KeepingFaithCole

by Christina Cole

  Lucille’s mind reeled in confusion. “What about breakfast? Don’t you want me to fix meals for you? You’ll want coffee, won’t you?”

  “You don’t need to bother. I can take care of myself.”

  Were there any wifely duties he expected her to perform? A profound sense of disenchantment filled her. This marriage—such as it was—would be nothing like she’d imagined, nothing like she’d dreamed, nothing at all like she’d hoped it would be.

  Tom reached out, placed a hand beneath her quivering chin, and lifted her face to his. “All I ask of you is that you love Faith and that you look after her.”

  “You know I will.”

  * * * *

  Tom fought the urge to pull his wife into an embrace. As he gazed down at her glistening brown eyes, he yearned to kiss her, to stroke the long, gleaming tresses of dark hair that curled loosely over her shoulders. He wanted to lift her up in his arms, carry her across the room, and gently place her atop the bed.

  Oh, so many things he wanted!

  But he and Lucille had entered into this marriage with the understanding that it would be in name only, and he would do nothing to shake the trust she had placed in him. Perhaps, some night, she would invite him to share her bed. Did he dare to dream that, in time, she might even come to love him?

  “Good night,” he whispered, turning away.

  “Sleep well.”

  “You, too.”

  He exited quickly and hurried up the stairs to the little cubby-hole of a room that would be his. Alone in the darkness, he stripped off his clothes and gave in to the luscious thoughts of Lucille playing through his head.

  Visions of her dressed in that flimsy white negligee turned him hard at once. His hands closed around his erection, and he would have given anything to have her touching him that way. But for now, he’d have to find his own satisfaction.

  His knees weak, he leaned against the wall. His eyes closed as he slowly stroked himself, letting the desires build ever higher. In his mind, he explored every sweet, seductive inch of his wife’s curvaceous form—the full, cream-colored breasts with their rosy, pink nipples, the smooth, taut abdomen, the flair of her hips. Recalling the wetness and the musky scent of nectar he’d tasted between Lucille’s long legs, he exploded. Tom gasped for breath, shaken by the power his beautiful wife possessed, power enough to make him do anything she asked of him.

  No woman should have such power. As a man, he must be strong.

  * * * *

  Marriage was good, in its own way. Tom wanted more, but out of respect for his wife, he kept a proper distance and put no demands upon her. In more ways than one, he could take care of himself. Sometimes he caught a look on Lucille’s face and wondered if she were truly happy. As quickly as it came, the look flitted away each time she noticed him watching her. For the most part, she seemed content.

  One cold winter night, Tom sat alone in the quiet kitchen. Lucille had insisted they keep up his reading lessons, joining him at the table each evening after Faith was asleep. It had become his favorite time. He loved being close to her, breathing in the smell of her—the gentle floral fragrance she wore, mixed with the scent of perspiration, soap, kitchen spices, and the unique aroma that was hers alone.

  They read together for hours each night, usually verses from scripture. When it grew late, Lucille rose, bid her husband good night, checked on Faith, then quietly disappeared behind the closed door of her bedroom. Every night, Tom stared at the door, wishing it might open again, then when it remained shut, he reluctantly got up from the table and headed to his own bed.

  Tonight, he’d stayed at the table long after Lucille had turned in. The oil in the lamp was nearly gone. Soon the flame would sputter and die, leaving him in darkness. In anticipation of that moment, he closed the heavy book and let out a slow breath. His reading was getting better every day. He recognized more words, understood more about how to sound them out, and most importantly of all, he comprehended more of what he read.

  His writing wasn’t much yet, though.

  All in good time. That’s what Lucille told him.

  Be patient. Persevere. Never give up.

  She told him those things too.

  As the flame flickered then disappeared, Tom closed his eyes, content to listen to the quiet, peaceful sounds of his home. From the back bedroom came the sound of the bed creaking as Lucille shifted in her sleep. Closer, from the corner near the fireplace, Faith’s slow, steady breathing soothed him like a comforting lullaby.

  How had all this happened? It had to be a miracle. How else could he explain the incredible transformation in his life over the last few months? He opened his eyes, leaned back, and looked toward the ceiling, imagining his mind moving through it, through the rafters, through the rooftop. From there, he could better imagine the tapestry of the skies, the glittering stars poking through the dark fabric of the night.

  Was heaven above it somewhere? For a long time, he hadn’t given much thought to it. He’d never thought too much about hell, either. Now, he’d come to think that maybe both places existed, although he wasn’t too sure about hell. Somehow, it didn’t seem right that a loving God would create a place to punish souls. Wouldn’t it be better, kinder, to teach them instead?

  He reached out and ran his hand over the bible’s leather cover. The good book, Lucille called it. A book of teachings, a book about love, compassion, and caring for others.

  Stretching out his long legs, he opened the book again, turning once more to ponder the verses they’d read from Ecclesiastes.

  Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their toil. For if they fall, one will lift up his fellow. But woe to him who is alone when he falls and has not another to lift him up! Again, if two lie together, they keep warm, but how can one keep warm alone?

  How, indeed? He craved warmth. If only Lucille would let him into her bed, he would find it. He yearned to take her into his arms and truly love her in the way a man was meant to love a woman, as a husband should love his wife.

  It would never happen, and he’d have to find his own way to keep warm. For all the goodness Lucille had brought into his life, he was still the same man, nothing more than a simple-minded cowboy, the fellow who’d been born in a barn and raised by a drunken whore. It would take more than a few good thoughts, more even than a few verses of scripture, to make a difference. A man was what a man was. He wasn’t sure change was possible.

  Believe in yourself, Tom Henderson.

  His eyes flew open. Had Lucille slipped into the kitchen without him hearing her? He peered through the darkness of the quiet house, then knew the voice he’d heard had come from his own head, or maybe from his own heart.

  Yes, he did believe in himself now. In himself, his future, their future together as husband and wife. He believed in heaven too.

  Looking upward again, he smiled. Of course there was a heaven, and Sally was there, watching down upon the little girl she’d brought into this world. Leland Chappell was there, too, and most likely he was grinning, maybe even chuckling a bit at Tom’s predicament.

  Wasn’t natural for a man and his wife to sleep in separate beds, in separate rooms.

  Chappell believed in fixing problems, not letting them linger on.

  If he were there, what would he say? Tom heard the familiar words again.

  Start where you are. Right here. Right now.

  He glanced toward Lucille’s bedroom door. Maybe he should slip into bed beside her, or at least talk to her, tell her how he felt.

  With a long breath, he shook his head. If she wanted him, she would come to him. Slowly, he got to his feet and headed for the stairs. Would it ever happen? Probably not, but he’d go right on loving Lucille, even if she didn’t know it.

  * * * *

  Faith’s cries awakened Lucille from a restless sleep. She grabbed her robe and hurried from the bedroom. The lamp on the table had already burned itself out, and Tom had long before gone upstairs for the night.


  Disappointment settled over Lucille as she lit the lamp again. Although she enjoyed what little time she spent with her husband, she couldn’t help wanting more from him. Not just his time, but his affection.

  “Well, we certainly don’t want to wake him, do we?” she crooned as she picked Faith up and soothed her.

  She’d grown accustomed to the lonely days, and to the long, lonely nights. Thank goodness, she had Faith to make life bearable. Without her, Lucille would never be able to endure the misery. Of course, without Faith, she wouldn’t be married to Tom, wouldn’t be living such an isolated existence so far from Sunset.

  Did she regret her decision?

  No, never.

  She sang a soft lullaby, rocking Faith in her arms, then when the little girl was sleeping again, Lucille gently placed her in bed once more. She tucked the covers around the child and for a moment, she stood beside the cradle, watching, her heart filled with tenderness. She could not have loved this little angel more had Faith been her own child.

  What of the family she hoped to have? She placed a hand to her breast and choked back a sob. She wanted children of her own. She wanted children with Tom, but it would never happen unless he truly accepted her as his wife—not in name only, but his wife in all ways.

  With a sigh, Lucille turned to blow out the lamp. The bible lay open to the scriptures they’d read that evening. She glanced at the page, recalling the words.

  “If two lie together, they keep warm.”

  Squaring her shoulders, she marched across the room, then climbed the narrow stairs. If she wanted Tom’s love, she needed to tell him of her own feelings, to declare her love for him. Of course, that meant putting everything on the line, risking his rejection.

  But it had to be done. She couldn’t go on living this lie, pretending that their marriage meant nothing to her. Truth always came out, and it rarely chose convenient times.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Tom?” she whispered, giving his shoulders a slight shake as she sat on the edge of his bed. “Are you awake?”

  He stirred. His eyes flew open, and at once he struggled to sit up. “What is it? Is Faith—”

  “She’s fine.” Tears streamed freely down Lucille’s cheeks now. She couldn’t check them, and suddenly it no longer seemed to matter. “I want to talk, Tom. I need to tell you how I feel.”

  His body went rigid beneath her touch. He drew in a slow breath, then looked away from her to stare toward the window. Soft beams of moonlight left a silvery streak across the floor and bed.

  “Please, Lucille, don’t,” he said. “I know you’re not happy. I’m sorry I can’t give you more, but for Faith’s sake, can’t we try a little longer? If you leave me now—”

  “Leave?” She shook her head, dumbfounded by the words he’d spoken. “No, Tom, that’s not what I want. I want to stay with you.” She wiped at her tears.

  “You’re crying. It’s obvious you’re not happy here with me. What else would come to tell me if it’s not goodbye?”

  “I—” She stopped, suddenly terrified to speak.

  I love you. I want to be your wife. I want us to have a life together, to make babies, to have a home, a family.

  All the words were there inside her head and inside her heart, but for the life of her, she couldn’t get them to come out.

  “I—”

  Again, the words stuck inside her throat. Unashamed of her tears, she lifted her gaze to his, silently begging for his understanding and his love.

  “What is you want, Lu?” he asked, his voice gentle as he reached for her hand. He clasped it in his. “Are you saying you want us to stay together? Are you telling me maybe we could make this a real marriage?”

  She nodded and fell into the welcome embrace he offered. With her head resting against his bare chest, she could hear the steady pounding of his heart.

  “Please, Tom, I want to be your wife, in every sense of the word.” She closed her eyes and leaned her head back. Her body trembled. “I want to be your wife, to make a home with you, to have your babies, to share our lives.”

  He moved his long legs around and swung off the bed. Bare-chested, wearing only a pair of drawstring pants, he stood in the moonlight, looking down at her.

  “Are you asking me to love you?”

  Lucille wished she could speak up, but she wasn’t sure what to say. The right words could bring them together forever, but the wrong ones could destroy every last hope, every dream in her heart.

  She choked back a sob, pushed away from the bed and fled from the room.

  “Lucille, wait!” Tom called out even as he rushed after her. He quickly caught her, put his arms around her, and turned her to face him. “Don’t run out on me. Please, let’s talk this out, let’s do what we can to make this work.”

  “Would you want that, Tom?” she asked, hesitant to look into his beautiful blue eyes. “Would you want a real wife?”

  “You are my wife,” he said with a chuckle. “And you feel mighty real to me.”

  “You know what I mean.” She turned her head, wishing he wouldn’t make light of the situation. That was how Tom always was, though. Instead of facing up to problems, he joked about them, used humor much like another man might use a shield, relied on laughter to ward off discomfort and distress. Her head snapped around again. “This isn’t funny, Tom.”

  “No, I don’t reckon it is.”

  “Marriage is serious.” She leaned back so she could look at him now. Slowly, she studied his expression, wishing she could get inside his head and know what he was thinking. “I love you, Tom.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” she said, her heart hammering. “I love you.”

  “For now? Or forever?”

  “Forever and always.” She reached for his hands and squeezed. “I know in the past, I’ve said some unkind things about you. But I was wrong. Give me a chance to make up for my awful behavior. Let me love you. Let me be the wife you deserve.”

  “I think we can make that happen.” He bent down and kissed the top of her head. “And I think right now might be a good time to start.” Turning toward the door, he pulled her around with him. “Let’s go to bed, wife,” he whispered. “Your husband’s been waiting a long time to hold you in his arms.”

  She shook her head.

  “Not here.” Lucille glanced toward the small feather mattress. “I have a big four-poster bed in my room, and you’d look real nice stretched out across it.”

  * * * *

  He followed her downstairs, his heart pounding. Together, they tip-toed past Faith’s crib and slipped into the big bedroom. Tom reached for his wife’s hand, brought it to his lips and feathered soft kisses across the back. In the moonlight, her eyes glittered like rich chocolate candies. Keeping his gaze locked on hers, he squeezed her hands.

  “Do you know how pretty you are?”

  Her long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, shimmering with highlights from the silver light. He leaned toward her, then hesitated. He wanted her, but only if she truly wanted him.

  He held his breath as Lucille bent forward. He let go of her hand, then reached up to touch the softness of her cheek. It felt like the smooth velvet ribbons he’d once bought at her shop. His fingers moved down to trace the outline of her bottom lip. She sighed and her eyelids closed.

  His heart hammered as his desires pounded through his brain and through his body. He ached for her. His other hand went to her loose, flowing tresses, tangling in the dark strands as he drew her closer.

  Softly, he kissed the corner of her mouth, gently bringing the tip of his tongue to her skin for a taste, breathing in her sweet, floral scent. Her nearness overwhelmed him.

  He heard a soft moan and wondered if the sound came from her lips or from his own. He couldn’t tell. His hand dropped to her throat, and he felt her pulse beating, accelerating at his caress. “Make love to me, Tom,” she whispered.

  Their lips melted together in a lingering,
delicious moment. A long, gentle kiss. Unhurried. Her fingers curled around the nape of his neck, tugging him closer. Their lips met again, and when he wrapped his arms around her, she buried her fingers in his hair.

  He deepened the kiss. Their tongues danced and teased until she drew away, gasping for air. She stared up at him. His emotions teetered precariously.

  “Are you all right?” he whispered.

  She nodded.

  Holding her close, he placed her on the bed and lay down beside her. Eager to touch her, he ran his hand over her neck, across her shoulder, and down her arm, pushing at the fabric of her gown. Tom moaned and rolled toward her, pulling her into his arms. Breathing hard, his lips grazed over her face, and his hands were everywhere at once, cupping her breasts, teasing her nipples, stroking her belly. He couldn’t get enough of her.

  He leaned over her then ran his hands down her legs and up again. His fingers slipped between her thighs, and she parted her legs, inviting his caresses.

  She was hot, wet, and slick to his touch. His thumb flicked her swollen bud, circling and kneading it. She cried out in ecstasy, calling his name over and over.

  Turning onto her side, she pressed herself against him, kissing him wildly. “Please, please!” she begged.

  His erection pressed against her wet, willing center, then slowly, he rolled onto his back, holding her close. She lowered herself onto him, impaling herself on his engorged staff.

  Frantic cries of pleasure poured from her throat as she leaned her head back and rode him with all the passion they’d held inside now unleashed. Their bodies came together in a rhythm that grew faster as they approached the pinnacle.

  Tom took control then, rolling again so that he now covered her body with his. The bed shook beneath them as he thrust into her harder and deeper with each stroke. Her body arched and bucked, clinging to him as she reached her climax. Spurred on by her pleasure, he came with her, shouting her name as together they found release.