Til Death Do Us Part

by Beverly Barton

  Joanna tried to imagine what her great-grandfather’s campsite would have looked like. Closing her eyes she could almost smell the cook fires burning. Could almost hear the sound of Annabelle’s young sons, one her own grandfather, laughing while they played. Could almost see a young Navajo silversmith gazing down from his Appaloosa stallion at the woman who was to become the one true love of his life.

  “Hey, wake up.” J.T. nudged her. “Where were you? Off in some dream?”

  “Just trying to picture what this place must have looked like in 1925, the summer my great-grandparents worked here.”

  “Fantasizing about Annabelle and Benjamin’s first meeting?” J.T. asked.

  “Yes, that, of course,” she admitted. “But wondering how my great-grandfather could have been so blind. His wife was having an affair right under his nose and he didn’t suspect a thing.”

  “Maybe he did,” J.T. said. “Maybe he just chose to keep his mouth shut and pretend nothing was happening.”

  “But how…why?”

  “He must have known she wasn’t in love with him, since her father had arranged their marriage.” J.T. took Joanna’s hand in his while they traipsed around the old site. “He was a lot older than she was, and my guess is they weren’t sexually compatible. Ernest Beaumont would have been pretty sure his wife would never give up her sons, and that’s exactly what she’d have had to do if she’d left him.”

  “So, you’re saying you think my great-grandfather simply stood by and endured Annabelle’s affair, knowing in the end, she’d return to Virginia with him.”

  “Think about it. It makes sense.”

  Joanna kicked the dirt under her feet, stirring up some ancient dust. “Can you imagine the intense emotions, the high level of tension? I’m surprised we can’t still feel it in the air around us.”

  “I think you’re feeling some of it right now, aren’t you, Jo?” He whirled her around and into his arms. “It’s all right to get a bit caught up in our ancestors’ lives. For the time being, it’s good for you to have other things to think about. But keep in mind that these were their lives, not ours. You’re not Annabelle and I’m not Benjamin.”

  “Yes, I know. I’m not a married woman with two children. You’re not a poor Navajo youth. The obstacles that kept Annabelle and Benjamin apart don’t exist for us. Where their affair was doomed from the start, ours isn’t. We’re free to do whatever we want with our lives.”

  J.T. stared at her, his gaze softening. He caressed her cheek. “What I want right now is to show you my surprise.”

  He didn’t want to think too deeply about his feelings for Joanna. She was a woman who deserved far more than he could ever give her. She needed more than his passion, more than the momentary pleasure they found in each other’s arms.

  “What’s the surprise? Where is it?” J.T. thought she looked like a little girl, bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked and almost giddy at the prospect of being given a secret present. He hoped she wouldn’t be disappointed. He didn’t think she would be. But often reality dulled beside the brilliance of fantasy.

  “It’s about a three-mile ride from here. Up the side of the mountain.”

  J.T. led her to their horses and helped her mount, then guided them up the mountainside. With the jagged peaks high above, the yellow pine and white oak trees kissing the royal-blue sky and an almost-holy solitude surrounding them, he dismounted, lifted her off Playtime and held her in his arms. She clung to him, her heartbeat thundering in her ears.

  Sliding her slowly down his body, he caressed her. Releasing her, he turned and undid one saddlebag and retrieved two flashlights. He handed one to her. “Come with me.”

  She removed her hat and hung it on the saddle horn. Then she followed him to the mouth of a cave, partially hidden from view by an outcropping of scrubby bushes.

  “Take a look,” he said, moving aside to allow her entrance.

  Switching on her flashlight, she aimed the beam into the cave and took a tentative step inside. She sucked in a deep breath. J.T. turned on his flashlight and doubled the illumination inside the cave as he urged her to venture farther.

  Together they explored the small cavern. Able to walk upright less than twelve feet inside, they stopped when the sandstone ceiling had gradually lowered from a good eight feet to less than five. From there, the cave decreased to a crawl space.

  “Is this what I think it is?” Joanna asked.

  “I believe so,” J.T. said.

  “How did you know about this place?”

  “I discovered this cave when I was about eleven. I used to ride all over, exploring. I knew someone had used this place as a refuge of some sort, but not until I read part of Annabelle’s diary did I put two and two together.”

  Joanna ran the flashlight’s beam over the floor, where an animal skin of some sort still lay. Had Annabelle and Benjamin made love, their bodies entwined, on that fur rug? A shimmering glow of light reflected off the shattered pieces of a kerosene lamp, the bottom portion broken into only two pieces.

  “I found this cave when Cliff and I were out riding,” J.T. said. “His father was ranch foreman and he and I grew up together. We’re the ones who accidentally broke that lamp.”

  “This is Annabelle and Benjamin’s special place.” Joanna’s mouth felt dry, her throat tight. She bit down on her bottom lip. Her nerves zinged with excitement.

  “Yeah, I think it probably was.” J.T. placed his hand in the small of her back. “It would have been fairly close to camp and yet far enough away to have been private. And you’ve got to admit, the place is pretty isolated.”

  “The way she wrote about their special place in her diary, I pictured it cosy and warm and inviting.” Joanna continued visually exploring the cave, waving her flashlight back and forth in slow motion.

  “In reality it’s a dark hole in the side of the mountain. Hard, rugged and very unromantic.”

  “But it was their special place.” Joanna glanced down at the ratty old fur rug. “The only place on earth they could truly be together, where they could be lovers.”

  “Kind of sad, isn’t it? But remember, things looked a lot different seventy years ago. The fur rug was undoubtedly new and clean, not rotted with age. And the kerosene lamp probably cast warm shadows on the wall.” He set his flashlight on its base, allowing the light to shine straight up and create pale shadows.

  Joanna set her flashlight down beside his, increasing the muted glow and doubling the sense of cosy warmth. “From what Annabelle wrote, the happiest moments of her life were spent here, because she was with the man she loved.”

  “There’s something I want to show you. I think it’ll pretty well confirm that this was our great-grandparents’ trysting place.” J.T. turned her to face him. “You stay right here. It’s in my saddlebag.”

  When he started to walk away, she grabbed his arm. “What is it?”

  “Just let me get it and show it to you.”

  She nodded agreement and waited in the cave for his return. The eerie silence crept up her spine. She shivered. Somewhere off in the distance she heard the sound of drums. She listened, thinking she was imagining the rhythmic beat.

  No, the sound was real, even if it existed only in her heart, as surely as it had existed in Annabelle’s heart long ago. A magical drumbeat, summoning lovers together, speaking without words of a love that was meant to be.

  “Here it is.” J.T. came back into the cave, a blanket over his arm and a tattered book in his hands. “I found this ragged old book in the cave when I was up here exploring by myself one day. I was always collecting stuff, taking it home and adding it to my treasure trove. But it’s not so much the book itself I wanted to show you, but something pressed between the pages.”

  He held the book out to Joanna. Her hands trembled as she reached out for it. The binding had been broken and numerous pages had fallen out, probably years ago. She opened the book to the first page. J.T. spread the blanket on the ground, lifted one of the flashlights
and slid his hand under Joanna’s elbow.

  “Come on, honey, sit down.”

  He eased her down on the blanket, then sat beside her and held the flashlight on the thin volume of verse. “Go ahead and read it.”

  The inscription read, “To Benjamin. Forever and only yours, A.”

  “It’s a stupid book of poetry,” J.T. said. “Why an eleven-year-old boy ever kept such a thing, I’ll never know. I suppose at that age, I considered it some sort of treasure. I stuck it in a bottom desk drawer in my room, where I kept a lot of the junk I collected.”

  “Christina Rossetti’s poems,” Joanna said. “This book must have belonged to Annabelle. There’re references to Christina Rossetti’s poems in her diary. One in particular.”

  “Look about halfway into the book,” J.T. told her, then watched as she carefully turned the brittle, yellowed pages.

  There, lying atop the poem entitled “Echo,” was a four-inch braid of hair—strands of jet-black hair and fiery-red hair blended together and tied with a faded yellow ribbon. Joanna gasped. Moisture stung her eyes. She swallowed her tears.

  Closing the book with reverence, she laid it beside her on the blanket, then looked at J.T. “You think it’s all a bunch of stupid, sentimental hogwash, don’t you? You can’t understand why they would have cut strands of their hair and braided them together as a keepsake for Benjamin, can you? Or why she would have given him a book of poems by her favorite poet?”

  “Hey, seventy years ago, people were different than they are today. Maybe everybody was more romantic.” J.T. rubbed his hand up and down Joanna’s back. “I think we both know Annabelle Beaumont had a romantic streak in her a mile wide. So if Benjamin really loved her, then he would have catered to her romantic nature, don’t you think?”

  “Well, I’ll say one thing for you, J. T. Blackwood, you certainly know how to get a woman’s mind off her troubles.” She tried to smile, but the effort failed. Instead, she caressed his cheek with her fingertips. “That’s why you chose today to show me this cave and the book with the hair braid. You wanted me to forget about Claire’s disappearance and Lenny Plott’s threats.”

  “Obviously it didn’t work.”

  “Yes, it did. I’d much rather think about and talk about our great-grandparents than about living in fear of what Lenny Plott will do next.”

  “I thought you’d like to keep the book,” J.T. said. “I figured it’d mean a lot more to you than it ever could to me.”

  “Thank you.” She caressed his cheek again. He covered her hand with his, trapping it against his face.

  “What are the odds that you and I would ever meet, let alone become lovers?” he asked.

  “You don’t believe in destiny, but I do. You and I were destined to meet and become lovers, just as Benjamin and Annabelle were.”

  “Now, Jo, don’t start comparing us to—”

  “I’m not! I know very well that you and I aren’t our great-grandparents, and we aren’t destined to relive their tragic love affair. We’re very different people than our ancestors were, and our affair is different from theirs.” She pulled her hand from his.

  “I’m glad you see it that way. I don’t want you to think just because I showed you this cave and gave you that book—” he pointed to the volume of poetry “—I’m buying into any of this romantic nonsense. I’ll go so far as to admit that I believe Annabelle and Benjamin probably cared deeply for each other, but I think this tragic, eternal love between them is something your great-grandmother concocted in her fantasies. Benjamin had to have gone on with his life and married someone else and spent his life with her. After all, he did have a child—my mother’s father.”

  “You don’t know anything about your family history, do you? Your grandfather Blackwood really did cut all your ties to the Navajo, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah, you’re right. I don’t know anything about my mother’s family, but I don’t see what my ignorance concerning my Navajo heritage has to do with—”

  “Benjamin Greymountain was a young widower with a four-year-old son when he met Annabelle. His wife had died in childbirth, and he never remarried. When I asked Elena about Benjamin, she told me that her mother said he died of tuberculosis at the age of thirty-eight.”

  J.T. grunted, then blew out a huffing breath. “I give up. Benjamin went to his grave pining for Annabelle, and she loved him and no other as long as she lived. Now, are you satisfied?”

  Joanna grinned. “You don’t really believe it. You’re just saying that to pacify me.” Lifting her arms, she circled his neck. “In your own gruff, moody way, you’re very sweet, you know.”

  “I’ve been called a lot of things, honey, but never sweet. There’s no reason for you to read more into what I say and do than—”

  “I know. I know. You can’t give me anything, aren’t offering me anything, except your protection and a temporary love affair.”

  She realized that he had no idea he was catering to her romantic nature. Just as, perhaps, Benjamin had catered to Annabelle’s romantic nature. When a man cared deeply for a woman, he made concessions. Was that what J.T. was doing? Did his feelings for her run far deeper than he wanted to admit? She could only guess at J.T.’s true feelings. It was possible, even probable, that he didn’t know himself. Long ago, as a young boy, he had sealed off his emotions, protecting himself from being hurt. He had been stolen from the only love he’d known—his mother’s. And he’d been raised by a bitter old man who obviously hadn’t known the first thing about love; only about controlling and possessing.

  “Exactly what did you have in mind when you brought me up here to this cave?” Joanna leaned closer, hugging J.T., pressing her breasts against his chest. “Considering how intrigued I am by Annabelle and Benjamin, you might have thought I’d want to make love here, in their special place.”

  Clearing his throat, J.T. shuffled his hips on the blanket. “I don’t want you to think I brought you up here with the intention of—”

  Joanna covered his lips with her index finger. “Why did you bring along a blanket?”

  “Now, Jo, you’re doing exactly what I told you not to do. You’re reading something into my actions that—”

  She silenced him with a tongue-thrusting demanding kiss, then toppled him down on the blanket, knocking off his Stetson. Covering his body with hers, she ended the kiss and smiled at him.

  “If I promise not to misinterpret your actions and start thinking there’s something magical happening between us the way it did between our great-grandparents, will you make love to me here…in this cave…now?”

  J.T. cupped her buttocks in his big hands, lifting and positioning her so that her softness settled directly over his hardness. “Honey, I’ll make love to you…anywhere…anytime.”

  She had dreamed of this moment, but she didn’t dare tell J.T. Since the first time she’d read her great-grandmother’s diary, she had fantasized about meeting her own passionate lover, here, in this special place where Annabelle and Benjamin had consummated their love. Perhaps she was just a foolish romantic, a woman for whom reality had become cruel and bitter. But Annabelle had been a romantic fortunate enough to find a lover who had fulfilled her fantasies.

  Joanna kissed J.T.’s leather-brown neck, then laid her head on his shoulder as she draped her body over his. “I’m glad I waited for you. It wouldn’t have been the same with anyone else. It wouldn’t have been so absolutely right.”

  He rolled her over onto her back, leaned down and unbuttoned her shirt. She shivered when his fingers touched her bare skin. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

  “Yes, I’m very sure.” Reaching up, she unsnapped his shirt and stretched her hands out over his chest. When he sucked in his breath, she smiled. “You make me want to learn all there is to know about making love. You make me want to trust you completely, to give myself over to you and believe you’d never hurt me.”

  He undid the front opening of her bra, lifted her just a fraction off the b
lanket and removed her shirt and bra. He gazed down at her breasts—round, full and tempting. Covering them with his hands, he slid one leg between her thighs. Lifting his knee, he massaged her intimately.

  “I want you to trust me completely,” he said. “To know that what happens between us now is a mutual loving. We both give and we both take.” Clasping her hand in his, he carried it to his belt buckle. “I take you. You take me. And when you lose control, I lose control.”

  With a precision of familiarity, as if they had undressed each other numerous times, Joanna and J.T. divested themselves of their clothing. When they lay naked, side by side on the blanket, J.T. took her in his arms and turned her to face him. “Will I frighten you if I’m not gentle this time?”

  He fondled her, testing her readiness. She clung to him, her answer a gasping sigh against his lips. “No, you don’t have to worry. I don’t feel very gentle myself. Not here. Not now.” Not when the passion within her had been ignited by the chance to fulfill a dream, to capture for herself some small portion of the magic Annabelle had known.

  His kiss devoured her, as hers did him. He rolled her on her back and cupped her behind, lifting her. She clutched his back, biting into his flesh with her fingernails, bucking up to meet him. Wrapping her legs around his hips, she issued him an invitation into the sheathing warmth of her body. He thrust into her forcefully. Moaning with pleasure, she kneaded his tight buttocks.

  Heat poured into her body as if a searing liquid fire had entered her bloodstream. Her breasts ached, her nipples beaded into tight buds. As he moved in and out of her, his hard chest grazed her sensitive nipples, the sensation shooting pinpricks of pain and pleasure to the very core of her femininity.

  Her breathing quickened. She gasped for air as the tumult within her built, stronger and stronger with each powerful stab. What he gave her was too much, and yet at the same time, not nearly enough. She wanted him to end this torment, but she wanted the loving to go on forever.

  He increased the depth and pace of his lunges. Erotic words, spoken harshly and urgently, told her of his needs and intentions. Joanna trembled as the first warning signs of fulfillment rippled through her.