A/N – This chapter has been brewing for a decade, as I originally wrote the outline for it back in 2011. I hope it was worth the wait!
Update June 2020 – Reviewer Clio1792 made the excellent suggestion that Jane and Jim ought to hire a housekeeper, a possibility that had completely slipped my mind. So I made a few changes to this chapter and the next one in order to include this excellent solution.
XXX
My white knight, not a Lancelot, nor an angel with wings.
~Meredith Willson, The Music Man
For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you.
Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.
~Khalil Gibran, On Love
But sorrows won't get the better of you if you face 'em together with love and trust. You can weather any storm with them two for compass and pilot.
~L.M. Montgomery, Anne's House of Dreams
XXX
October 15, 1926
It was not all roses and moonlight between the newly married couple, however. Almost four months into their marriage, Mr. and Mrs. Hearst had their first real quarrel.
Of course, it wasn't the only occasion Jane and Jim had ever disagreed on a subject. On the contrary – they commonly engaged in spirited academic debates. Both of them had adept and active minds, and when they did not see eye to eye on a philosophical matter, they each defended their own views with wit and vigor. But at the end of the day, they were always able to put their chatter about theoretical matters aside without any lingering rancor. In fact, their academic arguments often inflamed the ardor of their lovemaking.
One evening in mid-October, Jane accidentally burned their dinner to a crisp. This kind of catastrophe was unfortunately not an uncommon occurrence, as even after her elevation from spinster to wife, she retained the abysmal habit of becoming so engrossed in her literary endeavors that she occasionally neglected to pay enough heed to the more prosaic domestic tasks that required attention. As this wasn't the first time she had ruined a meal in some way, the assistant librarian expected that Jim would respond to her latest kitchen mishap with nothing more than a slightly disappointed shrug. She may not have been a gourmet, but she still managed to ensure that her husband was decently fed, as she took great care to make up for her lack of culinary skill by maintaining a well-stocked pantry with fixings for sandwiches and other comestibles that didn't require the use of a stove or oven to prepare. However, as it was the night before her usual shopping day, they were out of such convenient foodstuffs, so she had nothing she could substitute on the fly.
Still, if Jane hurried, she could pick up something suitable from Dunlop's Staple & Fancy Groceries and have it ready just before Jim got home from work. However, luck seemed to be against her today – just as she was slipping on her coat, the history teacher walked through the front door.
"You're home early!" Jane said brightly – a little too brightly, even for a newlywed.
Her stomach flip-flopped nervously when Jim gave her a look that was unusually exasperated. "Surely, it's not an imposition for a man to arrive early to his own home, on occasion?" He sniffed the air. "Did we have a fire?"
"Of course not!" she hastily reassured him. "Tonight's dinner didn't quite work out as planned, and I was hoping to get something nice in town before you got home."
Jim blinked, and his expression shuttered the way it always did whenever he was attempting to conceal the full intensity of his emotions. "Oh," he said quietly.
Jane had always been very good at remaining unperturbed and letting a man rant and rave until his fury burned itself out. She had weathered many such temperamental outbursts from William, as well as the more hotheaded library patrons. But Jim wasn't the type of man who got so demonstratively angry – he remained unnaturally composed even in the midst of great displeasure. Jane had always found such icy wrath unnerving, as one could never be sure of its full magnitude or where the subsequent attack would strike. Her aunt had been a master of this type of cold combat, and as such the assistant librarian would much rather have had someone yell openly at her than fume silently and judgmentally in her presence. And as Jane was already nursing a long-simmering resentment at her shortcomings as a wife, her husband's aloof manner got under her skin and inflamed that fury.
"For heaven's sake, stop staring at me as if I'm a naughty student who didn't do her homework!" Jane snapped. "You know full well that cooking is not one of my talents. And even if it was, accidents do happen."
To her annoyance, Jim continued to regard her with the lofty disapproval that so nettled her. "Do you know that the only hot meal we ever eat anymore is Sunday dinner at the Hill house?"
Although his tone was mild, Jane was beside herself with rage. Because it was all too true that Miss Marian's Sunday spread was head and shoulders above the paltry sustenance the former spinster could provide for her husband, and this discrepancy had been eating at her conscience ever since they returned to River City and settled into a domestic routine. Until today, Jim had gallantly weathered her spoiled dinners without complaint. But now the honeymoon was clearly over!
"Well, if you wanted a wife who could cook, then you should have married a domestic goddess instead of an absentminded bluestocking," Jane countered. When his condescending gaze didn't so much as flicker, she grew so incensed that she really let loose: "Now you listen here, James Robert Hearst. Even if I was in the wrong, I won't stand for such treatment from you for another minute. I suppose next you'll be telling me I ought to resign from my post at the library because it's interfering with my domestic duties. But I'll have you know that I would sooner divorce you than be forced against my will to give up my livelihood!"
Her harsh words finally cracked his insufferable equanimity – Jim looked deeply offended. But his voice remained maddeningly level as he replied, "I would never suggest you do such a thing. All I want is to eat a dinner once in a while that's not a cold sandwich or some kind of ready-made concoction out of a can or a box. Indeed, I ask for far less domesticity from you than any other man in the world would demand of his wife. You're the most intelligent woman I know, and cooking an adequate hot meal isn't that difficult to master. I know that both Miss Marian and Mrs. Paroo have been teaching you. So why do you keep ruining so many dinners?"
Jane was about to retort that she could not possibly achieve proficiency in every single subject she attempted to learn, but then decided to take a leaf out of his book. "I suppose it's because I'm a complete failure of a wife," she said airily, as if it did not matter. As if she did not constantly berate herself for this failure.
It was undeniably satisfying to see Jim rankle under the same standoffish treatment as he had given her. But his rejoinder still stung: "You are hardly a Jezebel or even a Medea, so stop behaving as if you are irredeemable. You are dodging the issue at hand because I have made a point that you are unable to soundly refute. The real reason that you continue to ruin so many dinners is that you don't care enough to learn how not to do so."
Jane bit her lip in order to hold her tears back. Although she was trying a lot harder than her husband gave her credit for, he had hit upon the unpalatable truth at last: she despised cooking. It was such a messy and imprecise endeavor, too much of an art rather than a science. And as such it was infuriatingly easy to either overcook a dish or to undercook one. Attempting to properly apply spices to a concoction was even more treacherous – to her chagrin, she found that she possessed the singular skill for either adding too much flavor to a meal, or not nearly enough.
It didn't help matters that she had such limited experience in this arena. As Jane's bluestocking tendencies had emerged early in life, her aunt had despaired of her marrying even before she'd experienced menarche, and only taught her the barest of basics in the kitchen. And as the assistant librarian had subsequently spent her entire adult life in boarding houses where her meals were provided by others, she'd forgotten what little she managed to learn. So even if she applied herself to her cooking lessons with genuine enthusiasm, it would take years for her to be able to produce fare up to the level of Sunday dinner at the Hill house.
But Jim would never believe the extent of her difficulties, not even if she had the heart to explain them to him. It certainly didn't help her case that in her tutoring sessions with Miss Marian and Mrs. Paroo, Jane had unexpectedly discovered a burgeoning talent for baking. However, she suspected that she excelled at this particular endeavor because, unlike the horrid changeability of cooking, baking required absolute precision. And even if the persnickety history teacher was capable of understanding this critical distinction, he would most likely reprove that one could not simply eat desserts for proper nourishment.
When Jim had taught her how to dance, his quiet but firm insistence that she could learn any step she set her mind to gave her the confidence she sorely needed to persevere. Now, this inexorable insistence felt like a weapon being aimed against her, a ringing condemnation that her deficiencies in cooking were entirely of her own making. And even if that wasn't entirely true, despite his having a fair point about her lack of interest, he knew exactly how to hurt her with his scathing turns of phrase.
Jane was determined to repay the favor: "Why do I need to be the one to prepare our dinners every night?" she burst, finally giving voice to the notion that had smoldered resentfully at the back of her mind ever since she'd botched her first meal. "If you're such an enlightened paragon of masculinity who so kindly requests 'far less domesticity than any other man in the world,' why can't you cook a few hot meals from time to time?"
She was disappointed but unsurprised when such a scandalous concept proved far too radical even for a man of Jim's broadminded bent. "I shouldn't have to do that," he said coldly.
"Then you really are no better than any other man," she retorted, just as coldly. "You only pretend to be."
While Jane was admittedly gratified that she'd gotten a little of her own back, it hurt her a great deal more not only to see her beloved's pain, but to know that she had caused it: Jim looked as stricken by her condemnation as if she'd taken off her wedding ring and thrown it at him. And yet she couldn't bring herself to apologize, as she was still smarting from the verbal wounds he'd inflicted upon her. All she could do was stare dourly at the man she had married just a few short months ago, and reflect that she was indeed a complete failure as a wife.
And to her dismay, Jim obviously agreed with this unspoken sentiment that lingered heavily between them: without another word, he turned around and exited the house.
XXX
Even though she'd been trying to hold back her tears during their argument, Jane didn't weep when she found herself alone in the front hall. Once the door had closed behind Jim and the gravity of her situation sank in – her husband was surely headed to the town lawyer this very moment – she felt the most disconcerting sense of numbness take hold of her. She couldn't cry. She couldn't even feel. And she wasn't sure she would ever be able to properly feel again.
Normally, Jane didn't put any stock in what the silly gossips had to say. But now, she couldn't stop thinking of the humiliating social disgrace that loomed in her future. Most certainly, they would all blame her for driving her husband away. Mrs. Shinn and her ladies would be especially harsh in their recriminations of her provocative behavior. Even Miss Marian wouldn't approve of her declaration that Jim ought to cook dinner once in a while, as any proper and self-respecting lady asserted that the kitchen was her domain. Which was why before tonight, Jane had never dared to air this sentiment to a single soul, as she knew that even someone as tolerant as her dear sister-friend could not have countenanced such a shocking breach of femininity.
Still, as Jane reflected on this glaring domestic imbalance, a spark of fury rekindled within her. Why should the wife have to do all the cooking, simply because she was born female? It was certainly a question worth examining, especially in an age where even married ladies were allowed to bob their hair at their own discretion and vote in elections! And in any case, the assistant librarian had never been a conventional woman. So why should she start pretending that she was, just because a man had finally deigned to put a ring on her finger?
She thought Jim had understood this fundamental aspect of her character. It hurt terribly to discover that he didn't – at least, not entirely. And no one else in this horrid little town would understand, either. In a bookish man, domestic absentmindedness was not only allowed, but expected. But in a bluestocking woman, it was unforgivable!
As Jane stood dumbly in the front hall of the lovely home that she barely had the opportunity to settle into before destroying her own marriage, a gray cat crept out from under the nearby end table and wound herself around her mistress's ankles, letting out an inquisitive meow as she perambulated.
This helpfully brought Jane back to her senses. Craving comfort from a creature that was wholly incapable of condemning her domestic deficiencies, she picked up the feline and cradled it in her arms. "Ah yes, Bastet, it's your dinnertime, isn't it?" she cooed. At least I haven't ruined that meal, she thought bitterly. "And where is Diogenes?"
As it turned out, Diogenes was waiting in the kitchen by his empty saucer. When Jane entered the room, he growled grumpily at her.
"Yes, yes, I'm working on it," she soothed as she hastened to feed her hungry charges.
Operating on the assumption that they weren't likely to be blessed with progeny of their own – Jane's courses remained regular since their marriage, despite the passion and frequency of their coupling – the assistant librarian and history teacher had adopted two cats upon returning from their honeymoon tour. After much discussion, which sometimes grew quite heated, they had finally settled upon Bastet for the female and Diogenes for the male. Diogenes was an imposing Norwegian forest cat with ochre-and-white fur and tawny brown eyes. But his large size belied his true temperament – he was a gentle giant, as was commonly true of the breed. He did not so much meow as he did grumble or growl whenever he wished to voice his opinion on some grave matter, and he lumbered around the house in the most charmingly lackadaisical manner. Whereas Bastet was a sleek and high-strung Egyptian Mau with a beautiful smoky gray spotted coat and striking green eyes. Her walk was both proud-footed and graceful, as if she not only knew but gloried in the full measure of her queenly elegance.
As Jane watched the cats devour their food, she couldn't help remembering a conversation with Jim during much happier times, the day they'd brought the felines home:
"It is said that cats have never forgotten that they were once worshipped in Egypt," she observed as Bastet primly approached the dish of food laid before her.
Indeed, Bastet sniffed at her saucer suspiciously before taking a tentative lick of its contents. Deciding these offerings were adequate, she began to nibble decorously at them. Diogenes, who much like his namesake was far less genteel, gobbled down the food without ceremony. After he'd scarfed down his share, he started nosing around Bastet's dish. Though he was easily twice her size, she didn't budge. Instead, she raised a paw and smartly cuffed him across the nose. He immediately backed down.
"Bastet is truly the queen of her domain," Jim concurred as Jane burst into laughter at the felines' antics.
And so she was. From that day forward, Bastet unquestioningly ruled the roost and Diogenes accepted her reign with a surprisingly mellow tolerance. He never so much as looked at her saucer after she'd corrected him – though that did not stop him from yowling plaintively at his mistress after he'd wolfed down his dinner. And in her need to prove that she could engender gastronomic satisfaction somewhere in her household, Jane willingly obliged.
XXX
After the cats' appetites were sated and they returned to their feline pursuits, Jane was at a loss as to what to do with herself as she waited for the metaphorical ax to fall upon her. Even if there was any decent food in the house, she could never eat when she was out of sorts. The book that had so engaged her earlier – thus leading to this epicurean catastrophe – had utterly ceased to be charming. The assistant librarian could barely bring herself to look at the silly little volume, and even contemplated burning it in the fireplace before her rational side thankfully reasserted itself.
But she had to do something besides standing in the front hall like a ninny, foolishly wishing she could somehow turn back the clock and circumvent their terrible quarrel. So even though there was nothing to clean or organize, Jane mechanically fluffed pillows, straightened photographs, and smoothed nonexistent creases out of curtains in the parlor. However, as she went through these repetitive motions, they failed to soothe her. Instead, she was suddenly struggling not to burst into tears again. Despite her inability to keep her husband fed to his satisfaction, she kept a spotless home. How dare he insinuate she was a failure as a wife simply because she couldn't manage to grasp merely one of the many aspects of running a proper household! But as Jane gazed wistfully at all the family photographs and her beloved statue of Seshat on the mantel, they failed to bring her the comfort and certainty they always had before. Most uncomfortably, she felt condemned by their inexorable stares, as if they no longer approved of her as the mistress of this formidable domain.
Deciding that she may as well embrace being the pathetic creature that she truly was, Jane resumed her vigil in the front hall. An hour had already passed since Jim's departure, and she expected she was still in for a long wait until his return. But not fifteen minutes had passed when the front door opened. As Jim walked into the house carrying a bundle of paper satchels, Jane carefully arranged her features into a level expression. Even as she started to tremble uncontrollably, she was determined to preserve her own dignity no matter what awful pronouncement came out of her husband's mouth.
But when Jim's eyes met hers, she was stunned to see that he looked deeply apologetic. "I bought us a fresh dinner – bread, meats, cheese, and fruit. Mrs. Paroo also gave me a generous portion of the wonderful cake you baked for us last Sunday, and I bought that book you've been eying at the bookshop lately. I was planning to wait for our six-month anniversary for this present, but I thought it would help make things up to you now."
Jane had spent so much time anticipating her husband's contempt and dismissal that she had completely failed to account for his kindness. And somehow, that kindness hurt most of all. The tears that were threatening finally came, and so powerfully that she had to turn away from her penitent beloved and cling to the parlor doorframe in order to prevent an undignified collapse.
Jim was immediately by her side, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her curls. "Please forgive me, dearest of Janes," he entreated. "I should never have said those awful things to you. I was sorry for my behavior as soon as I walked out of the door – if Ma'at were to weigh my heart after that appalling display, the feather would have won. I almost came back right away to make amends, but I wanted to show you how sorry I was, and I thought it best to give you a chance to cool down first."
Recalling all the uncharitable thoughts she had indulged in during his absence, Jane sorrowfully reflected that she did not deserve such a considerate husband. Here she was, meanly surmising that he was planning to disavow her, while he was actually concocting a protracted apology! The only way she could atone for her unworthiness was to reveal the disagreeable truth she was too proud to own up to earlier: "But I deserved every bit of what you said, because you were absolutely right – I hate cooking so much!"
"I know," he said understandingly. "We had discussed the idea of hiring a housekeeper in August, but decided not to do so at the time. Perhaps we ought to reconsider? I know we can't afford one right now, but we should be able to by next spring if we are frugal in our expenses."
Jane bit her lip as she did indeed reconsider the matter. While their primary reason for not hiring a housekeeper was that they weren't currently able to afford such a luxury after purchasing a house and going on their grand honeymoon tour, the assistant librarian also had more personal reasons for declining the opportunity to relinquish her domestic burdens. It may not have been rational of her, but something about the concept of another woman coming in and running her household, even just under orders, made her bristle. She had lived in other women's households her entire life and, for once, she wanted to be the mistress with no other woman to gainsay her in any way. But now, after she had been so humbled by her constant failures as a cook, the idea of someone coming in to handle that task for her sounded wonderful.
"Let's hire a housekeeper next spring, then," Jane decided. "But we should hire someone young and not set in her ways. I will not be bossed around in my own house."
"That is not something we should ever tolerate," he agreed.
She regarded her husband with a tentative smile. "So how do we handle the cooking, in the meantime?"
Jim sighed. "We share it. Even if you didn't loathe cooking, you asked a fair question. We have both retained our employment outside the home since our marriage, so why shouldn't we both be responsible for the preparation of our dinners, whether jointly or through an alternating schedule?" He sighed. "In all honesty, I also lack the skill and the inclination to cook an adequate hot meal, which is why I retaliated so cruelly to your inquiry. I certainly can't blame you for responding in kind." He paused, as if silently marshalling all his courage for what he had to say next: "Do you regret marrying me?"
Jane was stunned to hear in his tentative tone the same terrifying uncertainty she had been wrestling with, the irrational but pervasive fear that she had ruined everything between them. And she had been so certain of this ruin that it was difficult to let go of the powerful emotions such dismal prospects had engendered within her. So she continued to clutch at the woodwork for support, even though her husband smelled temptingly of cold and fresh air. She couldn't allow herself the luxury of his embrace until she confessed the full measure of her foolishness: "I thought you were going to divorce me over my recalcitrance to cook for you. I expected you to bring home a decree from the town lawyer, not lovely food and gifts."
Jim tensed up next to her, and she braced herself for another argument. But almost as soon as he bristled, he sighed and deflated. "I don't suppose I can blame you for that kind of pessimism, either, after everything you've lost… though I am admittedly hurt that you think so poorly of me. I would never divorce you, especially not after such an insignificant argument!"
Jane's eyes snapped up to look into his. "Oh, Jim – I don't think poorly of you, but myself! I've been so ashamed that I can't cook a decent meal for my own husband, and that I can't even bring myself to be interested enough in cooking to learn it properly. All of the River City-ziens – even Miss Marian – would surely have sided with you if you chose to dissolve our marriage."
Jim got that frustrated and disappointed look in his eyes, the look she had learned meant that he felt she was being much too hard on herself. It was an expression that made her squirm uncomfortably even as she rejoiced to have someone so ardently in her corner. By now, he knew her far more intimately than even Miss Marian – he'd seen her at her worst to depths that no other person could fathom – and he continued to love her in spite of that knowledge. She may never learn how to cook an adequate hot meal, but she could do a much better job of trusting in the strength of his love for her.
Turning fully toward her husband at last, Jane pulled him into a fierce hug. "Thank you, dearest of Jims, for the food and presents. What can I do to make things up to you in return?"
He lifted his head to look plaintively at her. "All I want is for you to love me, Jane – love me in the same wonderful, warm, and affectionate way you always do."
Cupping her still-damp cheek in his hand, he kissed her softly and sweetly, as if they were still courting. Jane was irked by his physical distance – normally after she embraced him this way, he would have crushed her to right him and they would have raced upstairs to make love – but she was relieved to see that when they parted, his eyes had lost that melancholy haze and were now twinkling impishly at her. "You know, I actually found your anger refreshing, once my own cooled down. Gracie never cut me down to size like that. She didn't dare let on when she was upset, though it would color her behavior in the most maddening ways afterward. I always had to swallow my pride and coax the truth from her, lest her resentment fester and spoil our marriage. But you clear the air with admirable speed, saving us both a great deal of trouble and heartache later!"
Jane couldn't help beaming at her husband's gracious estimation of her character. "Well, in that case, I'll be sure to 'clear the air' more often," she teased, pecking him on cheek.
"I hope you do," he said earnestly, tightening his embrace and pulling her even closer, his hips pressing inquisitively into hers. "I did tell you more than once that I adore your bluntness, whether in fury or in passion… "
Now this was the mood she'd been hoping to coax Jim into after the resolution of their row. Delighted by the return of his amorousness, Jane was about to suggest they forgo dinner for the time being – until a suspicious rustle of paper derailed this highly promising train of thought. Irked at the unwarranted interruption, she turned to glare at Bastet and Diogenes, who were presently nosing at the parcels littering the hall floor. At her stern look, Bastet immediately fled the premises in abject contrition – the only time she displayed such obsequiousness was when she incurred her mistress's disapproval – but Diogenes remained right where he was and gazed serenely at her.
Jim let out a laugh that was more of a sigh, let go of Jane, and picked up Diogenes, who grumbled at his master's interference in his explorations of these intriguing new objects. "I suppose we ought to see to our dinner before these devious miscreants take further advantage of our distraction!"
XXX
After they finished eating the excellent meal that Jim procured – and fed choice bits of morsels to Bastet and Diogenes as they lingered hopefully underfoot – Jane was disquieted to observe that there was still a preoccupied glumness suffusing her husband's otherwise placid demeanor. Instead of resuming the delightful interlude they'd begun in the front hall, he retired to the parlor and slumped on the sofa, where he then proceeded to stare dejectedly at nothing in particular.
As soon as Jane was satisfied that the kitchen was in order – they had both learned very quickly that the cats would wreak havoc with any cabinet door remaining ajar and container left lying about – she entered the parlor and took a seat next to her brooding husband.
"Clearly, you had a difficult day," she said gently. "Please tell me about it?"
His shoulders drooped even further. "It's not just been a difficult day for me," he admitted, "it's been the most difficult day yet in a long string of them."
As Jim had been open with her about both his challenges as well as triumphs in the classroom, she hazarded a guess as to what, or more precisely who, was weighing so heavily on his mind. "Billy Walenta?"
He nodded bleakly. "He's gone too far at last. Today, he set a fire in a trashcan that escaped his control and threatened to spread throughout the gymnasium."
Jane gasped. She wondered about the loud clanging she heard earlier, but had been so engrossed in her book that it barely registered at the time.
"That's why I came home so early this afternoon," Jim confirmed in a grim voice. "Fortunately, the fire brigade managed to extinguish the flames before they caused any lasting damage, but the entire school had to be adjourned until sometime next week as a safety precaution while the authorities clean and inspect the facility. Billy has been permanently expelled, of course, and is currently being shipped off to reform school as we speak."
Jane shuddered along with her husband. Though these institutions were necessary evils, she had learned from the history teacher that they were too often badly run and poorly funded and, as a result, were rife with both cruelty and neglect that more often cemented boys into hardened criminals rather than reformed them.
Jim's hands clenched into fists. "Billy Walenta never had a chance – he was dealt an impossible hand right from the start! His mother died shortly after he was born and his downtrodden father is utterly disinterested in any form of discipline or even parental interaction other than beating his son into compliance which, as you can probably guess, has not improved the boy's behavior. I am certainly no proponent of injudiciously applied corporal punishment, but my subtler methods to get him on the straight and narrow have borne no fruit, either. Billy simply does not see the point of learning, displays no curiosity or passion for anything but causing trouble, and he's an unapologetic truant. On the rare occasions he has showed up to class, he's not only disruptive and disrespectful, he attempts to coax the other students into committing mischief with him. And I'm not the only one who's failed to correct him. It was a miracle that Professor Hill was able to reform Tommy Djilas and so many other misguided youths. But even he wasn't able to move this boy's stubborn heart. In fact, Harold said something today that chilled me to the core: Billy Walenta has the coldest eyes he's ever seen in a child. Although we did everything we possibly could, we couldn't keep him from his willful march to perdition. This was his senior year and his last chance to improve himself, but he's failed more heinously than I've ever seen one of my students accomplish in all my years of teaching."
As Jim buried his face in his hands, Jane placed a soothing hand on his trembling shoulders and ruefully reflected that it was no wonder he'd been so exasperated when he came home to a burned dinner! How could she have failed to notice that he was unusually out of sorts? After such a horrendous day, not having anything palatable to eat must have been the final straw in a too-heavy bundle of them. And not only that, she knew the loss of Billy Walenta was especially galling to such a diligent and conscientious teacher as her husband was. He was normally an expert at identifying the troubled students in his classes, taking careful measure of their characters, temperaments, and family situations, and applying the most effective guidance and encouragement for them to overcome their humble beginnings. Indeed, he and Professor Hill had this wondrous ability to transform young lives in common, and spent many pleasant hours discussing various tactics and strategies to increase their kids' odds of success.
"You can't save every single problem child that walks into your classroom," Jane gently reminded her husband. "Some people just won't be helped, and you can't blame yourself for this boy's tenacious refusal to yield to authority. Perhaps reform school is just what he needs, and maybe someday he'll look back on his teacher's advice and realize the wisdom in it. You are not a failure, James Robert Hearst. You've worked wonders with countless students – how many of them fondly remember you even several years later?"
Jim peeked up at her over the tips of his fingers, and she was relieved to see that her words had eased his conscience. But there was still a pensiveness in his eyes that perturbed her. "If only I could have taught you how to cook right from the start, instead of grossly overreacting to a burned dinner after a bad afternoon."
"You can't teach me everything," Jane said practically.
"No, I can't," he agreed. "And sometimes – more often than you know – you are the teacher and I am the student."
"Me?" she gasped, incredulous. While she was firmly comfortable in the concept of being his intellectual and now romantic equal, she had never thought of herself as his superior in any way, shape, or form.
He smiled. "Yes. You are a shining illustration of patience, perseverance, and compassion. Like Socrates, you remind me of how much I still don't know and have yet to learn. And I need that reminder from time to time."
As touched as Jane was by his assessment, she still couldn't resist a good debate. "But didn't Plato write that women had no souls?" she asked archly.
"You have more soul than many of the men I've ever known," Jim hotly retorted, making her tingle with delight. "As much as I admire Plato's writings, I can't deny that he sometimes comes across as an unmitigated and pompous ass."
Jane let out a laugh that was both shocked and amused. As a scholar, Jim was opposed to uncouth language on principle, though he did sometimes forget himself in the heat of an academic debate. And when he swore so passionately in her defense, it was difficult to resist such compelling proof of his devotion to her, so she didn't even pretend to disapprove. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close for a kiss that was long and deep.
When they finally broke apart, Jim gazed at her in that wonderful, ardent way that always made her heart race and stomach flutter. "I love you, Jane," he said intently. "I love you so much."
Jane would have responded in kind, but all at once, Jim was kissing her fiercely. This soon progressed to heavy petting, and then to undoing trousers and unfastening garters with trembling fingers, until Jim was passionately making love to her on their parlor sofa. Although they had been married for four months, it wasn't something he had ever done before. Not that she was complaining – she relished every moment of their frantic embrace, undulating beneath him and unabashedly crying out her pleasure, which only fueled the intensity of his lovemaking. When he finally tensed and stilled, gasping for breath, Jim lifted his head to look into her eyes. His gaze was both dazed and delighted, as if he was astounded by his own audacity.
Somehow, Jane wasn't surprised things had taken this turn between them. The history teacher had not only proven to be a warm and generous lover, but also a remarkably inventive one, though up until now his ingenuity had been wholly confined to their bedroom. However, she was amazed that she didn't feel the least bit scandalized by her husband's insistence on exercising his marital rights on their parlor sofa, as she had been taught by her aunt to dread traditional lovemaking, let alone such lascivious shenanigans. But even if her erstwhile guardians did indeed frown upon the Hearsts' wanton behavior, they were unable to scold the besotted couple for this lapse of decorum, as they had shuffled off their mortal coils long before she and Jim had even met. Sneaking a glance at the family photographs and the statue of Seshat, she was relieved to see that they gazed benignly back at her, no longer pricking her conscience. She was the mistress of her domain, and if she wished to make love on the parlor sofa, no ghost or goddess would gainsay her!
Still, she couldn't resist archly observing, "I don't suppose we could behave like this in the parlor once we hire a housekeeper."
Jim gave her a look that somehow managed to be both amused and smoldering. "We won't hire live-in help. I want to keep this kind of privacy with you – " He kissed her again, hard.
As Jane responded with equal fervor to his embrace, she did not attribute her untroubled acceptance of this kind of ardor to any of the books she had read about the various carnal acts it was possible for men and women to engage in, but to the broadminded counsel her dear friend had given her a few days before marriage. Miss Marian had solemnly taken Jane's hands in hers and told her that she would discover that physical love had many more expressions than a maid could possibly imagine – for Jane was still a maid at the time, despite her intense but fleeting brush with passion – and that in private, a husband and wife should feel completely free to love each other in the ways and means that brought them the most happiness. She was particularly insistent on the point that one mustn't judge any specific act by itself, but consider the spirit behind it, and anything that was done in the spirit of love was never a sin. This was something, the librarian ruefully admitted, that had taken her too many years to learn.
So instead of engaging in false reticence or ladylike demurral, Jane beamed approvingly at her husband until the bewilderment ebbed from his smile and he lowered his head to cover her lips in a tender kiss.
"What would I do without you, dearest of Janes?" he whispered.
Her heart tightened at the raw need that still burned in his eyes, and she brought her hand up to stroke his flushed cheeks. "I'm not planning to go anywhere you can't follow," she promised.
Jim's mouth hungrily met hers again. After a long and blissful interval, he rose from the couch, scooped Jane into his arms, and carried her upstairs to their bedroom. They made love again, slowly and languorously, drawing their pleasure out for as long as they could before he could no longer put off his release and had to succumb.
Afterward, they remained lying in bed, holding each other and talking of everything and nothing. Jane had long since gotten past her discomfort to engage in unrestrained pillow talk with her husband, no matter how scandalous or wicked others might have deemed her speech, and so she boldly remarked that lovemaking hardly seemed fair to men in general.
Jim smiled and raised an eyebrow at her, as he always did whenever she made a point that intrigued him. "How do you figure, dearest?"
The assistant librarian presented her case as rigorously as she laid out any academic proof: "It seems to me that sustained pleasure is so heavily weighted to the woman's favor. I lost count of how many times ecstasy overwhelmed me, but you can only achieve climax once during lovemaking, and then you must stop and wait a while before it is possible to reengage."
At that, the history teacher let out an appreciative laugh and planted a sweet kiss on her temple. "It does sound awfully unfair, when you put it that way! But there are other aspects of lovemaking that even the score between the sexes. Unless a man is suffering from impotence or is interrupted mid-act, he is guaranteed to reach climax each time he makes love. That is not always the case with a woman – especially if a man climaxes too quickly." He gave her a crooked smile. "As you have learned, this is not something a man can always control."
Jane regarded her handsome husband with a wicked grin. "Well, you have always pleased me – repeatedly."
He laughed again, and buried his face in her hopelessly untidy curls.
"I still don't understand why my hair holds such a powerful attraction for you," she protested, but in an indulgent tone. "Especially as it's a terrible mess right now!"
"Mmm, I like it messy," he purred, nuzzling her cheek. "The more disheveled your hair gets, the wilder I am to have you… "
Jim's mouth covered hers again, and he kissed her thoroughly until his desire had indeed reinvigorated, and they made love as urgently and passionately as they had on the parlor sofa.
In addition to imparting several secrets regarding the nature of physical love, Miss Marian had warned Jane that she would occasionally quarrel with her husband, and that she mustn't go to bed angry if she could avoid it – especially if their row was a trivial one when measured against the grand scheme of their lives together. And to Jane's relief, she and Jim once again fell asleep in perfect accord with each other, without any distress or discomfort lingering between them.