The Convent Rose (The Roses)

by Lynn Shurr

  Rusty nodded in agreement to all of the above. “Aren’t you afraid Renee will be swimming in your pool, her nipples poked out about an inch from that cold, cold water?”

  “Your cousin is a temptation, not a phobia, Russ. I figure I can flirt all I want, but if I’m gonna live here I need to keep it zipped. Rocky isn’t the only one who needs a good hard ride.”

  “Enjoy the rest of your day, then, Bodey.”

  “I plan to.”

  ****

  Eve knelt in the pine straw in front of the statue of the Magdalene. Her offering, a splotched red and white camellia blossom lay at St. Mary’s feet. Eve’s eyes were on the same level with a small plaque that said a Courville had donated the image in memory of his mother, a strange choice of gifts she’d always thought. The statue of the Virgin and Child sitting inside a circle of flowers directly in front of the main school building at the Academy had a similar plaque with a dedication from the Niles family. Although she tried to keep her mind on her prayers, Eve couldn’t help but notice that the Sisters had placed the Magdalene at the farthest reaches of the Academy’s grounds in a grove of tall pines. They encouraged women with something to repent to walk a wandering and contemplative path to get here, out of sight of the pure souls being taught at Mt. Carmel.

  Eve had walked here three times recently, this last in her riding boots which had worn a blister on her heel, but she thought this small pain might be part of the price to pay for an answer to her jumbled prayers. Should she give in to Evan who had been calling often and consider moving to the west coast with him? Ethan hadn’t mentioned marriage, just artistic opportunities.

  As for Bodey Landrum, the daydream of her teenage years, she’d thought he’d call her after their encounter on the bridle trail so long ago. She imagined she’d play hard to get. They would flirt and go riding together. Eve never got farther than that because the next day Renee Niles boasted to her clique about how good Bodey performed in the sack, or rather the rice hulls. After that, it was Bodey and Renee, Renee and Bodey, until he had gone away to college. No woman in her right mind would wait all these years for a daydream to come true.

  Lately, she had been getting strange vibes from Hardy Courville as well. Probably, she only imagined that he stood too close and gave out compliments too lavishly. Then, he’d ordered the commission the day after the art walk and wanted it in three weeks, promising her $10,000 if she had the masterpiece ready in time for the opening. Seeing her with her hair unbound, wearing a very little black dress, and having two men fawn over her, appeared to have opened Hardy’s eyes to more than her art. She possessed not a drop of confusion on how she felt about Hardy. He was a married man known to have bad intentions. The word lecher described him.

  Entering a convent retained a certain appeal, especially now. Despoiled by Evan and art, she’d parted from that path years ago. Still, becoming a nun wasn’t beyond the realm of impossible. The Catholic Church had a shortage of nuns, and as Bodey said, she’d lived chastely here in Rainbow. A life of quiet contemplation, some time to paint, some time to share all she knew with her students, both spiritually and artistically, no men to confuse and upset her, would be rewarding.

  Then, why hadn’t she moved in that direction before now? She heard Sr. Helen telling her all over again that taking holy orders must not to be used to escape life. Eve knocked her head gently against the rocky base holding the statue of the Magdalene, who with her unbound, long hair, bare feet, and flowing garments barely covering her breasts certainly looked as if she had all the answers when it came to men. No answers came to Eve.

  ****

  Bodey galloped along the Academy’s bridle trail making Rocky sweat a little. New grass colored up spring green. The golden oak pollen in the air and the vision of Eve bouncing ahead of him on her little dappled mare drew him on, but when he nearly reached the old brick stables belonging to the Academy, he slowed Rocky to a walk and prepared to turn around. Off to the left he saw a path he didn’t recall. Perhaps, the trail was new since he’d last lived here or had been hidden by bushes just leafing out again after winter. He knew retreat cottages that hadn’t been built yet when he was a teen sat scattered in the piney woods behind the school. Rocky veered that way, and Bodey let him have his head.

  The path was narrow, hemmed in by thickets of young longleaf pine saplings and made more for walkers than riders. Bodey could barely hear the sound of Rocky’s hooves on a trail cushioned by years of fallen pine needles. He came around a bend into a wide clearing circled by red azaleas in bloom. There in the middle of the glade stood a statue to some Catholic saint and a woman pressing her forehead against the marble base. Wilted floral offerings left by others lay scattered over the pine duff. The long blonde braid, the little black bow, her riding clothes, told him the woman was Eve.

  He’d interrupted a sacred moment, and his conscience said he should leave as quietly as he had come, but the devilish part of him residing mostly below the waist started sending fantasies to his brain. He was a marauder who had come across a virgin praying in the woods. She was meant for the convent, but after he swept the woman onto his horse and ravished her in a secret glade, they could not be parted—because he was so great in bed, and she really did not want to be a nun. Yeah, that sounded about right.

  Rocky moved forward. Bodey couldn’t remember having given the horse the signal to do so. Eve looked up. He held out his hand. She took it, and bracing herself against the base of the statue, he pulled her onto his saddle. Bodey turned his horse toward another path he knew beyond the pine grove. They followed a coulee that once drained the Courville’s sugar-producing land. As they came up on the narrowest part of the ditch, Bodey urged his paint horse into a gallop and gave him an extra kick that carried them all across the trickle of water in the bottom.

  Eve laughed and pressed against him. She dreamed of course. Exhausted by her confusion and prayers, she’d fallen asleep. A gallant cavalry officer had come riding along to whisk her away from the dangers of war. He would take her to a secluded, safe hideaway and make passionate love to her, swearing to return after the battle to ask for her hand in marriage. She’d had this dream before. The man always possessed Bodey Landrum’s blue eyes, cleft chin, and fetching scar.

  The coulee widened as it approached the point where the stream entered Bayou Boueux. Trees completely engulfed by wild wisteria in full bloom covered the little delta. Lavender drapes of blossom smelling of honey fell from the tips of the water oaks to their roots. Animals had broken a pathway into the center of the tangle. Bodey dropped Rocky’s reins to the ground, slid off his horse, and lifted Eve from the saddle. Stooping, he led her through the opening and out into the clearing.

  Don’t talk and ruin this fantasy, Bodey thought, but Eve, being a woman, had to say something. “It’s like a cathedral in here.”

  Okay, a cathedral, kind of disturbingly religious for him, but he did intend to worship her. Signs of the animals who had broken the pathway abounded—a few beer cans, a brown liquor bottle, and a used condom Bodey stepped on and hastily kicked aside so the pale purple petals covered it. Horny teen animals, he figured. Renee brought him here once, but they’d been scared off before things went too far by the sound of boys hunting squirrels in the vicinity. Renee claimed Noreen used to hide out here when she was a kid to get away from her family, but clearly, only big kids used the area now. Vaguely, he recalled Rusty and Noreen going to their “secret place” all the time. Could be the spot, and what was good enough for Rusty was good enough for him.

  Bodey took Eve to the center of the hidden glade. He kept his eyes open as he kissed her, checking for snakes and thanking heaven March was too early for the mosquitoes to be really bad. Then, he did what he had always wanted to do, flick that little black bow onto the ground and loosen Eve’s fair hair with his fingers, kissing her all the while. She opened her mouth for him and closed her eyes.

  Without sight to distract her senses, Eve felt the heat of his body penetrating her
clothing. The hum of the bees in the blossoms grew louder, the smell of the honey sweeter. The pressure of his fingers opening her plain white blouse moved down her center, then around her back to unhook her simple cotton bra. How disappointed he must be with her clothing flitted through her mind, but she refused to open her eyes to see. No dream, this was no dream at all, but reality at its finest.

  Bodey flung the blouse and the bra aside, seeing only the whiteness of her skin, the pink tips of aroused nipples. He took one in his mouth and suckled. Eve’s knees slowly buckled. He sank to the ground with her.

  The riding pants presented no problem, held up as they were with a zipper and a single button, but those high, black boots were going to be hell to get off. He could take her just like this, but he wanted Eve naked, completely naked, and sprawled on the bed of lavender petals. She pulled his shirttails out and ran her hands up his back and down into his jeans where the fit got so tight there wasn’t much room to spare. He laid her down, centered himself over one leg, and tugged the boot off, then repeated the process on the other leg. He stripped off the jodhpurs and cotton panties without even noticing them.

  Eve lay with her eyes still shut and a small smile on her lips, her pale hair wild about her. Bodey felt grateful for the closed eyes because now he had the awkward task of getting out of his own clothes. Oh, he knew cowboys could get away with making love with their boots on, hats too, for that matter, but he wanted to go to extra effort for Eve. He parked his backside on the ground, heaved off his boots, and got out of his jeans. His blood heavy penis springing free was almost painful. Bodey searched the jeans still smelling of cigarette smoke and spilled beer from Saturday night, grateful he hadn’t gotten around to doing the laundry when he found the two condoms he’d shoved in a back pocket out of habit.

  Eve waited, determined to live in just this moment of bees and blossoms and Bodey Landrum. She heard the thump of boots, the crackle of plastic, and her mother’s sharp voice in the back of her mind. “Men get what they want, and then they stray. It’s their nature. Do you think that artist is going to remember you out in California where all the women are whores? After I die, become a nun and pray for your father’s rotten soul, Eve.”

  “Bodey?” she said softly to drown out the inner voice. “Bodey?”

  He answered her by running the tip of his finger along her cleft, stroking the soft hair between her legs. He went deeper, found the spot, and rubbed lightly until her breathing became panting. Then, he mounted and rose over her. What a wonderful ride!

  Eve could feel nothing but Bodey along the length of her body from her fingertips to the pads of her toes. Deep inside her pelvis she tightened, tighter and tighter, until there she experienced an explosion like the fireworks on Art Walk night. “God, Bodey!”

  Hearing his name right alongside of the Almighty gave Bodey the incentive to go for two. His bad back or bum knee might give out, but for now, he was feeling no pain, quite the opposite. “Open your eyes, Eve.”

  She managed to raise her lids briefly but then they fluttered shut again, her pale lashes against her flushed skin. Her gray eyes did turn smoky when she came. Eve writhed and bucked under him now, almost throwing him off, but Bodey Landrum, four time All-Around Cowboy, intended to ride down to the last second. His own release was all the better for it. As his pace slowed, Eve pulled Bodey’s head down for a series of lavish kisses, she still high on sex, he fading. He rested finally between her snowy white breasts.

  The bees interrupted by turmoil in the glade returned to work. A mockingbird nesting in the tangled vines sang a crazy warning song. “Guess we should go soon,” Bodey said yawning. His bad knee was beginning to stiffen, but the old back had held up.

  “I don’t ever want to leave this place, Bodey.”

  “I know the feelin’, honey, but someone is sure to send a search party if we don’t go back. Here, let me brush you off.” He shook lavender petals from her hair and swept crushed blossoms off her back from her shoulders to that beautifully formed behind that had attracted him as a horny teenager. Maybe, he wasn’t finished after all. Bodey nibbled Eve’s neck.

  “I could eat two boxes of strawberries,” Eve said, crouching to pull up her pants.

  “I’m clean out, but we could stop by the store and get some.”

  “No. Hardy Courville is coming by to give me final approval on the painting. He wants it hung by Friday afternoon.”

  “Cancel with him. We can get some whipped cream, too.”

  Bodey kept kissing her neck as she tried to snap her bra and put on her blouse. He remained stark naked. “I can’t afford to offend the art patron. It’s a big commission. Help me with my boots,” she pleaded.

  “Yes, princess.” Shooting her a disappointed glance, Bodey took a second to put on his jeans. Eve pointed her toes and leaned on his shoulders as he knelt and drew the boot up to her knee, first one, then the other.

  “Need help with yours, Bodey?”

  “No, ma’am. A cowboy who can’t put on his own boots ain’t worth shit.”

  “Are you sulking?”

  “After you, princess.” Bodey found his lucky hat and swept a bow over it as he had done once before. As Eve left, he picked up the discarded condom, wrapped it in fallen leaves, and packed it out of the glade leaving it undefiled by them. Damn Hardy Courville and all the Courvilles before him.

  Chapter Six

  A good night’s rest eluded Bodey Landrum. When he slept, he dreamed of Eve, sometimes with himself, sometimes with Hardy or Evan. When he woke, he wanted her right beside him. Finally at six a.m., he got up and drove halfway to Lafayette to a truck stop that carried fresh Krispy Kreme donuts. He bought a dozen assorted and headed for Eve’s studio. If he got there by seven, they would have a whole hour together before Renee showed up for the painting class.

  ****

  Hardy Courville stood back from his commission painting and then moved closer gradually. Eve gave him a miffed look because he hadn’t kept his appointment late yesterday afternoon. Though he had apologized and explained about a major client showing up just before closing and expecting to be wined, dined, and treated to a “date” with one of girls at the gentleman’s club he frequented, Eve suspected Hardy had treated himself to some sexual pleasure as well and left her waiting for his arrival. Now, he gave Eve all the stroking he could muster. The check for ten thousand jutted from his shirt pocket. He plastered on the words “pleased” and “delighted” referring to her work.

  Up at seven a.m. and dressed in leggings and a long-sleeved, light blue tunic with a neckline scooped low enough to show a little breast, Eve had not expected the man to show so early. She quickly pulled on a man’s shirt so old it had worn thin in spots and closed the middle two buttons over her chest when she saw him at the door. But her hair, Eve hadn’t taken time to braid it this morning. She wished she had. He stared at her as if spinning fantasies about her loose tresses, how her locks would wrap around his fists and slide along his belly if she went down on him.

  Crowding against her, Hardy moved in close to the painting.Through the branches of the live oak, he could make out the Courville Plantation, the Academy, rolling hills, lowlands and ponds, wading birds and patches of Louisiana iris, a small sunning alligator among the many details. He claimed the landscape reminded him a little of those Chinese wall hangings where hundreds of tiny creatures went about their daily lives. “Perfect, Eve, it is perfect.”

  He slung a heavy arm across her shoulder, and its weight popped the two closed buttons open. Hardy had a good view down her front now, and that couldn’t be accidental. He’d never come on to her before that art walk a couple of weeks ago. Maybe, the sloe-eyed, somber saints she painted—or the fact she taught at the Academy and hung out with nuns—warded him off in the past. Darn Ja’nae Plato for loaning her that skimpy black dress and the great Bodey Landrum for drooling all over her like a Top Ten bull. Hardy Courville was a man who loved to compete for a contract or a woman someone else wanted. Eve fe
lt fairly sure he’d felt her up to determine if she wore any underwear that evening and probably bragged to his cronies about her being braless. And what if Evan Adam told tales about their times together at art school when she’d been young, naïve, and willing to try most anything with him.

  “Eve, you live in the moment like no other woman I’ve ever met,” Adam used to tell her as they lay naked on his futon. “Come to San Francisco with me, be with me.”

  He hadn’t mentioned marriage beforehand though, and her mother became too ill to do without her only child. If Evan did the kiss and tell with Hardy, the contractor would only go after her harder. She knew his type. He’d glory in defeating both an artist and a bull rider for her attentions, but he was her art patron and she must handle him carefully. Now, Hardy let his hand dangle down her chest.

  Renee Hayes had babbled about giving Hardy the “marriage or nothing” speech not too long ago at one of her private lessons, so Hardy remained in the market for another mistress. He probably assumed that Eve as an artist was a Bohemian, sort of a hippie, and didn’t have the word “marriage” in her vocabulary. All these years alone and supposedly living like a nun, she might have been practicing free love unbeknownst to him, and he’d just gotten a whiff of it when Bodey and Evan came on the scene. Hardy Courville never missed an opportunity, any opportunity.

  “Eve, baby, you are wasted out here in the country. I just finished up a nice row of townhouses in the city. You could live in the suite downstairs and have your studio upstairs close to that good northern light you artists are so fond of. Wouldn’t cost you nothing. We could work out an arrangement. You could paint all day. No more teaching and waitressing. I’d come over evenings, join you for the lunch hour sometimes.”