Spring
(A Sequel to "A Long Winter for Willie Loomis")
by
Mary E. Overstreet
- FIVE -
Willie didn't get out of bed much the next two days. His appetite came back and his strength followed. Helen visited him often, waiting on him and making sure he rested enough. She was talkative and friendly, finding excuses to leave when the conversation became awkward with feeling. They always seemed to reach the same point of mutual admiration and gratitude and could not get past it.
When Helen was not with him, he found the attentions of an affectionate pregnant cat a welcome distraction. Helen called the cat Mrs. Tabby because of its orange coloring and markings. The "Mrs." had been "Miss" until she had become pregnant. Willie found a comfort and a sense of peace in the way the animal curled up beside him, purring contentment even when he wasn't stroking it. Such freely given love and trust filled an empty place in his heart. He knew he had been too long away from animals. It had just been unbearable after getting the calves for Barnabas those years ago.
On the morning of his fourth day in the eighteenth century, Willie was feeling almost good enough to venture outside. He sat up in bed, a pillow propped behind him to cushion his back against the headboard. He was thinking about getting dressed when Helen came in with a light breakfast of two eggs and a couple of biscuits.
"Good morning to you, Willie," she said, putting the tray on the night stand.
She looked fresh and lovely, he thought, smiling at her. "Mornin', honey."
She sat beside him. "You want me to treat your back now or after you eat?" She held the jar of salve in one hand. "I know you would skip it, but—"
"Nah, it's okay." He didn't like this part of the morning, but he had decided it would be better to put up with it now.
"What does that mean? You always say 'okay'." She waited as he moved down into the bed and turned over.
"It means. . .uh, 'all right', I guess, or 'fine'."
She began applying the medicine. "I thought that it meant something like that. Oh, I'm supposed to find out if you want your horse exercised."
"If it doesn't cost anything." He tolerated the mild pain fairly well.
"No, of course not, but some men are very particular about their horses and don't want anybody else on them."
"Not me." He'd only ridden the horse once and had not been paying much attention to it then.
Helen finished after a few minutes of idle chatter about the inn, words to distract him from her ministrations. She wiped her hands on her apron as he turned and sat up. "You're healin' up nicely."
"Good. I owe it to you." His clear eyes found hers watching him with affection. He looked at her hair neatly tied back under her bonnet with loops of its shiny strands carefully arranged around her face. She didn't look away from him as he leaned toward her.
Willie detected a faint scent of rose from her, and looking at her small pink mouth, he moved closer. He didn't speak, fearing his nerve would fail. Instead, he closed his eyes and kissed her soft lips.
She sat with her hands in her lap, not moving, unresisting when he did not stop after a brief press of his lips. Her eyes saw his closed, very much in the spell he had created unknowingly. Her body responded to the desire in her heart, stimulated by his kiss as it had never been.
She was about to reach up and touch his face when he ended it and leaned back away to see her. He waited for her to scold him, but she did not.
She touched his mouth with her fingers. "Your lips are so soft," she said.
He smiled and took her hand, kissing her fingers. His heart pounded and he told himself not to let it go any further. But this was wonderful. Even the smell of castor oil on her hand did not bother him. "Why shouldn't they be?" he whispered, letting her hand go so that he could put his to her cheek. His eyes held hers in mutual affection.
"You're a man. Mitch's were. . . They always. . . He. . ." She touched his face, stroking from his eye to his jaw. "You're so gentle."
Willie felt warmth welling up in him. He moved to kiss her again, and she met him halfway. His arm went around her. She kissed him back as he had kissed her, gently and tenderly. He could not ignore the desire that pulsed through him, but his fear of being less a man than she expected made him hold back the passion that would have had him start undressing her.
Helen thought his restraint was due to the gentleness he had shown. She wanted him to know it was not necessary. She wanted him, she was infatuated with him as well as her caring for him as a kind and loving friend.
She put an arm around him, carefully to not hurt his still tender back. She felt him easing the bonnet from her hair and running a hand through it as it tumbled down her back.
Willie knew for certain that he was making a mistake. It wasn't easy to pull away, but he did, leaning back and drawing the bed covers up. "I-I'm sorry, Helen. You're married, I know that. I—"
She looked at his downcast eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "He isn't here."
That should've been his line, he thought. "Yeah, but you don' wanna be unfaithful—your family—"
"Willie, I don't care about that. They talk already." She put her fingers against his cheek and chin and made him look up.
His head tilted but his eyes stayed down. "I'm sorry. I know it's wrong." He didn't believe that for a moment.
"Willie, I know you can't stay. So what's the matter?" She eyed him with that keen nurse's eye, ever the judge of human nature.
"It just isn't right—you bein' married." He looked at her, trying to convince her he believed it.
She saw conflict and pain in his eyes, an internal battle hidden beneath his too honest expression. The struggle radiated out from him. "Something's wrong, Willie. What is it?"
Her obvious compassion cut right through his front, and he looked away, embarrassed. He had known it would hurt if he let it get even this far. The shame and the disappointment ate him inside.
"Dear Willie, what is it?" She took his face in her hands, leaning close to him. He looked back at her, his eyes starting to fill unexpectedly with tears. "You're hurt," she said, dismayed and concerned.
He blinked and the moisture ran down his cheeks. He couldn't make himself turn away, and his breathing grew ragged and uneven. He had reached the edge and gone over, lost and helpless to stop or change the situation. He couldn't move or speak or do anything. He could only look at her, see and feel her generousness as she held his head between her warm gentle hands. It gave him something to balance against the despair inside.
She kissed him, watching as he closed his eyes and let her hold him for a long time. Slowly she leaned against him, forcing him to lie back. Her hand moved over his chest and down below the covers. He tensed suddenly, full of shame, but he didn't resist. She kissed his neck, whispering that she had been a properly trained wife.
Willie almost laughed, and even though he did not, his anxiety eased a bit. The silky feel of her hair hanging down from her head as it slid across his body, gave him chills. He didn't move except to place a hand on her head. He could not believe this was happening to him. It was too good to stop just because he was ashamed. He couldn't stop it now. Not now.
Moments later, that could've been an hour to Willie's distorted sense of time, Helen lay on her side next to him, her dress slightly wrinkled but still on and her hair pushed back over her shoulder. She kissed his neck lightly and wondered why he still did not smile.
"Now you know," he said grimly, having tugged the covers up as far as his waist.
"Know what?"
He glanced at her, then away again. "Why I didn't want to do it."
"I don't understand."
"Oh, come on, Helen, you're a married woman, you should certainly know—"
"Oh, Willie, don't be ridiculous." She waited till he looked at her. "You've too much doubt in yourself."
"With reason."
"You haven't tried. And you've been sick."
"I would've tried already if I could've." Willie knew he was feeling sorry for himself. Helen would get nothing out of this while she deserved the best. "Guess I'm bein' selfish," he said softly and turned to face her. "I'm sorry." He stroked her cheek with his hand, then pulled her close. "I can't help it. It didn' used to be this way." It really hurt inside, his pride, his self-esteem, his dignity—they were as shaken as he'd known they be if he ever faced this. Facing it didn't seem to help. It was almost as bad as he'd expected it to be. Only now, if he gave in to the tears that threatened, he would surely appear to be feeling sorrier for himself than he was, and he didn't know if he'd be able to stop them. But being with Helen helped a lot. He managed to keep control and tried to turn the focus away from himself.
"It's all right, Willie. I— I wasn't sure I wanted to anyway. It always hurts—"
Willie pulled back to look at her and could see genuine uncertainty and past pain in her eyes.
"—I-I thought you were so gentle, and I liked you so much, maybe it wouldn't. . ."
He thought of what it must've been like for her. A man she didn't know who was rough and no telling what else. It would be rape, and it was her wifely duty to submit. He suddenly felt protective. She didn't know how wonderful it could be. "Helen, honey, I'd never hurt you." Even if he could, he finished mentally. There were ways around his problem, and they could be just as fulfilling.
He kissed her mouth, this time watching her. He whispered for her to close her eyes and worked his lips down her neck, while trying to unfasten the bodice of her dress. The ties were in the back, and he fumbled with them for a few minutes before having to stop his other activities and concentrate on it with both arms around her, looking over her shoulder.
She giggled when even this did not work and sat up. "Here." She turned her back to him. He sat up as well and unhooked the laces, slipping his hands underneath against her skin to wrap around her and kissing her neck teasingly. Closing her eyes, she leaned back against him, sighing as his hands caressed her. She had to pull the sleeves down herself, dropping the bodice and apron to the floor.
Willie had even more trouble with her skirt and had to laugh. When she was at last free of her clothes, he pulled her close, wanting to give her everything he possibly could. And with this in his heart, he made love to her. He did love her, though not with infatuation, but as a warm person with whom he could share a part of himself.
He kissed her passionately, trying to bombard her with pleasure wherever such would have the most intense effect. He sank into her voluptuousness, felt her arms around him, and his desire returned full force. He felt his own body responding to hers at last, and all the pain and self-doubts fled. It almost seemed like the first time—as exciting but lacking the uncertainty. He could have been riding on a cloud, soaring though the heavens from the way his spirit lifted. And with him was his friend, a kindred spirit and sharer of his soul, giving warmth and light and sharing her own. When he looked at her in some plain above, he saw Helen with her dark blond hair and blue eyes beaming at him, then it shifted to show him another face superimposed on hers. The hair and eyes turned dark brown and the smile that gentle, knowing smile. Cherrie, he thought, but no, it was Helen. It all seemed a dream.
He opened his eyes, panting, looking down at her flushed, serene expression. Willie held her, unable to think of letting go and feeling emptiness against his chest, his heart. He rolled to his side, his arms around her back, hers around his neck. The closeness and tenderness he felt brought those unbidden, never-before-experienced tears of joy to his eyes. He kissed her long and slowly, and she kissed back.
"You did it," he said in a hoarse whisper. She had healed him, he thought.
She wiped his face with the fingers of one hand, knowing his tears were not from pain. "No, you did it. It didn't hurt." She smiled.
He smiled back. "Good. It isn't supposed to." He settled her a little more comfortably in his arms. "I've never felt like this before." This was what he'd wanted to have with Roxanne, what he'd so unrealistically thought would've happened with them. How could he have deluded himself into thinking they could've had something like this without facing the pain first? He'd known it inside, told himself he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. And he'd managed to avoid it till now. And he knew he did love Roxanne. She'd loved him when he thought no one ever would. She'd made him feel so good about himself. Back before he was himself again, when he was not a whole man. Willie Loomis was a man again, he thought. And he was so sorry about Roxanne.
"How do you mean?" She snuggled against him as the heat from them began to dissipate.
"I dunno. I just feel so at peace. So close to you." His eyes found hers. "I love you, Helen. For helpin' me and bein' who you are."
"Oh, Willie. I love you. I have since I first saw you."
Better not to think of where this would lead or how it would end, he realized. Take the time while they had it. He hugged her again and kissed her. The preciousness of the moment held them in a timeless place where there was only the peace of trust and fulfilment.
* * *