Beverly Jenkins (26 page)

Now it was his turn to be surprised. She ran upstairs and returned with a wrapped parcel. He took it with wonder.

“Well, it won’t open itself,” she said softly.

They both spent the next few seconds unwrapping their gifts. Cara beamed at the bar of scented soap. “I will use this the moment that tub arrives. Thank you, Chase.” When she opened the other, much smaller one, she had to fight her tears. “This is so lovely . . .”

“I hope it fits. You’re my wife—you should have a ring.”

Cara lifted the small gold band from the tissue paper and slid it on her finger. It did fit, remarkably well. She turned to him, her eyes filled with emotion.

Chase, overwhelmed by her reaction, looked
away and concentrated on removing the paper on his gift. Inside he found a leather-bound journal. He was touched by the beauty of the volume.

“Do you like it?” she asked.

“Cara, this is—where’d you find something so fine?”

“I sent to Chicago for it. I thought you’d prefer something like that to all those loose pieces of paper you do your reports on. This way, everything is in one place.”

“It’s been a long time since I got something personal for Christmas. The army sometimes sends coffee, extra rations, but nothing personal.”

“When was the last time you received something for Christmas that was especially for you?”

“Probably the last year I spent in New Orleans with Sophie and Asa.”

Cara made a vow then and there that regardless of how this marriage went, she would always make the effort to give him something special for the holiday. She would also ask Sophie about his birthday.

“Do you like the ring?”

“Yes, I do.” The band was simple, yet delicate and beautifully crafted. The gold sparkled in the light.

“Good,” he replied.

There was awkward silence as they both tried to think of something else to say.

The house was noticeably warmer, so Cara removed her coat and hung it on the peg by the door. “Do you want a piece of this cake before I put it away?” She’d set the cake left over from the reception on the kitchen table.

“Sure, I’ll have a small piece.”

She took two plates and forks down from the sideboard and cut a small wedge of Dulcie’s chocolate
cake for each of them. They ate in silence at the table, too aware of each other.

“Cara?”

She looked up.

“I wish you’d written me about the child, that’s all.”

“Chase—”

“Hear me out, please?”

She nodded.

“Cara, I’ve been carrying around all this anger because of how I felt when I found out you’d planned on denying me my child. A free-born child means a lot to a former slave. Being free all your life, I doubt you know just how much.”

The pain in his voice drew her eyes back to his, and he did not hide the hurt in his heart. Never, never had it crossed her mind that because he had been a slave, a free-born child would mean so much.

His voice softened as he continued. “It has to do with legitimacy, Cara. Remember the story I told you about my grandmother, that night you fell off the sawhorse and hurt your ankle?”

She did. His grandmother had called him a dirty black African bastard. Cara would always remember that tale.

“Well, I swore I would never father a child I could not give my name. When I found out you’d planned on leaving, I wanted to hurt someone—no, hurt you.”

“And you have,” she whispered without shame. Tears were stinging her eyes.

Chase felt his heart rising to his throat. “Cara, look—”

“Chase, I didn’t think about what the baby might mean to you. We’d never discussed the possibility of children. I mean, you told Sophie to tell
me where I could get in touch with you in case I needed you, but you never said a thing to me. When I found out I was carrying, I didn’t know how you’d take to the idea of fatherhood. You said you were never going to marry, remember?”

He did.

“So I decided I had to look out for myself and the baby.”

“I would have helped, Cara.”

The passionate conviction in his declaration drew her gaze back to his. “You would have, wouldn’t you?”

He nodded. “Yes. When we first met, I told you my intentions were honorable.”

“Yes, you did, but it was such a game between us. Chase, I’ve relied on myself for so long . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“I know how hard it is to put your fate in someone else’s hands, Cara. I’m the same way.” He reached over and laid his hands atop hers. She laced her fingers with his. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. “Can you forgive me, these last few weeks?”

Cara looked down at their entwined fingers and whispered, “Can you forgive me?”

He stood slowly and held out his arms, “Come here.”

Cara went to him and he held her tightly. “Chase, I’m so, so sorry.”

“So am I, darlin’. So am I.”

Cara wanted so much for them to start anew. She dearly loved this man. The last month had been a nightmare, but now maybe it was over.

Chase spoke into her hair, “I’ve spent the last few days asking myself what kind of marriage I wanted us to have. I don’t really know, but I do know it can’t be one with all this bitterness.”

Cara agreed.

“Cara, I know we don’t love each other, but in the beginning, before everything got so complicated, we did enjoy being together, didn’t we?”

“Yes, we did.” The echo of his words rang loud in her ears.
I know we don’t love each other.

He looked down into her face. “Why are you crying?”

She backed up and hastily wiped at the telling tears. “I’m not crying. I—you’re right. Just because we’re not in love doesn’t mean we can’t make this work. Other couples have done it.”

“I asked myself something else.”

“What?”

“I’ve never made a secret of how much I desire you, Cara Lee. And I asked myself if I wanted to spend the rest of my life looking at you, but never touching you . . .”

The hot whisper of his voice, the thought of touching him again made her go weak with desire.

“Will you share my bed? I’m not asking that we be intimate right away. We still need time to adjust to each other, but I don’t want you sleeping down the hall away from me, schoolmarm. Not anymore.”

Cara’s heart soared. His mask had disappeared. She looked up into the eyes of Chase, her Chase, and said, “Then I suppose we should start moving my things.”

It didn’t take them long to get Cara moved into Chase’s larger room down the hall. Her additional furniture made the room seem very small, but for Cara the slightly cramped quarters exuded the intimacy she imagined a husband and wife would share. Husband. He was all she could have hoped for: honorable, handsome, caring. She wanted this
marriage to work. The truce they’d forget tonight made her feel as if that were indeed possible.

He smiled. “We’ll move the rest of the things in tomorrow. Ready for bed?”

She was. It had been a long day.

While Chase added wood to the fire, Cara began her preparations for bed by taking the pins from her hair. The thick mass unwound slowly, and she slid her fingers in to massage her scalp. She glanced up at Chase and saw that his eyes were riveted on her. She smiled at his interest, got up, and retrieved her hairbrush from the top of her dresser. She sat with her back to him at the small vanity table and began to brush her hair. She could see him reflected over her shoulder in the mirror. He hadn’t moved. She combed through her hair and braided it, then under his watching eyes, began to undo the buttons of her shirt.

Holding his attention, she opened the buttons at her wrist. She shimmied out of her skirt and stood there in her slip and drawers as she took off the blouse, then she moved past him over to the wardrobe and pulled out a long flannel nightgown.

Chase’s manhood swelled as he watched her. He supposed he, too, should get undressed, but he couldn’t pull his gaze away from his beautiful wife. The removal of the blouse revealed the camisole underneath and the sweet brown curve of her bare shoulders. She hung up the blouse on one of the pegs nailed into the back of the door. She looked good enough to eat. When she sat on the bed and began to remove her stockings and shoes, Chase got a good enough look at the expanse of her legs to keep him awake for weeks imagining and remembering the feel of them entwined around his waist.

“Something wrong?” she asked innocently.

“No, just adjusting to you.”

“I see. Would you rather I undress in the other room?”

“No. Here is fine.” Then he added, “I’m going to go out and make sure the pump handle’s high. Don’t want it to be frozen in the morning. You go on and get into bed.”

Then he left.

Cara viewed his exit with a knowing smile.

When he returned she was snug beneath the quilts. She’d left the lamp by the bed lit but had doused all the others. “How’s the pump?”

He swung his eyes to her and smiled. He began on the buttons of his uniform. “Pump’s fine. How’s my bed?”

“Bed’s fine,” she replied, grinning.

He sat to remove his boots, then stood and shucked off his trousers. Dressed now in his union suit, he walked over to the door and hung his uniform next to her skirt and blouse. “It’s better if you sleep on the other side, schoolmarm. The man should sleep closest to the door.”

She moved over and felt the chill of the sheets. “You just want my spot because it’s all warmed up.”

“Smart woman.” He chuckled as he slid into bed. He settled in and said, “Ah, nice and warm like I like it.”

She punched him in the shoulder. He laughed.

Chase turned down the lamp, and they both lay there listening to the soft cracking of the fire.

“Know something, Sergeant?”

He smiled, realizing he’d missed her calling him by rank. “What?”

“This is going to be hard.”

He turned and leaned on his elbow. “What’s going
to be hard?” Chase already had an answer: his manhood, but he doubted his answer had anything to do with the conversation.

“This adjusting you talked about. How long do you think it should last?”

“I don’t know. We’ll see, I suppose. Why?”

She turned and looked up at him. “Oh, I don’t know, just curious is all.”

He leaned down and kissed her lips. “You think you could hold out for three or four days?”

She savored his kisses and whispered, “Probably not. Two days is all I can promise.”

He chuckled. “Two days it is. Now, let’s get some sleep. In two days, you’re going to need your strength.”

“So will you,” she countered.

Then they slept.

Chase awakened the next morning alone but with the smell of bacon and coffee in the air. All he could do was lie there and smile. Finally he got dressed and went downstairs.

Cara greeted him with a smile, then set ort the table a stack of flapjacks that were still hot and running with syrup and butter.

“You make a man seriously consider deserting, Mrs. Jefferson, feeding me like this. When I go back, army food’s going to taste worse than ever.”

“When are you leaving?” she asked, taking a seat and passing him the coffeepot.

“The day after the new year.”

“So soon.”

“Yes.”

Cara fought to keep the sadness from her voice. “Then I guess I’ll have to be a good wife so you’ll hurry back.”

“I’ll always hurry back.”

His eyes were as potent as flame, and Cara told
him so. “It’s a little early in the day for you to be setting my clothes on fire, Chase Jefferson.”

“Is it? Sorry about that. When would it be more convenient?”

“You’re an outrageous man. Eat before your food gets cold.”

He did, but did not turn down his eyes.

And as a result, when Cara got up from the table after finishing her meal, she seriously doubted her ability to hold out for even one of the two days they’d agreed upon. Her nipples were hard from his devilish stares and heat had began to pulse between her thighs.

After breakfast he went out to check on the animals. When he returned he said, “Let’s have some fun today, Mrs. Jefferson. What would you like to do?”

Cara gave him a saucy smile.

“Not that, schoolmarm. We agreed. Two days, remember?” Then he added with a blazing gaze, “You were right. It’s getting to be damn hard.”

“Then we should spend the day adjusting. Let’s go have some fun.”

First order of business was a ride through the snow. Cara thought the idea grand when he suggested it. She hurried up to the room to pull on her warmest clothing and joined him outside. The cold fresh air was as invigorating as the kiss with which he greeted her. Just when she thought she was going to swoon, he withdrew, and they were off. The runners on the buggy made for a smooth ride across the snow. The weather was cold but not so extreme that it endangered the horses pulling them along.

Since they had no real destination in mind, Chase just headed the horses up the road.

It turned out to be a memorable morning. They
saw snow hares and deer. They talked; they had a rousing snowball fight.

When they returned home laughing and cold, Cara ran into the house two steps ahead of his pelting snowballs. Laughing so hard it hurt to breathe, she positioned her body against the door to prevent him from entering. “Go away!”

“Open this door, woman!”

Cara jumped away from the door and took off at a run up the stairs. He was at her heels with a handful of the balled snow.

She yelled gleefully. “You quit throwing snow in the house!” He caught her in his arms and brought her back down the staircase. “You can’t get away from me.”

She threw back her head and laughed not only at the silliness of their play but at how good she felt inside.

They warmed up with cups of hot coffee and bowls of leftover stew. Chase settled into the front room to work on a survey report for the colonel, and Cara took to the kitchen to make bread.

She was in the process of kneading when he came in behind her and slipped his arms around her waist. He nuzzled her neck, and she lost all contact with the dough under her hands. “We’re supposed to be adjusting, Sergeant, not . . .” Her voice failed when she realized he was opening her blouse. When he pushed her camisole aside and filled his hands, she moaned. He ran his thumbs over the nipples until they tightened and pleaded.