Two fingers curled under her chin and he tilted her head up. With slow and gentle strokes, he wiped the soot and dirt off her face. Her eyes drifted closed and she reveled in the feel of his touch, so innocent and yet so arousing. A place, a secret place deep in her womb, contracted with a fierce, hard craving. She felt suffocated with yearning. She wanted, wanted, wanted…
She pulled away from him, stumbling slightly. His hand closed around her shoulder to steady her. “Delia …?” Oh, God.
“If you ever need me for anything, anything at all, will you come to me?”
The question both surprised and warmed her. Still, it was hard to find the breath to answer him. She had to clear her throat and moisten her lips. “You know I would, Ty.”
He expelled a soft breath. His head dipped, came closer. Her eyes became riveted on his lower lip—full, sensual, inviting. For one horrifying moment she felt herself leaning into him, lifting her hand to run her finger along that lip—
The springhouse door banged open and the girls barged through. “Will this do, Dr. Ty?” Meg asked breathlessly, holding up a large piece of worn blue flannel.
“Perfectly,” Ty said, his voice strained. Delia’s legs were shaking so badly she had to lean against the wall. They carefully avoided each other’s eyes.
It took only a minute for Ty to wrap the bear meat in the flannel. Afterward, there was no reason for him to linger and he did not. With the girls skipping ahead, Delia walked with him to where the wagon ruts led into the forest toward the river. They didn’t speak, nor did they look at each other. They both knew that another second alone in the springhouse and they would have been kissing.
And that once their lips touched they would not have been able to stop.
The final strains of “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God” bounced off the stark, bare walls, and the boards of the high, square pews creaked as the congregation took their seats.
Hot August morning sunlight shone through the clear windowpanes and the air within the new meetinghouse was stuffy with an underlying smell of sawdust. To her horror, Delia felt a sneeze coming on and tried to stop it by pinching her nose between her thumb and forefinger. Glancing up, she caught Nat frowning at her from beneath his thick blond brows.
Flushing hotly, she let go of her nose and the sneeze burst out of her, echoing in the heavy silence and earning a round of stifled snickers and a smirk from Meg. Nat’s frown deepened into a scowl.
“Delia sneezed,” Tildy announced in a loud stage whisper, which brought more muffled laughter.
“Sssh!” Nat snapped harshly, just as the Reverend Caleb Hooker mounted the pulpit.
The pulpit stood high above the pews and had a curved front. Above it was a sounding board to aid in the projection of the minister’s voice, although Caleb’s mellifluous baritone rarely needed such assistance.
The Sabbath-day service of prayers, hymns, psalm readings, and sermons had been going on for two hours now, but there was still another hour to go. And that was only the morning service. After a community dinner next door in the Sabbath house there would be another two hours of worship in the afternoon, although by then the pews would be considerably emptier.
Delia felt a pinprickly tingling in her buttocks and she squirmed on her seat, earning another frown of disapproval from Nat. Her chest heaved as she swallowed a sigh, for she knew that on the way home this evening she would be subjected to another of his tedious lectures, which always ended with the pronouncement that his Mary would never have done such and such a thing.
Caleb cleared his throat, turned over the hourglass, and launched into his sermon. Delia let his voice drone on at the edge of her consciousness. She amused herself by watching the members of Merrymeeting’s Congregation of God’s Saints fight off drowsiness and try to keep from squirming when their bottoms went to sleep.
Constant Hall, the gristmill owner, who also served as the village tithingman, walked up and down the aisle with a fur-tipped rod in his hand, which he used to awaken slumbering worshippers. He was, Delia noticed, being kept busy on this warm and sultry morning. When Sara Kemble’s head began to nod and a soft snore puffed from between her fat lips, Delia had to bite the inside of her cheek, hard, to keep from giggling.
The reverend had meandered onto the subject of sin—fornication, to be precise—and the interest of the congregation had picked up predictably, when the door behind them groaned open and everyone turned in unison to gawk. Unconsciously, Delia uttered a soft exclamation of surprise and delight.
Tyler Savitch stood within the doorway, resplendent in a scarlet coat, brocade waistcoat, and moss-green breeches. Lace spilled from his cuffs and fell in folds down his chest. Tall, satiny black boots encased his long, finely molded calves.
Although every eye was on him, he stood still and looked slowly around the church and Delia realized with a sudden lurch of her heart that his gaze stopped only when it found her. For one incredible moment—so short she afterward wondered if she had imagined it—he cast her a warm, intimate glance that sent a rush of blood surging through her body.
Then he flashed the entire staring, openmouthed congregation a delightful smile that was a boyish mixture of cockiness and bashfulness, and slipped into a back pew. A few more seconds of stunned silence was broken by a loud rustling noise as everyone turned to a neighbor and whispered.
“Ahem!” The Reverend Caleb Hooker’s deep voice cut through the sibilant chatter. “Dr. Savitch, we are honored that you have decided to grace us with your presence, albeit a bit tardily …” Caleb grinned broadly and several people laughed out loud. “But now that you have arrived, do I have your permission to continue?”
“Amen, Reverend!” Ty boomed out heartily, to another chorus of laughter and a loud snort of disgust from Sara Kemble.
Caleb reassumed his serious expression and picked up the threads of his sermon. The minutes dragged. Delia didn’t know where she found the fortitude to resist turning to look at Ty again. Before long her shoulders ached from the strain of sitting tense and unmoving.
At last the interminable service was over. The tithingman opened the church doors and the worshippers spilled out into the bright, broiling sun. Caleb stood at the entrance, exchanging pleasantries with his flock. Feigning a difficulty with the heel of her shoe, Delia let Nat and the girls go on ahead while she lingered inside, sitting on the edge of the last pew until the church had emptied. Suddenly confronted with the prospect of having to come face to face again with Tyler Savitch, Delia’s courage had deserted her. During the two times she had been around him since her wedding she had managed to make an utter, heartsick fool of herself; she was determined not to do it again.
Nothing is going to happen, she tried to reassure herself. The whole town is here, so what could possibly happen?
He could smile at you and your heart will melt. He could laugh and your blood will sing. He could touch you, even accidentally, and you will fall to pieces at his feet…
“Delia, are you all right?”
She looked up with a start … into the Reverend Caleb Hooker’s concerned face.
She smiled brightly to hide the sudden rush of disappointment that the wrong man had appeared to inquire after her well-being. “Oh, I’m fine, Reverend. I’m just collecting myself before going out into that heat.”
“It’s as hot as the blazes out there today,” Caleb agreed. He dropped onto the seat beside her. His answering smile was shy and a bit tentative. “Delia, I wonder if I might discuss something with you …”
Delia’s throat froze up. She nodded mutely, sure he was going to remind her that she was a married woman and her continued infatuation with Merrymeeting’s bachelor doctor was a scandalous, wicked thing.
“It’s about my sermons.”
Delia’s breath left her in a loud rush. “Y-your sermons? But I didn’t fall asleep this time, honest, I didn’t. Maybe I looked a bit distracted and all, by the heat, but …” Delia knew she was babbling, but she was so relieved she didn�
��t care.
Caleb’s head fell back as he laughed. “Oh, Delia! There, you see. That’s just my point. You’re such a practical-minded girl. I was wondering … I’ve gotten the feeling my somnolent sermons are somewhat of a disappointment to the good folk of Merrymeeting and I wondered if you could advise me on what to do about it.”
Delia chewed on her lip, debating whether to give Caleb the benefit of her opinion. “Well, it’s only a thought …”
“Go on, Delia, please. Bless me with some of your sage advice.”
Delia suddenly became aware that Ty was standing in the doorway, speaking with Colonel Bishop. She heard the colonel ask Ty’s advice about a bowel complaint that had been plaguing him and Ty prescribed nanny-plum tea.
She took a deep breath and gave Caleb another bright smile. “Well, if it was me, I mean if I was you, I’d stoke up the place a bit with more mention of hellfire and the awful wages of sin and God’s fearsome judgment. And I’d go a little easy on those bookish subjects they taught you at Harvard.”
Caleb’s lips twitched, but he nodded seriously. “Ah, yes, I see…”
“And don’t be afraid to name names.”
“Name names?”
She nodded vigorously. “Aye. People come to the Meeting as much for a chance to gossip and see their neighbors as they do for one of your sermons, beggin’ your pardon, Reverend. So you might want to mention, for instance, that Hannah Randolf’s baby is due next month and with seven boys the Randolfs are praying for a girl. And Cap’n Abbott brought in a shipment of French cloth goods yesterday. Also it’s been a good two months now since Dr. Savitch gave me that inoc— uh, that prick with the lancet …”
“Inoculation,” Ty supplied, sauntering up to them.
“Aye. Inoculation.” Completely forgetting her earlier resolution, Delia allowed her eyes to roam to his face, unable to hide any longer her wonder at seeing him today, so unexpectedly. Her happiness blazed forth with her smile. “And I haven’t dropped dead from it yet. Nor have I caught the smallpox neither—either.”
“I’m beginning to get your point,” Caleb said. He stood up, clasping Ty’s hand, and a grin twisted his lips. “Perhaps I should make an announcement that at long last Merrymeeting’s distinguished physician has achieved salvation.”
“That might be a bit precipitate,” Ty warned with a laugh.
His eyes caressed Delia’s face. They sent messages with their looks, subtle messages that spoke of the joy they felt simply being in each other’s presence.
But that was impossible—wasn’t it? She was used to seeing desire flare in those deep blue eyes. Hunger and lust. But if she didn’t know better, she almost would have thought that this time she saw—
Oh, quit being a wooden-headed fool, Delia McQuaid! She’d humiliated herself enough in the past by imagining Tyler Savitch felt something for her when he did not. Her heart couldn’t survive being broken again. Besides, she was married now. It was wicked even to be thinking of Ty except as a friend. Still, when his eyes glanced her way a second time she couldn’t help becoming lost for just a moment in those burning indigo depths.
That was not only wrong, but also too hard on her heart, and so she broke the contact by turning to the minister. “I do have one other suggestion, Caleb …”
“Oh-oh. Take care, Reverend,” Ty said, with a teasing smile. “She’ll be writing the entire sermon for you next.”
“Which might not be a bad idea at that,” Caleb responded in all seriousness.
Colonel Bishop appeared in the doorway just then, calling Caleb outside. Delia realized that in spite of all her good intentions, she and Ty had wound up alone together again. But they were safe here inside the meetinghouse, weren’t they?
“Don’t worry, brat,” Ty said, uncannily reading her mind. “I promised myself I would be on my best behavior today.” He presented her with his lopsided smile and the crook of his arm. “Shall we join the others and get something to eat? All this good behavior is damn hard work and I’m starving.”
Laughing, Delia stood up and laid her palm on his arm. “Shame on you, Dr. Savitch. Cussing in church!”
The material of his coat was warm and smooth under her fingers, the flesh beneath it hard and tense. She realized immediately that it had been a mistake to touch him, even in so innocent a manner. She let go of his arm and took one step away from him.
“Delia…”
She waited, her heart thundering, her head light. But waited for what she didn’t know.
“Have you eaten any of my bear yet?” he said, his lips quirking into a lazy smile … and Delia’s heart melted.
Shuddering, she made her eyes go wide. “Are you daft? I want nothing to do with that smelly meat.”
Ty laughed and her blood began to sing.
But when he slipped his arm around her waist to lead her down the church aisle and out the door, she didn’t fall to pieces at his feet. She only felt like doing so.
To Delia’s relief she spotted Anne Bishop and waved, disengaging herself from Ty’s embrace, which was making her feel all hot and shivery both at the same time. “Anne! You’re just the person I want to see,” she exclaimed, falsely gay.
Anne’s furrowed face frowned to cover her pleasure. “Have you finished reading Bacon’s Essays yet?”
Delia’s eyes dropped to her shoes. “Well, not completely. I’ve been sort of busy …”
Anne snorted loudly. “Busy! Busy slaving for that man of yours and his two unappreciative younguns.”
Delia clasped the older woman’s ropy hands. “Oh, Anne, quit fussing at me and listen. I’ve the most wonderful idea ….”
Ty and Anne Bishop rolled their eyes at each other. Catching them at it, Delia pretended to be insulted.
“It really is a good idea, Anne. I’ve decided you can be Merrymeeting’s schoolmaster.”
Anne’s bony shoulders jerked in surprise. “But I’m a woman.”
“So? I would bet you any man we found wouldn’t be a cobbler’s patch on you. Besides, we haven’t found a man to do it yet and the children keep getting older by the day. What’s more, you’d be saving Merrymeeting the ten pounds Boston keeps fining us for not having one.”
Anne exchanged looks with Ty, a spark of excitement smoldering in her eyes. “No town has ever had a woman for a schoolmaster.”
“True,” Ty said, smiling. “But then, I doubt there’s a law specifically forbidding it.”
Anne sniffed. “Only because it hasn’t occurred to anybody yet. Anyway, the folk around here are a stodgy bunch. They don’t hold much with breaking tradition.”
“True,” Ty said.
“But you can talk them around, Ty,” Delia put in, giving him a look that said she thought he could do anything.
Ty’s smile faded a bit. “Now wait just a—”
“Still, I do have more book learning than any other body in The Maine—man, woman, or Indian,” Anne stated.
Ty gave up, laughing. “True again. Unless Delia’s managed to catch up with you.”
Anne snorted. “I suppose I could mention it to Giles. Oh, the heck I will. He’d only say no if I ask him. That man couldn’t see a hole through a ladder with his eyes wide open. No, I’ll just announce it to him as if it were already done and decided.”
Laughter and the delicious smell of roasting corn wafted from the open door of the Sabbath house. Lost in thought, Anne went through it, mumbling to herself about hornbooks and primers and birch paper, and shaking her head.
Delia turned to find Ty’s eyes fastened on her, a strange expression on his face. “What are you looking at?” she demanded, blushing.
“You. You astound me sometimes, Delia.”
Delia mimicked one of Anne’s snorts as she followed the older woman through the door. “Well, don’t stare. ’Tisn’t polite.”
“That was some bear ye killed t’other day, Ty,” Sam Randolf said. He was spooling new rungs for a bed. With his mushrooming family he always seemed to need a new bed.
“The bitch must have been near big as a mountain.”
“Maybe.” Ty grinned around the pipe bit between his teeth. “Truth to tell I was so plumb scared I had my eyes squeezed shut the whole damned time.”
The other men all laughed and nodded, although they knew Tyler Savitch could never have shot that bear if he’d been quaking with fright and kept his eyes closed. But a good Maine man never bragged about his accomplishments. He let his friends do it for him.
Ty leaned over and plucked an ember from the fire with a pair of smoking tongs. As he put the coal to the bowl of his pipe, his gaze wandered across to the women’s side of the room, where Delia sat, watching Elizabeth work her spinning wheel. For the hundredth time that day their eyes met … then parted.
Elizabeth Hooker caught a spoke with the knob of her “wooden finger,” spinning the big wheel, stepping backward and expertly controlling the draft as the yarn twisted off the spindle. As Delia studied the girl’s deft, quick movements, her mouth drew taut and her forehead furrowed in concentration. Even then Ty thought her beautiful.
He thought her more beautiful still when Hannah Randolf said something to her in a teasing voice and she tossed back her head, her full lips parting as she laughed with delight— although the joke must have been on her. It hadn’t been easy for her, Ty knew, but slowly Delia was making herself accepted among the women of Merrymeeting and he felt a strong jolt of pride as he thought of her guts and persistence.
Ty had come to the Meeting just to see her; it was no use trying to pretend otherwise. But he told himself it was because he felt responsible for her. He wanted to be assured that she was happy, that her life with Nat Parkes was a good one. He wanted to see if after a month and a half of marriage, Delia McQuaid had grown to love her new husband. And if Nat loved her. Maybe if they did, then he could forget about her.
He should have known better.
Every time Delia spoke to her husband, Ty felt a sickness eat away at his gut. If she so much as smiled at the man, Ty’s insides roiled and his fists clenched. Once, during dinner, she had leaned intimately into Nat, her breast pressing against his shoulder, her hand on his arm, and she had said something that brought a blush to Nat’s gaunt cheeks. Ty had almost come bounding out of his seat intent on murder—of her, not Nat. He wanted to wrap his hands around her throat and shout at her: “You don’t love him, damn you, Delia! It’s me you love. Me!”
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