Sweet Dreamin' Baby

by Mary Kay McComas

  The hollow gap in his life, the hole he'd tried to fill with stray dogs, Liddy Evans, and every down-and-outer to come his way, closed. She filled the emptiness in his life. He had something to give her, something she couldn't give to herself, something she couldn't buy, borrow, or barter for. He'd been given more love in his life than he'd ever known what to do with. And now he could give it to her.

  He held her closer than close, kissing her deeply, pouring every drop of the devotion he felt into her soul as a source of power she could always rely on and never doubt; into her heart to heal the wounds left by those who were blind to her goodness, her pride, and her unflagging character; into her body to drive her senses beyond her control, leaving her exposed and defenseless . . . but only to him.

  The teacher in him smiled when he felt her hands move across his shoulders and down his back, searching and exploring. As the master shares his secrets with the novice, he led the way, peeling her clothes away, caressing, savoring every inch of pale warm flesh he uncovered.

  Like a sorcerer, he cast a spell over his apprentice. Her head reeled. Time and space merged in a cloud of mystical ecstasy. A power, unseen and unheard but felt in every fiber of her being, took possession of her. She grew bold, brave, and brazen. Her hands trembled with its energy as she tore at his clothing, grappling with buttons and cloth in her haste to absorb more of his great wisdom.

  He presented her with a tall, lean masculine form for experimentation. Corded sinew bulged mightily under smooth skin. It was warm and titillating to touch, to stroke, to taste. She grew heady with her newfound ability to interfere with the tight control he was exerting on his body, to feel the muscles jump and tighten under her fingertips, to hear him suck in a deep breath and release it in a spasm of pleasure. Her hands and eyes wandered freely, wherever they took a notion to go.

  An insatiable hunger for knowledge soon filled her mind and weakened her body. She leaned heavily against him, panting, amazed by the way their hearts hammered together in syncopation. Cold sheets soothed her feverish skin. Dim thoughts came and went without significance. Suddenly she was missing him.

  "Bryce?" she called, her voice sounding far away. She opened her eyes and felt the mattress sag under his weight at the same time.

  "Shh," he whispered, nuzzling her neck, palming a path from between her breasts to the top of her thigh. "I'm here."

  "What . . ."

  "Shh . . ." He silenced her with his mouth, and having anticipated her question sometime back, answered when he could. "We won't be makin' any babies tonight."

  "No? But . . ."

  "They ain't part of the plan just yet." He suckled her breast selfishly, tilting out of focus when a soft moan of pleasure escaped her.

  Slowly, meticulously, he imparted all his best techniques and formulas—she was an excellent pupil. He wanted to take his time, show and experience everything with her. Her wonder made it all new and fresh for him. Her reactions moved him, drove his endurance to the breaking point.

  Cautiously, as if she'd never been taken before, he eased himself into her and was gratified beyond words when, frenzied, she impaled herself, her hands on his buttocks pulling him closer, deeper. Together they crossed over the fragile margin between body and spirit, between exquisite torment and bliss.

  She lay breathless and exhausted, aware only of the slowing of his respirations and the steady thumping of his heart beneath her cheek. Bit by bit, as if awaking from a night of sweet, tender dreams, her world readjusted itself. Her past swept past her in a flash of gloom and sadness, and her arms automatically tightened around Bryce.

  He held her close, responding to the pressure of her embrace, sensing her reluctance to terminate their intimacy, feeling a sad reluctance of his own.

  "Whoa! What's this?" he asked, looking from the tear on his arm to those in her eyes and on her cheeks. She quickly turned her face away, and when he would have turned it back to him with a caring hand, she made a nose dive under the covers.

  "Don't look at me! And don't ya dare laugh!" she mumbled furiously, angry with her behavior, flustered with her futile efforts to stop the tears. "And cut off the gall-darned light. Oh!" she wailed miserably. "I'm actin' like a baby. I don't wanna ... I can't make 'em stop." The bed bounced once and then again when semidarkness shrouded her in privacy. She could feel him next to her, not invading, but waiting. "None of your other women cried, I bet. I hate whiny, weepin' women, don't you?" She sniffed loudly. "I ... I never cry, never." She cried softly into the sheets for several minutes, and when she tired, she muttered, "I didn't know."

  Her weeping hurt. It left him feeling unmanly and helpless, but he let her cry anyway. In his bones he knew it was a tempest that had come a great distance and lingered on the horizon for far too long.

  "I didn't know," she said again, bewildered.

  "What didn't ya know?" he asked, his voice gentle and undemanding.

  "That it could be like this," she muttered. "I didn't know anything could be like that. Nobody told me."

  "Maybe nobody knew. It ain't like that for everybody," he said.

  "The first time . . ." The covers moved. "He hurt me."

  "He didn't love or care about ya, Ellis. It was just somethin' he had to do. It didn't mean nothin' to him. And it shouldn't mean anything to you either. Forget it," he said, stroking the sheet that covered her arm, trying to ease the pain of her memories.

  Forgetting wasn't that easy. Her whole life had changed that night; it was the foundation on which she'd built a life for herself and for . . .

  "I need to tell ya somethin'," she said.

  It was time. She didn't want anything between them. No lies. No hidden truths. There were things about her Bryce needed to know. And if he hated her? It was a chance she'd have to take.

  "Then uncover your face and tell me."

  She hesitated. "If you're grinnin' like a fool and thinkin' to tease me, I'll slap ya so hard your lips'll stick to the wall," she warned him. "I ain't in no mood for your nonsense, Bryce. This is important."

  "Sober as a judge, I promise."

  Flicking back the sheet, she saw him grave and unsmiling, but he didn't give her a chance to speak. He pressed his mouth to hers in a kiss that was warm and caring and ever so tender.

  "Let's talk later," he whispered near her ear. "All I wanna do right now is love ya." Their lips touched softly.

  "There's things ya gotta know about me. . . ."

  "No." His kiss was hard with passion and deep with faith. "All I still need to know is whether or not ya love me too."

  "I do," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck, aligning her body with his. "I do love you."

  Maybe it wasn't the time to tell him, she mused, her mind and body slipping into a land of sensational magic; her need to be loved overpowering her compulsion to be honest with Bryce. Maybe after she had the money and after she returned to Stony Hollow to rectify her life, perhaps he would understand better, perhaps he would think less harshly of her. . . .

  Ten

  Winter stomped through the mountains of Kentucky. It was cold as kraut—pinchy, biting cold. Snow fell as thick as a featherbed, and each morning was fresher than the morning before. Raw, windy, and a whole, overcoat colder.

  Yet Ellis thrived. Warm, well fed, and well loved, she took a new look at the world and grew optimistic about the future. She'd never doubted her ability to work hard for what she wanted, but with Bryce at her side the burden of failure was less ponderous. She wallowed in his love and allowed herself to believe in the dreams she'd once discarded as impossibilities.

  Opportunities came and went for her to tell Bryce about her last five years in Stony Hollow. As he was content to be living in the present with her and doing everything in his power to help her forget her past, she was even more firmly set in her mind that once she could make her life right and whole again, he would better understand her actions—for both, it was one day at a time, scratching only where it itched.

  Thanksgivi
ng arrived in a flurry of snow, and even though Looty offered her the day off, Ellis chose to work it.

  Every year Looty opened her doors to anyone and everyone who would come and join her in a Thanksgiving feast.

  "Twere the old Mrs. Miller's idea durin' the Great Depression, when things were nigh on as bad as they are now in some parts of these here hills," Looty had explained to Ellis weeks before. "Course, it started out a potluck, with everybody bringin' somethin' ta share. But pretty soon the family just took over, and we been doin’ it ever since."

  "Must cost a heap of money," Ellis said, thinking aloud, ever appreciative of the way Looty kept track of her nickels.

  "That's no lie," the woman said with a snort, puffing her way out of the chair. "But I reckon I ain't got nothin' better to spend it on seein' as I'm alone now. 'Sides," she added, a sad note creeping into her husky voice. "I'd be asittin' here alone all day if I didn't welcome in the hungry and the homeless . . . and anyone else carin' to break bread with me."

  With a certain regret Ellis declined supper with the LaSalles and volunteered to help Looty that day. Not for money, but because of the unique new feelings she was carrying inside her.

  For the first time in her life the world seemed right. It was good and on her side. Not since Effie Watson had passed away had she had friends and loved ones to share the holidays with. Best of all, she had over a thousand dollars saved up and packed into the seat of the old pickup truck. One final blessing would have made her life perfect. . .

  The weather faired off by midday, and the unmistakable scent of Thanksgiving filled the diner. Looty, Ellis, and several other generous women had been cooking and freezing their labors for weeks. Everything was made from scratch, from family recipes that had been handed down from daughter to daughter for generations. In fact, a near riot had erupted when Anne LaSalle, having lunch at the diner a few days earlier, had suggested in her very northern and highly practical fashion the convenience of store-bought pumpkin pies!

  Friends, neighbors, and an occasional stranger came from far and wide to spend a traditional Thanksgiving with Looty. Most were elderly, most were alone, most were down on their luck, and most had nowhere else to go. But there were also those who came and brought contributions, either in currency or consumables.

  When the counter space and tables were filled, folks began to line the walls, plates in hand, eating while they waited for a place to sit. Ellis couldn't remember seeing so many people in one place before. The first two hours were a steady stream of hungry people who were grateful for a warm meal and people to share it with.

  Ellis served mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, and a variety of vegetable dishes until she thought her hands would drop off at the wrists. She smiled at everyone and swapped howdies with those she knew. She felt more a part of the town than she ever had in Stony Hollow.

  Hardly a dent had been made in the supply of food and drink Looty had arranged for when Ellis began to recognize individuals coming back for a second meal later in the day. Mere weeks had passed since her own stomach had growled with hunger, and her mind fretted at the too-real prospect of starving to death in the cold. She heaped their plates high and hoped the food would sustain them until they could find their next meal.

  “You been savin' those yams for me?" Ellis looked up at the sound of Buck LaSalle's voice. He was grinning at her surprised expression. He glanced at Anne, who stood beside him, glowing in her fruitfulness, and added, "Didn't I tell ya it always pays to know someone on the inside?"

  "You did," she agreed, winking at Ellis. "And it looks like they cooked enough yams for you to eat your fill and choke a horse with the leftovers."

  "I'm savin' space for a couple a Looty's scratch biscuits down yonder there," Bryce said, pointing to his favorite, fixing Looty with a flirty smirk.

  "Ah now, don't ya be tryin' to sugar-talk me no more, ya handsome young buck, you," Looty admonished him, feigning insult even as she smoothed the bodice of her dress down over ample curves in a flattered fluster. "I got women in three counties mad as settin' hens ‘cuz of the ruckus you been makin' over my biscuits."

  "Best biscuits I ever had," he said innocently.

  "Well, stop tellin' the husbands," she said, grinning. "I ain't lookin' to get what's left of my hair yanked out over a batch a biscuits."

  "Jealousy, plain and simple," he said. "That's what it is. And don't think I don't know when I'm gettin' my chain pulled, Looty Miller. Nothin' would please ya more than to have a good knockdown over a platter of your biscuits."

  "Fair 'n' true." She cackled heartily. "Fair 'n' true. Now you eat all ya can hold there, boy, and come back for more, ya hear? God bless ya for comin'."

  "He done a good thing, settin' ya down here, Looty." And in a slightly louder voice, he said, "Now if He could just get my brother to move on down the line, away from the yams, we'd all have somethin' to be truly thankful for."

  Buck muttered something under his breath and Bryce's green eyes twinkled, teasing and warm, taking on a familiar passion when he turned them on Ellis.

  "Hey, beautiful," he said in a voice meant only for the two of them. He held his plate out to her. "What can ya give me here that's sweeter than you?"

  "What're y'all doin' here?" she asked, her cheeks burning under Bryce's rather obvious stare. "You were fixin' ta have a big fancy supper at home."

  "Without you?" Anne asked, looking as if she'd never consider the idea. "Thanksgiving is a time to be with family, and since you were here, we decided to come here too. Can you sit with us for a while?"

  Speechless, moved so deeply it pained her, Ellis stood motionless—serving spoons hanging limply from her hands.

  "Sure she can," Looty said, prying the spoons from her fingers and nudging her out of the serving line. "She ain't took her feet off the floor once today. Time she did."

  By the time she'd gathered her plate of food and joined the LaSalles in a window booth, she was thinking a bit more clearly and feeling the full significance of their actions.

  "I . . . I'd like to put up the blessin'," she said timidly, knowing it was Buck's privilege as the eldest male at the table. "If ya wouldn't mind."

  "We'd be honored, Ellis," Buck said.

  She took Bryce's hand in hers and he took up Anne's, who in turn took Buck's, who reached across the table to spread his big hand over her fingers, and they solemnly bowed their heads.

  "Dear Lord," she started in a soft voice. "This here's Ellis callin' on Ya, and I'm askin' Ya to forgive me for the harsh words I used against Ya last time we spoke. I didn't know what Ya had in mind for me, and I didn't trust Ya like I should of. . . . I'm sorry, 'cuz I can see now that You was plannin' on me comin' to Webster all along and fallin' in with this here family of good, kind people. I sure don't deserve Your carin' for me and watchin' out for me all these years—and I keep wonderin' what it was I did when I was young that makes Ya love me so, but whatever Your reasons, I'm mighty grateful. I'll be goin’ back to Stony Hollow come early spring – to pay my debt and to take back what’s mine – and I know You'll be travelin' with me, keepin' me strong, and I thank Ya ahead for that." She glanced up at the LaSalles and continued, “We're one and all grateful for our good health, for steady work, and for having people to share this day with. We're greatly pleased to be lookin' forward to the birth of Buck and Anne's baby, and ask Ya to watch over mother and child durin' the birthin'." She paused and looked up again, worried. "Am I forgettin' anything?"

  "Thank you for Ellis," they said without lifting their heads or making eye contact or even a partial smirk among them. "Amen."

  ~*~

  Christmas was a blessed holiday. Truly. Not merely in the eyes of every person who celebrated it in the world, but in Ellis's eyes as well.

  She hadn't received a Christmas gift since she was ten years old. Effie had sewn her a new dress that year—a blue dress, the color of her eyes, with lace around the collar, she recalled as she tied a paper ribbon about the last of the gifts she'd m
ade for Bryce, Buck and Anne, Looty … Tug Hogan, too, if she could work up the nerve to give it to him.

  She smiled thinking of Bryce's complaints of eating more rabbit stew in the last month than he'd eaten in his entire lifetime and grinned as she conjured up his expression when he would realize why on Christmas morning.

  “Ya reckon ya got 'em all yet?" he'd asked, leaning back after two bowls of her stew, rubbing his stomach contentedly.

  "All what?" she'd asked.

  "All them poor little bunnies ya been trapping these past weeks? We got minks and foxes out there too. Opossums and muskrats."

  “You complainin' about your supper?" she asked, a warning light that she had learned from Anne blinking in her eyes.

  He grinned. "No ma'am. I know better. Just bein' concerned about my environment is all. Thought I'd ask if you'd like to try ice fishin’ in the mornin'."

  They'd eaten rabbit stew twice again after that in order for her to get enough pelts for the fur-lined slippers she'd poured so much love into making.

  "Ellis? It's Anne," she heard after a soft tap on the door. "May I come in, please?"

  "Course," she said, bouncing off the bed to open the door. Anne, looking more like a large beach ball than a pregnant woman, rolled into the room with a large box wrapped in shiny pink paper; an enormous white bow nestled on the top. "So ya bought Buck the new Sunday suit after all," Ellis said, chuckling, liking the way the husband and wife were trying to outgive and outsmart each other. Buck had been by earlier and asked her to hide a music box he'd found at the last minute for Anne. That brought the gift count hidden under her bed to four for Anne and three for Buck. . . .well, four for Buck now, too. "Did ya decide on the black or the dark blue?"

  "Well, actually, I went back and bought him flannel shirts," Anne said, smiling and shrugging hopelessly. "He likes them better, and a second suit would wear out on the hanger anyway."

  Ellis took the box and got down on her knees to place it under the bed with the others, saying, "Maybe it's just as well. If the box is this big for flannel shirts, the box for a whole suit wouldn't fit under here."