The Flame and the Flower

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  “Strange, we all assume that the child will be a boy.” She fluffed the lace on the canopy. “Of course my husband has declared it so, and who will deny his right to wish a son?” She smiled to herself, thinking how she had once prayed for a girl. “Poor daughter, if you grow within my belly; seek your finer pleasures now for blue will be your maiden’s color.”

  She turned and with a last slow look about, wandered from the nursery, through the sitting room and returned once more to the master bedroom where a fire glowed cheerfully on the hearth. She relaxed before its warmth in a large overstuffed chair and stared with pensive mood into the flames. She sighed and thought of Brandon’s return in the next few days. His brief letter to her some weeks ago had been curt and mentioned only his approximate day of homecoming.

  What would his manner be? Would he be more gentle or perhaps more temperamental? Had he found some northern wench to ease himself upon? He’d given her, his wife, that other bed and other room. . . .

  “He could not stand the sight of me before,” she thought sadly. “Now I’m plump with child, ill-shaped and so clumsy in my moves I must waddle more like the goose than a feminine woman. I will not blame him for his distant mood when he sees my swollen shape.”

  She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

  “Oh Brandon, would that I had been more tender when I had the chance, perhaps I’d share your bed and would soon feel your warmth again beside me. I would be sure no other bed you’d share.”

  She looked again into the fire and felt a flare of anger within her.

  “What sultry trollop has he chosen to pass the time with? Was it a sweet, simpering thing he cajoled to keep him warm in the north?”

  Her temper softened some.

  “I would have never seen this land, this house, these kind and gentle souls I’ve met, had not the fates decreed my maidenhood should be the price! I’ve but to make the best of it and when this child has come and I regain my former worth, then I shall ply my woman’s wiles to gain my husband.”

  She wrapped her arms about her and grew warm in memories. That moment at the inn when he had seemed so tender, almost loving, and on the ship, his careful tending of her person. And even with Louisa he did deflect the more cruel blows and played the lover dear.

  “Is it possible,” she wondered, “that somewhere beneath that scowling brow he does harbor some loving thoughts of me? If I would be the gentle, devoted wife, could he some time begin to love me? Oh, dearest love, and I do love thee, could you be in truth my husband, loving me above all others? Would you take me in your arms and caress me as a lover would? Oh Lord, I tremble at the thought that he would find me all that he should ever want.”

  The fire had burned low. She rose and by its softened glow stood beside the great and tempting bed once more.

  “And you, oh lovely resting place, will soon feel my weight again, I vow. You’ll not seem so lonely long for I will tempt him to my ends which are the same as yours, to be shared, to be loved, to be gently courted as if a maiden still. Oh, he will bend and time will be my friend. I’ll let my patience mend the bleeding wounds we share until they are no more and he will seek my comfort, my love forever more.”

  She sighed and returned to the sitting room. She thought of it as the sitting room now, only temporarily hers until she took her rightful place. She sought her bed and bravely courted sleep.

  Leopold and a wagon and team had been taken into town several days before to be left with friends against Brandon’s return. The day was one of the few sunny ones they had had so far, and Heather had taken the opportunity to go to the cookhouse and chat with Aunt Ruth and learn more of the strange Yankee foods and those dishes which were Brandon’s favorite. She sat on the stool, sipping tea that the old woman had prepared for her and listened intently as the Negress described some of her methods of preparing foods, impressed by the fact that with Aunt Ruth it was more a matter of talent and artistry than of actual knowledge. She seemed to know instinctively how foods and herbs would taste when blended and could make even a simple dish a true adventure of flavor.

  The pleasant moment was interrupted by shouts from afar and soon Hatti bustled in breathlessly exclaiming:

  “Master Bran—Master Bran’s coming lickety split down the back road! He-he,” she giggled. “He’s in such a hurry he’s gonna run that black horse into the ground.”

  Heather’s eyes widened and she gasped as she slid from the stool. Her hands flew to her hair and then to her gown and she seemed horrified.

  “Oh, I must look a fright!” she cried. “I’ve got to. . . .”

  She turned without finishing and fled to the house and as she labored up the stairs, she called for Mary. The girl came running and was there when she flung open the door to the sitting room. Breathlessly Heather bade the servant lay out a fresh gown and hurried to press a cold, wet cloth to her face and pinch her cheeks to bring the color forth. She yanked her dress off, and as Mary hastened to fasten the selected gown of yellow muslin, she urged her on.

  “Hurry, Mary! Hurry! Brandon is coming! He’ll be here shortly!”

  She smoothed her hair, dressed and hurried down the stairs and outside to stand casually on the porch and see her husband slowly walk Leopold down the lane. The heaving sides of the horse and heavy froth upon his glistening coat belied the leisurely gait, for Brandon had pushed the mighty steed to the limit in his eagerness to regain his young bride. Now he approached the porch and dismounted with deliberate slowness. He handed the reins to a boy with instructions to walk the horse well and rub him down and be careful of the water. All this done, he turned to his wife and a slow smile grew upon his face. His eyes moved over her as he mounted the steps, taking in every detail, and slipping an arm about her waist, he greeted her and placed a somewhat fatherly kiss upon her lips. She smiled sweetly in reply and leaned against him lightly as they went into the house.

  “Did you have a good trip?” she questioned softly as he passed his hat to Joseph. “The weather was so bad here I was quite worried about you.”

  His arm tightened about her. “No need to have fretted, sweet. We beat the worst of it into New York and had no problems coming back. How have things been here? Did you get the nursery finished?”

  She nodded quickly, her eyes shining. “Would you care to see it?”

  “I would indeed, sweet,” he replied.

  Smiling brightly, she took his arm and let him assist her up the stairs. He contemplated her stomach as she climbed.

  “Have you been well?” he inquired.

  “Oh yes,” she hurried to assure him. “I’ve been in the best of health. Hatti says she’s never seen a mother-to-be more fit, and I do feel wonderful.” She looked down rather ruefully at her belly as they reached the landing and laughed a little in apology. “Though I’m afraid I’m a bit of a sight and not very light upon my feet.”

  He chuckled and put his arm around her again as he brought her chin up for their gaze to meet. “I hardly expected you to look like a prim little virgin while you carried my son, sweet. But even so burdened, you’d make many a slimmer maid turn green with envy over your glowing beauty.”

  She smiled softly and pressed her cheek against his chest, more than content with his answer. In the nursery, he strode about the room as she stood with her hands behind her back, anxiously awaiting his reaction. Brushing aside the new mosquito netting, Brandon bent to inspect the crib under its ruffled canopy. Next he rocked a nearby cradle gently with his boot as a smile played about his lips, then slowly gazed about at the light blue walls and the snowy white curtains. He carefully stepped around the vividly hued rugs which lay about the shiny oak floor and opened a bureau drawer in curiosity, finding it full of neatly folded baby clothes, some of which he had seen his wife sewing before he left.

  Heather went to stand beside the wooden horse with its painted red saddle and pushed it lightly with her fingers, setting it into motion.

  “We found this in the attic,” she said, dra
wing his attention. “Hatti said it was yours so I bade Ethan fetch it down. When our son is old enough to go astride it, I can tell him his father once sat upon it.”

  He grinned and came closer to look at it. “Sure hope it doesn’t run under a branch with him.”

  A giggle escaped her before she turned hurriedly and pointed to a rocking chair of some expense. “Jeff gave me that. Isn’t it lovely?”

  He nodded his approval and quipped, “Leave it to him. He always did like to be rocked to sleep.”

  Heather started to point out another item of interest, but she stopped as if horrified. “Oh my goodness, Brandon! You haven’t eaten! You must be starving, and here I’ve been chattering on.”

  She quickly called Mary and gave orders for a tray of food to be sent up and water heated for his bath. Brandon had gone into his bedroom and removed his jacket and stock and was pulling off his boots when she joined him.

  “I’m no longer a captain of a ship, pet,” he commented, giving her a sidelong look as she picked up his coat and put it away. “I sold the Fleetwood for a tidy sum, and now you may expect to see me about the house every day.”

  Heather smiled to herself, deciding she approved whole-heartedly of this situation.

  A servant brought food, and Heather sat across from Brandon, watching him as he ate. She was pleasantly pleased by the intimacy of the moment and warmed by her new found love for him. The water was hustled in while the tray was taken away, and she tested its warmth before nodding her dismissal to the servants then busied herself putting out fresh linens as her husband disrobed.

  Brandon eased himself into the hot water and lay back for some moments relaxing in it. When he finally sat up and began to scrub, Heather came and reached for the sponge. She dipped it into the water and held it up expectantly but waited for his approval. He gazed up at her for a long time contemplating this, then leaned forward, presenting his back to her.

  “Scrub it hard, will you, sweet? I feel like I’m covered with a thick coat of grime.”

  She bent happily to her task, lathering the soap up well with her hands over his well muscled shoulders and down his back. Impishly she initialed a large “B” through the white suds across his back and giggled lightly as she placed an “H” before it. He peered over his shoulder at her with a raised eyebrow and a one-sided grin.

  “What are you doing, miss?” he questioned.

  She laughed and wrung out the sponge over his head. “I’m branding you, m’lord.”

  He shook his head vigorously, flinging water on her, and she laughed with glee. Stepping back to a safe distance, she threw the sponge at him and then gasped with surprise when he stood up and stepped over the rim of the tub and came after her, still soapy and wet.

  “Oh Brandon, what are you doing?” she shrieked in merriment. “Get back in the tub.”

  She turned as if to flee, but he flung out both arms and lifting her up, swung her up over the tub. She was laughing with him, enjoying the play until he gave her a little dip as if to drop her into the tub, then she squealed and clasped her arms tightly about his neck.

  “Brandon, don’t you dare! I’ll never forgive you.”

  He smiled into her eyes. “But, sweet, you seemed so interested in my bath, I thought you might like one.”

  “Put me down,” she demanded, then her mouth curved sweetly. “Please.”

  His eyes sparkled. “Ah, the truth will out, madam. It’s only that you have a fetish for scrubbing men’s backs, is that it?”

  He set her down gently on her feet and grinned as she lifted her arm and twisted to see her wet dress.

  “Oh, Brandon, you’re impossible! Look what you’ve done to me!”

  He laughed heartily and pulled her back against him, encompassing her in his wet embrace again. Her giggles joined his merriment as he hugged her, his arms about her just above the rounded belly, pressing into her soft bosom. He spread his hand over her abdomen.

  “I don’t deny a thing, sweet. But must you still be so outraged over my misdeed?” he teased. “That was eight months ago.”

  “I was talking about my dress!” she corrected indignantly. “You got me all wet and now I’ll have to change. Now do be good and unfasten me. I shouldn’t want to ask Mary to help me change again.”

  “Again?” he repeated.

  “Never mind,” Heather said quickly. “Just unfasten me please.”

  He complied and resumed his place in the tub before she turned to him, holding the gown up over her shoulders.

  “Thank you,” she smiled and bent to press a kiss upon his cheek, then swept around and into her room.

  The spot her lips had touched burned as Brandon leaned back, but he found it impossible to relax and enjoy the warmth of the bath. A movement caught his eye, and he could see her reflected in his tall, dressing mirror as she stepped out of her dress. A sudden, powerful urge struck him to ask her here and now if she would share this great room with him, to lie beside him in his bed tonight and let him hold her, not with passion’s intent, but gently and with love, as a husband should when a wife is nearing her time. But caution brought second thoughts. She had acted sweet and willing before and yet not cared to share his bed. She seemed so content and happy with present arrangements. Yes, later, he thought. When she will have no excuse and will not be able to plead motherly shyness. Then he would approach her and that bed would feel both their weights.

  He closed his eyes, thinking of his homecoming. He would never like leaving her, but coming home to her—well, that was an entirely different matter. He relaxed, resting his head on the back of the tub, and the heat of the water was just beginning to take the aches from his tired body when there was a quick thump on the door and it was pushed ajar to reveal Jeff’s beaming face.

  “Are you decent, eldest son?” he asked with belated concern.

  “More so than you,” Brandon grunted, chafed at the interruption. “Now close the door. Preferably from the outside.”

  Unruffled, Jeff pushed within, catching the door with his heel and slamming it shut behind him.

  “Why, dearest Brandon,” he mimed. “I sought only to bring you some fine diversions, and,” this overly loud and directed to the other room, “to rescue my sister-in-law from your unusually brutish temper.”

  There was a sound of soft laughter from the sitting room, and Jeff, chuckling over his own jest, placed a full glass of brandy and a fresh box of cigars on the stand by the bath.

  Brandon nodded his appreciation and sipped the brandy and rolled a cigar between his fingertips. With a raised eyebrow he addressed his brother.

  “I think I’ll keep you around. There seems to be some hope for you after all.”

  Heather entered the room, smiling brightly, and greeted Jeff, paying only small attention to their conversation while she gave wifely attention to the laying out of fresh clothes for her husband. It was only when Brandon began to relate his meeting with the Websters that she moved to stand behind him and listen to his story. Brandon half consciously took her hand from where it rested on the high back of the tub and gently rubbed it against his ear as he spoke to Jeff. The movement was not completely lost on the younger brother, but it was not until later that he would wonder about this strange shift of manners between his brother and sister-in-law.

  As Brandon finished his tale, Heather realized how little she really knew her husband. She was touched by the plight of the Websters, and yet she felt a strange pride with his own compassion for them. Her eyes were warm and moist as she looked up for a moment and found Jeff’s gaze full upon her. He smiled and returned his attention to his brother as Brandon spoke.

  “Well, anyway they should be arriving on next week’s packet.”

  Jeff helped himself to one of the cigars he had brought and lit it as he commented. “We’ll have to find a house for them.”

  “There are plenty of houses at the mill,” Brandon replied. “They can stay in that big old house Mr. Bartlett used for his office.”

/>   Jeff let out a derisive snort. “I thought it was your intention to have them stay. They’ll take one look at that house and head north again. Bartlett was a damned gutter rat, not mincing words, and that place is worse than a pigsty. He made use of his female slaves in those beds there, and the poor souls were covered with vermin. It’s not fit for swine, and you want to put the Websters in it? It would make your stomach turn to see the filth inside.”

  “I have seen it,” Brandon replied with a slow smile. “That’s why we’re going tomorrow with some help and see to its cleaning.”

  “I should have kept my mouth shut,” grumbled Jeff good naturedly.

  Brandon chuckled. “If that moment ever comes, I’ll have to send for the reverend.”

  Ignoring the jest, Heather stated a demand with a firm voice. “I’m going too. I wouldn’t trust the two of you to put a house aright for a family.” She looked at them and saw great hesitancy in their manner and hastened to add in a softer tone, “I’ll try to keep out of everyone’s way and not be too much trouble.”

  The men’s gazes lowered to her oversize belly, and the common doubt in their glances was far from belied by their nods of approval.

  The group that drew up in front of the overgrown and ill-kept house dismounted and stood looking at the structure with some apprehension.

  Hatti snorted contemptuously. “Humph! No wonder that man got to sell. I ain’t never seen a house let go to such wreck and ruin in all my born days. I think they let the pigs loose in there.”

  Jeff chuckled as he took off his jacket and laid it in the carriage. “It looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us, doesn’t it, Hatti?”