Bertha’s expression crumpled into sadness. “Oh my! It’s not right for such a burden to be laid on young shoulders.”
“I don’t look on it in that light. And I’m twenty years old. I know what I’m doing. There’s no need to worry about me, Bertha. I’ve lots to be thankful for.”
However, the next morning Lisa called in the sawmill’s old handyman to put extra locks on the doors and windows. She also took one of Alan’s double-barrelled shotguns down from its rack on the wall and left it readily at hand in case of an emergency, thankful that he had taught her how to use one as a precautionary measure during her early days at Quadra Island. At night she kept the gun by the bedhead.
There were incidents. She ignored knocking at the door that came in the dark hours. The rapping on the window panes while she held her breath behind the drawn blinds was even more alarming. At times a concertina or a fiddle or a steel guitar was played a great deal nearer than the bunkhouses, making her wonder how many men had left their card-playing or exchanging of yarns to wander along outside with the musicians among them and lounge about within range of her. By day it was no better. When she went to the store bold approaches were made to her. More than once she tried not to hear the lewd invitations shouted down to her by men on the drying sheds, their guffaws following her.
Then the night came when she woke with a start, knowing that someone was trying to get into the house. In the darkness she sprang out of bed and snatched up the gun. She cocked it in readiness and on bare feet crept to the head of the stairs, a pale figure in her white nightgown, her fair hair swirling, her heart pounding against her ribs. The intruder was forcing the front door with a silent determination that would brook no failure. He must have snapped the original locks and was putting a shoulder to the door against the padlocked chain that still held it. But not for long. Any second the wood would splinter and give way. Quickly she decided that the safest place for defence was on the stairs at the place she was standing. With a sudden crash the door burst open and the intruder half fell into the house.
“Stand still!” she cried out, aiming the gun at him. “I’ll shoot if you move a step!”
“Lisa! What’s going on here?” It was Alan.
She swayed against the banisters, lowering the gun, and her voice shook. “I thought you were an attacker.”
“What!” He lit a lamp and stood looking up at her. “When I used my key in the door and it still didn’t open, I supposed that the recent rain had swollen the wood and wedged it. Now it appears you’ve had extra locks put on whilst I was away.” His expression hardened. “Who’s been frightening you? Tell me the bastard’s name.” He sounded more than ready to mete out rough justice to the culprit without further delay.
She gave a weary shake of the head. “Nobody I could really pin-point. Things have been getting unpleasant generally and I was afraid. I was attacked once when I was fourteen. On the train coming West another man tried to have his way with me. This time I was going to use the gun to defend myself.”
Her knees seemed to buckle, causing her to sink down onto the stairs with her head bowed forward. He hastened up the flight to take the gun from her and break it into its safety position before setting it aside. Then he sat down by her on the stairs and produced from his back pocket a hip-flask which he unscrewed. Tilting her chin upwards, he put it to her lips.
“Take a sip,” he urged. “That’s right. Try one more.”
She coughed over the cognac, but it helped. “I’m all right now.” She pushed the flask aside, although as yet she lacked the strength to move. It made her uneasy to realise that in a vulnerable moment she had blurted out what she would otherwise never have mentioned to him or to anybody else again in her lifetime. But such was her present state of mind after weeks of tension, that she felt there was nothing she could hold back from him now if questioned. It would be best to get safely back to bed as quickly as possible.
“Explain this unpleasantness you mentioned,” he insisted before she could bestir herself. “Who caused it? How did it come about?”
“Everybody except Bertha thinks we’re lovers. That’s why some of the men have decided I must be easy game.” She faced him squarely. “There. Now you know. And if we sit here talking any longer, Harry will wake up. I’m surprised he hasn’t done so already.”
“Then let’s go into the kitchen and talk there, Lisa. I’ll make some coffee.”
As she reached her bedroom door she heard the clatter of the stove-lid being levered up for the coffee-pot. Without haste she found her slippers, put on a cotton wrapper and took time over choosing a piece of blue ribbon to tie back her hair. The fragrance of the coffee greeted her descent again. He had set cups and saucers ready on the kitchen table. When she sat down he picked up the pot and poured the steaming coffee out. As she added cream to hers, he pulled out a chair to take his place opposite her. She thought he looked tired and older. Grief had scarred him deeply.
“I’ve been selfish,” he said, resting his arms on the table. “I’ve been too deep in my own sorrow to think how it has been for you alone here most of the time. I know all about the promise you gave Harriet about my son. She told me. But I speak on her behalf when I say you are released from that vow. You must be free to go where you like and do what you like. I’ll make other arrangements for Harry. Do you think Bertha would look after him?”
“I know she would, but you’re overlooking one thing and forgetting another. First of all, I made my promise to Harriet and not to anyone taking on the authority to speak for her. Secondly, I chose to stay for as long as you will allow me to. In any case, you can’t send me away yet, because until I’m of age you are still officially my guardian.”
He regarded her steadily. “Does Harry mean that much to you?”
“He does.”
“You must realise that there will always be gossip.”
“I accept that.”
He stirred his coffee absently, for he had taken no sugar or cream, but he watched the swirling liquid for a while before he looked up again to hold her gaze. “Would you marry me, Lisa?”
She was too astonished to speak at first. “For Harry’s sake, you mean?”
“Unless there’s someone else in your life?”
“Not anymore.” Only she knew that a bitter-sweet ache still lingered on, but that bore no significance in the present discussion. “In fact, I had made up my mind never to marry.”
“You’re too young by far to have made that decision already, although after what you told me on the stairs about your past ordeals I can understand the reason.”
Her direct look compelled an honest answer. “Do you like me, Alan?”
“I like you. How do you feel about me?”
“I’ve come to like you,” she was being as straightforward as she had expected him to be with her, “although I didn’t at first.” “I admit to all my faults.”
“So do I to mine.”
His eyes searched hers. “You do realise that I want you to be my wife, don’t you? Not just a mother to Harry.”
She spoke with equal frankness. “My one disappointment about not marrying was that it meant I should never have children of my own. Now that can be amended at some time in the future.”
“Yes. Naturally.”
“Then I accept your offer of marriage.”
“I’ll do everything I can for you.”
“I’m sure you will, and I’m ready to do my share in helping you get your cinema established. I’ve never been afraid of work.”
“I’ve seen that for myself. I think we should marry soon. We’ll move from this place at the same time. There’s a bigger site owned by the company only sixty miles south of Seattle. I was offered a chance to go there only recently, and now it will give us a fresh start. It’s a sizeable settlement with a hotel and quite a number of houses, all of which have grown up around the sawmill.”
She gave a nod of approval. “How long will it take to arrange this move?”
“That’s a good idea. I think we’ve settled everything now.” She stood up and he rose to his feet at the same time. “Good night, Alan.”
“Good night, Lisa.”
She hesitated briefly in case he should wish to kiss her, but he remained where he was. She thought it was as well. There had been nothing romantic in the agreement they had made. It would have been quite appropriate to have shaken hands. Yet as she went from the kitchen she was convinced they would make a good marriage. At least it was based on truth and trust and understanding. There were no secrets between Alan and her.
*
Everything was packed and ready when their wedding day dawned. While their possessions were being stowed aboard the lumber train, the preacher married them in the early morning sunshine in the parlour of the Dunns’ home. Bertha and George were the only witnesses. Lisa had a new dress made from a length of rose silk given to her as a gift by Bertha, who had done most of the sewing for her. Fashion’s decree of a wand-slender outline with a softly draped bosom suited her admirably, and her re-trimmed sailor hat and white gloves completed her outfit.
“You may kiss the bride,” the preacher said as the ceremony ended.
Lisa turned her face obediently towards Alan. Nobody present suspected it, but it was their first kiss. His lips, warm and firm, met hers briefly. Then she was being embraced exuberantly by Bertha while George was shaking the bridegroom’s hand in congratulation. There was no time for a celebratory feast. Lisa picked up Harry from the sofa where he lay and they all left the house. She stood with Alan at the window of the passenger compartment of the heavily loaded lumber train as it pulled away from the sawmill, and they waved goodbye until the Dunns could be seen no longer.
That evening they alighted at the station of a small town where they had to stay overnight. Side by side they walked down the main street until they came to a hotel. Alan did not ask at the reception desk if there was a bridal suite, for which Lisa was thankful. Instead they took a family suite with a large brass bedstead and a small adjoining room with accommodation for children. Lisa bathed Harry, fed him, and put him to bed in a crib there. Although he was a contented baby and slept well, she took the precaution of asking one of the hotel maids to let her know if he should awake and cry. Then she went downstairs to find Alan, who had passed the time taking a look around the town.
There were potted palms and gilt-framed mirrors in the old-fashioned dining room. Alan had ordered champagne and Lisa tasted it for the first time.
“It’s delicious,” she said appreciatively.
He did not warn her about its potency, although he made sure that she drank only enough to lessen any inhibitions she might be harbouring about their sleeping together. Both of them did justice to the excellent dinner and by the time they reached the coffee she was merely gently talkative and smiling in a rosy tranquillity of mind. Somehow there had been little talk between them over the past eight months since tragedy had struck, and now it seemed they might be regaining their ability to converse together on most subjects. Then, with a suddenness that caught her unawares, it had become time for bed. Panic sobered her, dispelling the golden haze of the champagne as together they ascended the staircase that curved up from the lobby.
She went immediately to see that all was well with the baby. She tidied only a light cover over him for the night was warm Then she undressed and put on her nightgown in his narrow room, having previously left there all she would need. She took twice as long as she normally did to brush her hair, wanting to postpone the moment when she must re-enter the bedroom. How had she managed to forget for two hours over dinner downstairs that irrevocably waiting brass bed?
Eventually, as she had dreaded, he came in search of her. She was standing by the crib, her fingers clenched over the top rail as she tried to find the courage that had been hers when she had accepted his marriage proposal. At that time the wedding night had been safely distant.
“It’s getting late,” he said quietly.
She gave a slight nod, still making no move. It was not the first time she had seen him in a nightshirt, for living under the same roof at Quadra Island, and again at the sawmill site, there had been occasions when they had met by chance in their night attire, his dressing-gown usually flowing and untied. Now she saw he had bought a new nightshirt for the occasion. Its pristine whiteness had sharp creases from its folds and the points of the unfastened collar stood up like that of a Regency buck’s, quite flattering to his dark looks, although he had merely forgotten to smooth them down into place. He held out a hand to her.
As she put hers into his, her wedding ring gleaming, he drew her at once out of the baby’s room and closed the door silently. Still leading her, he went across to hold back the sheet at one side of the bed and she took her place there. A single lamp was still alight in the room and he extinguished it. As he passed by the foot of the bed she saw him in silhouette against the moonlit window, pulling the nightshirt over his head to toss it aside. Warm and naked, he clambered into the bed beside her.
Propping an elbow on the pillow, he leaned over her, bringing his face close, his whisper soft. “Liking each other is a beginning, Lisa. It is friendship, which in itself is a form of love. I know we can build on that friendship, and then maybe the day will come when you find that you feel more for me than you do now.” He cupped a hand gently against the side of her face. “I want you and I’m going to make love to you. Tonight I’m banishing whatever nightmares you have from the past. I promise that you’ll never again be haunted by them.”
His mouth came down on hers in a deep, throbbing kiss. Her involuntary gasp was silenced, his embrace gathering her close. There began for her an initiation into sexual pleasure that made her realise how little knowledge she had gained from her one romantic encounter. At that time modesty and a certain innocence had combined with shameful fear to create a barrier between her and the man who would have loved her. Now there were no such barriers. The heart with its subtle refinements had no voice. The early abusement of her body by a brutal stranger was of no consequence to Alan, apart from his determination to rid her of its shadow. The present and the future were his sole concern. Not what had gone before.
His love-making commenced with enormous tenderness. At first no more than the gentlest fondling accompanied by a soft kissing of her eyes, her ears and the length of her throat until gradually she was lulled and reassured into a state of blissful relaxation. She could not be sure when he removed her nightgown from her. All she knew was that somehow it had been up around her neck and armpits almost from the start, and it was a relief to be free of its hampering folds. Her silky nakedness slid against his as he drew her amorously still further down into the bed.
He became more purposeful. All her long pent-up sensuality was released as if from a dam, enveloping them both. Her flesh quivered from his touch and there seemed to be no limit to the ways he had of causing her intense pleasure, sometimes almost too exquisite to be borne. When he granted her respite, he cradled his head on her smooth stomach between her hipbones and murmured of her beauty, which continued to stir her erotically, and she stroked the back of his neck with trembling fingertips. Then his ardent love-making would begin again and once more she surrendered voluptuously to whatever new discoveries he wished to make, her abandonment complete.
He moved at last to take possession of her. As he passed into her, she gloried in his strength and power. There was no pain, no fear. Only utter abandonment to the rising towards final fulfilment. When it came in an explosion of passion he held her hard as she arched convulsively, sharing his ecstasy.
Some time in the early hours of the morning the baby awakened her. She sat up drowsily, scooped back the long flow of her hair and went to his crib. She soothed him and after a few minutes he w
as quiet again. She returned to the bedroom. Alan lay fast asleep, one arm stretched out where it had been lying across her. She knelt on the bed, looking down at his sleeping face in the moonlight. Understanding had come to her as to why there had been such hostile excitement between them from their first meeting. Against their wishes each had been violently attracted to the other. She had taken refuge in animosity and he in anger at the trick fate had played on him. Even though it had taken nothing away from his relationship with Harriet, it must have been torment for him, physically and mentally, to have another woman he desired living permanently under his own roof. When Harriet had spoken of finding a husband for her in Seattle, it had been abhorrence at the thought of another man making her his own that she had mistaken for hatred directed towards herself. When Harriet had gone, their particular conflict had been erased for them, the reason overshadowed by the shared grief of bereavement.
She lay down again, lifting his arm gently to slide under it. Tonight she had learned something else about the man who had become her husband. He had not voiced it but she knew it. He loved her. Maybe he had loved her from the moment when they had looked upon each other’s faces in the rain-washed glow of a lantern light. It made her yearn to feel love in her heart for him, but life was not as simple as that. At least he had brought fondness to her liking for him. She would cherish the hope that out of that fondness love would come.
Nine
Their new home at the sawmill settlement lay south of Seattle. They had been there almost two years when Minnie wrote to ask Lisa if she might come and live with her and Alan. The Jacksons were moving back East to the province of Ontario and the girl had no wish to return to a part of Canada where she had known only unhappiness. Lisa was baking when Alan brought her the reply to her invitation to Minnie that she should come without delay. Dusting the flour from her hands, she tore the letter open eagerly.
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