KeepingFaithCole (23 page)

Her yearning grew stronger as she prepared for his approach.
Lucille washed with scented water, then dabbed a spot of
eau de toilette
at her throat. The rapid beat of her pulse pounded
against the tip of her finger. Would the sweet floral fragrance entice her
husband? Or should she have chosen something more exotic?

What of the gossamer-thin nightgown she’d chosen? Would he
like the way she looked in it, the way it revealed her dark nipples and the
thatch of dark hair at the apex of her thighs?

With growing anticipation, she wet her lips and waited for
him to come to their marital bed. Her mother had kept Faith, and there would be
nothing to disturb them. The long winter night belonged to them alone.

Lucille sat on the edge of the bed, her hands folded in her
lap. When at last Tom opened the door, she clasped her fingers tightly together
and looked up. The lamp burned softly from atop a small bedside table, filling
the room with a warm, golden glow. Her breath caught in her throat as the sight
of the strong, powerful man who’d become her husband, hers to have and to hold,
forever.

“Tom,” she whispered, rising to greet him. In her heart, she
had so many words of love she wanted to share. Being married was still too new,
and she didn’t know when or how to let her feelings come out. Better, perhaps,
to take things slow, to let this moment happen in its own way. She held her
hand out to him.

He took hold of it and gazed down into her eyes. Instead of
desire, Lucille saw only disappointment.

“What is it?” she asked, not sure she could bear to hear the
answer. She wanted so much to please Tom and be a good wife to him. Although
they’d been married only a few hours, he had already found her lacking.

“When we agreed to get married, we never talked much about…”
He shrugged and let go of her hand. “Well, to be honest, we never really talked
at all about…sleeping arrangements.”

Lucille found it hard to swallow. “Naturally, I—” She’d
assumed that
sleeping arrangements
would take care of themselves. Husband and wives were expected to sleep
together, to share the same bed…and all that went with it. An awkward
embarrassment washed over her, and she looked away.

“I won’t demand any marital rights of you.” His voice
sounded flat and totally devoid of emotion. He might as well have been talking
about the price of grain or the cost of a new rope. Most likely he’d show more
passion for either of those than he did for her.

Pressing a hand to her mouth, Lucille willed herself to stay
strong, even as the last of her hopes crashed down around her. Clearly Tom felt
no desire for her.

“As far as anyone knows, of course,” he said, “we’ll pretend
our marriage is real.”

“Yes, of course.”

“We’ll take good care of Faith, she’ll have all she needs,
and nobody will ever take her away from us.”

Lucille lifted her chin. “Right. That’s what this is all
about, after all. We’re doing this for Faith.” She swallowed back the last of
her regrets. Tom spoke the truth. Their marriage assured Faith of a home, a
family, and the secure future she deserved.

“I figured I’d take the upstairs bedroom. You can have this
one since it’s close to where Faith will be sleeping.”

“Are you sure? The ceiling there is so low, and you’re so
tall. You’ll be ducking your head every time you set foot in that upstairs
bedroom.” What she really wanted to say was
you
belong here, with me.
But those thoughts remained locked within her heart.

“While I’m sleeping, I won’t notice how big or small the
room is.” Tom grinned. “And this way, I won’t disturb you when I get up each
morning. Goose and I are going to be doing a lot of work in the next few weeks.
It will be good for us to get an early start each day.”

Lucille’s mind reeled in confusion. “What about breakfast?
Don’t you want me to fix meals for you? You’ll want coffee, won’t you?”

“You don’t need to bother. I can take care of myself.”

Were there
any
wifely duties he expected her to perform? A profound sense of disenchantment
filled her. This marriage—such as it was—would be nothing like she’d imagined,
nothing like she’d dreamed, nothing at all like she’d hoped it would be.

Tom reached out, placed a hand beneath her quivering chin,
and lifted her face to his. “All I ask of you is that you love Faith and that you
look after her.”

“You know I will.”

* * *
*

Tom fought the urge to pull his wife into an embrace. As he
gazed down at her glistening brown eyes, he yearned to kiss her, to stroke the
long, gleaming tresses of dark hair that curled loosely over her shoulders. He
wanted to lift her up in his arms, carry her across the room, and gently place
her atop the bed.

Oh, so many things he wanted!

But he and Lucille had entered into this marriage with the
understanding that it would be in name only, and he would do nothing to shake
the trust she had placed in him. Perhaps, some night, she would invite him to
share her bed. Did he dare to dream that, in time, she might even come to love
him?

“Good night,” he whispered, turning away.

“Sleep well.”

“You, too.”

He exited quickly and hurried up the stairs to the little
cubby-hole of a room that would be his. Alone in the darkness, he stripped off
his clothes and gave in to the luscious thoughts of Lucille playing through his
head.

Visions of her dressed in that flimsy white negligee turned
him hard at once. His hands closed around his erection, and he would have given
anything to have her touching him that way. But for now, he’d have to find his
own satisfaction.

His knees weak, he leaned against the wall. His eyes closed
as he slowly stroked himself, letting the desires build ever higher. In his
mind, he explored every sweet, seductive inch of his wife’s curvaceous form—the
full, cream-colored breasts with their rosy, pink nipples, the smooth, taut
abdomen, the flair of her hips. Recalling the wetness and the musky scent of
nectar he’d tasted between Lucille’s long legs, he exploded. Tom gasped for
breath, shaken by the power his beautiful wife possessed, power enough to make
him do anything she asked of him.

No woman should have such power. As a man, he must be
strong.

* * *
*

Marriage was good, in its own way. Tom wanted more, but out
of respect for his wife, he kept a proper distance and put no demands upon her.
In more ways than one, he could take care of himself. Sometimes he caught a
look on Lucille’s face and wondered if she were truly happy. As quickly as it
came, the look flitted away each time she noticed him watching her. For the
most part, she seemed content.

One cold winter night, Tom
sat alone in the quiet kitchen. Lucille had insisted they keep up his reading
lessons, joining him at the table each evening after Faith was asleep. It had
become his favorite time. He loved being close to her, breathing in the smell
of her—the gentle floral fragrance she wore, mixed with the scent of
perspiration, soap, kitchen spices, and the unique aroma that was hers alone.

They read together for hours
each night, usually verses from scripture. When it grew late, Lucille rose, bid
her husband good night, checked on Faith, then quietly disappeared behind the
closed door of her bedroom. Every night, Tom stared at the door, wishing it
might open again, then when it remained shut, he reluctantly got up from the
table and headed to his own bed.

Tonight, he’d stayed at the
table long after Lucille had turned in. The oil in the lamp was nearly gone.
Soon the flame would sputter and die, leaving him in darkness. In anticipation
of that moment, he closed the heavy book and let out a slow breath. His reading
was getting better every day. He recognized more words, understood more about
how to sound them out, and most importantly of all, he comprehended more of
what he read.

His writing wasn’t much yet,
though.

All in good time. That’s
what Lucille told him.

Be patient. Persevere. Never
give up.

She told him those things
too.

As the flame flickered then
disappeared, Tom closed his eyes, content to listen to the quiet, peaceful
sounds of his home. From the back bedroom came the sound of the bed creaking as
Lucille shifted in her sleep. Closer, from the corner near the fireplace,
Faith’s slow, steady breathing soothed him like a comforting lullaby.

How had all this happened?
It had to be a miracle. How else could he explain the incredible transformation
in his life over the last few months? He opened his eyes, leaned back, and
looked toward the ceiling, imagining his mind moving through it, through the
rafters, through the rooftop. From there, he could better imagine the tapestry
of the skies, the glittering stars poking through the dark fabric of the night.

Was heaven above it
somewhere? For a long time, he hadn’t given much thought to it. He’d never
thought too much about hell, either. Now, he’d come to think that maybe both
places existed, although he wasn’t too sure about hell. Somehow, it didn’t seem
right that a loving God would create a place to punish souls. Wouldn’t it be
better, kinder, to teach them instead?

He reached out and ran his
hand over the bible’s leather cover. The good book, Lucille called it. A book
of teachings, a book about love, compassion, and caring for others.

Stretching out his long
legs, he opened the book again, turning once more to ponder the verses they’d
read from Ecclesiastes.

Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their
toil. For if they fall, one will lift up his fellow. But woe to him who is
alone when he falls and has not another to lift him up! Again, if two lie
together, they keep warm, but how can one keep warm alone?

How, indeed? He craved
warmth. If only Lucille would let him into her bed, he would find it. He
yearned to take her into his arms and truly love her in the way a man was meant
to love a woman, as a husband should love his wife.

It would never happen, and
he’d have to find his own way to keep warm. For all the goodness Lucille had
brought into his life, he was still the same man, nothing more than a
simple-minded cowboy, the fellow who’d been born in a barn and raised by a
drunken whore. It would take more than a few good thoughts, more even than a
few verses of scripture, to make a difference. A man was what a man was. He
wasn’t sure change was possible.

Believe in yourself, Tom Henderson.

His eyes flew open. Had
Lucille slipped into the kitchen without him hearing her? He peered through the
darkness of the quiet house, then knew the voice he’d heard had come from his
own head, or maybe from his own heart.

Yes, he did believe in
himself now. In himself, his future,
their
future together as husband and wife. He believed in heaven too.

Looking upward again, he
smiled. Of course there was a heaven, and Sally was there, watching down upon
the little girl she’d brought into this world. Leland Chappell was there, too,
and most likely he was grinning, maybe even chuckling a bit at Tom’s
predicament.

Wasn’t natural for a man and
his wife to sleep in separate beds, in separate rooms.

Chappell believed in fixing
problems, not letting them linger on.

If he were there, what would
he say? Tom heard the familiar words again.

Start where you are. Right here. Right now.

He glanced toward Lucille’s
bedroom door. Maybe he should slip into bed beside her, or at least talk to
her, tell her how he felt.

With a long breath, he shook
his head. If she wanted him, she would come to him. Slowly, he got to his feet
and headed for the stairs. Would it ever happen? Probably not, but he’d go
right on loving Lucille, even if she didn’t know it.

* * * *

Faith’s cries awakened Lucille from a restless sleep. She
grabbed her robe and hurried from the bedroom. The lamp on the table had
already burned itself out, and Tom had long before gone upstairs for the night.

Disappointment settled over Lucille as she lit the lamp
again. Although she enjoyed what little time she spent with her husband, she
couldn’t help wanting more from him. Not just his time, but his affection.

“Well, we certainly don’t want to wake him, do we?” she
crooned as she picked Faith up and soothed her.

She’d grown accustomed to the lonely days, and to the long,
lonely nights. Thank goodness, she had Faith to make life bearable. Without
her, Lucille would never be able to endure the misery. Of course, without
Faith, she wouldn’t be married to Tom, wouldn’t be living such an isolated
existence so far from Sunset.

Did she regret her decision?

No, never.

She sang a soft lullaby, rocking Faith in her arms, then
when the little girl was sleeping again, Lucille gently placed her in bed once
more. She tucked the covers around the child and for a moment, she stood beside
the cradle, watching, her heart filled with tenderness. She could not have
loved this little angel more had Faith been her own child.

What of the family she hoped to have? She placed a hand to
her breast and choked back a sob. She wanted children of her own. She wanted
children with Tom, but it would never happen unless he truly accepted her as
his wife—not in name only, but his wife in all ways.