Spring Blossom

by Jill Metcalf

  “Oh, my God,” Marie-Louise breathed. “I don’t believe it. You’re cheating yourself, Maggie. And him. All this because you resent him?” she asked. If seemed impossible to her that two people could live together and sleep together and care for each other and not make love.

  “It’s a little more involved than that,” Margaret told her. “But now I want…I mean…I don’t know what I want. I’m so confused, all the time.”

  “You know what I think, Maggie?” Marie-Louise asked, gently squeezing her friend’s hand. “I think you just sort of slipped into loving him, and that’s got you scared to death.” She smiled patiently when Margaret looked up, wide-eyed. “Don’t you see? You didn’t go off you food and get knots in your stomach and have your heart thumpin’, because you didn’t fall in love head first all of a sudden, like I did. But I think you love him, and you won’t let yourself admit it because you’re afraid he won’t love you back. But that’s bunk. Everyone around here can see he loves you, except you And I also think, whether you understand it or not, you’re as frustrated as hell. You think about those questions I asked you,” she pleaded, “because if you keep on this way, Maggie, you’re going to lose him.”

  A heavy silence fell between them as they stared at each other until Margaret became uncomfortable. She straightened in her chair and eased her hand free. “I’ll finish the washing,” she said quietly.

  Marie-Louise scowled. “You take yourself out for a walk and do some thinking, my friend,” she said, pushing Margaret toward the door. “And don’t you come back here until you’ve resolved this one way or another ‘cause I’m sick of your moping around.”

  Margaret smiled at the chiding that should have sounded firm but didn’t make it. “Thank you,” she said and darted out the door.

  *

  She strolled past the kitchen garden toward a lane that led to the planted fields beyond the barn. The day was sultry; it hadn’t rained for weeks. The dirt track had dried to dust, and she studied the small puffs that exploded around her sturdy black shoes as she took each step. It seemed to her that she was a lot like those puffs of dust much of the time, exploding and then settling, only to explode again. And Marie-Louise had been right; anger had resided with her for so long that she seldom had a thought that was not colored by it. Anger had channeled her thoughts into a narrow pattern, but she could see the wisdom of her friend’s words. If she didn’t change her ways she could lose Hunter. It was time to make up her mind and change her ways.

  The lane wandered to the left once she passed the barn, but Margaret could see all three men gathered at the fence of the large paddock off to her right. Pride was running free, striding in high form about the enclosure as the men watched. Jeffrey disappeared into the barn just as Hunter turned and saw her. He waved a greeting as he pushed off from the fence and walked her way.

  Margaret clasped her hands behind her back and waited.

  “Were you looking for me?” he asked as he wiped perspiration from his brow.

  She managed a smile and shook her head. “I was just walking.”

  Hunter looked disappointed. His eyes darted toward the paddock and then returned to her. He was frowning slightly. “I should warn you, Maggie. We’ve got a mare in heat, and I want to put her in the paddock with Pride.”

  Her eyes darted to where Jason stood at the fence then rose to Hunter’s again.

  “I thought with the other men around…”

  “Yes,” she blurted. “I’ll walk farther on.” She turned quickly, hearing the mare trumpeting as she was being led from the barn.

  Hunter’s hand latched onto her arm, however, and he grinned when she looked over her shoulder at him. “You could watch from the loft,” he teased.

  Her brief frown of concentration disappeared. “You remember that?”

  He nodded. “I remember everything about you,” he said softly, the intensity of his gaze made her decidedly uncomfortable. He watched her eyes dart away then, knowing he had frightened her. “You’d best go along, love,” he added softly.

  Margaret nodded her head, turning her attention to the winding lane. She’d best get along, she thought.

  Love?

  CHAPTER 20

  Two hours later Margaret stormed into the kitchen and ran to the stove, halting at Marie-Louise’s side. Her entrance was so thunderous that the other woman turned in alarm, holding a spoon like a weapon, dripping gravy on the floor.

  Staring at Margaret’s red face, Marie-Louise looked quickly toward the door, saw nothing, and looked back at her friend. “Is something chasing you?”

  Margaret shook her head vigorously. “I need your help,” she gulped, having left most of her breath out in the distant cornfield.

  “Of course,” Marie-Louis cried, growing alarmed. “What on earth is wrong?”

  “You have to teach me to cook before suppertime.”

  “What?”

  “I need to make a special supper.” Margaret took a deep cleansing breath and added, “For Hunter and me.”

  Marie-Louise narrowed her eyes, waving the spoon in agitation. “You mean you came charging in here like that because you want to cook supper?”

  Margaret could see her friend was annoyed. “You don’t understand.”

  “No, I don’t. I thought someone must be hurt.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  A slow knowing grin began to spread across Marie-Louise’s face. “Well, Lord love a duck,” she crowed. “We’d best get a move on.”

  Maggie snatched up a cloth and began to wipe up the gravy from the floor while Marie-Louise planned coming events. “We’ll start cooking supper, and then you’ll need a bath. You’re dripping wet from all that running.” She clamped a lid on the iron pot on the stove. “This stew will do for Jeffrey and Jason and me.” She giggled then. “Jason will hate sleeping in the barn another night.”

  Margaret stood up, frowning. “Oh, no, he doesn’t have to.”

  “Yes, he does, my friend. He prefers the barn to sharing the cottage with Jeff and me and you need this whole evening with your husband…alone.” She stopped picking potatoes out of a wooden bin and turned with a small frown. “You do want him, don’t you, Maggie? I mean…that’s what this is all about?”

  “I do want him. I just don’t know how to get him.”

  “Maggie,” her friend drawled, “All you have to do is tell him.” And then she threw back her head and laughed. “I love this,” she crowed again. “Let’s get started.”

  *

  There was a bit of confusion when the men came up to supper that evening. Hunter had already bent over his basin of water and was washing vigorously, but Jason and Jeffrey were interrupted in the act of stripping off their shirts.

  “Never mind that,” Marie-Louise said to Jeffrey as she plopped a pie into Jason’s hand. “You’ll take this to the cottage for me, won’t you, Jason?” she asked before ducking back into the kitchen.

  Hunter straightened, dripping water down his chest and frowned at the other men. “What’s going on?”

  Jeffrey shrugged, staring curiously at the kitchen door. “Appears she’s got a bee…” He stopped talking as Marie-Louise came toward him with a large iron pot still steaming from the stove. “Watch your fingers, Jeffrey,” she ordered as she held the stew out to him. “Grab onto the cloths.”

  “Marie-Louise, what the devil…?”

  “I just want you to carry this to the cottage,” she said sweetly, smiling over her shoulder at Margaret, who had come to stand in the open doorway.

  Jason’s mind took hold of the situation as he was being ushered down the porch steps. “Guess it’s the barn for me again,” he grumbled.

  Hunter frowned at his three friends' backs for a moment before turning to his wife. “What’s going on?” he asked again.

  Margaret, suddenly questioning her intent, lowered her eyes. “They’re going to eat at the cottage tonight,” she said quietly.

  Hunter continued to study her face as he took the
towel she offered. “Now, why would they be eating down at the cottage and not here with us?” He was cautiously trying to keep his mind blank of all thoughts in case it ran off in the wrong direction. Something was afoot, but it might not be what he was hoping.

  “Don’t you want to finish washing?” she asked.

  “No, I want to know why our friends aren’t eating supper with us tonight.”

  Margaret took a deep breath and dared to look directly into his eyes. “I asked Marie-Louise to arrange for us to be alone.”

  Hunter ran the towel over his face, almost afraid to ask his next question. “Why would you do that, Maggie?”

  Her heart began to race in earnest and, fearing she would lose her courage, Margaret looked away but said quickly, “I want us to have a special supper together. Just the two of us.”

  He could not help it; his mind shifted, the knot of fear left his stomach, and his heart began to pound with hope. He stepped closer to her, placed his forefinger beneath her chin and gently forced her face upward. “Look at me,” he commanded gently.

  “I cooked for you!” she blurted and watched his frown turn to something that was not quite a smile but was infinitely tender.

  “Did you, now?” He looked down at the pale blue dress she was wearing. The collar was high on her slim neck, and the bodice was lacy. The tubular sleeves were made of the same lace, while the satin skirt hugged her slim waist and fell softly to the floor. His eyes roamed upward again; she had freed her hair of the braid and brushed it back softly from her face. His Maggie had taken pains with her appearance it seemed. And she had plotted with Marie-Louise to be alone with her husband. Hunter smiled down at her. “I’ll just finish washing up,” he said simply and turned back toward the bench.

  Margaret’s heart had been thundering in her chest, the sound of it hammering in her ears, all through his long scrutiny of her, and now she didn’t know what to say. As Marie-Louise had said earlier in the afternoon, she was as nervous as a hen around a hatchet.

  And what had her most worried in this instant was the fear that her supper would not be edible. She dashed into the kitchen and peeked under the lids of several steaming pots as Hunter seemed to prolong his washing up.

  He was, in fact, being extremely thorough, his mind running wild while he tried to persuade himself to settle down. He did not want to jump to any wrong conclusions and frighten her. Perhaps she merely wanted to talk alone with him. But she could talk alone with him in the privacy of their bedroom, he reasoned. No, there was more on her mind than just talk. He became, again, a hopeful man.

  As he dried his face, he noticed a clean white shirt hanging on a wall peg to his left. He smiled as he reached for it, knowing Maggie was the one to have left it there. He set the towel aside, pulled the shirt on over his head, and was tucking it into his trousers as he walked into the kitchen to join his wife.

  Maggie was bustling from stove to table and back again but managed a timid smile when she saw him enter. “Supper is ready,” she said, taking the last of the serving dishes to the table. She stood anxiously beside her place, watching as Hunter came to stand beside her. His eyes fell to the table setting, noting the freshly cut flowers in the center. The earthenware pitcher that usually held the utensils had been removed, and knives and forks had been set beside each plate. Next to his place at the table, she had left a tall bottle and crystal wine glasses accompanied their settings. She’d set out enough food for an army, he noticed, as he inspected a steaming platter of steak accompanied by rich gravy, buttered carrots, and tiny onions in white sauce.

  He turned his head then and looked at her.

  “The popovers almost burned,” she said lamely.

  “It looks wonderful, Maggie,” he returned. “You did all this?”

  “Well, Marie-Louise helped a lot.”

  “There’s only one thing missing,” he said, and her eyes darted around the table in alarm. “No, Love,” he said, reaching for her. “Everything is perfect.” He took a small step closer, his hand going to her shoulders. “The one thing that is missing is my thanks,” he said and pulled her into his arms, just to hold her for a moment.

  “You’d best not thank me yet,” she said anxiously.

  But Hunter was not thinking of the meal she had prepared.

  And neither was Margaret.

  After a time he kissed her lightly on the cheek, pulled away from her, and held back her chair while she sat down.

  “We should enjoy this before everything gets cold,” he said and took his own place.

  Margaret placed the platter of steak for him to serve. Beef was a rarity for them, but just the previous day, Feddler had repaid Hunter by slaughtering one of his animals and giving them the choicest cuts.

  Hunter took ample of all she had prepared and poured them each a glass of wine while Margaret spooned some onions onto her own plate. But before she could take a bite, she felt his eyes on her and looked up to see him holding his glass aloft. Silently he toasted her, then raised the glass to his lips and sipped a small amount before setting it down beside his plate.

  He propped his forearms on the table edge, staring down at his place for a heartbeat before he asked quietly, “Will you tell me why you’ve done this, Maggie?”

  The silence grew until he glanced up to see her looking at him with concern and something else he could not identify. “I want to be a real wife to you, Hunter,” she said in a rush, praying once again that she was not too late in reaching out to him. If he no longer wanted her… “I’ve been miserable for weeks and I didn’t understand why. And…I didn’t know how to tell you. So I asked Marie-Louise to help me,” she finished lamely.

  Hunter finally allowed himself to breathe again, raising his shoulders in relief as he reached out and gently squeezed her hand. “You simply had to say the words, little one. I’ve been waiting to hear them.”

  “That’s what Marie-Louise said.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Margaret wanted to snatch them back, but it was too late, of course.

  He laughed at the dismayed expression in her eyes.

  “You two must have had quite a talk today,” he said, as he cut into his steak. His hunger for her was far greater than his hunger for food, but Hunter could see how nervous she was and schooled himself to follow her lead. His Maggie was taking a very big step this day and he was determined not to do anything that would make this more difficult for her.

  “We…chatted,” she admitted as her eyes followed the path of the meat to his mouth. Leaning forward a bit in her chair, she awaited his reaction; and he gave it. The steak was wonderful, and the look he turned upon her told her so. Margaret sagged back in her chair in relief.

  Seeing her shoulders droop, Hunter realized just how important this meal was to her. She was trying her best to make a statement and did not have the words at hand. It was necessary that this evening move along at her pace…a lot must have happened within the space of one afternoon and he could not help but wonder what thoughts she must have agonized over before arriving at this moment. He did not doubt she was continuing to fear what would eventually happen between them and he silently congratulated her for having the courage to face those fears head on.

  And the words he had held protectively within himself would no longer be withheld.

  She was smiling now, relieved that her meal was a success. Even though her wine remained untouched, Hunter passed his glass to her, and she sipped before returning it to his hand.

  “Do you feel better now?” he asked and she nodded her head; she did. “You’ve made me a happy man tonight, Maggie,” he said softly, “and I want you to be happy, too. There are a lot of things left unsaid between us but that will be remedied in time. For now, just know that I do love you and there is no reason for you to be afraid of that.”

  “I’m not,” she returned, although with some hesitancy.

  “And I understand that you can’t say the same to me, at least not yet. I’m sure you’re not totally comfortab
le with your feelings but it’s enough for now that you want to be my wife. I can’t imagine the soul-searching you must have done to come to this point, but I’m very glad that you have. You see, I do care for you and it will never be my intent to cause you harm or hurt.”

  “I do care for you,” was all she could say in reply.

  He smiled, reaching out to squeeze her hand again.

  It was enough for now.

  The entire meal was a tribute to the teaching abilities of Marie-Louise, and while Margaret found she could only poke at her food, Hunter did her efforts justice. They enjoyed some open, frank discussion and moved on to some lighter topics as, late in the evening, they cleared the table and shared the washing up.

  Hunter took a portion of brandy with him as he followed her up the stairs to their room, wondering what she had thought about this aspect of their evening during her busy day.

  He did not have to wait long.

  He entered the large bedroom a few paces behind her and found Margaret turning to watch him nervously again. He assumed that, just as she had needed his approval of her efforts with supper, she would need his approval in this, too. His eyes went instantly to the bed, as she hurried to light the lamp, the bed had been turned down invitingly and the snowy white sheets boasted not one wrinkle. A vase of freshly cut flowers had been placed on the bedside table beside the lamp.

  He turned to her and smiled again as she clasped her hands tightly in front her, worrying a bit at her bottom lip before she said, “I’m not certain I’ll be as good at this as I am at cooking.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “Did you cohort instruct you to say that?” he teased.

  “I mean it, Hunter.”

  He nodded his head, reaching for her hand. “I know you do, little one, and you have nothing to worry about on that score.” He tipped her head back and stared down at her. “You please me, woman,” he breathed. “And you don’t even have to lift a finger to try,” he added before lowering his head and gently slanting his lips across hers.

  Margaret found this kiss intoxicating. They enjoyed the slight taste of wine on each other’s lips, and she found herself growing breathless as the kiss depended. All notion of time disappeared.