The sun was down now and it was purple outside as they finished the dishes. Aaron went out to get wood for the woodbox so it would be full in the morning. He brought in two big armloads, then said he'd go shut the hen house doors and that he thought he'd left the granary open, too. After he was gone, her mind held the picture of the ridges the wood had made in his chest where he'd carried it against his still- open shirt.
The warm ride from town in the sun and the work in the chicken coop had left her with a grimy feeling, so she took a basin of water upstairs to her room. Without lighting the lamp she washed herself with castile soap. When she had finished, she took a clean nightgown from the dresser and shrugged it on, buttoning the front up to the high, eyelet- trimmed neck and tying the blue ribbon that gathered it be- neath her breasts. Then she put on her flannel robe and went down to empty the basin in the backyard. The grass was cold now under her bare feet, so she hurried back inside. She put the basin away under the sink and lowered the lamp on the table, leaving it glowing softly. She made her way upstairs by the faint reflected light it cast around the stairwell.
Aaron was standing downyard, pondering the strange situation they were in when he saw the kitchen lamp dim, then a moment later the lamplight in an upstairs window, from her bedroom, hers and Jonathan's.
Then Aaron went inside to the kitchen and turned the skeleton key in the lock, something unheard of here on the farm, though the key hung loosely in the lock at all times. Then he lowered the wick on the lamp. As it spluttered out, he was left in darkness.
Mary was standing at the mirror brushing her hair, and she counted the familiar creaks of the stairs as Aaron came up. She inhaled deeply. The suggestion of lavender stayed with her as she heard Aaron go on past her closed door. He went down the hall to his own room, and she heard the sound of his dresser drawer opening. She continued brushing and was trying to count to a hundred strokes, but the num- bers kept getting mixed up in her head, so she parted her hair freshly down the middle, then went to sit leaning against the pillows, her back against the headboard, as she braided her hair.
There had been no other sound from Aaron's room. When Mary heard a light tap on her door, she jumped as if a rifle had cracked in the stillness. She couldn't seem to force a word up into her throbbing throat, so she just sat holding her unfinished braid as the door opened slowly and Aaron stood there. "May I come in, Mary?" But still her words would not come forth, and he came to the foot of her bed and stood, watching, while she formed the last braid with shaking hands.
He was wearing light cotton pajamas, and it crossed her mind that she had never washed them for him. Where had he gotten them? She had never seen a man in pajamas before. "Why don't you take your braids out, Mary?" he asked. "I've never seen you with your hair down before."
And as if his words were the force that controlled her movements, she began undoing the braid she'd nearly fin- ished. He watched her as she freed both of them, then tried to comb through them with her fingers. All the while, her eyes stayed on him. He turned to look over his shoulder and, finding the brush she'd left on the dresser, picked it up and came to stand beside her. She followed him with her eyes, still holding onto the trailing ends of her hair, until he was above her and she was gazing up at him.
He took her by the shoulders and turned her away from him and slowly began brushing her hair. He stroked its full length, to the middle of her back. He touched her nowhere else. All she could feel was the tug of the bristles and the hammering of her heart. Then he put a hand on her forehead and pulled her head backward until her hair hung free against his stomach and the top of her head rested on his chest. Her eyes were closed as he ran the brush over the center part of her hair, and he brushed at it repeatedly until he had obliter- ated it, and pulled her hair straight back as she'd had it the night of the dance.
In the lamplight he saw the ivory sheen of her arched throat, and it threw his heart into wild disorder. Then his hands slowly went around the front of her neck until, under her hair, she felt his thumbs pushing her head back up. When she had straightened it, she felt the warmth of his body flattened against her back. His first kiss was laid lightly upon the hair he'd just finished brushing. "I thought I could keep from coming to you, Mary," and his voice was unlike she'd ever heard it, intense and low. "It's wrong, Aaron." "It's not wrong yet. All you have to do is say the word and I'll leave. But you have to say it."
It was an effort for her to breathe. "I can't say it, Aaron." "Are you sure?" he asked, knowing he was being unfair. Standing as he was, behind and above her, he could see her chest breaking with her heavy breathing, knew she wanted him, too, and that he was making her decide for them both. "There is no such thing as being sure," she answered.
Then she felt his two hands slide from her neck, down over the front of her nightgown, until she was no longer aware of the heat against her back. There was the warmth of Aaron's hands on her breasts instead, pulling all her senses there as he caressed them, moving slowly, slowly, contouring their undercurve, brushing more lightly across the erect nipples before flanking them with his fingers until their hardness be came sweet pain. It agonized and thrilled her at the same time. She knew she must stop him, but lacked all will to do so.
He straightened then, put a hand on her back while mov- ing around to sit on the edge of the bed, facing her. He put a hand on each of her shoulders, ran them down the full length of her arms until he reached her hands; then their fingers interlaced, and they sat with palms together, fingers squeezing in near pain, until he forced her arms straight out from her sides. The lamplight glimmered on his russet curls as he tipped his head to one side, but she saw only a brief movement, for her eyes were closing. He kissed her with the soft, light, first touch of discovery before releasing her hands and pulling her nearer. Her arms hung where he'd left them until she felt his tongue lightly tracing a circle over her covered lips.
When at last he felt her arms close around his shoulders, his tongue became more demanding, forcing her mouth open and feeling her response. He chased her wandering tongue with his until he stilled it, explored it, captured it. She was responsive but hesitant, until he nudged her tongue into ac- tion and she responded fully.
Separating to look into each others eyes, she found his face in the lamplight was just as she remembered it. She put both her hands upon it, and his eyes closed while her finger- tips traveled over every part of it. They crossed his forehead, starting in the center and separating to cover its breadth to his temples. She laid her fingers gently on his closed eyelids before tracing down his nose and stroking his cheeks toward his jawbone in the direction she remembered his whiskers grew. "I wanted to do that this afternoon," she revealed. "Yes, I know." It was no revelation at all, for he'd read it in her face back then. His eyes remained closed.
At last she touched his beautiful, wide mouth.
His eyes opened slowly, and she felt the need to say his name. "Aaron…" Mary said, her head tipped slightly to one side. He understood that after all these years the name was sud- denly different to her. "Hello, Mary." He smiled as if he'd just met her, too. "I know you far better than I did at suppertime," she said. "You haven't begun to know me, Mary," Aaron said. "I want to know all of you," she said.
As if the sweet ecstasy of their gentle introduction could satisfy him no longer, Aaron suddenly changed. He tipped Mary sideways across his lap as he lowered his open, demand- ing mouth to hers. He pulled her so tightly against his chest that she couldn't tell whose heart she felt pulsing between them, his or her own. When at last he released her, he barely had the breath to groan, "Oh, Mary, Mary…" as he cradled her, rocking her.
Never in her life had Jonathan stirred her like this. What Mary was feeling now made the past longings of her life vague promises that had never been fulfilled. The heat in her body was a thing so unreconcilable that it scared her. She'd never felt it before, not with an intensity like this, and she didn't know what to do with it.
But Aaron knew.
He moved away from her and laid her flat across his knees and untied the blue ribbon that circled her nightgown. Using both hands, he started at the high neck of it and began un- buttoning. But when he reached the button under the blue ribbon she put her hands on his to stay them. "Aaron, please turn out the lantern."
His eyebrows drew together, then relaxed. "Let me leave it on, Mary." "No, Aaron, please." Her heart was hammering with frightful timidity now. In spite of her longing for Aaron, she still felt the stringent restrictions, the proprieties that had al- ways regulated even her most intimate behavior. "Mary, are you afraid of the light?" he asked. "Yes," she quavered, and her wide eyes told him it was so. "But your body is beautiful. Where's the shame in that?" "Please, Aaron. I can't. I never have, not in the light."
He got up and walked to the lamp and lowered the wick until darkness sank around them. He returned to where she sat on the edge of the bed, and knelt on the floor in front of her. Reaching his hands up to her neck, he again ran them over her shoulders, but this time the nightgown fell from them and in the dark she clasped its fallen folds around her waist, even as the delight of his caress touched her naked skin.
Never had she imagined a man taking as much time as he was now. He touched every inch of her back and stomach, running his hands up her sides and forcing her arms up to his own shoulders so he could run his hands under her arms and over her breasts. At some time while his vagabond hands roamed over her, her neck grew limp, her head lolled backward, and she groaned, "Aaron, what are you doing to me?"
For an answer she felt a warm wetness on her breast, fol- lowed by the roughness of his tongue. He loved the sweet smell of her, and as he took his mouth to her other breast, could taste the cleanness of her firm flesh. Her small, hard body was as perfect as he'd known it would be, but he damned the darkness that hid what he could only feel.
It was so dark in the room that all he knew was what he tasted and touched. He felt her tight, small fists clutching the nightgown under his chest. So he stopped kissing her then and put both hands over hers, but he could feel her fists knot tighter at his touch. "Don't be afraid, Mary," he whispered. "But I am, Aaron." "I'll teach you not to be," Aaron promised. "But Jonathan never…" She stopped, realizing what she'd said and wishing she could draw back the name. "Jonathan never what?" he asked in the dark, and his voice held no rebuke. But she found she couldn't say it. This sort of frankness was totally new to her. In Jonathan's arms there was no talking and, so, no such inhibition. "Jonathan never what?" he repeated, encouraging her. "Say it, Mary, and don't be ashamed."
1
She squeezed her eyes shut, as if he could see her in the blackness, and she kept her fists tight on her nightgown as she whispered, "Jonathan never took all my clothes off…or talked about…this." "Then Jonathan is a fool," Aaron said.
He found both of her wrists in the darkness and, grasping them firmly, stood up, pulling her with him as her gown slid to the floor at her feet.
She stood very still, her eyes growing used to the darkness now. She felt him release her wrists and move a step back from her, then heard a rustle of cotton pajamas falling to the floor. She could see the outline of his shoulders as he took her in his arms again and pulled her to him, tightly and at full length, his body hot and hard between them. And then Aaron began what he'd been doing before, but his hands had a greater territory over which to roam, and they did. "I'm doing to you what you were made for," Aaron said. Then lovingly, he wielded the magical touch that awoke what had slumbered so long for her. "Please stop, Aaron. I can't stand up anymore."
He laid her down on the bed on her back. She felt a subtle change begin to tighten her body as his hands continued re- lentlessly. And when the heat grew until it controlled her every nerve, her hands grabbed at the air, then clasped the metal rods of the headboard as her body jerked in a releasing spasm of warmth, and she heard a voice somewhere calling his name.
She lay then in weak wonder. In the sum total of her ex- periences there had never been such a feeling, such a myriad of feelings. Yet Aaron had not yet come to her in the way she'd thought he would. His shadowy shape was still leaning over her in the darkness, and she knew by his labored breathing and tense body that he had not yet found release.
He was kissing the soft skin of her temples, then moved across her face as if searching for the perfect place to stop. He tasted the salty trail tears had left on her temples. But he couldn't acknowledge them now, with his own body calling urgently for release.
Pulsing with the want of her, he rolled onto her body, his rigid phallus pressed into the hollow curve below her hip- bone. He tore his devouring mouth away from hers, and his voice came loud by her ear, his words jerked from between spasmic breaths, "Mary, are you sure?"
Hands in his hair, her tears now on his own temple where it rested near her ear, she raised her one free knee, and he felt it rub against his hip, then fall aside as she opened herself to him fully. "I want to know all of you," she whispered shakily. "It's what I was made for."
He response sang through him as he shifted his body to enter the sweet, warm wetness of her, plunging in rhythmic force as she clung to his shoulders, their moans mingling together in the darkness until his final release.