Misconducts
~ By A.G. Prentice ~
Thursday, April 28th, 1870
The Reverend was long gone before Michaela and Sully realized they were completely alone in the church.
Michaela felt elated from their reconciliation. How could it be that merely a day before, she had recoiled when Sully had declared point-blank that he liked kissing, and that he found that she was good at it? What a silly reaction, really! Now that they had made up, she seemed as unable as he to refrain, whether their kisses were soft or heated, sweet or demanding; right at that moment, kissing him seemed to be all that she lived for.
After a particularly voluptuous kiss, Sully had to shake himself out of his trance, and fought for a moment against the urge to catch up with the Reverend and beg him to marry them immediately, so that they could legitimately consummate their union as soon as possible… Michaela was softly panting, her lips were swollen, her eyes glistening like dark gems, her upswept hair outlining her face like a halo of burnished gold... She was so beautiful, so desirable and at this moment, more accessible to him than she ever was before. If he could not have her within the hour, he would surely go insane with longing!
Michaela guessed that Sully might be suffering from the same kind of torment she was – though at a higher degree, since he was a man – from his wild-eyed stare as much as from his taut, shivering muscles, which betrayed the amorous tension that had taken hold of him. Reluctantly, she broke the spell, abruptly bringing them back to reality.
"How about lunch, before the café closes for the afternoon?" she suggested, unable to completely conceal her regret.
"Good idea," he mumbled without much conviction, in a strangled, husky voice.
They made their way to the café, holding hands yet staying silent. The noon rush was over, but a few customers remained who were taking their time to finish their meal.
"Do you have any patients this afternoon?" asked Sully as innocently as possible, once Grace had taken their orders. However, he kept his eyes lowered to his cup of coffee.
Michaela raised her eyebrows. Sully, never one for small talk, suddenly wanted to chat?! It was almost incongruous. Perhaps he wanted to show her that he was willing to try to engage in conversation, and not just during breakfast...
"No appointments, no, but I must remain available in case of emergency. Thursdays are typically rather quiet, so I usually plan to update my files. Besides, this morning, I started taking inventory of the medicine cabinet…"
"Did ya?" Sully's voice had an odd inflection, like he had swallowed something unpleasant.
What's wrong with him? Why did she have the impression he was anxious to leave?
Oh...
Michaela felt her cheeks redden. Granted, she would have enjoyed spending the afternoon alone with him, cuddling, perhaps dreaming aloud about their future, talking some more about the child they both wished for... who knows, discussing the wedding night, if only to ward off her remaining apprehensions... Not knowing what to say or do to alleviate the awkwardness, she took the decision to continue as if she had not noticed his strange demeanor.
"Mmh, yes. I've heard tell that an apothecary has set up shop in Denver, supplying medicines and liniments of good quality. I would save money buying from him rather than ordering everything all the way from New York or Chicago. I thought that I might make the most of our stay there next month to have a look, and have a list ready in case I find something of interest…"
Sully nodded, venturing a glance at his fiancée. Her cheeks were flushed, and from the timbre of her voice and her rapid speech, it was obvious that something was bothering her. Was it simply the mention of their impending honeymoon, with all that entailed, or was she embarrassed to suggest that she planned to do anything other than exclusively marital activities during their sojourn in Denver?
She cleared her throat and went on:
"And you, what do you have planned?"
"The kitchen cupboards gotta be put up..."
The rest of the meal went by in idle chit-chat, a mere excuse to prolong the time they spent together and postpone the moment when they would have to go about their respective business. Both suffered, however, from the artificiality of the discussion. Still the Café was hardly a convenient place for passionate effusions.
When she politely declined the dessert, a most appetizing rhubarb tart Grace had brought around without even checking – as neither of them had ever refused Grace's scrumptious treats – Sully deduced that Michaela shared his impatience for some privacy. From the knowing look and mischievous smile their friend gave them before returning to serve her last customers, he knew that Grace was not offended... not too much anyway.
They left the table, silent once again. Once inside the clinic, Michaela began to bustle about, picking up a half-full jar of dried leaves and flowers, to Sully's surprise. Had he read her demeanor wrong?
"Would you like a cup of tea, Sully?" asked Michaela, interrupting his train of thought.
"Uh... why not," he replied, hesitating, before realizing she was making herself a cup of chamomile. "You ain't feelin' too good, 'Chaela?"
"It's nothing, don't worry. However, much as I love Grace's cooking, I'm forced to admit that today's roast was a bit too much for my stomach... not to mention the emotions of the last few days... And as you know…"
"Chamomile eases digestion and calms the nerves." he recited in a perfect impression of her professional mannerism.
"Exactly!" she beamed, knowing he was not mocking her in a malicious way.
"Good idea, guess a cup would go down nice right now, if it's not too much trouble."
"Not in the least."
Once again, a heavy silence fell, full of unspoken words and furtive glances, as they sipped their teas. Neither could summon the will to take their leave, and neither dared to express what was in their hearts: Sully for fear of frightening her, Michaela for fear of shocking him with her audacity, and worse, that he might think she was stringing him along. The last thing she wanted was to be seen as a wanton woman, a tease, by the man she loved, thereby losing his respect… Yet, he had made plain that he enjoyed her physical demonstrations of affection. When the time came to prove him that she really did trust him, and that her trust overruled her fears, would she have enough courage and resolution to go through with it?
And what if that time had come? What if this afternoon was an opportunity for them to maybe test the waters, find out if they could make it work? She made a quick calculation: she was at the end of her cycle, the risk of getting pregnant was infinitesimal, even if there was no accounting for some of Mother Nature's whims when it came to a woman's fertility. But in that unlikely event, she probably would not be able to tell until after their wedding day, let alone if they eloped...
"The only thing we're gonna be wonderin' is why we didn't get married sooner," Sully's words echoed in her mind.
Why indeed?
Cloud Dancing had given them three dates that would be favorable to their union: November eighth, January thirty-first, and May twentieth. These dates, however, were based on omens, and on the influence of benevolent spirits on certain days more than others. Cloud Dancing himself had stressed that they were under no obligations whatsoever to comply with any of those dates. It would simply offer an added blessing to their marriage.
They had opted for the latest, largely because Sully was quite adamant about starting their life together in a new homestead, one big enough for their family; eleven months had seemed a reasonable deadline to complete the construction. Neither of them cared about throwing a fancy wedding; they may have had different views on the number of guests, but overall, they both favored a simple gathering of friends and neighbors for the celebration of their love, to the point that Michaela had not given much thought yet to the dress she would like to wear, nor had she planned any kind of backup in case her mother and sisters might not show up. Without Rebecca, she had no matron of honor, in which case she would have to solicit Dorothy. This eventuality seemed more and more likely as the big day drew nearer, and still there was no reply from her mother confirming her arrival: the last letters from Boston related nothing but trivial anecdotes and not-so-subtle allusions to the flower show Mrs. Quinn organized every spring… And with no Mother to loudly voice her disapproval of her youngest daughter's choices, Michaela felt as if part of the shame she had been taught to harbor about her love and desire for a man, and not just any man but her future husband, lift somewhat.
She had to find some pretext to keep Sully from leaving and possibly get him to one of the recovery rooms. That's easy enough.
"Before you go back to the homestead, would you mind taking a look at the bureau in the first recovery room upstairs? One of the drawers gets stuck, and if my family arrives for the wedding..."
"If?"
Michaela sighed, exasperated: "Mother obviously enjoys withholding her definite answer, ever since I wrote back last January that I wanted to get married here, at home with our friends, and that I didn't care about tradition."
"What tradition?"
"The one that states that a proper wedding should be performed where the bride was born... But I'm under no illusions. It's just another excuse for my mother to stage another grand social event and demonstrate to all of Beacon Hill that no one could offer a more decorous wedding for her offspring, while at the same time proving to me that she's more open-minded and forgiving than I give her credit for, despite the constant embarrassment I've caused her."
"Michaela, ain't ya blowin' this outta proportion? Your Ma might not be showin' it like ya'd want her to, but she loves ya, and you love her too, no matter what."
"That's exactly what Sam told me."
"Because it's the truth. If ya didn't care about your ma, ya wouldn't give a damn 'bout what she thinks of me, of us gettin' married. And ya gotta remember, your ma's never known any other way to think, to live, so ya can't put all the blame on her for havin' those ideas about what she thinks is best for ya. She still sees you as her little girl... If we're lucky enough to have a child, ya'll see firsthand how hard it is to stop thinkin' of her as the little baby you once held in your arms, even when she's all grown up."
"I've already had a taste of it with Charlotte's children, Matthew especially."
"See? All right, let's have a look at that drawer." He kissed her on the cheek as he passed, and climbed the stairs, having regained his customary casualness. Truth be told, he was glad to have a reason to linger a few minutes longer, though he could not have explained why he was finding it so difficult to tear himself away from Michaela's presence. Was it because they had finally laid to rest grievances they had merely swept under the carpet before? He certainly felt as if he'd just gone through a cleansing ritual and was amused to picture these pre-marital counseling sessions as the white-man version of the purification ceremony, when the bride and groom were forced to reveal their complaints and grudges. However, Sully thought that the Reverend's way, though it had ultimately achieved its goal, still left a great deal to be desired.