Author's Note:
If you have not read The Blue Castle, by Lucy Maud Montgomery, PLEASE go read that first. There are major, major spoilers below if you don't already know the story!
Barney had imagined a number of different scenarios when he married Valancy, but discovering he was a cuddler was not one of them. He had imagined home cooked meals, hairpins scattered around the cabin, and having to remember to scrape his boots at the door, but he could not have predicted waking in the grey light of pre-dawn to find his wife's slight form tucked against his own body, beneath a protective arm. He breathed in the clean soap scent of her hair, and snuggled against her more securely before drifting off again.
When he woke again, sunlight streamed brightly through the eastern windows of the big living room, and Banjo blinked at him from his chair, visible through the open bedroom door. Barney was sprawled on his back now, with Valancy's head tucked into the crook between shoulder and chest. This time, returning to sleep was not an option, though Valancy would sleep for some time yet. As gently as he could, he eased out of bed, lowering her into the nest of blankets and tucking them around her. He dressed quickly and, with a pat on the head for Banjo and scratch under the chin for Good Luck, he slipped noiselessly from the house, boots in hand.
On the porch, he stretched and breathed deeply of the October morning. Light filtered, golden and glowing, through the brilliant foliage, the mist rose thickly off the water. The air shocked his lungs and was exhaled in clouds that drifted away over the frost on the ground. He never tired of this. He was free, his own man, on his own island, and all the world was his.
Quickly, he shoved his feet into his boots and followed the worn footpath around the cabin to the lean-to. Of late he had taken to entering this from the outside rather than the door off the living room. He didn't think it likely that he would forget to lock that door after using it, but he couldn't be too careful. It was easier simply never to unlock it.
The air inside the little room was chillier than outdoors, not having the benefit of sunlight until the afternoon. Barney built a fire in the ancient potbellied stove and rubbed his hands together in front of the cheerful blaze. He decided to leave the stove door open and crossed to his desk.
A teetering stack of fat notebooks were stacked off to one side, his observations and thoughts on the woodland plants and animals, musings which eventually became the works of the famous John Foster. Books Valancy loved so much. It had become more difficult to write since she had come to Mistawis—he could no longer take his note books to the woods—but he was more than compensated for the trouble by her unabashed adoration of his work, all the sweeter since she never suspected her praise reached its object. He thumbed through one or two of the more recent notebooks, noting the changes in his own words since his marriage.
He could steel feel Valancy, sleeping soundly next to him, the fragrant ghost of her pushing into his thoughts every other minute. Barney smiled to himself. She was such a sweet thing. And good company. And in just three months, she had changed him.
He never would have thought he'd be a cuddler. All his life he had been a solitary creature, first by circumstance in his lonely and affection-starved childhood, and later by necessity after—well after. If pressed, he would have said he wasn't one much for physical touch.
He hadn't expected to respond to Valancy's affection, but he had to believe that she really loved him. She couldn't have any other motive. And somehow, that changed things. When he had brought her home, he hadn't known what to expect. He had only kissed her as a matter of form, holding up his end so to speak. And then she responded to readily to his touch, like a flower to rain after a long drought, and he found himself wanting her. Wanting to give her all of himself.
Barney cleared his throat and set aside the full notebooks, reaching for a half-full one on the other side of the desk. Opening it to the first blank page, he picked up his pen and filled it from the ink bottle.
He stared at the blank page, and stared, and stared. He had kissed Valancy, of course, since that first night; he wasn't afraid to touch her. But those touches were—friendly. Platonic. Taking her hand to help her in or out of the canoe, or lifting her over an obstacle on a trail. His shoulder brushing hers as they sat on the veranda steps of an evening. Every night he fell asleep beside her in their bed, and every morning he woke the same way: beside her.
Until this morning...
To wake wrapped around her, to fall back to sleep feeling her warmth, to wake again still tangled up together, that was a touch altogether different. Had he reached for her in his sleep? Or had she turned to him first? Did she know? Was she as aware of him as he was becoming of her, even in his dreams?
Barney shook his head, trying to clear his mind so he could finish his chapter. At this rate he'd never get the next manuscript to the publisher on time. He moved his hand to put pen to paper, only to find the page half full with a sketch. A rough line drawing of a woman standing at the edge of a meadow, her hand on a slim birch tree. Even in its half completed state, her hesitancy and wonder were evident in every line. Valancy, as he had seen her only yesterday. They hadn't entered that meadow. Valancy had turned back to him with a smile, had shaken her head. They had turned and gone back the way they had come.
Barney carefully tore the page from the book and set it aside. Then he stood and added another chunk of wood to the fire. He sat down again and doggedly began to write. If Valancy had changed him, so be it. He couldn't think of a more enchanting muse. And if in future he was destined to wake, not just beside her, but with her, he certainly wasn't going to complain.