Bitter Eden

by Salvato, Sharon Anne

  It seemed to Stephen that it had been weeks since he had had the time to be young, and he longed for it. Though he saw her every day, watched her work by his side and put out every bit as much energy and effort as he, he missed having free moments with Cal-lie. Moments when she would shrug free of the responsibilities of Jamie, Natalie, the farm, moments when she would forget Peter and run like a wood sprite through his newly plowed fields, laughing with a sound that was like a song on the wind to him.

  He counted the days of his life by those moments when the smell of freshly turned earth and flowers and grass all swelled and enveloped him, whispering her name in his ears. Those were the moments when she was his. Those were the days he worked for and longed for when he didn't have the time to be with her.

  He had known for some time he would never marry Agnes Wharton. He just hadn't found ^a way of breaking free without hurting her. Jack had called him a damned fool, and was probably right. Agnes would

  make him a good wife, but he loved Callie. He expected to die a very old man still loving Callie.

  For months, however, Stephen had struggled with his decision, trying to be fair. Jack's constant warnings and his own logic told him to marry Agnes Wharton, to settle down and begin to raise a family. He would be happy with Agnes; he didn't doubt that. But the yearning inside him to be near one particular woman would never be satisfied.

  Stephen knew that all his arguments against marrying Agnes were the romantic tomfoolery that Jack labeled them, but he questioned that men ever achieved anything extraordinary by being objective. The heights and nadirs of life were achieved only subjectively. Stephen never mentioned this line of thinking to Jack, knowing it would bring forth a barrage of sarcastic teasing. But he made his decision on it. He'd wait for Callie.

  Even with the decision made, he didn't rest easy. There were too many questions and uncertainties. There was Callie herself to complicate it. Though he believed that a desire as great as his could not go unrecognized by her forever, she had not given any indication since they had returned from Kent that she would ever consider him as anything more than a loving brother.

  The other consideration that made him doubt himself was Peter. He knew he would never step between Callie and Peter if things were as bad with his brother as he suspected. No matter how much he wanted to, he could never interfere if Peter truly needed her. But if he should be wrong and Peter returned home healthy and well, then he'd be free to court Callie openly and on an equal footing with Peter. So much of his life depended on Peter. The waiting to bring

  him home became more difficult for Stephen with each passing day.

  After brooding about it and arguing with Jack for a solid week, Stephen decided the time to break with Agnes had come, and it must be done with complete honesty. Jack waited for him in the carriage as Stephen went to tell her they would never marry, that while he cared greatly for her he loved someone else and he would marry that woman or none.

  Jack scowled as Stephen climbed back into the carriage. "Do you feel like the heel you are?" he asked.

  "I've felt better," Stephen said shortly.

  "I don't know what you're going to do now, but I'm going out to get drunk."

  "I don't feel like drinking," Stephen said. "And I don't want to see anyone tonight."

  Jack looked disgustedly at him. "I didn't mean I was going with you. I'm going alone and forget I ever introduced you to that girl."

  Stephen looked somberly from the carriage window. He said nothing, and felt about as low as Jack thought he was. "Good night, Jack," he said as the carriage stopped to let him out at the house.

  Jack leaned out of the window. He looked at Stephen standing on the side of the driveway. "Change your mind, Stevie. Don't be such a damned fool all the time."

  Stephen shook his head. "I can't, Jack. I am a damned fool about this."

  "Ahhh, shit," Jack said and whacked at the top of the carriage for the driver to go on.

  Stephen walked down to the spot he loved in the woods. He wandered aimlessly along the side of the stream, then sat down staring into the water. Slowly the tension and the sadness of his meeting with Agnes washed away, and he was left with a sense of relief.

  Though it had been difficult, he didn't doubt now that his decision had been right—at least for him. And then his thoughts turned, as they always seemed to turn, to Callie.

  Tomorrow was Sunday. His fields were plowed. Her creamery was in order, butter churned and the room cleaned. He would take her all to himself to this wooded spot near the stream. He imagined how she would look standing against the backdrop of the trees and the sky and the water. He pretended to know what she would say and what he would respond. She could bring Jamie if she liked and they could laugh and play and watch the child together.

  It was very late when he finally left his place by the stream and returned to the house. He went to sleep still making plans for the morning and trying to imagine how it would all be. But when he awakened he found the house quiet and empty of all but Natalie.

  "Callie's made them all go to church," Natalie said when he asked.

  "Everyone?"

  "Yes, even cook, who says she hates sermons.*'

  He laughed and went to the pantry, pulling bread and cheese from the shelves and wrapping it to go into the basket. He finished packing the basket with a crock of beer for himself and the cider Callie preferred. "Have you eaten?" he asked as Natalie stood watching him.

  "No one fixed it for me. Callie took everyone with her."

  "Sit down. If you want the best breakfast you'll ever get, wait until you taste what I can do with an egg."

  Natalie sat down, waiting.

  "You can set the table, Nat."

  "I don't know where the dishes are kept"

  "Try looking on the shelf/' He pointed to the neatly stacked dishes.

  She looked at them but didn't move. He walked over, took two dishes, and put them on the table, then put knives and forks on top of them. "You can arrange them on the table?"

  "Yes."

  Stephen scrambled their eggs and browned two pieces of bread. He sat down opposite her and began to eat. "You've got to stop your daydreaming about Albert, Nat. You do it too much. It's no good for you. I know you loved him, but he's gone and you're still young. You've no business acting the way you do."

  "I must be careful."

  "Of what?"

  "He might see me."

  "Who might? What the hell are you talking about?"

  "Peter. He knows that I know he killed Albert."

  Stephen put down his fork, staring at her.

  She looked earnestly at him. "Peter's here . . . looking for me. He thinks he can kill me too, but he can't . . ." She looked around the room warily. "I'm always on guard. I see him sometimes. He has terrible eyes and he hates me, but I guard. . . . He'll not find me."

  "You're imagining things. You keep yourself closed in that room of yours too much." He tossed his bread onto the plate, disgusted.

  Natalie stiffened, her head cocked, listening. "He's coming," she whispered and jumped up from the table, running all the way to her room.

  "She's crazy as a loon," Stephen muttered as he cleared the table. He finished cleaning the dishes, then dismissed thoughts of Natalie when a happy crew of household help, Jamie, and Callie came in the back door.

  "Good morning, sleepy heathen," Callie said cheerfully.

  "Good morning to you. Go change your clothes. We're going to the stream, and don't try to give me an argument," he said.

  "Me too?" Jamie piped.

  "You too."

  "Uncle Stephen, will you teach me to swim some more?"

  "Uhh—well then, Fd better change my clothes too if that's what you have in mind."

  "I do!"

  "All right-go! Get ready."

  Jamie came downstairs again with cutoff pants and more equipment to entertain himself with than he could carry. Behind him he left a trail of balls, toy trains that Stephen had carved for
him, and a bag of marbles that spilled as they dropped, rolling over the hallway.

  "Jamie!" Callie scolded as she came down the stairs.

  "He didn't drop his hoop or towel, Callie." Stephen laughed, ruffling Jamie's hair. "Come on, I'll help you pick them up."

  They reached the clearing in the woods half an hour later.

  Stephen stripped off his shirt and, wearing an old pair of pants cut off at the knee in similar fashion to Jamie's, dived into the deepest part of the stream. Callie stood on the bank holding the undershirt she insisted he wear while swimming.

  It wasn't that she wasn't used to seeing him bare-chested. She was, and it was that that kept her insisting on the shirt. There were some proper social customs that Stephen would not adhere to no matter what. Keeping the upper part of his body covered was one of them. He even refused to wear a nightshirt in

  bed, and might be seen by anyone, including the servants, as he tramped through the upper hall in the morning, stretching and yawning without a care to propriety. She dangled the shirt at him. "Put it on"

  He reached for it. She tossed it to him, and he dunked it-beneath the water, then threw it back to her dripping. "I can't," he said sincerely, "It's all wet. I'll catch my death in wet clothes. You told me so yourself."

  Callie stamped her foot. "Ohh, you'd catch your death if I could get my hands on you!"

  "Jump in."

  "I would drown."

  "I'd save you."

  Jamie came to the bank. "Save me, Uncle Stephen!" he cried and flew frog-style in Stephen's direction, paddling frantically. Squeals of delight and laughter pierced the air. Callie, smiling, looked wistfully at the two of them playing in the water. Stephen dived and came up near to the bank where she stood. His smile was wide, his teeth strikingly white in his darkly tanned face. "Come in with us, Callie."

  "I can't. I have no bathing outfit."

  "Wear your bloomers. You do wear bloomers?" He grinned, bobbing up and down.

  "Stephen Berean! You're not to know what I wear."

  He laughed and tossed Jamie into the air. "Come in," he whispered. "I won't tell anyone."

  Her eyes sparkled. She looked at the tempting blue stream, her lower lip caught between her teeth. "Would I datfe?"

  He shook his head and turned his back. "Hurry up."

  "Suppose someone comes."

  "No one will."

  "But suppose they do."

  "Stay under water."

  "Stephen! I'd drown."

  "Well, nobodyd better come then. Are you ready?"

  "No! Stay turned around until I get in the water." Cautiously she stepped off the bank, inching her way along the bottom until she stepped into a deeper hole and the water closed over her chest

  "StephenT

  "What?"

  "I'm sinking! I cant swim."

  He dived and came up with his arms around her. "I'll teach you. If Jamie can paddle around, you can too. Just do as I tell you. I'll hold you up till you get the idea."

  "I'll absolutely die if someone comes and sees me in my undergarments."

  "Definitely if you stay underwater."

  "You are a rotten tease with no morals whatever."

  "But I'm lovable."

  "Is that what all your lady friends tell you?" she asked, paddling as he instructed.

  With his arms around her waist, he was minutely aware of the soft curving body he supported. "Some of them."

  "They don t know you. Ignorance is bliss."

  He laughed and let go of her.

  "Stephen! Stephen, I'm sinking!"

  "Say something nice."

  "Stephen!"

  "Nice."

  "You're lovable! Oh, Stephen, help!"

  "That's nice," he said, taking hold of her again. She turned in his arms, clinging to him. The gentle motion of the water pushed her against him and away. He put his arms around her waist and pulled her closer along the length of him. She looked up in mock anger.

  "Do you have to drown all your admirers to make them say something nice?"

  "Only a few." He laughed and let her struggle free of his grasp. "Hold my hands and kick while I pull you along. Watch how Jamie does it."

  They stayed in the water until the sun went behind the clouds and they felt the coolness of the wind. Cal-lie got out first, shivering as she ran behind the bushes. Stephen and Jamie turned away,

  "Oh, Stephen!"

  "What's wrong now?"

  "I don't know what to do . . . my bloomers . . . they're all wet."

  He began to laugh until tears were in his eyes. She came out from behind the bushes, her skirt and bodice already showing wet spots from her hair and wet undergarments. Stephen and Jamie both got out, flopping down on the warm earth to dry in the air and the sun as it made its way out of the clouds.

  They ate and Jamie went off to play with his trains, building a station with rocks and sticks he had gathered. Callie shook out the cloth Stephen had laid on the ground before they ate. She folded it neatly, standing straight-backed and looking toward the stream. "That was fun."

  He was lying on the ground, his head propped up by a fallen tree trunk. He smiled up at her, thinking she looked pretty with her still-wet hair drying in the wind. Her dress was splotched with patches of moisture, and her feet were bare. He didn't remember seeing her look so relaxed or natural since they had returned from England. He put his hand out to her. "Come sit with me."

  "You're half naked. Get dressed and I'll sit with you."

  He raised his eyebrows looking pointedly at her

  skirt "Do you think it any more proper that a fully dressed man should sit beside a woman who's wet her bloomers?"

  She ran to him, pulling his hair, tumbling to the ground with him as he grabbed her. He rolled with her. Callie was flat on her back, both hands full of Stephen s damp, curling hair, looking straight into his deep blue eyes. He lowered himself down on her. His hands held the sides of her head as he looked at her wonderingly. As he said her name in a low, husky voice, she felt his breath touch her lips and cheek. Then he kissed her long and hard on the mouth. Her lips separated as his tongue slipped easily between her teeth, searching, seeking, filling her with hot, tingling feelings, emptying her of all thoughts except those of him.

  "Whaddya doing, Uncle Stephen?" Jamie asked.

  Callie lay motionless, looking at him, hardly aware Jamie was there. Stephen kissed her again, very gently on her parted lips. "Kissing your Aunt Callie," he said and smiled. He touched her hair and moved slightly so his weight was no longer on her.

  "Well, if you re done, could you help me build my ttain station?"

  "Yes, let's build a train station, Jamie." He got up and went off with Jamie, acting as he always did.

  Callie sat up, brushing the dust from herself, wondering if she'd ever breathe normally again. She should be both angry and offended, she thought, but she was neither. She sat there in a daze, remembering the feelings his kiss had evoked. Then quite suddenly her breathing returned to its normal, even rhythm, and she began to think clearly. She thought of herself rolling over in the dirt like a common . . . and she thought of Peter. Last, she remembered Agnes Wharton.

  She picked up everything that was left in the clearing, packing it back into the basket. She hurried over to where Jamie played. "Come on, Jamie. It's time to go home."

  "But Aunt Callie . • . Uncle Stephen just built me a train station."

  Cross-legged on the ground, Stephen grinned up at her, looking as pleased as Jamie. "Pretty good, eh?"

  "It's time to go," she said severely.

  His smile faded. He reached for her hand, which she hastily withdrew. He took a handful of her skirt, keeping her from running off. "Are you angry?"

  "Yes," she hissed.

  He stood up. "Why? Callie . . ." Taking hold of her arm, he pushed her until she walked with him away from Jamie. He placed both hands on her shoulder, holding her fast against a tree. "Because I kissed you?"

  "Yes."

&n
bsp; He tried to laugh, but even as a gesture, it wouldn't come out "I always kiss you."

  She glared at him; then her lip began to tremble. She turned her head away as though she couldn't bear the sight of him. "Not like that."

  "Oh," he sighed. "I thought . . ."

  Her words came out in an angry torrent She wanted to hurt him, because in some way that she refused to examine he had hurt her. "I suppose you do that all the time. All those women. ... I suppose you think I'm just like that."

  "No." Tears were coming to her eyes. "Callie, I didn't mean to hurt you. Please, don't cry. Don't you underst—"

  "I'm not crying!" she shrieked. "Let me go! I know all about . . . about men like you. You're almost en-

  gaged to Agnes. Fm not so dumb as you think. I know about you."

  Tm not engaged to Agnes."

  "That isn't what I hear."

  "Callie . . ."

  "Don't talk to me, Stephen. You shouldn't have done that. I'm not one of ... of your women."

  "Callie, listen to me." He touched her cheek.

  She turned her head. "Don't!"

  His fingers tenderly traced the line of her cheekbone and jaw; then he walked back to Jamie. "Come on, little man, it's time to go." Jamie looked up with great round imploring eyes. Stephen shook his head. "Get on my back; I'll give you a ride home."

  To Stephen the most magnificent feeling he knew had come from walking to the top of his mountain in Kent Being with Callie gave him the same feeling. She made the air seem fresher to him. Her presence took him above the scurrying, wearying bustle of work. He felt whole and larger than himself with her. And because she was so much a part of his life there lived in him a belief that hidden within her she had a special love for him as well. Yet there was another side to Callie. Her sense of duty and loyalty was as hard as granite. Today he had let down his guard and kissed her as he wished he always could. She had responded. He was sure she had, and yet to look at her now, walking ahead of him, her back rigid, so remote and cold, it was difficult for him to recall anything but her angry hurt and her cold withdrawal from him. Unhappily Stephen realized the chances of him beating himself bloody against the granite wall of Callie's sense of right were just as great as his chances that she would ever love him as he loved her.