by Holly Bush
“There is no problem,” Eleanor began, and realized at that moment that she must end this once and for all if she were not to have this story follow her into eternity. She nodded. “Let us go to the rectory. I will be happy to take tea with you and explain what has happened.”
She stopped and turned to the woman behind the counter. “My husband, Mr. Beauregard Gentry, will be here for me shortly. Please tell him to wait and that I will be back very soon.”
Beau made good use of his time while the blacksmith fixed a spring on the McManus wagon. He followed the stable master, asking questions and being friendly and helpful. Very soon, he was being introduced to every man who came in the stables, shaking their hands and listening as they talked. Whenever he could, he asked the men what they made their living at. Some farmed corn and sold it as silage to the dairy farmers or shipped it to be ground. The dairy farmers made cheese, some of it going as far away as Philadelphia. Most farmers grew wheat, ground at the gristmill and bagged to send by train or wagon to cities. What he didn’t hear was that anyone was breeding and selling horses to pull their wagons and plows or to ride. He could hardly wait to tell Eleanor.
He pulled up to the mercantile in the wagon nearly two hours after he’d dropped her off. He didn’t see her standing outside the building, so he pulled the wagon over and hitched the horses to the post. He looked in the window of the store and finally pulled the door and went in.
“There’s a young lady doing her shopping here,” he said to the woman behind the counter, “Miss McManus you’d know her as. Is she here? I’m a mite late.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” the woman said.
“I let her off here a couple of hours ago. She meant to buy some salt and whatnot. She must be here somewhere.”
A man behind the counter came over to stand beside the woman. “She went with the reverend’s wife. Mrs. Buckland.”
“Shush, Henry. It’s none of our business,” the woman said, but would not meet Beau’s eye.
Beau nodded to the man, too angry to even look at the woman. “Much obliged.”
Eleanor sat on the edge of the brocade chair, her back straight, her face and hands as calm as she could manage. “Thank you,” she said and accepted tea from Mrs. Buckland. She’d been alone in the sitting room for nearly a quarter of an hour, waiting for her hostess and wondering what had become of the woman.
“Now, dear,” Mrs. Buckland said, reached over, and patted her hand. “We are private without the gentlemen. Tell me what happened, Eleanor.”
She recounted the night of her parents’ deaths, without revealing her mother’s humiliation, as she had no intention of this woman having any vision of her mother and her family that was not completely proper and upright, even knowing her mother had done nothing but try and shield her children. But the reverend’s wife was of the temperament her father abhorred, and she knew full well that the woman would share everything that was said between them. Eleanor intended to guard her family’s dignity.
“And then I went to our wagon to bury my family and was kidnapped.”
Mrs. Buckland titled her head. “Why did you go alone, dear? What could you have been thinking?”
“I had no one to ask after Mr. Dodgekins refused to help me, ma’am, and my family needed a proper burial.”
“I’m sure William would have gone with you eventually. He was very upset about the entire event, as I’m sure you know. Sometimes we just need to be patient with our men while they sort out the best path forward for themselves and their womenfolk.”
“I don’t believe that is true,” Eleanor said and sat her china teacup on the cart. “And I had no intention of letting animals prey on their bodies, although that is what happened anyway.”
“William did say you came here after you’d been freed from your kidnapper but that he was startled at the sight of you. He did believe you’d been killed and was mourning you deeply, you understand that he was in shock, rightfully so, and perhaps did not answer your questions well. And then that barbarian hit him! A man of God!”
There was so many falsehoods in what was just said, Eleanor was at a loss as to how to correct the woman, but she couldn’t be silent. Her father had preached many a sermon whose lesson was to honor and defend the truth and righteousness, even when it was easier and advantageous to be silent.
“No, Mrs. Buckland. That is not what happened at all. I was there, you see. Mr. Dodgekins was not mourning me; he was disgusted by me and told me so to my face.”
The woman shook her head vigorously. “No, no. I am certain you have misinterpreted what was said. How did you eventually get free?”
“I was moments away from being sold to bandits when Mr. Gentry saved me. He killed the men and my kidnapper. He took me to a cabin and let me rest and heal until I was well enough to travel. I don’t remember all of it, as it had been several days that I had gone without food and had hit my head somewhere along the way, I’m not sure where. And then he brought me to Winchester, and I came here immediately.” Eleanor looked up at the woman and held her gaze. “I expected to be welcomed by the church family I’d met here and by Mr. Dodgekins, who was, to my understanding, intending to marry me and assist my father when we arrived in Charleston.”
“William, I am certain, will be asked to travel to Charleston and lead the congregation there since your father’s unfortunate demise. He will need a wife, Eleanor. A sensible wife who understands the church and the exalted place her husband holds in it. Even with this minor setback, you are the perfect wife for him.”
“I would not characterize my family’s murder as a minor setback, and it is an impossibility anyway, as I’m already married to Mr. Gentry.”
Mrs. Buckland moved her chair close to Eleanor until their knees nearly touched and held both her hands. She leaned forward and then began to speak in a soft voice near Eleanor’s ear.
“There is a way forward on God’s path for you.” She paused. “Did you lay with this man while you were in the woods?”
Eleanor felt herself redden. “Of course not,” she said quietly. “I was injured, and he was a perfect gentleman.”
Mrs. Buckland backed up just an inch or so to see Eleanor’s face. “And have you lain with him since?”
Eleanor shook her head and immediately knew her mistake, although was it ever a mistake to tell the truth? “No, ma’am. We are preparing our home on his property, even today. I must go, in fact. Mr. Gentry will be concerned about me.”
“Let us pray over this. Dear Father . . .”
Eleanor closed her eyes and willed herself to be humble and contrite in prayer, even though she was horribly angry. Shortly after they loudly said “amen,” Reverend Buckland and Mr. Dodgekins came into the parlor.
“Ah, my dear,” the reverend said and took both of her hands in his while his wife moved her chair back. “How well you look today. And see who is here to make his greeting to you.”
Dodgekins pulled a chair close to hers and reached for her hand. Eleanor looked at him sharply and laced her fingers together. “It would be improper for me to hold your hand, sir, and please move your chair away from mine. I am married.”
“To that brute? Certainly you realize that he is not suited to you. I am a man of God as you are accustomed to, just like your dear father who has gone on to his reward.”
“I was not suited to you when I came asking for your help, was I?”
“I was out of my mind with worry, Eleanor, and not thinking clearly.”
“Mrs. Gentry, if you please.”
Reverend Buckland cleared his throat and then spoke up from beside his wife. “An annulment will not be difficult. You were not married in the church, and there were extraordinary circumstances surrounding the events that may have lead you to make an undesirable decision. And, well, the marriage, I understand, has not been . . . made sacrosanct.”
“That beast,” Dodgekins said scornfully. “It pains me to think of him and you, the most delicate and
pious of women.”
“I must be going now, Mrs. Buckland. Thank you so much for the tea,” Eleanor said as she rose.
“Life will be ever so difficult without friends to help you,” the woman said, staring up at Eleanor with pursed lips.
“We feel obligated to ensure your well-being with your dear father cold in the grave. There are papers for you to sign in my office that will put the matter behind you,” Reverend Buckland said.
“There is no matter to put behind me. I am married to Mr. Gentry and have no wish to annul it.”
Dodgekins stared out the window, legs crossed, his hand at his chin. “It is difficult to lead a faithful life to the Lord. We must admit our mistakes and allow those with experience and wisdom to lead us to what is good and right in His eyes.” He looked up at her then. “Isn’t that what your father said when he spoke to the congregation here that fateful Sunday?”
Eleanor choked back a sob and dropped into the chair behind her. Father!
They all turned when there was a knock on the main door of the house, followed moments later by pounding. The reverend opened the door to the sitting room, and Eleanor saw an elderly woman hurry by in the hallway.
“Eleanor!” she heard from outside.
She stood quickly. “Beau! I am here. I am coming.” She maneuvered her way through the chairs, past the tea cart, and pardoned herself to the reverend, who was blocking the doorway.
The elderly woman opened the front door, and Eleanor rushed by her.
“I am so very glad to see you,” she said and led him down the rectory’s stone path.
Beau followed his wife, matching her hurried pace. She slowed down finally. and he cupped her elbow. “Your face is pure white. They have upset you. I swear I will never set foot in that place again or even speak to those vermin.”
“Please take me somewhere private where we can talk without interruption.”
“We’ll go back to your room.”
Eleanor sat down on her bed in her hotel room and removed her hat. Beau leaned against the wardrobe near the door. She looked up at him, still white-faced, and licked her lips.
“I went with Mrs. Buckland because she was making a scene in the mercantile. I wanted to quiet her and felt in some way that I owed her an explanation or at least the whole story as my family had been guests in their home many times for meals and fetes. Father had preached from their altar.”
“And?” he said when she said no more.
“Mrs. Buckland said that William Dodgekins was shocked only, accounting for his blunt words on both occasions that I asked for his help, and that I needed to be patient with him until he decided our future. Mr. Dodgekins himself told me he was quite out of his mind with worry for me.”
There was little Beau could do to tamp down the anger he was feeling. It was coming from an unknown place, perhaps his heart, he thought suddenly. He felt the blood rising on his face, and sweat bead on his forehead, although it was not hot in the room. His arms hung loose at his side, as if anticipating an attack. He cracked his neck from side to side.
“What else?”
“Mr. Dodgekins reminded me of part of my father’s sermon when he spoke about leading a faithful life and bowing to the wisdom of elders after one has made a mistake. It was the last sermon he preached. The words were dear to me, and I believe that Mr. Dodgekins realized that. I could hear father’s voice in my head and feel my mother’s hand as if . . .”
Beau heard Eleanor’s plaintive words over the red, hot fury that he was feeling and forced himself to take a few breaths. But it was alive in him, this rage that was making him want to kill William Dodgekins, strangle him, and watch the bastard’s eyes pop out and eventually roll back in his head.
“Have you made a mistake, Eleanor? Would your father want something different for you?”
“No. I have not made a mistake. I have not. You have done nothing but honor me and protect me since I have met you. Father would be pleased, I am sure.”
There was a long silence that Beau hesitated to break. “But are you pleased?”
She stood then and faced him. “I am happy with my choice. Very happy. Even still, I would honor our commitment regardless. We are married.”
She turned away quickly and busied herself with her hat and bag and smoothed the spread on the bed where there was not a wrinkle to be seen.
“What else did they say, Eleanor? There is something you are not telling me.”
She worried the strings on her cloth purse and spoke softly. “She asked me . . . she asked me if we’d lain together, and I said no. Reverend Buckland said the marriage had not been made complete in the eyes of the church then. He had papers in his office for me to sign to annul our marriage.”
“Is that what you want?”
“No. No.” She looked up at him. “I do not want an annulment. I would have never signed anything. It was just difficult with all of them talking. It felt like what I was used to hearing—church folks talking. I wanted to leave, I’d even stood to leave, and then William quoted my father’s last sermon and it was clear to me then that I have chosen a life divorced from all I’ve ever known. It was an uncomfortable moment. But still just a moment.”
Beau knew his wife was talking. Knew rationally that she was explaining something to him, but he could not hear any of it. He could only hear “annulment” and “had not been made complete” reverberating in his head. She was not yet his woman in their eyes, their union not solidified enough, and his anger suddenly had a new direction. A raw, unchecked passion. He would not give her up. She was his for time immortal, and he would make his mark on her and put to rest any thoughts from any other man that she would be anyone’s but his.
Beau pulled her into his arms and kissed her roughly, pulling pins from her hair as he did and twisting his hand in the loosened strands to hold her head still and allow him to kiss her at his pleasure. He felt her hands around his waist circling up to his arms, lightly touching his shoulders. He ran a hand up her side, cupping her breast and rubbing the hard peak through the starched pleats of her blouse. She moaned in his mouth and he swung her down until she lay across the bed, her chest heaving as she drew each breath through an open mouth, her eyelids drooping. With one knee on the bed, he pulled her skirts to her waist and ran a hand between her legs ’til he found the opening in her drawers. She was wet already and hot to the touch, groaning with each stroke. He pulled his belt from his pants and opened the button fly. With his cock in one hand, he watched her moving on the bed and gripping the coverlet while his fingers stroked her. He meant to bury himself in her deep and hard.
“Beau,” she said softly.
And that one word from her stopped him cold. It was his Eleanor he was doing this to. His wife. Surely virginal as much as the stars were in the sky, and here he was going after her as if she were a two-penny whore.
He pulled her skirts down and his shirt out to cover his erection and lay down beside her, one arm across his face. “Oh God, Eleanor. I am so sorry. I am treating you roughly, something I swore I would never do.”
“It is alright. You are my husband,” she said breathlessly.
“When you said they wanted you to get an annulment because we had not had relations, I went a little crazy,” he said with a half laugh. “But you are not a mare that I will brand. You are my wife and deserve tenderness and care.”
She rolled up on her side against him. She put her lips on his and touched her tongue to his bottom lip. “I don’t know what to do, husband, other than what you have already shown me. But I want more. I want all of it,” she said. “Reveal the mystery to me.”
Eleanor had never had anything feel the way it did when Beau touched her with his fingers. It seemed as though her entire lower insides were going to explode, as if his fingers were a match to tinder. She had watched his face and the change in him from furious anger to a passion for her that ignited her need for him. He was going to make sure there was never a possibility of an annulment. The
y would be truly man and wife, and she craved it. He held her in an embrace she would not be able to break physically, yet one word from her had stopped him. But she wanted his passion, she wanted his hands on her bare breasts, holding her head still with a fistful of her hair. She wanted his hand lower. Even thinking about it made her legs shift restlessly against him.
“Show me,” she whispered against his ear.
Beau rolled and loomed over her. He unbuttoned her blouse with shaking fingers, glancing at her and finally pulling her chemise down until her breasts were bare. Breathing hard, he licked his lips and leaned down, sucking her nipple into his mouth. She called out and arched off the mattress as his hand went back under her skirts. Within moments, her legs were open to him, and she pushed off of his fingers as he moved them inside of her and out. There was a tempest building in her, swirling her up in its path, quickening in rhythm and intensity, her hands digging in his hair as if it would hold her grounded.
He climbed on top of her. She looked between their bodies to where he was guiding himself, into where his fingers had been. He slid in slowly, stretching her as he went until he breached her virginity, finally taking the last bit with a lunge that arched her back. He moved in and out of her, and she felt the storm rise again. She met him thrust for thrust, hearing some wet sound and tasting his mouth as he found hers again in an urgent kiss that matched the movement of his hips. This was the mystery. This joining of him and her to be one, she thought as she exploded and cried out. Then he stilled above her with one violent thrust and a last shudder, dropping his head to her breast and kissing her neck and ear.
He rolled off of her then, sweating and panting, red-faced and still breathing hard. He ran a hand under her neck and pulled her toward him until she was tucked against his side, her head on his shoulder, reveling in the heat and the smell of him.