Turner's Rainbow 2 - The Rainbow Promise (29 page)

I
t seemed to Dovie as though everywhere she turned during the next few weeks, Micah was there. He was at the June Teenth picnic, the celebration held on June nineteenth each year to commemorate the day blacks in Texas learned of the Emancipation Proclamation. He almost forced Dovie to dance with him and then sat down beside her just as if he had the right to. Her mother, of course, was no help; she just smiled and talked to him. Later, when the party grew rowdy, he walked Dovie and Lurleen home. Lurleen went straight to bed. Micah lingered at the door with Dovie and kissed her. Once again, she had been somehow unable to free herself from his arms.

She just stood there and let him kiss her and kiss her until she was melting in his hands. Only the sound of the back door closing at the big house brought her to her senses and sent her fleeing back into their little house.

He was at her church the next two Sundays, and one Saturday afternoon she found him sitting on her aunt's porch, telling stories to her cousins' children. He charmed everyone in her family. Her mother and aunts were impressed with his looks, his quiet strength, and his slow, devastating smile. Her cousins, nieces, and nephews were entranced by his stories of the West and life on a ranch.

When Dovie commented rather tartly that he had certainly entertained the children with his wild stories, he smiled and asked, "You like them, too?"

Dovie tried to look her most severe. "I have no liking for the Wild West, thank you."

He grinned in that irritating way of his. "Oh, I bet you got more wildness in you than you ever guessed."

She didn't know what to do with a man like that.

It wasn't as if she hadn't been around other men. She had. And some of them had been charming, far smoother than Micah Harrison. But there was something about him— the way he stood, the way he walked, the way he looked at her—that pulled at her He was tough; he was experienced. But there was no cruelty in him and no braggadocio. He had seen things she never would, known things she could only imagine. He intrigued her, much as she tried to pretend that he didn't. He spoke to something inside her that she hadn't even known was there before. Dovie was afraid that he might be right—that there really was a wildness in her that she had always suppressed. Even worse, she was afraid that he might be able to release it.

Dovie wanted to avoid him. She didn't want to see him again. But every weekend found her taking particular care with her clothes and hair, and she walked to church on Sundays with a jumping excitement in her stomach that wasn't engendered by the thought of Reverend Bascomb's sermon. She had to admit that however much she might not want to see Micah, she wanted to see him ten times more.

❧

Cal settled in at the farm. He did his chores, usually well and without protest, and he was no longer as sullen or defiant. Though only Emily could make him smile and sometimes even laugh, he listened to Luke and Sarah without the defensive hunching of his shoulders and the blank look to his face.

He was finally beginning to believe that his life had changed. Luke and Sarah hadn't given up on him and sent him back to his grandfather. Luke hadn't beat him, no matter how surly or bad he had been, and Sarah was consistently patient and kind. Luke taught him things in such a way that Cal didn't feel stupid or wrong not knowing them in the first place. He gave Cal chores, but he didn't wear him out with work. For the first time Cal could remember, he had plenty of time to play and explore the farm.

Luke talked to him in a different way from the way his grandfather ever had. No sermons or parables came out of his mouth. He just plain talked, as if Cal were a regular person. He told Cal about his life. At first Cal couldn't believe that it was true; Luke couldn't have been a "bad boy" too. But then he realized that it was true—and that all the things Luke said about how he'd changed must be true, as well.

Cal found himself thinking about what Luke said at night before he went to sleep. Hope crept through him like the tendrils of a climbing plant, and it scared him. He didn't want to believe. He didn't want to hope. He didn't want to love it here. Yet he couldn't stop.

He was still wary of Micah. The man was too big and too dark. He couldn't forget the things his grandfather had told him about men like Micah. But Micah had a way with the horses, and that drew Cal to him. Despite his unease, he slipped into the barn when Micah was grooming the horses to watch his skillful hands and hear his low, soothing voice.

One day Micah turned and caught sight of Cal watching him. Micah looked at him. Cal's chest tightened, and he thought about running. Then Micah said, "You like horses?"

Cal nodded.

"They fine animals. Nothin' like them." He paused. "You ever ride one?"

Cal shook his head.

"Now, that's a shame. I done rode horses all my life. Best feelin' in the world, sittin' up on a good horse." Almost as an afterthought, he added, "You like to learn?"

"To ride?" Cal came forward a step.

"Sure. I teach you."

The boy hesitated. Desire won out over his fear. "Yeah. I'd like that. Will you? Please?"

Micah's smile was so swift and faint that later Cal wondered if he'd even seen it. "Yeah. I jus' do that."

After that, Cal spent part of almost every evening with Micah, learning how to ride. His fear of Micah soon turned to liking and awe at his riding skills, until he couldn't remember why he had been scared of the man before.

The Fourth of July holiday came, and the family went into town for the celebration. Sarah had spent all the day before cooking in preparation for the picnic, so that the morning of the Fourth all she had to do was pack the food baskets and dress.

She put on a new pink and white striped cotton dress that she had made especially for today. She wanted to look her best. Maybe if she looked pretty enough, Luke would want her again.

Even though Luke had returned to her bed two weeks ago, he still had not touched her. Sometimes Sarah awoke to find their arms and legs tangled around each other, and she hoped that Luke would awaken wanting her, as he had so many times in the past. She would keep her eyes shut, pretending to be asleep, but when Luke awoke, he slipped out from her embrace and got out of bed.

However much Luke might say he still loved her, he obviously didn't desire her anymore.

She ached to know why, but she couldn't ask him. She was shy around him now. It would be too humiliating to say, "Why don't you want me anymore? What's the matter with me?"

How could desire die that quickly, that suddenly? Did the thought of the stillbirth repel Luke? Or was it that she was now unattractive? Pregnancy had thickened her waist and dulled her hair, but she had thought the signs of pregnancy were gone. Her figure was slim again, and her skin had lost the slightly muddy look; her hair had regained its luster.

Sarah leaned closer to her mirror, peering at her face up close. She always wore a bonnet outside to protect her skin, but even so the weather had worked on it. There were freckles across her nose, and her skin was dry. Tiny lines had formed around her eyes, and there were even the beginnings of creases on her forehead. She was too tanned. This land was not kind to a woman.

She thought of Tessa Jackson. She looked cheap, but she was also white and soft, her breasts and hips lush, her waist cinched in. Sarah considered her own uncorseted body. Her waist was wider than fashion indicated, and her hips were narrow. Her breasts weren't as full as Tessa's. Was she too thin? Sarah wondered what Luke had thought when he had seen Tessa that day. He hated Tessa for what she had done to him, but had he felt desire for her despite that? Had he found her more feminine than the spare, unornamented farm woman who was his wife?

Sarah shivered. She didn't think she could bear it if Luke never wanted her again. Some women would be happy to have their husbands leave them alone in bed, Sarah knew. But she was not one of those. She had enjoyed her husband's carnal knowledge of her body. No, more than enjoyed—' she needed it, as she needed air, water, and food. Last night she had awakened with a dark throbbing between her legs. She had been dreaming of Luke's lovemaking, and her face had been drenched in sweat, her loins warm and heavy with passion. She had buried her face in her pillow, her teeth clenching on the pillowcase, remembering Luke's hands on her, his mouth, his thick shaft buried within her Little pulses had broken in her, pale reminders of the waves that had drenched her whenever he took her It had given her no surcease, but left only a sweet ache and a desire for more.

Sarah pulled her hair up on top of her head in the soft pompadour style that she knew Luke liked best. Around her neck, she fastened the cameo that he had given her last Christmas. She dabbed perfume at her temples and neck.She hesitated, then unbuttoned the top button of her dress and slipped a touch of perfume into the hollow between her breasts. She started to re fasten the button, then stopped. It wasn't lewd this way, really, but if Luke looked down at her, he could see the shadowy tops of her breasts. She bit her lips and pinched her cheeks to bring color to them.

She looked in the mirror one last time, then went downstairs to join her family.

They were waiting for her in the kitchen. The table was loaded down with food baskets and jugs of water and lemonade. Luke wore a light summer suit and a white shirt with a tiny blue stripe through it and a stiff white collar and cuffs. He looked so good it made her throat close up. She never saw the celluloid collar and cuffs without thinking of Luke taking them off: unbuttoning the collar and laying it down atop his tall chest of drawers, unsnapping the cuff links and sliding them through the slits in the cloth, and placing both cuffs and links beside the collar. Just the thought of that routine sent a piercing shaft of desire through her viscera. She was starved for him, she thought, and knew it was something a truly good woman wouldn't have felt, much less admitted. But goodness had little hold on her when it came to Luke.Luke stood up when Sarah entered the room, and his eyes ran down her involuntarily. When he looked back up at her face, Sarah thought she saw the familiar blue gleam of hunger there.

"Oh, Mama, you pretty!" Emily clapped her hands with pleasure. Emily wore a white dress ruffled with eyelet embroidery and decorated with pink ribbons, and she reminded Sarah of some sugary concoction atop a cake. By the end of the day, though, the ruffles would doubtless be dragging and the dress liberally sprinkled with dust, mud, and food.

Beside Emily, Cal smiled. His pale eyes sparkled with excitement. He wore a pair of trousers and a shirt that Sarah had made him. It warmed her to see him clean and happy.

Sarah's beauty struck Luke like a blow to the gut. She was fresh and vibrant, her face alive with color and her hazel eyes bright. Her lips were red; it made him think of the way they looked when he kissed her.

He had gone through hell the last two weeks, sleeping with Sarah without making love to her. He didn't know how much more of this torture he could take. He lay awake every night, looking at the soft curves of her body beneath the sheet, thinking of her without sheet, without gown, without anything between her flesh and his hands. He imagined waking her with his kisses. He imagined touching her. He imagined sinking into her and feeling her molten heat close around the throbbing core of his desire. The blood had pooled between his legs, heavy, pulsing, demanding its animal release. Luke wasn't sure how he had managed not to roll on top of Sarah and take her in pure, instinctive lust.

But each time his love for Sarah had conquered his hunger. He awoke in the mornings feeling as if he hadn't slept. His face had become drawn, the lines biting in deeply beside his mouth and eyes, and there were blue smudges like bruises beneath his eyes. He feared each night when he went to bed that this time he wouldn't be able to protect her from himself.

They walked out to the wagon. Luke watched the gentle sway of Sarah's hips beneath her dress. He helped her up into the wagon, very aware of the bare flesh of her arm beneath his hand and of the flash of stockinged leg that was exposed as she climbed up into the high seat. Luke sat down beside her on the seat. He glanced down at Sarah, The top button of her dress was undone. He could see little but shadows, but just the thought of the soft swell of her breasts beneath the dress was enough to set his pulse skittering. His hands clenched around the reins, and he snapped them across the mules' backs with more force than usual. This was going to be a hellish day, Luke wondered how he was going to get through it.

They drove into town to Julia's house. Julia and her children were waiting for them on the porch, a basket of food beside them.

Julia had thought a hundred times about not going to the celebration. She didn't want to sec James in a social situation. It was bad enough being with him at the office, remembering their kiss and pretending not to, trying to avoid the touch of his hand when she handed him a piece of paper or a medical instrument. But to have to see him in public—to watch him dance with other women and to have others see her looking at him with her heart in her eyes— would be almost unbearable.

She didn't want to go. But she couldn't disappoint the children; they had their hearts set on seeing the parade and the fireworks. Besides, Sarah and Luke would plague her about why she didn't want to go, and she couldn't tell them the real reason.

So she forced herself to smile when Luke and Sarah arrived and climbed into the wagon with them. They drove to the town park, where they unloaded their baskets and found a long, shaded table. Soon Jennifer and Stu and their family joined them, and after that, the large Crowley clan claimed the table next to them. There was a great deal of friendly chatter and laughter as the families settled in. The women set up the food while the children ran off to play, and the men grouped together to talk. Julia's nerves relaxed a little. She hadn't even seen James or his mother. Perhaps the whole day would pass without her seeing him, and she would find that she had had nothing to fear.

By the time the women had finished unloading the baskets, the tables were jammed with food. There were platters of fried chicken and ham and bowls of potato salad and coleslaw, as well as thick baked beans, still warm from Jennifer's oven, and a variety of cobblers and pies for dessert. In addition, there were jugs of cold iced tea, lemonade, and water, and side dishes of sliced tomatoes, onions, hot peppers, pickles, and relishes. At either end of the table were plates piled high with thickly sliced bread, squares of cornbread, and round dinner rolls. It looked like enough to feed an army, Julia thought, but when the menfolk and children returned to the tables, they made a sizable dent in the wealth of food.

After they ate, the women cleaned off the tables, stuffing the remainder of the food back into the baskets for supper later that evening. The children went to play again, but the adults were content to sit beneath the shade in the fierce heat and talk quietly or doze. Julia sat on one of the benches at the table, her elbow on the table and her chin propped on her hand. Mary Etta Crowley was explaining a quilting pattern to Jennifer and Sarah, and her voice was soothing. The insects droned in the somnolent heat. Julia's eyelids drifted lower.

"Hello, ladies."

Julia's eyes popped open. James Banks. She looked up and saw him standing a few feet away from their table. He had just tipped his hat to them and was returning it to his head. He wore a cream-colored linen summer suit, and he had taken off his jacket in the heat and carried it slung over one shoulder. His shirt was pastel striped, and he wore no tie. The top button of his shirt was unfastened, and sweat glistened in the hollow of his throat.

"Good afternoon."

"Dr. Jim."

"Doctor." The other women answered him. Julia said nothing. All she could think was how good he looked. She had a wicked desire to touch her tongue to that shallow indentation below his throat.

James looked directly at her. Julia felt heat rising up her throat and hoped it didn't show in her face. "Good afternoon. Dr. Banks."

"How is your mother?" Jennifer asked.

He turned his head toward Jennifer and smiled. "Fine, thank you. She's here today, holding court over on the west side of the park." He motioned in the direction of the picnic table where Anthea sat.