by Julianne Lee
“No, don’t. Don’t do that.” His voice had the note of alarm that told her to stop and let him cool down some. She let go, and lay still while he groaned softly in her ear. When he was ready, she shifted beneath him and let him press himself to her. This much he’d experienced before, and he quickly found the right spot.
He shoved, but the pain was sharp and a gasp escaped her, so he stopped halfway. Her body clenched and her fingers dug into his shoulders. It hadn't hurt like this before! But Mary Beth was of less tender years than Shelby had been her first time, and her body smaller as well. Lucas was a considerably larger man in every way than had been Casey Smith in high school. Of course it hurt. Shelby pressed her face against his shoulder and waited for the pain to subside.
Lucas lay still, waiting, his breaths heavy and a fine trembling coursing throughout his body. The muscles of his shoulders were rock beneath her hands. Though the pain eased while he was still, Shelby knew the difficult part wasn't more than half over. Lucas was patient, his eyes shut and his open, panting mouth laid against her cheek.
She adjusted herself under him again, and lifted one leg around his waist. Into his ear she whispered, “Quickly.”
Another hard shove brought a sharp cry. It hurt like being stabbed with an incredibly dull knife. Lucas paused again, tense muscles trembling with the effort to remain still. His hips were now pressed hard against hers. Shelby drew several deep breaths as the pain subsided again to a dull ache. She could feel every inch of him, to a tightness of the muscles in her lower belly where he pressed behind her flesh. She'd never felt this before-this fullness-and it was almost as if this really were her first time.
Lucas murmured, “You okay?”
She nodded.
“It won't be much longer, I promise.” His voice was taut with need, and she was certain it wouldn't be long at all.
Unwilling to let him off that easy, she hauled in a deep breath and shifted beneath him one more time. Both legs held him now, and she ran her fingers into his hair. “Take as long as you like, my dear husband.”
That made him smile, and he began to move. Slowly at first, cautiously, he watched her face until she drew his head down to kiss him. His mouth was hot on hers, and his tongue eager to mimic the rest of him, entering her and learning her, his new wife.
Her heels pressed his behind, and he moved faster, less carefully. Her hips rose to his, matching and opposing his rocking. A low moan began deep in his chest, continuous with each breath. He let go of her mouth and buried his face in her neck to shove harder.
The pervasive feel of him, in and around, through and through, her body his in its entirety, became her only thought. His name formed on her lips, and as she murmured it over and over he began to ram harder and harder. His skin was slick with sweat now. His mouth found hers again and claimed it. He tensed even more, the moaning now sounding like pain.
A terrible shudder took him so the bed rattled. He pressed hard against her, then drew back and slammed into her once more with another shudder and groan.
Then he stayed, leaning over her for a spell, his chest heaving like a blown horse and his lips tender against her cheek. She brushed the hair from his brow as he collapsed to the side and took another moment to regain himself.
He pressed his lips to her temple and whispered, “I expect you've changed your mind now.” It was a question, his voice laden with hope. “About wanting to like it.”
“On the contrary,” she murmured in reply, “I think my husband must be the greatest lover who ever lived, to bring me such joy where other men fail their wives so often.”
That brought a chuckle from deep within his chest, but no reply.
For several minutes she lay with him, legs entwined and her face against his chest. The hairs there tickled her nose, and she scratched it periodically, then placed her hand against his chest to feel the rise and fall of it. Still alive. For now he was still alive, and she treasured every second of it.
Having recovered his breath, Lucas put his mouth next to her ear and said softly, “On my soul, and those of our children, I swear I will love you forever.”
Forever. How well she knew he was that sort of man. She also knew how little time they would have. It was one week into March. On April 12 the first shots of the war would be fired on Fort Sumter. Lucas would join the Confederate Army by the end of that month, and she would be a widow in two and a half years. She stroked his shoulder as grief welled and tears rose. The other women were lucky, who didn’t know so surely their husbands would die. They had hope.
But then the truth came to her. History had changed. Before her passage to the past, Mary Beth Campbell had never married Lucas Brosnahan. The diary had said so—that she’d put him off until the war would be over. But now she had married him. The marriage had happened because Shelby made it so. Her presence had made significant change. Perhaps she could have an even more important influence? Perhaps she could keep Lucas from joining the army?
Hope rose, and with it, joy.
Chapter 13
It was just dawn when Shelby awoke to find the big, warm man lying next to her wasn’t a dream after all. Lucas lay on his side, one arm beneath the pillow and the other draped across her belly. In the blue light coming through the windows, she noticed a bumpy scar at the crook of his left elbow. She’d seen it only once before, when she’d first glimpsed his ghost, and now she wondered what it was. She reached out with one finger to stroke the ugly, white knot. It looked like a burn.
“It was a stupid thing.” Lucas’s voice was thick with sleep.
“How stupid?”
He chuckled. “Moronic in the extreme. I should have known better; my thoughts just were elsewhere that day. First time I helped with the branding, I think I was about eight or nine at the time.” His body shifted weight, pressed to her, and she could feel him hardening against her hip. His thoughts were plainly elsewhere, even now. “Dad told me to bring him a couple of irons from the fire. And they were heavy. So I hauled them up and laid them in the crook of my arm for carrying.”
Shelby flinched. “Ow.”
“Far more than just ‘ow.’ I thought they were burning straight through my arm, and it was about to drop off to the ground. I couldn’t move it or lift it for weeks.”
She groaned.
He leaned over to kiss her. “Dad was furious. Said he couldn’t believe he had a son so stupid.”
“That was mean of him.”
Lucas shook his head. “I deserved it. What I had done was idiotic.”
“You were only a boy.”
He kissed her again, and she lost herself easily in his mouth and the rough, dark stubble against her cheek. His lips still lightly touching hers, he muttered softly, “Yes. And I’m not a boy any more.” He shifted, then settled himself between her thighs, and though she was sore it was good to feel him there, filling and pressing...stroking...pressing. He rocked slowly, easily this time. She hooked a heel at the small of his back and encouraged him to press harder. More insistently. For a long time he kept it up, his breaths coming in short puffs through his nose. The tension rose in her, steady, slow, but inexorable. Lucas seemed to be enjoying himself, in no hurry to finish, but with no special effort to not finish. Only rocking, rocking, rocking, pressing himself to her, rocking some more, rocking, until her back arched of its own accord and her knees took it upon themselves to spread wider to let him in even farther. And he accepted, shoving himself deeper. Harder.
A long, incoherent sound rose from her throat and a shudder took her. Lucas shushed her and laid a hand over her mouth, but just then he was distracted by his own shuddering and groaning. He chuckled as he collapsed to the side. With a sigh, he whispered, “Pay mind to the cries. Folks will talk.”
Silly folks. But Shelby knew there was nothing for it but to heed the warning, because he was right. Folks would talk, and the consequences would be unpleasant if they did.
He continued, “I trust there will never be a whisper about yo
u from anyone.” It was a question. He studied her face.
“I don’t know what you mean. What whispers could there be?”
There was a long pause, then he said, “You know what I mean.”
It would have been better if she hadn’t known, but she replied, “Are you afraid that if I like it too much with you, I’ll become curious about other men?”
“Or fall in love with one.”
“It took me almost forever to fall in love with you.” A lie, but he didn’t need to know it. “And you had permission from my father to pursue me. How difficult would it be for me to fall for someone in secret?”
“There are some scoundrels—”
“You’re thinking of Samuel Clarence.”
His silence was as clear as if he’d said “Yes.”
She replied to the unuttered word, “No. I made my choice. It isn’t in me to go back on that.”
“You promise.”
“I made a vow before God and everyone.” She took his hand and pressed it between her legs. “This belongs to you. Only you.” Then she pressed the hand to the slight swell of her breast. “And this. Only for you.” Then she pressed it to the middle of her chest, over her heart. “And this belongs only to you. Forever.”
He kissed her mouth, then her forehead, and left his lips pressed there as he said softly, “I pray to God.”
Doubt drew his voice to a tight monotone, and she opened her mouth to ask why he seemed unsure, but a knock on the door made them both jump. Lucas drew the blankets over them both and called out, “Quit your pounding, we were both asleep!”
Amos’s voice said, “God will strike you down for lying, Lucas Robert. You know He will.”
A wide grin crossed Lucas’s face, and he glanced conspiratorially at Shelby before answering. “What is it you want?”
“I’ve been sent up here to determine whether y’all are in need of fresh bed linens.”
Lucas lifted the covers and found smears and spots of blood on themselves and the linens. Shelby groaned, and Lucas called back, “Yeah. Very much so.”
Amos chuckled. “Congratulations, little brother.”
Shelby frowned toward the door, but all Lucas said in reply was, “Mary Beth will be stripping them shortly, and she’ll bring them down before breakfast to swap them out.”
“Fair enough. Ruth has got the fresh ones ready downstairs.” Booted footsteps receded to the stairs and down. Shelby and Lucas rose from the bed to clean up at the wash stand and dress.
Shelby wore the calico blouse she’d made in October, and a plain, dark woolen skirt. No hoops, and she kept the petticoats to a minimum. She would have to dress more practically now, ready to work, if she was going to fit in around here. She stripped the bed, then followed Lucas downstairs for breakfast.
Martha directed her on down to the basement, and through the tunnel. Damp stone steps led her up to the kitchen, where she found Ruth standing by the table to the side of the cook fire. Two iron hooks extended over the flame, and from one hung a large iron kettle with a rolling steam going. Lower and off to the side was a rack on which sat a pan filled with curling slabs of cooked ham. A Dutch oven sat at the other side. Now Shelby really wished for a wood-burning stove. Any stove at all would have done.
Ruth was stacking the slabs of meat, crisp at the edges, onto a platter, on which were already piled mounds of scrambled eggs. A large, wooden bowl filled with pones of fried cornbread stood nearby, and at the near end of the rough-hewn wooden table was a stack of folded linens.
Ruth pointed with her chin to the sheets. “Once breakfast is finished and cleaned up, those are your fresh sheets. Just set the soiled ones in the tub over there.” Her chin now indicated a wooden washtub in which rested a corrugated washboard, and Shelby didn’t figure she meant the small metal bathtub sitting next to it. The bathtub was filled with sacks of flour and corn meal, which gave Shelby to know how seldom it was used. Fortunately for her, the Brosnahan boys had been taught to scrub thoroughly at the bedroom washstand.
Ruth’s gently graying hair appeared to have once been light brown, and it was neatly pinned in back. Her dress was plain but in good condition. The Brosnahans were known for their sensible habits and attire, and though extravagance wasn’t their way, neither was it to be miserly or shabby. Ruth wore a pretty, silk ribbon tied in a bow that cascaded nearly to the collar of her dress.
“So, how do you like being married so far?” There was a light of humor in her eyes that made Shelby smile.
“I love Lucas with all my heart.”
“But your heart isn’t the part that’s all wore out now, is it?”
Shelby giggled and rolled her eyes, hefting the laundry in her hands for emphasis. “I don’t know how we could have made a worse mess, but I think I could have stood giving it a try.”
That brought a high, abandoned laugh from Ruth, who had to step back from the table for a moment to collect herself. Then she set down the fork she was using, lifted the platter and said, “Well, if he’s anything at all like his brother, you’ll need a big breakfast to build back your strength today.”
Another laugh burbled from Shelby, and she decided she was going to like hanging out with Ruth. She set the wad of sheets into the laundry tub, then went to help Ruth carry the food down through the tunnel and up to the dining room.
“Wouldn’t it be shorter to take this stuff straight across to the house?”
“In summer, when it’s warm, we’ll do that. But just now it’s too cold yet to be carrying straight across without putting a chill on the hot food.”
“I suppose Lucas and Amos like it this way, so their food is nice and hot.”
Ruth shrugged. “I expect they do, but then so do I like hot food.”
Shelby grinned. Yeah, she was going to like Ruth a lot.
Breakfast was a big meal, and the four men and three women put away quite a lot of food between them. Shelby did need a good breakfast that day, and her appetite was even better than usual. She felt comfortable and happy, and enjoyed the lively table conversation that had been lacking at the Campbells’ house. For the first time since the switch, Shelby felt at home.
Settling into the Brosnahan house was a far easier task than had been Shelby’s introduction to Mary Beth Campbell’s life. She was not expected to know anything, for Mary Beth was the daughter of a rich man and had always had servants. Ruth carefully, though with a subtle condescension, taught Shelby how to cook, how to use the kitchen hearth, how to clean house, and dozens of other chores that kept the wives of the brothers busy each day. She found the work not nearly as tedious as housework had been in her own century. Having nothing else she might have done otherwise, it was a relief from the boredom of hanging around the Campbells’ house.
The day always began with breakfast: making, serving and cleaning. Ruth was the cook of the family, and Martha a reluctant helper. With four Brosnahan men, three wives, and Clyde on the farm, two hound dogs, five pigs, twenty or so chickens, and a half-wild barn cat, the job of feeding everyone was a large one and there was always something to keep each of the women occupied. Washing black eye peas, breaking the ends from snap beans, kneading bread, rinsing salt pork, grating stale bread for crumbs, washing and chopping greens for the pot, and other chores of preparation filled the odd moments in between tending the truck garden, straightening the house, scrubbing floors, dusting rooms, washing and hanging laundry, carrying wood in, and washing walls.
Walls? Shelby was stunned to learn that wall-washing was a monthly chore. In a house where for most of the year four wood fires burned all day every day, it was the only way to keep the rooms from turning black, and she discovered the molding in the rooms she’d thought was beige was actually a bright, sunshiny yellow. She’d arrived just in time for spring cleaning, and learned to beat rugs as well.
Shelby was glad for something to do finally. Even more, the company of her sisters-in-law was a welcome change from the stuffy Campbells and their skittish house servants. R
uth and Martha seemed to welcome the extra hands and fresh company while they worked. It was spring, the weather was improving, and the three spent many sunny afternoons preparing the ground in the garden for planting. It was half an acre, plowed by Clyde as he sang a single verse of “Rock of Ages” over and over again in a high, loud, scratchy voice. The garden would produce enough vegetables for the family and some to sell in Gallatin. Shelby enjoyed the sun and the exercise, and especially enjoyed the occasional glimpse of Lucas across the field as he worked with the horses.
So wonderful to have a husband she could see during the day! Often she would look up, and recognize his tall frame out in the ring, handling the animals with a mastery that left her breathless. The sight of him atop a mount, or training one to saddle, or even just perched on the top fence rail, made her stand to watch, endlessly awed that he belonged to her.
“You’re going to end up looking like a darkie, you just stand there in the sun like that.”
Shelby was startled back to her chores and ignored Martha’s rudeness, for she’d learned by now that anything she might have to say to the woman on the subject of common courtesy would go completely over her head. Shelby bent to her hoe and continued breaking clods. Though she thought Martha snobbish and lazy, and Martha plainly thought Shelby stupid and menial, Shelby had sympathy for the woman in her reluctance to labor outdoors. Poor Martha was so pale, she had no chance of ever tanning at all. The woman only burned and peeled, and burned and peeled again, her red nose as constant as her pale cheeks even though she never stepped outside without an enormous bonnet. Somehow the sun always found her. Over the next few weeks Shelby encouraged Martha to keep indoors and she herself did more of the outdoor work in exchange for less of the messy, sweaty kitchen labor. That kitchen was constantly overheated by the large cook fire. Shelby hated the passage from the basement, hated the spiders that lurked in the dark corners of it, and was ever so happy to do as much garden work as Ruth and Martha would allow.
