The Endearment

by LaVyrle Spencer

  To Anna came an incredible thirst at the tugging of his kiss upon her breast. She knew physical thirst that brought unexpected cravings for cool, flowing water. She knew emotional thirst that brought visions of warm, quivering flesh. It built in a marvelous anguish until her head pressed back of its own accord. Her ribs rose, her back arched, her hands found his hair. He groaned softly as her fingers threaded the strands. Her hands tugged impatiently, then fell to his cheeks to hold their hollows, the better to feel his open-mouthed possession of her flesh. His searching, suckling mouth created within Anna such a confusion of warring sensations. She was at once slaked but thirsty, filled but hungering, sapped but fortified, languid but vital, relaxed but tensile.

  His face traveled her body while Anna luxuriated in the leisurely pace he'd set. Beneath his lips he felt her stretching like a cat as he touched the hollow between her ribs. His hands stroked the curve of her waist. As if this triggered some magic, she raised her hands above her head, arching further upward in a languor he had not expected. Her hips were hilled and warm, their hollows small and soft beneath his palm. Slowly, fluidly he stretched himself beside her, finding her lips with his again while the circle of her arms came down to press his shoulders to her.

  “Karl,” she murmured, lying in wait until at last he found the mystery of her in treasured folds of warmth.

  “Oh, Anna,” his voice came raspy, his mouth buried between the pillow and her ear. “I cannot believe you.” Hosannas filled his mind at the newness of this woman and her reaction to his touches. He rubbed his ear across her mouth, his touch taken at last within her.

  “It's so different,” she whispered. “I was so afraid.”

  “Anna, never will I hurt you.” Glorying in her acceptance, he explored her until his body's forces could be denied no longer. He covered her with the length of his own body, thinking, Anna, Anna, that you should be such as you are! You do not reject me or make me feel callow as I feared. His hips thrust against her of their own accord, bringing a rustle to the room. Fiercely, he cupped the back of her neck, pulling her ear roughly against his throaty whisper. “Anna, let's go outside . . . please.” He bent his ear to her lips again.

  “Yes,” she whispered huskily.

  And he was out of the bed, finding his discarded clothing in the dark while she thrust her trembling arms back into sleeves, found buttons, felt Karl's hand reaching to pull her from the bed. At their sounds of departure James' sleepy voice came from the floor.

  “Karl, is that you?”

  “Ya. Anna and me. We want to talk a while so we are going for a walk. Go to sleep, James.”

  They stole barefoot onto the night grass, latching the door behind them, limbs quivering with each step. The liquid moon fell upon their heads like rich cream while they walked, untouching, in disciplined slowness, toward the barn. Anna felt a tugging at her arm and looked up to find Karl's face and hair alight with moonglow, the seam of his lips etched in moonshadow. He stopped and swept an arm around her shoulders, mantling them with the blanket he had hastily pulled from where it hung in the corner as they fled to privacy. Her arms took his broad neck in a tight, clinging loop while he picked her up off the ground, spreading his feet and leaning back for balance. His hastily donned shirt hung unbuttoned between them. She plunged both hands into the back of it, rubbing his high-muscled shoulders while he kissed her throat which arched into the night sky.

  “I would have this first time last all night if I could,” he groaned. The curves and planes of her body were pressed beguilingly against his as he held her aloft. “Just your touch, Anna . . .” She kissed away his words, her hands playing over his back until at last he eased her down. Her toes touched dew, then she and Karl were running toward the barn with hands joined and the blanket flaring behind them.

  He tugged her hand in the hay-scented dark, showing her the way. She heard the flip of the blanket, the vague rushing sound of it settling upon the hay. She reached for the buttons of her nightgown, but his hands came seeking, stopping hers, taking her wrists in a commandeering grasp. Relentlessly, he forced them down to her sides, then his fingers plied her buttons.

  “This is my job,” he said. “I want every joy of this night to be mine.” He brushed the gown from her shoulders and found her wrists again and brought them to his stomach. “Right from the beginning, Anna, the way it ought to be.”

  Wordlessly, she did his bidding, with trembling hands, until they stood in naked splendor before each other. Blood beat in their ears. They savored that moment of hesitation before Karl reached out with strong hands to grip her shoulders and take her against him, drawing her down to the hay, the blanket.

  He was lithe and engulfing and impassioned, rolling with her, kissing her with an ardor she had not imagined, everywhere, everywhere. Her arms clung. Her lips sought. Her body arched. Above her he braced, poised.

  “Anna, I do not want to hurt you, little one.”

  Never had she expected such sensitive and pained concern. “It's all right, Karl,” she said, gone past thoughts of waiting longer for the final blending of their bodies.

  He hovered, quivering, then placed himself lightly in her. He felt her hands seek his hips and wielded her in shallow movements. Again he waited for her sign, slowly, lingeringly. She moved, flowing into his being, gently, thrusting up. Together they found rhythm. Their breaths came in labored draughts through the dusky night, uttering each other's names. Their motion became ballet, graceful, flowing, smooth, choreographed by the master hand of nature into a synchronization unlike either had imagined. Karl heard the sound of his own moans of pleasure as heat and height built. An unintelligible cry broke from Anna and he stopped moving, agonized.

  “No . . . don't . . .” she cried out.

  He moved back, stricken. She pulled at him.

  “What is it, Anna?”

  “It's good . . . please . . .”

  She told him, too, with some obscure language of centuries to flex now, until time and tone and tempo reached deeply to bring Anna reason for being. And at her grip and flow, Karl, too, shuddered, collapsed, lowering his head to cradle in exhaustion at her neck.

  She held him there, fiercely stroking the damp hair at the back of his neck, wondering if it would be all right to cry, fearing it was not a choice left up to her. For her chest was filled to bursting. A stinging bit in the depths of her nose. The warning glands in her jaws filled. Then, horrified, she burst forth with a shattering, single sob that filled the barn with sound and Karl with alarm.

  “Anna!” he cried, fearful at something he'd done to hurt her after all. He fell to his side, taking her with him. But she forced her face sharply aside and covered her eyes with a forearm.

  “What is it, Anna? What have I done?” Regretfully, he withdrew from her, stroked the arm she held over her eyes.

  “Nothing,” she choked.

  “Why do you cry, then?”

  “I don't know . . . I don't know.” Truly she didn't.

  “You don't know?” he asked.

  Silently, she shook her head, unable to delve this mystery herself.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “No . . . no.”

  His big hand stroked her hair helplessly. “I thought it was . . .” He begged, “Tell me, Anna.”

  “Something good happened, Karl, something I didn't expect.”

  “And this makes you cry?”

  “I'm silly.”

  “No, no, Anna . . . do not say that.”

  “I thought you would be displeased with me, that's all.”

  “No, Anna, no. Why would you think such a thing?”

  But she couldn't tell him the real reason. Unbelievably, he did not seem to know.

  “It is I who wondered if I did right. All day long I thought of this and worried. And now it has happened and we knew, Anna. We knew. Is it not incredible how it was? How we knew?”

  “Yes, it's incredible.”

  “Your body, Anna, how you are made, how we fit.” He
touched her reverently. “Such a miracle.”

  “Oh, Karl, how did you get this way?” She clutched him against her almost desperately, as if he'd threatened to leave.

  “How am I?”

  “You're . . . I don't know . . . you're filled with such wonder at everything. Things mean so much to you. It's like you're always looking for the good in things.”

  “Do you not look for the good? Did you not look for this to be good then?”

  “Not like you, I don't think, Karl. My life hasn't had much good in it until I met you. You are the first truly good thing that has happened to me. All except for James.”

  “That makes me happy. You have made me happy, Anna. Everything is so much better since you are here. To think that I will never have to be lonely again.” Then he sighed, a pleasured, full sigh, and snuggled his face into her neck again.

  They lay silently for some time, basking. She touched the arm he'd flung tiredly across her and rubbed its hair up, smoothed it down. He idled his foot upon the back of her calf, using it to hold her near. They began talking lazily into each other's chins, necks, chests, anywhere their mouths happened to be.

  “I thought I would die before this day was over.”

  “You too, Anna?”

  “Mm-hmmm. Me, too. You too?”

  “I worried about the craziest things.”

  “I didn't know if I should look at you or ignore you.”

  “I worried about those cornhusks all day.”

  “You did?”

  He nodded his head. She laughed softly.

  “Didn't you?”

  Again she laughed softly.

  “I did not know what I would do if you would not come out here.”

  “I was so relieved when you asked me.”

  “I will hurry to finish the log cabin, then James will have a loft to himself.”

  They fell silent, thinking of it.

  Soon she asked, “Karl, guess what?”

  “What.”

  “You lied tonight.”

  “I?”

  “You told James we were going for a walk. You said 'nothing makes a liar out of Karl Lindstrom' but something did.”

  “And something might again,” he warned.

  And something certainly did.

  Chapter Twelve

  James could tell the minute he opened his eyes that things were okay again between Karl and Anna. For one thing, today was the first day Karl hadn't risen before Anna and gone outside to keep out of the way while she got up and washed and dressed. When James opened his eyes and stretched to look over his shoulder, he found both his sister and brother-in-law tucked up in bed yet. They were whispering, and James thought he heard giggles. A pleasant sense of security enfolded the boy. It was always terrible when things were strained between Karl and Anna. But today, James knew, would be one of those good, good days he liked best.

  Karl was at the moment lying nose to nose with his wife. He had her by both breasts. “There is not a handful in both of these together,” he was whispering.

  “You didn't seem to mind last night,” she whispered back.

  “Did I say I minded?”

  She faked a heavy Swedish accent and whispered, “If you-u-u vant a vife who-o-o is shaped like a moo-o-ose and has bu-u-u-soms like vatermelons, you vill haff to go back to Sveden. This vun has only two-o-o little blu-u-u-berries.”

  Karl had to put his face somewhere to stifle the laughter, so he plunged it into her two little bu-u-soms.

  “But, Anna, I told you, blueberries are my favorite,” he said when he was able.

  “You-u-u don't foo-o-o-l me! I know you-u-u!”

  “A man cannot help having a favorite.”

  “Ya, favorite, says this foo-o-o-l. He should remember that if he did not have hands like sou-u-u-p plates, they would be fu-u-u-ll right now!”

  Another spasm of laughter grabbed Karl. Beneath his hands, he felt Anna's breasts bounce with laughter, too. “And if you were not so busy being smart to your new husband, you might have your hands full, too.” He captured her hand and placed it upon his genitals.

  “Ya, su-u-u-re,” Anna said, her Swedish accent beautiful by this time, “like I said, he is a foo-o-o-l. Vith the sun up and his brother-in-law on the floor, he vakes up like a ripe cu-u-u-cumber!”

  This time they couldn't keep it quiet any more. They laughed in audible snorts while Karl engulfed Anna in his big, powerful arms and they rolled back and forth, bubbling over with joy.

  “What are you two doing up there?” James asked from the floor.

  “We are talking about gardening,” Karl answered.

  “So early in the morning?” James wasn't misled. He knew things were going to be great around here from now on!

  “Ya. I was just telling Anna how much I love blueberries and she was telling me how she loves cu—” The rest of Karl's word was muffled as Anna clapped her hand over Karl's mouth.

  Then James heard more giggling, and the cornhusks snapping like they'd never snapped before, and many grunts and sounds of playful battle. But James wisely kept his back to the bed as he got up and went outside to the washbench. He was smiling from ear to ear.

  Karl was right; the Indians showed up in the clearing before breakfast, looking longingly at the kiln. What else could they do but invite them to stay for breakfast? Thankfully, there were only three this time, so only one of their precious loaves had to be shared. Karl took his axe outside. Anna, James and the three visitors watched as he rapped on the kiln and broke it open. The fourteen loaves were gloriously brown and still warm.

  “Tonka Squaw cook good bread,” Two Horns complimented when he tasted it.

  “Two Horns shoots fat pheasants,” she returned. And with her words, peace was made between Anna and the Indians. Karl did not find it necessary to clear up who had made the bread. Instead, he let Anna bask in the Indians' obvious admiration of her. To them she would always be Tonka Squaw, Big Woman, and Karl was proud of her for earning the honorary title. Now that Anna understood the import of it, she was congenial to them.

  She found it strange that Karl still said in spite of their friendship the Indians would steal food if the house was left untended. Just as the Indians believed no man owned the birds of the air, they believed no man owned the wheat of the land. If they wanted white bread, they would come in and take it. If they wanted white potatoes, they would come in and take them. But their sense of honor would keep them out if they saw the warning block of wood wedged against the door.

  Breakfast with the Indians made for a late start that day, but it didn't matter. The trio were in high spirits, for this was the day the hewing began in earnest, and nothing could rival the excitement they all felt. Anna was glowing. Karl was energetic. James was eager. All in time for the day the actual walls began going up.

  Karl brought out his keenly sharpened foot adz and began hewing, explaining the art that seemed dangerous to both Anna and James. Standing upon a tamarack log, Karl used short strokes, which swept toward the toe of his boot. Anna was horrified to realize the blade actually bit into the wood beneath Karl's boot with each swipe. He moved forward a mere three inches after each stroke, making his way along the length of the log to leave behind a creamy, flat surface.

  “Karl, you'll hurt yourself!” she scolded.

  “Do you think so?” he questioned, eyeing the cleanly hewed wood, then curling his boot toes up. “A proper adzman can split the sole of his boot into two layers without touching either the timber beneath it or the toes inside it. Shall I show you?”

  “No!” she yelped. “You and your logger's ego!”

  “But it is so, Anna.”

  “I don't care. I would rather have you with ten toes than an award for splitting soles!”

  “Your sister likes my toes,” Karl said smilingly to James, “so I guess I cannot prove to her they are in no danger.” Then, to Anna again, he said, “Come, help James and me roll this log over.”

  Together the three of them s
trained, using braces with which to roll the log onto its flat side so Karl could adz the topside. Then, with no more than six deft strokes, he removed a cleanly rectangular half notch some eight inches from one end of the log. He did the same at the other end, and together the trio worked to raise it onto the foundation. Always there was a perfect fit to receive, a perfect fit to enter.

  During those days, as the walls grew higher, Karl made sexual innuendo out of even the fit of the notches. These were days of grueling work, of sweat-stained clothing, of hot, stinging muscles, but of satisfaction.

  Everything to Karl was a source of satisfaction. Whether he was showing James the proper way to drive the blunt side of an axe poll into a kerf to hold it secure for sharpening or measuring the distance between notches by axe lengths or fitting the newly notched log securely onto the last or pausing for a drink of spring water—to Karl the living of life was a precious thing. In all he did, he taught the most important lesson of all: life must not be squandered. A person got from life what he put into it. If even the most arduous labor was looked upon benevolently, it would offer countless rewards.

  He would raise one more level of logs, sit straddling the wall up above their heads, slap that log soundly, and say, “This will be a magnificent house! See how straight these tamaracks lie?” Sweating, hair plastered to the sides of his head, muscles hot and trembling from the massive effort of placing the log just perfectly, he found glory in this honorable task.

  Below him, Anna would gaze up, shading her eyes with an arm, tired beyond any tiredness she had ever imagined, but still ready to help raise one more log, knowing that when it was up, she would feel swelling in her chest again, the glorious satisfaction only Karl had taught her to feel.

  One day, standing thus, she called up to her husband, “Oh, this is a magnificent thing all right, but I think it is a magnificent birdcage!” Indeed, it did look like a birdcage. Even with Karl's deeply cleft notches the logs did not quite meet. By now Anna knew perfectly well that all log cabins were made this way, but Karl's infectious teasing had by this time rubbed off on her.