by Kim Bowman
“Is it for real? I mean, people won’t start fighting again?” Amelia clearly didn’t understand and for a moment I reflected on how she must see this war. Literally a third of her life we had been fighting. She most likely remembered little else from before the war and if this were real, her life would be very different now. It must be frightening for her.
And if the fighting was over, would there be as many jobs available? Would the soldiers return home and take the jobs? What would Amelia and I do in Chicago if I couldn’t find an employer?
“Grayson? Is it real?” He lifted me quickly onto Fran’s back and handed me the reins, which I took with slightly numbed hands.
“I don’t know. Only time will tell.” He mounted the General, haste apparent in his every movement and I wondered at it. “We need to find a hotel, now!”
Why? What did our finding lodging have to do with the war’s surrender?
“Why?” Amelia echoed my thoughts and I waited for his answer.
“Rooms will get scarce. Everyone who is traveling will want to stay¯not want to miss any news. Come.”
We applied at two inns, but it was as Grayson feared. We were lucky to find a small room on the outskirts of the city. It had bare walls and only a small thin bed, big enough only for my sister. Where were Grayson and I to sleep?
Grayson left to stable the horses, the same routine I had grown familiar with over the last several days. I requested from the hotelier several extra blankets. The man leered at me and I felt ice slither around my insides. His look was too reminiscent of those men’s by the creek and I was anxious for Grayson to return, bringing with him the safety I associated with him.
I locked the door after he left, placing the room’s lone chair beneath the old knob. I didn’t want anyone pushing through the door. When Grayson knocked and identified himself, I hurriedly removed the chair. He entered, and then replaced it, no more comfortable in our surroundings than I was.
That did not reassure me.
“I’ll try to find better lodgings tomorrow,” he told me, placing the bundles in his arms on the small bed. A rich smell of gravy wafted from the paper-wrapped items and my stomach growled in accompaniment. We quickly devoured his offering, talking over bites about the news.
Grayson seemed doubtful that it was over, but I didn’t know if it was merely that the man was shocked at the ending of what had to be a momentous force in his life. Me, it didn’t affect much. I still had no home, could not return to my uncle’s ¯ even if I wanted to.
“So what do we do now?” Amelia wanted to know. She was to take the bed this evening. Even though I was less than third a foot taller than she, I would not fit on the small mattress. I wasn’t nervous, at least not overmuch, at the prospect of sleeping beside Grayson on the floor. I had grown somewhat more accustomed to his presence.
“Now, we wait. Be sure it’s true.” Grayson’s voice was low, tired, and I stared at him for a moment, though I didn’t say anything, didn’t dare.
As the evening settled into dusk, the night sounds were drowned out by the sounds of reveling and church bells. Some enterprising souls had found fireworks and were putting on wonderful displays that we could sometimes see through the room’s small un-paned window.
I was afraid to believe it was over; the war that had changed my life so horrifically was finally at its end? I couldn’t make myself believe it; and if it were true only one question remained in my mind. What would Amelia and I¯and Grayson¯do now?
Chapter Nine
Fireworks kept me awake long after Grayson and Amelia drifted off; that, and the feel of Grayson’s body lying so close to mine. If I reached my hand out, I could run my fingers over the dark whiskers on his jaw.
I curled my fingers inward, but found my hand doing just that. I hadn’t felt whiskers before; my father and brother had rarely grown beards. The hairs, sharp and soft, tickled my fingertips. I giggled at the way the bristles sprang back into place after my hand passed over them.
As I feathered his jaw, his breathing changed and I knew he was awake. My fingers stilled and my own breath locked in my throat. But I couldn’t pull my hand back. My fingers rested just beneath his chin, his warmth nearly scorching them-nearly scorching me. He said nothing, only watched me, waiting for me to do something, anything.
But I couldn’t. I didn’t know what to do ¯ it seemed like I never knew what to do. I shook so badly, the trembling of my torso translating to my arms, my hands. He must have felt it. He pulled my palm from his cheek, placing a warm kiss in its center. It only made the shaking worse.
I wanted to feel his lips on mine again. Feel his hands on my back, my shoulders, in my hair. The depth of that wanting scared me a little. I started to pull away from him, though I had little room on our blanket-covered floor. I felt the bed frame at my back; I could see the outline of my sister’s foot beneath the sheet. Still, I tried to pull away as far as I could.
He stopped me. I didn’t resist. I let him slide an arm around my waist, let him pull me closer; let him push the blanket aside. I asked myself how far I was willing to let him go. Did I want him to kiss me? I honestly didn’t know the answer.
His fingers pulled the hair loose from the bun at my nape. He loved to do that, had done it before. Several times, in fact. Why? It was just hair, brown and a little wavy, nothing much to look at. He buried his fingers in the mass, parting it, winding around his palm. What was the man doing?
I pulled back to look at him, though little light seeped through the window. The moonlight delineated his cheekbones, illuminated his hair. I couldn’t see his eyes; I wished I could see what he was thinking. I never knew what he was thinking and that made me nervous ¯ especially when he was touching me.
“Grayson?” I still didn’t know if that was his first name, and I sat up, almost jerking out of his arms. I do not know this man.
“Hmm?” He pulled back slightly, but not releasing my hair. I was tethered to him as surely as Fran had been tied to the General. Would he let me go if I asked? Did I want to ask?
“What are you doing?” I tried to keep my voice down, fervently hoping my sister slept through this interlude like she had the last, “I don’t…”
“Don’t what?” He ran small kisses along my neck, and it was like nothing I had felt before. What is he doing? His kisses before had been decorously confined to my lips, my cheeks, and occasionally my forehead. Nothing like this; then, his hands had stayed acceptably around my waist, above it, running the length of my spine. He was ever mindful of the child sleeping so close then.
“I don’t think we should do...” Do what? Kiss, touch, hold one another? I hadn’t been held in forever, and never like this. This made me feel special, unique, yet wicked all at once.
“Come. I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.” He pulled back some, replacing the blanket near to my shoulder. I wasn’t sure I wanted that. I liked feeling the heat from his body against my chest and belly.
“Comfortable with?” My confusion must have shown, for he laughed and pulled me nearer. I shouldn’t have said that, it was like a challenge to him.
“Just kiss me back.” That was all he said for several moments, but his lips met mine and speaking became impossible. I did as he told me, and when his mouth became more insistent I easily acquiesced. It wasn’t long before his tongue began tickling my lips. I gave in, gave him entry and his tongue mingled with mine. I liked it, he had done that before. This time, though, my tongue darted out to meet his.
I closed my eyes, not wanting him to see what I was thinking, wanting to enjoy the feel of his lips so insistent on mine. He pulled the blanket from between us once again. This time, though, I barely noticed. Suddenly, he rolled on his back, pulling me atop him. My eyes jerked open and I stared down at him, seeing the moonlight playing shadows on his cheeks.
My chest was flattened against his, swelling over the sides of my shift. Nothing separated that part of my body from his save the two thin layers of our under
clothing. He was hot. So hot against me. I placed my hand against that chest, wanting to ensure my balance. I felt so vulnerable there, against the hard ridges of his body. He had finally removed the earlier bandage, though I was sure his wound was nowhere near healed. He didn’t seem to care, just lay there watching me. What did he want me to do?
He kept staring at me, waiting for something. I didn’t know what it was. Knew it had to be something. Why else would he be holding his breath? I ran a hand over his whiskers again, the bristles tickling my palm, causing an answering tickle to echo along my spine. What am I doing?
This wasn’t like those other embraces, even those of last night. Those had been almost sweet. Then, I knew I wouldn’t see him again, knew he would stop if I asked. Now, I didn’t know what he wanted, what would happen, what to do next.
“Kiss me. You know how. I've taught you how.”
I debated a moment for I had never kissed anyone. Mark and Grayson had always kissed me. What did I do first?
I lowered my head, brushing the seal of his lips with mine. He parted them and I almost drew back right there. I slipped my tongue out, running it softly over his upper lip. I could feel him shaking beneath me.
It was a freeing feeling, and I found myself repeating the caress with a little more pressure. His lips were both soft and firm; his breath was hot, fanning my mouth, equally hot as his hands, which were tracing my ribs, and lower along my spine. I liked that, liked feeling his big hands on my body. Was that wrong? I pressed my lips more firmly to his, wanting him to do what he’d done before, to take charge, do what came next.
This time he didn’t; I did. I tried to part my lips, using them to open his wider. It worked¯his mouth opened enough for me to trace the inner rim of his with the tip of my tongue. I grew a little more daring, running my tongue over the edge of his teeth. They overlapped slightly, so slightly that I hadn’t noticed before. He opened his mouth still wider under mine, pulling my tongue in deeper. It rubbed against his, being tickled by his teeth; I tried to pull back, unsure of this newly intimate touch. He hadn’t done that earlier, and I wasn’t certain I liked it. His hands tightened over my lower back, pulling me even closer to him. My legs parted¯forced to do nothing else as he aligned my lower body with his¯falling to rest beside his much longer ones. The skirt of my undergarment proved no barrier.
It was the most intimate thing I had ever felt and was so shocking, I immediately tried to close my knees. That did little to help ¯ in fact it did the opposite. He raised his own knees behind me and I slid forward, coming to rest directly over his hard pelvic region. My eyes jerked to his face. I could see his eyes now, could see the intensity in them as he stared at me, waiting for what I would do. Moonlight shone directly on his face now, and hid him from me not at all. It took a moment before I realized that he, too, could now see me ¯ directly in the path of the window’s light.
Knowing this, I began to withdraw. I didn’t want him to see me behaving like this. It was unseemly. He laughed, soft so not to disturb Amelia and I knew he was aware of my feelings.
“It’s ok. There’s nothing wrong with this.” His hand rose to the back of my head and he guided it back down, once more meeting my mouth with his.
Something had changed about his embrace. His hands weren’t holding me as tightly, as insistently. Instead, his touch slid slowly over my shoulders, tangling in the hair dangling down my back ¯ now hopelessly tousled from his fingers. He lowered his knees, freeing room for me to move away if I chose.
I waited a moment, undecided, uncertain, before doing just that. He released a long sigh and I looked at his face. Nothing showed in his countenance to imply irritation, so I relaxed. I rolled off of him as delicately as I could. My face flamed as I realized that the blanket was now completely gone from my body. He must have been able to see right down the top of my garment. I was so shamed I turned my body away from him, burrowing into the blanket’s protection. What had happened?
I waited for him to say something. He didn’t. After a few moments of me lying there holding my breath, he rolled to his side, his front near my back but thankfully not touching me. I didn’t know what would happened if he did touch me then. What would I do?
Finally, finally, after the sound of fireworks had long faded somewhere near dawn, I drifted off, my blanket rolled around me so tightly I could not move.
The next morning, I awoke to find myself curled on Amelia’s mattress. Grayson must have moved me. My companions were playing chess quietly on the floor, both washed and dressed. Only I still lay abed. The sun was bright through the window and I knew it must be later in the morning. I never slept past dawn; chores always required me to rise near to beating the sun.
I couldn’t look at him, ashamed of what had happened hours before.
“Good morning. Sleep well?” Humor laced his voice, and I knew he was making fun of me for my embarrassment. What an arrogant man! I looked at Amelia, wanting to pretend just a little longer that the soldier was not there. I knew it was the height of rudeness, but what was I to say?
Grayson excused himself, ostensibly to check on the horses, but I knew it was to give me some privacy while I washed. I hoped he’d bring news of the surrender and I hurried through my morning toiletry, eager for him to return, yet wanting him to stay gone as long as possible.
“You kissed him.” At my sister’s words I dropped the ceramic carafe of water. I was thankful it hadn’t shattered, though water went everywhere, soaking the wood plank floors. “I saw you.”
“Amelia!”
“What? I did. Last night.” Amelia helped me sop some of the water into the lone towel the hotelier had provided. “What did it feel like? Did you like it? Is he a good kisser? Does his breath smell? Did he use his tongue? Rachel and Gideon used tongues.”
“I… how do you know?” I hated to sound so shocked but knowing Amelia had witnessed my behavior last evening made my mortification tenfold worse. “'Bout Rachel, I mean?”
“I watched them once. They thought I was riding with Matthew. Gideon touched her, too.”
“Touched her? What do you mean?” I was curious for a multitude of reasons. Just what did Amelia know of those things between a man and a woman? Did my youngest sister know more than I ¯ even if she had learned this vicariously? Just what sort of touches had Rachel and Gideon partaken in? Had they acted shamefully? Was this wanton wickedness a trait Rachel and I shared? Would Amelia too have to face such things ¯ had she inherited this predilection also?
“I’m not going to say. I promised her I wouldn’t tell anyone.” Amelia must have realized that she had said too much, for no matter how much I pestered her, even ordering her to tell me, she refused to betray our sister’s confidence. I was filled with alternating pride and exasperation at the child. Proud she felt honor bound to keep a promise and annoyed she wouldn’t give me the information I so desperately wanted to know.
Grayson returned shortly after I buttoned the last of the pearl shaped buttons on my dress. My hair still hung loose, damp and curling as it floated down the middle of my back. His green eyes sparked, and he reached a hand out, tangling it in the strands. He showed no restraint, in fact appeared not aware the child was still in the room. What was he about?
“So is it true?” Amelia was staring out the window, watching what must have been a thousand people as they milled about in the streets below our hotel room. “There’re Rebels in the streets.”
Her words shocked me and I rushed to the window to look for myself. It was true; men in ragged and faded Confederate dress were staggering down the middle of the street. Civilian-clothed men guarded the sidewalks staring at the rebels, some holding guns. No women or children were seen, the crowd was all men. I could feel the tensions of the group, but the enemy soldiers kept on.
“Where did they come from?” I turned to Grayson as he came up to the window behind me. We stood there, the three of us, watching the crowds for several moments before he answered.
“Prison
ers. Morton’s prisoners. They’ve been freed.” Grayson’s voice was terse as he watched the men. Was he searching the faces for his brother? Was he seeing his friends in those battered and humbled creatures? It must be hard for him, staying here with us. Was he wishing he could join that ragtag parade? What had happened to Fischer? Grayson had said he was hurt, was the boy still alive?
“What about your brother? Will you be able to find him?” What would happen to these soldiers returning home? “What will you do now?”
“Get you settled. Fischer’ll head to the farm, I expect.”
“Where is your farm at in Tennessee?” Grayson didn’t talk much about his life before the war; in fact the man didn’t talk much at all ¯ to me anyway. He was always telling Amelia about different beasts and fishes that he had seen. He spoke quite eloquently about the animals, possessing more than the average knowledge. “Is it very big?”
“About middlin’ I guess. Used to run cattle before the fighting, grew tobacco every couple years or so. It’s near the center of the state, between Cookeville and Monterrey.”
“Has it been in your family very long?”
“Since my great-grandfather came from the Carolina’s in Seventeen-seventy, it passed to his son then to my father.”
“So did you always want to farm?” Amelia sank onto the bed, kicking her feet idly against the wood frame. “Did you maybe want to do something else?”
“Farming is all right. It’s a way to make a living. Provide for me and Fischer until he got grown.” Grayson backed away from the window, pulling the thin curtain over it, drowning out little of the commotion.
“So what else did you want to do?” There was something about the tightening of his mouth when he answered my sister that made me certain he hadn’t been happy farming. “Before farming, I mean, and enlisting.”