Forever Safe (Beacons of Hope) (19 page)

For an instant, the move took him by surprise. He stood frozen.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

In response, he slid his arms around her and hugged her back, relishing the way she fit so perfectly against him. The lingering scent of lilac soap surrounded her, and her damp hair brushed his chin.

“You were very sweet to prepare me a bath,” she said.

He let himself stroke her wet hair.

At his touch, she snuggled against him, and he had to close his eyes to think rationally. “And thanks for treating me normally today. Everyone has always handled me like I’m a breakable piece of crystal. No one’s ever been as honest with me as you are.”

“And that’s good?”

He could feel her lips curve into a smile. “Yes. You challenge me to be a better person. And no else does that, except maybe my mother.”

“So what are you saying?” He tried to infuse humor into his tone. “I’m too soft and womanly?”

She laughed lightly and tightened her arms around his waist. “Maybe.”

He pulled back in mock horror.

She laughed again, louder. He loved the sound of it.

“So, with the bath, do you think we’ve convinced your parents that we’re—” She blushed.

“Hopefully.” He could just imagine both of them sitting downstairs listening to the sounds coming from the bedroom and exchanging smug smiles. “But I should warn you, I have to sleep in here too.”

Her eyes widened, and her lips formed around words of protest.

He quickly silenced her with a finger against her lips. “I slept on the floor by the window last night.”

She glanced from the bed to the floor and back and then visibly swallowed. She wasn’t frightened was she? Surely she knew him well enough by now to realize she had nothing to worry about.

He lowered himself to the sofa and patted the spot next to him. “We might as well get settled. They won’t expect us to come out for a while.”

Again, Victoria blushed. But she quickly complied and sat down on the opposite end of the sofa. When she finally chanced a glance at him and nibbled her lip, he had the urge to close the gap between them and pull her back into his arms. But the inner conscience he’d worked so hard to cultivate reminded him of his promise to Mr. Cole. He chastised himself for his wayward desires and prayed he’d have the strength to survive the next few weeks without going mad.

He leaned back casually. “So try to tell me something about you that I don’t already know.”

V
ictoria placed a fork next to the last plate and then stood back and admired her table-setting efforts.

“It looks lovely,” Zelma said from her spot at the dining room table, where Victoria had already positioned her in the moveable chair.

The white hydrangeas Victoria had clipped from the front bushes decorated the center of the table. And the flaky golden biscuits she’d baked earlier in the afternoon were arranged in a tower, with raspberries placed strategically around the outer rim of the platter. She’d folded each of the napkins into a fan shape and garnished each plate with a cup of raspberry cream pudding that Zelma had shown her how to make just that morning.

“You’re such a quick learner.” Zelma gave her a proud smile.

“You’re just a good teacher.” Victoria brushed her hands against the bright orange-checkered apron that had apparently once belonged to Zelma. It was hideous, but after practically ruining two of her three outfits cooking during the past several days, Victoria had put aside her vanity in order to save her last remaining skirt from stains.

She’d tracked down Tom in the fog house after lunch and had told him that she needed to hire a seamstress to come out to the house and make her new clothes. But the conversation had gone the same way it had when she’d approached him about hiring a housekeeper. She’d ended up stomping away and threatening to leave with Jimmy in his cutter the next time the elderly fisherman delivered provisions. Since Jimmy had just come that morning with a supply of fresh produce, she didn’t know when he’d come again.

After letting her anger cool the rest of the afternoon, she’d decided she wouldn’t carry through on her threat. Nevertheless, she was still vexed at Tom for denying her again—even if she had told him earlier in the week that she’d appreciated his honesty. This time, she wasn’t acting selfishly. She really did need more garments, especially since she hadn’t liked learning to wash clothes nearly as much as she was enjoying cooking. She didn’t want to repeat the laundering process again for the rest of the month if it could be helped. Her hands still hadn’t recovered from the harsh soap.

“You’ve learned to cook well in such a short time,” Zelma said as she stirred the creamy peas and potatoes. “I certainly didn’t do so well my first week of marriage.”

“I’m sure your first meal was better than mine.” Victoria smiled at the remembrance of the burned food she’d served and how Tom had tried so hard to eat it to please her. Then, even though everything had all been her fault, he’d still tried to console her, had even prepared her a private bath. He’d been so tender and sweet. And afterward, they’d talked on the sofa until he’d finally left to carry his mom up to bed.

Victoria couldn’t deny that their evening talks on the bedroom sofa were the highlight of her day. Tom was a good listener and always seemed genuinely interested in anything she shared. She’d also gotten him to open up and talk more about his past, his childhood, living at various lighthouses, and his work as a bodyguard in Europe. One night she’d asked him about his time in the war, but he’d immediately closed up and hadn’t spoken about himself again all night. Other than that, she’d learned more about him in the past week than she had the previous month.

She exhaled a long breath as she rearranged the biscuits and centered the top one on the pinnacle of the tower. They had been getting along so well. Maybe she shouldn’t have brought up the idea of hiring a seamstress after all.

“It’s all right, dear,” Zelma said gently. “It’s normal to have disagreements.”

Victoria straightened in surprise, ready to issue a word of denial. How had Zelma known about her spat with Tom?

Zelma continued before she could speak. “You’re two different people, from different backgrounds, with unique personalities and quirks. So of course you’ll both have to adjust. In fact, those early years of marriage are all about working through differences and learning to compromise.”

“Yes.” Victoria sighed. “I think we’re as different as land and water.”

“James and I were very different too.”

“You were? But you seem so good together, so much in harmony.”
And so passionate
, but Victoria bit back the too-intimate words.

“It’s taken years and lots of hard work to develop that kind of unity.” Zelma gave the peas and potatoes one last stir before tucking the spoon deep into the bowl and pushing it toward the middle of the table. “I’ve come to believe one of the reasons God designed marriage was to help us grow in holiness and character. We get to practice on a daily basis being humble, kind, sacrificial, self-controlled, and so much more.”

Victoria had never before heard anyone talk that way about marriage. “I guess I’d always believed that some couples made a perfect match and others didn’t.”

Zelma laughed. “That’s only a myth. The reality is that no couple starts out the perfect match. They have to work for that. Maybe some more than others. What I’ve learned is that the more I work on growing as a person, the more my marriage grows.”

Victoria picked up one of the napkins and tucked the folds tighter into the fan shape. She’d never really thought about the need to grow in holiness. No, she knew she wasn’t perfect, that she was a sinner. That’s why she needed a Savior. But she’d always assumed that overall she was living a godly life.

But here, away from the comforts of home, away from everything she’d ever known, and in the context of being married, she was getting a glimpse of some of her weaknesses.

“In our marriages,” Zelma continued, “we can let the difficulties drive us apart or drive us to our knees.”

The clomping on the steps cut off their conversation. The men were coming down—James from his day of sleeping and Tom from changing his work clothes. The two had come up with a rotation. James took the night shift in the tower. And Tom did all of the cleaning and repair work that needed to be done during the day. Victoria had overheard James insisting on the schedule so that Tom could spend his nights with his new bride. Of course, Tom had protested, his voice tinged with embarrassment. But James hadn’t listened to any other plan.

Victoria hurried to untie the ugly apron and hide it in a drawer in the sideboard.

“I thought I smelled something delicious,” James said, walking into the dining room first, his dark hair freshly groomed and his face relaxed from his hours of slumber. He smiled at Zelma and bent to kiss her on the top of her head.

“Victoria made fried chicken tonight,” Zelma responded.

As Tom entered the room, Victoria busied herself taking the lid off the platter of chicken. She retrieved a long serving fork and placed it next to the chicken pieces, which were golden with batter and spices. She tried not to notice Tom, but his presence in a room was difficult to miss—the heat of his body, his darkening skin after a week in the sun, the fresh bay-rum scent from his soap. And his eyes, so dark and brooding, so beckoning. Always making her want to go to him and smooth away the lines in his forehead.

“The meal looks pretty,” Tom said, pulling out her chair and helping her get situated before taking his seat next to her. Although he was never as gushing as his dad, she appreciated Tom’s compliments every night. In fact, during the afternoons when she was planning and making the meals, she couldn’t deny that she was doing it for him, to earn his praise and to make him happy.

“Thank you.” She offered him a smile, but his smile in return was forced. Clearly, he was still upset at her for asking to hire a seamstress. From the unyielding dark blue of his eyes, she knew he wasn’t planning on giving in to her need.

Her smile faded, replaced rapidly by irritation. He couldn’t expect her to wear only three outfits all month, especially now that two were nearly ruined. She’d already given in to his plans and wishes enough. It was his turn to compromise.

Across the table, James glanced between them, as though sensing their coldness to one another, but Victoria bowed her head in preparation for the blessing that James spoke before every meal. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tom do likewise.

“Before we pray, I’m in need of a kiss from my wife,” James said, turning to Zelma. “I haven’t had one since this morning, and I’m hungrier for a kiss than for food.”

Zelma’s tinkling laugh of delight was cut short by James’s crushing kiss. Victoria had finally begun to grow accustomed to their displays of affection. But as this kiss continued and turned more passionate, Victoria fidgeted in her chair and stared at the dish of raspberry cream pudding on her plate, her face growing hotter with each passing second. She was embarrassed by the strange warmth that blossomed in her middle, a warmth that made her wonder what that kind of kiss would feel like.

Next to her, Tom shifted, and she could sense his discomfort. “Excuse me, Mom, Dad,” he finally said. “Dinner is getting cold.”

James broke away, grinning from ear to ear, and Zelma was breathless and flushed. “Now, that’s what I call a kiss,” James said.

“I should say so,” Zelma responded with a shaky voice.

James looked at Tom and narrowed his eyes. “Your turn.”

Tom’s brows rose as fast as sparrow wings. “My turn?”

“Yeah, let’s see if you can top that.”

“No.”

“That’s because you can’t.” James glared at Tom, daring and rebuking him at the same time.

“I know how to kiss.” Tom’s voice was low.

“I doubt it.” James took Zelma’s hand. She started to say something, but at a squeeze of his fingers she closed her mouth. “I haven’t seen you kiss your wife all week. No wonder she’s mad at you.”

“Maybe we’re more private than you.”

“Or maybe you need to take a few lessons from me.”

“I told you, I can.”

“Then prove it.” The two were deadlocked in a stare.

The entire exchange took Victoria by surprise. But she was even more surprised when Tom reached for her, turned her just slightly, and then slipped his hand up behind her neck. He leaned in and hesitated only a moment before dropping his sights to her lips.

Her heart did a wild flip at the realization that he was going to kiss her. She couldn’t deny that she’d wondered what it might be like, especially after that time he’d held her during the steamboat ride. But he’d kept himself at a proper distance from her, even though they were legally married and sharing a room. She may have been concerned about the propriety of the situation the first night after she’d learned that he had to sleep in the same bedroom, but he’d behaved like a perfect gentleman all week. He’d kept to his spot on the sofa and his bed on the floor, had allowed her all the privacy she needed when dressing, and hadn’t initiated any physical contact. In fact, she’d been the one to hug him the night of the bath.