Dalliances & Devotion

by Felicia Grossman

  “This will not hurt the infant and will welcome him into the people,” the man said. “Can we call up the godparents to help undress and hold the child?”

  Thad yawned again. “Of course. My older sister is a bit under the weather, so bowed out. It’ll be my younger sister, Amalia, and—” Thad’s voice broke a little. “It would’ve been Simon, my younger brother, but...well, we have his best friend from the war, David Zisskind here, so he’ll be the godfather.”

  David gasped. Wasn’t Thad supposed to ask first? Not that he’d say “no,” but still. His heart sped a bit, but perhaps this was a sign he’d finally arrived, was finally about to be accepted.

  Yes. And if they permitted this, maybe, just maybe they’d find a way to allow him some time with Amalia. A warmth spread through David’s limbs. Head held high, he made his way through the crowd to stand next to Amalia, who was already jiggling the half cooing, half crying baby.

  “We just have to pull up his gown and remove his cloth,” she whispered and tilted the baby towards him.

  With the lightest of touches David slid the long white gown over the baby’s legs, removed the diapering cloth and—right in the face. Or more, his neck. And his shirt, and jacket, and tie.

  “Ew.” Amalia wrinkled her nose, but giggled.

  “Oh, I should’ve warned you.” Thad’s wife was at his ear. “Boys spray. This one a lot. His nurse has to change several times a day.”

  Great, just great. David only nodded, keeping his face as dignified as possible because if this was some sort of test, damn it, he’d pass. Exceed anyone else who dared to play the game.

  “We’ll get you a cloth and a change of clothes afterwards.” Thad patted his back. “Sorry about that, but thank you for doing this. It would’ve made Simon happy.”

  David straightened his shoulders. “I’m honored.” Which was the truth, because being a godparent was an honor, and one neither of his own sisters had bestowed on him. And in Simon’s place, well...he couldn’t contemplate that lest he started to cry.

  He turned as Amalia was handing the baby on a pillow to her mother’s older cousin, Isaac Levy, who was seated beside an empty chair—for the prophet Elijah, Thad had told him. Not his custom, but apparently one of theirs.

  The mohel was speaking, starting the ceremony when she took her place next to him, and whispered in his ear. “My grandfather was the sendek for both of my older nephews but he passed last spring. Isaac’s now the oldest male on my mother’s side, which is to say isn’t very old.”

  No, the man was probably only in his forties, much younger than Amalia’s father. He resisted the urge to put his arm around her because that would not be proper under any circumstances and instead nodded once more.

  He glanced to the side as the mohel chanted. There were tears in her eyes. Well, that wouldn’t do. It was a happy occasion, generation to generation and all that. He slid closer to her so her skirts could block his actions and took her gloved hand in his and stroked the top. She stared at him, lips parted, before giving him a soft smile as the mohel finished and gave Judah Zvi—better known as John Thaddeus Truitt—the seventh to hold that name—son of “Yonathan” Truitt as Thad was known in Hebrew, and Batya, back to his parents.

  The kid didn’t cry either, though he fussed again—little whines and murmurs and struggles against his mother’s gown.

  “I think Belle might want to retire with the baby,” Amalia whispered at her own mother. Mrs. Truitt’s lips quirked.

  “Probably.” She clapped her hands together. “And that concludes the ceremonial part of this evening. Please, everyone eat. My new grandson is going to rest, but we can celebrate.”

  Amalia’s shoulders relaxed. “Ro nursed. When her boys were desperate to eat like that, it meant she was also very uncomfortable.” She indicated to her own chest. “I can’t even imagine what would happen with these.”

  David had to slap his hand over his face so not to laugh out loud. “Someone’d lose an eye, probably?” He echoed her earlier words. Amalia giggled and leaned closer before recoiling.

  “You need to change. And bathe.” She rushed over to her brother, who returned with a servant.

  Thad gave him the once over. “You’re broader than any of us now but still not as tall. I do think my clothes will be better than my father’s.”

  “Anything clean,” he said. He’d have to hide in the background if it was too bad, not the worst thing since he was still supposed to be looking after Amalia, family or no family, though damned if being in the spotlight, finally, wasn’t satisfying. “I have work to do after all.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on her until you get back.” Thad put his hand on Amalia’s shoulder before handing off his daughter to her.

  “No, you want an extra nanny for a few minutes.” She smiled though. “Hurry back, David, the food should be good. Make sure you get some. You might need your strength later.” And the minx licked her lips. Oh, he’d need to make that bath cold now. And he’d have to hurry.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Amalia hunched her shoulders and back towards the wall of the ballroom as family and guests fussed over Thad, her sister-in-law, and the now probably slightly drunk baby J.T.—as he now could claim his other great-grandfather’s nickname. She’d closed her eyes while the mohel from Philadelphia did his part, but her nephew hadn’t fussed. Her brother’s second child, but first son. The next generation was growing. By the set of her sister’s skirts and her skin’s green hue, Ro was probably working on a third.

  She heaved a sigh as she milled around the swirling silk bustles and dark wool overcoats, stuffing themselves with the food. A few of the men had already removed their jackets. Thad’s sleeves were rolled past his elbows. Pretty soon the cigars and hard liquor would permeate the room. Her family did things right. No boring holidays or rituals for the Truitts.

  With a small smile, Amalia popped a handful of berries into her mouth.

  Would she ever have a child? A lump swelled in her throat. Did she want one? Maybe, maybe not, but to never have the option...

  “Amalia, darling, that dress looks even better in this light.” A rush of deep plum and gold accosted her.

  “Mother.” Amalia brushed aside a graying blonde curl and kissed her mother’s still smooth cheek, flushing a bit at the compliment, even if it was a lie.

  Her mother smiled and grasped Amalia’s arms, giving her the once over, before frowning. “Don’t slump your shoulders dear. You’ll crease. It’s better to be tall and proud, than slouchy and messy. Confidence is beauty. If you don’t find yourself beautiful, no one will.”

  “Yes, yes, you’re right,” Amalia murmured, especially as she’d pretty much written that advice—verbatim—in a column four months ago. Good god, was she turning into her mother? Now that was a depressing thought. The woman was fifty and probably had no recollection of her youth.

  “Thad just told me you wanted to leave for the Philadelphia house almost immediately. Why don’t you stay a bit longer? We’ll keep you safe while you figure out what you’re going to do next with your life.” Her mother tapped her on the back and Amalia adjusted.

  “No, you want me here so you can plan the next phase of my life.” She grumbled the words, almost to herself. She was never speaking to her tattletale brother again. Never. “Because none of you trust me or my judgment.”

  A stricken expression flashed in her mother’s cornflower blue eyes. Her lips softened and she reached out and stroked Amalia’s shoulder. “Oh, darling, that’s not true. It’s quite the opposite actually. As I was saying in your room, before we were interrupted, your father and I—”

  “Ursula, you must tell us about your meeting with President Grant. Jay said that you believe we can trust him, that his apology to the Jewish community was sincere.” A man with a graying mustache wedged his body between them, threading his arm through her mother’s
.

  Typical.

  A sharp stab pinched Amalia’s core, as she took a step back from the woman who everyone always vied to snatch a piece of—leaving so little for her.

  Her mother bounced on her toes and craned her neck to catch Amalia’s eye. “I’ll—”

  “You’ll be back. We’ll talk later.” They wouldn’t and her mother would feel bad. And the next day a new gown or hair comb or expensive powder or perfume from England would appear in Amalia’s room. Like the toys and ribbons and sweets had when she was a child. She raised her chin to her mother’s retreating back. “Don’t fret, Mother.”

  Her mother gave her a small wave before being swallowed in a sea of bodies. Amalia patted her hair and snatched a few olives and some cheese from the hors d’oeuvres table. She glanced around. She should visit with her sister, make small talk, but out of the corner of her eye she spotted a familiar beard, near a door. David. Thad’s coat was a little snug on him, wasn’t it?

  Amalia smiled a little to herself as an image of him removing not just the jacket, but the shirt, and everything underneath, flashed in her mind. She could lie back on the bed and he’d undo each button, gazing down at her and only her with hunger in his eyes. She had to grind her jaw so not to whimper. Oh yes, it was time to make this evening interesting.

  * * *

  David hung back at the edge of the room, near his corner, observing the crowd while Will worked the perimeter of the house. They still had a job, no matter what half-drunk Thad said when he’d slapped them both on the back. Enjoy yourselves, boys.

  Nope, not when his task was almost finished, not when he was on the brink. Enjoyment was for later, though... David reached out and snatched what appeared to be chopped liver on toast from a servant’s tray. The food was decadent. He slipped it in his mouth—delicious. This was the good stuff.

  Wealth, no matter how unfair, had its advantages. Which was why everyone should have access—to everything—the music, the lights, the liver—all of it. At least once in a while.

  He leaned against the chair rail, kicking one leg over the other as he surveyed the ballroom. It was pretty in the light, fresco-adorned ceiling and six twinkling chandeliers. So much white and gold. The wallpaper shimmered. Good thing he was in one of Thad’s suits not his own. He’d probably stain every surface.

  Though when he received his promotion, he’d invest in the finest suit money could buy and glide into events like this as if he belonged. A waste under other circumstances, but here, a tool. Because maybe if he could appear to belong, Amalia’s parents would approve and she’d agree to some sort of arrangement. Something that would be enough.

  Magnolias tickled his nose, wafting in from right beside his ear. Amalia leaned her chin on his shoulder. He turned, his lips brushing hers. His innards crackled and hummed.

  “Careful, someone will see.” He whispered the words against her ear resisting the urge to nibble.

  “Possibly, but I like this.” She tilted her head away to view the crowd but slid her body closer so her bosom grazed his arm.

  “You like what?” he asked.

  “Being this close to you, the way we fit now. I’ve never liked being tall so much.” Amalia remained facing the party but she trailed her hand down the back of his sleeve. The urge to clasp her wrist and bring her knuckles to his lips assaulted his senses.

  She was such delightful trouble in her own home. Rebellious even—something that shouldn’t be attractive, but for him at least...then and now and always.

  “You’re a very dangerous woman.” He weaved his arm around her so he could touch the small of her back. “If anyone notices us, that baby isn’t going to be the only one losing something from his nether regions.” Damned if she didn’t wriggle for him. What was he going to do with her? Well, he could think of a few ideas, just not in the middle of a bris.

  “We can find somewhere else to be.” Amalia slid a bit in front of him so she could lean her bottom against his body. “Unless the festivities put a damper on...”

  “Not a chance.” He swallowed. “But that’s a bit dangerous, isn’t it?” Though he was already running through room options in his head from his last scouting trip around the house. The good part of protection duty was that he could study the layout of the house. Including every nook and cranny.

  And yes, he might have had a few flights of fancy during his patrols. But, to be fair, after what he experienced in the cave, who wouldn’t picture Amalia bent over the window seat in the guestroom, or spread on a reading couch in the library? And only a slug wouldn’t be inspired by the woman’s own four-post bed. What they’d done in the past was so paltry compared to what they could do now with all the wisdom and knowledge they’d gained.

  “This is a perfect opportunity, people will be eating and socializing for hours. Besides, we like danger, don’t we?” Amalia echoed his own thoughts in his ear.

  His heart began to pound, but not with fear, with excitement. His mind lit on all the letters, all the possibilities.

  “That we do.” He stuffed his hands into the too-tight pockets, forcing his voice not to crack, to be as suave as possible. “All right.” David tapped his chin as his brain worked through a million excellent ideas. “I heard your father was going to start his poker game in his study in an hour, which is right next to your room, so we have a ‘deadline,’ as you like to say.” Further mischief sparked in his mind. “Slip out now. Remove your knickers and bustle and place them in your room so I can act as your lady’s maid later. Find a condom and slip it inside your glove.”

  She opened her mouth in protest but he laid a finger over her lips. “It’s crowded enough that no one will notice, which is good because I have a task for you.”

  “A t-t-task,” she stammered but her eyes darkened to a near charcoal gray, her lust evident.

  “Oh yes, danger, remember?” He pressed his hand against her back, once more, firm. “I want you to come back to the party and talk to five people without your knickers. Only then can you retire to your bedroom. I’ll be waiting for you, in the same position I was in that night you scared me half to death when we were young. This time though, I want to be inside you while you’re astride. I want to best the earlier memory.” So they could come around full circle and this time, find a way to be together instead of apart.

  Amalia’s pulse sped so fast it vibrated into his body. But she nodded. “All right.”

  “You like that idea?” he whispered, before blowing a stream of air against her lobe. He was rewarded by the rub of her bustle against him.

  “Yes, I do. But it’s rather difficult to accomplish when I’m in this state.” She made a small whimpering noise.

  “That’s my intent.” He smiled into the back of her floral-scented hair. “And you are going to love thinking of me the entire time you’re talking and while I make you wait. Me and only me.”

  A near moan. He’d need to be careful or he’d have to cover her mouth. Not that he would because she was too delicious like this and he, well, when he made her want him, he was on top of the world. When she sparked with desire for him, the coat wasn’t too tight, and the shoes didn’t pinch, and his father never happened. When he made her squirm against him, he was invincible.

  He scooted a bit off the wall so he could brush her body more. “You have no idea what that thought does to me.”

  Amalia whirled around and crossed her arms, a small smirk on her face. “Well, just don’t get that worked up. I don’t actually want to get caught, but I want it to be long enough to remember.”

  He snorted a little. Lord, she was everything. “I’ll last.” He’d make sure of it. His body tightened with lust though at the image. Or they’d do it twice. One or the other.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Amalia’s heart pounded as she crept past her father’s—really her grandfather’s—still quiet and empty study, ducking so her hair
didn’t tangle in the sconces sparkling against the gilded floral wallpaper.

  How much time did they have left? She’d worked to be quick, but unfortunately, two of Thad’s friends insisted on dancing with her, after which cousin Rachel and Lydia Nathan, her ever-present-companion, cornered and interrogated her about a dozen things, not the least of which was whether she’d be willing to teach Sunday school.

  Her poor niece wanted a few sweets that she was too small to reach and Amalia obliged before returning the girl to her father, all the while aware of her bareness under her dress.

  To be fair, the lack of bustle coupled with the looser corset would make hitching her skirts much easier. Also, the sleeveless, flouncy ball gown was much lighter than her traveling clothes—all the better for climbing on a bed. Score one for David and his planning.

  Hurry, hurry, hurry.

  The word echoed the rhythm of her heart as she reached for the doorknob. She needed him. Needed every moment she could have of him. Because, somewhere, deep inside, a voice whispered that a deadline loomed.

  Her chest near exploded as she edged the door to her dark bedroom open. He was in there, right?

  The rasped oath from the bed was unmistakable, even if it hadn’t been in Yiddish.

  The door clicked shut and she clicked the lock, before tiptoeing towards the bed.

  “Are you going to let me light a lamp, or a candle at least?” She pursed her lips. “I want to see you.”

  Instead of responding, he did the honors and she gasped at his beautiful, nude, and very ready body in the low flickering glow.

  “Is this what you wanted?” He threw her his smirk, his eyes shimmering behind his spectacles.

  She could only nod.

  He rolled on his side and propped himself up on an elbow. “Come here. We’ll get you out of that gown.”

  “But I was wearing one last time, or at least a night one and if we are reliving and improving...” she protested but still turned around and swooped her hair over her shoulder.