Wishes & Tears

by Nancy Loyan

  “Thank you for being here, Faith,” he murmured, drawing her into an intimate embrace.

  Her arms encircled his neck as he drew her up against him. His scent of spice and mint was intoxicating. His head pressed against hers, his face buried in the nape of her neck, his breath moist and hot on her delicate flesh.

  “I’ve never been moved to tears before at the death of a patient,” he whispered.

  “You’re only human,” she said, running her fingers through his damp hair, an action that was involuntary.

  “It made me realize how fragile life and love is.” His hands began to pull at her hair, mussing her pompadour and chignon.

  As her hair fell free to her shoulders, Faith thought she’d faint from his tender touch, the heat radiating from his body and breath, the emotion in his words and dusky voice. He was awakening the woman in her, tingling areas that had been dormant for so long she was frightened.

  “Don’t tremble,” he whispered. “There’s no reason to tremble.” He raised his head to look into her glowing eyes.

  For a moment, their eyes melded. Two sets became one in an instant. She closed her eyes just as his lips reached down to capture hers. His mouth was lush, hot, demanding. Fleshy lips that nibbled against hers, tasting and teasing from bottom to top and back again. Just when she was getting used to his hot rhythm, he changed the pace, prying with his tongue. She willingly opened her mouth to welcome his curling tongue and salty taste. As their tongues danced and joined she was on fire.

  He lowered her to the floor without stopping his mouth’s seduction. Her back pressed against the Oriental rug as he rolled over her, clasping her wrists back above her head. Beneath his lithe form, she was a willing prisoner.

  Suddenly, rumbling footsteps and banshee screaming disrupted the tryst. Doctor Forrester jumped up and off her, yelping in pain as tiny fists pummeled him about the head and neck. As he rose to his feet, Andrew clung to his neck kicking and screaming.

  “Stop it! Stop hurting Miss Donahue! Leave her alone! Leave her alone!” Andrew was in near hysteria, his face flushed red with anger and upset.

  Doctor Forrester reached up and behind trying to get his son off his back down to his feet. The child clung like an attack cat. Faith rose to her knees and up on her feet. With her heart still pulsing from hypnotic kisses, she drew a deep breath for composure. She stepped toward the doctor and reached out to pull Andrew who was practically strangling his father.

  “Andrew! Andrew, let go!” she ordered, grasping the boy about the waist.

  With his hands free, the boy pulled at his father’s hair screaming, “I hate you! You’re mean! You were hurting Miss Donahue!”

  “Let go,” Faith yanked at Andrew’s waist until he finally released his grip on his father’s neck. She lowered the boy to the floor but held him by his suspenders like a tethered dog.

  Doctor Forrester rubbed his neck, shaking his head to get the kinks out. He looked down at the keg of dynamite that was his son.

  “What’s wrong with you, boy?” he asked.

  “I won’t let you hurt Miss Donahue!” Andrew stomped his feet. “I won’t!”

  Faith held tight to the boy’s suspenders that pulled back and forth like rubber bands. Andrew’s hands were curled into fists, ready to beat up his father.

  “He wasn’t hurting me,” Faith said in a calm voice.

  “Papa had you pinned to the floor! He hurt you!”

  “Andrew, we were playing,” Faith said, smiling. If the boy weren’t so serious, she would have burst out in uncontrollable laughter. The scene was one for the movies.

  “Yes, we were only playing,” the doctor added, rubbing his neck, wincing in pain.

  “Playing?” Andrew asked, calming down.

  “Wrestling,” Faith said.

  “You don’t play with me like that,” Andrew pouted.

  “When you get older,” the doctor said and snickered, his eyes meeting Faith’s.

  “I bet Bridget’s back from the market and has lunch about ready,” Faith said, diplomatically changing the subject. She released his suspenders and smoothed her skirt.

  “Why don’t you go see what Bridget’s cooking?” the doctor hinted to his son.

  Andrew looked up at his father with a sneer. He held his head high and marched out of the library without a backward glance.

  “He thinks he’s Napoleon,” Faith said with a chuckle.

  “He packs quite a punch.” Doctor Forrester was still twisting his neck. “I must have pulled a muscle.”

  Faith walked up to him and placed her hand on his neck. Red welts were swelling where Andrew had tightened his grasp. The doctor had to be in pain. “May I help?”

  The doctor reached back and removed her hand. “Miss Donahue, please keep your hands to yourself.” His gaze was unwavering, his eyes aglow. “You know what happened the last time you touched me.”

  He was so deadpan serious she began to laugh. She shook her head.

  “I don’t see the humor,” the doctor said.

  “That’s because you’re the one who was beaten up by a four-year-old.”

  “And over a woman, yet.” The doctor winked.

  “I’d better fix my hair and tend to Andrew,” Faith said, turning toward the doorway.

  “Faith?” the doctor called.

  She pivoted to face him.

  “We need to talk,” he said in a serious tone, raking his hands through his tousled hair. They definitely had to talk.

  • • •

  Doctor Forrester didn’t join them for lunch. Faith sat alone with Andrew in the dining room as the boy slurped his soup and munched on cold chicken. No offense to Bridget’s culinary skill, but she would have given anything for a cheeseburger and fries. A chocolate milkshake would have tasted good, too.

  Watching Andrew, it was hard to believe that this angelic little boy could fight and hit so hard. She surmised that the doctor was still hurting and wasn’t quite ready to face his son. Bridget had mentioned that the doctor had taken to his bed for a nap. After all, he had been up all night and morning tending to the difficult delivery. She thought about the doctor and his recollection of the death of Andrew’s mother and of his tattered emotional state.

  She closed her eyes remembering the crush of his lips and the length of his body over hers. Just thinking about his taste and touch made her cross her legs. She couldn’t help but wonder if he cared for her or was merely using her as a way to release all the pent-up tension. He did say that they had to talk. What did he have to say? That he was sorry and didn’t mean it? That it would never happen again? She opened her eyes, confused.

  Just as Bridget entered to refill Andrew’s glass of milk, Andrew asked Faith, “What game were you and Papa playing on the floor?”

  Bridget’s eyebrows shot up and she cast a glance at Faith that could have boiled the jug of milk.

  Faith cleared her throat. “An adult game.”

  “Wrestling?”

  “Yes, Andrew.”

  Bridget approached Faith and leaned toward her, asking with a bite in her voice, “Would you like some milk, Miss Donahue, or, perhaps something more potent?”

  “The doctor may be in need of your brandy, Bridget,” Faith said.

  “I hit Papa.” Andrew was beaming as if it were something to be proud of.

  “Is that so? And that’s a good thing?” Bridget tilted her head, rising.

  “I saved Miss Donahue.”

  “Saved her?”

  “From Papa.”

  “I see.” Bridget smiled and mumbled, “Most women prefer not to be saved from the good doctor.”

  “It’s a long story, Bridget,” Faith said, wanting to end the conversation once and for all.

  “And I will be hearing it one of these days, eh?” she asked, nudging Faith before she returned to the pantry.

  • • •

  The next day, Doctor Forrester left early to tend to his patients, neglected to come home for lunch, and arrived late f
or supper. He breezed into the dining room just in time for dessert. Bridget was scooping out strawberry trifle with dollops of whipped cream.

  “Papa,” Andrew greeted, lowering his head sheepishly.

  Faith’s lecture on never punching your father must have hit home.

  “Doctor,” Faith said with a forced smile. She wasn’t sure how to react to him after all the conflicting emotion he seemed to evoke lately.

  “My, everyone is in such a gay mood,” the doctor said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice as he pulled out a chair and sat across from Faith. He fanned his napkin on his lap as Bridget plopped an abundant serving of trifle in front of him.

  “No offense, Bridget, but is anything left over from the evening meal?”

  “I can fry up a cheeseburger or two for you,” Bridget replied.

  “A what?”

  “Miss Donahue helped with supper this evening. We made cheeseburgers and French fries.”

  He stared at the women, perplexed. “I don’t recall ever having such a meal.”

  “It’s good, Papa,” Andrew added, licking his lips for emphasis.

  “Miss Donahue can cook, too?” he asked, glancing over to Faith and to Bridget, “I’ll try this new supper.”

  “Yes, Sir.” Bridget went through the pantry toward the kitchen.

  “Is there anything you cannot do, Miss Donahue?” he asked, lifting a palm. “Don’t answer. I shall fear your answer.” He lifted up his forefinger as a signal to silence her.

  Faith took a spoonful of trifle. Whipped cream clung to her mouth. As she licked it off her top lip, the doctor gave her the most quizzical stare. She thought he’d drool at any moment.

  “I apologize for being late,” he said. “I had a baby to deliver, a precious little girl. Mother and baby are doing fine.” He smiled, bottom lip trembling.

  “That’s wonderful,” Faith said, glad to hear of a happy outcome. Maybe that’s why he was nervous and fidgeting. She couldn’t understand how a man who always had his act together, was cool to the point of arrogance, could be so messed up lately. He went from being Lawrence Olivier to Hugh Grant.

  Bridget served his meal of a cheeseburger covered with lettuce and tomato on a homemade roll with steaming French fries. He stared at the plate and looked up at Faith. “Interesting. Is this a common meal in your world, Miss Donahue?” he asked.

  “Very much so. Restaurants are devoted to it.” Oh, how she missed the Golden Arches.

  She watched him raise the burger up to his lips and take a juicy bite. She tingled, remembering how those same lips nibbled hers. Oh, to be that cheeseburger. She wanted to pinch herself for such lurid thoughts.

  After the doctor’s supper and dessert, Faith was about to excuse herself to go up to her room. The day had been long and vexing. She wanted nothing more than to go to bed to sort out the day and her thoughts.

  As she rose from her chair, the doctor asked, “Faith, shall you join me for a walk in the garden? I wish to speak with you.”

  “The hour is getting late,” she said, wanting to beg off, yet curious about his intentions.

  “Ah, but the night is young,” he said in a low voice directed at her.

  “Andrew must be tucked in for the night.”

  “Bridget,” the doctor called. The maid appeared. “Please see to it that Master Andrew is put to bed. I have important matters to discuss with Miss Donahue.”

  “Yes, sir.” Bridget snickered and winked at Faith.

  The doctor took Faith’s arm and escorted her out to the moonlit garden. They strolled down the brick garden path shaded by oak and cherry trees and under an arbor dripping with fragrant bougainvillea. The full moon glowed above like a gazing ball and moonflowers glittered as they climbed a nearby trellis. The doctor pointed to a cast iron settee and Faith sat.

  She felt as nervous as a schoolgirl on a first date. Just because she was transported back in time, did she have to feel as flush and silly as a woman native to the era? The doctor pulled a matching cast iron chair next to her and settled into the narrow seat.

  “Faith,” he began, fidgeting with his hands. “We need to talk.”

  “So you’ve said.” She clasped her hands together on her lap to hide her own nervousness.

  “About the other day in the library,” he began. “It wasn’t my intention to be so forward. I know it wasn’t proper behavior befitting a gentleman. I allowed emotion to overrule my common sense.” He gazed at her, eyes hooded in sincerity and apology.

  She didn’t need an apology. She needed to be hugged and kissed again. She needed to touch him, to smell him, to taste him.

  “Andrew doesn’t know it but I deserved his wrath.” He wrung his hands. “It wasn’t my desire to cause you harm and I assure you, it shall not happen again.”

  Her face went blank. She was all geared up for a profession of love and desire, not a cool apology for an act as old as the ages.

  “If we are to court, Miss Donahue, my intention is to be a gentleman.”

  She half expected him to rise and bow. A gentleman? She wanted a hot-blooded male.

  She stared at him, irritation evident in her glaring eyes and pursed lips. “Doctor Forrester, you must understand that I’m not a woman of 1906 but a woman of 2006. The rules of courtship and dating are very different. What you would consider improper is acceptable in the world where I come from,” she tried to explain without being blunt.

  He swallowed hard. “Our differences are vast, are they not? Even in courtship?”

  “Things aren’t that different. Emotion, feelings are the same and I’m sure expressing them is the same, just on a different level. What we did in the library is not an immoral act.”

  His brows shot up. “Does that mean that in your world men and women are free to take liberties with anyone they please, anywhere, and anytime without apology?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He stood, ringing his hands. “I imagine that you have allowed yourself to be mauled and kissed by many a man, have you not?”

  “No. I haven’t. The only man who touched me was my husband and we’re divorced,” she admitted.

  “You are divorced? That explains the wedding ring. I should have known, Missus Donahue.” He began to pace like a trapped lion.

  “Doctor, you were married. Your wife died. My ex-husband is good as dead in my eyes. He lives in the future, for Christ’s sake. If you must know, he dumped me for a younger woman who had his babies.” She stood to confront him. How dare he be so upset about her past marital status? “Neither of us is married now. The past shouldn’t matter.”

  “It does concern me.”

  “Then, doctor, may I suggest that you find another virginal bimbo like Miss LaDue to court in the prim and proper manner to which you are accustomed.” She grabbed her skirt, turned, and stomped toward the house.

  He trailed after her. “I don’t love Miss LaDue. I love you!”

  Faith froze in her tracks. Did he say that he loved her?

  He reached out to grasp her. He swung her around to face him. “I love you,” he repeated, looking deeply into her eyes.

  “Me?”

  “Yes. Ever since you entered my life, I’ve been drawn to you like a bee to a flower. You’re not like the prim and proper ladies I am accustomed to. You are a lively free spirit with your own ideas and ways. You are an independent thinker and a challenge to be around. You stimulate the mind as well as the body. In the library, it hit me like a ton of bricks. I love you. I love everything about you, even the flesh-toned hose, that ugly thing you call a backpack, even those greasy cheeseburgers. I don’t care if you came from the future or the moon. I still love you.” In telling her, he felt a sense of relief he hadn’t had all day.

  “I might just faint.”

  “Don’t become prim and proper, Faith.” He wrapped his hands around her waist and drew her near until she was crushed against his chest and forced to look up into his intense eyes.

  She reached up to encircle his n
eck with her arms. This couldn’t be happening. She gazed into his eyes that glittered like the stars overhead. She was fulfilling her destiny.

  Chapter 24

  “Do you love him?” Clarice asked, ebony eyes piercing.

  “What a silly question,” Faith answered, flinging her hair over her shoulder with a nonchalant flick of her wrist.

  “The answer is the most important in your life. Do you love him? Do you really love him? Not, do you love the fact that he’s helping you escape from memories of Brad? Not, do you love him because he can father your dream child? Do you love him for the man he is and the man he will become? Do you love Doctor Ian Forrester?

  “Yes! Yes!” Faith answered, startling herself awake from a deep slumber and an all-too-vivid dream. “Clarice, I do love him. I really love him.”

  • • •

  Her words hung in the cold, midnight air. She was surprised at her admission and proclamation of love. How readily the words flowed from her lips. Touching a forefinger to her lips, she closed her eyes and lay back into the down filled pillow. There had been so few people she loved in her life. She loved her mother and father for the integral roles they played in creating and molding her. She loved Clarice for always being there through good and bad. Brad was the first man she had ever loved, her first romantic love encounter. The love of parents never dies. True friendship never ceases. But romantic love can wither, if not tended. The love she had for Brad died like a rose bush in a drought. When he stopped loving her he killed it.

  Romantic love, she realized, wasn’t a one-shot deal. There were different levels of romantic love and love itself could be rekindled. Doctor Ian Forrester had ignited the tinder in her heart causing sparks to ignite and a new flame to burn within her.

  “I love you,” he had repeated over and over between lavish kisses in the moonlit garden. He had planted the new seed of love within her heart and soul.

  As she lay in the downy warmth of her lumpy mattress, she knew that she loved Ian Forrester. She loved him in that gut-wrenching, spine-tingling deep romantic way. He was a multifaceted man of intellect and intensity, of sophisticated charm and deep emotion. He was a good person, a loving and patient father, a gentle lover. When together, sparks ignited. A woman could search a lifetime for such a relationship or go back nearly a century to find the man of her dreams. Modern convenience, technology, medical advances, progress was well and good. Without love, though, all of the inventions, discoveries, and material possessions were meaningless and worthless. Without love, one had nothing. Love is everything.