The Typewriter Girl

by J. L. Jarvis

  In time, Emma’s feelings softened her judgment, and she found compassion for Benjamin. He would carry his remorse to the grave. To turn from him now would be unjust and cruel. Emma could not be cruel. Or perhaps she was selfish and wanted him too much to give him up now. So she stayed, but she held back her feelings. She needed some time.

  Sometimes dark thoughts crept in. She would wonder how long love would last, or even if it was real. How much was his love tied to the past? Would he ever love her completely without thinking of Sadie? She knew he desired her. And she knew that she was the weaker of the two. He had only to step near her to make her heart pound. When she handed him papers, his hand would brush hers and she’d draw halting breaths.

  A day came when doubts faded. She felt only love. It was not for her to forgive, but the questions were gone. After weeks of anguish, the past had somehow slipped aside. It was his, and not hers. And it would not be theirs. They could love and be happy together. Of that, she was certain. And now she would tell him.

  Benjamin walked into the study with a vigorous step and color in his cheeks. He walked by her desk and she smelled the outdoors on him. Emma mistyped a letter and stopped to fix it. He sat at his desk. Without looking, she felt his gaze and blushed in response.

  Emma typed a few more strokes and gave up. Her hands dropped to her lap. She was still for a moment, then rose and went to his desk, walked around it, and stood beside him.

  He looked up with the guarded expression he’d practiced for weeks, but her face stripped away the mask. “Emma?”

  In his face, she saw the strain of not knowing, and holding in feelings he harbored but did not feel free to express.

  She trembled.

  “What is it?” He started to reach for her hand, but thought better of it.

  Emma said, “I don’t want any more time. I want you.”

  The chair scraped the floor as he stood. Emma flew to his arms.

  She wrapped her arms about his neck and whispered, “I love you.”

  He moaned as he wrapped his arms tightly about her and buried his face in the scent of her hair.

  The weather was a brisk thirty-five degrees, which was nothing to Benjamin after the Yukon. To him, it was a perfect day to get out of their cabin-bound life. Neither noticed the overcast sky as they rode down quiet country roads, wrapped up in blankets and each other.

  Benjamin saw Emma shiver. “We could go back.”

  “No, I love it. We never did things like this in my home.”

  “You will now, if you want to.”

  There was hope in his eyes, which she had not seen lately. Benjamin looked straight down the road. Emma slipped her arm into his, and looked ahead, too.

  Long rows of gnarled grapevines, neatly squared fields of hacked and bent corn stalks, and matted down grain stretched along the flatland in every direction. It was early. The frost was just starting to melt in the sun. Emma wrapped her coat more tightly around her and clutched the warm scarf to her chin. Seeing this, he wrapped a strong arm around her shoulder and crushed her to his side. Emma buried her face in the scent of sweet air and wool of his jacket. In the distance, a boy made his way to a barn, from which wafted the pungent smell of farm soil and dairy cows. Cold air pricked Emma’s senses and made her mind rush with the hope of what might lie before her. She lifted her hand to her face.

  Thinking she was wiping a tear, Benjamin asked, “Is something wrong?”

  Emma laughed lightly. “No. I’m afraid it’s my nose—the cold air.”

  He grinned as he produced a handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to her. Large flakes took their time drifting down to the ground. “Take a good look. This might be our last snowfall this season.”

  “I should think you’d be sick of the snow.”

  “I should be. It helps knowing there’s a warm house with a blazing fire minutes away.” He looked at her as though she were his world. His smile was replaced by a pensive expression. It had snowed like this the day he broke Emma’s heart.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  He shook it off, and told her it was nothing.

  As they rode on, Emma asked lightly, “Will you ever travel again?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I just wondered if life would get dull for you in one place, without the thrill of adventure.”

  He smiled. “The thrill of adventure is overrated. The truth is much less romantic. But I do feel restless sometimes. I love a challenge. I like to push myself to do new things, to see what I can learn, and how well. It makes me feel alive.” He grinned and looked suddenly boyish. “I’m rambling.”

  “No. I understand how you feel.”

  Benjamin raised a skeptical brow. “That’s sweet of you to try.”

  She took some exception to this. “But I do. I’ve felt that way, too.”

  “Emma, I’ve traveled thousands of miles to find something to make me feel more alive. I thought that I wanted excitement. It filled some of the void. But I wasn’t complete. That took something else.” He stopped. He had said too much. He looked forward and gripped the reins.

  Emma looked at Benjamin’s gloves, stretched tightly over his knuckles. She put her hand on his gently, then released it. Her hand was slender and soft on his strong hand, and yet somehow they fit.

  Benjamin pulled the buggy over to the side of the road and stared straight ahead. Fields stretched out in all directions and dwarfed them. Emma wondered why they had stopped. She could not read his face, except to see he was thinking intently.

  “When I asked you to stay—” he began, but hesitated.

  Emma was seized with a fear that he might want to send her away. Things had been strained between them, but she thought they’d been finding their way back together. But neither had spoken of feelings. Perhaps his had changed.

  His brow tensed and his jaw clenched and released.

  Emma put her hand on his shoulder. “Benjamin. Just say it.”

  He turned to face her with a look hard as stone. Emma’s heart sank. She looked through misting eyes as her lips parted.

  He looked away and said, “When I asked you to stay...” He started again. Only his eyes betrayed any emotion. “I was—I am—determined to give you what you want and need.” He sharply inhaled and exhaled in frustration. “I know you need time. I know that.”

  Emma’s emotions soared from alarm, to confusion, and then to wonder as he continued.

  “I don’t want to push. But if a time ever comes when you’d allow me—want me—to kiss you, please tell me.” He turned, and looked at her with anguished blue eyes. “Because I want to kiss you so much I may have to get out now and walk home through the snow just to keep my word.”

  Emma met his gaze, held her palm out, and plainly said, “Give me the reins, then.”

  Stunned, he did as she asked.

  A smile began in her eyes, and she said, “If you’re going to kiss me, I want your hands free to hold me.”

  He wasted no time wrapping his arms about her. Her hat fell to her shoulders, as he put his hands in her hair and held her face. He pressed his lips on the place where her jaw met her ear, and he whispered her name. She tightened her arms about him.

  When the snow covered their hair, neither noticed nor cared. Benjamin gripped the back of the buggy seat behind her and grinned. “I’m taking you home.” He took the reins and glanced sideways at her. “If you don’t leave me alone, woman, our mouths might freeze together.”

  She laughed. Emma slipped her arm into his and leaned closer. They drove home through the thickening snow.

  Pausing only to stomp the snow off their boots, they rushed into the house. As Benjamin shut out the cold, Emma let out a sound of half laughter and shiver. He tossed coats and hats on a rack and turned, smiling. Emma trembled and grinned as she rubbed the warmth into her arms.

  “Fire!” he said, as he hooked his arm about hers. They ran to the den. He tossed a throw blanket her way and set about stacking the kindling an
d logs.

  Emma said, “I’ll go make some hot cocoa—if Mrs. Dowling will let me into her kitchen.”

  “She’s gone for the night—visiting her sister or niece or somebody. I can’t remember.”

  “Good. I’ll go scrounge for some food.”

  Before long, they were warm, sitting on the floor before a blazing fire, sipping mugs of cocoa and sharing a blanket. Benjamin read aloud from a poetry book. “ ‘The Frost performs its secret ministry, unhelped by any wind.’ ”

  “Too cold,” said Emma, with a shake of her head. She adjusted the cushions and leaned back.

  Benjamin flipped to a random page and read, “ ‘This hot hard flame with which our bodies burn, will make some meadow blaze.’ ”

  “Too hot.”

  Benjamin closed the book and set it aside. He stared at the fire intently. With a sudden pivot toward Emma, he leaned his chin on his hand. “Tell me more about Emma Farlowe.”

  His eagerness charmed her and cast a warm sheen to her eyes. “Now that, I’m afraid, would spoil a lovely moment.”

  He took her more seriously than she had intended. “Impossible.”

  “Oh, I think I could reduce you to boredom in less than a minute. After that would come the gaping yawns, then the unmanly begging for mercy—”

  “I love you.” His piercing look stunned her, and made her aware that they were very alone in the house.

  Shadow’s whimpering had been ignored, so he barked at the door to be let out. Emma laughed at the grimacing look on Benjamin’s face. While he was gone, Emma thumbed through a book. Benjamin returned to find Emma asleep with the book in her hand.

  Emma lay wrapped in Benjamin’s arms, asleep, on the floor by the fire. The sun warmed the room. Unwilling to part, they had fallen asleep in each other’s arms. He woke first and kissed her brow gently. She opened her eyes with a start and looked at him for a moment before she recalled where she was.

  “Oh! I’ve got to get back to my room. Mrs. Dowling will see us and think—”

  “That we’ve spent the night here together?”

  He was grinning, but Emma did not share his amusement. “Yes!” She hissed more loudly than she’d intended. She started to get up, but he pulled her down into his arms.

  “But we did.”

  “But not the way it will look.”

  “Sadly, no.” He kissed her neck, and made her forget for a moment. No, she had to get up before they were caught. This was so wildly improper. What had become of her, behaving like this?

  Emma moved forward, preparing to get up, but his arms were about her. She could not bring herself to put up a good fight, especially with his lips on her earlobe. “What if she does see us?”

  “Would that be so terrible?” He enjoying watching the blush tint her cheeks.

  “Yes. She would think—but we didn’t...”

  “Didn’t...?” The way his eyes swept from her hair to her eyes to her lips made her wish that they had—or worse, that they would—which was why being together like this was improper. She gave him a chastising look. He let go. She already missed the warmth of his arms.

  He got up and went to the table nearby. Upon it was a tray of blueberry muffins and fresh coffee. He poured her a cup and offered it, smiling. He seemed very relaxed. Then she sat very tall. “Where did that come from?” But the answer was obvious. Mrs. Dowling had brought it. Emma took a sip of the coffee to sharpen her thinking, then set it down. “I’ve got to go and explain.” She stood and pulled her hair back.

  She was tying the ribbon when Benjamin, taking advantage of her raised arms, came to her from behind and slipped his arms about her. “Since she’s already thinking the worst, we really ought to give her something to disapprove of—so we won’t feel so much like we’re lying.” He kissed her cheek as she turned back toward him. Slowly, he turned her around and leaned his forehead on hers. “How much explaining were you planning on doing?” He put his lips on hers with a dizzying kiss.

  Pressing her hands to his chest, Emma pried herself free. He pretended to stagger backward. Emma might have laughed if he hadn’t just kissed her breathless. She rolled her eyes at temptation and started for the door. Benjamin caught her by the wrist, and pulled her back into his arms.

  “Mrs. Dowling’s not really back yet,” he said with a roguish glint in his eyes. “I just wanted to see you blush one more time.”

  She frowned, but he teased a smile from her as he touched her cheek with his thumb and said in a quiet voice, “See? Here it’s starting again.” His eyes seemed to get bluer at will as he lifted his eyes to meet hers and disarmed her resolve. The last bits of apprehension faded as his full lips landed on her mouth. She gave in to the feel of his hands and the longing his touch made her suffer.

  They both flinched as the kitchen door slammed, with the help of a gust from outside. Their eyes widened. This time Mrs. Dowling really was back. The two sprang into action, destroying the evidence of their night together.

  It was market day, according to Mrs. Dowling’s schedule, which was adhered to at all cost. They would all go today. Emma was apprehensive at first. They discussed it and decided that enough time had passed since her father and fiancé had visited. She needed new clothes and a new change of scene, so they all rode to town in the carriage.

  Benjamin had business, Mrs. Dowling had errands, and Emma needed more than the one outfit the rain had not ruined. The thought of being around people—even strangers—was a welcome change. Benjamin headed for the bank while the women headed down the street to the mercantile store. Mrs. Dowling took particular care in selecting the finest cuts of meat, making clear that the available choices were not quite to her liking. Emma wandered about while she waited. It had been a long time since she had been in a mercantile store.

  The Clark’s thread display was a rainbow. The embroidery thread took her back to her mother’s side. She would fidget and wait for her mother to choose the right color of thread for her needlework. Emma wished she had brought just one piece of work with her.

  On a morning a few winters before, her mother set down her needle and rested her head. She looked up and smiled with round eyes. Emma talked about spring. After the forsythia bloomed, they would plant a new garden not far from the lilacs. She could smell the scent now. Her mother smiled like a child and went back to sleep. A long time passed between breaths. In a while, there were no breaths at all. Her soft honey hair lay in curls on the pillow with the lavender lilacs embroidered along it.

  Benjamin left the bank and walked a few blocks down the street to the barbershop. He was seated in the barber chair, getting a shave, when the door opened.

  “Well, Benjamin Stark! I thought that was you!”

  Benjamin knew the voice without looking, but glanced up anyway. “Fletcher.” He never stayed angry with Fletcher Van Elden.

  Fletcher said, “I was just walking by and happened to look in, and there you were, under the knife.” He chuckled a little too long, then it faded to silence.

  The barber finished shaving and started on Benjamin’s hair.

  Fletcher’s brow wrinkled. “How are you?”

  Benjamin inhaled, ready to offer an answer.

  “The truth,” Fletcher interrupted.

  Benjamin paused and stared blankly. “I’m fine.”

  Fletcher nodded as if from one stoic to another. He looked at the floor, gently shaking his head.

  Barely amused, Fletcher stepped closer and studied Benjamin’s hair. With a nod to the barber, he said, “Does this side look longer?”

  The barber lifted his eyes toward Fletcher, who was pointing tentatively to Benjamin’s right ear.

  “Just up around here—that’s it. I’m just looking out for you, Benjamin.”

  Benjamin eyed Fletcher in the mirror, with a tolerant look.

  The barber resumed his work, stepping around to the other side, which forced Fletcher out of his away.

  Fletcher worked his way toward the window. His eyes brighten
ed as Mrs. Dowling passed by with Emma, who was looking fresh and pink-cheeked from the crisp winter air.

  “Isn’t that—?”

  “Yes,” said Benjamin abruptly.

  Fletcher’s gaze followed the pair until they had passed beyond view, which Benjamin missed, since his own gaze was on Emma and the spark in her eyes.

  The barber took Benjamin’s head with both hands and tilted it forward again.

  Fletcher squinted. “What was her name again?”

  “Mrs. Dowling.”

  “Very funny.”

  Fletcher said with diminishing patience, “And her younger companion?”

  “My typewriter girl.” Benjamin would not make this easy.

  Fletcher watched her intently. “But what is her n—”

  “Job? Typewriting. You know. You take paper and roll it into this machine and then press little buttons...”

  “Oh yes.” Fletcher lifted his eyebrows and looked too impressed. “For that penny dreadful you’re writing.”

  “Guidebook.”

  “Of course, but a whole penny’s a high price to pay.”

  Benjamin was suddenly solemn and a little defensive. “I thought Daniel would want to be remembered for the adventure, instead of the other.”