Chapter 24
Michaela strolled into the comfortably appointed honeymoon suite in front of Sully, moving toward the picture window as he tipped the bellman and closed the door. Hearing the latch click, she removed her hat, setting it on the vanity next to her and straightening the jacketed bodice of her sky blue traveling dress. She heard the springs on the bed squeak a little as Sully sat upon it, and turned to find him leaning back on his hands having already shucked is suit jacket, his legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed, grinning at her.
She giggled, the feeling of freedom dancing through her veins, raising her eyebrows in question. "What are you grinning at?"
He shrugged casually. "Just glad to be here, away from all the society and formality of everything, just you and me."
"So am I." She smiled, crossing the room to perch next to him on the edge of the bed. "I wish there had been time for us to travel west, but being in Maine brings back such memories."
He scooted around on the bed so he could lean back on the headboard. "Does that mean you're gonna be chasing me down the shore in the morning?" A mischievous twinkle lit his eyes, and Michaela scoffed.
"Savoring memories is one thing, Mr. Sully. Reliving them is quite another," she scolded, but her smile was wide as she shook her head at him.
He scooted over to lean against the headboard, accepting her words with a grin. "Come on, come sit next to me." He patted area of coverlet next to him. "We've never been able to just sit and talk as much as we wanted before."
A shadow of shyness passed over Michaela's features, but recklessly, she cast it aside, deciding to embrace this new freedom an unconventional marriage had bought her. Gingerly, in order to accommodate her skirts, she scooted over next to him, feeling the bones of her corset holding her upright even as she tried to relax against the headboard.
Their legs stretched out in front of them, they talked into the night, never once touching on the practical details and planning that had absorbed them in the weeks prior to the wedding. Instead, they talked about themselves, the upcoming probability of war within the states, the friends they had made in the woods so many years ago, the nosegay of spiderwort, the cast aside velvet coat, Sully's travels, subjects big and small which were meaningful or amusing to them. Their conversation trailed effortlessly into the dark hours of the night, candles burning low in their sconces, the moon passing slowly through the starlit sky.
Michaela stirred, feeling the painful strain in the muscles of her neck. With the movement, she felt the hard edges of her corset dig further into the flesh her hips and back. Belatedly, she realized she had been leaning against Sully as she slept, her head on his shoulder. Absorbed as she was orienting herself to her surroundings, she jumped at the sound of Sully's voice.
"Morning." He helped her sit up a little, watching her try to hide little grimaces of pain.
"Good morning." She touched her hair, thinking it must look a mess.
"You look about as stiff as I am."
She giggled. "It's certainly possible." She watched him stretch his arms and rub his own stiff neck. "You could have woken me." It was a gentle scolding, her eyes appealing to him to forgive her for falling against him in her sleep.
He held her gaze for a moment, "I haven't been awake more than a few minutes," he said matter-of-factly. He stood and stretched, then surveyed the room. "Looks like there's both a wash room and a dressing room in here. How would you feel about having the maid draw a bath for each of us?"
She stood, feeling her joints and muscles further complain about the uncomfortable night she'd put them through. "That sounds wonderful. As does breakfast and coffee."
Sully felt his stomach gnaw at him in response to her suggestion. "I'll ring for the maid."
Twenty minutes later, Michaela was struggling against her stiff neck muscles to untie her corset. She refused to ask Sully for help, but part of her wondered if she would have to. Just as she was thinking she might have to give up, the knot came loose, and she was able to loosen the lacing enough to slip out of the offending contraption. Slipping her chemise and pantaloons to the floor, she gratefully rubbed the sore red impressions on her ribs and hips, reveling in the renewed flow of blood and air to the area. Leaving her hair in its arrangement for now, she slipped into the steaming bath, feeling the water burn the reddened indentations on her skin left behind by the corset and the creased gathers of her chemise. It was a welcome relief though, since the corset would have to come back on in a few minutes. Tonight she would appreciate her nightdress more than she ever had before.
Sully sat in his bath until the water had gone cool, knowing it would likely take a while for Michaela to get herself out of everything she was wearing, and back into something else. He wasn't sure what all that entailed, but his impression was that it was complicated. Drying off, he pulled on some of his more comfortable trousers and a shirt, leaving it hanging open while he shaved. Tucking in his shirt, he emerged into the main room and was surprised to see Michaela already fully dressed and sitting at the vanity, brushing out her hair. It fell in soft, silken curls nearly to her waist, shimmering auburn in the sunlight coming through the window. In awe, he came up behind her and touched it lightly where it fell over her shoulder.
"Seeing your hair like this reminds me of when we were kids…" he murmured, gazing at the richness of it. "…the way it used to swish around when you'd move about…"
She smiled, "that was a long time ago," she said softly. She watched him through the mirror, noting at the far away expression in his eyes. A little embarrassed by the attention, she began pulling it back in pieces, arranging it for the day. Her movements caused him to back away, but he watched her hands move about as if they had eyes of their own, fascinated with her ability to create the arrangement quickly and beautifully without seeing what she was doing.
Gradually, the slim, straight line of her back was revealed, and the curve of her neck. His throat went dry when he realized he'd been thinking how pretty she was, a thought that surprised him because he'd so deliberately buried it long ago, a thought he wouldn't allow himself now. Decidedly, he turned to the breakfast tray the bellman had brought during their baths, and poured them each a cup of coffee, the rich, earthy aroma of which helped to dispel the suppressed emotions that had a moment before knocked at the door of his heart.
Placing a final pin in her hair, Michaela rose and joined him at the small table that had been placed before the picture window, where they breakfasted on delicate soft-boiled eggs and thick slices of bread spread with wild blueberry jam.
The passage of an hour found them at the shore, not fifty feet from the inn. The fresh, salty sea breeze invigorated them and filled both with memories of days exploring the shore, swimming, looking for caves, inspecting tide pools.
Michaela, wanting to avoid cleaning sand from her freshly washed feet, kept her boots on even after Sully shed his shoes and socks. A few minutes later, she found that sand was working its way into the laces, folds, and eyelets of her boots, and deciding this was worse than cleaning her feet, stopped to remove them.
They were strolling along, watching seagulls swoop down over the crashing waves, when Michaela suddenly felt Sully's arm circle her waist, pulling her gently, securely, closer to him. His hand rested on her side, holding her there, and she turned her perplexed eyes toward him just as she heard the soft tenor of a woman's voice.
"Byron, is that you?"
Michaela's gaze swept to the source of the voice, to find a tall, lovely woman standing before them, looking at Sully. She was slender and curvy in the most fashionable way, with golden hair and striking violet-blue eyes. Her cheekbones were high and rosy, complementing what the magazines would call a perfect rosebud mouth. Long lashes and a perfect oval shaped face perfected her image, the pink taffeta of her dress accentuating every feminine detail of her.
Sully's voice broke Michaela from her observations. "It is. I go by Sully now, though."
"But Byron is such a handsome name." The woman's eyes sparkled in clear admiration. Michaela discreetly cut her eyes to Sully, then lowered them, hiding a knowing smile.
Sully squeezed Michaela's side, then ran his hand up to her shoulder. "Uh, this is my wife, Dr. Michaela Quinn. Michaela, this is Carrie Gibony – we grew up going to the same church."
Michaela's stomach flipped, recognizing the name of the girl Sully had considered pursuing as a teenager, and she forced a wan smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
Carrie nodded. "And you as well. A doctor – how…rare. And you kept your maiden name?" It was stated in a rhetorical tone, and she didn't wait for an answer. "Well, I suppose I must congratulate you, Byr—I mean, Sully. My, but it's been a long time. You disappeared on me when you went off to school. I never heard from you again," she scolded mildly, the saucy curve to her lips unable to hide the disappointment in her eyes. Her voice was sweet and controlled, so much so that Michaela couldn't tell if Carrie was trying to condescend to them, or if she was reading into it.
A tall, handsome gentleman with stone blue eyes and elegantly oiled wavy brown hair joined their group, saving Sully the necessity of a reply. "Carrie, there you are my dear. I'm afraid I couldn't find your gloves anywhere." He turned to Michaela and Sully. "Hello, lovely day isn't it? My name is R—Byron?" The man's eyes raked Sully's features, then darted to Michaela, and back.
"Hello, Roy. I was just telling Carrie I go by Sully these days." His hand moved back down Michaela's back, settling once more around her waist. "This is my wife, Michaela."
He nodded to her, clearly impressed with the beautiful woman at Sully's side. "A pleasure, madam. Congratulations, Sully, I didn't know you'd married. What are you up to these days?"
"Yes," Carrie interjected, "Do tell. I rather expected you'd moved out west by now."
"I travel back and forth quite a bit. I've been doing a lot of negotiating for the government between the settlers, the Indians, and the army."
"Fascinating. Those must be some – rough – dialogues, I expect."
Sully's mouth formed a tight smile, not wishing to elaborate with his old classmate. "What about you? Last I heard, I think you were considering the banking industry."
"Yes, and it's served me well. I always did enjoy working with numbers."
Sully's hand tightened on Michaela's waist, silently urging her not to contradict what he was about to say. "I remember that. Well, it was nice running into both of you, but Michaela and I were just heading back to town—"
"Oh, but I hope you'll join us for supper," Carrie interrupted, "we're dining at this lovely little restaurant out on the cliffs at the northern edge of town – the Dover, I think it is, isn't it Roy?"
"That's right, dear. We'd love for you to join us, for old time's sake, Sully."
Sully looked at Michaela, whose accommodating smile told him she would defer to him. Knowing if declined, they would likely insist on another meeting, Sully reluctantly decided to accept. "Thanks. We'll meet you there around seven."