Keeping Victoria's Secret

by Melinda Peters

  “How are you feeling this morning?” he asked.

  “I’m just super.” She mopped futilely at the coffee as it welled up at the edge of the counter and a steady stream descended to the floor near her foot.

  “I can see that.” Jack suppressed a grin as he gathered handfuls of paper towels and wiped up the mess.

  “Nobody asked you.” Ignoring him, she poured another cup and stirred in cream. Why is he staring at me? “I know I look terrible. Just go away.” Sipping slowly, she closed her eyes, wishing him gone.

  “I knew that apple brandy was a bad idea, but you insisted,” he said shaking his head.

  “What brandy?” She gave him a suspicious look. “I didn’t have any brandy.”

  “Uncle Charlie’s Apple Jack, remember? You were really knocking it back.”

  “Apple Jack? What’s that?” His smile could really be so irritating.

  Ignoring her question he said, “Never mind, nothing a little coffee and aspirin won’t fix. The weather is beautiful. Want to sit out front?”

  One glance at the brightly glaring sunshine made up her mind for her. “No.” She reached in the cabinet for another mug and poured him a cup. “Already had the aspirin.” Thrusting the mug at him, she said, “Please take your coffee and go away. Come back later.”

  Chuckling, Jack followed her into the living room, where she collapsed onto the sofa, pulling a quilt over her lap. Settling into a large armchair opposite her, Jack grinned and eased back.

  “Do you have to?” She gave him a pained look.

  “What?” he said innocently.

  “Do you have to come over here looking all fresh and handsome, while I look horrible? Go away!”

  “I can’t leave now, just when things are getting interesting. So I’m handsome?” Jack looked pleased with himself.

  She finished her coffee and pulled the quilt over her head. “Leave me alone. Please,” she moaned, her words muffled by the quilt.

  After a minute of silence, Jack wondered aloud, “Did I put her to sleep with my charming personality?”

  “Jack?” she called through the fabric, hesitating before continuing, “Thank you.”

  “That’s the last thing you said to me before you fell asleep last night. Thanks for what?”

  “Thanks for being there. You were so nice.”

  “No problem.”

  Lowering the quilt she asked, “Did you carry me upstairs?”

  He opened his mouth to answer her, but she cut him off.

  “Don’t tell me I went up by myself. Never mind, just get me some more coffee and maybe my mind will be a little less foggy.”

  Jack went in the kitchen and filled both their mugs, stirring cream into hers. He called out, “Let’s go sit on the porch. It’s nice and cool out there. Trust me, you’ll love it.”

  “I like it here,” she moaned pulling the cover back over her head.

  “Come on. Don’t be difficult.” He took her hand in his and led her onto the porch. They both settled into wicker chairs watching the sunlight play on the apple trees and listening to the birds.

  Worried, she turned to him. “Did I say anything stupid last night, Jack?”

  He gave her a devilish leer, wiggling his eyebrows at her suggestively.

  “Oh, my god.” Her eyes went wide, her coffee half way to her lips. “What did I say?”

  Jack grinned, looking as though he were enjoying her discomfort, and continued innocently, “You shared your birthday cake with me. I didn’t know you were only twenty-six.”

  “How old do I look?” she scowled.

  “This morning?” he said chuckling.

  “Jack! Stop it. What else did I say?”

  “You did mention being very, very good at sex.” There went his eyebrows again.

  Appalled, she froze and slowly pleaded, “I didn’t tell you that! Tell me I didn’t really say that.”

  Jack laughed. “You said that you had a very good imagination, whatever that means. Other than that, we talked about your cake and the apple wine.”

  “And that’s all?” she asked pointedly.

  “Isn’t it enough?” he asked feigning shock.

  Giving him a frigid glare she said, “You are such a bastard.”

  “Victoria, I only wish you’d stayed awake longer, and we could have….”

  “We could have what?” she asked.

  “Huh? What?” Jack stuttered. “We could have…spent more time together. I enjoy being with you. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you were really beautiful last night.” He grinned as she threw him a dirty look. “Not that you aren’t exceptionally pretty this morning.”

  “Okay Jack, you’re a man.”

  “Last time I looked.”

  “Come on! Why is it that men aren’t attracted to me? Tell me that.”

  He shrugged. “Where do you generally meet guys?”

  She turned quickly, opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it. After a minute, she said softly, “I guess I just don’t meet many guys.”

  “There you go. You need to get out more.” He grinned at her and changed the subject. “Victoria, see that building down there, by the road?” He pointed to an old wooden farm stand that looked as though it had seen several years of disuse.

  “Isn’t that a farm stand? Do you sell produce there?”

  “We did, years back, but Uncle Charley got tired of running it. So we just stopped, maybe five or six years ago. I’ve always felt it was a mistake, so I’d like to start selling to the locals again. We can open it up, sweep the dust out, give it a coat of paint and by July and August, sell corn and squash, later apples, cider, and pumpkins. It would mean a steady supply of cash if we hire someone to run it when I’m busy. What do you think?”

  She was pleased and flattered that he would ask her opinion. “I know the farming decisions are all yours, but I think it’s a great idea. I love shopping at farm stands and buying fresh vegetables. The produce always seems nicer than in a grocery store.”

  “I’ll probably hire a high school or college kid. Early morning, late afternoon, and weekends just when there’s traffic going by. If we can press our own cider in the fall we’ll have enough income to make it worthwhile.”

  “Not from Van Winkle’s cider mill.” she said firmly.

  Jack shook his head vigorously. “No way! I know plenty of other places we can get our apples pressed into good cider. I also have sources for apple butter, preserves, and a few gift items made by local craftsmen. It adds interest when people stop by,” he said, spreading his hands expansively.

  A thought occurred to her. “I’ve been looking at those old pictures from Elvira. Some show Nanna’s flowerbeds blooming and beautiful. The beds are just a tangle of weeds now. Do you think we could clean them out and try to recreate them with the same kinds of flowers?”

  He didn’t hesitate for a second. “Why not? Great idea. Those beds won’t take but a few minutes to clean out and till. I don’t have a clue what kind of flowers she grew, but Elvira might know something, and we can find out the rest if we just take the photos down to Vandersmoot’s. I’m sure they can fix us up with what we need.”

  She sipped at her coffee and smiled. Jack had just said; fix us up with what we need. She watched him relax with his legs outstretched and ankles crossed, gazing out over the orchards. What does he mean by us? His dark features, which she knew could look menacing, were now serene. There was a tough no-nonsense exterior to Jack that, she suspected, concealed something softer. She remembered finding his volume of Yeats. Is it possible he enjoys reading poetry?

  “I should be getting back to work. I’m going down to Vandersmoot’s and pick up my order. As long as you’re okay with the stand on the road idea, I’m going to plant more squash, gourds, and a few other things that sell well. Get everything in the ground over the next couple of days and it’ll be all ready late July or August and we’ll open for business. Later today, I’ll get those flowerbeds tilled up. Flowers should make
the place more inviting to customers too. Sound like a plan?”

  “Thanks, Jack. I really appreciate your help.”

  “You don’t need to thank me all the time, but you’re welcome. It’ll be good to get the place fixed up and looking a little better.”

  “One other thing, would you mind doing me a favor? I’ve found a few boxes and a trunk in the attic. There may be some of my grandmother’s things in them. The trunk is too heavy for me to manage. Would you please help me get it down? I’d go through everything up there, but now that the weather is getting warmer, it gets pretty hot up there in the afternoon.”

  “Sure. Would tomorrow morning be okay? I’m curious myself to know what’s up in the attic. I can’t remember when I was up there last. After we get the stuff down from upstairs, if you want to, we’ll take those pictures to Vandersmoot’s and see about buying flowers. Sound good? I do have to get to work if we’re going to have anything to sell in August.”

  “Thank you so much Jack. I appreciate all this.”

  He grinned back at her and stood. “I told you that you’ve got to stop thanking me all the time. You're the boss after all. It’s your farm now.”

  “Jack I’m sorry about that. I really am. It wasn’t your fault or mine, or anyone’s except your uncle. I do feel bad; believe me.”

  He shrugged and said quietly, “Victoria, what’s done is done. Easy come, easy go. I don’t hold anything against you.” Jack left, walking through the house and out the back door, depositing his empty cup in the sink on his way.

  * * *

  Jack was frustrated. Watching Victoria undress in her bedroom every night and slip into a sexy nightie before climbing in bed was driving him crazy. Now it was all he could think about. He’d fantasized about making love to her before, but now, just the thought of teaching her how to make love.... His mind explored the possibilities, delicious and intoxicating. If only she knew what he was thinking. She'd better not find out that I've been spying on her through that bedroom window. What would it be like, joining her in that big sleigh bed, kissing that lovely skin everywhere as he undressed her and…?

  Directing the tractor up and down the field, leaving neat furrows behind him, Jack had plenty of time to imagine making love to Victoria. “I’ve got to stop thinking of her and start planning all the crops I should put in. What will produce well and sell quickly at our roadside stand?” The droning rumble of the engine was hypnotic. At the end of the field of turned earth, he reversed course and continued back along the last row. His mind drifted back to Victoria and kept returning, like a rudderless boat, to the shore it left that morning. He pictured Victoria sitting on the porch watching him. It was increasingly hard to keep her out of his thoughts.

  When he’d finished planting, he returned the tractor and his equipment to the barn, and noticed Victoria was leaving. Her car was turning onto the road, heading towards town.

  I’ll take care of those beds while she’s gone. Finding the garden tiller in the barn, he topped off the gas tank. It took a little tinkering, but the motor finally roared to life. Behind the house, the ancient flowerbeds were a riot of overgrown weeds. He stood appraising the situation for a long moment, then went back to the barn. This time he came back with a weed eater and attacked the jungle of undergrowth behind the house and along the drive. When he was finished, he raked the waste into a pile, got a wheelbarrow from the barn, and made several trips to an area where he dumped compostable refuse.

  This is taking a little longer than I thought. Maybe I’ll put off going to town until tomorrow. Returning to the beds, he looked over his handiwork. Starting the tiller, he maneuvered it back and forth until he had the earth turned and softened to his satisfaction. Finally, he removed the last of the root clumps and bits of weed until he had the beds ready for planting. Satisfied with his work, he returned all the tools and machinery to the barn, taking care to clean everything before putting things in their proper place.

  Climbing the stairs to his apartment, he stripped off his dirty clothes and took a long hot shower. Well satisfied with his days work, he made himself a sandwich and opened a beer. A quick look out the window told him that Victoria hadn’t yet returned. I hope she’ll be pleased to have the beds all ready for planting.

  Time for a break. Selecting The Complete Works of Robert Frost from a shelf, he leaned back in his recliner to read. The windows were open and the evening breeze carried in the scent of newly turned earth. Something indefinable in the springtime air made a person mindful of fertility and mortality. “Thoughts too lofty for a humble tiller of the soil.” What would Vince or John think if they knew I read poetry in my spare time?” He opened the book to a springtime favorite.

  Putting in the Seed

  You come to fetch me from my work to-night

  When supper's on the table, and we'll see

  If I can leave off burying the white

  Soft petals fallen from the apple tree

  (Soft petals, yes, but not so barren quite,

  Mingled with these, smooth bean and wrinkled pea);

  And go along with you ere you lose sight

  Of what you came for and become like me,

  Slave to a Springtime passion for the earth.

  How Love burns through the Putting in the Seed

  On through the watching for that early birth

  When, just as the soil tarnishes with weed,

  The sturdy seedling with arched body comes

  Shouldering its way and shedding the earth crumbs.

  by Robert Frost

  He spread his arms, stretching tired muscles. He inhaled the sweet fresh spring air wafting in through the open windows. Outside an engine climbed the drive and stopped. A moment later, came the sound of a car door slamming. Craning his neck around to see through the window, he saw Victoria pause, a brown paper grocery sack under each arm, on the top step before slowly entering the porch. She returned walking hesitantly down the steps and into the yard, as though she were trying to remember something. Then, as he watched, it struck her. The difference was the tilled flowerbeds devoid of weeds and waiting for plants and seeds.

  He was rewarded with a beaming smile aimed at his apartment.

  * * *

  The old-fashioned steamer trunk was heavy and unwieldy. Jack supported its weight from below while Vicky kept it straight, guiding it from above. Together they lowered it, step- by-step, from the attic. On the second floor landing, he pushed, pulled, and nudged it into one of the spare bedrooms.

  They’re all spare rooms now, except for that one in the back where I can’t resist watching Victoria as she pulls on her panties and…. I’m so bad. If she found out, she’d kill me. I’ve got to make sure she doesn’t.

  “I hope this thing isn’t locked,” he said, kneeling before the trunk.

  Victoria went to her knees beside him, and they both studied the brass catch. Jack fiddled with it, and the hasp lifted with a faint metallic squeak. He carefully lifted the lid and they both leaned in to peer inside.

  “Oh Jack, look at this.” Vicky removed a framed photograph laid on top of the rest of the trunks contents. It was a picture of a bride and groom.

  “It’s my grandmother; it’s Nanna!”

  “Yeah, and that’s Uncle Charley. Not a bad looking dude back then. When did Fred say they were married, 1946 or 47?”

  “Yes, I think so,” Victoria said softly, laying the picture aside reverently.

  They both reached into the trunk and his rough work callused hand brushed slowly along her arm. Suddenly aware of the current of electricity running from one to the other, neither moved for a long quiet moment.

  Slowly he ran his hand up her arm, gently caressing as he went. Victoria didn’t move. He looked at her, willing her to meet his eyes. Answering his silent plea, she turned and they held one another’s gaze.

  “Jack?” came the timid question.

  “Yes, Victoria,” he replied firmly.

  He rose, pulling her after him. They st
ood face to face for an instant before his lips touched hers. Gentle at first, he gradually became more persistent parting her lips with his. He probed with his tongue and heard the sharp intake of her breath. Victoria’s arms were around him, hands clasped at the small of his back, her breasts crushed against his muscled chest. He held the back of her head in both his hands, stroking her hair.

  “Jack?” Came her question again.

  This time for an answer, he guided her back, and lifted her onto the bed where she’d lain that first day. Her head on the pillow, she stared wide eyed at him. “Jack, I don’t know… I mean, I’ve never….”

  “It’s all right Victoria. Do you want me as much as I want you?”

  She nodded, “Yes, I think I do.”

  This morning she wore a man’s blue work shirt and jeans. As she watched, he worked the buttons, his hand moving lower with each one, revealing her smooth skin. When he freed her of the shirt, he saw the little peach colored push up bra, the rounds of her full breasts spilling out. Will the panties be a match? They were.

  He’d told himself for days that making love to Victoria wouldn’t be a good idea, but now that she was trembling with desire in his arms, there was no turning back. He couldn’t recall ever wanting a woman as much as he did now. He kissed her deeply again, then his lips moved to the flesh he’d exposed. Like a man possessed, his kisses returned to her lips, then moved over her throat, to the tops of her breasts and lower.

  Everything seemed to be moving so fast, while their individual actions, the soft caresses, felt as though they were happening in slow motion.

  He stripped her jeans down her legs and returned to her thighs kissing and caressing. She lay there wearing only bra and panties, arms folded protectively under her breasts. She was visibly trembling.

  “It’s all right Victoria,” he said. He moved up to kiss those full lips again and his arms slipped around her, unhooking her bra. “You are so beautiful.”

  Arms still folded across her torso, she stared at him, and her pouting lips parted slightly, asking to be kissed again.