Plymouth sped down the dark road toward Adair County. From the radio, Eddie Fisher sang “I’m Yours.” If Jake had noticed I’d earlier changed the station, he hadn’t said anything, nor had he changed it back to his hillbilly music.

  Still lost in a pleasant daze, I stared out the window at the dark fields on my right, but fully aware of Jake’s hand caressing my left kneecap when it wasn’t shifting gears. His touch sent pleasurable shivers rippling through me. We’d barely talked at all since we’d left the weed-choked lane on the moonshiner’s property. When I’d asked why he’d dressed up like an Indian just to scare me, he’d admitted that his bootlegger friend had been the one to come up with the idea. I supposed if I had a lick of sense, I’d still be mad about it, because even now, it seemed downright cruel. But how could I be mad at him after what had happened in the backseat of his Plymouth?