You Belong to My Heart

by Nan Ryan

“In time I’ll be a better lover,” he told her. “I’ll learn how to give you the kind of joy you gave to me.

  “Lying here in your arms is joy enough,” she said, stroking his damp silky hair, his smooth shoulders, his perspiration-streaked back.

  When he calmed they went into the water, and Clay carefully, patiently, bathed Mary Ellen, his dark face a study in loving concern. When both were clean and she assured him that there was no lingering pain, they began to play the way they had when they were children.

  They raced each other across the sheltered inlet, then dove under the surface and did all sorts of underwater acrobatics. Out in the center of the pool they surfaced, coughing and laughing and spitting water.

  Mary Ellen squealed loudly when Clay caught her by her hair as it lay spread out on the water’s surface like a shimmering golden fan. She slapped his hand away and twisted free, then lunged forward, put her hands atop his dark head, and dunked him, laughing. He tugged on her waist and drew her under the water with him. He pulled her all the way down to the sandy bottom. And kissed her. Both got water in their mouths.

  They shot to the surface and kissed again. Mary Ellen looped her arms around Clay’s neck. He drew her slender legs around his waist and clasped his wrists beneath her bottom.

  When they got out of the water, they hurried to the spread red-and-white cloth and flung themselves onto their backs. Holding hands, they lay there and let the hot June sun dry their dripping wet bodies.

  They stayed all afternoon in their private little hideaway. They sampled the array of foods from the wicker basket, laughing as they fed each other figs and grapes and sugared strawberries. Full and happy, they napped in the sunny peaceful silence of that golden summer day, two beautiful, healthy young animals, naked and unashamed in paradise.

  Everything was perfect.

  But while they slept the sky above them changed.

  Dark clouds formed in the clear blue heavens, and the hot sun disappeared.

  Clay awakened with a start as an ominous chill skipped down his naked spine.

  “What is it?” Mary Ellen asked, roused by the shuddering of his slim brown body against hers.

  Clay didn’t answer. Trembling, he wrapped his arms around her extra tightly, feeling strangely uneasy. He was frightened and didn’t know why or what of. He crushed Mary Ellen to him as if she might somehow be torn from his arms.

  “What is it, Clay?” she asked, feeling his heart race against her bare breasts. “Tell me.”

  “Nothing,” he said. “It’s just I love you so much it scares me.”

  8

  IT ARRIVED THE VERY next day.

  Overnight, the dispatch came upriver. Shortly before sunrise on Monday morning, a messenger knocked loudly on the front door of the frame house where Clay and his mother, Anna, lived.

  Clay awoke immediately. He lunged out of bed and pulled on his trousers anxiously, his heart hammering in his naked chest. Running a hand through his dark, disheveled hair, he grabbed a shirt and hurried into the parlor.

  Anna Knight, tying the sash of her peach dressing robe, was there ahead of him. They exchanged worried looks. She brushed her long braid of hair over her shoulder, drew a breath, and opened the front door.

  The messenger nodded, handed her the envelope, and departed. The envelope was addressed to her: Mrs. Anna Tigart Knight. She handed it to her tall son. Clay ripped it open and read aloud:

  Mrs. Knight:

  Regret to inform that your beloved father, Commodore Clayton L. Tigart, died peacefully in his sleep at nine o’clock this evening. Admiral Tigart suffered a fatal…

  Clay handed the message to his mother and slowly shook his dark head. The passing of his maternal grandfather was no great tragedy in and of itself. The commodore had reached his eighty-third birthday. The old gentleman had remained alert and independent to the end. He had insisted on staying on in the Pass Christian Seaman’s Boarding House he’d called home for the last decade, refusing repeated offers to come to Memphis and live with his only daughter and grandson.

  The real tragedy of the old man’s death, Clay thought guiltily, was that his own only hope of an appointment to the Naval Academy died with his grandfather.

  Tears filling her pale eyes, Anna Knight put a hand on her son’s shoulder. “Clay, I’m so sorry. I’ve prayed every night that Papa would live long enough to help get you an appointment to Annapolis.”

  “It’s all right, Mother,” Clay said, patting her hand. “Really it is.” He kissed her temple. “You start packing. I’ll go down to the levee and see about booking passage on a southbound steamer.”

  Nodding, she said hopefully, “There’s still Professor McDaniels. He’ll help you all he can. I know he will. Maybe there’s still hope, maybe there’s some way you can get into the academy.”

  “Yes, Mother,” he said, heartsick, knowing it would take nothing short of a miracle to realize his long-cherished dream now.

  Fortunately Mary Ellen, Clay’s other “long-cherished dream,” made it easier to bear his anguish over the lost opportunity for an appointment to the academy. Mary Ellen kissed away the hurt and sympathized and swore she believed that where there was a will, there was always a way. He’d get his appointment. She knew he would. Why, wouldn’t Professor McDaniels do everything he could to help? Write letters on Clay’s behalf and assure the academy that Clay made the highest marks of anyone in school?

  “You’ll still get go to the academy,” she told Clay confidently. “I just know you will. It wouldn’t be fair if you didn’t. Not when you want it above all else.”

  “You are what I want above all else,” Clay corrected her. “I can stand it if I don’t get to go to Annapolis, so long as I have you.”

  And it was true.

  When Mary was in his arms, nothing else mattered much. And she was in his arms often during that long, sultry summer.

  After their initial intimacy, Clay and Mary Ellen could hardly keep their hands off each other. They employed every possible excuse to be alone. And the moment they were alone, they sought the privacy of their secret river cove or the deep dense woods or an old abandoned building. Anywhere they could safely be together. They made love at every possible opportunity, day or night, unable to get enough of each other.

  It was the most wonderful summer of their lives.

  Even the torture of not being able to touch, to kiss, when in the company of others was strangely enjoyable, exciting for them both. Mary Ellen found it incredibly stirring to steal glances at Clay as he sat in the front parlor of Longwood or at the dining table, talking, making conversation with her parents. Ever polite, he answered her father’s many questions about school and his work at the cotton mill. When John Thomas mentioned—and it was not the first time—the possibility of Clay attending the Naval Academy, Clay again confessed that with his grandfather’s death he had little chance of gaining an appointment to Annapolis. Purposely, Clay paid Mary Ellen little or no attention.

  More than one leisurely evening meal in the candlelit dining room, Mary Ellen watched as Clay’s tanned fingers curled caressingly around a crystal tumbler of iced tea and felt a delicious thrill surge through her. His beautiful, artistic hands would be caressing her before the evening ended.

  Clay’s thoughts were even more dangerous, more immodest, than Mary Ellen’s. For that reason he focused on her as infrequently as possible. At times just the sight of her across the dining table, or seated primly on a beige-and-white-striped sofa in the parlor, was enough to conjure up shameful erotic visions. He couldn’t forget for a second what she looked like, felt like, beneath her pastel summer dresses. And he could hardly wait to undress her again, didn’t think he could stand it if he couldn’t make love to her within the hour.

  The sexual heat between them was so intense, they knew they had to be extra careful. It was imperative that they behave discreetly at all times.

  Not only were they too young to consider marriage, Clay was not yet able to provide for a w
ife. He cautioned Mary that they would have to wait if they were to have any hope of gaining John Thomas Preble’s blessing.

  Mary Ellen agreed. But she was certain it was only their ages that would keep her father from saying yes immediately. Clay was not so sure. In subtle, hard-to-pinpoint ways, the blue-blooded Prebles managed to let him know that they would prefer a better match for their aristocratic young daughter.

  Clay couldn’t blame them. But he hoped that in time he could prove himself worthy of Mary.

  For now, they had to keep quiet about their undying love and their plans to marry one day. Had they dared let anyone suspect the truth about their intimacy, they’d surely be torn apart. They couldn’t risk that.

  So both were extremely cautious. Yet they managed to steal unforgettable moments of bliss in each other’s arms. The glorious summer went by far too quickly to suit the young lovers. It would, they knew, be twice as difficult to carry on their secret love affair in the freezing cold of a Tennessee winter.

  “But, Father, I don’t want to go to St. Agnes.” Mary Ellen’s tone was emphatic.

  It was a sweltering Saturday afternoon near the end of August. She stood in her father’s book-lined study, shaking her head, frowning at him.

  “You’ll change your mind once you’re there, dear,” he said confidently.

  John Thomas Preble sat behind his mahogany desk, leaning back in the burgundy leather chair, arms raised, hands laced behind his head.

  “I will not.” Mary Ellen was adamant. “I want to stay at Eugene Magevney, where all my friends are, and—”

  “You’ll make new friends,” John Thomas interrupted.

  “I don’t want new friends. I like the ones I have.”

  “Now, Mary Ellen…” Julie Preble broke her silence, rose from the long leather couch, and came to her daughter. Putting an arm around Mary Ellen’s narrow waist, she said, “We thought you’d be pleased.”

  “Why? Give me one good reason why I would be pleased.”

  “Well, the most privileged girls in Tennessee attend St. Agnes Academy for Young Ladies,” Julie told her. “Your father and I want the very best for you.”

  Mary Ellen sighed heavily. “I know you do, Mother. But why must I attend some stuffy old school with a bunch of stuck-up girls?”

  “It won’t be so terrible,” her mother said soothingly. Then: “You’re growing up, Mary Ellen. Sixteen already. Time you learn things that aren’t taught in public school. St. Agnes turns out some very cultured, poised young ladies.”

  “Who cares!” Mary Ellen made one last attempt. “Father, please—”

  “There will be no more discussion on the subject.” John Thomas Preble’s hands came unclasped, his arms came down from behind his head. He leaned up to his desk. “When the fall term begins in mid-September, you’ll attend St. Agnes.” He gestured toward the door. “Now, you may run along, child.” He fished a gold-cased watch from his waistcoat, looked at it, and added, “It’s after six and I have some work to do. Don’t forget, we’re due at the Simpsons for dinner at eight sharp.”

  “Father, you said earlier in the week that I didn’t have to go to the Simpsons, remember?”

  “Did I?” He looked from Mary Ellen to his wife.

  Julie nodded. “You did, John.”

  “Very well. I guess you don’t have to go.”

  “Thank you, Father.” Mary Ellen started from the room.

  John Thomas stopped her. “Wait a minute. Is Clay coming over here this evening?”

  Mary Ellen turned back. “He said he would.”

  Her father started to object, caught himself, and began to smile. “That’s nice. You won’t have to spend the evening by yourself.”

  “No,” she said. “Clay will keep me company.” And she left the study.

  Julie remained, closing the door after Mary Ellen. She turned and looked worriedly at her husband.

  John Thomas smiled at her. “Come here, pet.”

  Her skirts rustled faintly as Julie crossed the carpeted study. She reached him; John Thomas took her hand and pulled her onto his lap. “You’re worried. You needn’t be, my dear.”

  “John, suppose Mary Ellen continues to fancy herself in love with Clay Knight? What are we to do?”

  John Thomas raised a hand, toyed with the cameo brooch pinned to the high stiff collar of his wife’s fashionable dress. “Have I ever let you down?”

  “No. No, of course not.”

  “And I never will. I know how to handle Mary Ellen. And I know how to handle Clay Knight, if it should come to that. But I assure you, it won’t.”

  Julie Preble exhaled slowly, wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck, and leaned her forehead against his. “Forgive me, John. I suppose I’m behaving like the typical overly protective mother.”

  “And why shouldn’t you?” he said, ever indulgent. “Let me assure you this is one typical overly protective husband who will never let anything or anyone upset his wife.” Julie raised her head, looked into his dark eyes. He said, “When the time comes, Mary Ellen will marry a young man who pleases us as well as herself. This I guarantee.”

  9

  THE WARM GOLDEN DAYS of summer grudgingly gave way to a chilly early autumn. The leaves of Tennessee’s dense timberlands changed their hues to suit the season. Deep emerald greens turned to brilliant golds and russet reds. But the glorious golds and vivid reds were too rare, too beautiful, to last.

  They faded quickly into lackluster tans.

  As if ashamed of their dismal color, the drab leaves no longer fought to stay alive. Willingly they curled up, became dry and brittle. And drifted lifelessly to the ground.

  The elder Prebles supposed that with summer gone, the romance between Mary Ellen and Clay would slowly fade and die as well. Young people could be quite fickle. Often it took nothing more than a bit of separation to work great magic.

  Mary Ellen would be attending the St. Agnes Academy for Young Ladies, so she and Clay would no longer be together each day at school. And since Clay was, admittedly, a handsome, likable lad, it wasn’t out of the question to imagine he’d catch the eye of a number of his female classmates.

  Given a little breathing space without Mary Ellen shadowing him, Clay might find himself attracted to someone else. It wouldn’t be surprising if he had a new sweetheart by Christmas. Which would solve a host of problems for everyone.

  By Thanksgiving the Prebles were quietly congratulating themselves, assuming that the relationship was already starting to cool. They supposed—and certainly hoped—that the bloom of romance had begun to fade and that their lovely young daughter would soon find someone more suitable.

  Someone like Daniel Lawton, the older, highly eligible, university-educated son of extremely wealthy parents who were charter members of Memphis’s Old Guard.

  While the Prebles were pleased with their ploy to keep Clay and Mary Ellen apart as much as possible, it served only to make the young lovers’ time together sweeter and more precious than ever. It was true they didn’t see each other as often now. St. Agnes was miles from Eugene Magevney. And when classes were dismissed each afternoon, Clay had to go directly to the cotton office, where he worked until seven each evening.

  By the time he got home, cleaned up, had supper, and completed his lessons, it was too late to call on Mary Ellen. Mary Ellen understood. She looked forward eagerly to the weekends, when they could be together.

  Clay worked hard, studied hard, and cautiously revived his dream—thanks to his supportive school professor—of an appointment to the Naval Academy.

  The young, much-in-love pair continued to carry on what the elder Prebles believed—and Anna Knight prayed—was an innocent courtship that was beginning to chill along with the winter weather.

  Christmas came and with it the usual round of gay seasonal parties for Memphis’s moneyed upper crust. One such gathering was at the opulent country estate of the James D. Lawtons on Thursday evening, December 23. The Lawtons’ handsome son, Daniel
, was home for the holidays, so John Thomas Preble insisted Mary Ellen attend the gala.

  She didn’t want to go. She worried that it would upset Clay if he knew she was at a party with Daniel Lawton. So she decided not to tell him. She wouldn’t lie to him. She simply wouldn’t mention it.

  The evening came, and Mary Ellen reluctantly accompanied her parents to the Lawtons’ lavish Christmas party, dreading the affair, wishing she didn’t have to go. Wishing she could stay home and Clay could come over and they could lie in front of the fireplace together.

  But she couldn’t.

  And he couldn’t.

  And they couldn’t.

  Light and music and laughter spilled out of the imposing Lawton mansion when the heavy cypress door opened and a British butler in full livery ushered the Prebles inside.

  Daniel Lawton, attired in dark formal evening wear, stood talking with a circle of gentlemen in the drawing room. He caught sight of a gorgeous blond girl in a long red velvet cape sweeping into the foyer. His fingers tightened on his stemmed glass of champagne and he stopped speaking abruptly, stared.

  “Please excuse me,” he said momentarily, set his champagne glass atop a passing waiter’s tray, and made his way through the crowd. He reached Mary Ellen as she was unhooking the stand-up collar of her flowing red velvet, fur-lined cape.

  “May I?” he inquired politely, stepped up directly behind her, and took the covering wrap from her shoulders.

  Mary Ellen turned about to face him. Daniel Lawton favored her with a wide, disarming smile, undisguised interest flashing in his green eyes.

  It didn’t go unnoticed by either the Prebles or the Lawtons that Daniel hardly let Mary Ellen out of his sight all evening. To the chagrin of the other young ladies present, the handsome eligible bachelor made no effort to conceal his attraction to the slender, golden-haired Mary Ellen.

  “Let’s take a stroll in the back gardens, Miss Preble,” Daniel said less than an hour after she’d arrived.

  “Don’t be absurd,” she replied tartly. “It’s freezing cold out.”