by Julianne Lee
The gathering wasn’t nearly as formal Susannah’s wedding, for there was no seating in the dooryard. Susannah herself would not be attending, for she was so far along in her pregnancy she couldn’t be seen in public. Rumors were already beginning, regarding the date her baby was likely to arrive versus the date she was claiming it would, so showing a huge belly today would be imprudent as well as improper. Tom and his parents had come, though, delivering Susannah’s regrets and regards.
Shelby looked around at the guests, all decked out in their Sunday best, however rich or modest that might be. Crystalline sunshine lit up everything and everyone, faces shining with happiness for the couple, and for themselves. Marriage brought stability to the community, and in these times stability was in short supply. Everyone in Hendersonville was as happy as the couple themselves for his union.
Lucas’s musician friends played gently in the yard while guests gathered around near the well. Servants made their way back and forth with gifts and food. Children played tag amongst the adults, and though there had been a time when Shelby thought weddings were not for kids, today it seemed only right to have all the community, even the littlest citizens, attending. Shelby was becoming one of them now, just beginning to understand what it meant to be part of such a group.
The ceremony was conducted by the same preacher from Nashville who had done the honors for Susannah and Tom. Lucas held Shelby’s hand, his own firm and dry, and most of all warm. Shelby was in awe of the enormity of this. It was impossible to comprehend the thing that had brought them together, and all she could know now was the rightness of it. Wide, cosmic, rightness. When Lucas kissed her for the first time as her husband, she thought God must surely be in His heaven.
The pronouncement was made, music started up, and the party was on.
It lasted well into the night. As Mother had predicted, pretty much everyone in Hendersonville was there and not a few from Nashville and Gallatin. Guests swarmed throughout the downstairs of the house and out into the dooryard, eating and drinking, toasting the couple, playing and dancing to music, and toasting the couple some more.
The other Brosnahan wives, Ruth and Margaret, supervised things though the servants and the food had been provided by the Campbells. Especially, Ruth was in charge as the wife of the eldest brother. Shelby knew her to be a pleasant woman, kind and thoughtful, and it was Martha who would be difficult to live with. She and Gar seemed to think of themselves as halfway out the door to establish themselves in Nashville, and hardly had a thought about the farm or the people living on it.
Today Martha was wearing extremely wide hoops under her bright yellow silk dress. Her skirt was so wide, it seemed out of place among the less fancy Brosnahans. The family parlor was not a big, formal ballroom, nor even as large as the drawing room at the Campbell house, and she took up an awful lot of space. Even Mother had eschewed her hoops today for the sake of not filling the entire room all by herself. People walked around Martha and she stayed near the corner, posing by the fireplace like a doll not meant to be played with. Useless.
Dad Brosnahan was comfortably settled on a settee next to the windows and struggling to hear some of the various conversations going on around him. Occasionally he would ask for something to be repeated, and the speaker would lean over to enunciate loudly enough for the old man to hear.
The day waned, and the springtime sun set on a party still hopping. The musicians migrated indoors. Having finished eating, the guests now danced and continued drinking. And watched the happy newlyweds dance. The well-lubricated crowd was lively and chattering, nobody worrying about disturbing the neighbors because the nearest house was a mile away, and the neighbors were all here in any case. Everyone was pleased to cut loose on someone else’s liquor.
The fiddle and guitar played near the cold fireplace, a soft, waltz-like tune. Lucas held Shelby in his arms, and it seemed everywhere he touched her the blood rushed to meet him as she spun with him to the center of the room. His jacket was off, tie undone and hung limp beneath his collar, and the crease had gone from his black wool trousers. Shelby followed his lead in the half-hearted waltz, both of them with their minds on something else.
Lucas leaned down and spoke into her ear over the music. “Mary Beth, I'm the happiest man on God's earth today.”
“And I’m the happiest woman.”
He kissed her cheek. The odor of whiskey on him mingled with tobacco, and he was extremely cheerful. He’d drunk enough to make him giddy, but not sloppy. Shelby heard a deep rumbling in his chest, and pressed her ear to it. He was humming, but not to the music. Tuneless. Like the deep, rumbly purr of a jungle cat. Lucas wore his happiness for all to see and hear, just as she’d once seen him bear his loneliness.
He kissed her mouth, smiled, and kissed her again deeper. Boy, he must be drunk to kiss her like that in front of people. Shelby resisted a third kiss, for she was certainly not drunk and would have no excuse for unseemly behavior.
Lucas's smile dimmed a little. “What?”
She whispered, “Not here. We’ll be alone soon enough.”
“You’re embarrassed.”
“I'm a lady, if you please.” Never mind how close she’d come to opening his pants for him in this very room two weeks ago. The entire population of Hendersonville was watching, and her reputation now meant something to her.
He held her close again. “Indeed, you are a lady. That's God's truth, and it pleases me very much.” He began working toward the door, and as soon as he had them close enough he stepped away and drew her along by the hand. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go be alone.”
Her heart began to thud as she followed, and in the room behind them somebody said, “There they go.” A burble of laughter answered. Shelby glanced behind her as a fresh surge of adrenaline sent her heart to her throat. The room was filled with smiling men and compassionate women. Shelby smiled to herself.
Lucas guided her up the dim stairway and into the near bedroom, the one that had been hers when she’d owned this house. She let go of his hand and in the middle of the room turned to face him, then backed away as he closed the door behind them. He turned to her. Her hands sweated as if she were afraid he might attack her, and her body throbbed because she wished he would. It was a strange feeling. She’d done this before, but never with anyone she loved this much. The prospect made her giddy, like flying.
She looked around with deep curiosity about her former bedroom, now become hers once again, taking everything in: one bed where hers had stood and the space where another obviously had stood against the opposite wall next to the window. Martha and Gar had left their nightstand when they’d moved their bed, and the rug had dents in it. She noticed Lucas’s bed was similar in style to her own, except for the turned-ball finials on the posts. An armoire and a washstand also stood against the near wall. Before the fireplace was a ladder-back rocker placed exactly like her bentwood one, and a steamer trunk stood open at the foot of the bed, filled with her clothing from home.
Rather, from the Campbell house.
Lucas approached her and said, “With three of us married now, the house is a mite crowded.” He took her hands in his. “Things'll be different when Gar and Margaret move to Nashville, though. And if Amos goes out west, might could be you’ll be the lady of the house one day.” A gentle kiss was placed in each of her palms.
His eyes were bright with excitement and alcohol in the flickering, yellow light. His head tilted as he stared at her, a little goofy and not quite sure what to do next. She guessed that, gentleman that he was, he wasn't likely to suddenly jump her like a john on an excursion to Nashville. He cleared his throat and gestured to the bed, then went to stand by the windows with his back to her, tottering just a little.
The covers were turned down and a long, white, ruffled gown had been laid across the mattress. It was new, a gift from Susannah and Tom. The room was lit by a dozen or so candles set about in sticks and candelabra. Shelby turned to put the gown on as expected, wh
ile trying to think of the best way to bring this around to her idea of a proper wedding night without coming off like a whore. She tried to reach around for the buttons at the back of her dress, but failed to get a grip on any of them. “Wait, I need help.” She looked over her shoulder at him as he came to comply. “And the laces, please, on the corset.” That damned corset.
He unfastened her dress with inexpert fingers, then untied the laces of her corset beneath. That done, he touched warm fingertips to the bare skin of her upper back then pulled away. His touch sent shivers all through her, but before she could say anything he’d turned back around. The thudding overtook her, until it was pain. The only thing that kept her from grabbing him and throwing him to the bed was the awareness of what he would assume about her if she did. It would mortify her for him to think that.
Lucas used his time waiting to rinse his face and neck in the washbowl, dried with the linen towel laid out for the purpose, then moved to a wooden bootjack on the floor beneath the far window. He stepped on the lower end, then jammed his other boot heel into the V-shaped notch at the top end. His foot slipped out easily and he dumped the boot on the floor next to the gadget, then did the same with his other boot. Then he peeled off his socks and dropped them by the bootjack. She didn’t figure there was any chance of curing him of that, but still laid her hopes on bringing him around on the important things.
He slipped his suspenders, pulled his linen shirt from his trousers and unbuttoned it, slipped his tie off and removed his collar, then set them both on the washstand. He then stood like a sentry facing the window. The soft spring breeze lifted his shirttail away from his body.
Shelby trembled as she dropped her nightgown over her head, astounded Lucas didn't even try to peek. She couldn't imagine a man not at least threatening it.
“You may turn around.”
Lucas turned, and his gaze went straight to the neckline of her gown, which dipped to just above her breasts. That much had not changed in the last century. His fingers twitched, and he took a step toward her and reached for her hand.
Shelby backed away a step. “Wait.”
Lucas stopped cold, a look of astonishment all over him. “What?”
“I want you to know I'm not like those...those women in Nashville.” She was taking a chance by letting him know she even knew what a prostitute was, let alone that he’d ever patronized one.
He pulled in his chin, a little puzzled. “What do you know of them?”
“I...I heard. I overheard you and Samuel Clarence talking about it last fall. And if you think women don’t know what men do when they go off to the city for fun, you’re even more sheltered than I’m supposed to...than I am.”
He sighed, and Shelby couldn't tell whether it was relief or impatience. “I quit dallying in Nashville when I lost my heart to you. If you were like them I wouldn't have...I mean...”
She raised her head and looked across at him. “You wouldn’t have loved me.”
“I couldn’t.” He reached his hand out to her, and alarm made her step back. Not love her?
“I know a lady isn't supposed to like doing this, but—”
“A wife is supposed to accept it.” Lucas retrieved his hand again.
Now she was confused. This was coming out all wrong. She crossed her arms over her breasts and backed away another step. “Yes. That is...” She was searching for words and not finding the ones she needed.
He stepped toward her, his voice hardening steadily. “You have to do this. Bearing children is your duty.”
Now Shelby wasn't sure she liked Lucas so well any more.
“I expect you to act like a wife.” He was trying not to raise his voice, and it came out an angry hiss. “It is my right, Mary Beth.” His eyes were bright, but no longer with happiness.
Shock and confusion erupted in her, and she blurted without thinking, “It is my right to refuse.” Which she knew was entirely untrue in this century. He could rape her now, and be applauded by both their families for it. She stood absolutely still, her arms tight around herself, waiting to see what he would do.
His upper lip became a ridge and his brow almost a V. He turned, grabbed the pitcher from the washstand, then flung it blind. It shattered against the fireplace and ceramic shards and water flew everywhere. Laughter erupted from the room below, and somebody made a muffled comment that brought another surge of laughter. Lucas glanced down at the floor, then glared at Shelby.
He went to the window and sat on the wide sill. His back against one side of the deep frame, he braced a bare foot against the other. Silent and angry, he stared off down the railroad tracks beneath the rising moon. His shirt caught and lifted in the chilling night breeze.
Shelby choked back tears, and thought she might leave the room and really embarrass him in front of his family. But she stayed. “Lucas, we need to talk.”
He didn't even look at her, just stared out the window. Oh, great, the silent treatment. “Lucas, talk to me.”
“Mary Beth, you're refusing me more than just an evening's pleasure.” His voice was flat and low so nobody downstairs might hear, and he wouldn't look straight at her, but at the floor. “It's our marriage we're talking about. Our children. You’re not supposed to like it. You're supposed to obey me.”
For one brief, terrifying, enraged moment, Shelby wanted to push him out that window.
There was a scuffling and snickering at the door, and Lucas reached down to the floor for his boot. With a wicked, slingshot arm he flung the boot at the door where it smacked hard then clumped to the floor. The drunken revelers haw-hawed all the way back down the stairs.
Lucas continued, “All right, you want talking, then hear me. You put me off an awful long time.” Shelby’s anger began to dissolve, for his tone was reasonable. Even touched with a hint of pleading. “Now you're telling me that when you took those vows today you were only fooling. You made me a promise, Mary Beth, and this is part of that promise. It's something a woman must do to be a mother. You don't have to like it.”
She took a deep breath and said it straight out. “But, what if I do like it?”
He peered at her, in deep consideration. In his world, a man whose wife liked sex too much ran the risk of being a cuckold. Or being thought one, which was just as bad. He seemed offended. His long toes curled into white knuckles against the window frame, and his jaw muscles stood out in knots.
Finally he took a breath to speak. “Why do you think you would? What do you know about it?”
Oh, God, he was thinking what she’d feared. Frustration made her go to him and kneel before him. “I love you, Lucas. I never want you to think poorly of me. But...I want to like being with you.” Lucas was unsmiling, but listening. “You're the only man whose thoughts and opinions really matter to me. How can I risk losing your respect? It would kill me if you thought I was a who...if you thought poorly of me. But every time I'm near you I think I might...” She laid a hand on his thigh as she searched for a word that wouldn’t get her into trouble. “I think I might just explode from loving you so much. I'm confused, Lucas. I'm terrified. What if I do like it?”
He examined her face, and smoothed a stray lock of hair from it. There was a long moment while he weighed her words. With a sigh, he took her hand and kissed her palm. “Then, take it as a blessing.”
She cleared her throat, and her voice was small. “You're not ashamed?”
An exasperated noise clicked in his throat that said he wasn’t entirely sanguine, but he replied, “It's a sorry man who's ashamed of his own wife.”
The two stared at each other in silence for a long moment. Shelby’s heart stopped skipping and scampering, and took on a steady, thudding beat. Still quivering inside, she stood and drew Lucas to his feet. He rose from the sill and followed her across the floor toward the bed, where she then reached for his shirt. He took her hands and stopped her.
Uh oh, she was blowing it again. This night was getting to be a mine field. “You’re shy?”
“Will you trust me?” Please trust me.
That brought a slight smile, and she opened his shirt to shove it from his shoulders. As she did so, she said in a soft voice, “You believe in the Bible, don’t you?”
“You know I do.”
The shirt dropped to the floor behind him, and she tugged his undershirt from his pants. “You believe a man and his wife are one flesh?”
“I do.” His voice took on some huskiness.
The undershirt joined the one on the floor, and she laid her palms against his chest. His skin was warm, and the black hairs soft and plentiful. She continued, “You believe that when Adam and Eve were in the Garden they could look at each other and it wasn’t evil.”
“I believe it.” His voice was tightening, and he leaned his face down to be nearer hers. But his hands enclosed hers when she reached for the buttons at his fly. The black wool covered an enormous lump.
She said softly, her own voice betraying tension, “I believe that in marriage it’s just the same. A husband and wife can be as innocent as Adam and Eve.” And as innocent of clothing, but she didn’t need to say it. She reached for his fly again, and this time he let her unbutton it. The buckles of his suspenders jingled as his pants dropped to the floor. He stepped out of them before letting her untie his linen drawers and let them drop, leaving him as naked as Adam before the fall. Quickly, before he could be embarrassed, she pulled her nightgown over her head and dropped it atop his clothing. She shivered as the breeze from the window brushed over her, raising goose bumps as she stepped into his arms.
His body was warm enough to comfort her. Warm skin, soft hairs she nuzzled, and the warmest bit of him pressed hard against her belly. The rumbling deep in his chest came again, and he stroked her back. Skin against skin. It was plain he wasn’t used to this sort of touching, for he caressed everywhere he could reach. Her arms around his neck, he held her against him with one arm as he ran his hand along her back, her flank, her arm, her breast.
She reached up to kiss him. Brave now, she pressed the tip of her tongue between his lips. That was all it took. With a deep, helpless moan he opened his mouth to her. She did likewise, tasting him, touching, tasting, feeling, playing, tasting. Mouth never leaving his, she drew him backward onto the bed. He knelt on knees and elbow as she settled into the feather mattress, and he kissed her neck. Then nibbled. When he pressed himself against her hip, she reached for him, and when he flinched lest she hurt him she petted him until his eyelids drooped.
