“Making this place work, Nora. We can do it.”
Anger flashed in her eyes. It was the first emotion he had seen so far.
“Stop it!” she cried. “I don’t want to hear it. No more plans, no more dreams. Not for this farm. Not for me.”
He stood back. He hadn’t expected her to be so defiant.
“So, you’re giving up?”
She threw up her hands. “No, I am not giving up. I never had anything to give up. They’ll take this place anyway.”
“We don’t know that yet. Have faith that the auction will pull through. To give up on the farm now will ensure that even if the bank doesn’t take it, you’ll lose it anyway.”
“I don’t care anymore.”
“Is that so?” he replied, grabbing her elbows and holding them tight before him. He wanted both to shake her and to hold her. “I don’t believe you.”
Her shoulders slumped as she stared back at him. She wanted to feel the same enthusiasm, to rally, but she just couldn’t. She felt drained.
“I believed it could be done…once,” she replied.
Her voice was as soft as the breeze. He saw her head-bent profile, her lashes blinking quickly, and her lips quivering the way they always did when she tried to prevent tears. He hoped she didn’t see his shudder or the swelling of his chest.
“Diversify,” he said.
“What?”
“We have to diversify. Then we can minimize our risks and increase the farm’s output at little or no extra cost.” He was gesturing with his hands, then wrapped an arm around her shoulder, giving her a gentle shake. “Look again, Nora. See all the possibilities here. We’ve been talking about this—let’s do it! Your idea of expanding the sugaring business is a good one. And look at all this lumber! Then there’s fish farming, specialized crops—”
“Where’s all the financing for these operations coming from?”
He heard the doubt in her voice and persevered. “It won’t take a lot and with robbing Peter to pay Paul, as you said, I think we can swing it. The secret’s in the management. Be sides, I’ll take a cut in pay.” He held up his hand against her objections. “Don’t worry, I’m no martyr. I’ll buy into the business. It’s a great opportunity for me, and who knows, maybe Frank and Junior will follow suit.”
Nora listened and he saw a flicker in her eyes.
“And we should plan an intensive management for the sheep,” he continued in a rush. “Their wool, freezer lambs, replacement lambs, and such. We’d have to bring up the flock number. By half at least.”
“Possible. Yes.” Her foot was tapping. “But cost control is the first factor. We’ll have to pay strict attention to expenses like fuel, repairs, utilities. And I’ll have to let people go. The gravy train is gone. No more submitting a bill and expecting a check to be written.”
“You bet.”
“You know, I have one idea that really appeals to me.”
“What is it?” he asked, thrilled to catch her interest.
“Well,” she began slowly. “I could spin wool. Make better use of our own wool to increase the value of the lamb. May and I have talked about it. I know it’s not much, but…”
He stood with arms akimbo, a grin stretched from ear to ear. “It’s a wonderful idea. Let’s do it.”
Her eyes opened wide and the hope he read in them was humbling.
“I want this farm to succeed,” she said, hope daring to enter her voice again. “I want, very much, to make it my home. We will make it. Won’t we?”
His face grew solemn. “You will. You will succeed at anything you work at. I truly believe that.” He saw her frown.
“What’s the matter?”
“You won’t be here?”
He walked the few paces to her and cupped his palm along her chin. The wind gusted, stirring the goldenrod clusters gone to seed, blowing the white puffs of exploded milkweed pods, and tossing curled, brown maple leaves in a swirl around them.
“I will be here. If you want me to be.”
“The other day you said you were leaving.” Her voice was a whisper. “Now you want to stay. Now you have wild and wonderful plans and really seem to care whether this place makes it or not. Why?”
He stared into the depths of her green pools until he felt he would drown in them. “Nora.” He sighed, standing before her. He worked his mouth but the words didn’t come.
“Why?” she repeated, mouth open, eyes wide. He could see the pearly ridge of her teeth, and between them the pink moist mound of her tongue.
The exhilaration of the afternoon spearheaded the assault on his resolve. Perched high on the bluff, the air was charged. It gusted around them, snatching Nora’s hair from its hold and sending it whipping freely in the wind. C.W. was undone.
He stepped closer, gripping her slight shoulders, and held her close.
“God help me,” he said, pressing his lips against her head. C.W. lifted her face and held it between his palms. Her gaze was trusting, her face pale. “God help us both.”
In one swoop, his mouth sealed hers in dominant possession.
She felt his wave of passion sweep her up like a small piece of driftwood, tossing her senses in a turbulent swirl that left her dizzy. She could drown in his kisses and drew back, gasping for breath. Her hands rested upon his cheeks, stalling his advance with her fragile resistance. Every fiber in her body desired him. That he wanted her was clear.
Yet where did this tide come from? That her passion could ignite so quickly, so unexpectedly, frightened her. Of what she wasn’t sure. Rejection? Regret? Deep down, she knew she hadn’t resolved her greatest doubt: Had Mike reason to turn away? Was something wrong with her?
These fears and questions swirled in her brain so fast they left her trembling. She could only back away. She tried, yet his arms held her close.
As if he heard the questions, C.W. quieted his approach. Taking her hands from his cheeks, he kissed the tip of each finger while his eyes smiled on. She stilled, her breath in her throat.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered as he slid her arms around his neck, and his own down her arms to wrap around her back.
Hearing the words, she felt beautiful.
“I want you,” he crooned as his lips met her ear. She felt his tongue trace the delicate folds of her inner ear and his hot breath seemed to blow her fears from her brain.
Hearing the words, she felt desirable.
“God, I need you,” he murmured as his lips met hers once again. Their trembling gave credence to his words, humbling her with their honesty.
Hearing his plaintive cries, her heart denied her brain further resistance. With a surge of tenderness she relinquished. Shyly, she echoed his declarations of desire, her whispers mingling with sighs.
Hearing her words, he buried his head in her golden hair. His emotion brought him to the edge of pain. In a desperate rush he wrapped her in a grip so tight the air whooshed from her lips.
“I need you, Nora,” he repeated. “I want you now…here.”
His desperation excited her. His hands, shaking yet hard, raked her back, her buttocks, then traveled up her spine again.
“Yes, yes,” she whispered.
He swept to her mouth again, moving his hand to crush her hard against him.
“C.W.,” she gasped as her head fell back and her arms wrapped tight around his chest. He moaned her name in reply.
The sound of their names on each other’s lips struck like a bolt of lightning, and like two dry tinders, they dropped to their knees in the meadow. The lovers stretched out upon the fields. His hands caressed her as they pushed her back until, at last, he covered her body with his own. Their clothing slipped away. She shivered as the colors of dusk deepened around them. His body became a shadow: dark, bold, full of mystery. Even in the dim light she could see the turbulent color of his eyes, more dusky a blue than the twilight. She read in them an understanding of what was to come.
Lips, tongues, bodies clung and presse
d into one form. Their blood raced in a single vein. Their breaths mingled in a single cavity. Again the tempo increased. The coarse grass scratched, the sweat trickled between them, and their pants sounded in the night like wild animals. When at last she cried out his name, he shuddered, knowing she was his.
For several minutes after, they lay quietly, allowing the night air to cool their bodies. Then his hands gathered her hair and pulled her head slightly back so she could meet his gaze. A small, sly smile broke out on his lips, then on hers, then in unison they both were smiling wide, smug grins. They saw proof in each other’s eyes that they had both felt it. That they both knew it had been all they had hoped it would be.
He squeezed her again.
Nora’s hidden fears of inadequacy began welling up in an almost tangible form before her. Somehow, if she could address them, get them out in the open, she felt she could shut them out at last.
“C.W.?” she asked, resting her cheek against his chest. She couldn’t look at him. “Was I…I mean, compared to other women…” She sighed. How could she ask this question? She was raised not to speak so casually about sexual encounters. But this was a special moment. There was a unique confidence she felt now, after the loving, that hadn’t been there before. A mood that might dissipate when the moment passed. Compelled to ask, she racked her brain, but there wasn’t a delicate way.
“What is it?” he asked.
“It’s just that I haven’t…” She paused, grasping. “Well, I haven’t been with a lot of men, and Mike—” she blushed in the dark “—Mike could be cruel.” She felt his muscles harden beneath her cheek and his hand stopped stroking. Nora couldn’t continue and an awkward silence fell between them.
“What is it, my love?” he asked, stroking her hair again.
She took a deep breath. “Please be honest. I have to know. Am I any good to make love to? Is there something wrong with me?”
He lay still for a second, unable to answer, unsure of the right words. Her seriousness, her shyness, affected him deeply. Part of him felt inordinate violence brewing. If MacKenzie was alive he’d have killed him. Another part of him was awash in the protectiveness he felt toward Nora. His Nora. As he peeled back the layers of her shell, he found more signs of beauty and more indications of abuse. Women, he knew, could be resilient. And in this way, Nora was exceptional.
He paused to turn her face to meet his. “With you, I made love. And I’ve never experienced the equal.”
He felt her swallow hard and he heard her long, ragged sigh. Then, she rose up on her elbows and stared down upon his face. Her hair fell like a shimmering veil upon her shoulders. Behind her, the sky was purple and would soon cloak their nakedness in darkness.
So, in the last few moments of this precious day, she studied his face with a loving eye, committing each curve and angle to memory. He was studying her too, with the same calm intent, and neither felt embarrassed nor uncomfortable under the scrutiny.
The curtain of night slowly dropped, bringing to an end this act.
“Come,” he said, his voice low. “Let’s go.”
Neither one moved to rise. Instead, she lowered to his embrace, each one clinging to the love found, neither one wanting to be the first to separate. A trigger of renewed passion flared.
“God, Nora,” he murmured. “I’m as randy as a ram. I’ll take you again if we don’t stop now.”
She cooed against his shoulder, pleased, and not unwilling. Another wind gushed and sent goose bumps, not of passion but of plain cold, along her naked body.
“Oh, C.W. I hate to leave you,” she said, burrowing.
“I have no intention of allowing you to. I’m merely suggesting that we dress and move to warmer quarters.” He leaned forward and scratched his backside. “And these damn weeds are poking in all the wrong places.”
She giggled again, and he laughed in low counterpoint. Then with a sigh, he rose to his feet and swung her up beside him. The wind picked up, blowing in a northern cold front, and they parted to dress in record time.
Nora finished first and in silence, watched his silhouette in the meadow. He stood, wide legged, his shirttails flapping in the breeze, while he buttoned his shirt and gazed out over the fields. He seemed so at ease in their new relationship. His fingers moved deftly. They did not shake like hers.
As he buckled his belt, she looked down at her hands and rubbed the finger that had once carried a gold band. He caught her motion, and with a taut heart, paced over and held her against his chest.
“What’s the matter?”
She exhaled and brought her palm to his flannel shirt. “You’ll probably think I’m old-fashioned. I know I’m awkward, but I’ve only made love to one man before in my life. And that man was my husband. I’m afraid I’m not very good at this. I don’t know what to do next.”
He held out his arm and a chuckle rumbled in his chest. “My darling, I assure you. You know by instinct exactly what to do.” She slipped into the warmth and he held her tight, thanking God for this gift.
“Nora,” he said, pulling her back and catching her attention, “I don’t want you to make love to any other man save me.”
“No. Never,” she replied.
He swept her to his arms again, hugging her with such force she thought he would suck the air from her. That someone could be so strong, and still so tender, was bewildering. It also filled her with a singular sense of power and responsibility.
Not wanting the moment to end, Nora lingered in his arms for a final kiss, then held on again as he turned to go. “I’ll let you go on one condition,” she teased.
He raised a brow, his lips twitched.
“You’ll come for dinner.”
“You know, when the boss makes advances on the employee, that’s called sexual harassment. I could sue.”
“Go ahead.” She laughed. “Join the crowd and see how much you’d collect.”
“You’ve got a point,” he said in mock defeat. “I guess I’ll have to exact payment in some other form.” He patted her bottom and released her before she could swat him away. “I have to finish my chores, first. Seven o’clock? I’ll be there—and I’ll be hungry.”
He wrapped an arm around her and, bumping hips and matching strides, they headed home.
25
THE LOVERS PARTED at the barn. Nora raced up the mountain, adrenaline and happiness pumping in her veins, to start dinner. When she stepped foot in her kitchen, she came to a screeching halt.
She stared at the room in horror. It was Dresden after the bombing, Omaha after a tornado, Tokyo after Godzilla. Two Godzillas by the names of Frank and Junior. The boys had left their dishes and paint-splattered rags overflowing from the sink onto the counters. Chunks of stale bread and crumbs were in every possible crevice, and the acrid odors of stale coffee, sour milk, and rotting fruit peels permeated the air.
Nora walked through the house, tripping over drywall and sidestepping wood chips and nails, all the while collecting a film of white dust on her shoes and jeans. It was too much. Her house, her clean, orderly house. It had only been three days! She gripped the stair railing and let out a primeval scream.
She felt silly but better.
“Okay, Nora MacKenzie,” she said rolling up her sleeves. “Let’s see what you’re made of.”
Dust flew, water splashed, and garbage was slam-dunked outdoors into bins. She worked so hard her mouth went dry, but she didn’t stop for water. With each pass through the kitchen she glanced furtively at the clock: 5:00, 5:20, 5:45, 6:00. At 6:10 she could delay no longer. She emptied her bucket, washed her hands and put on a clean apron. It was time to think about her dinner.
The refrigerator held little more than milk, butter, cheese and eggs: traditional dairyland fare. What to make, what to make? She settled on a classic: a soufflé. Out came the ingredients and she whisked the egg whites in tempo with her thoughts.
By 6:50, the cheese soufflé was in the oven, the table was set and she had just time enough to
shower and throw on anything that was still clean. She frowned as she raced up the stairs. How many times had she imagined what she would wear for a dinner date with Mr. Charles Walker? Here it was and she’d be lucky if she wasn’t wearing stripes and polkadots. “Life is difficult,” she said as she stepped under the steaming shower.
“Anybody home?” C.W.’s voice boomed up the stairwell.
“I’ll be right down,” Nora called back, sputtering and grabbing a towel. “Mi casa es su casa.” She cringed. How corny.
Down in the kitchen, C.W. smiled at her answer. He surveyed the room and maintained his grin of pleasure. The lady had style. She had pulled a leaf from the dining table, giving it a smaller, more intimate appearance. Covered with crisp, white cotton, white china, and an unusual arrangement of striated rocks and greens, it was elegant.
He knew if there was crystal and silver in the house, she would have used it. Thus he appreciated all the more her clever arrangement of fanned napkins in the simple glass cups and the obvious shine of the stainless.
Nora descended the stairs. She wore that gray wool dress as if she’d been poured into it. Although he had felt her curves with his hand, he never appreciated her body’s symmetry more. Her hair, still wet, was clamped back with a black beribboned clasp, and C.W. promised himself that he’d free it before the night was through.
God, you’re beautiful, he thought. He said, “You look lovely tonight.”
She demurred. “So do you. And all this time you were a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”
He looked at his polished boots and cursed himself for his folly. He, too, had raced to shower after finishing his chores, but his sole recourse had been the Johnston house. He had to endure the suspicious glances of the whole Johnston family when he begged use of the shower.
Not to mention the raised brows and dropped jaws when he emerged from the bathroom in his creased corduroy trousers, cable knit sweater, and, worthy of the stares, an ironed shirt. He cast threatening glances at Frank and Junior as they practically injured each other with their guffaws and rib jabbing once they detected a whiff of his bay rum.
The Long Road Home Page 26