by Peggy Webb
She stepped back, and he took that as a signal to leave.
“Tomorrow, my love.”
And he was gone.
o0o
She was ready and waiting for him by six-thirty the following evening, sitting in the den wearing a new dress she'd splurged on, a soft, rose colored silk. The chair cushions were plumped up and a plate of gingerbread sat on the coffee table. The lamps were turned down low, and she was alone—all Tess's doings. She had insisted that Aunt Bertha accompany her to the movies, although Bertha had protested that she hadn't seen a movie in twenty years and wouldn't even know how to act.
Margaret Leigh answered the doorbell on the first chime. Neither of them spoke. They stood gazing at each other as if looking were a rare privilege and they'd paid a thousand dollars an hour and didn't want to waste a single minute.
Finally, she spoke. Catching the edge of her skirt, she did a curtsey. “Do you like my new dress?”
“You bought a new dress just for me?”
“Yes.”
“I've never seen a dress so beautiful, nor a model so exquisite.”
She smiled. “Will you have some gingerbread before we go?”
“If you promise to wipe away the crumbs.”
“No promises. Not yet, at least.”
They sat across from each other in the formal manner of a Victorian couple, behaving as if they had a chaperon peering over their shoulders. Then he escorted her to his old pickup truck. It had been freshly washed for the occasion.
He drove her to a sprawling house set among pines on the west side of Tupelo. During the drive, she hadn't asked any questions, and now, parked in the driveway of the lovely home, she still didn't. Her trust in Andrew was complete.
“My brother Rick lives here. Tonight you're going to meet my family.”
“Andrew, I told you I can't make any promises.”
“My sweet, as much as I would love to make a formal announcement and introduce you as my bride-to-be, I'm not going to. This visit is for you, and only for you. This is a family gathering. Rick and Martha Ann and their children will be here, of course, and my mom and dad, Sarah and Silas. Jo Beth and Colter couldn't come because the babies are too young, but you'll see pictures of them.”
He gave her a brief outline of his family history then put her at ease with his quick smile. “All I ask is that you observe my family and see what kind of love you find.”
Sarah and Silas McGill sat on the sofa, side by side, holding hands. They were beautiful as only old people who have loved much and lived well can be. Their spirits shone forth from their wrinkled faces.
Margaret Leigh loved them immediately.
After Andrew made the introductions, Sarah patted the sofa cushion. “Sit beside me, dear. I’ll protect you from all the peanut butter and jelly that's liable to come your way during the course of the evening.” She reached out and affectionately rumpled the hair of a small, blond boy who giggled and climbed into Silas's lap.
“Grandpa, give me a big hug.”
Silas hugged the little boy then turned to his wife. “Sarah, I don't know who this young fella is, but he seems to like me. Reckon I ought to take his picture?” He nodded toward the camera at his feet.
Sara patted his hand. “That's Michael, your grandson. Remember, Silas? He's one of Rick and Martha Ann's boys.”
Silas chuckled. “And gonna be a private eye, just like his daddy, I'll vow.”
“Yes, dear. I’ll bet he will.” Sarah kept patting his hand.
Margaret Leigh found Andrew watching her. She smiled, and he winked, as if to say, what did I tell you?
Rick and Martha Ann breezed in with trays of hors d'oeuvres. Two more little boys trailed along behind them, one making race car sounds and the other riding a make-believe pony.
Martha Ann McGill was a gorgeous woman with black hair, a sassy beauty mark near her mouth, and an infectious laugh, especially when her husband was nearby. And Rick was so much like his brother, Margaret Leigh found herself doing a double take. He had Andrew's blond hair and easy laugh, but didn't have his blue eyes, nor his special brand of wicked innocence, nor his particular sparkle, as if he'd been scrubbed and left in the sun to polish.
All in all, Andrew was more man. Much, much more man. At least, that's what she thought. From the looks of things, though, Martha Ann would give her some argument. It was obvious she thought Rick McGill was the only man on earth. They touched often, his hand on her cheek, her hand on his arm. And the looks they exchanged said what no words ever could: they were still wild about each other, after five years and two sets of triplets, after dirty diapers and winter colds and upset stomachs and taking out the garbage and mopping up spilled orange juice and seeing each other at their grumpiest.
“You must meet the girls.” Martha Ann took Margaret Leigh's hand and led her into the nursery. Three white cribs held three sleeping beauties, two with Martha Ann's dark hair and one with Rick's blond. They were sleeping on their stomachs with little fists curled under their pink cherub cheeks and their ruffle-clad rumps saluting the breeze.
“Sarah, Rebecca, and Julia.”
“They're angels,” Margaret Leigh said.
“Only when they're asleep.” Martha Ann went down the row of cribs, tucking a blanket here, adjusting a sheet there, dispensing loving pats on each sweet bottom. “You should be here when they're awake.” She paused to laugh. “Or maybe you shouldn't. They're so loud, I think they're all going to be opera singers.”
On the way out of the nursery, Margaret Leigh glimpsed a picture on the chest of drawers. It was of a stunning blond woman, a dark, dignified man, and two small babies.
“Jo Beth and Colter and the new babies,” Martha Ann explained. “They'll be coming soon for a visit.” Her face clouded. “Silas and Sarah are getting old, and with his Alzheimer’s he's beyond traveling now. Jo Beth wants to make sure they see their new grand-babies.”
Margaret Leigh remembered what Andrew had said at her family gathering: My family values warmth and fun and spontaneity and happiness. It was beautiful to watch.
Dinner was a lively affair, with the McGill brothers outdoing themselves making everybody laugh. In fact, Margaret Leigh decided that laughter might be the one thing she'd remember most about her evening.
After she and Andrew had said their good-byes and were on their way home, she twisted so she could see his face in the faint dashboard lights.
“Thank you, Andrew. I loved every minute of the evening.”
“I'm glad, Margaret Leigh. I wanted you to have a good time.”
“I did.”
He didn't say, I told you so. He didn't ask if she saw love in evidence. He didn't push or prod.
He merely kept his eyes on the road and started whistling a merry tune.
And when they arrived at her house, he escorted her to the door with the lightest pressure on her elbow, not really touching but not leaving her to walk in the dark by herself either.
The porch light was on. It cast a yellow glow over them as they stood face to face, saying goodbye but not wanting to.
“Thank you for coming with me.” He wanted to say. Will you marry me?
“Thank you for asking.” She wanted to say, I love you.
“I guess I'll be going.” He wanted to take her in his arms.
“Yes. You should be going.” She wanted to ask him to stay.
“Good night, Margaret Leigh.” He started to reach for her then. With the instincts of a natural-born toucher, he curved his hand to cup her cheek. His hand hovered in the air as he gazed down at her. “I do love you, pretty one. And it's the enduring kind. Know that. Always remember it.”
She took his hand then and pressed it lightly against her cheek. “I will. I promise.”
They stood that way for a while longer, his hand on her cheek, her hand over his, filled with longings and paralyzed by regrets.
“For all the ways I've hurt you, I'm sorry,” he said.
“I am too. For all t
he hard times I've given you. I was very foolish and naive.”
“You were neither. I was overbearing and arrogant.”
“You were not. You were generous and protective.”
They both laughed.
“If we keep on this way,” he said, “well have to pin medals on each other.” He grinned and waggled his eyebrows at her. “I can think of a few good places I'd like to pin yours.”
She blushed.
“Good night... again. Sweet dreams, pretty one.” He started to leave then turned back. “Remember... when you want me, when you need to be touched, all you have to do is say the word. I'm here for you when you're ready.”
He went down the walk, whistling. She could still hear the faint melody as he climbed into his truck. Then the door slammed, and the engine roared to life, and both Andrew and his music drove out of her life.
o0o
Andrew's phone was ringing when he got home. It was Rick.
“I like her, Andrew.”
“Good. I love her.”
Rick laughed. “I guess you're camping on her doorstep, playing that guitar and courting like mad.”
“No.”
“No?”
“She's the quiet kind who can't be rushed. I'm waiting for her to give me a signal.”
“You're waiting? That's not like you. How do you know you won't be waiting forever?”
“Because I know, that's all.”
“Let me know if you need any advice. I swept Martha Ann off her feet.”
Andrew heard his sister-in-law in the background. “Only because I wanted to be swept, darling.” Then he heard kissing sounds. Quietly he hung up. In a few more minutes they would have forgotten that they'd called.
Andrew got his guitar and went to his front porch. It was a balmy night, one of those summer evenings disguised as October. He sat in his rocking chair and struck a chord. Then another. And another. Before long he was playing “All I Ask of You” from The Phantom of the Opera.
Margaret Leigh would come to him. Soon. He knew, for he'd roused her sleeping sexuality, he'd stoked the fires, he'd been warmed by them. As he played, the haunting words of the song whispered through his mind.
“Say you love me, Margaret Leigh.”
His only answer was a whippoorwill calling from deep in the woods.
o0o
Margaret Leigh found Tess waiting up for her.
“How did it go, Margaret Leigh?”
“I had a lovely evening.” Margaret Leigh kicked off her heels and sank onto the sofa beside her sister. “I've fallen madly in love with him, and I don't quite know what to do about it.”
“I can give you tons of advice... some of it's even good.” Tess laughed. “Heaven knows, I've had enough experience. What do you want to know first?”
“Well...” Margaret Leigh paused, thinking of the many times she'd berated him for living in the woods with nothing but birddogs and wishing she knew a way to prove to him that she'd been wrong. Then she thought of all the times he'd reached out for her and she'd wanted to be in his arms. But the promise had stood between them, and she hadn't known how to take it all back.
She looked at her sister, bright and beautiful and self-confident. “I thank you for the offer, Tess, but this is something I have to figure out for myself. If I'm to have a life with Andrew McGill, I have to learn how to deal with... everything by myself. You won't always be around to tell me what to do when I make a mess of things.”
Tess stood up and stretched. “I have a feeling that you'll know exactly what to do when the time comes. 'Night, Maggy.”
o0o
It took Margaret Leigh three days to figure out what to do. Fortunately she had a wealth of information at her fingertips—at the library. What did a man do with bird dogs, anyhow? She found the answer at the library. What were the National Field Trial Championships? There were books on the subject at the library.
She laid her plans and then set about implementing them. And in those three days, she didn't hear a word from Andrew. The old Margaret Leigh would have panicked. She'd have thought that a man like him couldn't possibly be in love with a woman like her, that he'd said so in a moment of impulse and had changed his mind. But the new Margaret Leigh thought of all the ways he'd shown his love, and she loved him even more for giving her the time and space she needed.
When she had everything ready, she went to Tess.
“I do need to know one thing, Tess.”
“Tell me what you need.”
Margaret Leigh told her. After Tess had finished laughing she showed her.
o0o
Andrew McGill was sleeping the peaceful sleep of a man with a clear conscience. He stirred in his sleep, dreaming that a mosquito was tickling his wrist. He burrowed his head closer to his soft pillow and dreamed he was in a fragrant meadow. He could smell the flowers.
“Andrew.”
Now he was dreaming that he heard an angel's voice.
“Andrew.”
And the voice sounded exactly like Margaret Leigh's. He sat bolt upright, lifting his hands to rub the sleep from his eyes. There was something attached to his right hand. He blinked, adjusting his eyes to the darkness, and looked at his hand. A golden cord was tied around his wrist, and that cord was attached to another hand, a small, soft, sweet-smelling hand. A smile began to form at the corners of his mouth. Attached to the sweet-smelling hand was a woman, a woman wearing a white silk gown and a smile.
“Margaret Leigh.”
“That's my name.” She smiled.
“How the devil did you get in?”
“Is that any way to greet a woman in love?”
She leaned forward and kissed him. It was a long time before he wanted to say anything else. He pulled her close, his mouth sealed with hers, her breasts molded against his chest, his free arm wrapped around her waist.
When he finally came up for air, he asked again, “How in the world did you get in?”
“I picked the lock.”
“You picked the lock. Good grief, where did you learn a thing like that?”
“I'll never tell.”
He laughed. “People go to jail for less.”
“Take me prisoner. I'm yours.” She nibbled the side of his neck and rubbed her hand down his thigh.
“There's one little thing standing in my way.” He held up their joined hands. “Can we take off the cord that joins us?”
“For now. But the separation will be only temporary. I want to be joined to you forever.”
Andrew went very still. He had finally heard the words he'd been waiting for, and he didn't trust himself to speak. All the love he felt for Margaret Leigh welled up inside him, and he got a lump in his throat.
“Do you mean that?” he whispered.
“Now and forever. I love you, Andrew McGill, and if you still want me—”
“If I want you!” He cupped her face and gazed at her as if she were the only woman he'd ever seen. “Margaret Leigh, I want you more than sunshine on Saturday mornings and bird dogs that know how to hold a point. I want you more than old blue jeans washed so many times, they've gone soft and comfortable.” He paused, trying to think of all the things he loved most in the world. “I want you more than music played softly on the front porch on a balmy summer evening. I want you more than laughter and buttered popcorn in front of a warm winter fire.” His eyes glistened. “I want you now and forever.”
For a moment, her own eyes were bright with unshed tears of happiness; then a smile broke through, and finally a soft laugh. “Andrew, does that mean we're going to get married?”
“It does.” He chuckled and gave her a formal bow, as formal as a naked man could make. “I couldn't have proposed more nicely myself. I accept, Margaret Leigh.”
Grinning, she propped her elbow on her knee and her hand on her chin and pretended to be deep in thought.
“That's not good enough. Show me, Andrew.”
His gaze burned over her as he loosened the silken cord th
at bound their wrists.
“This could take all night.” He tossed the cord to the foot of the bed, and then he began to savor his bride-to-be.
He placed her back against the pillows and traced her with his hands. They skimmed over her shoulders, brushing aside her tiny straps.
“I love you in white.” He hair gleamed gold as he bent over her. “I plan to love you in all the colors of the rainbow.” His lips sent shivers through her.
“The sun has never touched you here—” he paused to savor the spot, then continued, “and here... and here... but I have... and I will.”
The gown rustled as he slipped it over her feet and tossed it aside. It formed a pool of white beside the gold silk cord.
Poised above her, taking his weight on his elbows, he studied the face of the woman he loved. “This time, you came to my bed willingly.”
“Yes.” Her fingertips traced his face. “Oh, yes, Andrew. I'm willing.”
“When two people come together out of love, the experience is too beautiful to be described, Maggy.”
“Then show me.”
And he did. He filled her with music and beauty and enchantment and the mystery of a magic too wonderful to comprehend.
Theirs was a sweet and tender joining, an exchange of private vows with only a white silk gown and a gold silken cord as witnesses. And when it was over, he cradled her in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder and his leg draped over her hips.
He kissed her forehead. “Thank you for coming to me.”
“Nothing less would have done. I had to show you that I accept you on your terms, Andrew. I love you and want you just as you are.”
They lay still a while, enjoying the closeness of two people who have loved long and loved well. There was a small noise, and Andrew lifted himself on one elbow to look at Margaret Leigh. “Did you say something?”
“No.” She smiled and rubbed his cheek. “You must be hearing things.”
The noise came again, a low pitched whine. He cocked his head, listening. “If I didn't know better, I'd think I was hearing a puppy.”
