Romancing Olive

by Bush, Holly

  “I was jealous, Olive. I thought you and the sheriff had something going on and it bothered me.”

  * * *

  The words registered in Olive’s head and heart but her reply made Jacob’s eyes widen. “That’s what Beth said.”

  “What?”

  “Beth said you were jealous and she said you’d be especially nice to me if she was right. Then you carried the Dutch oven for me and asked to see how my sewing machine worked. She was right.”

  Jacob looked away and scowled. “Yeah, well, Beth Steele’s a know it all.”

  “You were right all along as well, Jacob.”

  “About what?” he asked.

  Olive swallowed nervously. “I don’t know anything about what goes on between men and women.”

  Their eyes met and Olive felt the world and her problems melt away. She could have been standing in a ballroom in Vienna or on the streets of New York and Olive would have still seen and felt nothing but Jacob’s gaze. At that moment he was her world, so completely, so fully, tears welled in her eyes.

  Jacob stood slowly. Olive followed and they stood, inches apart, fathoms too far, and yet completely joined.

  “A kiss wouldn’t hurt anything, would it, Olive?”

  She shook her head and a fat tear rolled down her face. Jacob wiped it away with his thumb and inched closer to her face. Their doubts, their fears, their own devils, fled from their minds as the distance separating their lips disappeared.

  Olive’s hands crept slowly up thick forearms, to broad shoulders, physically imposing, yet so tender in their embrace. The touch of his lips to hers, made her shiver and wonder how a man so handsome could be kissing her. It was as though she was the frog, in the fairy tale and with this prince’s kiss, came alive.

  And certainly Olive had never felt before this overwhelming instinct to lay with a man. She cringed at the thought in her mind, but yet that was clearly it. The urge, from deep within the same place in her psyche that compels humans to eat and sleep and protect their young. And mate. His body covering hers, in a union, shrouded in mystery, with a history that dated to the very conception of man. As she stared into his eyes, she knew he felt the same.

  * * *

  How could I have found her undesirable, Jacob thought, as he deepened the kiss and wrapped her thin frame in his arms? Every spot of flesh that touched sparked, as he turned his head to cover her mouth completely. When their lips broke, they stared at each other inches apart, panting and wanting. And he knew, fleetingly admitted, that he wanted this woman in his bed, under him, kissing him, as their bodies joined.

  Jacob watched recognition dawn on Olive’s face. She wanted him and she knew it. He laid his forehead on hers and closed his eyes.

  “Olive,” he whispered.

  “This may have been unwise, Jacob.”

  He murmured his answer. They stood quietly in their embrace, reluctant to face the parting, yet frightened to stay. Jacob’s hands moved slowly up and down Olive’s arms and he breathed softly into her hair. They listened as Beth called to children and the replies the children shouted.

  “We have guests, Jacob,” Olive said finally, pulling from his arms.

  Jacob looked into her eyes and nodded. He ran a hand through his hair and turned to head out the door.

  * * *

  Olive was cleaning the table when Beth came into the house.

  “Everything all right?” Beth asked.

  Olive nodded, reluctant to reveal anything of Jacob’s and her conversation. He had patiently listened to her about Mr. Holmes and how she had come to the decision to stay in Spencer. Her father’s deception, her brother’s irresponsibility and her triumph at being free to decide her future. And then he had kissed her. And that kiss unearthed long buried desires Olive never thought she’d be tempted by. But as long as she didn’t voice the feelings Jacob’s kiss evoked, maybe she could forget them, avoid them, deny them.

  When at last the house was quiet and the sleep sounds were rhythmic, Olive closed her eyes, gave in to temptation and let her mind wander to Jacob. She could not resist imagining the feel of his arms around her or the sheer, raw, masculine beauty of his face. Skin, tanned from the sun, and rough from whiskers, stretched taut over angled cheekbones. A long straight nose, between green eyes, and above full, heart shaped lips. Jacob’s hair, too long she had thought at first, curled, en masse over his collar and shone blue-black in the sunlight. It’s texture, she blushed to admit, was that of her silk stockings.

  Chapter Seven

  Jacob lay awake in the bed beside the crib and thought of Olive. He had not been able to vanquish the vision of Olive in his arms, even as Jack had droned on and on about her house as he helped his friend hitch his wagon. Jacob closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep, when a picture of Olive, slowly revealed itself. He squirmed, as the image formed, wondering if she had the long thin legs, he envisioned. Her skin would be the milky color, maybe even paler, of her face and he knew it would be as soft. She had full breasts, he could tell, as he held her against him and he swallowed, thinking those breasts, high and soft, rose tipped, he imagined, were just feet away, covered in thin cotton. Jacob ached as he laid still, and the throbbing beat a drum roll to his head.

  He stood slowly, to not wake the children and padded softly to the kitchen. He knelt in his long-john bottoms and reached under the sink to a bottle of whiskey he hadn’t touched since Margaret’s death. As he knelt and held the bottle, his thumb moved slowly over the faded yellow paper of the label. Jacob had nearly finished the bottle in the days following Mark’s birth. It had numbed the hurt briefly, but the pain blew back with a vengeance when he sobered. His shoulders shook with a laugh when he thought of Margaret’s scolding when he occasionally drank. He smiled, ruefully, hearing her threats and he realized this was the first time he had remembered Margaret and not felt tears in the back of his eyes. Their time together had been good, wonderful, in fact, but she was gone and he faced a life without her. The question that remained was whether would he live a full happy life or would her death ever overshadow anything good. He took a swig, still squatting, and knew his sweet wife would not want him to miss a moment of joy for his grief.

  “Oh, Margaret,” he murmured to the bottle and the night air.

  * * *

  Olive stood in her nightgown, under the drape of the curtain and watched Jacob drink and heard him call his wife’s name. She turned quietly, hoping not to intrude, but the swish of the curtain dropping brought Jacob’s head around.

  “Olive?”

  She peeked around the curtain and saw Jacob stand, bare-chested. His was tall, wide and cut through with muscles and sinew. A smattering of blue-black hair, held her eyes and the milk she had sought to ease her to sleep was forgotten.

  “I didn’t mean to intrude. I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Me neither. You want a nip?” Jacob asked and held up the bottle.

  She inched into the room. “I don’t drink alcohol.”

  * * *

  The light from the window in Olive’s room answered Jacob’s question. Long, lean, shapely legs revealed themselves, shrouded in a mist of white, coming together at her hips. He stared, unable to move his gaze from the spot where those legs joined. He cleared his throat and reached for two glasses on the shelf.

  “Then it’s time you tried it.”

  “I don’t know, Jacob,” she said as she stood at the table.

  Her hair was a mass of curls and hung over her shoulders. Olive’s glasses reflected the moonlight and he watched her pull her hair to one side. “Sit down. If we can’t sleep, then maybe a little snort will help us both.”

  She seated herself and pulled her arms, tight under her breasts. Olive sipped tentatively, eyes watering. “Oh dear.”

  “Don’t drink it too fast,” he said.

  * * *

  When Jacob turned to the table, she stared straight at his naked mid-section. He poured the whiskey and re-plugged the bottle and her eyes wandered from a f
lat hard stomach to the top of Jacob’s long johns and below. Something hung and swung loose, and bulged through the soft red cotton of his under drawers. Yee Gads, she thought and sipped at the small glass of whiskey.

  They sat together silently and Olive warmed to the heat of the whiskey as it burnt a path to her stomach. “Were you thinking about your wife? Before, I mean.” Olive’s lips felt oddly numb and the words played slower to her ear than the movement of her lips.

  Jacob nodded. “I nearly drank that whole bottle one night after Margaret died.”

  Olive watched Jacob and she knew he was remembering. “Did it help?”

  “No.”

  “You said to me once that nothing does, except time. Is that true?”

  “I still miss her,” Jacob said and tilted his glass to drink. “But time lessens the hurt. I have children and a farm and I couldn’t let my grief mean more to me than they did. Margaret wouldn’t have wanted that.”

  Olive was quiet and swirled the amber liquid in her glass. “You loved her very much.” Jacob looked up to Olive and his anguished smile pulled at her heart.

  “More than life itself. I will love her until the day I die.”

  “You are lucky then,” Olive said, as tears threatened.

  “Lucky?” Jacob asked.

  “Yes, lucky. Some of us don’t ever love like that. I imagine most of us don’t. Even though she’s gone, you’ll always know you were blessed with that kind of love.”

  “I guess you’re right.” Jacob looked down at the table but then back to Olive quizzically. “What about you? Was there a man back in Philadelphia for you?”

  Olive smiled and tilted her head. “No, there was never a man back home that evoked those kind of feelings for me.”

  “Never?” Jacob asked softly.

  Olive’s lip trembled. And she knew that she could not answer him honestly. The pull of her heart and her body to Jacob was so strong and so sure that she realized then she was lucky as well. Because she loved him truly. Loved a man who would mourn his dead wife until the day he died. Loved a man strong enough to put his grief aside and care for his children. Loved a man compassionate enough to rescue John and Mary from the nightmare they lived in. Like Theda, loved a man, younger than her, and unattainable as well.

  “Never,” she whispered.

  Jacob nodded, tight-lipped. He reached for her hand then and held it softly.

  Olive stood abruptly and Jacob followed. He touched her chin and she shook her head, making the halo of her hair glisten and dance. Jacob pulled her hard in to his arms and kissed her.

  Olive’s head swam from the whiskey and the feel of Jacob’s bare arms around her. Once admitted, love propelled her to accept his touch, his lips, his body. Where their hips clenched, she felt the unmistakable rise of his passion, hard and thick, pulsing into the soft flesh of her stomach. She pushed herself from his hold and held him at bay with her hands and the anguished look on her face.

  “No,” she said.

  Jacob shook his head. “I’m sorry, Olive. I would never force you to do something you didn’t want to. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “I’m not scared of you Jacob,” she whispered. “You are the kindest, gentlest man I’ve ever known.”

  His head tilted and he questioned her without speaking.

  Olive backed up slowly, arms chilled where Jacob had held her, lips bereft of his kiss. She touched her mouth and said, “It’s me I’m afraid of Jacob. Not you. Never you.”

  * * *

  The morning came through the window and Olive lay still and smiled at the rough wooden ceiling. With the abject pain of sure rejection came the sweet inner peace that love brought. And that peace wrinkled a smile to her lips even as she heard, in her head Jacob’s voice declaring his undying love for his wife. How tragic, she thought. He loves a woman unable to return his love, as she loves a man unable to return hers. Will I spend my remaining days watching Jacob from afar? She had grown comfortable living with a man and the children as a family. Will I sacrifice that comfort to remain true in my heart? Or will I marry, someone like Sheriff Bentley, and make the best of what the rest of my life presents me?

  The thought of marrying anyone was shocking to Olive but as many of life’s sureties fell by the wayside, so did the idea that she was never meant to marry and raise a family and find comfort and intimacy and strength in another human being. Was she not as deserving as the next woman? But her smile faded again as she pictured a dinner with Mary and John and a husband. The man seated at the gingham-checked table was not the sheriff. Nor a stranger she had yet to meet. The man in her dream was Jacob.

  Olive baked biscuits for breakfast and heated ham on the stove. “After everyone’s chores are finished, I would like to begin on today’s studies.”

  “Why so early, Aunt Olive?” Luke asked.

  “Because I would like to do some sewing today. I need some skirts for myself to work in, rather than the heavy dresses I brought.”

  “What are you going to do with James’ land?” Jacob asked.

  “Well, Mr. Butler, I’ve actually been thinking a lot about that question. And I was hoping you would be interested in farming it for me. It is good land?”

  Jacob shoveled ham into his mouth and nodded. “Oh, yeah, prime land. You’ll need a barn, though.”

  “I was wondering about that. I’ll have to have something for a horse and chickens and a cow. Are you interested in farming my property?”

  * * *

  The income from additional crops would surely make a difference for Jacob and his money woes. And he would see the children and Olive often. He wondered which would mean more to him. “I think we could come to some agreement.”

  Olive smiled. “Good. That’s good. If I am to be partners with someone then I’m happy it will be you. I want John to learn farming the right way and I know I can trust you.”

  “Usually a sharecropper is an employee, not a partner, Olive.”

  “Well, then, I’m just going to be unusual. I will need help and I’ll have to rely on you to get us the best prices for our crop and all the other things that will have to be decided. If you agree to work my farm, then we’ll be partners until you choose not to or when John is old enough to work the farm himself. Or. . .or if I were to marry.”

  Jacob looked up to Olive with questions and she brought her shoulders up with a breath and looked down at the table.

  “Do you have any plans in the works to marry?” he asked.

  The children listened intently and waited for Olive’s response.

  “Well, no. Of course not. But I, well, you never know. Life seems to hold great mysteries for me. And I’ve decided I’m not to old to find someone to care about. Who would care about me.”

  “Well, hell’s fires, you’re not too old. You’re the only one that thinks that,” Jacob replied.

  “You said she was too old to dance with the sheriff, Daddy,” Luke reminded him.

  Jacob sucked air through his teeth. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Oh, yes it is Daddy. You said she wasn’t acting her age,” Peg said.

  “How old do ya have to be to dance?” Luke asked. “Mary danced with you. Ain’t she old enough?”

  Jacob laid his hands on the table and looked everywhere but Olive’s face. When he did he only saw her lips soft and ready for more kisses, felt the hollow of her back where she arched in his arms and smelled the lilacs and summer in her hair.

  “Daddy?” Luke said.

  “What?” Jacob shouted.

  Luke’s eyes grew wide. “I was just wondering if it weren’t about time for grandma to come see us. The last field is almost planted and you said last year, I remember, that grandma is as regular as pig shit.”

  “Luke!” Olive cried.

  “Well, he said it,” Luke replied. “I’m just repeating it.”

  Jacob realized his son was right. Ma will be pulling up in her wagon any day now and won’t she have a time of it if Olive’s sti
ll here. “When did Jack say he could start on your house?”

  Olive’s head tilted. “Anytime soon. Is your mother coming for a visit?”

  Jacob turned in his chair, crossed his legs and drank his coffee. Shit, he thought. “Yeah, she’ll be here any day.”

  “Will your father be coming as well?”

  “I doubt it. Those two look forward to the week she’s here and they’re out of each other’s hair.”

  * * *

  Olive contemplated meeting Jacob’s mother. She was curious about his parents and his upbringing and why his mother’s visit would elicit such a response.

  “If there’s anything you’d like me to do to get ready, I’d be happy to,” she offered.

  “Not much to be done, but count the days till she’s gone.”

  Olive’s eyes widened and she let her fear get the best of her. “Why do you say that?”

  Peg pulled on Olive’s sleeve and giggled. “Grandma’s real bossy. Ma even used to say so. She said it took her a month of Sundays to put her house back the way it was before grandma’s visit.”

  “Oh,” Olive said. “We used to look forward to overnight company. My mother would make special desserts and we would have tea in the afternoon and a house party for them with all the neighbors.” Olive looked away dreamily.

  Jacob leaned across the table. “I’ll guarantee you my ma won’t drink afternoon tea.”

  “She’ll sew with you though, Aunt Olive. She brings her shears and cloth and always helped Ma make us new clothes,” Luke said.

  “Well, that sounds wonderful, then,” Olive said.

  Jacob harrumphed and stood to leave. “When the boys are done with their studies, I could use them in the fields. Send them out.”

  “It’s awfully hot for the boys in the sun this time of year, don’t you think?” Olive asked.

  “Trust me, we won’t be hurrying.”

  “Why not Daddy? Didn’t you say you wanted to get the planting done?” Luke asked.

  “Yeah, well, that was before you reminded me that grandma’s coming. If the plantings done, we won’t be able to get out of the house.”