by Vivien Dean
At some point while they were in the office, night had settled. She couldn't remember when, she was too numb, just following where Martin pulled her. It looked as if the moon were following them, playing hide and seek behind the clouds. The crunch of gravel brought her back. She blinked and looked around, unfamiliar with their location, but in awe that he remembered when she forgot.
The church ruins.
It was a skeleton, bleached white in the moonlight. All that remained were the outer walls and the graveyard beyond, but her heart eased even still.
She turned to him and wanted to throw herself into his arms, but instead sat perfectly still.
"Thank you.” He looked blurred for the tears that welled in her eyes. It was too much, that he'd been so taken advantage of, yet thought of her.
"It's a pleasure.” He kept his hands on the steering wheel. “Would you like to get out?"
"If you don't mind."
"Would you like me to come with you?"
She studied him for a minute, wondering if she wanted him there, then deciding that yes, she did. Not for protection, but she'd married the man. And no matter the reason, she wanted a blessing on it. Even if she didn't quite believe in the God who was once worshiped there. She wanted to believe, though.
She stepped out of the car and held out her hand to him. It felt good when he took it. She'd gained a fellow soldier in their strange uniting and it was nice not to have to fight alone. There were no regrets. She did what she had to do. Just like always.
Hand in hand they made their way over rubble and ivy until they stood in the center, the moonlight casting day-like shadows on the walls.
"What would you like to say?” he whispered, but his voice sounded loud in the silence.
"I don't know."
"Do you know any prayers?"
She tried to think of one and drew a blank. “No, none."
"Did your parents believe?"
"No. No one I know does. Even in the underground.” What possessed her to come here? She couldn't even think of a prayer, and she felt like a fool, not even able to explain herself.
"Would you like me to say something?"
"No. I made you do this. Give me a minute.” She closed her eyes and hoped for eloquence, but simple words always suited her better. It was all she could manage now, anyway. “Thank you for someone to help me. And I hope that I can help him. Please keep our new family safe."
Chapter Four
When he thought he had her figured out, she surprised him again. He thought she would go straight, but she'd turn. Back in the office he thought he'd be filling that vial as a trial by fire. She didn't know him at all, and yet, she helped him through one of the most embarrassing situations in his life without making it worse. And she could have. If she'd laughed, cried, anything other than what she did, it would have been torture. He might have had to walk out. But she was strong and helped, and he was grateful. He wasn't ready to share that with her yet, but he would have to thank her eventually. After he got his nerve back up.
Rationalizing didn't take the sting of his embarrassment away, it made it worse. If their first time together could have been any other way, he would have taken it. He wouldn't be able to look at her if he found she helped him for pity, either. It was her future she secured in that office, too, not just his.
He had to think about what he wanted to say. And to know he could say it without being ashamed or embarrassed. Which, at this moment, seemed unlikely because without knowing it, she just took what dust mote of pride he had left and blew it to oblivion. She said a prayer for them, which meant that in some way she hoped that this would work despite their untraditional union.
She looked at him and smiled, a big smile but a little sad, showing the small gap between her teeth. It crinkled the corners of her green eyes and made his chest squeeze.
"That was perfect,” he said.
"You think so?” She cocked her head.
"You covered everything important."
She smiled again, a real one. “Thanks.” She bit her lip. “I wonder how the children are?"
He could hear the worry in her voice, but he focused instead on her lips.
"Mathilde has probably fed them until they fell over, bathed them, then tucked them into beds so soft they'll think they're sleeping on clouds."
"Really? Is there a bed like that for me?"
He knew what she meant, her eyes were shadowed from exhaustion, but still the images of the licensing office descended onto him like a granite boulder. Her breast and her hands...
Control. He was a Doctor, and he needed to make this clinical. It was nothing but a biological response to stimuli.
"Yes. I'm sure Derwold has had Mathilde fix you a room."
Maybe Mathilde put her in his room. They were married, after all.
He shook his head. He couldn't think like that. It was an anomaly. It would torture him to have to live with her if he had expectations of sex. She didn't help him fill the tube for wanting or desire, she did it for obligation. It was unfair of him to want more from her.
But he did anyway, especially after the scene at the officials. It made him rock hard with wanting.
Maybe if he gave her some time and started slow. She licked her lips. Kissing her would be a start.
She picked his hand from his side. “I think this will be good."
"I hope so.” Her hands were warm and soft. He liked being close to her like this. But it was havoc on his willpower.
She took a step, closing the space between them. “I was hoping we could make a new start."
So, she did hate what happened. He didn't blame her. He swallowed past the rocks in his throat. No pressure, none at all.
"After the farce of a wedding we had, I think coming here was the best thing we could have done,” He looked down into her smoldering eyes and tried not to think about her nipples. “I'm not a believer in religion, but a marriage is a covenant, and although we don't have the most traditional of unions, I would have started off in a better way."
"People get married all the time because they have to."
He could feel her breath on his chin.
"Yes, they do, don't they?” He wished she would step back because if he leaned in, just a little...
He didn't want to upset her and make her think he was refusing her. “Maybe we should get going."
She splayed her fingers over his stomach and he sucked it in, willing himself to not move, not breathe. They had to leave before he took her hand and placed it lower.
She didn't want this. She was confused after the emotional day they shared. It was all psychologically explainable.
Her hands ran up to his chest and he shivered and held back from rocking into her.
"I think you're exhausted, and need some sleep. We should get back."
The seductive grin on her face under any other circumstances would have had him stripping, but he took a deep breath and stepped back. Breaking body contact was the only way to get out of this with his conscience intact.
Come morning, she would more than likely be horrified by what they had done today. If he compacted sex on top of that, she might bury herself in guilt. He wanted her to make decisions with all her emotions unimpaired, not out of some subconscious need for comfort.
Confusion and anger played across her eyes. She snatched her hands from him and walked to the car. Of course she would see this as rejection, and maybe it was better that way. She could shut herself off from him for a while and she wouldn't be tempting him to fuck her senseless.
But he couldn't stand her being hurt over this. She bore too much today as it was. Guilt had its positives.
"It's not what you think,” he said to her back. “I just want to give you time to ease into things. You were shot at, married, and forced to watch and help me ejaculate into a vial so that we could marry. You are going home to a strange house, and you've given up all your belongings, if they are still there. The Mayor's henchmen probably burned it all to
the ground by now."
He stopped her at the car door. “I don't want you rushing into a physical relationship with me that you may regret come sunrise."
"That is very considerate of you—"
"Exactly—"
"I would prefer if you fuck my brains out."
He jerked back. Apparently, she wasn't one to mince words.
He was hard as ever right now, and turning her down. There should be a medal for him somewhere for this. “No. If you feel the same later then we can talk about it, but I don't think you know what you want."
She sat in the car and looked up at him. “I know exactly what I what, and where I want it. I'm a big girl and I can make decisions for myself. But don't you worry, I won't throw myself at you again."
"I don't think you were throwing yourself at me, I think you were making unsound decisions based on your volatile emotions. It's natural after a dramatically life altering day like you had to want comfort and to—"
"Fuck you."
* * * *
The ruins must not have been far from the manor, because it only took minutes to arrive at Doc's home. For that, she knew there was a god. She couldn't sit there next to him for one second more without letting him have the fury of her frustration. The truck didn't stop before she launched out and bounded up the large stone stairs. The front door was opening and she was walking in before she heard his footsteps on the gravel. Now if she could get through the rest of the night without having to see him again she would be thrilled.
What a nincompoop she was. She would love a reason to blame it on anything other than herself, but she won the award for pushy bitch tonight, hands down. And the simmering anger thing she had going worked, because she didn't want to think about how mortified she was at his rejection.
Her stomach flopped. She tried not to pay attention to his footsteps behind her.
"Ohh, you must be Katerina.” She was engulfed in a hug by a white-haired woman that smelled like sugar cookies. Heaven. She would have stayed right there but the woman pulled away and hugged Doc next.
"I'm Mathilde,” she told Kat as she looked Doc up and down, shaking her head in maternal disapproval. “You two look like you went ass over teakettle a few times today."
Kat stood transfixed, a smile of adoration plastered to her face. She and Mathilde would rub just fine.
"It was a long day, but we're here. And I'm starved, if you have anything?"
Mathilde shooed Martin into the kitchen. “I have some food in the warming drawer and fresh tea and cookies.” She looked at Kat. “Those children ate like there would be no food tomorrow."
"Sometimes it's day to day as to what I can get them.” She just wanted to sleep. “Would it be too much if I went to bed? I'm too tired to eat."
"I know, pet, I do. We have plenty here and have never wanted for anything, thanks to Martin.” Mathilde opened the kitchen door to make sure Martin was eating and, then she let it close.
"Yes, he does procure anything he needs, doesn't he? Even by marriage.” She didn't mean to sound so hateful when she spoke.
Mathilde didn't take her words at face value, but instead looked at her with a measure of sympathy. Why it pushed Kat over the edge she didn't know, but it she wanted to lash out, and as much as she wanted to bare her claws at Mathilde for the whole day, she knew the old woman didn't deserve it. She would have walked over broken glass and bore the pain happily, if that would draw the malignant anger from her.
"Why don't I show you your room so you can get settled? A good night's rest should take the shadows from your eyes, I think. And the children will be thrilled to see you in the morning."
Mathilde led Kat up the staircase and down a long hall that was carpeted with a worn Oriental runner and oak paneling. Doors went off both sides. The house was huge and it looked as if there would be plenty of room for all of them. As long as she wasn't sharing a room with Mr. Detweiller, she would be happy.
The old woman wore a mauve knitted wrap, and her hair was still in a bun, sitting like a platinum halo on her head. She shuffled down the hall and opened a door at the far end. “This one will keep the noise from the children waking you up."
The thought of all of them bounding all over her bed in the morning made her smile. Normally she wouldn't appreciate it as much, but she almost died today.
"I hope they weren't a problem?” She would have liked to have woken them up and kissed them till they screeched to get away from her, but they would never go back to sleep if she did.
"Not at all!” Mathilde squeezed Kat's shoulder. “They were on their best behavior. I have a feeling that will change in a few weeks when the newness of their situation wears off."
Suddenly the permanence of her decision fell on her with the power of a tornado, making her heart plummet.
She would never go home again.
This was her new home, and all the children's home. Not knowing when she woke up that her future would change so drastically, she never thought to bring anything with her that would be a touchstone through the adjustment. She'd gotten up and made sure the children were dressed and washed. They'd even had fresh eggs, the hens had started laying as the days got longer. And she left. Done. Gone.
The quilt that her mother and grandmother made during her parents’ courtship had lain on her bed. A few pictures of her parents had been on her dresser along with her first lock of hair. They weren't expensive, but they meant everything to her. It was all she had left.
She knew it was sentimental to want those things, and what mattered was that the children and she were safe, but it choked her up anyway.
Mathilde handed her a kerchief from her wrap sleeve. “It's been a rough day on you, hasn't it, pet?” She hugged Kat's shoulder. “It's all starting to sink in, isn't it? Well, if you can get some sleep things might look a bit better come the morning."
The older woman took her hand and led her into the room which glowed from a gas lamp and turned down the covers of the biggest four poster bed she'd ever seen, with a blue toile down quilt that looked a foot thick.
It just wasn't her Mother's quilt.
"There's a clean nightdress on the end here,” she said, as she patted the mattress. “I'll leave so you can get some rest."
Kat sat down on the mattress like a robot and stared around her, amazed at the luxury, even in these times. The sheets were crisp and clean, smelling of lavender and sunshine, the down coverlet like a cloud. If she worked herself to the bone she could never provide this for them. It was a good thing to have happened. Or, that was what she kept trying to tell herself.
Mathilde whispered goodnight and the door clicked shut behind her. Kat sat up and undressed. It took no time at all—she couldn't afford a corset that fit, so all her clothes simply untied, unbuttoned and slipped off.
She looked around the room for a wash basin, not wanting to dirty the nightdress or sheets, and found one in the stand with a pressed hand towel over a dowel. The small embroidered swallow and edging lace unleashed the banked tears and she couldn't tell what washed her face more, the water or her crying.
The lawn nightdress was pin-tucked and fit her well, not like it was made for her, but enough and better than anything she had. It floated around her, and sleeping in something so fine was a bittersweet reminder again of what she had lost and gained in her decision. She untied the string from her braid and combed her fingers through her hair. There wasn't a brush that she could see, so it would have to do for now.
She slipped into the bed and pulled the coverlet over her and stared at the ceiling, unable to stop her thoughts from spinning like a top.
It must have been a few hours that she laid there wide awake, praying that she would pass out from exhaustion. But her eyes never even closed, and she couldn't stand lying there one minute more.
She threw back the covers and got up, dreading leaving the warmth of the bed but decided now would be the perfect time to figure out the house. No one would be awake but her and the mice, and th
ey wouldn't tell if she snuck something from the pantry to quiet her growling stomach.
The hall was pitch black except for the slight illumination the lamp in her room provided, which was just enough to not trip and wake everyone up. She tiptoed past the bedroom doors, six in this wing alone, and down the back servants’ stairs into the kitchen. A sliver of moonlight streamed in from the window, and she poked her head into the butler's pantry and scanned the shelves for some crackers or bread leftover from yesterday. Better than bread, there was a breadbox that held not just a toast loaf, but a few scones, and she found the butter well and a knife. The scones were almost sweet and perfect, with dried cherries and orange peel, all the flavors dancing on her tongue and silencing her stomach.
The kitchen table was for servants, not the family in the house who ate in the dining room, so it was less formal, but more comfortable than she would have been sitting in the dining room by herself.
Now, if she could get a glass of milk she would be thrilled.
Milk didn't go with her mood, but her stomach didn't care. It felt as if there were a burning hole in it, and the milk would soothe it—or it would if she could get some. Instead she got up, leaving a napkin of crumbs and fetched herself a mug from the drain rack and some water from the spigot. They had glasses, she was sure, but she didn't want to go opening and closing cabinet doors to find one. Avoiding Martin for another forty-eight hours would be perfect and unrealistic, but she needed to avoid him now. Her pride hadn't begun to patch itself together yet.
She drank it down in a few gulps, and realized that she hadn't had anything to drink all day and got herself another mugful. When she was done with that one she placed it in the sink and shook the napkin out over the garbage. She didn't want Mathilde coming down to a mess in the morning.
After folding the napkin and placing it on the table, she wound her way through a series of doors and around a half round wall that spit her out into a small den. High up on the wall was a dragonfly stained glass window that let enough light so that she could make out shadows.