Winter Is Past

by Ruth Axtell Morren

  Then he turned to Althea, who had risen, the ball of yarn in her hand. He found himself near enough to touch her. She stood, probably waiting for him to step back. He didn’t oblige her. He just stood there, looking at her, caught by a sudden, overwhelming desire to hold her and be held by her. He needed something she had—wanted something… Unable to articulate even to himself what it was, he stood mute.

  He had seen her as the comforter of his child. And lately he had come to see her also as perhaps the only thing that stood between himself and insanity, like a steady rock in the maelstrom of his life. He had fought with everything in him to avoid seeing her as a woman.

  But he couldn’t anymore.

  His eyes traveled the length of her, comparing her freshness and honesty with the artifices of the society women he’d just come from; he observed the rise and fall of her breast, the heightened color of her cheeks, and with a certainty, he knew that she was just as aware as he of their position as man and woman.

  He tugged at the knot of his cravat to keep himself from reaching for her and kissing her until he forgot everything else. The very thought filled his senses. The only thing that stopped him was the knowledge that if he took such a step, he would never recover. Every instinct, every fiber of his being, told him this woman was like no other he’d known.

  He felt immobilized, his mind battling these thoughts, powerless to move either forward or back—all he could do was continue to study her in the low lamplight. Within the space of a few seconds he watched the questioning look in her gray eyes turn to worry and worry turn to acknowledgment. Time drew out, but still he didn’t move. Without a conscious thought, he brought his hand up to her face and ran his fingers over the contours of it, like a person who knows he cannot have something and yet must nevertheless linger over it, even if it means enduring the agony of denial. He held his breath at the downy softness of her cheek.

  “Do you know I once thought you weren’t beautiful?” His voice emerged a ragged whisper.

  At her imperceptible nod, he half smiled. “You did? What gave you that idea?”

  “You.” Her own voice was low, husky.

  “Me? How?”

  “The way you spoke of Rebecca’s mother—how beautiful she was.”

  “Ah.” He recollected the remark. “I’m sorry to have given you that impression. Hannah was a beautiful woman, it is true, but in saying that, I didn’t mean to imply that you were any less so.”

  She looked down then at her yarn and knitting needles. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t expect you to find me beautiful.”

  He lifted her chin with a fingertip and touched her lips with his thumb, silencing her. “I only meant that the two of you were very different. She was dark, you are fair. She was a child, you are a woman.” He continued looking at her, fascinated by her features. “You are beautiful, Miss Althea.” He imitated his daughter’s name for her, lingering over each syllable of her name, capturing its essence on his tongue and against his teeth.

  “I’ve realized it for some time.” As he spoke, his voice a low rumble in his throat, his finger moved as if of its own volition over her features. “Such a clear countenance. ‘There is no guile’ in Althea,” he said, quoting Scriptures back to her. His forefinger caressed her cheek and temple and came to rest on her forehead. “She harbors only thoughts that are pure and true, nothing self-serving.” He traced her cheek once again, his tone becoming rhythmic. “So rosy and soft, with those delightful freckles scattered about—” he touched the bridge of her nose “—giving her no end of vexation if her heightened color is any indication. But I wouldn’t have even one removed…not a one.” The pad of his thumb moved over her cheek, his fingers cupping her face. “Such soft skin, it gives no evidence of the tears spilled over it.” His fingertip traced the imaginary path of a tear and continued down the curve of her cheek, feather light until it lay once again gently over the rise of her lips where it had begun its journey.

  “Such wisdom from these lips, as her God gives her, to comfort a man’s soul—if he would but let it.” He continued stroking their crimson softness, expressing thoughts he hadn’t until that moment even dared formulate to himself. “Do you know how often I have found myself of late with the desire to kiss them? I’ve found myself wondering whether you have hidden all your womanly feelings so deep beneath that prim exterior that you are no longer aware you even possess them.”

  He felt her breath against his finger, but she didn’t move or speak, captivated as much by his words and touch, apparently, as he was by her nearness.

  “But I’ve stopped myself from discovering the answer to those questions. Do you know why?”

  He watched her shake her head slowly from side to side. “Because, my dear Miss Althea, I’m afraid the answers would be my undoing.”

  As her eyes widened, he smiled again. “Yes, indeed. You terrify me. I begin to have my answer to one question, at any rate,” he continued. “I don’t believe, my dear, sweet Althea, that you are immune to my touch.”

  He took her chin in his forefinger and thumb and watched her gaze drop to his lips. His tongue clicked against his teeth. “What am I going to do about you? I can’t seem to get you out of my thoughts. You’ve insinuated yourself into my gut like some stubborn malady, giving me no peace.”

  Her gaze returned to his in alarm at those words and he curled his lip upward. “Those eyes, which look at me so sadly sometimes, and at others, flash anger at me, sometimes gray, sometimes green, at times even blue, but always true and honest in what they believe.”

  His smile disappeared as he acknowledged the longing in his being to hold this woman and feel her nearness. “Do you know why I cannot satisfy my hunger to kiss you?”

  Again she shook her head mutely, as if incapable of speaking.

  They stood for a moment longer, gazing into each other’s eyes. For Simon it was a desire in him that he knew he would no longer be capable of containing if he didn’t remove himself from the room very soon.

  His legs could no longer obey even if his mind were capable of sending the command. Reason evaporated as Simon drew his hand around the nape of her neck and pulled her gently forward, at the same time leaning downward, knowing nothing but that in another instant he would be able to discover firsthand the answer to the question that had been burning for so long in his mind.

  His lips hovered over hers an instant as he whispered, “This is why.” The next second, their lips were touching, the sensation sending a thrilling shock down through his limbs. The softness of her barely parted lips was all that he had imagined and more.

  One touch and he wanted to bury himself in her. But he held back, whispering her name, drawing her close with his two arms. “Don’t be afraid, my dear Althea,” he whispered as he nuzzled her lips and cheeks, then traveled down her neck, breathing in the scent of her. He wrapped his two hands around her head and brought her head upward. He opened his eyes, his lips playing over the surface of hers. Her head was thrown back, her eyes closed.

  Was she recalling her terrifying experience? Was she comparing his touch to that other man’s? Dreading that, Simon hesitated. His thumbs massaged her temples lightly. Feeling no resistance in her, he drew his face down to hers again, taking her lips once more in his. This time he deepened the kiss, nudging her lips apart.

  His arms drew downwards, his hands caressing her back, pushing her towards him, needing to feel her against the length of him.

  His body throbbed with pent-up need. He needed to stop—He mustn’t—his brain told him, as his lips kept exploring the sweet depths of her mouth.

  After an initial hesitation, he could feel Althea kissing him back. Finally her own hands came up and wrapped themselves around his neck. He hugged her closer, wanting to feel her very heartbeat.

  After some time, he looked at her again. She opened her eyes at the same moment. He could see the dazed wonderment gradually turn back to reason. He knew, as each second ticked by, thoughts and fears over the consequ
ences of their kiss began to destroy the enchantment. How he wanted to hold her closer and turn back time, but he knew it was impossible.

  His voice came out thick and unnatural. “I knew once I tasted of you, I would never recover.”

  Althea began pushing away first. He sighed, expelling the air in one swift gust, and offered no resistance as she stepped back.

  She touched a hand to her lips and closed her eyes an instant. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” she whispered.

  He reached out and touched her hand lightly. “Don’t be sorry. That’s as absurd as saying you’re sorry Rebecca is ill.”

  She opened her eyes and met his gaze warily, confusion warring with self-reproach.

  He removed his hand, and it almost hurt him physically to break the connection with her, but he knew the moment of madness was over. He shifted back and leaned against the bedside table. He smiled sadly, his gaze never leaving hers.

  “You and I come from different worlds, Althea.”

  When she said nothing, he rubbed a hand over his jaw, wishing—wishing—“No matter how much I’ve tried to erase my past, it’s there. It’s who I am. A Jew. A Hebrew. An Ephraimite.” He infused the word with all the British contempt he’d heard all the years of his life.

  Althea swallowed, her heart breaking at the pain she knew he masked, or thought he’d conquered. There was only One who could take that pain away. What could she say to him? Cry out that she didn’t care about his background? That she’d go anywhere with him? Face anything with him—Hadn’t she already faced the loss of all things pertaining to her old life? But there was One whom she couldn’t forsake, her Savior, and his, if Simon would only let Him into his heart.

  As if reading her mind, Simon smiled again, the smile bittersweet this time. “But that wouldn’t matter to Althea, would it? What does she care where I come from? No, what probably concerns her more is who I am now and where I’m headed. My place in Parliament and in society is of no import, is it? For after all, what does Althea care about worldly things? No, she would probably rejoice if I turned my back on everything I’ve struggled to attain over the last decade of my life.”

  His eyes narrowed, his tone assuming its habitual mockery. “You wouldn’t like to reenter that world that treated you so cruelly, would you? You wouldn’t want a husband who would be continuously in society. You couldn’t abide the thought of mingling with the London ton and hosting countless dinner parties for them, could you?

  “You’d prefer I forget Parliament, forget a brilliant career, give up all my dreams and live in obscurity, my life dedicated to some lost cause somewhere. Wouldn’t that be more to your devout tastes? Wouldn’t it, Miss Breton?” His scornful tone ended in one of frustration.

  She shook her head in protest, still unable to speak a word.

  “Until I take up this cross you’re always harping on, giving up everything else, you won’t be satisfied, will you? Always insisting this is about the same God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. It would make you happy, wouldn’t it, if I ‘converted’?” He made the word sound like a profanity. “Then we would all be one big happy family—Jew and Gentile.”

  She continued to shake her head at his accusations. Her cheeks felt hot. She took another step away from him and almost tripped over the chair behind her. She groped for its arm and stepped away even farther, needing to get away from him.

  “You don’t understand! You see so much, you care so much and yet you are still so—so blind!” Her voice, which had started as a pained whisper, rose. “You are right. I don’t care about ‘worldly’ things if that means caring what the world thinks. I would go anywhere, face anything with you—be it a life of abject poverty or complete obscurity—or—or—” she sputtered trying to get the words out, hardly realizing what she was about to say “—or a life as the prime minister’s wife. Whether it was scraping together our last farthings, or planning the most elaborate dinner parties to sit and smile and endure however many set-downs I must for the sake of your career, I would do it gladly! I would face both your family and mine!

  “But I would do none of this if it meant forsaking my God, and yours! Not even for you, Simon.” She ran towards the door, horrified at the enormity of what she’d done tonight.

  At the door to the sitting room she stopped, her knuckles gripping the handle behind her. For a long moment, they both looked at each other, the expanse between them like an ocean.

  Finally she turned and wrenched the door open, feeling her heart ripping in pain as she did so, and ignoring his final “Althea!” as she closed the door behind her.

  That night Althea paced her room, her heart in turmoil. She never dreamed Simon could feel anything even remotely touching what she felt for him, but tonight the veil had been ripped aside, showing her a man of strong passions held in powerful check. For that she must be thankful, because she had realized tonight how weak she was. She herself had not dared acknowledge the depth of her own feelings for her employer.

  But she could no longer deceive herself. She might have fooled herself over the past few weeks that theirs was but an intellectual parley. If anything, she’d felt nothing but impatience and mockery from him the more she’d held her ground.

  But tonight he’d shocked her. She’d shocked herself. There had been nothing intellectual or rational about their encounter. His touch had paralyzed her, and she’d been astounded at the depth of her own passion. If he hadn’t let her go, could she have gone? She didn’t have the answer to that. She had only the evidence of her own response to him, her soul drinking in every soft word he spoke as her body yearned for his touch.

  She realized her weeks of denying all such feelings, rather than diminishing them, had only served to intensify them. She fell upon her bed, crying for forgiveness for any secret thoughts she had harbored for Simon. She pleaded with God. What would You have me do? Why do You want me here? Simon is no closer to accepting You than my father is!

  Your Word says not to be unequally yoked with unbelievers. I have kept Your command. I have kept myself apart. What would You have of me here? Your Word promises I will not be tempted above what I am able to bear.

  The thought came to her of the apostle Peter when the Lord had given him the vision of all the unclean animals being lowered to him on a sheet, and commanded, Rise and eat.

  You wanted to show Peter something, which he didn’t understand immediately. What are You trying to show me in this household? I know You cannot wish me to give myself to Simon, not in his present spiritual condition, but what is it then that You would have me do! Show me, Lord, for I am weak, I am ignorant. I don’t know what to do!

  She fell asleep at last, in her clothes, her face tear-streaked, knowing nothing but that somehow the Lord would sustain her through this test.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Althea needn’t have concerned herself with things in the short run. When she rose the next morning, late and disoriented, Simon had left her a note by her breakfast plate. It was brief and to the point. Its short contents left her relieved, vexed and deeply hurt. In it, he apologized in the most formal tones for having expressed himself the evening before most inappropriately. He was deeply remorseful. He begged her to erase the incident completely from her memory, and she could be assured it would never occur again as long as she was in his employ.

  He remained her obedient servant, Simon Aguilar.

  She swallowed, felt the tears well up in her eyes, and wiped them away angrily. Her eyes were painfully tender; she thought she’d cried all the tears she could possibly produce. How horribly sentimental she was becoming of late. What had gotten into her?

  She washed her face with cold water, then went up to Rebecca’s room. Of course she was relieved with the tone and contents of the message. The Lord had made her a way of escape; He had heard her pleas of the night before. She needn’t be concerned over Simon’s attentions anymore.

  Her face flamed at the recollection of the things she’d said to him. She
’d practically thrown herself at his feet and declared her love for him, telling him that she’d be willing to go with him anywhere.

  The Lord’s voice told her not to be ashamed of her love for Simon.

  Love. The word came as a revelation. She whispered it to herself. All those pent-up feelings that had erupted the night before had been nothing more, nothing less, than love.

  For so long she had shunned any hint of attraction to a man. That man so long ago in her past had insinuated she was nothing but the lecherous, wanton product of her mother’s illicit liaison with her father. The shame when he’d exposed her origins in all their lurid details, quite different from her father’s whitewashed version, had crippled her. When the man had violated her, Althea had reasoned in a horrible, twisted way that she deserved it.

  Althea put her fist up to her mouth, remembering the horror when he’d lifted her skirts and thrust himself into her again and again on that sofa in some long-forgotten house in Mayfair, while people in the other rooms danced and ate and played cards.

  Now she thought with wonder over her body’s reaction to Simon the night before. She had felt no dread or fear when he’d touched her. He’d touched her so gently that when his lips had at last parted hers, she’d longed for the fusion of their two bodies. The revelation stunned her, and her mind went immediately to God’s covenant of marriage: “…and they twain shall be one flesh.”

  For the first time in her life Althea began to question whether she had really allowed the Lord to set her completely free. Or had she refused all thoughts of marriage to any man, out of fear of the marital act?

  Her mind began to wonder if it was love her mother had felt for her father. Had her mother experienced the desperate longing for her father that Althea was feeling for Simon?