A Midsummer's Sin(14)
Thomas held Hannah’s small frame steady with one arm as she slumped against him, asleep.
His thoughts wouldn’t give him peace.
Patience had hated her first husband because he had abandoned her by day for his studies and had lain with her at night, cold and without consideration for her pleasure. He’d also been possessed of a nasty temper and a tendency to solve problems with physical force. And, in her disappointment, she had grown to hate men and their selfishness.
Thomas had tried so very hard to understand.
Disappointment had soured Patience to the point she couldn’t fully love. Oh she’d been glad of a husband to give her position and respect…
Inwardly, he cringed. How could he even think such about his Patience?
Aside from the dissatisfaction of their marriage bed, she’d been the best of wives. Hardworking, devout, scholarly. Able to engage in deep discussions on many topics.
Yes, she’d been prone to overwrought worries and nit-picking criticism.
He’d been the one mostly at fault. Too consumed by sensuality to keep from resenting her preferences. She’d been perfectly willing to do her duty. He’d been the one to place conditions on how he expected her to respond.
She held you to blame for the sins of another man.
The thought came unbidden.
His heartbeat increased and he took a deep breath, willing the betraying thought away.
“She’s asleep?”
Samuel’s voice was a welcomed distraction.
“Aye, she sleeps,” Thomas replied, unable to keep the terseness out of his voice.
The horses were slowing to a stop in the little courtyard in front of the house. Mrs Shorter approached, her arms held out. “Goodman Hopton, Goodman Marlowe,” she said by way of greeting.
Thomas handed Hannah down, carefully.
Her compressed lips and wrinkled forehead spoke of her disapproval to have Hannah out so late. But she said nothing and took the child to the house.
Thomas followed Samuel to the barn. They put away the cart and tended the horses.
“Well…”
Thomas frowned, smoothing a blanket over one of the horses. “Well, what?”
“It’s still that, is it?”
“Still what?”
“You are afraid.” Samuel leant back and sighed. “You are afraid of life. And yourself.”
“Father, I am not afraid.”
“You were always afraid. In your youth you ran from your fears in all those sensual excesses. Now you think to hide in strict, legalistic denial. But, Thomas, that is not the way God intended. He intended us to enjoy the pleasures of this world while keeping balance with his will. He intended for a man to have a wife and to share a sensual, earthly love with her and to make children. You have no living sons. You must think of what you will do with the rest of your life. You must not let fear cause you to deny yourself happiness.”
Thomas sighed. “I am too old, Father, too old for lectures.”
“A man is never too old to hear the concerns of those who care for him.”
“Aye, maybe so.” Thomas stood. “But a man has to walk his own path.”
“Well, it would be an absolute sin.”
“For a man to walk his own path?”
“No, if a man were to lay with a woman whom he had no intention to wed. Now that would be a grievous sin.”
From his seat on the wooden barrel by the door, Samuel stared up at him, steadily and unblinking. “You must court her. You must find a way to convince her.”
* * * *
Rosalind knelt and plunged her hands into the stream that made a boundary line on Goody Wilson’s farm. Her hands were sticky and purple from picking blackberries all afternoon. As she scrubbed herself, the cool water invited her to linger.
She unbuckled her shoes, hiked her skirts, shed her stockings, then immersed her feet. Her wiggling toes glowed white in water that glimmered like diamonds in the afternoon sun. The refreshment seemed to cleanse not only her flesh but her spirit.
She sighed, trying to release even more of her pent-up angst.
Her mind was so weary. She’d spent too many sleepless nights, torn inside with guilt. Guilt over the way she had dealt with Thomas. By seducing him into betraying his deeply held moral beliefs, hadn’t she proved herself to be wicked?
Just as wicked as he’d thought her to be all this time.
But I loved him, longed to know his touch. If only once.
It was no proper defence. She’d spent too long amidst people like Mr Boger and her gentlemen. She’d been accustomed to people abusing her and taking advantage.
She’d become just like them.
She’d taken advantage of Thomas in his weakest moment.
That wasn’t a loving act.
She could no longer deny the truth.
“Rose.” The word carried on the warm breeze, half sensual whisper, half prayer. An answering tingle spread like wildfire through her belly.