For Her Honor: The Gentrys of Paradise

by Holly Bush

  She turned her head to face him. “When did you get so wise?” he asked. “But I think you’re right. I think we’re going to have to be honest with each other. And I’m being honest when I tell you that I don’t think of Josephine all that often. In fact, I don’t think about her much at all and sometimes I feel guilty because of it, which is ridiculous! Josephine is no longer here to set an expectation so there isn’t cause for guilt. Sometimes, though, an odd word or a picture or just the way the sun is shining on window glass sets me to think of a moment with her. I loved her when she was here on this earth and I think fondly of her in memory. I think of Aunt Bridget, too, having lost her not long before Josephine. She lived with us from the time she sold her shop in town until her death and I spent plenty of afternoons helping her there when I was a young boy. She was irreverent and smart, and I loved her like a second mother but didn’t realize it until she was gone.”

  “Grief has some lasting effects on us, I think,” she said. “Jim felt responsible for us all when Daddy died, and the loss made me a little desperate. Jane won’t argue with anyone and she told Betsy it’s because she’s terrified they will be dead in the next moment.”

  He stared at her then, letting his eyes wander over her face, making her feel as if he was memorizing the look of her. “I’ll admit I’m a bit terrified, too, and maybe it has something to do with grief. I’m dreading the time you’ll be gone to Philadelphia. I’m not sure how it happened, it seemed to come on gradually, but I don’t quite remember the time before you were in my life.”

  She smiled ruefully and thought the same thing. What was life like before Adam Gentry? “So, not like a lightning strike.”

  He shook his head slowly and moved closer to her, staring at her lips, just inches from his own. “No,” he whispered. “More like the surge of the ocean coming in slowly and then crashing into the shore, again and again, for eternity.”

  Ah, how sweet words could be, she thought, listening to the quickened patter of her heart and the soft breaths he took. “You should write books, Adam,” she whispered. “You’ll make the heroine fall in love with you.”

  “One author between us is enough, don’t you think?” He grinned crookedly and kissed her.

  “Jenny is probably watching us out the kitchen window,” she said when they broke apart. “And I should finish the chapter I’m writing.”

  “I should check on the foals.”

  They both stood, and he clasped her hand as they walked toward the door of the house. She reached up and kissed his cheek. “I’ll see you for dinner.”

  * * *

  ADAM DIDN’T COME in from the stables until late afternoon. It was a blazing hot day even for mid-July. He wondered what had come over him to speak to Emmaline as he had earlier. What was it about her that made him confess rather than listen to others’ confessions? He stopped at the water pump at the back of the house and stuck his face under it and rinsed his hands, shaking his head like a dog. He found his wife in the kitchens, her nose buried in a wicker basket, wearing one of her old skirts and a stained blouse.

  “It is blasted hot out there,” he said. “I’ve told everyone to take the day tomorrow and do as little as possible. The foals are down, and we could do with some relaxation.”

  She looked up at him and smiled. “Exactly what I thought! I’ve told Jenny, Mabel, and Beatrice to take the evening off. They’ve gone into Winchester in the wagon. They packed us a basket before they left. Let’s go to the creek near Matthew’s house where he’s dammed it and swim.”

  Her eyes were shining, and she was smiling her gap-toothed smile. Her hair was mostly up but pieces were hanging down and clinging to her neck. He could see her fingers on her right hand were stained with ink, and maybe a spot or two on her cheek. She was lovely. How could he have ever wondered if he would be able to want her or complete the sex act with her without thinking of another woman. He wanted her all the time, and especially like this, excited and carefree.

  “Swimming, Emmaline? Is that dignified enough for two old folks like us?”

  She snorted. “Old? Speak for yourself and carry the basket. It weighs a ton.”

  He followed her out the back door, carrying the basket as he’d been told, and laughing. He was feeling lighthearted, which he hadn’t been in a long while, and it felt good to take some time to drop the worries and concerns of business and family. She followed a trail through the woods, eventually meeting the path behind Matthew and Annie’s house. He dropped the basket in the shade of the massive tree beside the creek and sat down to pull off his boots.

  Emmaline unbuttoned her blouse and skirt and let them fall to the ground. She wasn’t wearing a corset or petticoats or a bustle, just a chemise and her drawers.

  “Annie told me that Matt is out of town overnight at the lumber mill,” she said.

  “He told me he was going to finalize the purchase papers. He should be back tomorrow.”

  “That’s what Annie said.”

  “You stopped to see Annie?”

  “Yes. She’ll be staying in with the children tonight.” She pulled her chemise over her head and untied her drawers, letting them fall to the ground. “There’s soap and towels in the basket.”

  Emmaline turned and walked into the water, moaning at the coolness of it as she did. She had full breasts, a small waist, and rounded hips, and he was paralyzed watching her as her body sank below the water line, until she dove under, her white bottom popping up for a moment.

  He stood slowly and walked to the edge of the creek in his stockinged feet, watching her swim in the dammed water. He did not feel as if he could move a muscle, that he might shatter into a thousand tiny pieces if he tried to. It was if he’d had landed in the midst of the most realistic erotic dream possible. But she wasn’t a dream. She stopped swimming and looked back at him, crouched down in the water up to her shoulders.

  “Would you bring me the soap? I want to wash my hair.”

  Adam squeaked out an embarrassing high-pitched yes. Perhaps the sound of his voice, as if he were thirteen years old and peeping through a window at a naked woman, was finally the thing that made him move. He pulled his shirt and undershirt over his head, yanked at his belt and pants buttons, and peeled off everything, including his drawers. He stood on one foot to pull off his sock, and then the other, all the while not taking his eyes from her.

  “It seems to think I was staring at it,” she said as she glanced at his midsection and smiled. “Don’t forget the soap.”

  He turned to the picnic basket and dug through until he found the soap, feeling a bit ridiculous having an erection, completely naked, bent over a basket, not one hundred feet from his brother’s house, even if brush and low trees blocked its sight. Emmaline had turned away from him, moving slowly with the current and humming, he could hear. He ran at the water, jumping at the last minute, feeling as foolish and childish as he did free and happy.

  The water washed over her head when he hit. She quickly threw her wet hair back and slammed her hands down in front of him, splashing him in the face. He chased her across the creek as she shrieked and ran as fast as the water would allow. They were both laughing when he caught her.

  “Here! Here’s your soap!” he said as he pushed her under the water. She swam behind him and buckled his knees.

  “Don’t drop it!” she shouted and laughed after coming out of the water.

  He wrapped his arms around her from behind, bringing her wet slick back against his bare chest and holding her there, her breasts resting on his forearm. They were both breathing hard as their laughter faded, moving against each other in rhythm. My God, he thought to himself, I’m falling in love with her. But that was impossible. He moved the wet ribbon of hair from the back of her neck and kissed her there. She turned in his arms, putting her hands on his shoulders, and looked up.

  “This was a good idea on such a hot day, was it not?” she whispered.

  He followed a drop of water with his finger from where it d
ropped off of her chin to land on her breastbone. He watched it snake slowly between her breasts and then returned his gaze to her face, just inches from his. “Yes,” he whispered back, dropping to his knees and bringing her to his side to laze about in the cool, moving water. “This was a perfect idea.”

  They floated together, and he closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of her, the weight of her body, alive and warm against his, feeling the sun flicker through the overhanging branches, still hot even as it began to set over the woods.

  “Tell me about the story you’re writing,” he asked.

  “Hmm. It’s about a young woman who rescues a horse from being mistreated. She has to hide herself and the horse and stay ahead of the animal’s owner. I suppose I’d call it an action adventure.”

  “Something like our marriage?” He grinned. “Without the horse, of course.”

  “Our marriage was more like a tragedy. With my miscarriage and your grief.”

  Her voice was somber, and he felt it, too. And it was a tragedy. “We were both numb, I think. I was drunk for months on end, and you were . . .”

  “Terrified. Embarrassed. Sick. Humiliated. Even now, the memory of telling my mother, the look on her face, it turns my stomach and makes my hands shake.”

  “It seems like a long, long time ago in some ways,” he said and turned his face to kiss her hair.

  “I know. It seems forever ago. I still grieve for the baby I lost but it no longer colors my view of the future. For a while, it felt as though everything in my life would be wrong, would go wrong, and I would be alone in my struggles until someone buried me and that I would never reach the goals I’d set for myself. It doesn’t feel like that any longer.”

  She’d described his deepest thoughts as well, that he would never feel a profound commitment or connection to another person, other than his family, and even then, he knew that the love he felt for his mother and siblings, and even their spouses, was not the same as the relationship he’d had with Josephine. But there was some burgeoning intimacy between him and his bride that was mostly due to very pleasing sexual relations. But not completely. There was some satisfaction knowing that she’d thought about leaving him, but hadn’t. He’d thought about living his life out with her with distant courtesy and duty, but that wasn’t the current reality, either.

  “I’m shriveling up,” she said as she turned out of his arms. She dipped her head back in the water and rubbed the soap she still held on her head. He took the sliver from her and washed his body and hair and they trudged out of the creek together.

  He pulled on his short drawers after toweling off and sat down on the blanket she’d spread out. She put on her underclothes and sat down beside him to rub her hair dry with a towel and comb it. He lay back on the blanket, completely relaxed, restful, and calm. He wasn’t worrying about anything more than what was packed to eat in the basket he’d carried. She turned to him, leaning back on her arms, her lips parted as she stared at his mouth. She leaned over him, her hair a curtain around their faces, and kissed him. There was no urgency, just a slow exploration with tongues and teeth and lips. He didn’t want it to end, the privacy, the sense of isolation from daily living, the comfort of outdoor sounds and a light breeze. He reached his hand through her damp hair and held her closer.

  EMMALINE SPENT a little more time than usual on her hair, which was never much, and wore a new pale green dress that had just arrived from Mrs. Finch’s in Washington. Adam dressed in a dark suit with a tan shirt and a red tie and looked as handsome as it was possible for a man to look, she thought. They rode together in the gig for the short distance to the church in town, making her think of the last time she’d been there—her wedding day. Her mother had scolded her for not attending Sunday mornings now that she was feeling better and maybe she would again.

  They sat in the second row beside Nettie and John, the children, and Olivia and behind her mother and Phillip. Jim was at the altar giving Betsy’s hand to a smiling and red-faced Edwin. Jane stood beside Betsy as a bridesmaid, and Edwin’s brother was beside him as best man.

  Growing up, church had been every bit as social as a dance on Saturday night, and she was sometimes the subject of that gossip and some looks as well. She didn’t think she could take any sly looks about her wedding and speculation about the loss of her child if she stood at the altar beside her sister. She’d had a long talk with Betsy and told her that she just wasn’t ready to stand up in front of all the church folk and that she was sorry that her foolishness had led to that decision. Betsy had hugged her and kissed her and told her that she mustn’t worry a bit about it. She apologized to Emmaline for staying away from her and for being angry and Emmaline has assured her she was forgiven, if there was anything at all to forgive. They’d had a long and rather vivid discussion of what Betsy might expect on her wedding night. She and Edwin were traveling to Middletown to stay over a few days at the hotel there for their honeymoon.

  She tilted her head toward Adam and whispered, “I spoke to Betsy about her wedding night.”

  “Good God. I’m not sure if I want to know what you said.”

  “She does look beautiful, doesn’t she?”

  Adam nodded. “She looks lovely. Her groom looks as though he’s being strangled.”

  “I think he adores Betsy.”

  “It looks like it.”

  She pulled herself close to his ear and whispered, “He’ll adore her more by tomorrow morning.”

  He looked at her, his eyes darkened, as he started to grin. “Mrs. Gentry. You wicked girl. You will have to tell me in detail what you told your sister.”

  Nettie’s daughter Rachel leaned over to them. “You mustn’t talk in church. Daddy will be mad.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Emmaline looked out the train window as it slowed coming into the Thirty-Second Street Station in Philadelphia. Adam was beside her, having insisted that he accompany her and get her settled at Clair House. He wanted a “lay of the land” he’d said when she’d told him he needn’t come with her. It would have been a burden worrying about her luggage and trunk and getting to Clair House but she was certain she could have managed; she’d wanted to manage on her own for the first time. But he wouldn’t hear of it. And they’d argued.

  She was still a bit angry, truth be known, but she thought she understood why he was so adamant. He was concerned, which was not a strong enough word, for her safety, imagining all sorts of troubles that could befall a young woman on her own. His distress was endearing in some ways and aggravating in others.

  “Here we are,” he said as the train slowed to a stop.

  She stood in front of him, waiting to disembark, excited and nervous beyond anything she’d ever dreamed. She was dancing from foot to foot, licking her lips, and wringing her hands at her waist. She was here. She was finally here!

  Adam went ahead of her down the steps onto the platform, to turn back and reach for her hand. She looked out at the station, at the mass of people going this way and that, wondering where they would find her luggage. She took his hand and stepped down, glad then she had his hand to hold as she could no longer see over the hats on the women and past the tall men, to see where she should go next.

  “We’re going to head for the doors straight ahead!” he shouted over the roar of the crowd as he pointed. She nodded and followed close behind, keeping her little drawstring bag tight against her waist. The crowd thinned as they moved away from the train, now loading passengers. Adam held her hand as he maneuvered around their fellow travelers to a ticket agent.

  He found where they were to get her trunks and bags and went about securing them a carriage to take them to Clair House. He’d made reservations for himself at a small hotel near the school. Soon they were on their way in the open-top conveyance and she was glad the breeze was cooling her heated cheeks. Adam found her hand and held it tightly.

  They arrived within a few minutes at a large brick home on a busy tree-lined street, between other large homes. Th
ey’d just passed Adam’s hotel, a few blocks before arriving, near other shops, a printer’s, and a bank with iron grates over the windows. The door of Clair House was opened by an older Negro woman wearing a black skirt and a stiffly starched white blouse covered by a gray apron.

  “May I help you?”

  Emmaline cleared her throat several times and felt Adam’s hand close around her elbow. “Yes. Yes, you may. Is this Clair House? I am to be enrolled here, I think.”

  Just then a tall, thin, bespectacled man appeared behind the woman. “Miss Somerset, I presume,” he said. “We’ve been expecting you. I’m Mr. Clair. This is Mrs. Mingo, our housekeeper. Do come in. I’ll send Herbert out for your luggage.”

  “It’s Mrs. Gentry,” Adam said from behind her. “We’re recently married. I’m Adam Gentry.”

  They were escorted into a large, bright parlor, every shelf, table space, and mantle inch filled with figurines and pictures, with comfortable-looking couches and chairs in several seating groups. Adolphus Clair shook Adam’s hand and offered him whiskey instead of the coffee being prepared at that moment, which he declined. He sat down beside her while their host went in search of his wife. Emmaline’s stomach fluttered, and she felt as if she couldn’t get enough breath. She’d read about Clair House in a newspaper article when she was only ten or eleven years old. The thought of attending had consumed her for years, and now having arrived, she would admit, she was overwhelmed.

  “I never really believed I would ever get here,” she whispered.

  “You are here, Emmaline. You deserve to be here,” he said and looked around the room. “Seems to be a very cozy and well-maintained house, does it not?”