“It will work out, Grace. We’ll make our plans and have a lovely wedding, no matter what. Ethel is excited about the reception and her mood will be contagious when she speaks to the ladies at church on Sunday. I’ve seen a wedding here before and those women are real slick when it comes to putting on a meal and feeding the whole town. Which will be the case next week. I guarantee it, sweetheart.”
Chapter Eight
The church was hushed, each pew packed almost to its limit, and the groom waited before the altar, the local lawman beside him. His bishop had come gladly to the village church in Maple Creek, Kansas, presenting a solemn figure as he stood with a slender black volume in his hands watching Grace walk down the aisle. Ethel had preceded her and stood now just to the left of where Simon awaited his bride.
He watched as she neared, this lovely girl who had promised to be his wife. In the front pew on either side of the aisle sat two older couples, his parents on the right, Harold and Ellie Blackwood on the left. Ellie’s arm was healed, her sling left behind, and she was pleased as punch, so she’d said upon arrival at the church. Being invited to the wedding of their young minister obviously pleased her, for Simon had dropped by the farm days ago and brought a handwritten note from Grace, one of several Simon delivered.
What looked like the whole town arrayed in their finest was seated in the remaining spaces. A latecomer to the ceremony, limping a bit, was a buxom blonde lady who was recognized by several men of the congregation as Miss Belle. Being from the saloon, she was looked at askance by several and ignored by many. But it seemed she wanted to be present at the wedding of the man who had been so kind to her during her convalescence, for she’d made it known that his visit to her had encouraged her, no matter that he had entered the saloon to make his call. Though Belle still bore damaged skin from the beating she’d received, a heavy veil over her face concealed much, and her broken arm was in a sling, held close against her chest.
The bride was lovely, her white dress falling from a narrow waist, caught up at the hem with satin roses, made expressly for the occasion by Ethel and sewn in place just hours ago. Grace was a fitting name for this slender, feminine creature who smiled at Simon, as even now the organ played a triumphant hymn. Joy dwelled on her lips, illuminating her face as though a ray of sunshine had come to be captured there in the glowing cheeks. Light shimmered through the dark waves and curls that fell over her shoulders and down her back.
She carried flowers from his garden, a blend of roses and lilies, of greenery and tiny white blossoms. A pink ribbon wove between the stems and was tied into a generous bow, the work of his housekeeper, for Simon had seen her at dawn, picking the blossoms and preparing the bouquet Grace would carry. Now he was pleased that she seemed to have put from her mind the ugly token left on the doorstep only days past.
Grace looked up then, directly into his eyes and her smile, though it trembled on her lips, was a thing of beauty, a precious gift that spoke of her commitment to him, a prequel to the vows they would speak.
And it was the earnest cry of Simon’s heart that he might provide Grace with years of joy, for he felt a great need of her, a heartfelt yearning that he might be the source of her happiness in the years to come.
She was to be his wife. His. And Simon felt his chest expand with pride as she met him before the altar. They had decided that she would walk alone down the aisle, that she would offer herself to him as a woman. For should she have asked him, Harold Blackwood would have gladly given her in marriage; even her uncle would have been pleased to give her away, for he’d said as much to Simon when the preacher had gone to the ranch to issue the invitation to the wedding.
Uncle Joe had finally recognized that his original choice of a husband for Grace was not a viable option, for, to all accounts, Kenny had proved himself to be a ruffian; that fact Joe accepted. Grace was far better off as the wife of a man with prospects, for Simon was indeed a man much admired in the community. And Joe had told him just that, the day he offered to walk Grace down the aisle to meet her groom. It seemed that Joe and his niece were heading for a better relationship.
But Grace was determined on this one small thing. She would give herself to Simon.
That she was doubting her ability to be a minister’s wife, a helpmate to Simon, was uppermost in her mind. But she had come thus far and was more than ready to be just what Simon needed and wanted in a wife. The giving of herself into his keeping was important to her—a vow of her love.
The words they spoke now were ancient, the cadence familiar to those listening, but the vows were fresh and new to Simon. Though he had spoken them before while conducting such a service for others, today they took on new meaning. For today, they were his vows, his promises, and Grace was forever and always to be his wife.
Though the kiss was expected, the congregation sighed as one as Simon’s lips touched hers. As his eyes cut down and met hers, a single word of promise was spoken for only his bride to hear.
“Later.”
And she knew, for her blush told him she understood that vow as well as those preceding it. Later he would make her his own. Later they would lie in the big bed in his room and seek out the mysteries of marriage. And at that thought, Grace trembled.
But for now, Simon turned her to face his congregation and together they walked from the sanctuary, where the silence was finally broken by the whispering of a hundred lips, the shuffling of as many feet and the impatience of children who were anxious for the party to begin.
For their parents had no doubt told them of the feast awaiting them at the parsonage. Of chicken and dumplings, vegetables and roast beef, the bread, baked just that morning in homes all over town, and then the final touch.
The wedding cake was four tiers in all, with pink roses and green leaves arrayed on each layer, the bottom tier resplendent on a large board from the lumberyard. A board Ethel had covered with lace doilies before setting her masterpiece in place.
Simon had caught a glimpse of it just an hour past, as he looked into his dining room at the table awaiting the platters and bowls of food the ladies of the town would furnish for his bridal feast. He felt humbled by their kindness, the generosity of his people, and now, as he walked into the sunshine, he was caught up in the beauty of the girl he had married.
She looked at him and smiled, and he bent to her, his mouth briefly touching hers, not wanting to share his thoughts with any but her for this moment. “Hello, Mrs. Grafton,” he murmured, and then liking the sound of that only too well, he continued. “You’re Grace Grafton. From now on, you’ll bear my name, sweetheart.”
And it was right and proper that she touch his cheek and, in front of all the townspeople who streamed from the double doors of his church, she drew his face down to kiss him, a mere touch of her lips to his, but a promise he cherished with his whole heart.
The reception was noisy, the company of his parents and even Grace’s uncle Joe welcome. Simon’s heart rejoiced when he saw Joe approach Grace, take her hands and bend to touch his lips to her cheek. The words he spoke were soft, but Simon was pleased to see Grace smile and welcome her uncle’s approach. And Joe’s words to her were gracious, an offering of peace that would heal the wounds between them.
“I’m sorry, Grace. I was wrong about you and Kenny. Please forgive me.”
Grace nodded and smiled joyfully as she hugged her uncle, whispering words that made the man nod and then lift his head high, as if he had set aside a great burden. And so he had, Simon thought, feeling at peace.
Simon’s mother, Cora, dried her eyes, looking up at Simon with pride and then speaking to Grace of her gown and bouquet. His father, George, clasped his hand and offered congratulations, whispering in his ear that he’d made his mother happy today, for she could foresee a whole flock of grandchildren in her future.
Simon shared a plate of food with Grace, al though neither of them did credit to the tempting morsels he’d chosen to tempt her palate. They sat on the porch swing, his to
e moving the green, freshly painted vehicle back and forth, receiving the well wishes of their friends.
And all the time, he resisted the urge to check his watch, only twice pulling it from his pocket to note the slow movement of the hands that measured his wedding day. For if ever a man was impatient with the tolling clock in the dining room, if ever a groom was eager for his guests to leave, it was Simon. He minded his manners, obeying Grace’s almost silent warning as she whispered to him.
“You’ll only have one wedding day, Simon. Enjoy it. Look at your mother…how pleased she is. And how proud your father is of you.”
He bent to her again, his lips touching her ear as he whispered back, words he was glad no one else could hear. “All I want to enjoy right now, Grace…is you.”
She blushed furiously at that and he laughed, a soft chuckle that caused her to bow her head lest those who watched them would know of what he spoke. And as Simon looked around, he was aware that the menfolk, at least, knew very well his impatience, and perhaps understood.
And then the time came when the last guest left, his parents returned to the hotel where he’d reserved them a room, the townsfolk to their homes and Harold and Ellie, the last to leave, finally were driven home in their buggy by their hired hand, Scooter, who preened at his important role today.
The house was quiet, Ethel having left after the reception to visit her daughter for a day or so. And in the twilight, Simon led Grace to his bedroom, where clean sheets and crisp new pillowcases awaited her comfort. One of his parishioners had embroidered bright yellow-and-purple pansies on the hems and then starched and ironed them to pristine beauty.
Grace exclaimed over them, her fingers touching the fine stitches, her eyes alight with pleasure at the gift. Simon had another gift for her, one he’d bought at the general store just yesterday, when for a few moments the store was thankfully empty of all customers but himself.
Mr. Crowder had smiled broadly as he showed Simon his assortment of sleepwear for women and approved his minister’s choice when he’d pointed to a muslin specimen, adorned with lace, a gown looking likely to fit his bride-to-be. And now he went to his dresser and opened his drawer, lifting the pale gown in his hands and offering it to Grace.
“Will you wear this for me?” he asked, and watched as she held it up and whispered soft words of thanks. That she held it in the moonlight from the window was pure chance, he decided, for he knew she hadn’t planned it that way, but the knowledge that the sheer fabric would not hide her charms from him was almost more than his masculine needs could withstand.
She took it behind the folding screen in one corner of his room, where his washbasin and pitcher sat, freshly scrubbed and filled with hot water by Ethel before she took her leave. He heard Grace splashing the water into the basin, knew when she used the washcloth provided for her and watched as her dress was tossed over the top of the screen.
As she stepped into his sight after but a few moments, the moonlight outside their bedroom window made Grace appear as a slender wraith before him.
He’d stripped from his shirt and tie, left the jacket of his suit across the clothes tree in the hallway, and now he watched as Grace stood silently waiting. It was almost more than he could bear, the innocent beauty of her, dark hair falling to her waist, her eyes curious, yet wary. For she was truly an innocent.
Though she’d known that she was attractive to him, and to others, in this Grace was facing the unknown. She’d told him of boys and men who had sought her out as a young girl, who’d praised her beauty and perhaps yearned to own it.
She’d felt the cruel hands of a man on her flesh, yet she looked at Simon now with trust, for though she might not understand what was to come, she had faith that Simon would make all things beautiful for her tonight. Yet, a nagging fear crept in, setting loose a trembling she could not control. Simon had promised her many things, his care of her, his patience, his arms to hold and protect her. And Grace was determined to be all that he needed, all that he wanted tonight. She could not fail him in this.
Her face was a pale oval, for the room was unlit but for the rising moon and the few stars that shone in awakening splendor across the darkening sky. And yet there was a faint smile there, a gentle curve of her lips that told him she was his, even though she trembled in his arms. He lifted her against himself, feeling the soft curves of her breasts against his chest, the length of her legs against his, as he picked her up, cradling her in his arms, and turned to the bed.
Gently, he placed her against the pillows, the quilt already tossed to the foot of the bed. She reached for the sheet, but he would not have it and hushed her small sounds of protest as he took it from her and let it fall over the quilt. And then he slid his trousers and drawers down his legs and shed them on the floor. With a whispered word that spoke of her beauty, he lay down beside her, his body touching hers with a familiarity she had never known. And he felt her indrawn breath, her soft murmur of denial as she shrank back from him.
“Grace? Don’t be frightened of me. I won’t hurt you, sweetheart,” he whispered.
But he was without clothing, and the only barrier between the softness of her breasts and hips and his own flaring need was the sheer fabric of a gown that offered little protection to the girl who wore it. He would not frighten her by taking it from her, for this night would be long and he had plans that did not include fear on Grace’s part or any haste on his own. And yet he sensed that she withdrew from him, her body moving so that it no longer touched his.
Simon frowned, aching to reassure her, yet un able to understand her reticence. He lifted himself up over her, bending to look into her eyes, speaking words he’d never before found in his vocabulary, for as a younger man, Simon had sought out women for needs that precluded words such as love. And now that word loomed large in his mind, for he recognized that tonight there was much more than a simple need for fulfillment, more than a yearning for her feminine flesh in this coming together.
He ached to know her as his wife, yet enough caution still abode in his rapidly escaping sensibility to woo her gently. And so his hands were careful, his touch tender as he learned the lines of her body, his fingers slow and careful as he lifted her gown.
“Simon, don’t take my gown from me,” she whispered, her voice almost hoarse in the stillness.
He moved over her, careful not to make her feel helpless beneath him. “I only want to touch you, Grace, to feel your softness. But I’ll leave your gown on if you feel the need.” Her legs were slender and he ran his hand down the length of her calf, grasping her slender foot and looking down at the toes that curled against his palm.
She was trembling in his arms and he would not have it, for he wanted no fear to damage this night for her. And yet there was his need to touch, to see.
Her gown opened easily, the small buttons sliding from their moorings, her bodice spread open, exposing the pale upper slopes of her breasts. He bent then, his mouth touching the skin there, the soft curving beauty of her. She inhaled sharply as his mouth moved a bit, his lips opening over the tender crest that responded to his tongue.
She shivered and gasped. “Simon…no, please. Don’t do that.”
She wasn’t ready for this, he realized, and lifted his head, his hand smoothing the placket of her gown in place. And then, wonder of wonders, he felt her hands lift to touch the back of his head, knew the pressure of slender fingers against his dark hair, ruffling through that hair until she clasped him close to her, bringing his face to hers.
“Simon, I’m sorry. I want to be your wife, but I didn’t expect you to—”
“It’s all right, Grace. I understand. I moved too quickly and didn’t take your modesty into consideration.”
“Forgive me, Simon. I don’t mean to push you away. I just need a few minutes to realize what you expect of me.”
“Only that you allow me the privilege of being your husband, of making you my wife, Grace. I won’t do anything to frighten you if I can help it.”<
br />
Her eyes were wide in the shadows of twilight, her lips trembling, and she spoke his name softly. “Simon.”
It was only the speaking of his name, but the voice was that of his beloved, and he inhaled the scent of her, knew the taste of her and blessed her with the caresses he’d longed to bestow upon her, limited though they were.
That he touched only her face was a disappointment to him, but he swallowed it readily, lest she turn from him. So his kiss was not as ardent as he wished, but rather that of a supplicant, soft and seeking the warmth of her mouth. She turned her face to his, meeting his lips with her own, and her moan of delight was almost silent. But he knew it for what it was, and rejoiced at the pleasure she was not fearful of expressing to him.
“You’re so soft, yet firm, Grace. I’ve wanted so long to touch you here…” His hand enclosed her breast, his palm cupping her through the fabric of her gown. “And here…” His fingers slid to the hem of her gown, lifting it a bit to touch her thigh, his fingers brushing the length of it.
“Don’t be frightened, Grace. I only want to touch you,” he whispered against her throat, and felt the rapid beat of her heart in the soft flesh there. His hand slipped upward, skimming her hip and then lying flat against her stomach. He felt the soft tuft of curls that protected her feminine parts on the edge of his palm and somehow knew that she would not allow him to trespass further.
“Please, Grace.” He waited for her acquiescence, for though he could have parted her legs easily with a movement of his hand, he waited for her to offer herself to him.
But it was not to be, for she whispered her denial aloud. “Simon. I don’t think I can do what you want. Not tonight. I just can’t.”
He felt her trembling, knew she was more than fearful of what he might do, and with a determination he had not known he possessed, he pulled her gown back down over her legs and settled beside her.
“Just let me hold you, Grace. Put your head on my shoulder and lie beside me.”
Saving Grace Page 10