DeButy & the Beast

by Linda Jones

  Reluctantly, Valerie was becoming a believer. “I don’t know. What does a… one of those… what does it look like?”

  Why did these people have such trouble mentioning body parts? Anya sighed. “I would ask Julian to show you his, but he is so shy about such things I feel certain he would refuse.”

  “I don’t actually need to see…” Valerie began.

  “Of course you do. It is long past time.” Anya leaped from the bed, quietly slipped out the door, and ran down the stairs on bare feet. She knew where to find Peter. More and more he found solace in the pantry, sometimes with a bottle of brandy, sometimes with his head resting in his hands. It was almost as if he wanted to hide there.

  The big house was silent, deserted. She met no one as she ran to the kitchen and the large pantry. As she swung open the door, Peter, who had been sitting on a stool at the back of the long closet, lifted his head.

  “I was just straightening some of these shelves,” he said quickly. “They’re quite out of order.”

  “Come,” Anya ordered. “Valerie and I need you.”

  Peter shot to his feet and followed her. “Is something wrong?” he asked, sounding truly concerned.

  “No.”

  “I thought you had taken to wearing clothes, Miss Anya,” he said with a hint of censure in his voice. “What is this?”

  “It is too hot for petticoats and long skirts,” she said as she ran up the stairs.

  “Perhaps, but…”

  “Never fear, I will wear a proper gown to dinner, so Grandmother will not be shocked.”

  “Thank goodness for that,” Peter muttered.

  He followed her down the hall, but Anya made him wait while she opened Valerie’s door. Her cousin paced by the bed, a wrapper drawn over her chemise and petticoats. Anya grabbed Peter’s hand and pulled him into Valerie’s room, closing the door behind them.

  Valerie went pale again. “Oh, Anya, this is really not necessary.”

  “It is.” Anya glanced up at Peter. “Please show Miss Valerie your penis.”

  “What?” He turned as pale as Valerie and took a step back, toward the door.

  In the past several days, she had tried to get her husband to supply her with a suitable name for this particular body part. Most of them were silly, and still, he said, not fit for use. “Your manly instrument,” she said, in case he had not understood her. “Your manhood. Your—”

  “I know what you mean,” he snapped. “But really, Miss Anya, you have gone too far!”

  “But Valerie has never seen one.”

  “As is right and proper.”

  Anya tried her most severe face on Peter. “You are a servant, and I command you to do as I say.”

  Peter leaned forward and into her. “I rocked both of you to sleep when you were ill. I have cleaned up after you two, worried tremendously, and stood guard in perilous times. And I will not display myself obscenely for your amusement.”

  “This is not amusing,” Anya insisted. “It is teaching.”

  “I did help you study your alphabet at one time, Miss Anya, but that is where my tutorial efforts end.”

  “It’s all right,” Valerie insisted. “I don’t really want to see, anyway. I would just close my eyes.”

  Anya sighed. “I am only trying to help.” She raised her eyes to a determined, stony-faced Peter. “Did you truly stand guard during perilous times?”

  He actually blushed. “It was long ago. I should not have mentioned it.”

  “Now that you have mentioned it, I should like to know when this occurred.”

  “In the years after the end of the war, things were unsettled. Even here.”

  “I wish I remembered that time more clearly,” Anya said. “Everything about my time here before the shipwreck is so… hazy.”

  “Once we hid in the stables,” Valerie said, speaking quickly. “I had forgotten.”

  “As you should,” Peter said in a quiet voice.

  “Yankees were rooting through the house, and the three of us children hid in the stables, and Peter was there.” Valerie smiled. “You made us move to the back of a very small room, and then you… you stood between us and the door with a six-shooter in each hand.”

  “I was only doing my duty,” he said shyly.

  “And I was not afraid,” Valerie said softly. “Because I knew you would not let anyone hurt us. How could I have forgotten that?”

  Anya wished she remembered more than the indistinct flashes that came to her. Of course, Valerie was two years older. It was only natural that she would remember that time more clearly. “Since you are a hero,” Anya said, “I will not insist that you display yourself for Valerie’s teaching.”

  “Thank you so much,” Peter said, more than a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

  “But could you round up some modeling clay for us? I think I should like to try my hand at sculpture.”

  “Good God,” Peter mumbled as he turned and laid his hand on the doorknob.

  “Grandmother always says I should take up a hobby,” Anya answered innocently.

  *

  Waking and finding Anya not where he’d left her always sent Julian into a kind of panic. The first place he looked for her was the roof, but she wasn’t there. Thank goodness. Just as he was about to exit the Captain’s Walk he saw them. The sight was enough to make him stop and stare. And smile.

  Anya and Valerie were huddled over a small table in the garden. They sat there, each of them in a pale pastel dress, and pursued what looked to be some kind of craft. When they laughed, he smiled. The two of them looked like summer flowers, seated among the other blooms.

  It was good to see them spending time together. They should be close, and they hadn’t had a chance to visit properly since—His smile faded—since Anya had offered to teach Valerie about…

  Julian ran down the stairs. The quickest way to the garden was through the north parlor. Peter, standing there watching, blocked his exit.

  “Pardon me,” Julian said as he brushed by the butler.

  “You don’t want to go out there, sir,” the servant muttered.

  Julian ignored the butler and made his way through the garden, past the fragrant roses in every shade imaginable. Anya’s back was to him, but he had a clear view of Valerie’s face. The plump girl was apparently fascinated by something on the table. She leaned forward, watching the workings of Anya’s hands. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted in wonder.

  Anya heard him coming and cast a glance over her shoulder. She smiled widely. “Caro, I thought you would sleep the day away.”

  Valerie looked up at Julian, squealed, and placed both hands over her face, covering her eyes. The flesh behind those hands went quite red.

  “Anya, what are you doing?” he asked as he stepped closer.

  “I have taken up sculpting,” she said innocently.

  “That’s…” He was about to say lovely, when he stepped to the side and saw the “sculpture” she had both hands wrapped around. “Very phallic,” he finished.

  “Thank you,” she said as she began to very lightly reshape the large object in her hands.

  “I have to… do something,” Valerie finished brightly, rising from her seat with her hands remaining over her face. She left without so much as glancing at Julian.

  Anya continued to shape the phallus before her, searching for perfection with her pale, soft hands. She had fashioned a life-size, erect model of manhood. Hmm, perhaps a bit larger than life-size.

  “If you wanted to take up sculpting, you might have started with a… bunny rabbit or a small vase,” he said, not quite choking on the words.

  “But Valerie needed instruction, and Peter refused to…”

  “You asked Peter to assist in Valerie’s instruction?” Julian asked, taking the shy cousin’s vacated seat.

  Anya’s hands and eyes were on the molded clay before her. Her fingers worked up and down slowly. “I only asked him to provide a specimen. Valerie has never seen a—”

/>   “Would you stop that?” he asked sharply.

  Anya only smiled, and did not desist. “Stop what, querido?”

  She knew exactly what she was doing to him, with her hands and that smile and the lewd—no, pornographic—sculpture. He should be offended. He should be outraged. But he found her continued caress of the sculpture erotic, not obscene.

  “You never did ravish me in the garden,” she said absently. “Our marriage will not be real until you do.”

  “And why is that?”

  “The ritual is not complete until you have chased and taken me.” She closed her fingers around the sculpture and stroked downward. “I cannot believe you do not know that. It is a tradition as old as man, mi amante. The husband claims his wife, he makes her his in a way as old as time itself, with his body. He shows his wife his love, his strength, and his possession.” Her fingers danced up the sculpture with slow deliberation.

  “My love,” he said with surrender, “you are trying to kill me.”

  “Never.”

  He took a deep breath and shook off the line of thought his mind had taken. “You really must not instruct Valerie against your grandmother’s wishes.”

  “I cannot allow her to marry thinking the only way a man and wife express love is through kissing and holding. Until today she had no idea what would happen when she goes to the marriage bed.”

  “None?”

  “None. She did not know how a man is made, how a husband and wife fit together. Is it right for her to go to marriage completely ignorant?”

  “Of course not, but if your grandmother wishes—”

  “Grandmother is wrong.” Anya smiled. “Now Valerie knows what to expect of her husband, when she takes one. In the coming days I will teach her all the ways to please a man.”

  “I don’t think that’s wise,” Julian said softly. “Our society frowns on a woman being… too well-taught.”

  “Do you frown on me?”

  “Of course not,” he said gently. “But you were raised in another place. When Valerie marries, her husband will have certain expectations.”

  “He will expect her to be ignorant?”

  Julian sighed. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

  Again, Anya stroked her fingers down the length of her sculpture. “My way is better.”

  “I’m beginning to think you might be right,” Julian said softly.

  He caught sight of Elizabeth Sedley exiting the house by way of the north parlor entrance. The woman smiled widely and approached. “What are you two doing out here?”

  “I have taken up sculpting,” Anya called brightly.

  Julian panicked. He reached across the table, grabbed the clay phallus and tossed it as far into the garden as it would go. It made an ungodly noise as it fell through bushes and then landed on the ground with a thud.

  “What was that?” Mrs. Sedley asked.

  Anya, learning a bit of tact after all this time, smiled and said sweetly. “A bunny rabbit. However my efforts were not to my husband’s liking.” She smiled at him, wicked and happy. “He is such a perfectionist.”

  *

  Julian reclined on the bed, waiting patiently for her as she undressed.

  “Valerie didn’t look directly at me all through dinner,” he said. “Nor did she look at Seymour or Peter.”

  “She is shy,” Anya said, turning to face her husband as she removed her gown. “In a day or two she will accept what she has learned and will no longer be afraid.”

  She never ceased to marvel at Julian’s beauty. She liked him best this way, with an evening beard coming in, his hair ever longer and mussed, and without a stitch of clothes on his fine body. She had found the wild man, and she did own him. And she did love him.

  “At least she will not be terrified when she marries her William Mathias.”

  “Do you really think they’ll marry?”

  She shed the last of her clothing and joined her husband in their bed—wearing nothing but the necklace he had given her, her precious good luck charm. “I do. She is worried that perhaps he only loves her for her money, but we have found a way to discover if this is true or not.”

  He looked suspicious. “And how will you discover this?”

  “When Mathias asks Valerie to be his wife, she will tell him that if she marries him Grandmother will cut her out of the family fortune.”

  “She will lie,” Julian said softly. “I thought you didn’t approve of lying.”

  “It is a very small lie,” she said, a kernel of unease rising within her. “And the truth will ease Valerie’s heart.”

  “If it is the truth she wishes to find.”

  “Do not be so dismal,” she said, leaning into him until her bare body lay against his. “Of course he loves her. He has kissed her many times.”

  “Anya, here a kiss does not have the same meaning as it does on Puerta Sirena.” He settled his hand in her hair, in a comforting gesture. “Some men kiss many women, and it means nothing to them.”

  She began to doubt her plan. “Do you think William Mathias is one of these men?”

  “No. He seems very nice, but… one never knows.”

  “Are you one of these men?” she asked, placing her face close to his.

  “You know I’m not.”

  “I know.” She kissed him tenderly, and he returned her kiss. “There was a time when I despaired because I had left my home behind, but I despair no more. I am happy because I found you, Julian. My home is wherever you are.”

  She reached down and caressed him, molding him as she had molded the clay statue he had tossed away, stroking his length with loving fingers. For a man who had once denounced excess, he was quite willing to be led astray.

  *

  Lightning flashed and thunder boomed, and Anya was drowning. Salt water filled her mouth, went up her nose, covered her face. When her head broke above the water she took a deep breath that filled her lungs before the sea pulled her down again.

  This happened again and again, until she knew she would drown. And then her head broke the water again and she saw him.

  “Daddy!”

  He swam hard, fighting the sea and the storm to reach her. It seemed she waited forever, but then he was there.

  “Baby girl,” he said as he swept her up and into his arms.

  Anya hung on, throwing her arms around his neck and clinging to him. Wet, hurting all over, she clung to her father. She would never let go. Waves pounded them, tried to suck them down.

  Already the storm was dying, moving away from them. The ship was in shambles, those who couldn’t swim had been pulled down or swept away. Some had gone down with what was left of the ship. The only living person she could see was her father. She wouldn’t let go.

  He snagged a part of a large crate that floated on the water and pulled it toward them. “Here you go, baby girl,” he said. He tried to sound calm but his voice shook as he helped her crawl atop the crate. “I want you to wait right here.”

  “No!” she screamed. “Don’t leave me.”

  “I have to go back for your mama.”

  “Mama.” Anya’s eyes scanned the ocean, looking toward what was left of the ship. She was too far away to be sure, but she thought she saw a flash of her mother’s favorite pink dress, the one she had been wearing when the storm had come.

  She wanted her mother, but she was so afraid to be left alone. “Take me with you.”

  “I can’t,” her father said. He hauled himself partway up her makeshift raft, cradled her head, and kissed her cheek with his wet, cold lips. “You’ll be safer here, and I can swim faster without you.” He winked at her, as if nothing was wrong. “I love you, baby girl. I’ll be right back with your mama.”

  “Promise?” she cried as he pushed away from the raft.

  “Promise,” he called as he moved farther away.

  She watched him swim away toward what was left of the ship. The skies cleared, the storm leaving as quickly as it had come, and Anya squinted, straining
to see her mother and father amid the waves. And she waited. He had promised he would come back. He promised.

  Anya came awake with a start, as the thunder of the present time rumbled above the house. Her body quaked, she felt cold all over, and now she knew why.

  “He didn’t come back,” she whispered. “He didn’t come back.”

  Julian rose slowly beside her. “It’s just a storm, my love. Everything’s fine.” He wrapped his arms around her and lay down, cradling her gently.

  “He didn’t come back,” she whispered against his chest.

  “Shhhh.” Julian stroked her hair. “It’s just a nightmare. I’ll protect you.”

  She raised up and looked down into his sleepy face. “Promise you will never leave me.”

  “Of course,” he said, still more asleep than awake.

  “Say it,” she insisted.

  “I promise, on all that is holy, that I will never leave you.”

  Anya lowered her head to rest her cheek against Julian’s chest. She had wanted to remember, but now she wished she had not. She wanted to run down the stairs and confront her father’s portrait in the hallway. He had left her. He had promised…

  She remembered every detail of that face, now, and she knew she was not recalling the portrait. The small scar he’d gotten in the war, that was not in the portrait. The brilliant blue of his eyes was more gray in the painting she saw and ignored every day. And downstairs, framed and lifeless, he was somber. She remembered the way he smiled.

  The remembrance of love that sometimes teased the corners of her brain… it was them: her mother, her father. The way they had loved one another, the way they had loved her. Her father had swum to his death, attempting to save his wife. Anya had not seen them drown, but she knew they had gone down together.

  Remembering hurt. She did not want this pain, she did not want to remember. Anya shut her eyes tight and wished for sleep. And she wished that when she woke in the morning she would forget that she had remembered.

  Chapter 13

  It was a bit of a shock to wake and find Anya gone. She usually slept well past sunrise, content, warmly cuddled against his side.

  Julian jumped from the bed and dressed quickly. Good heavens, more instruction for Valerie! The cousins had probably conspired to wake at the crack of dawn and continue with their lessons. Without stopping to shave or comb his hair, Julian hurried into the hallway. Would they be up on the Captain’s Walk or ensconced in one of the quiet downstairs rooms? Thanks to last night’s storm there was surely water standing on the Captain’s Walk, so he sprinted down the stairs.