The Wedding of the Century & Other Stories (17 page)

“But why? What do you get out of it? I mean, I got my reputation saved. I can sit around and read and let the dinner burn, and you don't mind. But what do you get?”

“I get you,” he answered honestly.

Amy blinked. “But that's not much.”

“It's all I want.”

Realizing how much he had revealed, Jesse swung around. “Come on,” he said brusquely. “Enough of this. Let's see if there's anything we can save out of those potatoes.”

Amy watched him, frowning, as he crossed the room to the ruined potatoes. She looked as if she would like to question him further, but in the end she said nothing, just followed him to the table.

They scooped out the centers of the burned potatoes
and ate the half-burned pork chops. Jesse said little. He was aware of Amy studying him curiously from time to time, but he couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes. He wondered what she was thinking, and whether she had guessed his feelings from what he had said. He cursed his wayward tongue.

Later, after they had eaten, Amy cleared off the table and washed the dishes. Jesse watched her, thinking it must be a sign of how badly he was smitten that he enjoyed so much watching Amy do even a simple thing like washing dishes. It was knowing that she did it for him, that she was his wife, in his home, that made his loins turn hot. He thought about going up to Amy and slipping his arms around her waist, bending down to nuzzle the bare back of her neck. He thought about sliding his hands up her torso to her breasts and cupping them possessively. He could imagine their soft, warm weight through the cotton of her dress, the hard prickling of her nipples as he touched them.

Jesse knew he was insane to do this to himself. He should leave and let his senses calm down. He should force his mind onto something else. But he could not. Instead, his imagination rolled onward, picturing how he would take her in his arms and kiss her, how he would lift her up and carry her to this very table and lay her down upon it, shoving up her skirts and letting his hands roam her legs…

“Jesse? Are you all right?”

“What?” He came back to reality with a crash. Amy was standing at the counter, staring. “I—I'm sorry. I didn't hear you. I was daydreaming.”

“It must have been an odd daydream,” Amy commented. “You looked as if you were in pain.”

“No, I— Really, it was nothing. Just foolishness. Now, what were you saying?”

“I was asking you if you'd mind reading to me while I worked. Corinne and I used to do that sometimes. It made the work go faster.”

Jesse went cold inside; her words were as effective in cooling him down as a bucket of ice water in his face. “Read?” he repeated blankly. “Read what?”

“I don't know. Whatever you want to. Why don't you pick out a book from one of the boxes?”

“Uh…” Jesse stood up, glancing from Amy to the boxes of books stacked in the corner. “If you don't mind, I have some chores I need to finish outside. I really should do them first.”

“In the dark?”

“I'll take a lantern.”

“Oh. All right, if that's what you want.” Amy looked disappointed, but she went back to her work without any complaint.

Jesse hurriedly left the room. He went to the corral and looked at the horses, resting his arms on the upper rail. He tried to think of some chore to do out here. At least it would make his words a little less of a lie. He hated lying to Amy, who was so trusting and sweet.

But he hadn't known what else to say. And he couldn't tell her the truth. It would be too humiliating. Not that Amy would say anything unkind. But he could imagine the dismay that would leap into her eyes, quickly followed by pity. And he could not bear to see her look at him like that.

 

T
HE FOLLOWING
S
ATURDAY,
Amy and Jesse rode into town to get their stove, stopping at the McAlisters' ranch house to borrow their wagon. The McAlisters greeted
Amy with hugs and cries of glee. It was less than two weeks since they had seen her, but somehow the fact of her marriage made it seem as if it had been longer.

They picked up their supplies in town, and Jesse and the store clerk loaded the small but heavy stove into the back of the wagon while Amy watched them, fairly bubbling with excitement over their new purchase.

Afterward, as Jesse started to help her into the wagon, Amy said, “No, wait. We have to go to the post office and pick up Papa's mail. I promised him that we would.”

“All right.” They walked across the street, and Jesse got Mr. McAlister's mail.

As he returned, Amy asked eagerly, “Is the
Hancock's Quarterly
there? It has a continuing story I've been reading.”

“I don't know. Here, you look for it.” Jesse handed her the stack of mail.

“Why, silly,” Amy said with a smile, “it's right here on top. See?” She pointed to the cover of the magazine on the top of the stack.

“Oh,” Jesse said shortly, glancing at the periodical. “I—I guess I didn't look at the name.”

Amy gave him an odd look, but she said nothing, just walked with him out to the wagon and climbed in. But inside, her brain was busily whirring. It was hard to see how Jesse could have missed seeing the name on that magazine. It was written in huge letters across the top of the cover. She thought back to the way he had left the house so abruptly the other night after she asked him to read aloud while she finished the dishes. It had seemed odd that he had such urgent chores to do, when up until then he had been sitting around, obviously enjoying the opportunity to relax after a hard day's work. She remembered, too, the time when he had been reminding her of
her abilities and accomplishments, and reading had been the first thing he mentioned. Could it possibly be that Jesse could not read?

But he had signed his name on their wedding certificate. She had seen him do it. How could he write if he couldn't read? That didn't make any sense. Amy told herself that she must be wrong, and yet she could not quite get rid of her suspicions. She thought about it on the way home, and she soon concocted a plan.

That night after supper, she asked casually, “Jesse, would you help me take some of these books out of the boxes? I'm looking for something.”

“Sure.” He rose with alacrity and walked over to the boxes. Squatting down beside one, he opened it and began to pull out books.

“Why don't you look in that box?” Amy suggested, kneeling in front of another box. “I'll look in this one. I'm looking for
Gulliver's Travels.
”

Jesse's hands stilled. He pulled another two handfuls of books out and said slowly, “Why don't I take them out, and you look for the book? That'll be quicker.”

He set the books down beside Amy and delved into the box again, avoiding her eyes. Thoughtful, Amy shuffled through the books he had given her. Then she suddenly held one out in front of Jesse, saying, “Why, look what I found!”

He gazed at the book blankly. “Yes. I see. The book you wanted.”

“No,” Amy said, watching him carefully. “It's not
Gulliver's Travels.
It's a book of poetry.”

“Oh.” A dull flush mounted in Jesse's cheeks. He turned away. “Do you want me to keep on looking, then?”

“No, I don't. I never wanted the book.”

He glanced at her in surprise. “Then why the hell—”

“I just wanted to see something. You can't read, can you?”

Jesse's eyes flashed, and he rose quickly to his feet. “That's why you asked me to help you? It was a trick?”

“Yes, I guess it was,” Amy admitted, rising. “I suspected you couldn't, but you didn't tell me, so I thought I could find out if I—”

“Congratulations!” Jesse snapped. He looked so furious that Amy stepped back involuntarily. “You proved it. I can't read. I can't write. Now you know. You married a fool who doesn't know anything but horses!”

Jesse whirled around and strode out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

“J
ESSE!
J
ESSE, WAIT!”
Amy cried, running after him. She caught up to him near the corral and grabbed his arm. “Jesse, I'm sorry. Please, wait, listen to me.”

He stopped and swung around. His face was dark with anger, and he snapped, “What?”

“I'm sorry,” Amy went on breathlessly. “Please believe me, I didn't mean to upset you. I—I shouldn't have done that. Mama always said I was far too inquisitive for a lady. I'm sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. It's not your fault,” he responded tightly. “You didn't do anything wrong. Anyone would be shocked to find that a grown man can't read or write.”

“I wasn't shocked,” Amy protested. “There are lots of grown men who can't read or write. Why, old Herman, for one, and Sam Dougherty, and I bet lots of other hands that I never even knew about.”

“Yeah, but you didn't make the mistake of marrying one of them.”

“Mistake? Why do you say that? Just because you can't read?”

“Just?” he repeated sarcastically. “Maybe not, if you were some poor nester's daughter, or a washerwoman. But you— My God, Amy! You're the smartest person I've ever met, man or woman. Why, your dad swears that you've read all the books in his library twice over, and some of them a lot more than that. How are you going to feel sometime when we're around other people,
people like your family, and somebody realizes that I can't read?”

Amy shrugged. “I don't know. I haven't thought about it.”

“Well, I'll tell you. You'll be humiliated. It's not right. I—I used to watch you sometimes, sitting out on your front porch, reading….”

“You did?” Amy looked at him, surprised.

“Yes. I saw how you devoured those books. I've seen you writing in your pad, too.”

Amy colored. “Well, yes, sometimes I do. I— Mama says it's foolish.”

“It's not foolish. It's wonderful. But don't you see? How can you bear to have a dumb lump of a husband like me? I don't even know what you're talking about half the time.”

“Well, how could you, if you've never read the books?”

“That's what I mean! I don't know anything.”

“Don't talk that way!” Amy retorted fiercely, reaching out to grab his hand and squeeze it tightly between her own. “You know lots and lots! There's nobody around here who knows horses like you do.”

Jesse snorted derisively, but Amy pressed on. “Well, that's a lot more useful knowledge than some of the things I know, like…like when the Battle of Hastings was, or Marco Polo's trade route to the Orient. There are lots and lots of things that I can't do, but you don't hold me in contempt for them. You saw how my curtains turned out, and you know how terrible my cooking is. I could never build a barn, the way you're doing. Why, I hardly know how to hammer a nail. I wish I could do it, but nobody ever thought it was a fit thing to teach a girl. But that doesn't make me a dummy or a fool, any more than
it makes you one for not being able to read. I would never,
never
feel humiliated because you are my husband.”

Jesse gazed at her, his brows drawn together in puzzlement. He lifted his forefinger and trailed it softly down her cheek. “You're something special. It truly doesn't bother you that I can't read?”

“No. Why should it?” Amy smiled up at him. “Am I forgiven now? Will you come back inside with me?”

“Of course. I wasn't angry with you. It was with me. With life.”

Amy linked her arm through Jesse's, and they started back to the house. “Tell me something—why can't you read?”

Jesse shrugged. “'Cause I never learned. I didn't go to school. My ma couldn't read, either, and she didn't see the sense in it. Besides, she always needed me at home to help her, so she didn't send me. And after she died, I had to make my way in the world. I didn't have time to go to school, and anyway, I was getting too old.”

“How were you able to sign your name on our marriage certificate? That made me think I must be wrong about you not being able to read.”

Jesse grinned shamefacedly. “Oh, that. I knew I was going to have to sign it, and I didn't want you to see that I couldn't write. So I had one of the other hands teach me how to write my name. He wrote it down for me, and I practiced it over and over until I could do it. That's all.”

Amy remembered the slow, careful way Jesse had made his signature. She had thought he was taking his time because it was an important thing. “Oh. I see.”

They reached the house and went inside. Amy went over to the boxes and piled the books back in. Jesse began to help her. Amy turned to him impulsively and laid her hand on his arm.

“I truly am sorry about what I did. I didn't mean to
hurt you. I didn't realize why you wouldn't tell me, or how much it meant to you. So many people think reading and history and things like that are pretty useless knowledge.”

“It's all right.” He smiled at her. “You didn't do anything wrong.”

“Jesse…would you like to learn to read? I was thinking that I could teach you.”

He glanced at her sharply. “No, that's too much trouble for you.”

“How can that be trouble? I love books—you just told me that yourself. It would be fun for me.”

“Teaching me my ABCs?” He looked skeptical.

“Yes. That's something that I
am
good at, something I can help you with. And it would make me happy. You've been so good and patient with me, it's the least I could do for you. And with you, I don't think it'd be boring at all.”

Something flashed in Jesse's eyes, and a thrill ran through Amy. She thought about sitting beside Jesse every night and working with him. It didn't sound dull to her.

“But I'm too old to learn it now.”

“Why? You're not senile yet, are you?”

He shrugged. “I don't know. It just seems foolish. It would take so long, and there are so many things I need to do. It'd waste a lot of time.”

“Reading is
not
a waste of time,” Amy told him severely. “Besides, I was thinking I could help you more with the outside chores. I mean, all I do now is feed the chickens and cook and keep the house clean. Keeping this place clean is hardly anything, it's so small. Now, with the stove, cooking's going to be a lot easier, too. Anyway, it doesn't take up all my time, either. The fact is, I don't have enough to do. I'm being lazy.”

“That's all right.”

“Not while you're working yourself into the ground, it's not. I bet there are lots of things I could do to help you, and that way you'd have time to spare for learning. I could even help you build the barn. You could show me how to do some things—I'd really like to learn!—and I could help you. Hold things in place while you nail them down, maybe, or fetch and carry for you, at least. Please?”

Amy folded her hands in an exaggeratedly prayerful attitude, and Jesse had to chuckle. “Sure, you can help me if you want.”

“And you'll let me help you with reading?”

Confusion flitted across his face. Finally he said, “Amy, what if I can't? What if I really am stupid, like Sprague said?”

“Jesse Tyler.” Amy put her hands on her hips and gave him an exasperated look. “You are
not
stupid. Tell me something—who do you think knows more, me or Olen Sprague?”

Jesse chuckled. “What a question! You, of course.”

“Then why do you persist in believing him over me? I'll tell you why.” She shook her forefinger sternly at him. “Because you're flat scared of something you don't know. You know the way to get over something you're scared of is to just do it. So you
have
to let me teach you.”

“I never knew what a bossy woman I was marrying,” Jesse marveled, grinning.

“Well, you did marry me, and now you're stuck with me.”

His grin broadened. “I don't mind.”

Amy felt suddenly breathless. Jesse's eyes were so warm when he looked at her, and the way his mouth curved upward did strange things to her stomach. She wished he would lean over and kiss her. She wanted to feel his mouth against hers, to taste his lips.

She looked away, confused and embarrassed, and
Jesse stood up. The moment was over. “All right,” he said, reaching down a hand to pull her to her feet. “We might as well get started…teacher.”

 

O
VER THE COURSE OF THE
next few weeks, Amy and Jesse were always together. During the day she helped him build the barn, and in the evenings they worked on Jesse's reading. Amy felt that neither of those occupations could really be called work. Though the carpentry was sometimes tiring, she found it fun and intriguing, as well. She caught on quickly for she did not find it boring, unlike most of her house chores. Jesse's praise of her ability made her smile and flush with pleasure.

To her amazement, she found that her other skills even began to improve. The new stove was a vast help with her cooking, and now that she had chores outside to help with, she had less time to spend on the cooking, and consequently she cooked the meal all at once, remaining at the stove the whole time, instead of getting distracted by a book and forgetting what she was doing. She began to realize that Jesse was right; she wasn't incompetent in all practical matters.

Another thing Amy discovered she could do well was teach. Jesse was learning how to read by leaps and bounds. She taught him the alphabet quickly, and after that she rode over to her parents' house one day to retrieve a small trunk full of her old schoolbooks. They started on the primer, chuckling a little over the childishness of the book. Amy found herself looking forward all day to teaching Jesse his lessons in the evening. She enjoyed helping him. She enjoyed watching his earnest concentration. Quite frankly, she liked simply sitting beside him or watching his hand move across the paper.

She loved his hands. They were strong and slender, callused yet capable of gentleness. She found herself looking
at his hands often as they worked together, and she could not keep from thinking wild, crazy things about his touching her. It was embarrassing, even though, of course, Jesse had no idea what she was thinking.

At first Jesse was embarrassed to be seen struggling over the simple words, but after a time, when Amy was neither impatient nor scornful of his efforts, he shed most of his embarrassment and concentrated on his studies. He worked his way steadily through the primer, and as he conquered each new word or sentence, Amy was as proud of his success as he was.

When Jesse read the last sentence of the last page of the primer, he closed the book with a snap and turned to smile triumphantly at Amy, who was seated beside him at the kitchen table.

Amy let out a squeal. “You did it! I knew you could!”

Without thinking, she leaned across the few inches that separated them and hugged him enthusiastically. Jesse froze for an instant, and then his arms clamped around her like steel bands and his mouth came down, seeking hers.

His kiss startled Amy, and she let out a little squeak of surprise. But then the feel of Jesse's mouth against hers drove out all other thoughts and feelings. His lips were pliant, but insistent and determined, pressing deeper and deeper into hers. Their velvet pressure threw Amy's insides into turmoil, opening her up to wild, chaotic yet delightful sensations.

Jesse's tongue slid delicately along the joining line of her lips, and Amy drew in a startled breath. He seized the opportunity, thrusting his tongue between her lips and into her mouth, his own lips pressing hers open for him. Amy remembered that Charles Whitaker had tried to do the same thing, but it felt incredibly different when
Jesse did it. It wasn't scary, it was exciting. Amy shivered and leaned into him, giving herself up to the delightful exploration of his tongue.

With a groan, Jesse pulled Amy out of her chair and into his lap, cradling her tightly against his chest. One of his arms was around her shoulders, pressing her to him, and the other drifted lower, his hand sliding down her back and over the curve of her buttock. Heat blossomed between Amy's legs, growing as Jesse kissed her again and again. His skin was feverishly warm and his breath came out in a hot shudder against her cheek. The evidence of his response to her excited her almost as much as his mouth on hers. Amy had never experienced this sort of heat within herself before, this odd feeling of ripeness, as though she were loosening and opening to him. Her breasts seemed swollen and heavy, aching, and she wanted Jesse to touch them. It was a scandalous thought, she supposed, but at the moment she didn't care. She wanted to stretch and purr on his lap like a cat and have him stroke her all over.

She shifted on his lap, bracing her hands on his shoulders, and Jesse went still. He lifted his head, and his hands fell away from her. Amy looked up at him, her eyes wide with surprise and confusion.
Why was he stopping?

“Jesse?” she began uneasily.

“Oh, God.” He looked appalled. “No. No. I'm sorry. Oh, Amy, I didn't mean to—”

He jumped to his feet, setting her away from him hastily. “Please, Amy, I—I don't know what happened. But I swear, I'll be more careful next time. I won't let it happen again.”

She gazed at him blankly, seeing disgust, even horror, in his eyes.
What had she done wrong?
Panic-stricken, she couldn't think what to say or do.

“I'm sorry,” he said again, stiffly. “I—I'll leave you alone now.”

He turned on his heel and strode quickly out the door. Amy stood for a long moment, gazing at the blank door. Everything had happened so fast that it left her stunned. She turned and walked blindly into the bedroom area, seeking the illusive protection of the cloth walls. She sat down on the bed and thought about what had happened.
Why had Jesse stopped kissing her so abruptly? Why had he left?