When he was gone, her shoulders wilted, she closed her eyes and pressed her burning cheeks into the stale- smelling clothes.
She freed her hair, washed her face and got ready for bed in record time. By the time she heard him reenter the kitchen she was safely dressed in a white muslin nightgown with the quilts tucked to her armpits. She lay stiffly, listening to the sounds of him washing up for bed. He turned off the radio, checked the fire, replaced a stovelid. Then all remained quiet but for the beat of her own pulse in her ears and the tick of the windup alarm clock beside the bed. Minutes passed before she heard his footsteps cross the front room and pause. She stared at the doorway, imagining him gathering courage while her own heart throbbed like the engine of Glendon’s old Steel Mule the time she’d ridden it.
Will paused outside the bedroom doorway, fortifying himself with a deep breath. He crossed the threshold to find Eleanor lying on her back in a proper, white, long-sleeved nightie. Her brown hair lay free against the white pillow and her hands were crossed over the high mound formed by her stomach beneath the quilts. Though her expression was carefully bland, her cheeks wore two blots of pink, as if some seraph had winged in and placed a rose petal upon each. 'Come in, Will.'
He swept a slow glance across the room-curtainless window, homemade rag rug, hand-tied quilt, iron bedstead painted white, a closet door ajar, a bedside table and kerosene lamp, a tall bureau with a dresser scarf and a picture of a man with large ears and a receding hairline.
'I’ve never seen this room before.'
'It’s not much.'
'It’s warm and clean.' He advanced two steps only, forcing his eyes to range further until they were drawn, against his will, back to the picture.
'Is that Glendon?'
'Yes.'
He crossed to the bureau, picked up the framed photo and held it, surprised at the man’s age and lack of physical attractiveness. A rather beaked nose and a bony, hollow-eyed face with narrow lips. 'He was some older than you.'
'Five years.'
Will studied the picture in silence, thinking the man looked much older.
'He wasn’t much of a looker. But he was a good man.'
'I’m sure he was.' A good man. Unlike himself, who had broken the laws of both God and man. Could a woman forget such transgressions? Will set the picture down.
Eleanor asked, 'Would it bother you if I left the picture there-so the boys don’t forget him?'
'No, not at all.' Was it a reminder that Glendon Dinsmore still held a special place in her heart? That though Will Parker might share her sheets tonight, he had no right to expect to share anything else-ever? He faced the wall while pulling his shirttails out, wanting to impose nothing upon her, not even glimpses of his bare skin.
She watched him unbutton his shirt, shrug it off, hang it on the closet doorknob. Her fascination came as a surprise. There were moles on his back, and firm, tan skin. He was tapered as a turnip from shoulder to waist, and his arms had filled out considerably in the two months he’d been here. Though she felt like a window-peeper, she continued gaping. He unbuckled his belt and her eyes dropped to his hips-thin, probably even bony inside his jeans. When he sat down the mattress sagged, sending her heart aflutter-even so slight a sharing of the bed felt intimate, after having it to herself for over half a year. He hoisted a foot, removed a cowboy boot and set it aside, followed by its mate. Standing, he dropped his jeans to the floor, then stretched into bed with one fluid motion, giving no more than a flash of thighs textured with dark hair and an old pair of Glendon’s shorts before the quilt covered him and he stretched out beside her with his arms behind his head.
They stared at the ceiling, lying like matched bookends, making sure not so much as the hair on their arms brushed, listening to the tick of the clock, which seemed to report like rifle shots.
'You can turn down the lantern some. It doesn’t need to be that bright.'
He rolled and reached, tugging the bedclothes. 'How’s that?' He peered back over his outstretched arm while the light dimmed to pale umber, enhancing the shadows.
'Fine.'
Again he stretched flat. The silence beat about their ears. Neither of them risked any of the settling motions usually accompanying the first minutes in bed. Instead they lay with hands folded primly over quilts, trying to adjust to the idea of sharing a sleeping space, dredging up subjects of conversation, discarding them, tensing instead of relaxing.
Presently, he chuckled.
'What?' She peeked at him askance. When his face turned her way she fastened her gaze on the ceiling.
'This is weird.'
'I know.'
'We gonna lay in this bed every night and pretend the other one isn’t there?'
She blew out a long breath and let her eyes shift over to him. He was right. It was a relief, simply acknowledging that there was another person in the bed. 'I wasn’t looking forward to this. I thought it’d be awkward, you know?'
'It was. It is,' he admitted for both of them.
'I been jumpy as a flea since suppertime.'
'Since morning, you mean. Hardest thing I ever did was to open that door and walk into the kitchen this morning.'
'You mean you were nervous, too?'
'Didn’t it show?'
'Some, but I thought I was worse that way than you.'
They mulled silently for some time before Will remarked, 'A pretty strange wedding day, huh?'
'Well, I guess that was to be expected.'
'Sorry about the judge and the kiss-you know.'
'It wasn’t so bad. We lived through it, didn’t we?'
'Yeah, we lived through it.' He crossed his hands behind his head and contemplated the ceiling, presenting her with a hairy armpit that smelled of Ivory soap.
'I’m sorry about the lantern. It’ll keep you awake, won’t it?'
'Maybe for a while, but it doesn’t matter. If you hadn’t slept in a real bed for as long as me, you wouldn’t complain about a lantern either.' He lowered one hand and ran it across the coarse, clean sheet which smelled of lye soap and fresh air. 'This is a real treat, you know. Real sheets. Pillow cases. Everything.'
No reply entered Eleanor’s mind, so she lay in silence, adjusting to the feeling of his nearness and scent. Outside a whippoorwill sang and from the boys’ room came the sound of the crib rattling as Thomas turned over.
'Eleanor?'
'Hm?'
'Could I ask you something?'
'Course.'
'You afraid of the dark?'
She took her time answering. 'Not afraid exactly… well, I don’t know. Maybe.' She thought a moment. 'Yeah, maybe. I been sleepin’ with the lantern on so long I don’t know anymore.'
Will turned his head to study her profile. 'Why?'
Her eyes met his, and she thought about her fanatic grandparents, her mother, all those years behind the green shades. But to talk about it would make her seem eccentric in his eyes, and she didn’t want to be. Neither did she want to ruin her wedding day with painful memories. 'Does it matter?'
He studied her green eyes minutely, wishing she’d confide in him, tell him the facts behind Lula’s gossip. But whatever secrets she held, he wouldn’t hear them tonight. 'Then tell me about Glendon.'
'Glendon? You want to talk about him… tonight?'
'If you do.'
She considered for some time before asking, 'What do you want to know?'
