Cutler - Midnight Whipsers Part 33

"Beside her without clothes?" I asked. Perhaps without the wine in me, I would never have asked such a question. He shook his head and kissed me again.

The horrid memory of Uncle Philip clutching at me, pulling and twisting my body so he would get his pleasure, returned; but I drove it off. That was ugly; this was different. I didn't want to be afraid to touch, to kiss, to want Gavin's body close to mine; I didn't want his lips to remind me of Uncle Philip's.

"Gavin," I whispered, "quickly, touch me, make me forget."

"Christie . . . you're . . . the wine . ."

"No, it's not the wine. Please," I said. "I don't want to think of anything but you and this moment."

I took his wrist and brought his hand to my breast.

"Christie! No. Not like this," he said. "I'd only feel as if I took advantage of you," he explained, lifting his hand away. I turned my head into the pillow and buried my face so he wouldn't see my embarra.s.sment. "I want to be with you," he said, "but not when you're confused."

I wanted to shout back that I wasn't confused. It wasn't the wine; it was the woman in me demanding to be born in a beautiful and loving way instead of being ripped and torn and dragged into maturity by a sick and twisted man. I wanted to pretend that this was my first time, that I was a girl with a normal life and not one who had been abused. My body ached to be treated tenderly, kindly, softly. I wanted our kisses to be kisses that reached into the farthest corners of my heart to stir my imagination; I wanted Gavin to touch me and set off the fire of pa.s.sion in a way that made love between a man and a woman something wonderful, not something horrible to haunt me forever.

"Christie." He touched my shoulder. I moaned.

"Are you all right?"

"No," I groaned. "I can't keep the horrid memories from bursting out like bubbles of acid burning my heart. I can't stop the nightmares." I spun around angrily. "I've run away from Cutler's Cove, Gavin, but not from the horrible things that were done to me. I feel dirty," I moaned, "and no shower or bath, no matter how hot or how many, can clean me. You think so too, don't you? That's why you won't touch me."

"No, Christie," he protested. "That's not true. I want to touch you. It's taking every bit of strength not to."

"Oh Gavin," I cried. "Stop being so strong. I need you close to me, very close," I said, the words coming from some part of me I didn't know existed.

He stared down at me for a long moment and then he began to unb.u.t.ton his jacket and shirt. I watched him undress himself down to his underwear in the light of the kerosene lamp. Then I sat up and took of my old dress. I kept my bra and panties on. I crawled under the blanket and Gavin, after checking on Jefferson, crawled under beside me. For a moment neither of us did anything. We just lay there letting our bodies touch.

"Christie," he said, "I'm not sure . . . I mean, what do you want me to do?"

Now that he was beside me, I realized how far we had gone and how quickly. Suddenly, it frightened me. Maybe Gavin was right; maybe it was wrong to do this now.

"Just hold me," I whispered, "and let me fall asleep in your arms."

"That's not as easy as you make it sound," he whispered. The hardness growing between his thighs explained why.

"Oh Gavin, I'm so cruel to you, tormenting you, demanding one thing and then another. You should hate me," I said.

"I could never hate you, Christie. It's not possible." His lips found mine again.

"Gavin," I said. "I'm not drunk; I'm not."

"I know," he said.

"Gavin, make me forget," I pleaded. "I need to forget."

His fingers found the clip on my bra and undid it. Then, he moved his fingers up, pushing the bra over my b.r.e.a.s.t.s until they were uncovered and his fingers slipped softly over my nipples, stiff and tingling. I slipped the bra off my arms.

"Christie, Christie . . ." His fingers inched my panties down over my hips and thighs. I lifted my leg so he could slip it off completely. Naked beside him, I felt my heart pounding so hard I was sure he felt it too.

He wiggled out of his own underwear and kissed me again as he wedged himself gently between my legs. I felt his throbbing manliness and closed my eyes and then opened them wide so I could look into his eyes and into his face.

"Christie?" he said once more.

"Make me forget, Gavin," I whispered and threw all restraint out the window, telling myself this was love, not mad animal s.e.x. This was the ecstasy I expected. Soon the ugly memory of what had happened to me sunk deeper and deeper, driven down and away by every kiss, every moment of pa.s.sion until all I saw before me was Gavin's loving face, his eyes so full of love they glowed.

My heart was full of love, too, and hope.

Perhaps the love I had for Gavin and the love he had for me could, after all, defeat all the curses befalling our families.

I fell asleep beside him, dreaming of a brighter tomorrow.

A Serpent in the Garden .

WHEN I AWOKE IN THE MORNING, I.

WAS ALONE. Sometime during the night, Gavin had returned to his own bed. It was early, just before sunrise, and almost immediately my thoughts went to Mommy. Ever since I had had my first period, she would find an excuse to come into my room to talk about intimate things. Sometimes she would sit beside me at my vanity table and brush her hair; sometimes she would come in to show me something new she had bought to wear, but inevitably, we would have one of our private talks about s.e.x.

I recalled asking her how does a woman know she has made love instead of simply having s.e.x. She put down her hairbrush and gazed at herself in the vanity table mirror for a moment, a small smile forming on her lips.

"There's a sense of fulfillment," she began, speaking in that soft, melodious voice I loved so.

"Your heart and soul join in a wonderful and magical way, Christie," she said, turning to me, the light in her eyes revealing her own precious and personal memories.

"Magical, Mommy?"

"Yes, honey." She took my hand and grew as serious as a Sunday School teacher. "Magical because it makes you aware of things that were so obvious, but things you were blind to or deaf to or simply ignored.

Women who are loose with their bodies, who pursue s.e.xual pleasure as an end in itself are only half-alive their whole lives through.

"When I fell in love, really in love, everything was more intense. Suddenly, I noticed things for the first time, even though they had always been around me. I had never realized how beautiful the stars could be, how sweet a bird's song sounded, how wonderful and majestic the ocean was, and how awe-inspiring a simple thing like a sunrise could be. I was never bored. Every moment was as precious as the next.

"Most importantly, Christie," she said, her eyes small but intent, "I respected myself. I wasn't ashamed of my feelings and the pleasure my body gave me. Do you know what I've learned?" she added almost in a whisper. I shall never forget the look in her eyes when she told me. "Girls who give their bodies to men for the pleasure of the moment don't value themselves; they don't even value s.e.x. They've choked and suffocated the best part of themselves; they've closed the doorway to the soul and to love.

"They take the stars for granted; they resent the song of birds waking them in the morning; the ocean is monotonous to them, and they think getting up early enough to see the sunrise is stupid and exhausting. It's as if . . as if they've missed the ride with the angels and are doomed to drift from one shallow thing to another.

"Do you think you understand what I'm trying to say?" she asked.

"I think so, Mommy," I told her, but it wasn't until now that I did.

Slowly, as the first rays of sunlight lifted the shadows from the trees and the earth absorbed the darkness like a sponge, I felt in tune with everything. I realized that every morning the flowers, the gra.s.s, the forest and all the animals were reborn. I opened the window wide and inhaled the warm morning air as if I could also inhale the sunshine. I embraced myself and closed my eyes and remembered that moment when Gavin and I touched each other's souls and with our bodies promised to be true and loving forever and ever. I had not missed the ride with the angels.

"Good morning," Gavin said, coming up behind me. "I went back to my own bed last night because I thought Jefferson would be looking for me otherwise," he added and kissed me on the cheek.

"Where is Jefferson?"

"Would you believe he got himself up, washed and dressed and went downstairs with Luther and Charlotte already. He can't wait to dip his hands into pails of paint. I'd say he and Charlotte are hitting it off real well, wouldn't you?"

"Yes. It's made it all easier and kind of wonderful," I said, sighing. Gavin smiled and then turned serious.

"But you must understand that as happy as we are here, we can't stay here forever and ever like Charlotte thinks. Jefferson needs friends his own age and he has to go back to school and . . ."

"I know," I said, falling back on the pillow. I screwed my face into a sulk and folded my arms under my b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"You must have known this could only be a temporary solution, Christie," Gavin said. "We're going to have to think of something else soon."

"Wise old Gavin," I teased. "I'm the dreamer; you're the sensible one."

"So we're a perfect combination," he said, smiling, undaunted. "Whenever I get too sensible, you hit me over the head with a dream."

"And whenever I've been dreaming too long, you drag me back to reality. Just like you're doing now."

"I'd rather kiss you back," he said and leaned over to plant a soft kiss on my lips. I gazed up into his eyes and felt a tingle start in my breast.

"We'd better get moving before they miss us," I whispered.

"I know," he said, straightening up. "I'm a farmer now," he said, throwing out his chest and jabbing his thumbs against his ribs, "and I have my ch.o.r.es. And so do you. There's b.u.t.ter to churn and bread to bake and floors to wash."

"I'll give you floors to wash, Gavin Steven Longchamp," I said and threw my pillow at him. He caught it and laughed.

"Temper, temper," he said, shaking a finger at me.

We got dressed quickly and went downstairs.

Homer had already arrived and was having breakfast with Luther and Jefferson when we entered the kitchen. I was surprised he was here so early. Didn't he eat breakfast with his own family? I wondered.

Luther saw the questions in my face.

"Homer's here to help bale the hay in the east field," Luther explained.

"And Jefferson has a good idea," Charlotte declared. "Even Luther thinks so, right Luther?" He grunted and kept eating.

"Oh? And what's the idea?" I asked.

"To paint the barn. We've been thinking about the color. Should it be red like Mr. Douglas's barn or should it be green?"

"I've never seen a green barn," I said.

"I know," Charlotte decided, "we'll paint one side green and one side red, the front red and the back green. Or should we make the front green and the back red?"

"All those colors might confuse the cows,"

Gavin said. "They'll think it's Christmas in July."

"Oh, you think so?" Charlotte said sadly.

"Cows don't care about colors," Luther muttered. "And they don't know nothing about any Christmas." I could see that he didn't want anything to upset Charlotte and he never wanted to disappoint her.

"Everyone can help," Charlotte said.

"Homer and I will paint the front," Jefferson announced. "Won't we, Homer?"

Homer looked up at us and then at Jefferson before nodding.

"Doesn't Homer have his own ch.o.r.es at his own farm?" I asked.

"The Douglases don't have a working farm no more," Luther said. "They're retired folk."

"Oh. Do you have any brothers or sisters, Homer?" I asked him. He shook his head.

"His ma and pa were quite along in their years by the time he came along," Luther said quickly. He pushed his plate aside. "Well, we'd better get started,"

he said, looking at Gavin. Gavin gulped down some milk and nodded.

"I'll bake an apple pie today," Charlotte said.

"Now that I've got more mouths to feed, I'd better get crackin'."

"Don't you go and overdo it none," Luther warned. "We don't put on airs just because we got some visitors."

"If I want to put on airs, I can," Charlotte shot back. Luther just gave one of his grunts.

"When can we start painting the barn?"

Jefferson asked.

"Tomorrow," Luther replied. "If we finish what has to be done today," he added.

"Maybe I should help you then," Jefferson offered. Luther nearly cracked a smile.

"I never turn down a pair of hands, no matter how small they might be," he said. "Let's go."

"Menfolks are off again," Gavin muttered in my ear as he rose to join Luther and Homer. Jefferson pushed his chair in.

"What are you going to do today, Christie?" he asked me.

"I'm going to work on our clothes, do some more cleaning, and then look over the library.

Tonight, I'll read to you and you'll practice your reading, too," I said.

"And your multiplication tables. Jefferson didn't do so well in school this year," I explained, my eyes on him firmly. "He needs to work on his math and his reading, especially his spelling, don't you, Jefferson?"

"Homer can't read and spell good and he's okay," Jefferson said in his own defense.

"Really?" I looked at Homer, who looked down quickly. "Well, if Homer wants, help him learn to read and spell, too," I said. His eyes widened.

"Won't that be nice!" Charlotte exclaimed.

"We'll have our own one-room schoolhouse, just like the one I went to when I was a little girl. Although I didn't go very long, did I, Luther?"