But now, he allowed images to form in his mind of Mary removing her dress to reveal her slender body in her chemise and pantaloons.
Suddenly, he found himself envisioning her walking to the washstand to clean her teeth. He gulped and attempted to get his thoughts under control when his wandering mind began to imagine her washing her neck…but sheepishly withdrew from fantasies of her washing anything else. He pictured her examining her countenance in the beveled mirror, and then walking over to sit on the edge of the bed to begin unwinding the braids in her hair before running a brush through its dark, rich lengths. On her face was a faraway look…was she thinking of him? Was she wondering if he was comfortable downstairs? In his mind, he watched her sweet lips curve into the shy little smile he’d seen just a handful of times and she began to hum softly while she worked.
Before long, she put the brush down on the bedside table and crawled under the sheets, wiggling a bit to get settled.
Then, he pictured her staring up at the ceiling just as he was…only, soon she rolled to her side and seemed to be staring longingly through the floorboards at him. It seemed as if she wished he would come back…climb into the bed with her…sleep together as married people do…
WHOA! He slammed his thoughts to a stop before they got out of hand, mumbling a quick prayer to get his mind back where it belonged.
He huffed out another sigh. It was going to be a long night.
An unknown noise roused a very drowsy Dwight the next morning.
During his fitful night of tossing and turning, he had decided his sleeplessness was due to the disagreeably hot, confined room. He opened the windows, despite their piercing screech, only to find that with no breeze stirring they let in precious little fresh air. With no other recourse, he’d opted on removing his trousers. Clad only in his thin linen underpants, which had finally done the trick, he lay down again and drifted off to blessed sleep. That had been just a few hours earlier.
Sluggishly, he opened his eyes a fraction, wondering what had awakened him. Silently grousing to himself that it felt as if he’d just gone to sleep, he heard it again. Wanda Mae had come over from next door to start breakfast for the household. With the library in close proximity to the kitchen, he easily heard the heavy, cast iron skillet being set on the stove.
Suddenly, as if someone had just dumped a bucket of ice-cold water over his head, he bolted upright, eyes round as buttons, heart pounding as he realized he was about to get caught, quite literally, with his pants down.
Trying not to hyperventilate, he jumped up and frantically began to gather his things, but his hands seemed to be all thumbs. Finally, in desperation, he began tossing items onto the covers—trousers, shirt, boots, and shaving kit. Looking around to try and make sure he got every last thing, he scooped them all up together in his arms.
Looking around the space, he wondered where he could go. He had foolishly forgotten to come up with an escape route should this very situation ever happen—and wouldn’t you know, it was happening his first morning in residence.
Calling himself seven kinds of a fool and a few other choice names right then wouldn’t help matters. He had to act fast.
Hearing the woman begin to hum some tune that seemed a bit familiar, albeit slightly off key, Dwight padded on bare feet to the door of the library. Angling his head to see the adjacent kitchen door and not spying Wanda Mae, he took off with his burdens down the hall toward the foyer.
The only place of refuge he could think of was Mary’s bedroom.
Hurrying up the steps, he tripped, banging one shin on a stair tread and it was everything he could do not to holler out in pain. By some miracle, he managed to arrive at the second landing with everything still in hand.
When he made it to Mary’s door, he wobbled clumsily, nearly losing his grip on the huge bundle in his arms. Surely the busy body in the kitchen had heard all of the commotion he was making and she was hot on his trail. Deciding not to knock and alert his mother and sisters just down the hall, he fumbled with the doorknob until it gave way and the door swung open.
He slipped inside and gently pushed it shut with his foot, trying to stifle his panicked breathing.
Immediately, he heard a feminine gasp behind him and he whirled around, unfortunately dropping his mass of possessions in the process.
There he stood, bare chested, bare footed, bare legged, and wearing only his unmentionables, which covered him from waist to knee.
There Mary sat, her arms uncovered, with the quilt pulled up tightly under her chin as she stared at him wide-eyed, her hair mussed from sleep.
“Dwight!” she shouted in a whisper. “What are you doing?”
He swallowed hard and reached down to grab his clothing, holding it in front of him in acute embarrassment and knowing how ridiculous he must look—and what she must be thinking.
With a helpless shrug, he mumbled, “Wanda’s in the kitchen.”
Great jumpin’ grasshoppers. What a way to start off my first day here.
Mary knew she should look away, but the
