Until June

by Barbara M. Britton

  Foreign phrases flowed from his mouth. Her pulse surged with every kiss to her hand.

  She decided French was the most beautiful, most provocative, most intriguing language she had ever heard. And when Geoff spoke it, it was magnificent. Even when he spoke it at a dingy mine.

  26

  Weeks of writing, typing, and worrying had left Josephine feeling like a pinned-up pattern. She took two aspirin to combat a two-day headache. April was ending. The month had flown by, a blur of typewriter keys, wedding dress patterns, and whirlwind rummy sessions.

  Geoff had retired early to review invoices, so she sprawled on the paisley rug in front of the Victrola. With her article finished and in the post, and Ann’s wedding dress nearly completed, she laid flat on her back, eyes on the ceiling, listening to Irving Kaufman croon about love and ladies. What would it be like to have a beau and sit on his sturdy knee or recline together in a Morris chair? When the visual images caused her heartbeat to quicken and her stomach to flutter, she remembered her mother’s warning about keeping thoughts pure. But when the singer’s enticing voice summoned her back into the world of relationships, she went willingly.

  “What are you listening to?”

  She sprang into a sitting position, her chest rising and falling with the notes of the horn section. “I Love the Ladies.”

  Geoff chuckled. “I didn’t think my father would bring that song.” He carefully tottered to the Victrola and returned the needle to the beginning of the record.

  “Why? Have you been swimmin’ with the women?” She startled herself with her boldness and blamed it on Mr. Kaufman.

  “Not anymore.” He perched in a chair with his wooden legs straight out in front like ski tracks and listened to Irving Kaufman sing about his infatuation. The Victrola crackled and hissed. After a few choruses, Geoff pushed to a stand. “That’s enough of that.” He shuffled to the corner and removed the record.

  She held out the album cover. “You’re not going to break it?”

  “Of course not.” He looked shocked that she would suggest such a thing. “It’s not a song for mixed company. There has to be something better in our repertoire.” He thumbed through the records and put on a kick-up-your-heels tune.

  Ragtime paraded through her temples. “This should be played in the morning. I need music to help me sleep. My shoulders are tight from sewing and beading.”

  Geoff waved his hands in the air as if conducting a band. “I can relate to sore shoulders.”

  Her heart skipped. “Did you put our picture in the envelope before you gave it to Tubby? The editorial office requested a photograph.”

  “Don’t worry. Our happy faces are in the envelope with your article. Attention and fame will be yours once May’s issue hits the newsstand.”

  “You think so?” She beamed with the anticipation of seeing her article and story in homes across America. She gazed at the man who critiqued her work, pushed her to write, and pushed her to tell his story. With Geoff’s hair cut short, his face clean shaven, and a dimpled smile, she would have done anything he asked of her, within reason. She’d even let him steal kisses and sing about it.

  The music stopped.

  She replaced the empty static with a ballad of sunshine and roses. Optimistically, she turned to him and asked, “Will you teach me to dance for Ann’s wedding? I have until July.”

  “Dance? I haven’t danced since Belleau Wood. The explosion ended my dancing days.”

  “Just a few steps? An easy foxtrot? I don’t want to be a wedding wallflower while everyone else is enjoying themselves.”

  “Absolutely not. I have no feeling at the end of these pegs. I’m liable to flatten your arches with one misplaced foot. I won’t be responsible for crushing your toes.” He eased onto the couch.

  “I’ll be careful. I’ll watch both our steps.”

  “Jo, there are some things I cannot do.”

  “Try please, for me?” She pulled on his arm hoping he’d stand, but his body did not budge. “Come on. I won’t get hurt,” she pleaded.

  His face stayed serious like when he was determined to win at rummy.

  Her mind spun, thinking of ways to get him to stand. A threat.

  “I’ll sit on your thigh if you don’t get up.”

  His eyes grew wide. “You most certainly will not.”

  She strolled over to where he sat, fanning her skirt, wrapping it tight to her body as if she was one of those lovely ladies on the record.

  He stood and caught her arm. “Don’t play like this, or I’ll smash that record for sure. Do you hear me?”

  All of Douglas Island could hear him. She nodded and tried to swallow, but a lump lodged in her throat. Guilt tainted her silliness. She was too ashamed to look at his face.

  He released his hold.

  Tapped the table.

  And sighed.

  “Go get your shoes.”

  “You’ll teach me?” Her voice rose in disbelief.

  “You have to have something harmless to do with Marty’s friends. You can’t be going around teasing men by sitting on their laps.”

  She bit her lip. She didn’t want to be like the woman at the mine flaunting an indecent lifestyle.

  “I’m sorry, Geoff. I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

  Lifting her chin so their eyes met, he said, “Go get your mine walking shoes. The pair with the shiny buckles.” His dimples reappeared. “I’d also like to see Ann’s wedding dress. You’ve spent a lot of time on it, and well, I’d like to see what you’ve designed. After all, she is marrying my manager.”

  “And when everyone sees Ann in my dress, they’ll think her too exquisite for that sly codger, Marty Hill.”

  “Codger?” Geoff laughed as if he was glad someone agreed with his assessment of Marty. “Let me see this transforming creation of yours, Miss Nimetz.”

  She sauntered toward the stairs.

  “Put on Robert Lewis or Irving Kaufman,” she said. “No opera.”

  The up-tempo tune halted.

  “Oh, and don’t just bring down the dress,” he called. “Wear it.”

  “Wear it!” she repeated, hanging over the railing. “That’s bad luck.”

  “No, it’s not. You have to try it on to see if it’s made properly.”

  “Made properly? It’s perfect.”

  “Marty’s looking more dapper as we speak.” He fanned himself with the record cover.

  “Don’t say that. Besides, it’s a bit too long for me.”

  “What isn’t?”

  She crossed her arms.

  “Look, I’m teaching you how to dance with no opera records, and I’ll even play with Riley in the morning. That’s a good deal.”

  “Oh, all right,” she said, “but you have to feed Riley, too. And the hens.”

  “Deal. But don’t slip coming down in that wedding dress, or I’ll have some explaining to do about my intentions.”

  Robert Lewis’s crooning drowned out his laughter.

  Ann’s gown glided easily over Josephine’s hips. Ann was fuller through the waist, but not in the chest. Josephine held her breath and zipped up the dress. She admired herself in the mirror. On her wedding day, she would definitely wear something less formal and with less beading. Carefully, she stepped down the staircase.

  “My goodness. Are there any beads left in the Yukon Territory? You look like an archangel floating down those steps.” His eyes marveled at the sparkling design. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

  “So, you think Ann will like it?” She twirled and soaked up his attention.

  “Yes. Marty better be on his best behavior, or there will be a line of men ready to take his place at the altar.” Geoff took her hand. “Miss Nimetz, designer, seamstress, and writer extraordinaire, may I have this dance?”

  “Only if you promise not to step on my gown.”

  She stood on her tiptoes and placed her right hand on his shoulder. He laced her left hand with his right. His left hand rested on her
upper back. When she swung her head, her hair caught on his arm.

  “Stand up straight.” He grew even taller than six feet as he puffed out his chest. “And don’t lean into me. The last thing you, or I, need is a broken back.”

  “How’s this?” She stretched to her full height.

  “At least I can see the top of your forehead.” He shifted awkwardly. “Roll your shoulders back.”

  She perfected her posture. “Why?”

  “There’s supposed to be space between us.”

  “Oh,” was all she said.

  “Yeah, well, let’s begin.” He cleared his throat. A pink hue shaded his cheeks. “I will take two slow steps forward. The slower the better. At least ’til we see how this goes. If I start forward with my left foot, you start backward with your…?”

  “Right,” she said, her gaze intent on their feet.

  “After two slow steps, we’re supposed to do a quick step to the side, but since I’m half lumber, diagonal steps will have to suffice.”

  “If you go left side diagonal, then I’m going right?”

  “Exactly. Ready to try it with no injuries?”

  When she perused her feet, her hair draped over his arm.

  “I should put my hair in a bun. It’s in your way.”

  “It’s fine. I like how long it’s gotten. My mother had long hair. Sometimes when I was a boy and couldn’t sleep, she’d set me on the rug near her dressing area, and I’d watch her brush her cascading light-brown hair. ‘Fifty strokes to entice the men folk’ she used to say. I never knew if she got to fifty strokes. My eyelids sealed shut by forty.”

  She waited as he took hold again, being careful not to apply any backward pressure to his body. His steps—calculated at first—couldn’t keep rhythm to the beat of the music. She mirrored his every move, never running ahead or taking charge of the dance.

  By the third record, they had learned to keep better time. Perspiration glistened on Geoff’s temples. He mastered every step. His breaths winded the side of her face.

  “You smell different,” he said, “like a flower garden.”

  She laughed as he sniffed her neck, tickling her skin with his nose. “It’s Cashmere Bouquet. A gift from Tubby for being the first person he knows to be featured in a magazine. I think he saw the ad on the back of the Companion.”

  “Well, he didn’t see it in any sailor’s rag. And he didn’t get me anything. The article is about me.”

  She giggled at his envy. “You didn’t expect anything, did you? Toiletries are not a manly gift.”

  “I could use some right now.”

  “You smell fine. One more dance?” Her gown shimmered under the light.

  “You mean shuffle, don’t you?” he said, critiquing his own style.

  “You’re a superb teacher and dancer. A bit stiff, but I don’t know any different.” She laughed at the pout in his lips. “You must save me a dance at the wedding.”

  “You won’t have any trouble getting a dance with me. I, on the other hand, will probably have to wait in line all night.”

  “I doubt that.”

  His hand cupped her shoulder. “But no one can cut in tonight.”

  As the Victrola played on, the space between their bodies evaporated. She felt his chest rise and fall with every breath. Her skin tingled under the touch of his body, sparking a burning in the depths of her belly. She longed to push into him. Instead, she focused on their feet, not wanting the night to end with injury.

  The music stopped.

  He kept her in hold.

  Their upper bodies swayed while his feet remained firmly planted on the floor.

  “I don’t know what it is about long hair that mesmerizes me, but I can hardly keep my eyes open.” He pulled away from her and steadied himself.

  “Was I leaning?” she asked.

  “Since the last song. I’m still standing.” He slid his hand down her arm. “Your next partner should be easier to follow. He may actually be able to step backward.”

  “Thanks for the dance lesson.” She couldn’t help but smile. They had actually danced somewhat. With no collisions. She gazed into his wide-awake eyes. Was he waiting for a thank you? Rising on tiptoe, she kissed him. Softly, yet full on the lips.

  She pulled away; ready to run up the stairs.

  He grasped her hand and held her in position.

  “Don’t steal a kiss from me and run away.” His gaze intensified as if he wanted to teach her more than the foxtrot. “Give your partner a chance to kiss you back.”

  She blushed. “Do you want to kiss me back?”

  He did not pull away. Instead, he stroked her neck and then cupped the back of her head. His lips came closer. His breath tickled her mouth. She stilled like a statue as his lips brushed against hers. They were soft and tender and then gone.

  Bouncing, she kissed him. With a longer kiss. A wonderful kiss. A lingering kiss.

  He parted their bodies. “Dance lessons are over.” He inhaled deep.

  “What if I don’t want them to be over?”

  “Jo, my body is bursting with life. I feel like going over the top, and I’m not talking about a trench. If you don’t dash up those stairs, I’ll scarcely make it to my room to pull off these legs.”

  “I’ll help you remove them.”

  Geoff burst out with a laugh. “That won’t help me.”

  “But the Victrola?”

  His hands caught her waist. “I’ll see to the records.” He pushed her toward the stairs. “I might have to censor a few.”

  Her dress rustled as she lifted it so she wouldn’t trip on the stair. She didn’t want their dance partnership to end. “Good night, partner.”

  Grinning, he said, “I’m sure it will be.”

  Ascending the stairs, she inspected where the hem puddled on each step. Her body throbbed with a pleasurable warmth, but she would not allow one misplaced heel to ruin Ann’s dress. It only took a moment to strip out of Ann’s gown and collapse onto the bed. She pressed her stomach against the firm mattress as she tried to smother the smoldering embers sparking below her belly button. Lust pinned her to the bed. Her conscience knew which bed she desired to be in. Geoff’s bed. Ann’s words mocked her, “bedding a cripple?” She had to tame these wayward thoughts.

  She rolled on her back, clutching a pillow to her chest. Thunder shook her senses. A storm drifted closer to the lodge. Was it God’s wrath judging her impure thoughts? Lightning lit up the bedroom. She hugged the pillow tighter.

  Nesting into the covers, she tried to clear her mind and ignore the brilliant flashes of light banishing the darkness. She cocooned into the warmth of the sheets.

  Movement by her bed startled her. She knew it was Geoff by the drag of his legs.

  Thunder raged.

  He slid closer.

  “Are you scared, Jo?”

  She shook her head. Her voice had vanished.

  He perched on the side of the bed. “I can protect you.” His comforting touch awakened her skin.

  Her lips tingled from his firm kiss.

  She wanted him to keep her warm and safe through the night. Through this storm.

  Her pillow fell to the ground. Cool night air chilled her legs and feet. She woke with a start. Plunging forward, her hand covered her mouth. Her eyes searched the room. She was alone. All alone. She would have sworn he had been there.

  How could she have such a bawdy dream? She cared for Geoff, but he wasn’t her beau or sweetheart. How could she face him in the morning after summoning him into her fantasy?

  Thunder trailed off over the mountains. She wrapped herself in bed sheets. A whirlwind of emotions swirled inside her body.

  Only six more weeks.

  What would it be like when she and Geoff returned to Juneau? Would he avoid her? Would he acknowledge her if they met on the street? Would he introduce her to the likes of Brice Todd? Would he greet her, tip his hat, and walk away? He didn’t need her anymore. Then why, oh why, did she feel she n
eeded him? And not just in her dreams.

  27

  The next morning, Josephine tiptoed down the stairs. Geoff’s bedroom doors were closed. She didn’t want to wake him. A plume of feathers still tickled her chest from their kiss the night before.

  A vase of fern fronds and flower buds decorated the kitchen counter.

  “’Bout time you got up.” Geoff’s voice was as cheerful as the flora.

  She turned. Geoff stood in the corner near the door.

  His eyes widened with his grin. “I heard you on the stairs.”

  “I was trying not to wake you.”

  “I’ve been up for hours. Riley and I’ve been outside surveying the property. That dog took me to places I never knew existed.”

  “So, I have you to thank for the muddy paw prints on the floor.”

  “And the bouquet.”

  He strolled toward her as if to take up a dance hold.

  A wave of want built in the pit of her stomach and swelled into her ribs. She thought she might melt right there on the kitchen floor.

  His head dipped low. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I got caught up in the music last night. I didn’t mean to scare you with my kiss”

  Her throat parched. “You didn’t scare me. It was a thank you for the dance.” She brushed by him and moved toward the sink. “I haven’t started the bread for today.”

  “Is that what you’re worried about?” He rubbed his stubbly beard.

  She nodded.

  He angled himself toward the living room. “I’ll let you get to work then. You know what they say. If you want to marry a man and share his pillow, you have to cook up something delicious for his stomach.”

  Her heart was bouncing all over her chest. He said marry. Surely, he didn’t mean them? What did Geoff envision with her now that their time together was almost over? Did he see a future as husband and wife or envision a sinful night in his bed? He wouldn’t need her services when they returned to Juneau. He was capable of handling most of his care on his own. The Chambers Estate had plenty of servants who could assist him now that he was healthy.

  She opened the kitchen door.

  Riley sat on the porch and watched her as if he was expecting her to throw him some tidbits.