The Endearment

by LaVyrle Spencer

  “Know what, Karl?” she whispered.

  “What?”

  “I've never kissed you.”

  “But we have kissed every night.”

  “You've kissed me every night. Now it's time for me to kiss you.” She'd been thinking about it, about what it would be like to be the instigator. But she knew she'd better be careful. Any active move on her part raised ever-greater response in Karl as the days went by.

  Karl was totally surprised, wondering what impish thing she could think of next. “Come then, kiss me and I'll be good.” He lay back with both arms crossed behind his head. Anna amazed him further by sitting up on her knees beside him. Although it was dark, he pictured her there, childlike, kneeling beside him in her nighty with those freckles dancing across her nose. If he thought of her that way, as a child, perhaps he could make it through one more night of the torture he now suffered at this time each day.

  Thankfully, she gave him only a childlike peck. But she braced both hands on his chest to do it. After the peck, they stayed there.

  I am playing with fire, thought Anna, but it is such fun. His skin was bare, warm, covered with a fine mat of hair. Beneath her palms she could feel the thrum of his heart, and for a moment she was confused. Did she want him to make love to her or not? Times during the day, watching him with the axe or stroking the horses or splashing water over his neck she often quelled the desire to reach out and caress his beautiful flesh.

  In the dark he was only a shadow, a voice, but a warm shadow, a throaty voice. By now she knew the color of the skin concealed by darkness, the shine of the hair resting on the pillow so near her. She need not even touch them to remember them, but the memories tempted her hands, and they strayed lightly across the rises of his chest while she spoke.

  “Karl?”

  “Hm?”

  How could a single syllable sound so strained, she wondered.

  “What did you think when you first saw me?”

  “That you were too young and too thin.”

  She tugged at a couple of hairs, and he winced, but kept his arms behind his head. “Do you want an old, fat wife?” she teased.

  “In Sweden girls are a little plumper.”

  “A little plumper, huh?” She felt him shrug apologetically, and promised with mock sincerity, “I'll try to get fat for you, Karl. I think I can do that quite fast, the way I've been eating. But it will take me awhile longer to get old.”

  In the dark he smiled. “Have I married a girl who will tease me to death?”

  She pushed against his chest one time, as if it were a lump of dough she was kneading. “Yes, a skinny, young tease I am. I will tease you mercilessly.” She sat back on her heels, but left her palms lightly on his ribs, for she could tell more about him by what was going on beneath her touch than ever she'd seen in broad daylight.

  Karl chuckled softly, pleased as usual by this bent of hers toward humor. Again it grew quiet, and Karl battled to keep his tongue from asking what he'd always thought was supposed to be of little importance. Lately though, since she had played this game of keeping him at bay, the question had grown significant, until now he could not help asking.

  “What did you think when you saw me?” His low voice sounded slightly hoarse.

  She remembered that first day, his face appearing around the wagon, the large hand sliding his cap from his head in slow motion, the look of boyish wonder upon his handsome features as his eyes wandered over her for the first time. She remembered that her heart had raced then just like it did now.

  “That you lied,” she answered softly.

  “Me!”

  “Yes, by making less of your looks than you should have in your letters to me.”

  Her finger brushed against his nipple. It was as hard as a pebble, and with a start she thought, do men's get hard like that, too? Quickly, she slid her fingertips away from it, wondering if it was hard because he was aroused or if it was that way all the time. Her own breasts were puckered so tightly they hurt.

  A swell of self-satisfaction washed through Karl at Anna's last words. And the tiny things she was doing to his chest . . . Ah, she does find me pleasing, he thought. But then, feeling guilty for the thought, he said gruffly, “It is what is inside that matters.”

  “What's inside matters, but other things matter, too.” By the minute these other things were coming to matter more and more and more as Anna's hands played upon Karl.

  “What other things?” he couldn't resist asking.

  “Size, shape, colors, features, faces.”

  “I . . . I guess maybe you are right,” Karl admitted, remembering Father Pierrot's lecture on this subject the night before their marriage.

  “I thought so much about what you would look like while James and I were on our way to Minnesota. When I got here and saw you for the first time, I was pleased. I liked what I saw, but I remember being . . . well, surprised at your size. It . . . well, it rather scared me.”

  Her hand sailed lightly across his chest, raising goose bumps up the lengths of both his arms.

  “You're a big man, Karl,” she whispered into the dark.

  “Like my father,” he got out.

  Then, hand over hand, she measured his breadth, burning a path across his skin. “Seven hands wide,” she counted.

  “From using the axe.” Where her touch lingered, his heart thudded dangerously. Still, he did not move, so she slid her hands up to encircle one of his biceps.

  “And you're strong.”

  Stridently, he whispered, “I have cleared much land.”

  “Like your father?” quietly.

  “Yes, like my father,” shakily.

  “And is this your father's neck?” she asked, placing both hands around it, falling just short of spanning it, making the hair on the back of it prickle with awareness.

  “I guess so.”

  “I can't even reach around it. I've wanted to try it for the longest time, just to know what it felt like.”

  He thought if she continued this way much longer, she would learn the feel of more than just his neck. But next she found his hair.

  “You have such blond hair. I never saw such blond hair.”

  “I am Swedish,” he reminded her unnecessarily.

  “And do all Swedes think so little of their looks?” she asked, thinking, now, Karl, please, now.

  He lay unmoving, stunned by the sensations her exploration invoked.

  “I can only speak for myself,” he croaked.

  “That your face would not make milk curdle?”

  “Ya.”

  She found his temple, laid a palm against his long cheek and followed the line of one eyebrow with a fingertip. “What kind of thing is that to say about a face like this? That it would not make milk curdle.”

  There followed a long, intense silence, and it seemed as if the thunder of two hearts reverberated off the cabin walls into the trembling night.

  “Would it?”

  “No, Karl, it most certainly would not,” she whispered, her fingertips passing lightly across his lips, then disappearing.

  His chest was so taut he could scarcely find the breath to whisper, “My mother's face.”

  “Your mother is a beautiful woman.” Karl's chest expanded like never before.

  Anna knew exactly what she was doing, what was happening to Karl. And she knew, too, that it was unfair. But she had discovered the universal power of femininity and could not resist wielding it. I am merciless, she thought. I know what is happening to his body, and I know it can lead nowhere tonight, yet I cannot resist plying him, knowing I have bent him to my will.

  Bent him, she surely had, to an angle that would bear little more force before snapping. He had lain all this time with both hands folded behind his head, but now he brought one to her shoulder in the dark, squeezing it forcefully. The grip was like iron before he moved in one smooth flow, coming up, turning her, pushing her onto her back with a kiss that told her he was done with her games.
r />   Oh God, Karl, I thought you would take till morning, she thought.

  His mouth was warm, wide, and his kiss hungry. His tongue touched hers, then moved in a circle upon her lips. She felt the soft silken skin of his inner lips beneath her tongue, and deep in her body a pulsing made her lower parts feel ready to burst from want. His tongue washed her teeth, explored the warm crevice between them and her upper lip. The turn of her waist was his undoing as he found it, then moved his hand upward to slake its emptiness and fill his palm with her breast while his other cupped the back of her head.

  He rested his lips against the side of her nose as he pleaded hoarsely, “Anna, do not play games with me this way. I have waited long enough.”

  Tell him now, she ordered herself. But it was heavenly being touched at last by him, fully, intimately. The hand that lifted trees, harnessed horses and held an axe as if it were a child's toy now was gentle in its insistence, provoking a yearning in Anna's breasts to be bared to that callused palm. Yes, yes, she thought, just this. For tonight, just this joy of knowing your touch and tingling to it and tasting the sweetness of my body yearning for more.

  “Oh, Anna, are you child or woman? You are so warm.” Gently, he fondled her breasts, carried away by touching them at last, feeling her nipples hard and aroused.

  “Oh, Karl, I fear I am both. Wait, Karl!”

  “No more waiting, Anna. Do not be afraid.” His hand slid down her ribs and kneaded her hip while he covered her mouth with his.

  Anna realized she had tricked not only Karl, but herself. She wanted him so badly, all thought of playing him any longer fled, for as she played him, she played herself, and it had become torturous. She grabbed his hand.

  “Karl, I'm sorry . . . wait! I . . . I shouldn't have started this tonight. I . . . it's my time of month.”

  His hand stopped kneading, and he tensed away from her. She heard his sharp, indrawn breath before he fell aside with an audible groan, throwing the back of a wrist across his forehead. She thought she actually heard his teeth gritting.

  “Why didn't you tell me, Anna?” he asked tightly. “Why did you start this tonight of all nights?” His displeasure was evident.

  She could sense how he'd withdrawn from her with scarcely controlled anger as he lay back again, arms crossed behind his head.

  “I'm sorry, Karl. I didn't realize.”

  Only cold silence greeted her.

  “Don't be mad. I . . . I don't like it any more than you do.” Defensively, she drew herself over to her side of the bed, fluffed the covers over her chest and pinned them with her arms.

  “You knew all the time and still you started this.”

  “I said I was sorry, Karl.”

  “I have played along with this game of yours for two weeks already. I think I have had enough of it. I do not think what you just did was such fun.”

  “Don't be mad.”

  “I am not mad.”

  “Yes you are, Karl. I won't do anything like this again.”

  He studied the blackness above him a long time, obviously put out at her. Finally, he asked, “How long does this thing last with women?”

  “A couple more days,” she whispered.

  “A couple more? Two more, Anna?” he asked deliberately.

  She was cornered, but could only answer, “Yes, two more,” realizing that with the words she at last committed herself to a definite time. Two nights from now would be either her doing or her undoing, depending upon what Karl would or would not realize about her past, once they made love.

  “All right,” he said now with finality, “two more days.”

  Anna didn't put her fears into precise pigeonholes. She didn't actually think to herself, if Karl realizes the truth about me he'll send me away. Somehow she knew he wouldn't do that. Still, guilt and uncertainty provoked her to arm herself against his possible displeasure. Her only insurance was to prove her worth around the place beyond a doubt, to make Karl think of her as indispensable. That, she admitted, was a lot to prove over the next couple of days.

  She began the next morning by attempting to make pancakes. When Karl and James came in from morning chores they found the intrepid Anna ready to pour batter in the griddle.

  “So, I can be a full-time logger at last?” Karl asked smilingly, while Anna nervously wiped her hands on the thighs of her britches.

  “Maybe,” she quavered, and would have poured the batter into the ungreased spider had Karl not reminded her to lard it first. When she had the cakes baked on one side, then turned them, she realized they looked nothing like his had. These were flat and lifeless. But she served him the first ones anyway, hurrying to pour the second batch for James.

  Karl eyed the flat specimens with their wavy edges. Too much milk, he thought, and not enough saleratus. But he ate the helping, then another, kindly withholding criticism. When Anna took her first bite, her jaws stopped. Karl and James eyed each other sideways and tried not to snicker. Then she spit the mouthful back onto her plate with disgust.

  “Ish!” she spouted. “That's like a slice of a cow's hoof!”

  The other two at last burst out laughing, while Anna railed at herself in disgust. “I thought I'd surprise you, but I'm too stupid to remember the simplest recipe. It's awful! I don't know how you ever ate so many!”

  “It was hard, wasn't it, James?” Karl managed between gusts of laughter.

  James curled his tongue out and rolled his eyes upward.

  “Don't you dare poke fun at me for failing, Karl Lindstrom! At least I tried! And you can put your tongue back in now, you little brat!” she yelled at her brother.

  Karl silenced his laughter at once, but his chest still shook.

  “You were the one who said it was like a cow's hoof,” James reminded her.

  “I can say it!” she snapped. “You don't have to!” She whisked her plate from the table, turning her back on the both of them.

  “Tell your sister not to throw away the leftovers,” Karl whispered loudly behind her. “We can use them to shoe the horses with.”

  But when she whirled on him, he had already made it to the door. The pancake missed his head and sailed out into the yard where Nanna came and nosed at it inquisitively, then—unbelievably!—turned away in disinterest. Anna stood in the door with her hands on her hips, yelling across the clearing at Karl's retreating back, “All right, smarty, what'd I do wrong?”

  “You probably forgot the saleratus,” he called merrily without so much as turning around.

  She kicked viciously at the pancake lying in the dirt, then swung back to the door, mumbling, “Saleratus! A nincompoop forgets saleratus!”

  For good measure, Karl turned now, and added, “And you put in too much milk!” He watched her feisty little backside swivel into the house again. He'd had a sneaking suspicion last night she'd fibbed to him again just to put him off for a while longer. But now he was sure she'd been telling the truth. He had enough sisters to remember their bursts of temper and inexplicable irritability that came and went in mysterious cycles.

  Anna was so disgusted with herself she could have cried. After all her promises to try her best to please Karl, look what she'd done! Flying off the handle at him and throwing the pancake like it was his fault. But, oh, those pancakes had been so miserable!

  Noon dinner was worse, because it should have been easier. All she had to do was slice bread and fry venison steaks. She volunteered to go back down the skid trail early and get the fire stoked up and the meal begun so it'd be ready when Karl and James brought the load of wood.

  Her bread slices were wedge-shaped. The venison, which had looked so appetizing when raw, was charred to a curl on the outside, oozing cold blood on the inside. Nobody mentioned the inept preparation of the food. But the steaks were scarcely touched.

  Anna's ineptitude in the kitchen served a purpose after all. She was so furious with herself she worked like a dynamo to get rid of her frustration. That afternoon, because of her excessive energy, she and
James kept up, tree-for-tree, with Karl. In the twenty minutes or so it took Karl to fell one tree, Anna could skin another tamarack of its branches, while James could skid a load down the hill from the siding. Time of the month or not, Anna would show Karl she was good for something!

  By the end of the day Anna's stomach was growling like a riled hedgehog. Once it chose to growl when she was so near Karl, he heard it and could not resist a little corner-of-the-mouth smile. But he kept on working, bare-chested and amused.

  Anna could not stand it any longer. When the next tree went crashing down, she looked at Karl across the roaring silence and, even though it was earlier than usual, asked, “Karl, could we go back early today?”

  “Why?” he asked, already seizing his axe, moving to the next tree.

  “Because I'm so hungry I haven't got enough strength to whack one more limb off.”

  “Me, too,” James put in from his spot at the far end of the tamarack. Still, he cast a wary glance at his sister while he admitted it.

  “Me, too,” Karl said, trying not to smirk.

  Suddenly, the humor of the situation struck Anna. All of them working away here while she grumbled and mumbled and was the worst kind of spitfire! She knew she had to be the first one to laugh. It started as a thin, self-conscious giggle, but before she knew what was happening, James chuckled, then Karl. Then a most unladylike snort came through her nose, and all three of them let go fully!

  She collapsed in the sawdust in an uncontrollable fit of mirth. Karl stood with one foot on a stump, one hand braced on the axe, hooting at the azure sky, while James came whisking through the branches of the downed tree to Anna's side, where he, too, settled onto his knees in the sawdust. The crows must have heard, for they started up a cacophony of their own from the woods. The trio laughed until their stomachs growled all the more. Anna finally sat up, weak, exhausted in the nicest way. Karl eyed her appreciatively, her hair now salted with sawdust, dark circles of sweat beneath her arms, smudges of bark lichens on her chin. He'd never seen anything prettier.