Ecstasy

by Gwynne Forster

  He hurt for Skip. The child hadn’t been able to ask what would happen to him when his aunt could no longer live at home. She hunkered down to Skip’s level, and looked him in the eye.

  “Stop worrying. I won’t let anything happen to you.” Skip kicked the dirt and looked afar.

  “That’s not good enough for me. I want you to be my dad. Most of the guys in my school have a dad, but I never had one. I’m gonna be tall, and I could even look like you if I get rid of this Chelsea haircut. Couldn’t I?”

  “Maybe, but that’s not important.” The child’s burden weighed heavily on him. How did a father act when his son hurt so badly?

  “You scared Jeanny won’t like me?”

  “Forget that. I’ll have a talk with Mabel when I get back to New York, and we’ll take it from there. Right now, I want you to stop worrying. Where I go, you go.” He stood and put his hands in his pockets to prevent his arms from going around the child in a fierce hug.

  “If I go everywhere with you, Mason, what’re you gonna introduce me as? Just Skip?”

  At that, he hunkered down before the boy again, gave in to the powerful urge, and clasped Skip to him. Skip wrapped his arms around the strong man’s neck, and clung in an unspoken plea so violent that emotion surged in Mason. He summoned what composure he could manage, pried Skip’s fingers loose, took his hand, and started back to the lodge.

  * * *

  Jeannetta saw at once that marriage hadn’t changed Geoffrey Ames’s demeanor, though Lucy had obviously guided him to a good tailor.

  “This here’s my bride,” he exclaimed to Laura and all within earshot as he registered at the desk. Jeannetta noticed that Lucy had also adopted a classier style of dress. She dispensed with the banalities of formal greeting and clasped them each in a big hug.

  “You’re looking good, Jeannetta,” Geoffrey announced, “but you’re lacking some of that spice you used to have. You ain’t been sick or nothin’, have you? How’s Mason?”

  She’d forgotten the man’s directness.

  “Well, actually, I’m recovering from surgery right now. That’s why I’m wearing this African-looking headdress—it covers my bandages. I had a brain tumor, but Mason says I should be good as new within the next couple of months.”

  “Mason said...? I don’t get it.” She told him that Mason had performed the surgery, and watched the old man gape in amazement.

  Geoffrey rubbed his chin and shook his head. “You mean he’s a doctor, too? Well, I always figured him as a smart one. Doctor, huh? Imagine that, Lucy?”

  She took his hand and smiled up at him, but didn’t say anything. Jeannetta couldn’t help wondering what had happened to still the woman’s once-verbose tongue.

  “Everybody’s surprised,” Skip ventured. “I’m Skip, and Mason’s going to adopt me.”

  Mason walked in and seized Geoffrey’s hand in a warm handshake. “Congratulations. How’d the rest of the tour go?”

  “Great,” Lucy said, “but I was sure glad when we got out of Bangkok. Those girls don’t care whose man they chase.” She poked her husband in his ribs. “And my husband”—she emphasized the words, savored them and continued—“Geoffrey, here, was a kid in a toy store. He just ate up the way they fussed over him. By the time we got to Nigeria, I was ready to come home. Two months is a long time, and I wanted to get married before it got cold so I couldn’t wear my mother’s wedding dress.” Moisture formed at the corner of her eyes.

  “It’s seventy years old, and I thought I’d never get a chance to wear it.”

  Jeannetta shifted her glance to Mason, and tremors raced through her at the sight of so much feeling mirrored in his dark eyes.

  “This calls for a celebration,” Mason stated. “Drinks are on me.”

  They seated themselves in the lounge, and Skip helped Mason serve the soft drinks to all but Geoffrey, Clayton, and himself, for whom he set out champagne. Lucy and Laura didn’t want any, and alcohol was contraindicated for Jeannetta, whose medicines included an antibiotic. She noticed, with amusement, that Skip took a seat between Mason and herself.

  “Don’t I get any of that like the rest of the men?” he asked Mason, pointing to the champagne and placing his other hand possessively on Mason’s thigh.

  “As soon as you’re twenty-one, son.”

  Jeannetta watched from the corner of her eye as Skip moved closer to Mason, settled back in his chair, and sipped his ginger ale.

  The newlyweds went upstairs to settle in and Skip went with Laura for a promised lesson in the art of making fudge brownies. Mason sipped the last of his champagne, saluted Clayton, who returned the gesture and left them alone, and cradled Jeannetta in his arms.

  “What will you do about Skip?”

  “I’ll probably adopt him if I find there’s no reason why I shouldn’t. He wants my word on it, but I can’t promise him until I investigate the obstacles. I don’t want to disappoint him.”

  “He’s become possessive of you, and he copies your every gesture.”

  Mason said he hadn’t noticed, but his obvious pride in the boy warmed her heart.

  When Laura served them a family-style dinner that night in her personal quarters, Geoffrey’s keen old eyes took in the state of affairs, and he remarked, “Looks to me like cupid’s been pretty busy,” as he glanced from one couple to the other. “’Course, I was expecting to see something on your third finger, left hand,” he said pointedly to Jeannetta. “If y’all knew what you were missing, you’d tie the knot.”

  Jeannetta wished he’d change the topic, but he wouldn’t, she knew, until he’d made his point.

  “This here sure is one fine piece of roast pork, Laura. Nothing like good home cooking to keep a man satisfied and his feet in front of the fire.”

  “We bought you a bolt of ecru lace for your dolls,” Lucy interjected, as though allying herself with Jeannetta’s discomfort.

  “That’d make nice trimming for a wedding dress, too,” Geoffrey put in. “’Course, like I said, it ain’t none of my business if y’all want to waste precious days making up your minds.”

  “Here, Geoffrey, have some more biscuits and some of the greengrocer’s fresh-churned butter,” Laura said. “No use making Jeannetta miserable. A snake couldn’t move her ’til she’s ready. Y’all don’t let that potato soufflé go to waste, now. You hear?”

  If you wanted a fire extinguished, send for Laura, Jeannetta mused.

  * * *

  Clayton assisted Laura in serving the dessert, and Skip bounded into the kitchen to help them. Mason noticed later that, as the boy savored his raspberry cream pie, his gaze swept repeatedly over his surroundings.

  “Do you always have flowers, candles, and stuff like this on the table when you eat?” he asked Laura.

  She explained that the table settings depended on the occasion.

  “Gee, this is great. I’m really gonna learn a lot up here. Say, Laura, are you Clayton’s girl?”

  Laura frowned, before her face creased into a warm smile. “I sure am, honey. I sure am.”

  Mason got his linen jacket from the closet, walked over to Jeannetta, and rested his hands lightly on her slim shoulders.

  “Let’s go catch some air.”

  He walked them along the highway, and when she rubbed her arms to warm them against the night’s coolness, he took off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. Their long shadows preceded them, and a ghostly silence hovered around them in the eerily beautiful and stark moonlight. Mason wondered how he withstood the city’s noise and distractions, how he lived without the peace that pervaded him at that moment. The rustling breeze swayed the compliant trees, and somewhere a dog barked. The wind shifted, the smell of pine drifted to his nostrils, and visions of a blazing fireplace, his children, and Jeannetta flashed through his thoughts. And not
for the first time. He reached for her hand, stopped, and turned her to face him.

  Her gaze seemed to beseech him, to implore him. But for what? She unmasked her vulnerability and, in the midst of the strange, shifting shapes of the trees swaying against the moonlight that filtered through their leaves, he witnessed her naked need of him. Joy suffused him but, in the next minute, his heart pounded with his uncertainty. He put his hands in his pockets and looked steadily into her eyes. If only she remembered what they’d been to each other.

  “Marry me, Jeannetta.” He hadn’t kissed her or even touched her, and he could see that his words had stunned her. They surprised him, too, but he knew at once their rightness.

  “Wh...what?”

  It hadn’t occurred to him that his proposal would take her aback to such an extent.

  “I want to marry you.” Now that he’d said it, he wanted it badly, more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. He sucked in his breath and waited. Surely...

  “You don’t mean it. You...you couldn’t.”

  “I’ve never meant anything more, or been more serious, in my life.” A man wanted to see thousands of glittering lights dancing in his woman’s eyes after he told her he wanted her for all time, but when she looked up at him, hers held only a strange sadness.

  “I...I don’t know. Let me think about it.”

  Ice-cold metal balls vied for space in his belly, and he was glad of his ability to conceal his feelings. He spoke carefully, so that the tremors so near the surface wouldn’t control his voice.

  “You don’t know? I’d have thought you’d already made up your mind about that.”

  Why wouldn’t she look at him?

  “In a way, I had. I don’t take your proposal lightly, but I can’t give you an answer right now.”

  He opened his mouth to ask her what she had to consider other than that she loved him, but his vocal cords failed to respond. They walked back quietly. He wanted to take her hand, to feel her close to him but, after that rejection, he couldn’t make himself do it. He told her good-night in the lounge and went to the room he shared with Skip.

  * * *

  After a restless night, Mason walked slowly down the stairs and into the breakfast room, hoping to see Jeannetta there and, at the same time, fearful that he might. Her place setting was untouched, so he surmised that she hadn’t eaten. He was about to look for her in the garden when Clayton walked into the room.

  “I’m going to stay around for a while and handle my appeal from here. You gave me sound advice, and I think Laura would be more accepting of me if I straightened out my life. She’s very conservative.”

  Mason refilled his coffee cup and motioned Clayton to sit down.

  “If Laura’s concerned about that, it’s not for herself, but for you. She’d marry you today, if you asked, and I’d bet my last dollar on it. If I can do anything to help you with your appeal, give me a ring. Laura knows how to reach me.”

  Clayton stood.

  “Thanks. I won’t forget this.”

  Mason resisted looking for Jeannetta. She knew he would be leaving early and, if she’d wanted to see him, she would have been in the breakfast room. He wanted to see her, to hold her, to... He looked to the ceiling. He’d had some difficult times in his life, but not one had pulled him under. This wouldn’t either. He raced upstairs, awakened Skip, and told him good-bye.

  “I’ll take good care of your girl,” rang in his ears as he headed for the door and New York.

  * * *

  Jeannetta sat in the broad stretch of sand that separated the lake from the glassy slopes that bordered it. She dug her bare feet into the cool yellow grains, raised them and watched the sand drift down between her toes. She picked up a handful of it and sent it into the morning breeze. How slowly time passed when you waited for a man to open his heart to you, to let you inside of him. Let you know him. For all his competence, strength, kindness, compassion, and gentleness, Mason didn’t know how to love. He couldn’t reveal himself to her. She had no idea what hurt him, what angered him, or even at what point you transgressed in an area of importance to him. She couldn’t read his facial expressions, because he fixed them at will. Yet she loved him beyond all reason.

  His reaction to Geoffrey’s remark had showed that he wanted a home and a family. She tossed some crumbs to a starling at the edge of the grass and pondered what she knew of him. Skip needed him, and she surmised that he needed Skip. She got up and started back to the lodge walking slowly as Mason had urged her to do. Why had he asked her to marry him, and why would a man want to marry a woman without ever having told her that he loved or cared for her? Without ever having revealed himself? Protectiveness? Guilt? Those had been Clayton’s reasons.

  “Mason’s gone?” Laura asked when Jeannetta walked into the kitchen. She nodded.

  “I have to tell you,” Laura began, “I know he did the surgery and all that, and you could say he’s a terrific specimen of a man, ’cause he is. But I’m not sold on him yet. It took him too long to get down to business.”

  Jeannetta pushed back her annoyance. “Don’t criticize him for that. He did the surgery as soon as he could get me in the hospital.”

  “Well, I guess you did give him a hard time. No matter. He did it, and you got a new lease on life.” She poured the last of the coffee into her cup. “You told him about that investigation yet?”

  “I remember telling him I wanted a clean slate, so I must have. Still, I’m not sure. But not to worry. No P.I. discusses his client’s business, so it may be best to let sleeping dogs sleep.”

  Laura took a long sip of coffee. “If you say, hon, but I wouldn’t trust it. When you get caught doing something wrong, Providence is usually sound asleep, and you can’t get any help there.”

  Jeannetta marveled that her sister slipped back into her pre-Clayton personality whenever her man wasn’t near her. Habit could be a curse.

  “About time something happened between you and Mason, isn’t it?” Laura said. “He doesn’t seem to me like the type to let things drag on and on. Don’t you think it’s out of character?”

  “What? Oh. Yes, I suppose so. The P.I.’s report described him as a man of action. Decisive. A take-command person.” She felt her face sag. “He was also reported to be very popular with glamorous women. Nobody would call me glamorous.”

  “You don’t show a lot of cleavage, and you don’t wear your skirts slit up to your waistline, and you don’t layer a lot of junk on your face, but you’re as good-looking as any woman I know. You want me to ask him what his intentions are?”

  Jeannetta had to laugh. “Hon, that’s out of fashion.”

  “Humph. Fashion never did make sense to me,” she snorted. “A bunch of men telling women what to wear? Things are good between you?” she asked, her voice filled with hope.

  A deep sigh escaped Jeannetta. “Sometimes, the physical attraction between us has the force, the power, of a hurricane. It almost consumes us.”

  Laura’s eyebrows shot up. “Then how come you haven’t made love?”

  “Mason says that we have, but...” She tried to still her trembling lips and to stop the flow of moisture from her eyes. “But I can’t remember it.”

  Laura’s whistle split the air, and Jeannetta glanced around to identify the other person in the room. Seeing no one, she looked back into her sister’s empathetic face.

  “If you can’t recall it,” Laura advised with her newly acquired wisdom, “let him show you what it was like. That’s probably what’s wrong with the two of you—you’re in different stages of your relationship.”

  Jeannetta stared at her. “You think it happened?”

  Laura shrugged. “What would he gain by misleading you? Nothing. Besides, he can prove it. Ask him if you’ve got any little moles, what they look like, and where they are. He’
ll tell you.”

  “I will,” Jeannetta said in a subdued voice. “I would already have done that, but he’s my doctor, and whenever doctor and man do battle, the doctor wins.”

  Laura chuckled, shaking her head as though perplexed. “Honey, you always were one to do things in a big way,” she reminded Jeannetta. “From the time you were little, if you laid an egg, not even a magician could sweep it under a rug. If it was me, he’d do what I want him to do.”

  Jeannetta gasped at her. “You’re a quick study.”

  “Clayton’s a great teacher,” she retorted, as she turned her back and walked out of the kitchen.

  * * *

  Minutes later Skip charged in. “How you doin’, Jeanny?”

  She glanced up from her writing and smiled at the rambunctious child.

  “I’m doing fine, Skip. Want some ginger ale?” He removed his baseball cap and regarded her with a sheepish look.

  “You already on to my habits. Thanks. Er...Jeanny. Look, if you wanna go downtown before it gets too late, I’ll take you. I promised Mason I’d look after you while he’s gone. He’ll be my dad soon, and I’ll be responsible for everything when he’s not around. Mason is a class cat. He got my aunt into a nice place where she can get good care—she’s very sick, you know—and he’s seeing about getting to be my dad right now. He said so yesterday.” He gulped down the ginger ale and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “If you get to be my mother, I won’t care if you pop my bottom when I do something wrong...you know...like other kids’ moms.” The pain of his loneliness tore at her. He wanted a response, she knew, and when no words would pass her lips, she stood, opened her arms, and wrapped him in the love that flowed out of her.

  “Let’s go,” she said.

  Skip’s eyes rounded. “Is it okay?”

  She assured him that a walk toward town wouldn’t hurt her. They reached a small square still some distance from Pilgrim’s center, and Skip suggested they sit on the bench, since he hadn’t seen any Pilgrim, but she knew he feared having tired her. Jeannetta sat there enjoying her favorite pastime. A few paces away, she noticed that two women restrained their dogs on leashes while they talked. Only Alma, in all of Pilgrim, owned a French poodle. The little dog turned up his nose and pranced off when the big mutt attempted to establish a friendship. Jeannetta couldn’t help laughing.