So now he knew. He sat digesting it, damning people he’d never known, wondering at cruelties too bizarre to comprehend.

"Thank you for telling me, Miss Beasley."

"Understand, I would not have if it weren’t for this… this damned war."

In all the time he’d known her she’d never spoken an unladylike word. Her doing so now created an intimacy of sorts, an unspoken understanding that his leaving would break not one but two hearts. He reached across the table and took her hands, squeezing hard.

"You’ve been good to us. I’ll never forget that."

She allowed her hands to be held for several wrenching seconds, then withdrew them and rose staunchly, affecting a stern voice to cover her emotionalism.

"Now get out of here. Go home to your wife. A library’s no place to be spending your last night at home."

"But, my check… I mean, you paid me for today and I didn’t do my work."

"Haven’t you learned after all this time that I don’t like to be crossed, Mr. Parker? When I say get, I mean get."

He let a grin climb his cheek, tugged at the brim of his hat and replied, "Yes, ma’am."


He reached home in time to help Elly put the boys to bed. Last times. Last times. I’m comin’ home, boys, I’m by-God comin’ back home ’cause you need me and I need you and I love doin’ this too much to give it up forever.

Without discussing it, Will and Elly closed the boys’ bedroom door for the first time ever. They stood in the front room much as they had on their wedding night, tense and uncertain because she had been remote and cool toward him throughout their last precious days together and now their final night had come and they’d never made love.

Sand seemed to be falling through an hourglass.

He hooked his thumbs in his back pockets and stared at the back of Elly’s head, at the nape of her neck bisected by one thick braid, fuzzy at the edges. He wanted so badly to do this right, the way this woman deserved.

"I like your hair in a braid," he began uncertainly, lifting it, feeling inept at this business of courting a wife. Had she been some harlot he’d have known the procedure, but he supposed it must be different when you cared this much.

Abruptly she spun and threw her arms around his neck. "Oh, Will, I’m sorry I’ve been so mean to you."

"You haven’t been mean."

"Yes, I have, but I’ve been so scared."

"I know. So have I." He rocked her, arms doubled around her back, and dropped his nose to her neck. She smelled of homey things-supper and starched cotton and milk and babies. Ah, how he loved the smell of this woman. He straightened and held her cheeks, the drawn hair at her temples. "What do you say we take a bath together? I always wanted to do that."

"I have too."

"Why didn’t you ever say so before?"

"I didn’t know if people did that."

He catalogued her features, branding each in his memory, then replied softly, "I reckon they do, Elly."

"All right, Will." Her hands trailed down, catching one of his as she turned and led the way to the bathroom. Inside, he lit a lantern on a shoulder-high shelf while she knelt to place the plug in the tub and turn on the taps. He closed and locked the door, then leaned against it, watching her.

"Put in some Dreft," he said. "I never took a bath in bubbles."

Her head lifted sharply. He leaned against the door, freeing his cuff buttons, marveling that they could be shy after he had delivered her baby, washed her, cared for her. But sex was different.

She reached for the cardboard box which was wedged between the copper pipes and the end of the clawfoot tub. When the bubbles were rising, she stood, turned her back to Will and began unbuttoning her dress. He pushed away from the door and captured her shoulders, swinging her to face him.

"Let me, Elly. I never have before, but I’m gonna have the memory-just one time." Her dress was faded green, a housedress as ordinary as quack grass, with buttons running from throat to belly. He took over the task of freeing them, then pushed the garment off and let it fall to the floor. Without hesitation he lowered her half-slip, then held her hand and ordered, "Sit down." While she perched on the closed lid of the stool, he went down on his knee, removed her scuffed brown oxfords, her anklets, then stood and drew her to her feet, reached beneath her arms and unclasped her bra. Before it hit the floor he was skinning her last remaining garment down her legs.

He stood for a long moment, holding both her hands, letting his eyes drift over her-weighty breasts, enlarged nipples, rounded stomach and pale skin. Had he the power, he would not have changed one inch of her contour. It spoke of motherhood, the babies she’d had, the one she was nursing. He wished it had been his babies that had shaped her this way, but had it been so, he couldn’t have loved her more. "I want to remember you this way."

"You’re a sentimental fool, Will. I’m-"

"Shh. You’re perfect, Elly… perfect."

She would never get used to his adoring her. Her eyes dropped shyly while beside them the water rumbled and the bubbles rose in a fragrant white cloud.

"Who’s going to undress me?" he teased, wanting other memories to carry away. He tipped up her chin. "Elly?"

"Your wife," she answered quietly and did what she’d never done with Glendon, what Will had to teach her a man liked. Shirt, T-shirt, boots, socks and jeans. And the last piece of clothing, which hooked on something on its way down.

They stood a foot apart, heartbeats falling like hammerblows in the steamy room, studying each other’s eyes while anticipation painted their cheeks shining pink. His head dipped, her face lifted and they kissed lingeringly, letting their bodies brush, swaying left and right, experiencing a hint of textures. Straightening, he slid his hands to her armpits, ordering, "Hang on," as he boosted her up. With her legs and arms wrapped around him, Will stepped into the tub. When he sat, the water rose to their elbows. She reached beneath his arms to turn off the taps, and when she would have backed up he clamped and held her there.

"Where you goin’?" he whispered near her lips.

"No place…" she breathed, closing the distance.

The first was a soft kiss-suspended anticipation. Two mouths, two tongues, sampling before the glut. With Eleanor’s legs still looped about Will’s waist, their intimacy below the water made mockery of their guardedness above. Still they played at the kiss, letting it laze as it would-crossed mouths, brushing lips, teasing tongues, then a lackadaisical repeat at a new angle. A nudge, a parting, a search of eyes, a sinking together once more.

She pressed her warm, wet palms to his back and he settled her breasts against his chest. She was smooth, he rough. She soft, he hard. The difference intensified the kiss. Eagerness fired it and he clasped her close, running hands and arms over her soapy skin above and below the water-sleek, warm wife’s skin so different from his own. He acquainted himself with her flaring hips, narrowing waist, firm back and bulging breasts that ruched tightly at his touch.

The water lapped her breasts as she reached down to cup bubbles over his shoulders until his skin turned to satin beneath her hands. Her fingertips found the three moles on his back, three slick beads which she read as braille. Her palms skimmed his ribs, arms, shoulder blades, learning each dip and furl, each shift of muscle as his hands moved likewise over her.

With her legs she clung, compressing him, herself, so nearly joined that they could not tell her heat from his.

"It’ll be all right tonight, won’t it, Elly?"

"Yes… yes."

"Will it hurt you?"

"Shh…" She muffled his question with her kiss.

He pulled back. "I don’t want to hurt you."

"Then come back to me alive."

Neither of them had voiced it before. Desperation now became part of their embrace while urgency moved their hands to fondle, explore, stroke. They drew deep breaths, holding momentarily still, the better to absorb the moment, the memory.

"… ohhh…" she breathed, and her head dropped back until her braid touched the water.

He uttered a throaty approval, licked the underside of her chin and kissed what he could reach of her breasts. She was limp with acquiescence and he bade his time, pleasuring her, being pleasured, watching her eyelids flicker open, then close, her lips grow lax, her tongue tip appear as she drifted in a mindless torpor. In time she began moving, stirring the water until it lapped against his chest. Her caresses kept rhythm and he set his teeth, then arched like a strung bow.

The water became quicksilver. Tomorrow became an illusion. Here and now became the imperative.

"Oh, Elly, I wanted to do this so long ago."

"Why didn’t you?"

"I was waiting for you to say it was all right."

"It would’ve been all right two weeks ago."

"Why didn’t you say something?"

"I don’t know… I was scared. Shy."

"Maybe I was, too. Let’s not be shy."

"I never did things like this with Glendon."

"I can show you more."

She hid her face against his neck.

"Can I wash you?" he asked.

"You want to?"

"I want to be in you. That’s what I want."

"That’s what I want, too, so hurry."

They shared the soap. They shared each other. They got to their knees and forsook washcloths in favor of hands. They lathered and kissed, sleek as seals, and twined together and murmured sweet sentiments and adored with hands and tongues. And when the compulsion was magnified to a welcome ache, he grasped her wet arms and pushed her back, freeing his lips. "Let’s go to bed."

They stood in the steamy bathroom, impatiently wielding towels, caring little about dry or wet, watching each other, grabbing a quick kiss, laughing excitedly-tense, aroused, ready. He plucked his jeans from the floor and found in a pocket a prophylactic.