Dream Weaver (25 page)

"Enough of medical matters. One other matter you must understand, Mistress Norgard," Christian went on, "I love you very much." He held her close, her wide-brimmed hat scraping his cheek. "Dear God, I love you so."

Her eyes filled with tears. "I love you, too," she whispered. "Never doubt it."

Despite her happiness, endless regrets taunted her while she stared up her husband, taking in her fill of his features. No matter how lovely this room and its decorations, she couldn't help wishing she were getting married in her other time, where all her contemporary friends could see her. She pictured the guests in the pews of the spacious Presbyterian church back home, wherever her former home was now. She imagined the organ music, the expansive nave decorated with flowers, the reception afterwards at the country club. And Christian! If they could only meet her husband, they'd know why she was so proud of him, why he was the only man she could ever love.

Gwen opened her mouth to say something, then sudden goosebumps skimmed her arms and legs. A feeling of dread turned her stomach cold. She had the fearful sensation that something strange was about to happen.

Afraid of what she might see, she looked out the open window--and saw a car whiz past, its engine rumbling. She averted her gaze, wanting to deny the reality of her vision. Her hand pressed to her chest, she stared out the window again, seeing nothing now but trees and bushes.

"Gwen, what's amiss?"

What was happening to her? she agonized, Christian's voice only an echo in the background. Was she going crazy? She sneaked another glance outside, trying to convince herself the vision had been only because of her overactive imagination. Of course, she hadn't really seen a car.

"Gwen!"

Frantically, she looked around at the guests, hoping no one had seen her shock.

Christian wrapped his arm around her shoulder, frowning with worry. "Darling, didn't you hear me? What's wrong?"

Not daring to reveal her vision, she forced a laugh. "Oh, it's nothing. It's funny, I always considered myself the picture of health, but with the preparation for the wedding and all..." She gave him a tremulous smile. "This is the most important day of my life. Can't blame a lady if she gets carried away with the excitement."

"Poor dear." Christian became all tenderness as he held her as close as her wide-brimmed hat would allow. "Pray sit down for a while. You've been on your feet too long."

She waved her hand. "Oh, I'm all right, Christian, really I am."

"Come now. I'm your doctor. You must do as I say."

No sense in protesting, Gwen figured. Come to think of it, it might be nice to sit down for a few minutes, especially since her new wedding shoes with their high instep and wobbly heels pinched her feet and made her legs ache. Christian led her to an empty bench--borrowed for the wedding--at a far corner of the room, and gently eased her into it. Crouched low on the balls of his feet, he took her hands in his and gazed up at her, looking so worried.

 
"Rest for a while," he said. "Don't want to lose my wife on our wedding day." He bit his bottom lip, then spoke quickly. "'Twas a beautiful ceremony, was it not?"

"Right." Wanting to deflect his anxiety, Gwen decided it would be better to tell him a lie than say what had actually happened. Besides, he'd never in a million years believe her. Her heart still pounded, forcing her to take a deep breath before she spoke.

"I was thinking about tonight and..." She feigned embarrassment, tossing him a sidelong helpless glance from under her lashes.

He squeezed her hand, his look warmly caring. "Don't worry about tonight. We love each other, and the rest will take care of itself."

* * *

After tossing his clothes onto a chair, Christian crawled into bed beside Gwen. He reached for her in the darkness, drawing her close to his body.

Nuzzling her neck, he kissed the hollow of her throat, his fingers skimming along her arm. "Not still worried, are you, darling?"

"I was never worried, just apprehensive. Do you know, most of my friends were liberated and--"

He raised his head. "Liberated?"

Gwen laughed softly as she cuddled closer. "I mean they didn't let old-fashioned morals stand in the way of their enjoyment of life. To put it bluntly, they weren't virgins when they married."

"Well, 'tis not too unusual to find engaged couples who anticipate their wedding day. Happens often, as a matter of fact."

"Yeah, but my friends scr--, uh, lay with a lot of other men, too."

"Indeed!" His eyes had adjusted to the dark, and he observed her closely, admiring the silky strands of hair that tumbled past her shoulders, the swell of tempting breasts under her thin muslin nightshift. His gaze traveled along her body to the outline of her hips and long, slender legs under the counterpane.

"What about you?" he whispered, his fingers tracing her erect nipples.

"A virgin. Does that surprise you?"

"Doesn't surprise me, but there's something I want you to know." He leaned over to kiss her on the forehead. "I'd love you, no matter how many men you'd lain with." He reached under the shift to run his hand up her leg, his fingers lingering on her satiny smooth skin. "I love you so much," he whispered, "wanted you for so long. 'Tis not easy to wait." He eased the nightshift up and drew it over her head, while she raised herself to make it easier for him.

After tossing the shift onto the floor, he kissed her lightly on her shoulder. "Sweetheart, my sweetheart." His lips claimed hers in a deep, passionate kiss as his hand strayed to her breast, caressing it. Burning for her, he trailed light kisses from her lips down to her belly.

 
"My darling!" His hands continued to play their magic, his fingers finding her most sensitive places.

 
"I want you, too," she whispered. She wanted him, oh, how she wanted him, her body desperate to have him inside her.

As gently as possible, he entered her. Hearing her gasp of pain, he tried to go slowly for her sake.

How had she ever lived without him? Gwen wondered as she felt his warm breath against her ear, heard his quickened breathing. This was what she'd waited for all her life and Christian the only man who could give her such happiness. He could drive her crazy with longing, this man of hers, the one she'd wanted for so long. A slow ache began to build inside her, a desire to give and receive this ecstasy that only love can bring.

 
"Sweetheart!" Her release came as a dazzling rainbow of sensations erupted inside her, a beautiful symphony, the explosion of a thousand giant stars.

Hours later, as the last faint stars disappeared from the heavens, she turned her head to watch her husband while he slept. A slight smile touched his lips, a lock of dark hair falling across his forehead.

Love swelled inside her. She kissed him lightly on the cheek, hoping he'd wake soon to make love again. She didn't know what the future held, but she realized how fiercely she loved him, so much that she wanted him with her every minute of every day, for the rest of their lives.

A painful reminder jerked her from her passionate thoughts--a vision of the car whizzing past. Just some crazy hallucination, she told herself. Only her imagination.

* * *

A week later, Gwen stood at the wide stone hearth, stirring the turkey and vegetable soup bubbling in the large cast iron kettle. Afraid her dress would catch fire, she'd tucked it inside her woolen apron, something she'd learned the hard way the day after the wedding. Waving her hand across her flushed face to cool it, she stepped away from the hearth, wondering how these colonial women managed cooking under such backward conditions, day after day. How would she manage? she fretted, when nothing in her life had prepared her for this arduous domesticity. She flopped down on a chair and rested her arm on the table, determined not to dwell on present difficulties.

But how about the microwave, the blender, the Cuisinart? Why, of course, she’d buy them next time she went to the trading post. Maybe check over the refrigerators at
Circuit
City
while she was at it.

The aroma of freshly-baked rye and Injun bread drifted from the table, where she'd placed the bread to cool. So what if it was flat and overbaked? She'd finally baked a loaf of bread.

She examined her hands, red and work-roughened already, crisscrossed with tiny cuts from being continually in hot water on cool days. What she'd give for hand lotion or better yet, latex gloves.

The room darkened with the setting sun, giving the house a somber cast and accentuating its drab simplicity. After returning the large spoon to its proper place beside the hearth, she moved about the room, lighting candles in the wall sconces. Well, the room was brighter now, but it still looked as dull as a closet full of dirty clothes. She decided to fix it up a bit first chance she got, maybe with a printed calico curtain at the lone window and pewter candlesticks like those she'd seen at the trading post.

The prospect of Christian's imminent return home cheered her as she reached for the wooden bowls from the mantel to set the table. A faintness overtook her as she turned away, the room shimmering, the scene changing. Goose bumps raced across her arms, and she pressed her hands to her eyes, so afraid of what she'd see. Oh, no! Please, no!

People moved about in an office; men and women talking, laughing.

"Who was the last person to use the copy machine? We're out of paper."

"Are you helpless? Get the paper yourself."

Gwen dropped the bowls to the hard floor with a clatter. She bent her head low to keep from fainting. This couldn't be happening again. Just like before! What if she got sent back to her previous time--without Christian? A fresh wave of dizziness washed over her, and she wobbled over to a chair, slumping down to rest her head on the table. She took deep breaths. She couldn't let Christian see her like this. He'd think she was nuts, if he didn't think so already.

Afraid to open her eyes, she finally raised her head to give a cautious glance around the room, finding everything normal again. She hadn't really seen people in an office, hadn't really heard office chatter. It's just your imagination, just your imagination, she repeated like a mantra. With a jolt of alarm, she heard Christian at the door and struggled to her feet, pasting a smile on her face.

The door opened and Christian stepped into the room. A warm smile on his face, he rushed to close the distance between them. He reached her, his smile fading.

Clasping her by the shoulders, he searched her eyes. "Sweetheart, what's amiss? Are you unwell?"

What had made her think she could fool him? She touched her forehead. "Just had a slight headache, but seeing you has made me feel better already. Did you have a busy day?" she asked in a rush of words. "I guess you did because you've been gone for so long, but of course, I understand that's your job. You're a doctor, after all, so..." She shrugged.

He frowned. "Are you sure you're not ill?" He held his hand to her forehead, then let his hand slip down to the back of her neck. "You don't appear to have a fever. Mayhap you should lie down to rest." He slid his arm around her waist, heading for the loft. "Come now, darling. Lie down for a while."

She wiped her hands on her apron, her mind in confusion. She didn't know how she could tell him of her recent vision, but what choice did she have? What if it happened again, when Christian was with her? Or--unthinkable--what if she got sent back to her own time, without Christian?

She licked her lips. "Christian, sometimes I see things that aren't really there. I--"

 
"Not really there?" His frown deepened. "Explain yourself."

"I mean, I see people...other people, here, in our house. They talk to each other and move around the room...."

He didn't believe her. She could tell by the incredulous look on his face.

He spoke slowly, his voice low and even. "Mayhap you've been working too hard, thus imagining things. Or possibly you do have a fever. Oftimes feverish people see things that aren't really present." He raised his hand to her forehead again. "But you don't feel warm."

She shook her head. "No fever. It was the same on our wedding day. Remember when I looked out the window and seemed so frightened?" At his answering nod, she went on. "I...I saw something that wasn't...wasn't really there."

"What did you see?" He folded his arms across his chest, a look of cautious challenge on his face.

"Something...something from my time. I can't explain it. You'd never believe me, anyway. But sometimes I feel as if...as if...I'm in this time and my own, too--the twenty-first century. Sometimes I feel--" With shaky fingers, she stuffed loose locks of hair under her cap--"that I don't know where I belong."

"You belong with me," he said, releasing a deep sigh. "Gwen, I don't know what malady you suffer from, but--"

"Please, you must take this seriously!"

"But it's obvious you have a very fanciful imagination."

"Imagination? No, Christian, try to understand what I'm going through."