Love Suffers Long and Is Kind, Volume III
pre> Chapter 5, Part 1
"He has responsibilities aplenty, and he answers to God for them. Loving in this way is fearsome, but when a husband and a wife are both dedicated to doing this, then love becomes more than a romantical notion one finds in books of poetry. It gives and receives a joy that can be found nowhere else."
The two women sat quietly for a time. The rain continued on the roof and Standish stamped his protest at being left in harness for so long. From, Hurting Each Other ~ Part 2: Louisa was quiet. A tear slipped down her cheek. "But I am afraid. It seems to be all my burden, he has no responsibilities in this that you speak of."
Edward came up the back stairs with several large, cotton rags he had gathered with help from Mrs. Graham. If his brother used them all, they could, no doubt wrap all his arms, legs and anything else the Captain might have bashed in the Rector's absence. Looking up, he spied a female form standing in the hallway. It proved to be a pathetically drenched Louisa.
"Good lord, girl, you are soaked through! Where is Mrs. Wentworth?" the Rector asked. He first wondered that they had sat in the rain and not come into the house, he then wondered that his wife might be in the same condition and moved towards their bedroom door.
"Oh no, Rector, she is not inside. Mrs. Wentworth is out in the stable." Louisa pointed in the general direction with her bonnet. "We were sitting in the hay bin and now, well, now she has settled down into the sheaves. She would not allow me to attempt to pull her out, and insisted that I come and fetch you. She was particular that you should bring a block and tacklet."
The Rector thought about the requested gear for a moment and then smiled. "No, dear, that is block and tack-el." He laughed at the thought of Catherine mired in the hay crib. Perhaps, her not being able to escape him, he would take the opportunity to discuss the merits of Dr Abernathy versus Mrs. Callow.
"Then I suppose I should go down and free her. I shan't need any extra equipment or assistance so you stay up here." Edward decided to give his sister-in-law a little nudge in the proper direction. "Since, no doubt, you'll be going in to Frederick, you will need these."
He handed her the clean rags and continued, "He barked his shin on his sea chest. While it is deep, it looks much worse than it really is. And as is common to great men, he is playing it up. Oh, Mrs. Wentworth," he said, giving her hand a squeeze, "My exceptionally proud and stubborn brother is very sorry about what has gone on between the two of you. I am certain he'll not tell you that, but, he truly is."
Seeing she had everything, he turned and called, "I am now off to hoist my wife from the hay crib. Block and tacklet, I like that."
Louisa looked at the rags in her hands and then turned and looked at the door to her room. She knew that he had stowed his chest on the wardrobe in the room in which she slept. That would be where he was -- barked shin and all. At least he had not gone to the nursery. She could take a little comfort in his choice of room. She stepped up to the door and knocked.
"Come!" the Captain snapped. With his back to the door, Frederick heard it open and close and presumed that Edward had returned. As he bent, dabbing his leg, he said, "I got most of the bleeding to stop, I hope you brought the salve, lest my stocking ... oh!" Glancing around the screen and seeing it was his wife, not his brother, he stopped and stood rigidly.
Being preoccupied with his shin, the Captain had done nothing to himself but change out of his wet clothes. He tossed away the bloodstained drawers, and hastily crammed his shirttails into his breeches as he came out from behind the screen. "Louisa, I ... I thought you were Edward." Neither said anything as they stood and stared at one another. In the quiet, he considered his dishevelled state: shirt standing open, hair towelled, but not combed and stockings in hand, yet to be put on. Nervously, he pulled a bit at the open collar of the shirt and took a swipe through his damp hair with the stockings in hand. Feeling foolish, he gave up the attempt and continued to stare.
Louisa went to the bed and put down the rags and her bonnet. "Uh, no, I saw him in the hallway. He gave me these, for your scrape." She gave the rags a pat as if he might not know which was for his leg.
He took a step forward, relieved that she had broken the silence. "Where has he gone ... that he could not bring them to me himself?" he asked, pointing with the stockings towards the bed and the bundle.
"I have sent him out to the stable ... his wife needs him." Her voice was small as she stood at the foot of the bed, looking back at him, trying not to stare. Louisa had never seen her husband in the state between his night shirt and fully dressed. Turning away and being faced with the open sea chest, she blurted, "You are leaving?" She could not help running her hand over the lid of the old, wooden locker.
Though the Captain had stoked the fire high and the room was quite warm, Louisa began to shiver. She could not say whether she shook from her wet, outer clothing or perhaps something inside. Perhaps a deep fear of his answer.
"No! I had to find some small clothes, uh -- things, I had put them all in there," he said, as he pointed to the chest. Frederick could not imagine why Catherine might need Edward in the stable, but decided not to enquire further. Being thus distracted, and unnerved at his wife's unexpected appearance, he had not noticed her shudder. Closing the lid, he took a seat on it to put on his stockings. "I shall have done in a moment ... then I will go down and send you Mrs. Graham."
She stood back a bit as he took his seat. Not wanting to gape at his bare legs, she started to look away, but then saw the gash, and remembered what the Rector had said -- all of what he had said.
"You've hurt yourself," was the most she could manage.
The Captain had forgotten his mishap and looked down at the gash. With equal doses of feigned surprise and indifference, he said, "Yes, the handle of the chest slipped out of my hand as I took it down, and some loose brass caught me in the leg . . . nothing too serious. I imagine I shall survive." He reluctantly began to pull the stocking up to the wound.
Snatching up one of the larger rags from the bed, Louisa brought it to where he sat. Kneeling before him, she looked at the gash. Taking after her mother, she had no talent for nursing, but she was determined to take care of him. Removing her gloves, she asked, "May I?" Holding her hands away, she looked up and waited for an answer.
He nodded, too startled by her intentions to say anything of use.
With a put on confidence, she imitated Old Sarah. She carefully took his leg in her hands, pulled off the stocking, and rested his foot on her lap. For a moment the feel of him discomposed her -- his bare leg with its hard calf muscle and rough, mannish hair. Putting her mind to the task, she touched the flesh around the scrape. She was not certain what she might be looking for, and examining the wound so closely was a bit sickening to her. Taking a corner of the rag, she began lightly to dab at a trickle of blood that had come with his movement.
"Ouch!"
"I am sorry. I shall be more careful." He was playing up, just as the Rector said. However, she supposed he was allowed, after all of her dramatics he had endured.
"Did he send no ointment? I told him I needed a salve so that my stocking would not get all bound up in it." He leant over, watching her as he spoke.
For the first time, in what seemed to be hours, Louisa felt the urge to smile. He was behaving as though he were a little boy. Yet he was a little boy who, it would seem, welcomed her attentions.
Looking through the rags, she found no medicine. "It shall be wrapped, and your stocking will be safe." Carefully setting his leg down, she rose and said, "I have something that will do, let me fetch it." She went to the dresser and looked over things. Taking a small jar, she returned to him.
"This will do wonderfully. It has chamomile, and other things to keep the skin soft." She took a generous clot on her fingers and began to gently glide it over the scrape. The feel of his coarse hair bending, and in turn laying flat felt strange, but fascinated her as she had only ever felt her own, finer hair, do the same.
"It stings a bit, what is ... " He caught a whiff, "That is your lotion!"
"Yes, it is very healing. Now I shall bind it with one of these rags and your leg shall be as good as new."
"But now I will smell like -- "
"Like what? I thought you liked the smell of this. Or at least you seemed to ... before."
"I did ... I do! On you!" he cried, emphatically. Lowering his voice, he said, "It is just that the smell is ... rather ... womanish."
Louisa laughed as she tore a length of cotton and began to wrap his leg. "Because of the binding, unless someone is scrabbling about on the floor, I do not think they will smell my 'womanish' ointment." Carefully, even a bit over gently, she tucked in the end. Running her hand over the well-bound leg, she sat back on her heels and felt proud of her efforts. Just then, another shudder came over her.
This time, the Captain saw her shake and realised that, while she had been tending his insignificant wound, she had also been taking a chill as she sat in her sopping clothes. Putting his foot down, he said, "Let me finish dressing and then I shall go down and send Mrs. Graham to you." He again began to pull on his stocking.
Mrs. Wentworth said that I must show him that I need him ... I may just as well begin now, she thought. "Thank you ... but would you help me?"
He stopped, "Are you certain?" he asked. He had not looked directly at her the whole of her ministrations and even now, he only looked at her generally, not directly in the eyes. Continuing, he said, "I cannot imagine that you would want me near you ... much less touching you." He glanced toward her, hoping to know what she might be thinking.
"I am-m certain. I am awf-fully cold." Though he had opened a door, she was still a bit unwilling to step through.
He rose and helped her to her feet. "That I can see. Let us take this," he said, as he unbuttoned her pelisse and tossed it towards the hearth. He took the counterpane from the bed, and quickly draped it around her. "You will need to dry the lace on your dress with a towel ... else it will tarnish." He began gently to rub her arms, hoping to warm her a little. "I, uh, wonder that you are speaking to me ... the ride back was so silent."
Dropping her chin to the counterpane, she murmured, "I was angry and being childish, I am sorry for that. I am sorry that I accused you of such wretched ... behaviour. I have seen nothing in your character that would make me think such things could be true. I had no business saying ... I am sorry, as sorry as I can be for this impertinent tongue." Louisa bit her lip to keep the tears from starting again.
The Captain could hear the tremour in her voice. He took it as the genuineness of her apology, but gave a generous allowance for her chill. "I am sorry, too. To accuse you of being too familiar with your cousin was foolish. The doctor is a man of such open temperament and it is no wonder that he would be even more so with you ... a favourite cousin. I'm sorry ... I should know that I have nothing to fear from you ... you have been very understanding and patient with me." He knew nothing else to say. Just then, she shook violently.
"Come on, let us warm you up." Guiding Louisa to the fireplace, he stood her as close as he dared. He then picked up the sodden pelisse and draped it over the screen. Coming back to her, he faced her towards the fire and opened the coverlet, shifting it so that her back was exposed. "We will get you out of these wet things first, then set you here until your old bones warm. While you change, hand me over your dress, I will drape it on the chair so that the lace will dry." Louisa nodded, too cold to give an answer.
After unbuttoning and unlacing, Frederick sent her behind the screen to change. Taking his best pair of soft, flannel long underdrawers from his sea chest, he tossed them to her and said, "Put those on, they'll help you warm up."
"These ugly things? They are too large around, they will fall about my ankles when I walk," she cried. Louisa held them up and looked at them with dismay.
"Oh, come now! They're not that big, cinch them tight! You can slip them off before we go back downstairs, after you've gotten warmed up." He kept his back to the screen. Taking a towel to her dress, he dried the lace himself.
"So, what do you think?" Louisa asked as she came from around the screen. She held out her arms and he could see the drawers, bunched at her natural waist, under the skirt of her dress.
"I would say that they should not be worn on formal occasions," he said with a smirk. "Nevertheless, in cases of the cold, they really are the thing. Come on, let us get you trussed up." When she turned and presented her back so that he might tie the ever-present corset, there was none. Turning his attentions to the buttons, he said, "You don't like the way I tie you? You're not wearing -- ."
"No, I haven't any to put on," she interrupted. "One needs washing and the other is wet. I feel undone without it."
"I see no reason to wear one. Your figure is lovely without it -- even wearing my drawers."
Louisa blushed. "A proper woman always wears the proper underthings. Always."
Finishing the last button, Frederick rested his hands on her and leant close, "Then this will be our secret, I shall never tell anyone of this breech of propriety. Now," he said, "come on and sit yourself on the corner," pointing to the chair before the hearth. She complied, staying clear of her drying dress, and he again wrapped the coverlet about her shoulders.
Standing behind her, he pulled her hair from under the spread and began to comb it out. The couple was silent as he worked. The occasional hard tug was met with an, 'Ouch,' which was met with a quiet, 'Sorry.' Frederick asked, as a joke, should he braid it or perhaps club it. Louisa told him neither, please. She would pin it simply before going downstairs.
After sending Louisa into the house to fetch the Rector, Catherine had sat quietly and thought more about her mother and father. The Key's early move to Shrewsbury and its subsequent failure was a touching family story. One that Mr and Mrs. Key's grandchildren were now enjoying. It was a lovely story that could easily be ignored if it were not for the fact that Mrs. Key had intrusted Catherine with the proof of its reality -- the laces. Thinking about the packet in her drawer, and the well-worn laces it held, Mrs. Wentworth, at long last, realised why her mother had seen fit to save them for her. It was clear now that Mrs. Key, early on, saw something in her daughter's character that would require amending and she knew that the laces would be a tangible reminder of such.
Catherine's stubbornness in hearing her husband's points when it came to the doctoring of herself and the child, was a little different from her mother's disappointment in having to leave Shrewsbury and return to the country, but it was close enough. Life was presenting her with a choice, and she was not eager to respond in the way that she knew was right.
Unwilling to change her convictions about Dr Abernathy in particular, or men midwives in general, Catherine recalled the day, years before, when her opinion had begun to take shape.
It had been very warm for June and all the girls had been gathered in Mrs. Key's, second floor sitting room. They were taking tea and waiting for the next breath of air to come through the open French doors. They had exhausted all the polite topics of conversation and it had been her sister, Emily, who had brought up the tragic stillbirth of a local gentlewoman's baby boy.
All of the women present were either mothers themselves, with child presently or of childbearing age, though she and her younger sister, Amelia, were not yet married. Catherine remembered the tears shed for the family and the little boy. She also remembered the fear in each of them. The death of a child was not an uncommon event, but one mourned like no other.
After most had voiced their opinions about the causes: the damp nights, the hot days, the family's sickly constitution, Mrs. Key determined it was time to say her piece.
"I see nothing good in this allowing men in the birthing room, and I think that Mrs. Rhyes losing her child is the proof of it. A doctor, when no decent woman can be had, is one thing, but to willingly call for a man is ridiculous! When all the knowledge males possess about childbearing is placed in a thimble, there is still more than ample room for my finger! Mark my words, girls, this whimsy of male-midwives too shall pass."
Mrs. Rhyes had been the first in the area to allow a French accoucheur the complete care of her throughout her pregnancy. The area being small in size and sophistication, many had met such a progressive notion with thinly veiled disapproval. Even now, though most were sympathetic to her loss, there were those of the opinion that she had danced with the devil and he had required her son as payment.
From the day of that conversation, Catherine's intolerance of men in the role of midwife had been unshakeable. To her, it was not an accident that women had been intrusted, by God, with an innate understanding of one anothers' frames and functions. It too was no accident that women were naturally drawn to nurture and heal themselves and their children. She would not argue her own nature, even with her husband. Her mother's opinions, her own discomfort with the idea of a man not her husband, touching her in the most intimate of places, and seeing her in the most delicate of circumstances, bolstered her prejudice whenever the subject came to mind. As if these were not enough, her giving into Edward's desires would make her the first woman in the Key family to be attended by a man. She paled when she thought about the dressing down she would receive from all her female relations -- most of all, her mother.
Just then, Edward entered the stable through the still open door and patted Standish. He moved to the crib and took up a place against the frame. He gazed innocently at his wife. It took all the control he could summon to keep his countenance. He had no desire that she would see the great delight he took in her unusual circumstances. "You know, here in the country Mrs. Wentworth, being found in a hay crib -- in the presence of a man, will garner for you a rather dubious reputation."
Looking at her gloves instead of her husband, Mrs. Wentworth said, "That is quite an amusing observation, Rector. However, I think you can see that my position is far from 'dubious.' Extraordinarily embarrassing, but hardly dubious." Catherine knew she was at his mercy and she wondered how long he would chuse taunt and teaze her.
"True. You do not look to have had been at anything in the least dubious." He turned towards Standish. "You also look to be warm and dry, and in no great danger of the cold. So, rather than rescue you right off, I think I must unhitch this beastie. I shall have to reprimand my brother for not seeing to him properly. Though it is probably for the best, considering his pique, he might have chewed right through all the buckles!"
"Yes, he certainly was angry, but he is better now?
"Oh, quite back to himself -- his wife is seeing to him."
"She loves him very much. I hope he is able to find it in himself to return her affections."
"He is not quite dead gone -- yet, but I believe he is beginning to be. Sooner than I expected."
Catherine said nothing, but took joy in the knowledge that the Captain was making his way towards his wife. Addressing her present predicament, Mrs. Wentworth said, "I suppose if I weren't heavier than usual, I would not have settled and I could have gotten out of here myself. I envy Louisa, she popped up easy as you please! But here I am, trapped."
"Yes, trapped," the Rector said, as he went about his business of unthreading reins and unbuckling straps. Turning slightly, he asked, "And what is this about a block and tackle? I was not aware you knew anything along the mechanical line." He turned back to his task.
"Oh, that! I only know about them because I used to swing on the one in the barn nearest the apple orchard. It was used to lift the hay into the lofts and hoist the wagons to be repaired -- but you would know that." Edward smiled. "I took great joy in it, until Father caught me one day. You know how he is, he was very kind and showed me how it worked. He even explained levers and fulcrums and other scientific things that I scarce remember." Catherine shifted as much as she could, and continued, "Then after reprimanding me for abusing important equipment, he sent me to bed without supper. I never forgot either of his lesson." She remembered how it had been quite pleasurable, swinging on the block in the big open barn. Though her punishment had not been so.
"Ah, I see," he said as he hung the horses' rigging back on its peg. Taking down the brush, he returned to Standish and gave him a quick going over. He offered no further comments and even began to whistle, forcing his wife to sit patiently. After the quick brushing and getting Standish settled in his stall, with fresh oats and hay, Edward returned to Catherine. "Are you ready?"
"Quite ready, thank you." Catherine reached out her hands in preparation of his help. What she got instead was the Rector dropping himself into the place next to her. Taking a share of the blanket that covered her lap, Edward settled himself. "This is not so bad, I wonder you are in such a hurry to leave it."
Removing first a glove from his wife and then one of his own, he took her hand and held it under the blanket. "I take it that you and Louisa had a productive conversation?"
Since she was not to bid the crib farewell any time soon, Mrs. Wentworth settled back and laid her head on her husband's shoulder. "Yes, though I felt as if I were the chiefest of hypocrites."
"Why in the world would you feel that?"
"Here I sat telling her how a good wife should realise that husbands have many reasons for doing the things they do, and, holding the opinions that they do. Telling her that she must understand and sometimes accept things she does not particularly like. All the while I am telling her this, you and I are disputing the respective merits of Mrs. Callow and Dr Abernathy. Perhaps I should -- "
"A-hem, yes, I have been thinking about that," he said, cutting her off. "I believe we each understand the other's objections. I understand your feelings about Abernathy, his being a man and all. My opinion aside, we shall have Mrs. Callow, but if I feel you are allowing your prejudice against him to endanger you or the baby, I will not hesitate to call him. Agreed?"
"Agreed." Catherine was relieved that the dispute was over.
"Sometimes we husbands have to understand that there are reasons for our wives' opinion, as well."
She raised up a bit and kissed him. "Thank you." With her bare hand, she touched his cheek. "You need to shave," she said.
"Yes, well ... about shaving. How would you feel if that younger, smooth-faced fellow were to decamp?"
"Decamp? Why ever for?" Her voice had gone higher than she had meant for she was, each day, growing fonder of her husband's new look.
"His steward is a lazy wretch. He doesn't like drawing hot water twice and thrice in a day to keep the boy looking presentable."
"What a shame for the man's laziness." In just the three days since his arrival home, he seemed to always be fetching water, and she had to admit it to be a lot of work. He had given over, and so now, must she. "I suppose I can accustom myself to the bearded fellow again. He has a certain charm."
"I'm glad you think him charming. He would certainly have more time to devote to you." This time, it was the Rector who instigated the kiss. Afterward, he held her close and said quietly, "I hate to see Mrs. Callow come."
Catherine did not move, but was dismayed that what had seemed to be settled, was now again at the fore. "We are not back to this, are we?"
"No, not in that way. Her having to come means that we are finished with anything comforting."
"'Comforting?'"
The Rector mouthed the word, 'intimate.'
"Oh, yes. I think I was a bit arrogant, I'm afraid. Perhaps we should have been done with that a while ago." She looked at him with a small frown. "I just did not want to lose you and our -- 'comfort.'"
"Lose me. How?" He wondered if she somehow sensed that he had been preoccupied of late.
"For a man, intimacy is merely an act. For a woman it is different."
Edward's feelings of contentment that had come with the ended argument, and his relief at her easy acceptance of his returning beard, were dashed by her comment. "Oh, you mean that for a woman, it has deep, emotional significance, while for a man, it is merely the satisfying of a physical craving? Much like the wanting of a good beefsteak?"
She frowned. While it was not a very elegant comparison, Edward was not given to affected language when it was just the two of them. "Well, I had not thought to put it in quite those terms," Catherine sat up and looked at him, "But yes, rather like that, I suppose."
"Thank you, Mrs. Wentworth. You have just made all women to be creatures with loving hearts while all men are nothing more that slaves to their animal passions and intermittent organ." The Rector turned away and faced the wall of the crib, embarrassed by his own vehemence.
As her husband had spoken, his colour had risen higher and his voice had gathered more force. Catherine took in his words and thought them through. It was a moment before she understood him fully. Animal passions she grasped right off, but the meaning of the other was not plain until she had given it a thorough examination in her mind, and then --
"Edward Wentworth!" she cried. Language that was unaffected was one thing, but that which was purposely base was quite another. "I may have phrased myself awkwardly, but there is no reason for vulgarity!"
"I am sorry, you are quite right, that was vulgar. I apologise, but must take issue with your notion that giving
you up, even for a little while, is only a physical deprivation -- that somehow it does not involve my heart." Edward looked at her and took back her hand. It disturbed him that she could interpret his intimate conduct so differently than how he intended. Were his actions really so dissimilar from his feelings?
"I am sorry, too. I did make it sound as though we were only facing breakfast without toast or something as insignificant. I know it means more to you than that." She squeezed his hand, hoping he would understand she had been thoughtless and misstated herself rather than thinking him less than a sincere lover.
"It means much more than breakfast without toast." The Rector suddenly got up and held out a hand to his wife, "Let us go in, it is getting colder."
She took his hand and he pulled her up, easy as you please. Taking her arm, they made their way out of the stable. Catherine had not meant to hurt him, but she had, nonetheless.
When Frederick had finished with Louisa's hair, he said quietly, "Look at me."
She turned, frowning a bit, and wondered what he might wish.
Stooping to better examine her face, he said, "Good, your lips are not blue any longer." Taking her chin gently in hand, he turned her face from side to side and looked at her closely, "No frostbite that I can see. I think we got you changed, and before the fire, just in time."
Louisa tightened her lips in a losing battle to keep from smiling. For the first time, since her entering the room, they looked into one another's eyes. The last time they had done so was in the field, when they were viciously angry.
"I am sorry for this afternoon. Can you accept my apology?"
"Certainly. Can you accept mine?"
In answer, both leant forward and met in a quiet kiss.
Frederick pulled the sea chest over and arranged himself and Louisa so that they sat face to face.
They were the closest they had been in days, he a little lower owing to the chest, but so close to the same that holding her hand was simply done. The room was nearly as warm as their hearts. He was intent on telling her his mind and she was intent on his open shirt.
"I think I should tell something you ... something I have decided. May I say it now?"
"Mm?"
"May I now tell you what I have decided?" He could not help noticing her distraction. "What are you staring at?"
"What is that?" she pointed to something on his open shirt.
He looked down, thinking there was perhaps something spilt. "I do not know. I cannot see anything. What is it that you look at?"
"This." She reached into the open collar of his shirt and touched his neck, just at the collarbone. It was the scar from his first grave injury. His life at sea afforded an amazing number of ways to disfigure human flesh, and not the least of which was the chief duty of the Royal Navy: bloody violence.
While she had changed, rather than tidy himself, he had dried her lace and in doing so, neglected to button his shirt, comb his hair or finish with his stockings. This neglect resulted in the revelation of his scar.
Her interest in it puzzled him. He then came to realise that, other than Michaelson his steward, no one had ever seen what his clothing so well hid. No one had ever seen him as he truly was -- disfigured and ugly. He had always been thankful that he had never taken a hit in the face, as many others of his acquaintance. Nevertheless, even with such a fortuitous bit of luck, now that he was married, hiding himself completely would be difficult, if not impossible. He dreaded Louisa's first sight of him, for one not used to such things, his scarred body could very well be a wicked shock, or perhaps, a morbid curiosity.
At the slight pressure of her touch, he snatched her hand away from his neck. Since the hellish removal of the stitches, no one else had ever touched this scar, or any other part of him for that matter. Fearing that he had frightened her with such a violent action, he tried to cover himself with a kiss to her hand. "It is nothing which you need concern yourself."
Gently, but firmly taking back her hand, her inquisitive fingers opened his collar further and returned to the spot, that she might consider the scar more closely. "Does it ever hurt?" she asked as she lightly probed the jagged, whitish welt.
Her handling of him was light and soft, yet discomfiting. He struggled, forcing himself to allow her touch. To her question, he replied, "No. Not hurt really. The changing weather makes it itch at times, but I cannot say that it has ever really hurt. Except in its getting, and that was only sewing it up." He smiled at the memory, "I was frighteningly thin, but it still took two men to hold me down while the surgeon did his embroidery." He chose not to tell her that it had been his first serious wound and that the man, who had inflicted it, was the first he had ever killed.
"How old were you?" The look on Louisa's face was nearly blank. Her mouth was a little gaped open, and her eyes were properly shocked, but not overly so.
"Two months short of seventeen." He could see her calculating in her head. "You were -- what -- three?" It moved the Captain to realise that, as a Cornwall smuggler had been endeavouring to separate him from the young life he held dear, the girl, who was now his wife, would have been happily playing with her dolls by the nursery fender.
As they talked, he felt her continue, lightly touching the length of the scar as it snaked its way past his collarbone, over one shoulder blade, eventually fading down his back. As she probed further, she leant ever closer to him. To reach the end of it, she dropped from the chair and came to her knees before him. He had bent lower for her to continue. Drawing back her hand from under his shirt, she let it rest a moment upon his shoulder. The look on her face was not immediately readable, and before he could put much thought to it, she threw her arms about his neck and hugged him with a terrific force.
The hug was a pleasant surprise, but when he put his arms around her to return it, he realised she was crying. "What is this? Why do you cry?" The day had already contained more than enough confusion and turmoil to suit the Captain, but it was plain to see that his wife was not ready to put such aside just yet. He felt no yielding in her hold, and so, not in the least reluctantly, he did his best to hold her close.
Other than her crying, Louisa made no response and they sat in that awkward way for quite a time. Eventually, she sat back on her heels, looking at him with a tear-streaked face. "There is so much about you that I know nothing of!" she cried. "When you told those stories at Uppercross, I thought of the excitement -- the danger of the open sea -- the danger of ship wrecks or drowning perhaps, but nothing of you ever being wounded by another's hand -- never that you would bear marks on your ... ."
As she spoke, he sat and stared. He was amazed that anyone could feel so deeply about something of which he almost never thought. Even when he occasioned to see the scar, when dressing or shaving, most of it was hidden from his view and what he did see was a part of the common landscape and excited no particular emotion. Taking a corner of the coverlet, he gently wiped some of the tears. "I have several others, one or two of them are, in fact, more vicious than this, will you cry for them also?" The question was so patently ridiculous that both could do nothing but laugh.
"You must think me absurd, to break down weeping." She took the coverlet and wiped the rest of her face.
"No. I think I should have told you, I am rather an antique, and one that has not been well-cared for, at that. But, thank you. While I have been well paid for my injuries, no one has ever shown any feeling about them." Her care for his old wounds was touching, and made only stronger his desire to share with her about Kidderminster and his decision. Holding her face in his hand, he could see that she would willingly accept the kiss he ached to bestow, but the more she opened her heart and her mind to him, the more he urgently needed to tell her his own thoughts. While a kiss just now would be very pleasant, it would also be very distracting. Taking command of himself, he sat her back on the chair. He asked, "Can we put this aside for now, and I tell you something?"
She closed her eyes. For some inexplicable reason, a sickening dread came over her. "Surely, tell me," was all she could manage.
"The other night at the Resplendent, after I had bathed, I found that I was unable to sleep." The memory of her lovely silk-clad form, lying in their bed, came to his mind for a moment. "It was terribly late and I did not wish to disturb you, so I dressed and I took a walk. During that walk -- "
Her face was attentive, but she suddenly shivered. Still feeling the warmth of her compassion for him and his battered hide, he interrupted himself and took the chair, putting her in his lap. He gathered her and the coverlet in his arms.
Overwhelmed by his swift actions and tender care, she rested herself snugly against him. After she had settled in, he rested his chin on her shoulder and continued, "I thought things out. If I were a religious man ... I would say that I began to cast out my demons. Of course this woman is not a demon, but thoughts of her have haunted me occasionally, and over the years I have wrestled them."
Louisa closed her eyes, still uncertain that she might not become the one haunted.
"It was that night I decided I must put her aside. I'll not allow her to have a place in my mind ... or my heart. I promised those to you." At saying this, he kissed her cheek lightly and went on, "I have realised over the last few days ... talking ... travelling together ... acquainting ourselves, you hold my happiness." He chuckled a little. "For all the abuse I have heaped upon poor James Benwick and his ilk ... and mind, I am loath to admit this ... I do want the tenderhearted things that he is so fond of spouting."
Sitting straight that he might look into her eyes, he asked, "Even today, as you stormed away from me, I knew this to be true, so ... will you take me? As battered and divided as I am? Nevertheless, willing, and coming to care for you so very much?" He searched her face to find some hint of an answer. "I wish to make you a good husband. I want to love the woman to whom I am married. . . I want her to love me. I want those tender feeling between us ... you and I." Looking into her sparkling blue eyes, he saw tears pooling, but he could not be certain that when she shivered, it was from deep and tender feeling for him or that, perhaps, she was cold still.
Pulling her close again, he said, "I did not see an iota tenderness in my parents. I do not wish for my children to endure such a thing. If I am careful ... when I die, I will leave our heirs a decent fortune, but I would count it a better example to leave them the knowledge that I loved their mother ... that I cared deeply for you ... and that they were from a loving union. One can go on without it ... I am the proof of that. However, to know such a thing ... something I think you know ... it would be a better comfort to me than all the gold I can ever accumulate."
Louisa's heart was too full even to look at him. She rested herself in the crook of his neck. Both would have more to resolve, but this was a glorious beginning, one too glorious to examine closely with the mind, yet one to be perfectly felt by the heart.
Wishing to see her, he reached under her chin and lifted it. They studied one another, each as if they were seeing the other for the very first time.
"Well, what say you?"
A smile came slowly to her lips. She rolled her eyes as though thinking. Then looking back at him, she nodded and said, "Of course I will take you. And I shall be the best wife to you that I am able."
Frederick stroked her cheek for a time and then softly asked, "May I kiss you, Mrs. Wentworth?"
Louisa smiled. "Certainly Mr Wentworth, I would like that very much."
From that day forward, Frederick and Louisa considered a sodden Sunday in March, and a tender kiss before the fire, to be the true beginning of their married life.
~End Part One
Chapter 5, Part 2
After coming to their happy conclusion, the younger Wentworth couple had gone down to the study and found Edward giving his wife a generous brandy to warm her. All were polite, and no one made any mention of the reason for Catherine's chill. And, when greeting his brother, Frederick made no inquiries about the bits of straw clinging to the Rector's pant legs.
After a light supper, each took their part in the quiet conversation of the sitting room. However, at their best, the exchanges were indifferent. The ladies half heartedly applied themselves to embroidery. Catherine taught while Louisa attempted to learn. The gentlemen, at intervals, discussed items found in the paper. It was apparent that the interest was not very great. After only a sentence or two was uttered, their quiet disinterest would overtake them once more.
Both couples had their own concerns. Early in the evening, Frederick and Louisa each caught the other staring with a mooncalf-ish intensity. At first, the one spied would engage in a flurry of activity, vainly shamming innocence. As the evening wore on, when found out, a smile or a nod would pass between the two. Both realised that hiding what they were feeling was useless. Without a word, both knew the other to be equally anxious to explore the tenderness their dust-up had provoked.
While the younger couple played a bit like a cat with a mouse, the older couple studied one another surreptitiously. Edward watched to see whether Catherine was in pain, but keeping silent. Catherine watched him, hoping that she had not wounded him too deeply with her thoughtlessness, and anxiously awaited their retiring, that she might apologise properly.
When he could no longer stand the inactivity, the Rector looked at his watch and was relieved to find the hour more than sufficient for him and Catherine to retire and not be thought rude and unsocial hosts. Catching his wife's eye by lightly tapping the watch's face, he rose. "Well, I think it is time that we bid the two of you a good night. Catherine should rest after such a busy day," Edward declared as he helped his wife to her feet.
After doing the polite 'good evenings,' the older Wentworths mounted the stairs. "Have the pains returned at all?" the Rector asked, trying to hide his anxiety as he slipped his arm about Catherine's waist.
"No ... thank God. I think the entire household would have known, were that the case." She leaned into him as they slowly took the stairs. "I shall call for Mrs. Callow first thing."
Edward held his tongue. He had no desire to plow over this throughly tilled ground. They quietly walked to their room. Opening the door, he stepped back and saw her in.
Catherine seated herself at her dressing table and proceeded in taking down her hair. As she dropped hairpins in the small dish she kept for that purpose, she turned toward him and said, "I know you do not like her ... I cannot think of any man who does, but scores of babies are living today, more thanks to her ministrations than to any of the doctors that have paraded themselves through this district in the past several years! I trust her and I think you trust me, do you not?" Turning back to the mirror, she studied his reflection.
Edward had changed to his nightclothes and was putting away his suit. He quietly closed the wardrobe door and stood for a moment. His wife was normally the most sensible woman he knew, but on this subject he could not see her point and she could not see his. He had no desire to supplant his wife's wishes and would not, unless he perceived that her prejudices were endangering herself or the child. Coming to her, he said, "Yes, I told you my conditions earlier. The choice is yours to make," he kissed the top of her head, "I just worry about you. We are new to this and the unknown is always discomfiting."
They looked at one another in the glass. "I would never take a foolish risk with the baby ... I sincerely believe her to be the best choice."
"I know you do." He straightened and went to the bed, laying back the blankets. "Are you ready?"
"Yes," she said as she turned and presented him with her left foot. "I shall be glad when I can untie my own shoes."
"As will I," he said, kneeling before her. "How would it do, if the congregation were to see me in this undignified position?" Shooting her a quick smile as he pulled the laces, he gently twisted and pulled the boot from her foot. "If only slippers kept your feet from hurting, then you would not need me."
"I shall always need you, Mr Wentworth," she said, as she gave him her other foot.
After taking the boots to the wardrobe, he said, "Well, let us get the rest done and get to bed ... you should be laying down."
She stood and patiently waited while he unfastened her dress and corset. He felt his usefulness acutely each night when he heard her sigh in relief as she was freed from the restriction of her stays. This evening, as she began to move away to change, he held her back by rubbing her shoulders. She reached up and after giving his hands a caress in thanks, she held her hair up and out of the way, giving him leave to rub her neck. "Please stop that," her words following the rhythm of his rubbing. " ... in an age or two."
He stopped and leaned close to her, "Go change ... you will be on your feet as long as I will keep this up. I will bank the fire."
As he settled the fire for the night, he gave over to the various thoughts that had come and gone as the day had progressed.
"Come, Rector Wentworth," she said, tapping him on the head as she walked by. "I am tired and I need my feet warmed."
"Certainly, my darling ... warm feet it is." He replaced the poker and made his way to the bed. "Where's my cap?" he asked.
As she arranged her pillows, she said, "Under your pillow, where it is every night." She blew out the lights on her bed table. Settling in, she sighed a heavy, grateful sigh.
After both had adjusted pillows and bedclothes to their mutual satisfaction, they talked. They could not ignore the subject of his brother, and speculated on the young couple's future happiness. Without revealing any secrets, both agreed that the argument of the afternoon had brought forth feelings that could hurt their new marriage or strengthen it considerably.
"I think he will not be sleeping in the nursery tonight."
"Catherine, that is not our concern."
"Certainly not regarding that! It does mean that their argument has not permanently damaged anything, I think."
"No. I think not. He cares a great deal for her. He is to be credited, he is going about this much better than I thought he would. I am ashamed. I have to confess misjudging him."
"And she is so in love with him, and determined to be a good wife, I believe there is a real chance of a happy marriage."
"She has a good example." Edward drew her into his arms and kissed her.
Feeling the first, faint beginnings of desire, the Rector pulled back and said, "I think we must stop this. We need to pray and be to sleep, else I will have to go out and make a bed in the hay crib. Animal passions, you know."
Catherine looked in his direction, but not able to see for the dark, murmured, "Or perhaps I shall."
Surprised by her response, he said, "Well . . . perhaps I should allow it, you passionate creature."
Turning to her side, she snugged up against him and said, "With all my heart."
He turned over and enfolding her, whispered, "It would be useless if we both went out, would it not?"
"Most definitely, Rector. Now, go to sleep," were the last words that night.
For the second time that day, Frederick unbuttoned Louisa's dress. All was as it had been earlier, except, rather than her fallen and sodden hair, she now pulled the hairpins from her nicely done twist. As he watched the hair fall down her back, he was not certain whether he was more glad to see it come down or disappointed in its covering her neck.
All the while, he had struggled with her buttons, the nape of her neck had cried out to be kissed. Now, he stood, gazing at her shift -- the one with the little white flowers embroidered around the edges. His natural inclination was to slip his hand inside her dress; he wondered how violently she might react, was he to take such a course of action.
"Are you finished?"
"Uh ... no, not yet." He gave the sides of the dress a gentle tug, hoping to give the impression of ineptitude rather than licentiousness.
"Please hurry. I am anxious to be out of this."
Oh, so am I, girl. His own thought shocked him. Louisa was innocent and completely unaware of the implications of her words. Frederick stood amazed at how such an innocuous phrase, when uttered by a particular person, under particular circumstances, could have such an inflaming effect on the male mind.
In the midst of this, she began slowly to stretch her neck and shoulders. He could not help think of their first night when travelling and their disastrous stop at the Blushing Maiden Inn. That had been his first attempt at this husbandly duty and when she had done it that night, he had been just as fascinated. The difference being, this night her hair covered most of the sight. This provoked the Captain no end. "I shall have this finished in just a ... moment -- there."
He took his hands from the dress as she moved away from him. Standing in the midst of the room, rooted to the spot, all he could do was watch as she stepped behind the changing screen. The configuration of the wardrobe and screen naturally conspired to keep everything from view. Though, his wife's being taller than most, worked a little to his advantage -- very little.
She bent out of sight, but not before he watched her hair fall from behind her shoulder. The light of the room gave it the appearance of a veil, a protection from his prying eyes. She then straightened with her back to him and he watched as the dress slide from her shoulders, closely followed by the shift. Turning to take up her night dress draped over the screen, she glanced in his direction.
"Please, sir, turn away -- your staring is unnerving." Her look was embarrassed, though amused.
"I'm sorry, I didn't realise I was ... ."
Her smile said that she did not believe him. "I realise that the room is not large, but you can go over there," she pointed towards the bed, "Surely you have preparations of your own to make? I shall be done presently." She moved enough that the screen and wardrobe now completely blocked his view.
Earlier, he had controlled himself and not indulged his natural inclinations, for all the good it had done him! Now his distraction made him out to be a man prone to peeping. But is it truly peeping, when the woman is your wife? It was an interesting moral dilemma, but having other, more interesting things to think on, he pushed the thought from his mind.
When his head emerged from the neck of his nightshirt, he chanced a look back to the screen. Louisa was taking great care to stay out of his sight. He would have to wait.
Tossing his clothes on the blanket chest, he sat gently on the edge of the bed, but still, it squeaked and whined. "I should buy the Rector a new bed, this thing bawls like a cow whenever one shifts about." Frederick snapped his mouth shut when he realised the inelegance of such a statement. Nothing like tender words of passion from the lips of a lover, eh, Captain? he mocked.
Louisa came from behind the screen and walked to the bed. She did not look his way as she seemed to be very involved with tying the sash of her robe. "That would be very kind, I am sure he would appreciate it," was all she said. She stood by the bedpost, endeavouring not looking at him, unsure of what she should do next.
"Oh, here, I shall make room." Frederick lifted the blankets and sliding as gracefully as his nightclothes would allow, he inched across to the wall side of the bed. Rearranging himself and the bedclothes, he rested against his pillows and watched her. She took his place, making no noise at all. From a small pitcher, she filled the glass on the bedside table and took several sips. When she had put the glass down, she showed no indication of removing the robe or getting under the blankets. Frederick thought it best to ask what the matter was.
"I do not know ... I feel ... I feel dreadfully nervous. Not like myself at all." Her voice trembled and she rubbed her hands as they lay in her lap.
Moving closer, he took up a place just behind her. Resting a hand on her shoulder, he let it slide down her arm.
He said, "I understand all too well the state of your nerves." He leant closer and whispered, "I am in a bit of a chaos myself ... despite what you may think, this is not the primary occupation of sailors, I am not highly skilled in the art of romance." As he had spoken, he had begun fingering the braid of her hair running down her back. He reached up and plucked off her yet untied nightcap. Laying it with the pillows, he began untying her hair ribbon.
His breath on her neck and his closeness made her stomach churn and caused her to feel doubly agitated. His removing her cap set into motion an excitement that she enjoyed, despite its rather sickening thrill. Turning a bit toward him, she said, "I'm sorry I said what I did. Of course you do some other things ... I mean, oh ... ." her voice trailed away. She reached for the glass and took another long drink, wishing it were something more fortifying. Replacing the glass, she noticed the gentle tugging on her braid. "What are you doing?"
I am untying your ribbon and then I shall undo the braid of your hair. Tonight, I shall be your untiemate."
"Then tonight shall be a night of opposites."
Continuing with her hair, he asked, "And what do you mean, opposites?"
"Well, I mean, you are to be my untiemate and ... "
"And?"
Reaching her hand around, she tried to feel what he was up to. "What I mean is, we have never gotten into bed -- together -- at the same time, I mean. We have slept in the same bed -- together, though ... I was usually asleep first -- except when you had your cold. But ... oh, we both know what we are about tonight, don't we?" she said. What had sounded so clever and playful in her mind, had come out addled, and made her look simple.
Pushing her hand away, he said softly, "Y-e-s ... I see the opposites. And you are right about us tonight." He was glad that they were both understanding the evening and where it was to lead. "I like your hair loose." He finished and began to run his fingers through the braid to loosen it completely.
"Ouch!"
"Sorry ... I told you, I'm not very adept in the romantic line." He continued with her hair, more carefully now. "So, you are not averse to ... tonight, then?"
As at the Resplendent, his toying with her hair brought with it the occasional brush of his fingertips on her neck and that surrounding it. Tonight was no different. The feel of them was a pleasure that made Louisa lose all track of time and the conversation.
"You are not opposed? You have not changed your mind from last night?" he repeated.
"Huh?" The word was hardly more than a squeak.
"I shall take that as your approval." Having done with her hair, Frederick was unsure how to continue, this not being the primary occupation of sailors.
Coming back to herself, Louisa straightened and fussed with her wrapper, embarrassed that he would see her in such a disordered state.
The silence now was awkward. Neither knew what to say nor do. One shifted uneasily here, the other cleared their throat there. Louisa felt as though the energy of their passion was ebbing away and she desperately wanted to save it. "In answer to your question, I have not changed my mind ... from last night. I have, in fact, looked quite forward to this ... if that is not immodest to say. I mean, until I was married ... to you, of course, I had not, of course, looked forward to this ... I mean, I ... "
"Sh-h-h. Quiet. I understand," he said as he embraced her from behind. "You are right about us tonight ... I think we both know what we will do. Something that I have ... something that is important to us." He began to lightly trail kisses down her neck with her shoulder as the aim, but he was thwarted. This robe will have to go, he mused.
Finding more cogent thoughts to convey, Louisa said, "It is not unknown for a marriage to be unconsummated for days ... even weeks ... or longer, and so, I was not completely despairing ... but part of me ... m'm ... had begun to wonder that perhaps you did not care much for me. And after you me left that night at the Resplendent ... I was frightened ... "
"I am sorry I put you through that ... you have been more than patient with me ... "
"When you told me about ... her, I could see why things had happened the way they had ... but I was anxious that you might never overcome ... and I am sorry about my accusation earlier ... I had no business saying such horrid things about you ... or her."
"Well, having a woman that way is not unknown for a man of my position, and I have to imagine my behaviour has been difficult to understand."
Louisa let herself rest completely against him, taking great pleasure in his ministrations. "M'm ... I was just afraid that ... that you would go back to sea, and I would have nothing of you. Only my new name ... and some pleasant conversations, nothing more."
"Really? You were afraid of that?" It was now clear, had he followed through with his first plan, she would have known. Perhaps she would never have allowed the thoughts outright, but she would have had a sense of his heartlessness. He closed his eyes and breathed a silent prayer that he had been unable to stay that course. "Well ... I am looking forward to having more than just pleasant conversations in the time left to us, now that I have come to my senses."
Concerning their intimacy, the senses that he had come to were, of course, intellectual. However, the only senses that mattered just then were physical. His nose had caught a whiff of Mama Musgrove's Elderbloom Lotion along with a generous undertone of his wife. And he was hard pressed to say which was softer, the feel of her hair that brushed against his cheek now and then, or the skin beneath his lips. The intimate promises of the evening before would not go wanting.
While the warmth of her leaning against him was pleasant and feeling her respond to his kisses gave him great satisfaction, he desired yet more of her. By the sounds that punctuated what little she had said, he had no fear that her desires were any less.
"Turn around," he breathed hoarsely. Frederick immediately felt her stiffen. "What's wrong?"
It took her a moment to answer. "You said the same at the Resplendent ... even to the tone."
"And that is unpleasant?"
"No ... not now." She turned. "I know we are alone this time. But it is a little hard ... some things being the same."
Leaning back into the pillows, he pulled her to him. "I see very little that is the same." As he spoke, he kissed her tenderly. "We are nowhere ... near ... Kidderminster."
She smiled. "No, we ... are ... not," she said, kissing him back.
"What is this?"
"Can't you guess?"
Feeling the knot of her robe tie, he remembered encountering the same that night at the Resplendent. He rolled his eyes. "We are doomed to relive it, are we not?"
A smile came to her lips, "Perhaps more than you know."
"What do you mean?"
"Untie it and see."
She sat up and he loosened the knot. Louisa shrugged out of the robe. He began to laugh. "Good lord, more than I know is right."
"I hope you don't mind that I wore it. I wanted to look pretty. It is the prettiest gown I have ever had."
His eyes again took in the gown and the lovely form beneath it. He sat up, took her in his arms and gently pulled her back down to the pillows with him. Resting her against his chest, he stroked her hair for a moment and then said quietly, "Mrs. Wentworth, you are right about things being the same -- with you in that gown, I know I shall have great difficulty sleeping again tonight."
Since the song has no title other than 'The Theme from Beauty and the Beast,' and may not convey much meaning having to do with the story, I thought I would reprint the words here. I think you can see how appropriate they are to the Captain and new Mrs. Wentworth. ~Author's Note ~ Laura Louise and I usually title our chapters after songs or books, and this one is no exception. The title is a line from the theme of the Disney movie, Beauty and the Beast. That particular fairy tale is my favorite romantic story and Love Suffers Long is actually a variation on its theme. (While Jane said that Louisa was merely pretty in her face and so not a beauty, I think that Frederick has a beastly side that is more apparent when he has no society among women to make him nice ... )
Tale as old as time
True as it can be
Barely even friends
Then somebody bends
Unexpectedly
Just a little change
Small to say the least
Both a little scared
Neither one prepared
Beauty and the Beast
Ever just the same
Ever a surprise
Ever as before
Ever just as sure
As the sun will rise
Tale as old as time
Tune as old as song
Bittersweet and strange
Finding you can change
Learning you were wrong
Certain as the sun
Rising in the east
Tale as old as time
Song as old as rhyme
Beauty and the Beast
Tale as old as time
Song as old as rhyme
Beauty and the Beast
Beauty and the Beast: Music by Alan Menken, Lyrics by Howard Ashman
************
Continued in Part 5
© 2000 Copyright held by author