She closed her eyes again, leaning back against his stomach to request more of his touch. His fingers slipped through her tresses, spreading them out over her shoulders, kissing them, drinking in the scent.
“Wait.” She straightened and then stood, turning to pat his chest. “I forgot the music.”
He couldn’t get enough of her disheveled and intimate beauty, dark masses falling around the shoulders of her white gown in glorious disarray. His body responded with a need to draw her closer and drown his face in lavender and ebony silk. “We have music?”
“Indeed we do.” She slipped from his hold to a table by the window which held the gramophone. “It made me think of you, and I longed to dance with you…like this.”
Like this. Together. Alone. Where neither had to stop once the music ended.
The popular tune If I Had My Way crooned from the recording plate into the room. She returned to wrap her arms around him, her body melting against him, igniting a renewed curiosity. She rested her head on his shoulder and pressed a kiss against his neck, encouraging the smoldering flame in his chest to sparks.
He slid his hands up her arms to her neck, its smoothness igniting a need to investigate. Her eyes fluttered closed, a sweet sigh purring from her, and his kiss chased her lavender scent from her temple, to her cheek, her jawbone, and after a second’s hesitation, he wandered to her neck, a new sense of freedom giving him boldness. Oh the taste of her skin! The intoxication of her body. He’d never imagined it could be so sweet and scorching at once.
Her hands on his back flexed, pulling at his shirt. Her gasp encouraged him to continue his perusal, reveling in this freedom to explore his beautiful wife. His wife. She clung to him, as if her legs failed to support her any longer, so he swooped her up into his arms and stepped to a nearby chair, settling her on his lap. No more distance. No more waiting.
He’d already loosened his shirt collar, leaving it opened and unbuttoned enough to view more skin beneath his neckline. Catherine smoothed her fingers over his chest, slipping her hand underneath the cloth and then teasing open the next button. His green eyes shadowed to a darker hue, and she released another button.
She wanted to take her time, embrace every discovery with her sweet husband. The title brought a smile. Instead of the passionate and empty encounter she’d known with Drew, this moment, this choice, was bound by something much deeper and more beautiful because of their promises. Their covenant of love, with God’s blessing. This remarkable unveiling of two people committed in heart and spirit.
“I have waited a very long time to celebrate my wedding night.”
The meaning behind his declaration took Catherine’s breath. “You mean you’ve never…”
“No.” He brushed his fingers down her neck, muddling her mind.
She pulled her thoughts from the glorious warmth, her heart breaking at what she couldn’t offer him. “Oh David. I’m sorry I—”
He silenced her with a gentle kiss. “No, Kat.” He tipped up her chin. “Focus on me and my love for you.” He brushed another kiss against one cheek. “Not the past.” His lips warmed her other cheek. “But us. Man and wife.” His palms slipped up her neck to caress her face, his eyes a smoldering flame. “Lovers.”
He kissed her again, another too brief temptation.
His brow perched in a playful way. “You’re such an excellent teacher, might you be my guide in helping me make memories tonight?”
“Ones we can hold in our hearts while we’re apart.”
His tender gaze warmed her face like a caress. His fingers slid to the back of her gown, carefully unfastening the first button. “And I plan to take my time.”
He left a lingering kiss at the juncture between her neck and her ear, spilling heat from his lips down through her chest.
Another button loosened. Then another.
Oh he didn’t need her guidance. He was getting off to a fabulous start without her help at all.
His mouth moved lower, deliberate and unhurried, as if relishing the taste. “And savor each new discovery about you.” His words warmed her collar bone.
Love for him pressed in on her chest with such force. Such fullness. She took his face between her palms and poured all her pent up love into the kiss. The exquisite beauty. The tenderness and gratitude. She offered much more than a lover’s kiss, but a lifelong promise.
She was his. Only his.
“David, I love you as I’ve never loved before.”
He rewarded her words with a kiss which traveled from her lips down to her neck and back again. “And I love you, my dear Mrs. Ross.” His gaze shone with desire and sweet adoration. “As I’ve never loved before.”
He stood and carried her toward the bed. “Only you.” His declaration whispered in time with the song. “Only you.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
November 26, 1915
My dearest Catherine,
I left Ednesbury Station three hours ago and I’ve contemplated returning at each train stop. The vision of you on the platform in your pale blue suit, alone, waving to me through your tears, is branded into my mind. Please forgive me. The past three days with you, I’ve lived and loved a lifetime. Even now, as I close my eyes against the stuffy view of the inside of this train, I feel you next to me in our bed, your hair strewn in beautiful disarray upon your pillow and your eyes showing me the tenderness and passion of your love.
I cannot tell what the days will bring, but I am certain of our love to weather the trials.
Write to me, my Kat, and pray for a speedy end to this war so we can be together soon.
With all my love,
David
December 1, 1915
My dear Dr. Ross,
I warned you in advance that I am a poor correspondent, so keep your expectations admirably low and I should meet them. I received your letters in one bundle yesterday, and I kissed each one as I opened them, hoping by some miracle you’ll feel my love for you across the miles.
Mother has begun Christmas preparations for Roth Hall. Since she is only housing the orphanage now, and she has two wealthy daughters who will cover costs, she’s inspired to offer another fundraiser for the town. Dr. Pike volunteered to help her, his admiration as plain as the moustache on his face. It’s truly a puzzle to work out how the two of them ‘found each other,’ but I suppose many people say the same about us. In fact, I’m daily in awe of your love – if indeed it was love and not a massive lapse in your judgment. However, if it is the latter, you have married me, and to my eternal gratitude, you are stuck with me, for I have no plans of releasing you from your promise.
The hospital is doing well. Ashleigh and Sam have become excellent administrators, consulting Dr. Hudson and Pike as needed. I’ve reduced my shifts there to two days instead of four, so I can work more with my designs and manage the affairs of Beacon House. It might be wise for you to return home soon before I spend all of our money on homeless women and orphaned waifs.
Please pray for Jane. She gave birth to her twins this week and only one of the darlings survived. A boy. I helped with the delivery and had never experienced such sadness and joy mingled together. The awesome miracle of birth followed much too swiftly by the aching loss of death. Despite Madame’s urging, Jane has given the baby over to the orphanage. I cannot fathom the agony of separating oneself from one’s child. It is already painful enough to have you so far away, and for a good cause. To distance yourself from your child by choice? It’s unimaginable.
All the more now, as this little one grows inside me, becoming an active presence in my life with each day, I can’t fathom losing her or giving her away. How Jane must grieve the loss!
Well, you are to be duly impressed with my letter. I shall write to you again soon, but remember ‘soon’ might be interpreted with some degree of relativity. Know this: every night as I lay in our bed, I place my hand on your pillow and pray for your safety. I pray God will bless your work and fetch you home to me. I thank Him for b
ringing such a man into my life who is not only strong, brave, and noble, but is kind, gentle, tender, and passionate. I’m fond of all of your many attributes, but I’ve particularly enjoyed your passion.
Yours,
Catherine
There were no words to describe the devastation. Fields which had been green and thriving months before now stood in a wasteland of mud and half-destroyed buildings, littered with the dead or dying. The Casualty Clearing Station to which David and Jessica had been assigned was housed in an abandoned theatre. Holes from shell explosions provided some natural light into the building, but mostly, they performed surgery by lantern light.
It was a far change from the gilded halls, warm rooms, and soft beds of home, especially the bed he’d shared just before leaving. Keeping positive remained a constant battle. David had treated many war wounds, but the severity of wounds coming directly from the Front turned his stomach at times.
“The stretcher bearers are bringing in another group.” Dr. Richard Cramer pushed open the tent door and marched in. “At least five new ones.”
Dr. Cramer, a Belgian surgeon, prided himself on punctuality and knowledge. Anything else seemed to be a useless endeavor. He’d taken a slight interest in David and Jessica, commenting on the quality of their work, but otherwise he kept to himself and his patients.
“I’m sorry we weren’t assigned to Father’s station.” Jessica moved next to him at the basin, washing her hands to prepare for the new surgeries. “I know you’d hoped to be closer.”
“They send us where we’re needed.” Though he’d prefer to know of his father’s safety instead of remain in constant uncertainty. The weariness of relentless death, minimal sleep, and the dark days of winter, bred a kind of lethargy of spirit.
“Any news from home?” His sister’s eyes glinted with their purpose. The shadow of the Front was probably too afraid to tempt Jessica into its melancholy.
Jessica knew the way to get his mind back on good things. “I received two letters yesterday, written about three days apart.” He grinned. “She’s getting better.”
His sister shook her head and set out a clean panel of instruments for surgery. “You’ve certainly motivated her toward improvement.”
“The improvement is mutual.”
Though Jessica kept a tough demeanor, David caught the softening around her eyes. “And with Christmas coming next week? Have you sorted out what to get this woman who has the money to buy whatever she wants?”
“Oh yes.”
“Arriving.” Someone shouted from the front of the station.
“I just hope it reaches her by Christmas.”
Catherine’s eyes threatened to close before she reached her bed. She pulled herself up the stairs, weary from a week of endless activity. Her mother’s fundraiser had proved a success, but not without every staff member at Beacon, as well as some soldiers, pitching in to help. She’d purchased two more small properties from Lady Cavanaugh, and ten new wounded had arrived three days ago, adding to the hectic schedule.
The old Catherine would have guffawed at the new Catherine. A woman with substantial means serving the wounded and outcast with no ulterior motive? What a difference God’s love and a good man made!
Her bed welcomed her into its pillowed comfort and she rolled on her back, waiting for her usual good-night routine from the baby. Within minutes, the typical movements began, stronger than they’d been at first, more pronounced. She placed her hand on her abdomen, trying to make some connection, the same inexplicable sweetness seizing her heart.
She sighed and looked over to the window. The dark silhouette of ridges on the horizon took her thoughts to North Carolina and a childhood riddled with anger and secrets. Her parents’ relationship was tenuous at best, destructive at worst. And her mother? Not an example Catherine wished to emulate. A steady change of nannies had moved through their home, discharged at her mother’s whim unless they left of their own accord. Grandmama had provided something solid. A gauge of love and truth, which Catherine rebelled against but never ceased to respect.
And now? Now she’d have the opportunity to be a mother. She closed her eyes and whispered a silent prayer for strength and wisdom to love well.
David’s pillow nestled, unmoved, beside hers. She ran her palm across its cool cloth, adding another prayer for him to her list, wishing he could spend Christmas with her. Their first Christmas.
A small package on the bedside table caught her attention. She slid to the edge of the bed and drew the tiny box into her hands. David’s familiar handwriting quickened her pulse. The baby even moved in a celebratory tumble. Catherine made quick work of the wrappings and opened the card atop the box.
December 10, 1915
My dearest Catherine,
I send a short note to accompany this gift, which I hope will reach you by Christmas. I had wanted to present it to you on our wedding day, but it hadn’t arrived from North Carolina. Wear it knowing you are as precious to me as the love surrounding this ring. It was the one my father gave to my mother on their wedding day.
The central gem reminded me of your eyes and the surrounding gems are like starlight.
Happy Christmas. My heart is with you as you celebrate our Savior’s birth and work for His good every day. May He bring me to you soon so that I may gaze into your sapphire eyes, or watch the stars with you in my arms. You and the little one are in my prayers as ever.
Until I return, my love,
David
She was a slobbering mess by the end of the note, but that didn’t stop her from blinking back her tears and opening the small box. It housed an exquisite surprise. A delicate masterpiece, set in silver gold, with a cluster of tiny diamonds surrounding a sapphire. She slid the ring onto her finger and kissed it, her heart aching for his touch. His smile. Him.
She grabbed his pillow and hugged it against her chest, burying her head into it to catch any remaining scents of peppermint. Oh, dear God, please bring him home to me.
Weariness poured over David’s body and the overall depressed mood of the day didn’t help. More cold rain. The futility of his work, this war, became a constant struggle within his prayers to pursue hope. Stories rushed in from all Fronts where soldiers would agree to a truce for a reprieve in some of the senseless battling and bloodshed. Most of the soldiers held no ill-will toward the opposing forces except that it was their duty to fight.
Dr. Cramer had taken a particular interest in observing David’s surgeries. Of course, the Belgian was a supervising doctor in the station which served mostly French casualties, but his demeanor meant to intimidate, adding another loathsome blow to David’s battle for optimism.
Jessica helped. Her dry wit provided solace and perspective among the gray and brown hues of war….and then there were the letters. He’d received two the same day, but he reread his favorite just before falling asleep.
January 5, 1916
My dearest Dr. Ross,
It is a new year, in case you’ve been remiss to notice, and I have great hopes this year will bring you back to me. I am proud to report that I delivered my first baby yesterday. A healthy little girl. Annie is quite undone by the bundle of ruddy glow and round skin. She’s named the angel Clara, after her mother. It was a true miracle, not only the physical procedure, but the very fact I neither killed Annie nor the baby in the process. You would have been proud, I am certain.
Also, we’ve had another shipment of wounded arrive and I am making space in the third floor of Beacon so the staff can move there and give more soldiers the bedrooms on the second level. You would not believe the antiquities I’ve discovered. There are gowns stored there which I am certain belonged to Queen Victoria in her early years. Remarkable beading, truly. Nothing as remarkable as this ring I wear with enough pride to shame my mother, but quite lovely, nonetheless.
You will hardly recognize Ednesbury, or at least the east side. There is a glow of hope and general optimism spreading from shop to shop, some in par
t due to Pierre Baudin’s marvelous newspaper, and some in part to the people purchasing their own properties. I will tell you more of this grand adventure when I see you, but I’ve come to realize the great value in ownership. It is one thing to purchase properties so that the people can rent from a kinder landowner, but it is quite another to make the people their own landowners. Pierre was the first to buy, and I’ve never seen a man so changed. He looks at least ten years younger, and if I’m not mistaken, even resurrected a few hairs for his head.
Days are terribly busy, but I am grateful for them. It is the nights in which I long for you most. In the quiet of our little haven, I close my eyes and drown in a reminiscent state. Your smile, your touch, your kiss. Oh, to have more than memory and an empty room! I’ve contemplated on several occasions, if you were to be given leave, you’d never return to war, for I would lock you in our bedroom and feed the key to Mr. Coates’ Great Dane. I can think of few things quite as lovely as being locked in a bedroom with you.
I trust God is giving you ample opportunity to serve your country. I know of no one so noble and kind. Please hold to your kindness until your return and keep your nobility for others. I prefer you to be an utter rogue with me in private.
I send you my love in every word…or at least every word which seems lovely. I doubt there is much love housed in Mr. Coates’ Great Dane or Pierre Baudin’s bald head, but in many of the other phrases, think of me. You are in my thoughts as constantly as the English rain.
The Thorn Keeper Page 28