Chapter Twenty-Five
The next couple of weeks went very quickly. Peter Cronk came over on Saturdays to play chess.
Martin stated he was "Not really improving", which Peter sarcastically remarked, was "Not really helpful."
But, still, it was a pleasant couple of hours, Peter did learn a few techniques from Martin each week, and Martin agreed to continue their playing until he and Louisa moved away.
Martin kept working on Garvey's clock, which was slowly starting to come together.
The Christening came and went, the Fenns having been quite delighted to be godparents.
It started off better than Louisa could have ever imagined. Hoping to not get her pulsed checked again, she came downstairs in her finest dress and, giving it another go, asked Martin how she looked. He held James, and saw her standing there her arms out to her side, and something clicked inside him. "You're very lovely in that dress."
Louisa felt like she had run a race as hard as she could and she had finally reached the finish line. "Oh, thank you. And, you're quite handsome in that suit."
He grunted his acknowledgment. She came and took James Henry and put him tightly in his buggy. When she stood, their eyes met and they kissed.
Yes, Louisa thought, a very good start.
In the Church, later that morning, Martin rattled off his "Yes's" to each of the questions the vicar asked, in solid grimace mode, demonstrating that his answers actually caused him physical pain. During the reception he did basically stand like a lump in the corner, answering "Leaving!" to anyone who asked if he and Louisa were staying or leaving. Martin lost count how many times he said "Go Away!" to anyone who was foolish enough to attempt to engage him in any further mindless prattling. Luckily, Aunt Ruth despised mingling and chatting as much as she did, so he had company until the bothersome pests went back to their own homes and Martin paid the Larges for a surprisingly edible catering job.
On the drive home, Louisa was beaming brightly. "What a lovely Christening."
"Yes."
"The Large's food was quite good."
"If no one develops diarrhea."
She told herself she was in too good a mood to allow that to upset her.
She put her hand on his forearm. "It was lovely, Martin. Thank you."
He answered, from past lessons, "You're welcome."
"Oh!" she said, delighted to hear that. A compliment and a self directed "You're welcome" in one day. It was almost too much to bear!
Louisa had also been asked if they were leaving or staying and had pleasantly said it was their baby's Christening and let's focus on that, deftly turning the conversation to the inquisitors, who eagerly welcomed talking about themselves.
It was a good day at home, spending time with James, Martin working on his clock, Louisa watching some TV with Martin by her side reading his endless medical journals. She put in a DVD, and forced Martin to actually watch it with her, curling her arm around his and leaning against his broad and sturdy shoulder, and she knew that he spent half the time watching the movie and half the time watching her. Louisa was quite content with the equal percentage that split his attention. Too bad she didn't have a flower to put in his buttonhole.
Later, after one of his infamous long crying jags, James fell asleep and they put him down in the crib, Martin touching the back of his fingers to James' forehead and then rolling his hand gently around his son's head, and then lastly rubbing his cheek, in an established pattern. His large hand could encompass his son's skull, which represented a triad of golden insights, the forehead his health, the skull his capacity for intelligence, and his cheek, the softness of his emotions.
They were in bed, again.
"Nice day," Louisa said.
"Yes." He again picked up his medical book from his nightstand.
"Nice having the Christening out of the way."
"Yes."
Louisa wondered how many times one man could say "Yes" in a lifetime. Was there a Guinness Book of World Records on the subject? Still, it was better than "No's".
She looked at him, her fiancée, and the father of her child. Even in their difficult times, she had always admired and respected so much about him. His confidence and devotion to the care of his patients. His medical brilliance. His making his patients' health the primary focus of his life. His moral stature, his commitment to honesty and truth, his overcoming his phobia, his knowledge of right and wrong. He was not the most well adjusted man in the world, but he was good, and had a good heart, and didn't hide anything from Louisa. He was, as always, what he was.
She felt a sudden, overwhelming gratefulness that Martin Ellingham was in her life.
"I love you," she said. It was said just as it was meant, not as sentimental outpouring of gushy affection, but as a simple fact.
He looked at her, silent.
Louisa had a new and wicked idea. "Keep reading," she said, waving him back to his paused activity. With that she started lowering herself down in the bed, her right hand running down Martin's abdomen, under his pajama top.
"What are you doing?" he asked with some alarm.
Her hand traveled lower, and she positioned herself so that her head was slipping suggestively under the covers.
"What do you think?" she said, her voice muffled some by the blankets. With a little help from a stunned Martin, she was able to pull his pajamas down just enough; he didn't wear his boxers when he had those on.
"Are you sure—?" His enquiry was curtailed by his quick gasp.
Louisa continued for a few moments, satisfied with the situation so far, and paused just for a second to respond, "I'm sure."
It was the first time Louisa engaged in this type of sexual activity with Martin, and she enjoyed everything about it. She enjoyed her ability to arouse him so fully, his grabbing her head under the covers, her experience giving her some beneficial skill in her technique, the lubrication and pulsation of her own sex organs, and how near the end he stridently urged her to come up to him, yanking her north with intensity and then he pushed her over, and bore down into her as if his life depended on it. That intensity of his passion thrilled her and took her to monumental heights of pleasure. Their crashing together simultaneously was magnificent.
Lying apart in bed, clothes askew, Louisa's brown hair every which way, they were silent for a moment.
"Very nice day," Louisa repeated, in a deeply satisfying exhalation.
"Yes." He kissed her cheek.
She waited for the comment, the inevitable comment, the unavoidable comment, and for the first time ever she smiled a bit in anticipation. She wondered on a scale of zero-completely appropriate-to ten-completely inappropriate—where it would be graded.
"Good thing I have the habit of washing myself before bed," Martin said.
Louisa turned her head away to smile widely. She could write a book, "The Sayings of Martin Ellingham." That was an eleven, no doubt about it.
She turned back and kissed him and then, to continue to make him happy, got out of bed to attempt to urinate, to stave off the development of a post-coital bladder infection, a medical advisory he typically reminded her of. When she was back in bed, Martin was lying flat on his back, in proper bed position, ready for his immovable rest. Louisa climbed in, lucky that the heat from such a large man made the bed so warm so quickly.
She lay on her back, too. Martin grabbed her hand tightly under the covers. "You're so beautiful. I love you so much," he said. "I'm…very lucky."
Louisa turned to him, and saw that his eyes were shining with the truth of those words, his entire face showing an innocence of feeling. She perceived a blatant opening of his heart, so clearly visible to her, a rarity which made her feel as if she could float off the bed, as if her job here on Earth was done.
"Martin…" she answered, her eyes becoming watery.
"Are you crying?" he asked.
"Happy tears," she explained, wiping away the drops with her hand.
"Ah, good." He handed her a tissue from the box on his night table. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose.
They settled back to bed, still holding hands. The day was over. Neither had any more words to say, and none, anyway, were needed.