What the Heart Keeps

by Rosalind Laker

  Love. It was a word warm and golden as the sun with an extensive range that she comprehended well. She loved little children. She loved her homeland. And, vitally and overpoweringly, she loved Peter. There was no cruelty in love. No brutality. The box she was holding dropped to the porch floor, spilling its contents across the boards as she covered her face with her hands.

  “There’s no need to cry.” He was frantic to reassure her but she appeared unable to cease her dreadful weeping. The tears came glinting through her fingers in an outpouring that had him completely at a loss. He wanted to put his arms around her protectively, but feared to make matters worse. Finally he tried persuasion. “Listen to me, Lisa. Just take your hands away from your face. You have such a beautiful face. There’s no need to hide away from me. Ever.” He shrugged in desperation, although she could not see. “Maybe I have spoken of love before I should have, but since I have such a short time in Toronto on this visit, I can’t regret having spoken out. It is my hope and belief that there is something between us that is as important to you as it is to me. If I’m wrong then you have every cause to turn away from me. If I’m right, then look at me again as you did when we met in reunion earlier this evening.”

  For an inestimable time he thought that nothing he had said had had any effect. Then, to his relief, she obeyed his request, lowering her hands and raising her head, her eyes still awash with tears. She spoke in a whisper.

  “I love you, too, Peter.”

  He drew breath. “Then all is well,” he said gently. Fleetingly he had glimpsed the despair that would be his if he should lose her.

  Neither made any move. Both were perfectly still as they looked into each other’s eyes, softness and wonder in their locked gaze. All around them were the quiet night sounds of whispering leaves and the distant clack of hooves. Now and again there was the rumble of a distant streetcar. The porch had become their haven. Each was drowning in love for the other. It was as if they had been born for this time and this moment.

  Almost imperceptibly at first she began to draw nearer until she came to where he stood. Her eyes remained open as he bent his head to meet her lips with his own, no other physical contact between them. Then as she became lost in the ensuing tenderness of his kiss, her lids drooped and she swayed against him. His arms went about her and she herself reached up to put her hands at the sides of his face. They were united in a marvellous gladness.

  It was a long kiss. She supposed that he was surprised when they drew apart that she should return her lips to his almost at once to kiss again. But there was such benediction in his loving mouth, and it was wonderful to feel safe in his arms, something that had been beyond her imagining. So much dread in her had melted away. She knew she would have adored him forever for just that alone. At last she was free to begin to feel pride in her own femininity, to be a woman in love without any sense of shame or degradation. With Peter there would never be anything to fear. He had promised it and therefore she knew it to be the truth.

  Her lips left his and they smiled fondly at each other. He took her hands and raised them to kiss her fingers as he held them.

  “Tomorrow we shall have so much to talk about, my sweet Lisa.”

  She sighed at having to leave him. “I must go in now.”

  As she took a backwards step to the door, her foot sent one of the fallen chocolates spinning away down the porch steps. She had forgotten them for the second time. Together she and Peter stooped down to gather them up from the dusty boards and tumble them back into the box. He said he would throw them into a trash-can along the street.

  “I would like the ribbon from the box,” she intervened quickly, the practical streak in her showing through. She knew too much about poverty to tolerate unnecessary waste. “It will look pretty on a hat.”

  He pulled it off and gave it to her, amused. “One day I’ll buy you miles and miles of ribbons. I’ll take you home on a visit to Norway and you shall have a beribboned hat for each day of the week while I take you around to meet everybody.”

  “And you shall show me the Molde rose!” she said quickly, pleased by the compliment he had paid her.

  He put an arm about her waist and hugged her close, looking down into her joyous face. “I’ll give you a whole bouquet of them.”

  They kissed again lingeringly. Then she slipped from his embrace and into the house.

  *

  He was on the library steps when she arrived next morning. In his hand was the strap of a picnic box which bore the name of the city’s best store. When they had exchanged greetings, he asked her if she would like to see the horses he had bought, as they had plenty of time before the ferry sailed.

  “Yes,” she replied, interested to learn more about his trade.

  He had been to the stables once already that morning to feed and water the horses. At his advice she did not enter the stalls. Any casual shift of movement by any one of the huge animals could knock her flying, for as yet they were still nervous from a constant change of surroundings during all the transportation they had endured. All were Percherons, fifteen of them black and the sixteenth a beautiful dappled grey. Peter gave them apples that he had bought on his way there, patting their necks and talking encouragingly to them.

  “Aren’t they beauties?” he remarked over his shoulder to Lisa as he fed the dappled grey with the last of the fruit. “The Percheron is the best heavy horse to come out of France. Its origins go back to the province of La Perche, hence the name. Black is most favoured nowadays, but this particular stallion is the colour of his ancestors. They must have looked just like him in mediaeval times when they were war-horses charging into battle with their armoured riders in the saddle.”

  “What a thunder of hooves there must have been!”

  “You’re right. Each one of these horses weighs almost a ton. I should think the ground vibrated for miles under their weight. Do you like horses, Lisa?”

  “Yes, I do. But I’ve never had anything to do with them.”

  He gave a shake of his head as he left the stall. “I find it difficult to visualise a life of growing up without horses of one kind or another.”

  They caught the ferry with time to spare and stood by choice at the rails for the whole of the short voyage to the island; the water was full of yachts and every kind of rowing craft. They watched the five-mile spread of Toronto recede to become a city of toylike dimensions and then they were at the island. Everywhere it was lush with trees and foliage. Since this was a favourite summer resort for city-dwellers, there were any number of pretty villas with flower gardens in full bloom. They took a winding path that led them beyond the fishing boats at Hanlan’s Point and came to a leafy grove with a sloping bank that went down to the water’s edge. They had an unhindered view of the glittering lake with no sign of habitation.

  Then, as she had anticipated, they shared their first kiss of the day. After putting down the picnic box, removing his jacket and tossing his Panama hat aside, he had held out his arms to her, letting her come freely to him in her own time and at her own will. There was a new development in his kissing, the first thrust of passion that he had restrained the previous evening, and although briefly her eyes fluttered open on a start of the old panic, the second of fear passed as swiftly as it had come. This was Peter, whose strong and tender hands were stroking her back as he held her close. And it was his mouth, and no one else’s, that was becoming bolder, loving all of hers in a manner that stirred and excited her quite deliriously.

  They wandered for a little while hand in hand along the water’s edge before the undergrowth became thick and they turned to retrace their steps at the same leisurely pace. He outlined for her his hopes of eventually opening stables of his own, not only for buying and selling, but for breeding as well. He explained that in the shire horses there were clear distinctions, such as the Suffolk Punch, the Clydesdale, the Shire itself, which through its fame had given its name to heavy horses generally, and the French Percheron, which he also admir
ed as she knew. All those soundly bred had a courageous spirit and a will to work that made them greatly sought after in the western states of America as they were in the parallel provinces of Canada.

  “There is an insatiable demand for heavy horses. They are the pivot around which whole economies turn, not only in farming and the timber trade, but in the rapid building of the railways that is going on everywhere. There are fortunes to be made by men known to be reliable dealers with good horses in regular supply. I intend to move into the field on my own at the first chance I get.” His attitude was one of serious determination.

  “When will that be?” she asked.

  “A trifle longer than I would wish, now that I have met you. I should have followed my brother’s example as soon as I reached New York.” He released a regretful sigh.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Jon has saved every cent since he landed in the States. I’ve spent freely thinking I had no one to think about except myself with all the time in the world to do whatever I wanted. You’ve changed all that.”

  She spoke quietly. “Since yesterday?”

  “I believe it was the day before that. I look back to the moment when I heard my name spoken and I turned around to see the girl who was to change my life.” He came to a standstill and took her by the shoulders to turn her towards him. “You know what I’m saying, don’t you? I have nothing to offer you yet, but if you will be patient and bear with me, all that will change.”

  She understood him so well. For herself, she would have tramped beside him along the roads between horse sales if it had been deemed necessary, wanting only to belong to him. He could not hold that attitude. Although he did not realise it, he was still steeped in the heritage and tradition of his homeland where a man who married must be the provider and protector in every sense of the word. His male ego would not tolerate anything less. Her love outpoured for him without question or criticism.

  “I’m a patient person,” she said softly.

  “My darling Lisa.”

  They put their arms about each other and kissed. Still linked, they resumed their returning stroll at the water’s edge until they came back to the glade. There they sat down to enjoy their picnic under the trees. The box included a check cotton cloth which she spread out before unpacking the food. He watched her, leaning his back against a tree trunk, his long legs stretched out before him and crossed at the ankles, thumbs hooked in his waistcoat pockets. There had been times before when with the brashness of youth he had imagined himself to be in love. More recently, liking and affection had enhanced certain sexual encounters, but love as he knew it now had not come into his life before. He loved Lisa with a force and a possessiveness that made his head reel. Any cynicism he might have nurtured in the past had melted away completely in the revelation of what love really meant.

  She had removed her hat, and the sun, dappling through the foliage, played across the sheen of her hair. He intended that before the day was over he would see it hanging free, drifting across her full breasts which moved so enticingly under the thin muslin of her dress as she set out the picnic. At times he could just discern the nipples and could imagine how embarrassed she would be to know their shape was being revealed through whatever stout camisole top kept their beauty hidden from direct sight.

  Her modesty intrigued him. He had not minded being kept at a distance at first. It was what any man expected of a respectable girl, no matter how much he might try to undermine her resistance later. If he had not been compelled to leave Toronto so soon, he would not have followed her up onto the porch last night, but would have waited through a due number of meetings until proprieties permitted the first advance. He had truly expected her to see the situation in the same light. Her terrified expression had stopped him in his tracks. If she had not talked to him previously in an open manner about the possible fate of the pauper girls sent westwards, he would have thought her one of those innocents who imagined the sharing of a kiss could induce pregnancy. Instead, he realised it was an excessive shyness combined with a personal modesty. To her a first kiss amounted to a violation of all she had screened around her own femininity. It was no wonder she had reacted with tears at the prospect. The fact that she had overcome what must have been a long held retreat, to kiss him of her own volition, was an intoxicating measure of her feelings for him. As if that were not marvel enough, there was the certainty that when he had won her truly he would discover depths of passion in her that would make their marriage bed a place of joy throughout all their lives together. He felt intoxicated by love.

  “The picnic is ready,” she announced, sitting back on her heels. “What a spread!”

  When they had eaten, she refused to let him help her pack up the remains, wanting to do it on her own. He lay full length on the grass, well content, and closed his eyes. When everything was tidied away, she looked at him and smiled that he slept.

  He did doze, but only for a minute or two. Lifting his head he saw Lisa sitting on a rock down by the lake. She was peeling down her black stockings, one leg already bare, and when her toes were free she swung both feet into the water and splashed lightly. He raised himself on one elbow. From the shadows where he lay he thought he had never seen a lovelier sight than Lisa there against the diamond sparkles of the lake beyond.

  She was singing softly to herself as she came back up the bank, her stockings trailing from her hand. When she saw he was no longer asleep she coloured shyly, and hesitated for a moment or two before coming to sit down on the grass beside him. Her hat lay nearby and she thrust her stockings out of sight under the crown of it. He smiled to himself. Did she imagine he had never seen a pair of discarded stockings before?

  “The water was colder than I had expected,” she said, as if to explain why she had left her toes bare to the warm sun as she smoothed her skirt hem over her ankles.

  “It’s deep there by the rocks.” He sat up and rested an arm on an updrawn knee. “Lisa.”

  “Yes?” She did not look at him, her lips parting slightly as she drew in a breath at the intimate tone of his voice.

  “Release your hair from its pins.”

  “Why?” A whisper.

  “I want to see you as no other man has seen you.”

  Slowly she put up her hands to begin drawing out the pins and setting them in a little pile on her hat brim where they would not get lost in the grass. The guilelessness of her actions, which he had seen performed in wantonness by other women many times, emphasised the virginal look about her that he longed to dispel in an awakening. Her hair, soft and shining as pale yellow silk, slipped free to swing down around her face and to cover the length of her spine. When he made no move, she turned her head to meet his eyes. She had never thought to see such amorous worship in any man’s looking. She felt herself melt.

  He leaned over and bore her down onto the grass, their limbs alongside. His mouth was on hers in kissing that blotted out the trees and the sun and everything else beyond their embrace of each other, for she clung to him as if to hold forever this last hour before they had to leave the island.

  She did not know how or when he managed to unfasten the buttons down the front of her bodice but when his lips, having covered her face and throat with light and loving kisses, began to move downwards, she saw that her camisole top was also loosened, revealing half curves of her breasts, the aureoles of her nipples just visible.

  She had thought the past completely banished, but it was all she could do not to follow an instinct to cover herself. It made her realise that each stage in love-making must be met anew until all the shadows were gone. Peter’s caressing touch as he cupped one breast and then the other to kiss the nipples with lips and tongue made her catch her breath erotically at such sensual delight. She murmured loving words to him, burying her fingers convulsively in his thick hair and then letting them trail down the back of his neck to reach his shoulders with a sweet restlessness. She was filled with a delicious sensation, all else lost beyond the r
ealm of loving and being loved. When he made a bracelet of his hand about her bare ankle to travel slowly and exploringly upwards, taking her skirt in folds about his wrist, she lay still in utter bliss until his stroking, amorous touch was on her thigh. Then suddenly she was afraid. Involuntarily she gave a great start, jerking herself away from him, and covered her face in the crook of her arm.

  It was a measure of his wish to cherish and care for her that enabled him, against his own highly roused personal desires, to pull her skirt down into place again. Moving up on his elbow, he leaned over to bring his face above hers. Gently he took her arm away and looked down at her with tenderness and reassurance.

  “I’m not hastening you into anything, my darling Lisa,” he said softly. “You’re more beautiful than you could ever realise, and I’m half out of my head with love for you. But don’t be afraid of me.” His fingertips brushed some curling tendrils away from her eyes. “I’d never hurt you or go against your wishes. You’re everything to me.”

  She sat up and put her arms lightly about him, her trembling still of such violence that it passed through her into him. “I’m not frightened of you, truly I’m not,” she insisted, leaning forward to press her cheek briefly against his in emphasis. Then she looked downwards and spoke falteringly. “There are other fears.”

  He thought he understood. “I’m not irresponsible. You can trust me to take precautions against that outcome.”

  “It’s not what you’re thinking. I do trust you. Completely. It is old fears from England that are troubling me and have nothing to do with us.” Her eyes searched his. “I love you. I want to belong to you, but I need more time.”

  “Is that why you shrank from me last night when I came onto the porch to kiss you?”