by Aria Ford
She was close enough that he could feel her warmth and energy, buzzing around his head. Their palms felt like they were merging. He was the one to blink rapidly this time and felt his cheeks catching fire, his heart starting to pound and his breath modifying.
“Afterward... from the heart,” she said in a whisper, looking at their hands, unwinding her body slowly, to line up with his “the arms and hands begin to form.”
“So…” he whispered back, quickly, understanding that it had never been a random thing, “if… if our hands are warm…”
He felt his mouth dry up and his voice failing as she raised her huge brown black to his, so close to him now that he could see flames dancing in them. He couldn’t look away.
“Our hearts are warm, too.” she whispered and he could sense her breath on his face.
He traced the line of her cheek with a finger like he did so many times in his dreams and felt his mind going numb from how real it felt. She was real, she was in his room, in his bed, looking at him… like that.
“Your eyes…” he sighed “burn… through me, like a raging fire.”
She lowered her eyes with a smile, while covering the last few inches between them, touching his knees and toes with hers, through the covers, whispering close to his lips, slightly brushing them:
"You are such a poet. You have always been.” and she giggled, stirring butterflies in his stomach.
She simply lingered there, without kissing him, the vibe of it tormenting him, yet simply delicious. Her lips were slightly open and their breaths were mingling.
“And you have been, are and always will be my muse,” he whispered back, against her expectant mouth, before catching her lips with his.
It was really happening! He was really kissing her and her mouth was even hotter than he had imagined it, her lips even softer and more delicious than a fruit, submissive yet at the same time passionate. He tasted them at leisure, indulging in that pleasure he had only dreamed about till then, his ears filled for a long time only with the soft sounds of their mouths and the pounding of his own heart.
And then another type of pounding came slowly into his focus, which at first he couldn’t place. But then she heard it, too and she opened her eyes, looking up towards the ceiling, yet still kissing him. He was the one to break it and suddenly sit up in terror, from the realization of what it might have been.
The rain had stopped, yet the roof was rattling above their heads, and the wind was howling and striking the window pane in strong gusts. Through the racket, he could faintly hear the cows and horses.
“Oh, no!”
“What is it?”
Why hadn’t he realized it one evening before?
“Margy, I need your help! The animals!” he cried, but then recomposed himself. “In fact, no! It’s too dangerous. Just head for the cellar!” and he was already out of the door.
“Damiano!” and she followed, running outside after him, barefoot.
What she saw terrified her: a violently rotating, dark column of air, which seemed to suck the very life of the clouds in the sky, touched the ground, wiping everything in its way. And it was headed towards the farm, with howls, like a terrible huge monster. She had only read about something like that, and now she was seeing it coming straight at her. She froze. She didn’t even see Damiano running towards her until he was grabbing her by the shoulders, shaking her up and shouting:
“What are you doing? Head for the cellar. The tornado will be here in no time!”
She came to her senses:
“No! The animals! How many could we bring down to the cellar?”
It was the huge wine cellar of his estate, now empty and quite roomy. Margareta carried the chicken and dragged some goats, the ones she knew gave the most milk and then she went to help Damiano drag some of the cows and horses down the steps, the ones that were reluctant to move on their own. Most of the horses had run away. So had the dogs. All the while, the twister was getting closer and closer. It seemed like it was going to pass right through, or at a very short distance from the estate.
The cellar was now filled with animals. Damiano shut the large doors and lead Margareta to a small adjacent room. Suddenly, she felt her legs shaking but didn’t want to break down again, like she did with the rustlers. She still leaned into the wall and slowly glided down, till she was hugging her knees. Suddenly she became aware of her bare feet, cold and sore, and she covered them with her palms.
“The damn dogs are nowhere to be seen!” and Damiano cursed, fidgetting. “They must’ve run away into the bushes at the first sign of the storm. If they had howled…”
He then saw her down, her hands on her feet and he crouched in front of her.
“Your feet, dummy!” he smiled to her. “What was the big idea of running around barefoot?”
But Margareta didn’t feel like smiling. She seemed scared and about to cry.
“No, don’t worry! You were wonderful and helped me so much!” and he raised his hand towards her hair, this time allowing himself to stroke it.
She snuggled her cheek into his palm, biting into her lower lip, trying hard not to cry, as she knew how much it troubled him.
“There was nothing more we could’ve done. It’s in the hands of God, now.”
He sat next to her and took her feet in his lap, warming them up.
“Is it strange that I don’t feel worried about this?” she heard him talking after a while. “It’s like everything is going to be alright now. Now that you’ve reached out to me, and got me out of my darkness.”
Margareta leaned into him and he laid a kiss on her soft hair.
They came out after a couple of hours, when the howling and the rattling had stopped altogether, and found that the tornado had only swept away the remains of the burnt mansion, but had missed the houses they lived in and the stable, by mere feet. They even found most of the animals that they had to leave behind. And even though there was a terrible mess all around, that needed to be cleaned, there was no sign of dark clouds what so ever and, for the first time in a week, the sky was of a clear blue and the sun was shining brightly and cheerfully, like a promise.
*Epilogue
“Miss Margareta!” old Benicio shouted. “Come, come quickly!”
“What?” she came out of the garden.
“It’s just like you’ve said! Merchants have come! Wagons of them.”
Margareta grabbed her horse and rode beside the old man into town.
When she saw the colorful ensemble that had occupied the square of San Antonio, she quickly realized there weren’t only merchants, there, but also settlers and immigrants and that they had been accompanied by military men. Through the multitude of faces, she suddenly recognized one; at his turn, the man gave a shout and waved cheerfully at her.
“Simon!” she shouted, hitting his shoulder while he laughed.
“Hey… I’m sorry I’ve left you like this, but as you can see, I didn’t waste my time. I used all of my acquaintances and influence to get the government worked up about this place. It was downright scandalous!”
“I don’t know if I should strangle you right now” Margareta growled “… or kiss you! Damiano might strangle you, though, nevertheless. I should be the one who breaks this to him.”
“Ooh, sound like you two have become close. Look at you! You’re a cowgirl!”
“A vaquero! And proud of it! I’ve faced bandits! And we went through a tornado two months ago! It barely missed the town…”
THE END
Mail Order Bride Book 11
Boston, America Year: 1922
“Emma! Emma! Wake up!”
The voice finally penetrated her deep slumber and shoved her awake. Emma looked around herself, trying to take in her surroundings. Turning to her right, she came face to face with her friend who was red in the face from trying to vigorously wake her up and looked to be almost fuming from her ears.
“I-I am sorry, I just couldn’t get any sleep the previous n
ight with those mice running havoc around the room,” she explained, still yawning sleepily.
Emma had barely slept a wink the other night. Her room, as every other room in the boarding house, was infested heavily with a population of mice. She and her friend Jesse Brown resided in the topmost floor of the building with the most down-trodden and old apartments. The rent for the rest of the rooms was too high for them to afford on a maid’s and a tutor’s salary. They were both friends from their school time when they had gone to the Everest School for Young Girls.
“Your pupils are waiting for you, looking at you quite peculiarly now, if I must say,” Jesse told her, motioning with her head to look at the other side of the room.
Emma groaned inwardly and looked to the direction Jesse pointed. Sure enough, the three girls and their mothers were standing, waiting for her to rouse from her dreams. The students were her only means of income and she did not want to lose them but every once in a while there was an incident such as this that made the mothers angry and doubtful. She had just had a complaint from a mother the other day regarding her daughter informing her how Miss Emma slept during the lesson. Emma had denied the charge with a fervor claiming that she was engrossed in monitoring the child’s work which was mistaken as sleeping.
However tactfully had she handled it the other day, the matter was out of her hands now, if everyone’s stare was any indication. Gathering her courage the best she could, Emma got up from the stool and moved towards the mothers. They all greeted her stiffly while Emma kept her own smile big enough to dazzle them.
“So, now are we to assume you were observing the handiwork of the stool quite closely?” Mrs. Sternhurst spoke up in her shrill voice. The woman resembled her name closely. She was stern and stiff in every matter of her life with mother hen-like qualities and a voice that could possibly rouse the dead. Her daughter took after her mother with her appearance but was a step ahead in her other qualities. The girl was as naughty and evil as children could ever be and had never missed an opportunity to distress Emma in any way. The devil was now laughing silently behind her hand as her mother rebuked Emma for her behavior.
“Indeed, Mrs. Sternhurst. The chair has exceptional handiwork, you are quite right in that respect,” Emma replied gaily, without losing a step.
The woman has no sense of humor, Emma thought while grimacing as the woman positively glared at her at the response.
“Since you are such an expert at furniture, maybe you should switch professions, Miss Emma Taylor,” Mrs. Sternhurst responded. Emma was now panicking in response. She could not lose these students. They were her only way to pay for that Godforsaken room upstairs. Without them, she would have to find shelter somewhere on the streets and the thought scared her.
“No, no, Ma’am! I’ll be more careful from now on. Jennifer is such a lovely child, I could never bear to part from her,” Emma all but vomited the words out of her mouth. A satisfactory gleam had entered the woman’s eyes and Emma could see how nothing she was going to say would move her. She was going to withdraw her little devil from Emma’s care.
It took a little under five minutes as all the mothers told her how they didn’t want their daughters receiving education from her and took them back. Jesse had been observing the whole scene and patted Emma’s shoulder as she returned to the stool.
“It’s quite okay. I’m sure there’s something better waiting for us, I can feel it,” Jesse tried to cheer her up.
“The streets are what are waiting for us. I don’t know how we mess everything up. First, you lost your job and now I lost these ruffians. Oh, Jesse, what ever will we do?” Emma cried out.
“We still have a week before they throw us out of the rooms for not paying rent. I’m sure we can figure something out by then,” Jesse responded, trying to pacify her.
“Well, what do you suggest?” Emma asked.
“Do you remember the newspaper advertisement for brides I told you about?” Jesse asked cautiously. She had discussed the matter with Emma previously but Emma had been completely unimpressed by the notion of moving to another state or place without even knowing what waited on the other side. They had both been friends since they were little young girls and were as close to each other as sisters.
“Since you’re so hopeful about that, let’s try it. There’s nothing to lose after all,” Emma smiled and agreed. She knew that Jesse was worried about them and if doing this relieved her a bit, so be it.
They both had names that were given to them by the school where they had studied. They were both around four years old when someone had left them at the school. It had been their home since then till the time they were old enough to leave and do something for themselves. All the girls in the school were orphans whom nobody knew about. They had no date of births and no names. Emma didn’t know her exact age but she guessed she was somewhere close to twenty-six now with Jesse a little younger than her.
Even though they had similar backgrounds, they were as apart in appearances as they could be. While Jesse was slight of figure, Emma had a voluptuous body with a heavy mane of almost ebony hair. Jesse, on the other hand, was a blonde with silky, straight hair and an ivory complexion that was decorated with golden freckles on her pert nose and her cheeks. Emma had clear skin which was a bit duskier as compared to Jesse, with striking features. Her forest green eyes and thick lashes were her most prominent qualities, the second being her wide and ruby red lips. She could have been a beauty except for a scar that marred her forehead in the center.
Emma had no idea and recollection of how she had gotten it but it had always been a target others used. She had been bullied and teased because of it and Jesse was the only person who had ever overlooked the slight imperfection and loved her as she was. Even at the boarding house, men had looked at her with interest but then when they had seen the scar, pity and sympathy had entered their eyes. She had heard many of them whisper how it was so sad how her beauty was destroyed by a small scar.
Instead of her being the woman with a scar, she had instead become a scarred woman everyone pitied. Even though Jesse was not as beautiful as her, men always preferred her to Emma and that was the reason she had remained single even after her strong wish to have a family and a home to call her own. Jesse had stayed by her side and refused every offer for her claiming that they would only marry men who were close together so they could always meet even after they married. The notion was childish but Emma had been unable to move Jesse’s resolve.
After a debate on the kind of man that would be most suitable for her, Jesse brought the recent newspaper and quickly turned it to the section where such advertisements were given.
“Not this, not this, definitely not this…,” Jesse murmured as she skimmed over all the advertisements.
Emma laughed at the concentration her friend displayed.
With the rate she is going, I don’t think she’ll ever find anyone suitable, she thought, amused.
“This one!” Jesse all but shouted. Emma looked around her to see people staring at Jesse like she had gone crazy.
“Can you keep it low?” Emma whispered. At that, Jesse looked around them to see everyone staring at her. She smiled sheepishly while turning back and lowering her voice.
“This Ad is absolutely perfect. Read it,” Jesse urged, pushing the newspaper towards her.
A strong, hardworking and efficient woman required to be the wife of a retired soldier. Age can be 25-30. The gentleman works as a law-enforcer and needs a wife to manage and look after the house and the small farm he has. The woman should be literate and well-versed in all household works and ready to travel to Louisiana. If interested, please contact Lucian Thorne.
Emma read the Ad finding it oddly interesting. She saw that she fulfilled all the qualities that were mentioned in the advertisement and the name Lucian Thorne sounded encouraging to her. She had a few reservations and she voiced them to Jesse,
“He’s a military man. Who knows the state of mind he’s in after th
e war? And Jesse I don’t want to leave you behind. What if he doesn’t accept that?” Emma questioned while worrying her lower lip between her teeth.
“It is exactly for this purpose that the address is given. Write to him and ask him about me. As for the military man thing, he’s the only suitable candidate I found in the paper. The others are too absurd and we don’t have much time as well. It would be better to marry him than to find shelter in this city,” Jesse replied.
Emma knew that her friend was right. They had no other options. That being decided, she climbed the stairs to her room and got down to writing a letter to Lucian Thorne.
Mr. Thorne,
I am writing this letter as a response to your advertisement for a bride in the Daily Tribune. I am a lady of 26 years and am educated and able to carry out all kinds of household work. I am an orphan so there can be no dowry and such but I do have a friend that I cannot leave behind. She must travel with me to your farm in Louisiana and stay with me if I marry you. I would like to get to know you a little better so please mention a few things in your next letter, especially the details about where you live and your job.
Sincerely,
Emma Taylor
Finally done with the letter, Emma sat back in the chair and reread it. She had written all that she could in the very first letter to a potential groom and that request about him telling something about the area and himself would give her an insight into the kind of person Lucian Thorne was. Satisfied with her work, she went down the stairs to Jesse, with whom she went to post the letter at the given address.
Chapter Two
POV Lucian
Stony Brooks, Texas, 1922
Lucian looked up towards the sky to gauge how much time they had before the storm finally reached them. With the weather so cold, storms were a normal occurrence but he, being the law enforcer of the village, had to make sure that everything was protected and the people were safe. After his job was done, he could go home to his farm a little way off from the village and put his feet up.