As some may be aware "The Wedding Night" came from an urge to visualize these two married at last. I was not prepared for what I saw. And so, this new writing experience came into being from a one shot... to a set of bedroom vignettes to a post-marriage novel I never intended but now think is so wonderful I want to publish and sell it. And I believe doing so may solve marital troubles in others lives as it's done in ours.
It struck me that through certain scenes these two characters were not only finally exploring each other, but beginning to bring their love into other areas of their home. In this way they could provide more sacred memories in order to heal the past. Association with bad experiences tend to keep most people away from almost anything: songs, certain individuals, choice of media, and certainly places.
How Barnabas and Josette could embody their home with the love it required was to create new and better experiences, however intimate, into these zones. Couples do get a bit of thrill passing by certain areas they've made love in, not just the bedroom, of course. That's when I realised there was one place that needed to be cleansed in this way beyond all others. So, I would deeply appreciate some commentary on this chapter. Very curious if it's hit that mark. I find it quite profound.
A Warm Night On Widows Hill
Tony Peterson and Carolyn Stoddard had been relaxing late one evening on a bench near Widow's Hill. The breeze was thin and this couple has been enjoying a bit of sensitive groping over and under their jackets. As one can imagine, the romantic tragedy of that place can bring a kind of terror that sparks certain yearnings to those in love. Of course, they settled in from holding hands, to making out, to certain second-base activities… until… as he dipped to kiss this blonde maiden of his already dazzled admiration and enjoyment, Mr. Peterson's eyes wandered toward the cliff and noticed movement, like two animals wrestling twenty feet from the edge. His lips came free due to his concerned stare in the distance.
"What is it, Tony?" Carolyn asked, almost out of breath, "what's stopping you?"
"I—think…" he raised himself back to sitting position and adjusted the lapels on his somewhat ruffled coat, "… there… is… someone over there…"
Carolyn sat up in turn and gasped at the sight. "Hmm, that's rather far away from where we're sitting… but, even under blankets… I think I know who…" Her voice trailed off in uncertain dismay.
"Meeee too," Tony Peterson responded, "and I'm not… sure… we… should… be…"
"Watching them?" Carolyn said, beginning to smile, "well, it won't cool us off to do so, that's for sure!"
"I, well," Tony uttered, "haven't they been married for a while now? You'd think the honeymoon age would have tempered down at this point."
"Not with those two," Carolyn started to giggle, "They've been waiting QUITE a while, so I've gathered."
"Mmm-hmmm," he speculated with a winsome grin, "you did belt out to have them married with no opposition at the time, didn't you?"
Carolyn chuckled, "I sure as hell did! My cousin Barnabas has been so lost he was making certain advances toward me and that was more than enough to know he needed her. They were meant for each other and they've been confused in their past long enough... Although... for right now? I'm still tempted by a few ideas..."
Tony looked to Carolyn and shared her amusement, "Carolyn Stoddard. You certainly are sounding mischievous right now. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"Likely," she answered, "but let's just think it. Besides, I'm sure they'd hear us creeping up if we were to play such a prank. AND I don't have a whoopee cushion stashed away in my pocket, doyou?"
He stretched himself up and took the hand of his lady fair, "They must be out here for more than it being a warm night. Best leave them to it."
And, of course, Tony Peterson was correct.
The evening had started, much the same as most. David's studies had long concluded, and dining had commenced. Drinks before the fire at Collinwood had gathered a few of us to talk of old times… some bad memories, but more good ones that had been happening, which was such a comfort.
Barnabas and I slowly roamed back home to The Old House, and we caught a glimpse of Willie Loomis walking hand in hand with his sweetheart through the woods. They were so fetching, and clearing the air of those places that had been plagued with sacrilege and savage deeds. His final understanding of love, I thought, watching the two walking through the brush and trees was an amazing accomplishment I could only put to him.
"Well," said my Mr. Collins, "that is a sight. It's very warm tonight, indeed. Good to see him calming down."
"Or rather," I added, "getting worked up?"
We continued into the house. He closed the door and I offered my arm for him to take. The warmth of his gaze stirred my soul with wonder. Now I have him... I do... at last. We strolled in together, the hearth already aglow and I thought of that night together on the floor in front of it. How precious and adoring he had been toward my body, my names, my soul. As we sat ourselves down upon the davenport, I expected us to simply hold close, and I to rest my head upon his shoulder. It started out that way, and he stroked my head. But something in that first kiss, when I rolled my head on his shoulder to face him, lit a thrill of adventure and the next thing I knew, it had turned passionate. I wrapped my arms around his neck and shoulders as we went on and felt his hands massage the top most sides of my ribs just below my arms. It only made matters worse as I thought mad things.
"Somewhere else needs to be cleansed," I breathed as our lips parted.
"Where, my dearest?" his kind voice breathing over my cheeks.
"Would you allow me my choice?"
"Anything, anything at all for you," he answered, stroking my face and hair.
"A bad place, a tragic edge by the sea," I said.
He seemed to stop breathing as he stared at me. An indefinable look crossed his face, "Maggie Evans," he finally said, "You can't mean that."
"Why not," I ventured, staring him down, "we've already kissed there."
His hands rested on my shoulders and he brought his chin in, looking up at me, "I don't want to disappoint you… but I don't exactly share your enthusiasm for it. Besides, it's dangerous."
"For us as we are now?" I asked, lowly.
"That's a lot to ask," he answered, just as low.
"You forget, mon démon, I'm the one who's asking. And it's a lot for me to brave asking."
"You've always been brave, my dearest."
"And you haven't?" I kissed him, tenderly.
"One doesn't wish to boast," he sighed with a smile.
I took his head in my hands, resting two fingers around both of his ears, "I dare you, Barnabas Collins. I dare you to make love with me on Widow's Hill."
To this, I saw a blink, with some sparkle of anticipation. Then he threw a fervent kiss into me as his answer.
Of course I wasn't about to ask anyone to retrieve the blankets we'd need, nor was I going to ask him to carry them there, but I managed well enough in my determination. He walked smoothly, cane in one hand and a small lantern in the other as he strode, hardly a frolic, but I amused myself with the idea of him as a boy doing so. I didn't want to go too close to the edge, but I walked to a spot where I'd held consultation with myself over all these events many times. He didn't know this. My coming here at any time after everything was sure to lace his thoughts with far too much anxiety.
The sea wind, the lapping waves below this cliff brought more flurries of longing for him as I spread the blankets out. He stood there like a gentle guard over my preparations, sometimes watching me, sometimes out into the dark night over the ocean, and often when I looked up, there was that pained sourness I came to both adore and be uneasy about in his expression. I took the lantern and placed it nearby between two stones.
"Come down, now," I offered, sitting sideways, knees bent and lifting my hand, "don't be afraid."
He took my hand, sloped down his cane with the other and kneeled before me, as though at the altar of something precious. "If I put this place out of my mind, perhaps all will be well."
"That's not what I want," I told him, "it has to be here. We have to be here. Or we won't have learned a thing."
A soft half-lidded glow came from his eyes. A full moon made this obvious as the cloud before it drifted away. (Hearing a canine howl I had to repress a simper in thinking of the wolf whose blood I'd taken many nights ago. I hoped, in spirit, he was at peace somewhere, too.)
"How do you propose we uncover ourselves here, my darling? Someone could come by at any moment."
"I know," I marvelled, raising an eyebrow, "doesn't that excite you?"
"If you're here to… protect me," he smiled.
"As I did by your sick bed ages ago?" I returned.
"Do you want me to be gentle?" he breathed, closing in for my lips.
"Yes," I exhaled, kissing him, "and… no."
It seemed quick at the time, but we were cautious. No need to pop off buttons and lose them in the grass. These starlit heavens knew at least one sock would go astray. We heartily removed each other's clothing between the blankets. When I removed his shirt and beheld his smooth shoulders I didn't want to wait. We kissed between articles undone, and he reached for me, feeling the pounding in my chest to easily discover just how much my heart craved him then.
As the inhalations came from us of this change, our sidelong unity bringing warmth and breadth to our love on this legendary ground becoming fable, I stroked his ribs with the tips of my fingers. When I wasn't on his lips, I took his neck and his chest close to me, inhaling his cherished scent and that mixture between the two of us. I found myself asking, would a child ever come of our union and would it have the scent of that mixture between us? That would be the request between the sexual, the sacred, and the blend of its exquisite purpose, wouldn't it?
I moved to rise above him and he turned on his back to help this as we inhaled the salty air, cooler here, of course, than at home, but still a good night for it all which was dearly needed on this very spot. We pressed together, and I thought of how much desire I'd diminished when I was so fearful and lost my way here long ago. But it had all come back to me again, this inner devoir to fasten myself to him as I was doing now. Hips colliding, folds opening, destiny entrapping us in assenting flower.
Running my hands along his chest, I kissed and he responded, his subtle groans mixing with the oceans echo, splashing on the rocks below… rocks I'd known too intimately. Now, at last, I knew him intimately instead. I met his lips and thanked all between worlds of spirit and soul for allowing this to finally happen. That fluttery sensation arrested my innards and raced along my limbs.
The fear of those days, the pain of what happened was slowly replaced with this enactment of desire. I leant down now, bringing my arms around him and veering myself down, stroked his face with my own and kissed him deeply, tongues touching lightly. His arms around me, we writhed upon each other in both sweet need and satisfaction. The waves collided as though in time with how we did, and I listened to the gulls make that repetitive call that once struck me as wild chatter, but all I heard in it now was laughter.
At last we rolled and he was astride me, darkly smiling, inly moaning, we continued blissfully, him pressing his mouth along my shoulders, my throat, I grabbing his neck to welcome this and feeling about his leg with my ankle. Our breathing shuddered. I looked to the stars, to the moon, to the night lovingly, and gratefully. At last, through two lives of disappointment, and another of some torment, I was finally home and with him.
We continued toward the time we'd complete each other in a rapture divine and shaky. My mouth beamed in a smile. He halted, caressing me around the ear and speaking softly, "I understand now… a new experience, a new memory to wipe out the old and make this place beautiful… like you… Josette."