by Tamara Gill
“Don't ask me to explain how they fly,” Logan cautioned her in an undertone when she turned to him excitedly. “If you're really interested, I'll get you a book on the subject.”
Just then, an announcement was made for the first-class passengers to begin boarding. “That's us,” he told her.
Catherine accompanied him eagerly, her head swiveling from side to side in an effort to see everything at once. Just ahead, a small boy of perhaps four or five hung back from the doorway, shaking his head vigorously as his mother tried to coax him forward. Without hesitation, Catherine stepped up to them.
“Hi, I'm Cathy,” she said cheerfully to the little boy. “What's your name?” The harassed mother glanced at her in surprise, but did not interfere.
“J-Jimmy,” he said with a hiccup.
“Do you know what, Jimmy?” she asked, and he shook his head. “This is going to be my very first time ever on an airplane, and I'd feel ever so much better if a brave fellow like you would hold my hand while I got on. Would you do that for me?”
He considered her solemnly for a moment, then nodded. “I guess so.” He held out his hand and she clasped it with a great show of gratitude. “Don't worry, Cathy,” he said confidingly as they moved down the passageway to the waiting plane, his mother and Logan trailing wonderingly behind them. “My mommy says flying is the safest way to travel nowadays.”
“Thank you, Jimmy, I'm glad you told me that,” she said, smiling down at him. “I think you need to go sit with your mother now, but I'm sure I'll see you while we're in the air.” Jimmy nodded and allowed his hand to be transferred to his mother's.
“Thank you,” the woman whispered as she led him down the aisle ahead of Catherine and Logan, who moved to stand beside her. They could hear Jimmy's clear voice explaining how he had helped “Cathy not be afraid” as they took their seats.
“You handled that very well,” commented Logan with a penetrating look. “Do you have little brothers and sisters?”
Catherine gingerly seated herself in the plush window seat. “No, although I've always gotten on well with children. My mother had two more after me, but both died as infants—a boy and a girl.”
“I'm sorry,” said Logan.
“I was, too, especially the second time, for I was old enough to understand. But it is one of those things that happen in life. I doubt you could find more than one or two families in Columbia that haven't lost at least one child. When little Amy died, though, I swore I would never have children myself because it was so terrible to have them die.” She tried to laugh at her childish foolishness, but couldn't quite.
“That's something else I think you'll like about the present,” said Logan softly, deeply touched. “Very few babies die now. And people live much longer.”
“So twenty isn't so old, now?”
“You're twenty?” he asked in surprise. Catherine nodded. “That's odd. Kathryn was twenty-three. Which means you are now, I guess—and she's twenty. She should like that.”
But Catherine frowned. “I hope people live at least three years longer now.”
“It's not too uncommon for people to live to one hundred today,” Logan informed her.
“Oh! I should feel sorry for Kathryn then, instead of feeling cheated of three years,” she exclaimed. “One hundred?” She shook her head in wonder, but then her attention was drawn to the little window beside her as the plane began moving.
Logan reached across to help her fasten her seat belt and told her to keep watching. After a few turns, their speed increased—as did the noise the airplane was making. It was almost as bad as the speedway had been. Suddenly, the rumbling sound ceased and the ride became noticeably smoother. At the same time, the ground appeared to be farther away.
“We're in the air!” Catherine watched delightedly as objects on the ground grew smaller and smaller. Looking down at the ground, she had no warning before the view suddenly became a white blank. “Oh!” She grasped Logan's arm. “What happened?” She felt her first twinge of fear since arriving at the airport.
“Nothing happened,” he assured her. “We're just flying through a cloud.”
“Aahh! You mean we're inside a cloud right now?” She turned back to the window wonderingly.
“In a couple of minutes we'll be above them,” Logan said. “I think you'll like that view.”
She watched as the airplane continued to climb until it emerged into blue sky floored with fantastic, puffy white shapes. It looked solid enough to walk on. “It's like heaven,” Catherine breathed reverently. “Are you sure I haven't died?”
Logan pinched her arm playfully and she jumped. “You seem pretty much alive to me.” She wrinkled her nose at him and turned back to contemplate the beautiful scene outside.
The flight was all too short for Catherine. A light breakfast of coffee, French croissants and strawberries was served to them, and she made one foray into the economy class to make sure little Jimmy was enjoying his first flight as much as she was. She also discovered that there was actually a bathroom on board the plane. Well, one couldn't actually bathe in the tiny cubicle, but still . . . ! Then, suddenly, the pilot was directing their attention to the Fasten Seat Belts sign and informing the passengers they would be landing in ten minutes.
Catherine had thoroughly enjoyed the flight, but she found Dulles International Airport more than a little bit intimidating. There were so many people, and they all seemed to be in such a hurry! She drew closer to Logan, and he looked down at her in some concern.
“Are you okay?”
“I . . . I suppose so,” she said. “London was just as crowded, but the people there didn't seem to move so quickly.”
“From your description of the clothes they wore, they probably couldn't,” commented Logan, and she grinned in response. “That's better. We'll claim our bags, rent a car and get away from this madhouse, all right?”
She nodded, already recovering from her brief panic.
“I'm afraid this is just a taste of what big cities are like these days,” he said as they matched their pace to those around them. “Maybe I shouldn't have pushed you into this so soon.”
“No, I want this, Logan, truly. Already I am getting used to it. I remember now that London took some adjustment for me, as well. I will be fine, you'll see.”
Catherine loved what she saw of Washington, never knowing that Logan carefully kept her from the poorer areas of the city. She was especially intrigued by the Smithsonian Institution's Museum of History and Technology, where she was able to trace the development of every technological advance she had seen (and many that she hadn't) from her time to the present. Logan had to drag her away from the Air and Space Museum, as well.
“I knew you would like this place, but I underestimated you,” he exclaimed. “We can come back before we leave if you want to, but I want you to see as many different things as possible.”
She followed him reluctantly, still looking over her shoulder at the Apollo module on display, but soon found that the other sights had charms of their own, as well. She read every word of the Gettysburg Address inscribed in the marble walls of the Lincoln Memorial next to the huge, seated figure of Abraham Lincoln, marveling at the wisdom of this man who had still been in his teens in 1825. The Jefferson Memorial, though not so grand, touched her more closely as a monument to a President who had served during her lifetime.
Next, Logan took her to the top of the Washington Monument, which made Catherine more nervous than flying had. The elevator went up so quickly, and for such a long time, that her stomach began to turn.
“You don't get airsick on the plane, but you get green around the gills in an elevator?” Logan chided her when she confessed her queasiness to him.
“I was never seasick, either, though we had some rough weather on the way back to America. But this is different!”
Logan put his arm around her shoulders and held her close until the elevator stopped. It helped immeasurably. The view from the top was spect
acular, but Catherine couldn't quite believe that the panorama of impossibly high buildings and traffic-choked streets was real. It seemed more like a painting, the edges hazed by an artist's brush.
They changed for the evening in their beautiful hotel on Pennsylvania Avenue overlooking the Ellipse and then took a taxi to the Potomac River, where Logan had arranged for a dinner cruise aboard the Spirit of Washington. Though the food was delicious, Catherine scarcely noticed what she ate, so mesmerized was she by Logan's presence across from her and the brilliantly lit city slipping by on either side of the boat. After dinner, there was dancing to a live band.
The only part of the evening Catherine clearly remembered was one very special slow dance, to a tune Logan told her was an oldie by the name of “Color My World.” There were no specified steps, but as she swayed to the romantic music in Logan's arms, she couldn't help thinking that the “scandalous” waltz was very tame compared to this sort of dancing.
Logan held her close—very close—one hand pressed firmly to her back. Her face was near his throat and she was overwhelmed by the masculine scent of him. She was reminded of that kiss outside her hotel room in Charleston that had seemed to promise so much more—a promise she wanted more than ever to fulfill. She looked up at Logan questioningly, wondering if their closeness was affecting him similarly, and he smiled into her eyes in answer. Catherine blushed deliciously and looked down at his shirtfront.
It was long past midnight when they returned to their hotel to part outside Catherine's room. Again they kissed passionately, emotions mounting toward some indefinable climax, but again Logan released her abruptly. This time when he turned away from her, Catherine touched his arm, halting him. When he faced her, she gasped at the torment in his eyes.
“Oh, Logan,” she whispered. “Are you so unhappy? Or does what's happening between us . . . frighten you?”
He choked on something between a laugh and a sob. “Unhappy? Frightened? Oh, Catherine, if you only knew—!”
“I want to know. Please tell me,” she implored.
His eyes searched hers before he answered. “The only thing I'm frightened of is hurting you. Of pushing you faster than you're ready to go.”
Relief washed through her. “Then you have nothing to fear, Logan,” she assured him. “There is nothing you could ask of me that I am not ready to give.” She trembled at her own boldness, but it was true. She would give herself to him on the roof of the hotel if he wished it.
“Do you mean that, Catherine?” She nodded shyly and he gathered her into his arms again.
“Won't . . . won't you come in?” she asked when she could speak again. For a few painful heartbeats she thought he might decline, but then he smiled.
“If you promise to tell me to leave if I make you uncomfortable,” he said.
“I promise,” she replied, knowing that he never could. She opened the door to her room and he followed her inside. The door was barely closed before they were in each other's arms again. “Oh, Logan,” she murmured. “I have so wanted you to do this.”
To her surprise, he chuckled. “And to think I was denying myself for your sake, you temptress. You knew all along what you were doing to me, didn't you?”
She turned innocent eyes up to him. “I?” But she could not keep her lips from twitching.
“You.”
He kissed her thoroughly, his hands roaming up and down her back. When he began to unzip her dress she made no move to stop him, instead unknotting his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. These new zippers impressed her again with their convenience as desires she'd barely guessed at flamed to life within her.
Though she longed to feel his whole length against her, he took his time, caressing every inch of her as he stripped away her clothing. Finally, after an exquisite agony of gentle prelude, he joined her, naked, on the bed.
“Tell me what you want,” he whispered, his lips tickling her ear. “I never want to hurt you, Catherine. You're too precious to me.”
“I want you, Logan,” she breathed, trembling with eagerness. “All of you that you can give me. Now.”
Still he went slowly, stroking and fondling, kissing and nuzzling, until she was at fever pitch, her body clamoring for release. Finally, lingeringly, he entered her. She gasped with the wonder, the ecstasy of the sensations that rolled over and through her, lifting her up to heavenly regions she'd never dreamed existed. There was no pain, only pleasure and a sense of rightness, of belonging, that went even deeper. Logan clasped her tightly to him after he was spent, and they lay there, silently entwined. Catherine had never been so happy in her life. Blissfully, she drifted off to sleep.
When she awoke the next morning Logan was gone, but as she finished dressing he returned, bearing an armload of red roses. “For the start of a special day,” he said warmly.
“Oh, Logan—they're lovely!” Joyfully, she inhaled their heady fragrance before turning to arrange her gift in the two vases already in the room. She should be embarrassed, she supposed, by what had occurred between them last night, but somehow she wasn't.
He smiled and a tingle ran down her spine. Now she knew just how much that smile promised. “I'm glad they make you happy,” he said. “I've arranged for breakfast here in your room, since it has such a spectacular view.” A moment later a tap came on the door and a uniformed bellboy wheeled a cloth-covered table with covered platters to the spot by the window that Logan indicated.
During the meal Catherine and Logan spoke of such small matters as their sightseeing plans for the day, but there was nothing trivial about the lingering looks they exchanged. A deep current of emotion ran beneath their surface conversation.
“This setting is so romantic,” said Catherine with a sigh as they finished their meal. She almost hated to leave this room.
Quietly, his tone full of meaning, Logan replied, “That's why I arranged it.” Catherine looked at him questioningly and blushed at what she saw in his eyes. She hoped her own were speaking as fluently.
Logan took her hand, his expression as serious as she'd yet seen it. “Catherine, we've known each other for such a short time, but somehow I feel I've been waiting for you all of my life.”
Catherine caught her breath. He had felt it, too! She started to speak, but he stopped her.
“I know we have no guarantees for the future, that there are questions to be settled, but—” He hesitated, searching her face. “I love you, Catherine,” he said with sudden urgency. “Will you marry me?”
She smiled, feeling a need to lighten his mood somehow. “Of course I will, Logan—I really haven't much choice now, after all, have I?” She intended her tone to be teasing but was startled to see a flash of pain in his eyes.
“I thought you might see it that way,” he said. “In fact, I suspect now that may have been my motive—well, one of my motives—” a ghost of a smile crossed his face “—for, er, compromising you last night.”
“Logan, I made that decision of my own free choice,” she reminded him. “I knew full well what the consequences must be. You must not feel that you have forced me to anything.”
His smile was rueful now. “That's just it. You're not obligated by. . .what we did. Not in this time, much as I might wish otherwise. Whether you marry me or not is still your choice.”
“But—” she hated to ask, but forced herself to “—what of Kathryn?”
Logan closed his eyes. “Damn! I'd almost forgotten Kathy. Of course I'm still worried about her, but . . .” He looked at her again, a wealth of emotion in his eyes. “You are far, far more important to me. Can't we . . . just assume that she's all right and go on with our lives? There's really nothing else we can do, is there?”
Catherine bit her lip, unwilling to repeat her theory about the clock after the way he had responded before. Nor, in her heart of hearts, did she really want to.
“I'll marry you, Logan,” she said finally. “Nothing could make me happier than to be your wife. But . . . should we take our own happiness
at the expense of Kathryn's? If a way opens that we can verify Kathryn's fate, I truly believe we should do so.”
“I suppose so,” he said reluctantly. “But only if it won't risk you in any way. You promised, remember?” At her nod, he smiled broadly. “And for now—” he rose and came toward her, his eyes smoldering “—let's see just how happy I can make you.”
***
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Here, dear, I want you to look at this peach wool traveling dress,” said Mrs. Sykes-Prescott, showing Kathryn a ladies' journal. “I believe it would do nicely as part of your trousseau, don't you?”
Kathryn gave some appropriate reply, as she'd been doing in response to similar comments all of yesterday and today, but her mind was far from such mundane matters as wedding plans. She was in agony to know what had happened after Ryan left her. Had he been recognized? She actually found herself wishing that he'd killed the man who had shot Elmo rather than taking an extra risk. It was a horrible thing to wish for, she knew, but she couldn't help it. She was beginning to think that even bad news would be better than this interminable waiting.
When she heard the front door, it was all she could do to keep her seat. Mr. Prescott was back from town, where he'd gone shortly after breakfast. When he entered the parlor her eyes flew at once to his face, trying to tell from his expression whether he had heard anything about Ryan. He looked grave, she thought, but hoped she might be imagining it.
“I'm so glad you're home, dear,” said Mrs. S-P blithely. “We've been discussing the flowers we should have at the reception, and I have been unable to get any sort of a decision from your daughter.” She cast an indulgent glance in Kathryn's direction. “I believe she is in the sulks because her beau hasn't been to call for two days, though I told her he must have business to attend to. What news in town, Joseph?”
Mr. Prescott frowned at the question and Kathryn held her breath, but Mrs. S-P continued to chatter about wedding plans.
“I forgot to tell you, Cathy, my love,” she said, “but I wrote up the announcement this afternoon. Tomorrow I'll have it sent round to the Columbia Telescope and the Gazette. Would you care to see it?” She rose to locate it in the small writing desk in the corner.