He swallowed hard. “I’d like nothing better than to kiss you all night, but right now I’m going to take you home before something like that happens.”
CHAPTER 14
DEARLY BELOVED
“Who is he arguing with?”
“I think he’s the chaplain,” said Hal.
They stood just outside the pine bower before the tent chapel at Gettysburg. “The chaplain looks pink, and Daniel looks angry.”
Hal nodded. “Daniel has a temper, but he usually gets what he wants.”
Two minutes later, Daniel and the weary chaplain approached her. The man’s pinkness had receded, and he smiled at her through the fringe of ginger-colored hair. He motioned for a young woman to come with him.
The chaplain took the hands of both women. “Miss McAllister, I’m Chaplain Anders, and this is Miss Irene Wood.” He turned to the petite and pretty blonde. “Would you, Miss Wood, please take Miss McAllister to the nurses’ tent and help her dress? It appears a wedding is in order.” He turned on his heel, facing the men. “Major, come with me. We’re not used to weddings here.”
Summer, her eyes big as a spaniel’s, glanced over her shoulder at Daniel and Hal as Irene led her to a large tent. The nurse directed her past a row of iron cots to a washstand and copper tub, curtained off by a screen.
“I’ll send in some hot water,” Irene said. She nodded toward a washstand. “Soap, clean towels, and a wash cloth are underneath.” She set Summer Rose’s valise on the end cot, dug inside, and held up a skirt and blouse. “These are lovely.” Irene ran her hands over the pale gray skirt of heavy silk, trimmed at the waist and hem with black velvet, and the high necked blouse of white Spanish lace.
“They belonged to my mother. I have a mantilla, too, of matching lace.”
Irene dug further into the bag and pulled out the shawl. “I’ll press these.” She reached over and squeezed Summer Rose’s forearm, grinning. “You have no idea how much we need a happy event around here. I’ll be right back.”
Forty-five minutes later, Irene helped her into her things, buttoning all the pearl buttons that ran down the back of the lace blouse, tucking in the shirttails, and fastening the skirt’s hooks at the waist. Summer Rose sat as directed, feeling as if she were in a dream. Her braid came undone and Irene brushed the loose tresses until electricity crackled and Summer’s hair flew about her head. Both women giggled as Irene knotted her hair into a loose chignon, expertly sticking combs here and pins there, pulling out strands and curling them with her finger. At last she draped the shawl over Summer’s shoulders. She turned Summer Rose around slowly, dabbed rouge on her cheeks and touched her lips with beeswax.
Irene nodded and held up the mirror. “You’re beautiful, darling. I can understand why your dashing major made no bones about how much he wanted to marry you.” She giggled. “I heard him. He told our dear chaplain that if he couldn’t marry you today, he’d hold him responsible for … your virtue.”
Summer felt her cheeks flush. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to feel about what he had in mind, but the thought made her heart race.
They had both been surprised when Hal insisted they marry with haste. “I don’t want to sit around here watching you two make cow eyes all day,” he said. “I’m not a very good chaperone. Is there any reason you can’t get married tomorrow?”
“I didn’t want to rush her.”
“No reason to wait, Daniel.”
“Then tomorrow it is.”
Summer Rose looked up at Irene, as the nurse said, “I suggest, dear girl, that you just let your handsome major have his way with you. He’ll have you one way or another.” She giggled again. “I certainly wouldn’t advise fighting him.”
Hal and a convalescing officer who had lost a leg in July stood up for them. While Daniel bathed and donned his dress uniform, Hal and the one-legged colonel hunted for flowers along the main street of Gettysburg. Hal’s arm was still in the sling and Colonel English, on his new prosthesis, thumped beside him, using a cane for balance.
Gettysburg in November 1863 spoke poignantly of the price of war. When they finally came upon a small enclosed garden, Hal knocked on the door. “My best friend is getting married,” he explained, “and we want a small bouquet for his bride. Do you mind if we take some flowers from your garden?”
She smiled. “Wonder we haven’t lost them to frost already. Wait here a moment.”
She stepped inside and returned a moment later, wearing a shawl, and holding scissors and a handful of ribbons. “Here. Cut what you want.” She followed him about. “A wedding? Wonderful to have something happy around here. Allow me to help, Major. What’s the bride’s name?”
“Summer Rose.”
“Ah. How perfect! A few of my neighbor’s roses are still in bloom.” She took the scissors and reached over the fence, cutting several late autumn roses and fitting them in with the rest of the bouquet. “Come sit on the steps,” she said, scraping off the thorns with sure movements. “I’m good at this.”
Hal, Colonel English, and the woman sat on the stoop. She stripped all the thorns then intertwined some snapdragons, laurel leaves, and baby’s breath, eventually wrapping a rainbow of pastel ribbons around the stems. She held up the sweet posy, letting it trail with long ends of ribbons. “Give her my best wishes.”
Chaplain Anders found a young trooper who played Aura Lea on his guitar and sang in a rumbling baritone:
When the mistletoe was green,
Midst the winter’s snows,
Sunshine in thy face was seen,
Kissing lips of rose.
Aura Lea, Aura Lea,
Take my golden ring;
Love and light return with thee,
And swallows with the spring.
A few soldiers congregated in the chapel, and, as Hal walked her toward Daniel, those soldiers who could, stood. Daniel, his dress uniform brushed and polished, belted and sashed, appeared magnificent. He beamed as brilliantly as did his brass buttons. But no one noticed him. They saw only Summer Rose.
“Dearly beloved, we are assembled here in the presence of God …”
After the ceremony, the chaplain, Hal, Colonel English, Daniel and Summer walked to a tavern near the garden where he’d picked her flowers. Summer Rose stopped and kissed the woman when she came outside. Townspeople lined the street and waved as she walked by.
“I knew your father, Mrs. Charteris.” Colonel English told her as they sat down to lunch.
Mrs. Charteris. Her face lit with a grin, and she held in a giggle. She loved the sound of her new name. It was hard to believe it was true. Her Lochinvar had found her.
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,
Have ye e’er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?
Now, sitting beside her new husband in the small, low-ceilinged tavern, Summer took a sip of wine. A crackling flame in the fireplace cast a golden glow over her face as she spoke. “He knew a great number of people, Colonel English,” she said. “Did you know him before or during the war?”
Beneath the table, Daniel laced his fingers with hers. The room grew dim, her eyes starry. She wondered if it was the wine. Maybe it was just too much happiness, or perhaps simply his touch. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, and she leaned into his arm, surprised at how difficult it had become to think.
“Both. Truly, an honorable man. Your father was one of a kind. I worked for the railroad before the war and purchased lumber from him. The soldiers, the railroad men, the lumbermen … they all loved him. He knew the first name of every man in his regiment, their hometown, and their mother’s name.”
The waitress brought their lunch, and they all tucked into the shepherd’s pie.
“That was delicious,” said Colonel English afterwards. “I wish the army cooks made something like that. My mother did, and oh, her pies … Tell me, Major Charteris, are you able to manage a honeymoon?”
Daniel shook his head. “I feel lucky to get a few days’ leave. Spea
king of which, Mrs. Charteris, are you ready? We’ve a long ride ahead of us.”
He had wanted to get a room in town, but Summer had insisted they return home for their wedding night.
Hal stood and took Summer Rose’s arm. “Allow me, Mrs. Charteris. I have two presents for you.” He led her through the dark tavern, and as they stepped into the cold afternoon air, he slipped his army coat over her shoulders. “I can get another right down the street,” he told her, which wasn’t at all true. Hal’s coat had been tailor-made from fine Scottish wool, not the shoddy stuff sold to the army. He walked her over to Dulcey, the sweet mare he’d ridden from Bull Run to Fredericksburg, through Antietam and Gettysburg. “I’m taking the train home. Take care of Dulcey for me. She’s earned a rest.”
He moved to kiss her on the lips, but at the last minute pressed a kiss to her forehead. He winked at Daniel, coming up from behind. “Easy, Danny boy. You’re a lucky man.” He helped her mount and handed up her saddle bags.
She leaned down and kissed his cheek. “The bouquet is beautiful.” She patted the saddlebag. “Thank you for the coat and the horse, for everything. Take care of yourself, Slim.”
CHAPTER 15
A LIFETIME OF NIGHTS
They arrived home at twilight. The geese honked and nipped and beat their great wings. The dogs, howling like banshees, ran circles around Summer Rose and Daniel as if they’d been gone for weeks rather than a day. He lifted Summer from Dulcey and carried her up the porch steps, his spurs jingling with every step. When he stopped before the door, he kissed her and tickled her throat with his breath, which steamed in the November air. She giggled as she opened the latch. He carried her inside, twirled her around then set her down. He hung their great coats on pegs by the door, along with the mantle of lace.
A strand of her sable hair fell loose, and he tucked it behind her ear then kissed her with tenderness. No giggles this time. Her eyes sparkled like jewels and his stomach tightened a little. Responsibility, like the shadow of some prehistoric bird, hovered around him. I’m all she has now, except for Jack. Her father’s words from the dream came to mind. “Make sure you deserve her trust.’
“I’ll see to the horses and bring in some wood and our bags. I won’t be long.”
While he was gone, she spun through the house, lighting the kitchen stove and the fireplace and filling the teapot. She’d fixed a tray with her mother’s china, silver, and linen napkins before they’d left. Now, in a whirl, she set the bread to toast and the potato soup to warm. Cold ham, cheese, tomatoes, and crunchy pickles came out of the larder. She’d laid the fires and planned their wedding supper this morning before they’d left for Gettysburg. She wanted everything to be perfect. Her hands flew and her heart raced.
The sound of wood being stacked on the hearth came from the living room, and she heard Daniel talking to the dogs. He entered the kitchen without his jacket, the collar of his white shirt open. He’d rolled up his sleeves and his arms looked strong and hard. Now he stood in his stocking feet with two bottles of champagne, showing her he’d planned ahead as well.
She fixed him a bowl of warm water, where he washed his hands while she prepared two plates of toasted sandwiches. She cut them in triangles and arranged pickles and pickled beets in little dishes, along with cups of warm potato soup, sprinkled with paprika. She was aware of his eyes following her every move, and heat burned in her cheeks. He dried his hands on a towel she laid beside the sink, and smiled.
He picked up the tray and asked. “Where do you want this?”
She moved to open the door, and he followed, setting down the tray as she pulled a small table in front of the couch. They worked as a team. She lit the oil lamps and the candles; he popped the champagne cork and poured two glasses. As they sat, the sides of their thighs touched and the fire growled, shooting sparks up the chimney. They both smiled nervously, sipping champagne, eating small triangular sandwiches, and trying desperately to think of something to say.
Surprisingly, Daniel felt shy. Experienced women were his usual fare, and most often he was reacting to some lonely widow. Never before had he had all the responsibility. He popped the last sandwich triangle in his mouth and leaned back on the sofa, folding his big hands across his chest. The sap in the logs crackled, the fire hissed and roared. He looked at his wife and his breath became shallow. He’d never wanted a girl as much as he wanted her. Part of him was a stallion on the scent of a filly, and part was the mare protecting her foal. The firelight reflected on the pearl tipped pins in her hair and the pearl buttons of her blouse. The back of her neck still fascinated him. He reached over and pulled one hairpin loose.
“Do you mind?” He placed it on the tray. She’d told him the pins had belonged to her mother, and he knew they were precious. “I want to see your hair loose.” His fingers ached to run through the rich mass of it.
She rushed to remove all the pins, but he took her trembling hands and laid them in her lap. “Allow me.”
He unfastened one button, the one at the back of the high collar, and ran one finger along the lace. The pulse in her neck throbbed like a sparrow’s heart. He wasn’t sure exactly what she knew about marriage. Her life had been so solitary. She’d never gone to school, had no sisters or girlfriends, and her mother was gone. He cringed at the thought of the rough old man from his dream telling her anything about this.
His cheek brushed hers, and his voice came out a gravelly whisper. “Do you know what happens between a husband and wife?” He wanted everything right for her. Some sense, an instinct, warned him tonight was more important than his desires. Tonight set the stage for twenty thousand nights, a lifetime of nights.
She lowered her eyelids, and the firelight threw the shadows of her lashes across her cheeks. “Irene told me a little. She said you’d have me one way or another. I think I know what she meant.” Her blue-green eyes opened wide. “The animals …” She swallowed hard and sipped more champagne. Color deepened in her cheeks. “I understand the mechanics.” The lights in her eyes danced. “I hope you’re gentler than the goat.” One side of her mouth curled. “He bites.”
Enormous blue eyes held his, and he caught his breath as warmth flooded his chest. Good God, she was a surprise. A wonderful surprise. Her attempt at a joke, her sweetness touched his heart. He pressed her cheek against his chest and kissed her hair.
“Oh, sweetheart, I promise I won’t bite.”
He eased the pins from her hair and undid another pearl button. His fingers combed through the rich strands and brushed her cheek. “I love your hair, your skin.” He lowered his head and kissed the back of her neck with his open mouth. “Your skin is unbelievably soft.”
His left arm wrapped around her chest, his hand splayed over the swell of her breast, over her heart. It pounded, stirring something deep in his core. Something vibrated in the bones guarding his heart. When a shudder trembled through her, he slowed his breathing. He knew she shivered with expectation, fear, and, he hoped, desire. As if she read his mind, she pressed her hands to his neck, touched the skin at his open collar, and kissed the hollow of his throat. A soft moan purred from him and the band around his chest tightened, squeezing tears into his eyes. He’d had no idea he could feel so full of love. His very center soared way past lust, beyond even what he’d considered what love might be. Every part of him longed for her, screamed for her, but some sense, a knowing, held him back.
She lay below him on the sofa, her shining hair a dark fan against the wine red fabric of the cushion. He knelt on the floor beside her. “I won’t surprise you,” he whispered. “I’ll tell you everything I’m about to do.”
He kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, then dropped kisses over the creamy skin of her throat. His hands spanned her waist, and he unfastened the last of the pearl buttons while he kissed the side of her neck where it sloped to her shoulder. The lace slipped low, and he eased her blouse off, laying it on the arm of the sofa. All the time, her huge eyes watched him.
Still on h
is knees, he framed her face with his hands then slid them down the sides of her neck, across her shoulders and arms. Above the lace of her corset and chemise, the gorgeous skin of her full breasts gleamed golden and red in the firelight. He couldn’t help himself.
“I’m going to kiss you here,” he said as he lowered his head. His experienced hands reached beneath her and unlaced her corset.
At last, he eased it off and placed it by her blouse. His other hand moved lower, unfastening the hooks at her waistband, loosening it. His fingers slid beneath the fabric and inched across her belly. He lifted his head and his eyes met hers.
“I’ll touch you here, too.” In that instant, her body arched to him, her sweet mouth opened in surprise then she smiled. Desire crashed in a crescendo through his resolve and filled his every cell. In one swift movement he lifted her, cradling her in his arms. His legs felt both weak and unbelievably powerful; he wanted to devour her. Her skin paled, her eyes glazed, and he feared she might faint.
He smiled and bounced her twice in his arms as if she were weightless, a child’s doll. He wanted to show off his muscles and ease a little of the tension. He raised his eyebrows and growled, and she giggled.
“My God. Do you have any idea how lovely you are?” He kissed her mouth, freeing the hunger that consumed him. He carried her toward the bedroom and kicked open the door. “You smell delicious.”
CHAPTER 16
AWAKENINGS
He awakened to the smell of coffee, bacon, fresh bread, and her, but when he opened his eyes, she wasn’t there. Beside him lay a robe of dark green wool flannel along with a pair of deerskin moccasins. Across the room, steam rose from the pitcher on the washstand. He stood and stretched, reaching high over his head, then washed himself, brushed his teeth, and put on the robe and slippers. He ran a hand down the sides of the robe, noting the French seams and the softness of the fabric. The slippers fit, too. He shaved and trimmed his moustache, then made his way through the living room, to the sounds and scents coming from the kitchen. To his wife.
Summer Rose Page 9