Nights in White Satin
by
A.G. Prentice
Author's comment: Happy Christmas to everyone. Hope you'll enjoy this chapter as a little present from me. I don't know where to begin to thank you all of you for taking the time to read and leave a review. And some very special thanks to Kruemi and Linda for their incredible support and always pertinent advice.
VIII – An afternoon to remember
As he had expected, Michaela had wanted to go to church, so he accompanied her to the closest one, a few blocks from their hotel. Afterwards, he wouldn't remember a single word Reverend Carlyle had said. For an agonizingly long hour, all he could do was to shut everything out, including his own train of thoughts. She was sitting so close, and even though they weren't touching at all, her warm presence was overwhelming. Her scent! Oh that scent of her! Not just her perfume, but her womanly scent – her secret one, the one only he could identify through the many layers of clothing. Maybe he wasn't actually breathing it in, maybe its vestiges were merely lingering in his memory. Either way, it was maddening to have her body only inches from his and not be able to reach out to hold her tight, not to take her small hand in his and caress it. Good thing she couldn't read his thoughts, for she would have been appalled that he could think of her in such an intimate way – in church of all places! He was a little self-conscious himself about those powerful, almost uncontrollable urges he kept having to touch, kiss, be so close to her every second of every minute of every hour he would spend in her presence. Was she that irresistible, or was he no better than those men who would consider women as mere objects that had been created only to satisfy their needs? No, no way, he would never, ever view Michaela, his beloved wife, his Heartsong, like that. Never would he have grabbed what wasn't rightfully his. Though they were now married, and that either socially or legally, it was regarded as acceptable – even expected in some circles, he thought with a shudder – for husbands to force themselves upon their spouses, he just couldn't contemplate being intimate with his wife without her unequivocal consent. Yet, having to hold still like this reminded him of those early, awkward days of their courtship, when he'd had to remain "hands off" most of the time…
Little did he know that Michaela was not paying as much attention to the sermon as he thought she was. Since he was avoiding looking at her, he missed her reddening cheeks and flustered expression, when she realized that, as hard as she tried to concentrate on what the Reverend was lecturing them about, her focus kept straying to another set of features and another voice. He was right there, temptingly close to her, within immediate reach. She could have sat a little closer… Maybe she could slide closer, inch by inch – no one would notice, or would they? Or she could slip her hand into the crook of his elbow, couldn't she? No one would have reason to frown upon that, right? It wouldn't be like she was sitting on his lap, snuggling up and kissing him – though her body urged her to do so, much to her consternation. Control yourself, Michaela, for goodness' sake! At least she managed to send a prayer heavenward, asking the Lord for forgiveness, hoping He would only smile upon her with indulgence, considering that they were newlyweds…
For lunch, he treated her to a delicious meal at the small café where they had already eaten the couple of times they'd been to Denver together during their engagement. The food and the hospitality could measure up with Grace's, making them feel right at home. Then they went for a leisurely walk along the banks of Cherry Creek, chatting about the children, wondering how everybody was doing in Colorado Springs and what her mother and sisters had planned to keep Colleen and Brian – and themselves – busy. The conversation reminded Sully of the telegram he wanted to send about the clothes. He turned to Michaela:
"D'ya think we could stop by the telegraph office? We could wire the kids to let them know we're all right, and ask them how are things at home."
"Oh, Sully, I was supposed to wire Mother as soon as we arrived in Denver!" she gasped, shocked at how distracted she had let herself be, so absorbed she had been with her new husband. She was almost surprised that no reproving telegram had come yet from her mother. But to give Elizabeth credit, she had surprisingly mellowed in time for her youngest daughter's wedding, even giving in to Michaela's plea to give her away. What had led her to such a change of heart? Michaela was left to wonder – had Sully said something to his mother-in-law? She wouldn't put it past him.
On their way to the telegraph office, Sully told her of his plans to go out riding and the need to have more practical clothes for her. Too relaxed and blissfully happy to even be annoyed, Michaela laughed at herself and readily admitted that she hadn't actually cared that much about the packing process and had let her mother and sisters talk her into taking her fanciest dresses rather than the ones she would have preferred to be comfortable. After all, she had enough of them to fit into every situation, didn't she? She knew exactly what to ask for to Colleen…
Once the telegrams were sent, they resumed their stroll.
"What d'ya wanna do this afternoon?" Sully asked. They hadn't made definite plans as to what to do or see during their stay, as they had not expected Elizabeth to extend their reservation from five to fifteen days as a wedding gift to them both, and they had assumed than they would have had to make the most of their privacy by staying in their room as much as possible.
Michaela remained silent for a moment, pondering their options. What did she want to do, indeed? The answer was as crystal clear as the vast expanse of blue sky above them.
"I don't really care, as long as I'm with you."
Sully chuckled briefly at her candid answer, just as instantly sobered and deeply moved by how trusting and innocent her words sounded to his ears. This vulnerable, ingenuous side of her was even more endearing now, in sharp yet well-balanced contrast of the more seductive and sensual part of her nature that was blossoming right before his eyes.
"I got an idea, but I need to get a few things from our room first. Ya mind?"
"What are you up to?"
"You'll see…" he whispered noncommittally.
An hour or so later, they were settled as comfortably as possible under the shade of a large linden tree in early bloom, its honey-like smell warmed by the afternoon sun and wafted around by a gentle breeze.
Sully had changed into one of his loose shirts and his customary buckskins, to the priceless astonishment of one of the porters when he had asked the young uniformed man if the hotel could provide them with a quilt or blanket that could be spread on the grass… he was presently reclining on a thin, plain coverlet, his head cushioned on his wife's lap, leafing through a well-worn book that had belonged to her father, while Michaela, hampered by her corset and bustle, could only demurely kneel on the blanket, waiting patiently while he scanned through the dog-eared pages, looking for something she might enjoy. At first he had wavered for a few seconds between Walt Whitman and the couple of other books of poetry he had brought along, but then had decided to keep Leaves of Grass for a little later, when the full power of its verse would reach into their souls and they could abandon themselves to the magic of the stirring words. He was looking forward to the experience, but it would have to hold for at least a few more hours.
Finally, he found something well suited for the occasion and started reading aloud:
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.[1]
He looked up from the book to gauge her reaction to his reading. Michaela had been absent-mindedly fingering his hair, her eyes dreamy and a vague smile playing at the corner of her mouth. Actually she had been more mesmerized by the sound of his voice than from the meaning of the verse itself, for she already knew the poem, so when he grew silent, she focused again on his face. Her smile widened as she gazed down to see his eyes fixed upon her. Under the green canopy of the tree, with rays of sunlight flowing haphazardly through the foliage following the whims of the wind, his irises had turned an intense shade of turquoise, the kind of which she imagined could have belonged to those faraway seas bathing the tropical islands described in some adventure novels, their blue so vibrant under cloudless, infinite skies. And then, the connection between the sonnet and their relationship registered to her consciousness.
"It was beautiful, Sully," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion and eyes shimmering with a hint of tears.
"That's what I think of our love – of our marriage, Michaela."
That did it. A lone tear escaped the corner of her eye before she could stop it. She raised her hand to brush it away, but Sully moved even faster and caught it first. She gave him a tremulous smile.
"We've made it, Sully. We set off without a map, but I feel like we've reached that place where my heart wanted us to be."
Sully didn't need her to elaborate further as her words instantly summoned the memory of the quite rocky beginning of their courtship and that highly symbolic moment when he had brought her to his private spot on the side of the mountain. He had known even then – their destinies, as well as their hearts, were inextricably interwoven.
She bent forward, intending to kiss him, but the rigid whalebones of her corset held her upright. She winced slightly, her hand going to her pinched side.
"You were right," she breathed very softly, as if afraid someone else might hear her. "This corset is really a chastity belt – it won't even let me kiss you." Her cheeks colored a little.
He sat up and swiveled around so that his face was mere inches from hers, his answering smile hovering between mischief and indulgence.
"Won't be much longer before we get you out of that rig for good, and you'll get to kiss me all you want…" He gave her lips a soft, teasing peck. "As for havin' made it… I got a feelin' that the journey ain't over yet. I'd say we're reached an important milestone, and we can stop for a little while, before settin' out again for the next stretch…"
She understood his metaphor at once: their life together was to be an odyssey interspersed with stopovers – the birth of the children they might have together, the Cooper children starting out on their own, joyous events – moments of grief, too, when they would have to lean on each other… to have and to hold… for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, as long as you both shall live. They would grow old together and, God willing, die in each other's arms.
Simultaneously they leant toward each other and their lips met in a prolonged, tender kiss that sealed their hearts' promise as deeply and earnestly as it had when they had pronounced their vows. The kiss gradually grew more intense and intimate as they poured their entire hearts into it, sending their souls soaring as high as any lovemaking ever could. Everything they were to each other was conveyed through their joined lips…
It was debatable how long it would have taken for them to break off the kiss if not for a very loud clearing of throat coming from a passing-by groundskeeper. They pulled apart, a bit flustered, as the man eyed them sternly for a while before walking away, looking over his shoulder a couple of times as if making sure the couple wouldn't resume such an improper behavior in his park. Once he was finally out of sight, Michaela and Sully chuckled nervously, their forehead pressed together. Words were once again unnecessary: their hearts were singing in complete harmony.
For another hour or so, Sully went back to reading poetry to her, his head once again nestled on her lap, and her fingers wound into his hair, occasionally brushing his cheek or his brow lovingly. He eventually stopped and rose to his feet when he felt her shift uncomfortably. He then pulled her up and into his arms. With nobody in sight, he just couldn't resist the temptation of once again cupping her adorable face to answer the irresistible call of those lips of hers. No woman could possibly have softer, sweeter lips than Michaela's – nor so incredibly responsive. That was how he had instinctively known, from the first time their lips had touched on her birthday, then when they had begun courting, in spite of her reserve and inexperience, that there was a place deep inside her that only he could hope to reach and fully unlock one day. Now that she had let him in so completely, he also knew why he had felt so compelled to get to that place: it was home. She was home.
Michaela couldn't refrain from following her heart's desire either, as her emotions from the past two days seemed to be converging to that very moment, making her forget that they were quite out in the open and that the groundskeeper could very possibly swoop down on them again. When Sully slowly stepped back to lean against the tree trunk, she followed him, actually pushed him further, as again and again, they tried to assuage their thirst for those endless, intensely loving, extremely tender kisses.
"Enough of this, you two!" boomed a deep, indignant voice. It was the keeper again, coming back from his rounds. Rather sheepishly, the startled couple muttered an excuse. Sully gathered their belongings and, with Michaela's hand firmly held in his, quickly left their beautiful, quiet spot, now that their privacy had been disturbed. Needless to say that they were both more than looking forward to being able to get out of town, provided that Colleen had been able to pack what her mother had asked for and put the package in the earliest train bound to Denver. Neither of them wanted to face that groundskeeper again, if they could help it.
"You all right, 'Chaela?" Sully asked on their way back to their hotel, squeezing her hand consolingly. Michaela's instinct told her that he was probably worried that she might relapse into Boston-like bashfulness after being caught red-handed, or more exactly, red-faced. But to her own surprise, she didn't feel as embarrassed as she might have expected herself to be. They had not behaved improperly – they were only kissing, after all! And they had chosen a rather secluded spot away from the ponds and the play areas for the children, where most people seemed to gather.
"I'm fine, Sully," she told him, her smile genuine. "It's not like we've been doing… well, you know," she added with a wry little raise of her eyebrows.
"You're right."
It was a pleasant surprise indeed to have her so relaxed, even amused, after an incident like this, and yet, Sully remembered that she had recovered just as quickly when Matthew had stumbled upon them sharing a rather intimate moment. Back then, she hadn't even had her blouse on, and the straps of her camisole had hung quite low, showing more skin than anyone would have bargained for.
They giggled and bantered about it until they were back at their hotel. As they crossed the lobby, they spotted a small crew of porters carrying instrument cases toward the main dining room.
"Looks like there's gonna be a string quartet playin' tonight at dinner," Sully presumed, turning to his wife just in time to see the slightly wishful expression that flashed through her eyes. He grinned, and led her up the stairs to their suite, where he started changing back into his tuxedos without as much as a word to her. Her sparkling eyes rewarded him as she realized his intent, and she rushed into his arms, hugging him tightly. Her childlike excitement was contagious, and suddenly, he found that he didn't mind the suit so much anymore, if it meant seeing her so gleeful at the mere idea of a fancy dinner and dance with him.
Being reminded of their first outings in Boston had prompted Michaela to choose the black and silver dress she had worn that very first, delightfully exciting, evening together. When they returned down to the lobby to be escorted to the main dining room, many heads turned to watch the handsome couple walk by, Michaela such a picture of absolute radiance that she simply outshone every other women in the room. Sully felt about ready to burst with pride as he saw the numerous looks of admiration and envy they, she attracted all through dinner.
As they were waiting for the main course after particularly delicious hors d'oeuvres, the string quartet began playing a tune that seemed oddly familiar to Sully, but he couldn't place it at once. He cast a look at Michaela, whose eyes brightened in recognition. A strong sense of déjà-vu hit him, and suddenly it came to him. What were the odds? It was the same piece they had danced to, the night he had taken her to the overly expensive restaurant in Boston, when she had worn the very same ball gown. Only tonight, the quartet seemed to play a little faster, and with a more upbeat lilt than what the Bostonian quartet had managed to produce. Sully mused briefly that the difference of rhythm between those two times could very well match the dramatic change in their relationship, tentative and tense at first, now full of optimism and enthusiasm.
Resolutely, he stood up and circled the table, offering his hand to her.
"Shall we?" he asked, so low that she guessed his invitation more than she actually heard it. Soon they were waltzing giddily amidst a rather sparse crowd of hotel guests, again attracting stares. The women were whispering comments behind their fans to anyone who would listen, or reprimanding their male companions for admiring a little too openly the very beautiful woman in silver satin and black lace, and above anything else were seething with envy, for her gorgeous-looking, long-haired, tan-skinned partner seemed to have eyes for her only. Everyone present could see the so obvious adoration that flowed between the dancing couple, all smiles and oblivious to anything around them.
When the quartet concluded Roses from the South, Michaela and Sully applauded the nice performance along with the other dancers then returned to their table where they were presented with the rest of the menu. It was a bit too fancy for Sully's tastes, not that he cared that much. It was like wearing the suit. All that mattered to him was to see his wife enjoying herself on their honeymoon. Eating food he wasn't used to and wearing uncomfortable clothes once in a while was a small price to pay to please her. He'd even go back to the opera without a second thought…
After dinner, they danced again. Another waltz was being played, a slow one. It started out innocently enough, but before they knew it, their thoughts were simultaneously directed to another very special dance they had shared the night before, the memory brought back by the gentle, steady swaying of their bodies to a slow "one-two-three" rhythm. A wave of heat instantly flared between them, and they knew the time had come for them to retreat into their private haven. They left the ballroom as discreetly as they could, but a sudden, strong urgency was driving them on. As soon as their door was securely closed, they leant against it to share a long, hungry kiss, at last able to give free rein to the passion that had been simmering between them all day. It wasn't long before it ignited them to further fulfillment, yet Sully found it in himself to stop before he lost all control. Though their lovemaking this very morning had not been exactly unpleasant, his inability to hold out then still rankled. Tonight, and every time they would be together, he wanted their loving to be as gratifying as it had been the night before, if not better. They still had a lot to learn about each other, and two weeks was indeed a short time span for such teachings – time he felt they couldn't afford to waste on careless, instinct-driven encounters. So he pulled away.
A bit disoriented at first, Michaela looked up into his eyes. He understood her puzzlement.
"Ever so easy, remember?" he breathed. She answered with a smile and a nod, though she wondered, given how aroused the two of them already were, how would they ever manage to take things slowly. Then an idea came to her on how to give them time to calm down a little. A few remaining insecurities caused her mind to instantly conjure up a dozen of things going wrong with her plan, but she determinedly shove them aside.
"Could you help me with the back of my dress, please? Then I'll be back in a few minutes."
Sully's face lit up, and he flashed a mischievous grin at her.
"What are you up to?"
Just as mischievously, she answered: "You'll see."
[1] Shakespeare, Sonnet 116
