Chapter Twenty-Five

Emma's POV

I turned one year older at the beginning of December, an event that would have depressed me in the past, but this year I had a happy birthday, and that was something that I hadn't experienced since I was a child. I never would have imagined that Forrest had it in him, to plan a party, one that he successfully kept hidden from me, but he had done just that, and, even better, he'd devised a get-together that had everything that I loved. He'd decorated the dining room of the station with ribbons and sashes in shades of blue, and Emmy had been recruited for her artistic abilities to paint a banner that wished me a happy birthday. All of the girls got together and made my favorite foods, along with a delicious cake and Forrest had surprised me with a gorgeous pair of earrings, star sapphires, surrounded by diamonds…all in all, it had been the perfect day.

I'd never given much thought to making love on my birthday, after all, I'd never had a lover before, but after the night that had passed between Forrest and me, I knew that I'd expect the same thing every single year. We'd gone for a ride in the Ford V-8 after everyone had gone home, to look at the stars, Forrest had said, but in the end, he'd had me seeing sparks of a different kind, when he suggested that we move to the back seat of the car.

There oughtn't to have been much that would have shocked me by that point, after all, it wasn't like I was a blushing maiden any longer, but the notion of making love with my husband in the back seat of a car scandalized me, even as it thrilled me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. I should have been scared to death, knowing that someone might happen upon us at any moment, but somehow that had aroused me even more. I feared that I was in danger of becoming a thoroughly disreputable woman…and that was a thought that made me smile.

Christmas had been lonely time for as long as I could remember, a sad time, which had been a shame, because it had always been my favorite holiday when I was a child, but what a difference having a family made. I'd spent the days leading up to Christmas baking and I'd decorated every nook and cranny of the station, until Forrest grumbled that I was overdoing things, but I could tell that he was pleased with everything none the less. I'd placed mistletoe by the doorway leading into the kitchen, and had spent a fair amount of my time being led into the kitchen by my husband, who seemed to find numerous matters that needed my attention, and I'd pretended to find his actions just the tiniest bit tiresome, but the truth of the matter was that I'd loved every minute of it, and he knew it too.

He'd woken me early on Christmas day, while it was still pitch-black outside, and had carried me downstairs, all of his former faux grumpiness replaced with a grown man who was just as giddy as a little boy would have been. I wasn't much of a morning person, especially when there wasn't a ray of sunshine to be seen outside, but I couldn't stay crabby with him, especially not when he was smiling so much, and his eyes were dancing happily…and especially not when I saw the gifts that he'd placed around the tree for me.

I couldn't say for certain what most women dreamed would be waiting for them on Christmas morning. There were probably those who dreamed of furs, some who wanted jewels, and others who hoped for a new dress, one that they hadn't had to make for themselves, but I wasn't in agreement with that line of thinking. Don't get me wrong, there were plenty of things on that list of possibilities that appealed to me, but nothing could have possibly been better than what was waiting for me around the tree.

I'd assumed that he'd been spending all of his afternoons away from the station at the home place, or with Howard and Jack, but now I saw that he'd been keeping a secret from me. It was a surprise that showed itself in the dresser that he'd taken from his old bedroom, the one that he'd sanded and applied fresh stain, then lacquer, to, breathing new life into an old, beaten piece of furniture. He'd built a wooden box, one that matched the dresser, and filled it with cotton batting, covered with a pale yellow fabric that was patterned with tiny ducks, perfect for a nursery, and for the bedding in the cradle that had taken the place of pride in front of the tree.

I looked at the cradle, a wee little bed, set on rockers, and wondered how it could be that I'd never known how talented he was. I knew that he was mechanically inclined, he'd shown that time and time again, but this was something that required an artist of sorts, to have created something that was so beautiful. I could see Emmy's touch in the bedding, but the rest, it would seem, was all Forrest, and I felt the tears building as I crossed the room and bent to run my fingertips along the glossy surface of our little one's bed.

"My God, Forrest, when did you have the time to do all of this?" I asked softly, looking back over my shoulder to find him watching me, with a small smile curving his lips, one that said that he was very pleased, to know that he had made me happy. "This sort of workmanship had to have taken days, weeks even, to complete, so how long have you been planning this for me?"

He moved toward the tree and touched the big rocking chair, moving it back and forth, and then he bent and repeated the action with the smaller one. "Hmm…aw, it wasn't all that tasking, darlin'," he said softly, turning, to rest his hand on my ever-growing tummy, patting it lovingly, before sliding both of his hands around me, so that he could hold me close. "I just reckoned, hmm, after we found out about the little one, that they would need some furniture, a comfortable place to sleep and be changed, and a rocker for singing them back to sleep, and for when you nur…hmm…that is, for when you give them their supper, so I figured that it was my duty to make sure that our baby had everything that they would need, ain't that right?"

It tickled me that it embarrassed him, to put voice to words that oughtn't to have made him blush, not after he'd been personally acquainted with my breasts for some time, but I didn't dare let loose with a giggle, lest I make him feel more self-conscious than he already did. I leaned into his embrace instead, as much as my rounded belly would allow, and nuzzled his neck with my lips, smiling against his flesh when I heard, and felt, him growl in response.

"You might feel a little cheated when you open your gifts," I whispered, running my hands down his back, to his waist, then further, to cup his backside. I'd been proud of the cardigan that I'd knitted for him, with Emmy's help, and the leather gloves, lined with rabbit fur that I'd gotten off of Granville, and the bottle of Zizanie cologne that I'd bought for him in town, but now the gifts seemed kind of paltry and puny, when compared with what he'd made for me and the little one. What if he noticed that my knitting wasn't up to par, when he compared it with the sweaters that he'd bought for himself? What if he was perfectly happy with his old gloves? What if he didn't like the new scent that I'd found for him? What if….?

"Hmm…I don't think that there's any danger of that, darlin'," he said gruffly, the tone that his voice always took when he was entertaining the notion of wooing me. "I imagine that I'm going to love each and every thing that's under that tree that's meant for me…now then, let me fetch a blanket, so that you can be comfortable down there on the floor, and we'll see how much fun I can have, getting you unwrapped."

The night before the first day of Nineteen Thirty-Three found Forrest and I attending a dance at the home place. The house was filled to the beams with revelers and my husband twirled me 'round and 'round the dance floor, until we were both winded. Forrest wasn't all that fond of dancing, he claimed to have two left feet, which was an out-and-out lie, but for some reason he wouldn't let me sit any of the numbers out, not until I was red cheeked, bright-eyed and quickly losing steam, and then he led me to take a seat amongst the old-timers and those who were deep into their jars of corn, peaches and crazy apple, while he fetched some refreshments for us, and I found myself acting as the center of everyone's attention as soon as he walked away.

I declined the offers of a drink from those who were sitting nearest to me, and waited for my cup of sweet cider and bowl of popcorn. It took Forrest a little while to work his way through the crowd, and I was starting to feel a mite bit parched, not to mention peckish, so much so that it was making me a little antsy, but he made his way back to me before I could get too stirred up, with four cups of cider, two for each of us, and a big bowl filled with popcorn just the way that I liked it, with lots of butter, balanced in his arms.

"Oh, honey, you are a sight for sore eyes," I sighed, reaching up to take two of the cups from him, placing them on the bench beside me, then the bowl, so that he could take his seat without spilling anything. "Have I ever told you how sweet you are to me, how kind and caring and….."

"I wonder if I'd still been this popular if I had come to sit beside you empty-handed," he said, interrupting me, with a tiny hint of a smile curling one side of his mouth. "Which might have been the case, had I not fought that horde tooth and nail to get what I did."

I smiled at him while I took the cup of cider in my hand and raised it to his lips, offering him the first drink, even though I was just as thirsty as he was, maybe even more so. "Now, Forrest, honey, you were the most beguiling of all of those sights," I told him, leaning forward, to press my lips against his cheek.

His eyes were concentrated on me, closely taking in every move that I made, and I would have loved to have given a name to each and every emotion that I could see in his gaze, but it was beyond my abilities to do so. I plucked a piece of popcorn from the bowl, one that was saturated with butter, so much so that it shined, and slid it between his lips, gasping as a tiny flutter of awareness quivered between my thighs when I felt the tip of his tongue sliding along the pad of my thumb.

Everything in the room seemed to grow dim and quiet all around me and all that I could see and hear and smell and feel was him, until the clock chimed midnight, ringing in the arrival of the New Year. Until then we might have stood out for our show of affection, but suddenly there were people hugging and kissing everywhere I looked, though none of them could hold a candle to me and Forrest. Snuggling and smooching were too much fun, and too essential to indulge in only on special occasions, I just hoped that they were habits that we would hold onto, for many years to come.

I had no business at all, traipsing around, naked as the day that I was born. A woman with a big, round belly ought to have known to keep it covered, for her sake, and everyone else's as well, but the note on the bed, the one that was written in Forrest's hand, told me that I was supposed to shuck off all of my clothing before I followed its directions. I looked around the room after I read that bit, even though I knew that I was alone, and then I shrugged my shoulders and did what I'd been told, praying, the entire time, that no one would come calling unexpected. I suppose that it was a longshot, given that Sam Benson was giving a dance for Valentine's Day, but I prayed none the less.

There was a trail of dried flower petals leading out of the bedroom, from the bed, where I'd been napping, to the hall. I walked to the door and put my hands on the doorknob, taking a deep breath, to steady my nerves, and then another, and finally I pulled it open and stepped outside. The petals led down the hall, toward the bathroom, and I followed them, just as the note directed, and stopped when I saw the cigar box sitting on the floor. I scooped it up and opened it, and found a treat, as promised, Hershey's Kisses, which were my favorite kind of candy, inside. I was tempted to peel one and pop it into my mouth, but I didn't, and I did my best to convince myself that it wasn't because the note had told me not to, even though I knew better than that.

I slowly made my way to the bathroom, and stood in front of the door, knowing that he was waiting for me inside. I tried to imagine what sort of naughty things that he had in mind, the sort of things that made me blush and feel hot all over, and I was torn between rushing inside and turning to flee back down the hallway as quickly as a pregnant woman could. For several moments I stood there and argued with myself, feeling like the world's biggest fool, when suddenly I heard a sound from inside the bathroom, one that made my blush deepen.

"Hmm…are you going to hide out there all day long, Emma darlin', or are you going to come in here and let me have my wicked way with you?"

A small part of me still wanted to make a run for it, but the desire to see what he'd done and learn what he meant to do to me won the battle for control over me. I opened the door, bit by bit, and slowly made my way inside, staring with eyes that I would imagine were big and round as I took in the sight before me. The tub was filled with steaming water, and there were towels on the floor, surrounding it. He'd lit the room with candles, giving it a soft and romantic glow and I concentrated my gaze on the water, watching, as if spellbound, as the light danced and shimmered on its surface, until I heard him whisper my name, moments before he stepped up behind me, naked and aroused, and wrapped his arms around me.

The feel of his body, warm and strong against me made me comfortable and content, but it also made a tightening begin in my stomach, one that moved down, and centered itself, in an aching heartbeat of sorts, deep within my feminine core. His chest was covered in hair that rasped against my soft skin, and there was that part of him that was insistent against my backside, which was beguilingly hard and soft and almost shockingly hot against my flesh, and he groaned when I brushed against it the first time, growled the second time, and applied his teeth to my throat, very softly, but firmly as well, to the spot where my neck and shoulder joined, when I threatened to shimmy a third time.

"Hmm…what will you have first, darlin'?" he asked, placing his lips next to my ear and roughly whispering his words, which made that rhythm between my thighs grow a bit more frantic in nature. "Would you like a bath first or should I continue just as I am, and, hmm, let things happen, natural like, all on their own?"

The bath appealed to me, because I'd never shared one with him before, and I started to give my vote to that option, but then he moved one hand to my breast, and his fingertips were nimble and calloused on my nipple, plucking me and stroking me, while his other hand slid down my stomach, sliding between my legs, where his fingertip found, and charmed, that spot that rested at the top of that place on me that was swollen and wet and aching for him.

I don't know what made me so bold, maybe it was due to the feelings that he was raising in me, but I just couldn't keep my hands to myself. I reached behind my body, sliding between his stomach and my back, then down, a little further, to take him in hand, so to speak, slowly stroking him, and encircling him, and smiling wickedly when I heard the sound that came from his throat, one that was a mixture of a gasp and a moan and a growl, all at the same time.

"I'm curious to know what your opinion on the matter is, Mr. Bondurant," I said, purposefully keeping my voice low and husky. "Though, if you ask me, I'd say that the bath could wait, wouldn't you agree?"

I thought that I'd been shown what was possible between a man and a woman, after all, my growing stomach necessitated that I was the one who took the dominant position when we made love, but I never would have imagined that it was possible for him to slide into my aching flesh from behind. Granted, it ought to have seemed natural; after all of the times that I'd seen animals mating, but it had never occurred to me that humans could do the same thing.

"Hmm…oh, sweet Lord," he groaned, moving in a torturously slow and gentle caress within me. "It certainly can, darlin', hmm, it can indeed, Mrs. Bondurant."

Forrest's POV

I was so glad that I had lingered in bed that morning, it helped, somewhat, to remember that I'd made love to her before breakfast, that I'd held her close and pleasured her, that I'd told her how much I loved her, and that I'd cradled the little one with my hand afterward and marveled in the way that they kicked against my palm. If I'd known what was coming, I would have stayed right where I was, I would have given her the day, and then the next and the next, but I hadn't known that everything that I knew was destined to end, had I?

It was a beautiful morning, one that said that spring was right around the corner, and the mill was bustling with activity. It wouldn't be too much longer before I'd have to give up overseeing things personally for a while, because the baby was bound to be arriving in the next couple of months, and I didn't want to take a chance on not being there when Emma needed me the most. I knew that women gave birth every day, and the Doc had assured me, time and time again, that there was no reason, none that he could see, at least, why Emma wouldn't be just fine, but I worried anyway…I guess that it was in my nature to do so, even if it didn't help and didn't make no kind of sense at all.

I might have seen him sooner, if I hadn't been so caught up in what I was feeling, but I was too busy being happy and too distracted by worrying and planning and imagining and fussing to pay attention to much of anything that was around me. I was thinking about whether or not we were going to have a son or a daughter, and then I got to wondering about hair color and eye color and what we would name the little one, and that was why I didn't see him until it was too damned late for me to do anything about it.

Whit Boitnott was a shiftless and worthless son of a bitch, and I was glad to be quit of him, which was why it came as such a surprise to see his face, filled with a malicious sort of glee, when I whirled 'round at the sound of the logs that were quickly making their way toward me. I wasn't certain why he was there, he had no business at the mill, but it was obvious that the little bastard had cut the strap that had held a load of logs on the trailer, where they belonged, and the damned things were headed straight for me.

I know that it was just a split-second, from when I heard the rumble 'til the logs reached me, but time seemed to be standing still. I could hear Howard hollering at me to get out of the way, but there wasn't time for that. All that I could do was reach up and snatch my hat off of my head, throwing it aside, so that it wouldn't be ruined, and wait for the blow that was sure to hurt like the hottest sore spot in Hades.

"I love you, Emma darlin'" I whispered, an instant before they hit, and hoped that the good Lord thought enough of me to carry my last words to my wife, so that she would know that my final thoughts had been of her. I couldn't say that it would comfort her, but it consoled me, somewhat, and that had to count for something, didn't it?

A/N: This is not the end of the story, so please don't jump to any conclusions. I'm taking this moment from the real-life events in Forrest Bondurant's life, with my own touches added in, and there will be plenty of angst and drama in the next four chapters, along with a few smiles and tears as well, but the fifth, which will be an epilogue, will have my signature happiness from beginning to end, you have my word on that.