The Endearment (13 page)

But Karl was handsome and earnest and sincere, and the murmur of his voice in the gloaming made it somehow easy for Anna to voice some of her girlhood dreams.

"I thought to get married in St. Mark's. I always felt good in St. Mark's. Sometimes I would dream of marrying a soldier in high boots and braids, with epaulettes on his shoulders."

"A soldier, Anna?" He knew he was far from a soldier.

"Well, there were always soldiers around Boston. Sometimes I'd see them."

It grew still--both the nightshadows and Karl's hand grew still.

"There are no soldiers here," Karl said, disappointed.

"There are no blonde braids either," she said timorously, surprising her husband once again.

Karl swallowed. "I think I can get along without blonde braids," he whispered. Beneath Anna's hand his flesh rose and fell more rapidly.

Despite his seeming gentleness, she was afraid to give him the reply he sought, even though a soldier in epaulettes was at this moment the farthest thing from her mind.

He rolled onto his side, facing her. "I think I go too fast, Anna. I am sorry." He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed its palm--warm lips, soft breath for the briefest moment touching her--then laid it on the pillow between them, quite where the sweet clover had lain before. "But I have been alone so long, Anna. There has been no one to talk with, no one to touch, no one to touch me, and at times I thought I would die of it. I would sometimes bring the goat inside, when the blizzards blew fierce in the winter, and to her I would talk, and often I talk to my horses. And to touch their velvet noses is good, or to stroke the ears of the goat, but it is not the same. Always I dream of the day when I have more than the animals to talk to. More than the bleat of my goat for an answer."

Again, he took her hand to his lips, but differently this time, as if its warmth were the cure of him. The way he placed her fingers upon his lips, then moved the hand upward as if to wash himself with its touch, she felt glorified and undeserving. He whispered throatily, "Anna, oh Anna, do you know how good just your fingers on me feel?"

Then he pulled her palm against the length of his long cheek. It was warm, smooth, and she remembered its appearance as her hands fit its contours. Her fingertips brushed his eyebrow and, for a moment, his closed eyelid, and she felt a faint quiver there that made her yearn for light so she might see such a surprising vision as a man who held deep-pent emotions within.

"I never knew ... You never told me all these things in your letters."

"I thought I would scare you away. Anna, I do not mean to scare you. You are such a child and I have been alone too long."

"But I made the agreement, Karl," she said, determinedly.

"But you shake so, Anna."

"So do you," she whispered.

Yes, Karl thought, I shake from a little eagerness, a little timidity, maybe a little fright of scaring her off. It was his first time, and he wanted it to be by mutual consent--but more--by mutual love. He could wait a while to earn those things from her, but he had been alone too long to take away nothing with him this night. He reached to curl a hand around her neck, stroking her chin with his thumb, filled with wonder at the softness of her skin after feeling only his own for so long.

"Would it be all right if I kiss you, Anna?"

"A man doesn't need permission to kiss his own wife," she whispered.

But he took it--slow-leaning on an elbow beside her, grazing her lips with the thumb, wishing she was not so afraid.

Anna lay rigidly, waiting for the bad part to begin. But it didn't. Everything was different about Karl. Different, the way he waited and touched her gently first, as if assuring her he meant well. Different, as he leaned so slowly closer, making the corn husks rustle in hushed tones. Different, as he hovered on an elbow, pausing, giving her time with his thumb still on her lips to say no. Different, as he touched his lips to her lightly, lightly.

There was no force, no fight, no fear, only a light lingering of flesh upon flesh, a blending of breaths, an introduction. And her name, "Anna ..." whispered upon her mouth in a way no person had ever before spoken it. His fingers slid into her hair at the back of her head, tenderly, not clutching, while she understood new things about this man. Patiently, he waited for some sign from her. It came in the tiniest lifting of her chin, bringing her lips closer to his. Again, his lips touched hers, warmer, nearer, a little fuller, letting her ease into the newness of him.
 

For the first time ever, Anna found a willingness to let a man know this much of her. But when he moved his hand slowly to her ribs, she stiffened, quite unable to control the reaction. He raised his mouth from hers, anxious to do the right thing with her, for he could feel the way her forearms were tightly guarding her chest.

"Anna, I would not hurry you. We have time now, if we did not have before."

Reprieved, Anna nevertheless felt silly and inadequate. Her heart raced wildly while she searched for the right thing to say. He still hovered above her, and she felt his warm breath caressing her face. He smelled of clean shaving soap and tobacco, but he had tasted faintly of rose hips.

How can I be afraid of a man who tastes like roses? she thought. Yet she was. She knew very well what it was that men did to women. This man, with his might, could do it with tolerable ease, should he choose. But instead, he backed farther away, so she could no longer feel the touch of his breath on her nose.

"I ... I'm sorry, Karl," she said, then added, shakily, "and thank you."

Disappointment swept through Karl's veins. But he touched her jaw with the back of a callused index finger, a brief, reassuring brush upon her downy flesh.

"We have plenty time. Sleep now, Anna." Then he lay back on his own side of the bed, but unrelaxed, for now he knew what her skin felt like.

Anna rolled onto her side facing the wall, curling her spine and tugging the buffalo robe up securely between shoulder and jaw. But a strange feeling crept over her, as if she'd done something wrong but she wasn't sure what. She felt much like just before she started to cry. Finally, she rolled slightly backward, looked over her shoulder and whispered, "Goodnight, Karl."

"Goodnight, Anna," he said thickly.

But for Karl it was not a good night. He lay stiff as a board, wanting to leap from the bed and run into the dewy damp night air and cool off, talk to his horses, dip his head in the icy basin of water in the springhouse--something! But he lay instead like a ramrod--sleepless--for now he knew the feel of her skin, the taste of her tongue, the tug of her diminutive body making its furrow into the other half of the husk mattress. How long, he wondered miserably. How long? How long must I court my own wife?

     
       
Chapter Six

 
In the morning Karl was gone to fetch his goat before James and Anna awoke. By the time he returned, they were up and dressed and already making nuisances of themselves. They heard a bell tinkling, and looked at each other hopelessly through the billowing smoke. Anna fanned her hand before her eyes and nose uselessly.

"Oh, no, I think he's back," she wailed.

"It's a good thing, too," James observed.

A moment later Karl stepped to his doorway. "What are you two doing? Burning our house down?"

"Sod doesn't-“ Anna coughed. "Sod doesn't burn."

"And so I am a lucky man or I would be homeless by now. Have you ever heard of a damper?" Of course they'd heard of a damper. All the cast-iron stoves had dampers in their pipes, but they hadn't considered that Karl's fireplace would have one. He stepped to the smoking mouth of the fireplace, made the necessary adjustment, then herded the two of them outside while the air cleared.

"I can see I will have to watch you two every minute to keep you out of trouble," he said good-naturedly.

"We thought it'd help if we got the fire going."

"Ya, it would help if you built a fire instead of a smudge. But you will come in handy when the mosquitoes need chasing away."

Karl, it seemed, was prepared to practice the patience he'd promised to exercise. "Tonight I will teach you to build a proper fire. Now, come and meet Nanna."

James took to the goat at once, and there seemed an answering friendliness in the animal.

"Nanna, this is James," Karl said affectionately, folding the goat's ear backward. "And if he milks a goat like he builds a fire, I would run back to the Indians, if I were you," he whispered into Nanna's ear.
             

Anna laughed, and at last Karl looked directly at her, his hand still toying with the soft, pink ear. Smiling, he said, "Good morning, Anna."

"Good morning, Karl," she replied, her eyes sliding back to his fingers, which scratched affectionately as the animal nudged and bent her head for more. But while he scratched, Karl's eyes stayed on Anna.

"Can you make biscuits?" he asked.

"No," she answered.

"Can you milk the goat then?"

"No."

"Can you fry salt pork and make corn mush in the drippings?"

"Maybe. I'm not sure."

"Now we are getting somewhere!"

And this is how it became James' job to milk the goat in the mornings, once Karl showed the boy how. And to Anna fell the chore of cooking mush in drippings, while Karl brought water from the springhouse for the horses, for use in the house and for washing outside.

He washed at the bench by the door. From the beginning it intrigued Anna how he would strip off his shirt and suffer the freezing water without so much as a shiver. Karl brought out his straightedge razor and honed it on the strop while the boy eyed his every movement.

"Does it hurt to shave, Karl?" he asked.

"Only if the blade is not sharp enough. A sharp blade makes all cutting easier. Wait till I show you how to sharpen the axe. Everywhere a logger goes he should carry his stone and use it perhaps once each hour. I have much to teach you."

"Oh boy! I can't wait."

"You will have to. At least until we finish your sister's cornmeal mush and salt pork."

"Hey, Karl?"

"Ya?"

James lowered his voice. "I don't think Anna ever cooked that before. It'll probably be pretty bad."

"If it is, you must not tell her so. And if your first sharpening is bad, I will not tell you so, either."

It was bad, all right. The poor salt pork had had the life fried out of it, and the cornmeal was lumpy. Amazingly, Karl made no comment. Instead, he talked of what a beautiful day it was, and of how much he hoped to get done and of how pleasant it was to be eating his meal with company. But Karl and James seemed to be enjoying some private little joke Anna was not asked to share. Still, she was pleased the way Karl seemed to be accepting her brother.

 
It was a jeweled day of brilliant color-- blue of sky, green of tree, bedazzled by gilt the sun lay upon them. The sun had not yet topped the periphery of the clearing before the three went out. From hooks above the mantel Karl withdrew his broadaxe, handed the hatchet to Anna. James proudly accepted the rifle once again.

"Come," he said. "First I will show you the place where our cabin will be." He stalked across the clearing to the basework of stones laid in a rectangle of some sixteen by twelve feet. As he stepped to the foundation, he placed a foot upon one of its stones and pointed with the sharpest tip of his axe. "There will be the door, facing east ... due east. I have used my compass, for a worthy house should sit square with the earth itself."

Turning his head toward Anna, he stated, "No dirt floors in this house, Anna. Here we will have real plank floors. I have hauled the stones from the fields and along the creek, the flattest I could find, to hold the foundation logs."

Then he turned, flipped the axe up until the smooth, curved ash handle slipped through his hand. Pointing again with it, he said, "I have cleared that path and put down the skids from here to the tamaracks." The double track of skinned logs led away like a wooden railroad track running north into the trees. "On my land I have the straightest virgin tamarack anywhere. With logs that straight we will have a tight house, you will see. No half-timbers for us. I will use the whole log, only flattened a little to make it fit tight so the walls will be thick and warm."

Skids and half-timbers meant nothing to Anna, but she could see by the density of the forest what it had taken him to clear that wide skid path.

"Come, we will harness Bill and Belle and get started."

As they walked toward the barn, Karl asked, "Have you ever harnessed a pair, boy?"

"No ... nossir," James answered, still looking over his shoulder at the skids.

"If you want to be a teamster, you must first learn about harnessing. You will learn now," Karl said with finality. "Your sister, too. There could come a time when she might need to know."