Spring Blossom

by Jill Metcalf

  When her head dropped back and her eyes closed, Hunter set the brush aside and lowered her onto her back. “It’s time for bed,” he said, pulling the light blanket over her.

  Margaret’s eyes opened and she stared up at him.

  The sudden flash of fear in her eyes did not go unnoticed by him but now was not the time to weaken his resolve; if he gave in to her fears at every turn, she might be lost to him forever.

  He had not been unaffected by the intimacy of what he had just done and now he smoothed her nightdress with one hand, caressing her slowly from shoulder to wrist as he twisted his upper body and lowered his head. “I’m glad you’re here, little one,” he murmured before his lips lightly touched hers. He lingered over the kiss as he felt her body tense beneath his chest.

  But the kiss was sweet and tender, and Margaret found her eyelids fluttering, her mind drifting from fear into confusion as he softly teased her lips, then he kissed the scar below her cheek. He seemed to be in the habit already of touching her at his whim, but this was a more intimate moment than any other in the past and, this time, she felt an intense warmth as his body enveloped her and it was not entirely unpleasant. For a moment, just one moment, he made her forget that she hadn’t wanted to come here, that she hadn’t wanted to be a wife. For just one moment…

  Hunter propped himself up on one elbow. “Do you like the house?” he asked, his hand resting lightly on her arm.

  “It’s a nice house,” she admitted truthfully.

  “Tomorrow I’ll take you out and show you the rest of the place,” he added as his fingertips began to lightly stroke her inner wrist. “I have a little mare I’d like you to see, also. I’m thinking of breeding her with Pride.”

  Margaret nodded dumbly, all too aware of the slow methodical motion of his fingers. The strangest sensations were traveling the length of her arm and she found the feeling distracting, to say the least.

  “Your skin is so soft,” he murmured, looking briefly at the delicate spot he was caressing. “Do you like that?” he asked.

  Startled by the question, Margaret’s eyes dropped away from his and she took up careful study of his shoulder. The muscles there, and along his arms, were well defined and contoured, reminding her of hills and valleys, rolling strengths and gentle recesses. He was strongly built and yet he could be so gentle.

  “I think you like that,” Hunter said softly, confidently, as he watched her eyes roam across his shoulders, chest and arms. He was greatly encouraged that, in the moment, she appeared just a little curious. But he also knew that, without a good deal of encouragement, she would be too timid to do anything except look. “A touch can mean so many things, when you think about it,” he added softly. “There’s a touch of comfort from a loved one, a touch of encouragement from a mentor, a touch of admiration from a husband and the touch of passion from a lover. Husband and wife can be all of these things to one another, Maggie. I like to be touched, too.”

  Margaret raised a hesitant hand and when she could not bring herself to touch him, he smiled as he reached for her hand and lightly pressed it to his chest. “Your skin is soft,” he encouraged. “How would you describe mine?”

  He did not have a lot of hair on his chest, which surprised her. His skin was warm and taunt over muscles that had obviously developed over years of hard work. She remember the palms of his hands as somewhat roughened but here the skin was smooth and warm as she dared to touch him. Margaret felt more of a sense of wonder in the differences between them as opposed to her previous gut-wrenching fear. She would wonder later if that was a good thing.

  Margaret’s palm was soft and warm, her touch stimulating by its very hesitancy. As she moved her hand slowly down his arm, Hunter dropped his head, closing his eyes as he rested his cheek next to hers. “Your touch is good,” he breathed.

  Margaret tore her hand away as if she had been scalded, rolling onto her back before dropping her arm across her waist. “I’d like to sleep now, Hunter,” she said firmly as she closed her eyes and turned her head away, drowning in confusion as her conscious mind shrieked against her softer unconscious longings.

  Hunter raised his head and smiled as she turned away from him. He was not displeased. One brief touch could lead to many others. His fondest hope was that he could lead her out of her fears one step at a time until her curiosity, if nothing else, urged her on to greater intimacies.

  He supposed it was just as well, although disappointing, that Margaret had withdrawn when she had for it did not take much for him to become aroused by her. A mere look at her could cause a reaction in him; a simple touch from her was far more stimulating. He dropped a light kiss on her temple, murmured a softly spoken, “good night, little one,” and then lay back, silently laughing at himself. He had set himself a huge task, it would seem; clearly he would be hard-pressed to continue with his ‘step-by-step’ plan. If she only knew how many times he had been forced to turn away from her so as not to frighten her with the tight fit of his britches, Margaret would run screaming back to Treemont.

  Smiling into the darkness that surrounded them, Hunter placed his hand over the much smaller one that rested on the bed near her hip.

  CHAPTER 18

  Margaret awoke the following morning to find the other half of the bed empty, with only a rumpled pillow as evidence that there had been another occupant during the night. Somehow not seeing him beside her when she awoke was disappointing.

  She quickly turned her mind from that thought, however, noting that the sun was high and she had much to do in addition to becoming acquainted with her new home. She washed quickly and dressed in a plain high-necked white cotton blouse and dark blue skirt. Braiding her hair into a single thick plait as she went, Margaret hurried down the steps and into the kitchen, following the enticing aromas and the sound of someone humming off key. Pushing open the swinging door, she entered the sunshine-brightened room

  “Good Morning!” Marie-Louise called brightly, greeting her with a warm smile. She had suspended a board on the backs of two straight-backed chairs and was ironing snowy white sheets.

  “Good Morning,” Margaret replied as she stepped further into the room. “Thank you for your beautiful gift and the wonderful supper you let for us last night. That was very kind.”

  If Marie-Louise took notice of how stiff and formal Margaret appeared to be, she ignored the fact. “Ah, it was nothing,” she replied. “I just wanted to welcome you, and I’d made another pie for Jason and Jeffrey and me.” She twisted behind her toward the stove and exchanged the cooling flatiron for a hot one. “There’s coffee here, and I kept a plate for you in the warming oven. Cups in the cupboard,” as added as she pointed to the first door in the bank of cupboards on her left.

  “You’ve eaten?” Maggie asked, collecting a cup and looking about for utensils.

  “On the table,” Marie-Louise advised with insight. “We ate ages ago. We always get an early start around here.”

  “I’m not usually so slow starting the day myself,” Margaret said without thinking.

  The other woman hooted with laughter. “They’ll whack you out every time,” she crowed. “Leave it to a new bridegroom.”

  Margaret blushed at the suggestion even though she knew what Marie-Louise was thinking had never happened. She wondered how the young woman could speak so bluntly about the very things that caused her so much discomfort. Ducking behind Marie-Louise, Margaret removed the earthen-ware plate from the warming oven with the aid of a folded towel.

  “Jeffrey and I have been married for nearly seven months now, and most mornings I wish I could be slower in starting the day. Not that I’m complaining,” she added with a wink of her eye.

  Shocked, Margaret almost dropped her plate. She quickly sank into a chair at the table with a stunned expression on her face, aghast to think that this behavior on the part of men could continue with any frequency over such a long period of time.

  Marie-Louise mistook Margaret’s shock and said, “Well, if we
can’t tease each other about things like that…I mean, sometimes women need to confide in other women, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know…I…”

  “I can talk to Jeffrey about anything,” she went on with hardly a breath. “But it’s not the same as talking to another woman. You’d better eat those eggs before they get cold.” So saying, Marie-Louise set the newly heated flatiron down on the next sheet. “And as soon as you’ve got your strength up,” she teased, “we’ll go upstairs and unpack your things.”

  Blushing yet again, Margaret bowed her head and devoted her attention to her breakfast.

  *

  It took the two women a couple of hours to organize Margaret’s belonging and tidy up the master bedroom. During that time Margaret thought she would die if Marie-Louise dared to say one teasing word about the rumpled bed. There was none of that, however, as the other girl sensed Margaret’s shyness about her new circumstances, and they got on famously.

  Margaret then found herself caught up in a whirlwind created by Marie-Louise as she prepared lunch for three hardworking men. “The men like lots of cold lemonade and some sandwiches when it’s hot outside, but I’ve got some soup here that I made yesterday, and that will disappear, too,” she said as Margaret buttered slice after slice of bread to be crowned with layers of cheese and lettuce picked fresh from the kitchen garden.

  The soup was just steaming warm when the thunder of booted feet announced the arrival of the three men on the porch outside the kitchen door. Marie-Louise immediately began to fill three large bowls with rich broth, beef and vegetables. “Would you take them those towels?” she asked, nodding to three folded flannels near the door. “They bring their own water up for washing.”

  Margaret was a bit dumbfounded by all the bustle, but she took the towels and moved to the door, where she hesitated, realizing she would have to face Hunter for the first time that day. Taking a deep breath, she found her courage, meager as it was, and stepped out onto the porch.

  The men were all shirtless, a daunting sight for a straitlaced young woman, and were bent over three identical enameled basins of water that had been lined up on a low bench against the outer wall of the house.

  Marie-Louise walked to the screen door and looked out as Margaret stood hesitantly away from the men, waiting shyly. It was true, Margaret had seen many a naked chest around Treemont, but she had always kept her distance. And it was not the sight of all that flesh truly concerned her. It was her husband’s reaction to her, in view of last night. She had wondered all morning if he would be angry because she had turned him away. She had lain awake for hours during the night, sorting through her thoughts and resolving little. She had, however, managed to acknowledge that she had liked the feel of his hands.

  Hunter was the first to finish washing, water dripping from his face and neck, running in rivulets down the wide expanse of his chest. He turned and saw her look of apprehension and smiled as he reached out to take the towel she offered.

  “Good morning, slugabed,” he teased and took a couple of steps around Jeffrey, startling her by dropping a chaste kiss on her cheek.

  “Dinner is ready,” she mumbled inadequately.

  Hunter laughed as she blushed over a simple kiss in front of others.

  Jason and Jeffrey caught her attention then, greeting her for the first time that day and thanking her for the towels.

  The meal was a noisy, hasty affair with the men catching Hunter up on the events that had taken place during his absence. The state was still recovering from the ravages of a war that had taken place less than twenty years pervious, but slowly, with patience and sacrifice, they were gaining ground. And this farm and these people seemed to be faring well, Margaret decided.

  “Feddler fell off his roof and broke a lot bones,” Jeffrey was saying, taking time to smile up at his wife as Marie-Louise offered a second bowl of soup. “Jason and me have been going over there and helping out in the afternoons. His wife’s about due, too, and he’s hollering from his bed in fits of temper most of the time. Marie-Louise goes over with us and gets the supper to give poor Janie a minute off her feet.”

  Hunter nodded, taking a bite of his sandwich. “We’ll all go over for a bit today, then. The more hands, the more we get done.”

  Margaret wasn’t certain she was ready to be thrust into local society, but she could hardly beg off when a family was in need.

  “Janie has a toddler and one on the way any day,” Marie-Louise explained as she returned to her chair. “And her husband is an old boss.”

  Jeffrey’s spoon clattered against his bowl and he turned his head sharply in her direction, “Marie,” he snapped.

  “Well, he is,” she insisted. “He works her to death.”

  Jason chuckled at their bickering, and Hunter said quietly, “We’ll help her all we can.”

  “You could shoot the old bugger,” Marie-Louise returned with force.

  Jeffrey dropped his spoon. “Woman,” he bellowed.

  Hunter raised both hands. “Peace, you two,” he commanded, and they both looked his way. “We can’t change Janie’s circumstances, Marie-Louise,” he said quietly but firmly. “We can only lend a hand. Janie knows who her friends are if she finds herself in dire need of help. But we have to leave that decision to her.”

  “You can’t change what she doesn’t want changed,” Jeffrey added firmly while Marie-Louise glared at him.

  Margaret had remained silent through all of this, astonished by the heated argument between the newly-weds. Hunter took note of her frown and briefly squeezed her hand. “They go on a bit, these two,” he said lightly. “I think it must be good for them.” Amidst grumbles from Marie-Louise and laughter from the others, everyone returned their attention to their meal.

  *

  The Feddler place was not nearly so grand a farm as Hunter’s. The three-room hut suffered for lack of repairs, and the barn had great gaping holes where wallboards had sprung away, never to be replaced.

  Margaret rode to the small farm on the sprung buckboard seat, sandwiched between Hunter and Jason. Jeffrey and Marie-Louise sat or occasionally rolled about in the wagon-bed due to the rough road. Margaret realized rather quickly that the rolling around was mainly by design.

  Hunter pulled the team and wagon up before the dilapidated house and handed the reins to Jason. “I’ll take the women in and pay my respects to Feddler,” he said. “I’ll join you in the barn shortly.”

  Not a question or comment stayed him as he jumped to the ground and turned to hold up his arms to Margaret. “Come,” he said simply, and she leaned forward, placing her hands on his shoulders as he took her weight easily, his hands at her waist, and lowered her to the ground.

  He released her, walked to the back of the wagon, and reached for Marie-Louise. But after he had set her on the ground, he teased, “You’re not getting a bit heavier, are you, girl?”

  “Jeffrey and I will tell you when,” she returned primly and winked at her husband before she turned toward the house.

  Hunter took Margaret’s hand and followed in the younger woman’s wake as Jason drove the team off toward the outbuildings where they would feed the stock, clean stalls and milk the cow.

  “Feddler outlived his first wife,” Hunter explained as he tucked Margaret’s hand securely into the crook of his arm, “and they were childless all the years of their marriage. Her death left him bitter and disgruntled, but don’t be afraid of him. Janie is much younger than he…younger even than you,” he added, “but I don’t believe Feddler abuses her. If I thought that, I would take steps to protect her. He’s simply a gruff old man, and his young wife tries very hard to please him. Don’t let him upset you, little one. He may howl like a wolf, but his bite is less than that of a mosquito.”

  Margaret was grateful for the warning, and her eyes told him so when she smiled up at him as he held the front door open for her to enter.

  “I won’t be far away,” he added in an under-tone as he followed h
er into a room that was overstuffed with furniture from years gone by and a clutter of knickknacks on every surface. “His first wife was a collector of sorts,” Hunter whispered lightly very close to her ear, and Margaret coughed delicately to cover a telltale giggle.

  A very pregnant young woman turned away from Marie-Louise and came toward them then. She was dressed in a loose, flowing brown dress that boasted little shape except her burgeoning one. But her smile of greeting was sincere.

  “Janie,” Hunter said, taking the young woman’s proffered hand. “You’re well?”

  The girl, who appeared to be no more than sixteen years, nodded happily. “Fine,” she said simply and turned toward the woman standing at Hunter’s side. “Your wife?” she asked and Margaret began to suspect that Janie was a woman of few words.

  “This is Maggie,” Hunter said in such a way that made his new wife’s head snap around in his direction; he had actually sounded proud. “I’ll say hello to Feddler,” Hunter announced after he had completed the introduction, “and leave you women to it,” he added, squeezing Margaret’s hand before he left her side.

  Margaret turned her head slightly and spied a tiny, perfect blond creature riding the arm of a smiling Marie-Louise.

  “Isn’t she the sweetest little thing?” Marie-Louise asked as she stepped closer to the two women. “This is Sarah,” she announced before looking expectantly at Margaret.

  The toddler was not yet two years old, Margaret guessed but her alert blue eyes and smiling face would have captured the heart of anyone who came within sight of her. Sarah was a generous, loving little girl who played no favorites and sought the attention of any who would give it.

  When her small arms reached out toward her, Margaret could not resist, taking the child into her arms. She sat down on the nearest chair and balanced Sarah on her forearm while her other hand steadied the child’s back. Margaret was unfamiliar with very small children, but she took instantly to this one, keeping her occupied while Marie-Louise and Janie chatted and worked around the kitchen.