Afters

"How is your foot? I am really sorry about stepping on it." Louisa felt so bad about that; tromping on his foot during their 'first' dance' at their wedding reception. She bit her lip and reached for his arm.

The car hit a bad spot on the roadwork and lurched to the left, throwing Louisa's hand more firmly against me. "It's fine." It wasn't fine because it still hurt; likely a haematoma coming up. He wiggled the affected foot then had to jerk the wheel car for suddenly there was a sheep in the road. "Bloody animal," he grunted.

"Just a sheep. Hole in a fence somewhere."

"Right." Now she was holding his elbow, scrunched towards him, and he could more clearly smell her perfume as well as a faint undertone of perspiration.

Louisa cleared her throat. "Traffic," she said, but she wasn't thinking about livestock.

"What? Oh yes…" In Cornwall 'traffic' meant animals on the road.

She yawned, but she really wasn't tired, just peaceful, although she only got three or four hours of sleep last night. She hoped she'd not fall asleep, in a while when… (she gulped) they went to bed. They were married, but it will be different. "So, Mr. Porter. Something about a pig."

Martin's heart sank. "Oh. That." He didn't want to discuss that horrible animal for the off license care he'd rendered. Yet it was quid pro quo, had to be done to get Porter's assistance.

"Want to tell me about it?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Some other time."

"Right, I see. Secrets, already?"

He sighed. "When I went to see Porter – about marrying us – he said no, but then he changed his mind if I saw to one of his pigs."

"Saw to? In what way?"

Martin cleared his throat. "One of his sows needed medical attention. I saw to the beast."

"So… in exchange for him seeing to our wedding you saw to his pig."

"Right," Martin snapped, for there was nothing further he wanted to say.

Louisa shook her head, trying not to imagine Martin 'seeing to' a pig. "Things happen in the village, don't they?"

Martin could just read the sign in the dusk mounted on a pole at the village limit, 'Welcome to Portwenn.' "Yes…" he sighed as he tried to force down his nervousness.

Louisa tightened her hand around his elbow and rubbed the upper part of his forearm. "Things happen…" she repeated, "such as you moving down here as our new GP." She felt her eye tear up as she said it, more from memory than actual emotion. She'd been mean to him on the plane and barely civil during the review board meeting, and she was the lone NO vote. Yet here he was, despite her misgivings. He was Portwenn's GP, saver of lives, diagnostician without peer, and… and her husband.

She'd actually told him he was gruff, monosyllabic, and, well, rude. She turned to look closely at him and could see a drop of sweat run down his forehead. The car was cool, but she felt it as well, that sense of anticipation, eagerness, keenness, and yes, fear. She squirmed slightly at the thought. Married, actually married. And with marriage came expectations, such as, well you know; sex. Oh, Louisa calm down. No, I don't want to calm down. Her fingers gripped his arm more tightly. She wanted Martin, more than anything.

Martin had almost inquired about the position up in York, until he'd seen the listing for Portwenn, where he'd spent holidays with Joan and Phil. He ducked his head, "Well, my aunt was living here." He cleared his throat feeling very anxious. He snuck a look away from the road at his wife. Wife. Now that was a loaded word. Wife as in married. They'd actually done it, done the deed. And it was far more momentous than their engagement and the first time they'd made love. He sighed. That was totally unexpected after Holly had almost died on her floor after he'd nearly killed her. That night, wrapped in Louisa's tender embrace, lying on her soft and crumpled sheets, listening to her snoring gently, he'd stared at the ceiling. Things would never be the same, a line in the sand. He glanced at her once more. My God she was beautiful.

Louisa went on, "And old Dr. Sim had died. Cancer isn't fair is it?" She recalled attending his funeral service, along with most of the village, more from duty than concern for his daughter, Angela. "Do you know his daughter Angela is a veterinarian?"

"No." What did the late, great Jim Sim have to do with anything? Nothing. She was just chatting; filling the air, while he sat nearly silent. But his mind was churning. Now that they were married, he'd have to work hard not to disappoint her, which would be difficult because he was rude and gruff, but hopefully, well-meaning. He sighed again.

"Yeah, Angela works up Bath way, I understand."

Now they were well inside the village, Martin slowed down threading his way through the narrow streets.

Louisa sighed as she hugged his arm tighter. "Nearly there." Past the Platt, past Bert's restaurant, where they were meant to have the reception util the pipes failed, then Martin turned into the parking space by the surgery. Home, she thought, her new home. "The Surgery' as the villagers called it. She turned and smiled at him. "Here we are," she said brightly.

"Yes," he said, then turned his face to look at her.

"Problem?" she asked, her throat dry.

"No, but I was thinking…"

"Yes?"

"I just assumed that we'd spend the night here, and not at your place."

"This is fine, Martin. It's where we'll live so we can get started tonight."

Martin nodded. "I, uhm, when you walked into my kitchen…"

Just a few hours ago, Louisa thought. "Go on."

Martin stopped what he was about to say. "I'm glad that you didn't walk away."

Almost did, she knew. "I stayed."

Martin took her hand, interlacing his thick fingers with her slim ones. "Yes."

She took a deep breath. "Is there more?"

He shook his head. "No." He forced a quick smile to her, then dropped her hand and opened his door.

Louisa watched while he got out, opened the boot, lifted out her case, and then came to her door.

Martin sheepishly opened the car door for her then he helped her stand. "Watch for the latch there, Louisa! Don't get dirt on your dress, watch the…"

"Got it, Martin," she answered, as she compressed her skirts. "I wasn't planning on wearing it again."

They'd talked about it, and Martin could no more understand wearing clothing only one time, than he could understand Icelandic. "Fine," he said. He closed the car door, took her hand in his left one, carrying her case with his other. They mounted the steep stone and slate stairs together.

Martin fumbled with his keys got the front door unlocked and he opened it.

"You gonna carry her across the threshold, Martin?" Roger Fenn had asked him two days before. "It is tradition."

"Yes, based on a Medieval interpretation that the bride ought not appear to be too eager, so she must be carried to the bridal chamber," Martin grunted to him. He'd learnt from one of the registrars back at Imperial Hospital, who oddly enough had a minor in Ancient History, that the tradition dates to the foundling of Rome and myth of the Kidnap of the Sabine Women, an event where pillaging Roman soldiers abducted women for wives from surrounding towns. The women were carried off against their will, so carrying a 'reluctant bride' to the bridal chamber was an act of conquest and domination by the groom, and not a sign of lust by the bride.

Louisa held Martin back at the doorway. "Well?" She put an arm around his neck and batted her eyes at him.

Clearly she expected this, so bowing to her desire, Martin lowered the case to the ground and then lifted Louisa into his arms. She was not heavy for he felt new strength flow into him, with her body held closely to him. He'd never held her such as this, hip against waist, breast pushed against his chest, head held high at his eye level. "Hello," he said to her.

Louisa kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Martin." She'd hoped he'd do this; an expectation of the bride, but with Martin - well, she never knew. he could be very obtuse at times, yet also surprising in his depth of knowledge. This time, she thought, he got it right.

"Glad to oblige," he replied as he maneuvered her inside, firmly shutting the door behind them. He set her on her feet and her warmth almost made him shake.

She turned to face him. "Well, here we are."

"Yes," he said, his heart pounding. He was excited yet also nervous, for here at last they were joined in marriage, not separate and sad. He hoped he'd not disappoint her.

Louisa folded her hands in front to restrain herself from throwing herself upon him. She beamed at him but felt herself trembling. Married to Martin, and now here they were together, and the door shut. "Hello… husband," she said softly.

"Hello. Mrs. Ellingham," he replied, then he bent his neck to kiss her gently on the lips.

Then she wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing herself to him. "Oh Mart-tin, I so love you." She felt nearly faint, almost overcome.

"I love you too," he said, then he kissed her forehead.

She looked up at him with one raised eyebrow. "So... Martin..." she tipped her head towards the stairs.

"Ahm, yes," he said, suddenly driven to action.

"Door locked?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Mobile off?"

He pulled his out and showed it to her, then flicked the switch to power it off. "Done."

"House phone?"

"I put it to answerphone before we left."

She sighed deeply. "Well, husband, unless you have some cheese and apple lying about you wish to ply me with?"

"Cheese and apple?" Ah, that - three weeks ago. "No..." He looked at her beaming face and bright eyes, shining with desire. "I suppose we ought to... ahm... go upstairs."

Louisa nodded. "Glad I stayed."

"Me too," he said, then he turned her bodily and escorted her up the stairs.