John Locke - Now and then

"Truly?"

Jack frowned. "It's not something I wish to think about in any case."

Johanna started crying. Softly at first, and then it began to build.

"You don't love me," she sobbed.

"I barely know you!"

"It always starts with barely knowing," she said, trying to catch her breath between sobs. "Then it grows. Ask anyone."

"You're a child," he said, instantly regretting the remark when he saw the heartbreak in her eyes. A few seconds passed before she exploded into a frenzy of tears, and when it happened, Jack felt awful. But he was a practical man, and what he said couldn't be taken back, so he kissed her forehead and turned away. He walked to the foot of the bed and eased himself to the floor where soon he fell asleep, even as she cried her eyes out a few feet away on the bed.

Four hours later Jack began tossing and turning. He spoke in his sleep of a thin, blond girl from long ago or far away who kept saying her name. Johanna wanted to wake him out of his dream, in case it was a nightmare, but she couldn't afford to make him angry again, not if she intended to get her family started.

And she did so intend.

But getting her family started, as everyone knew, began with the process of rutting.

On the subject of rutting, Johanna knew she had a lot to learn. That men wanted to rut was not a question. But perhaps not all men were like her father, who rutted at night in a violent, angry way after consuming serious quantities of liquor. Maybe her Henry was the type of man who preferred to rut in the morning.

Johanna yawned. She was exhausted from the long day's work, fatigued from crying half the night over Henry's rejection, and these were too many issues for her to ponder. Tomorrow would be another day, a better day, and maybe Henry would wake up refreshed and ready to rut. Johanna closed her eyes and settled into her pillow. She could wait until tomorrow to ask about his dream. Tomorrow morning, after rutting, she'd ask Henry who Libby Vail was.

At that very moment, four miles away in downtown St. Alban's, Pim finally got his sign.

It had taken him well over an hour to stumble the two miles of dark road from Sinner's Row to town, and once there he spied a lodging house a couple of blocks away. As he headed there to get a room he saw a crudely written bulletin nailed to a post. Pim wasn't an accomplished reader, but he'd learned enough of his letters to make out the gist of the announcement: the next morning at noon someone's wife was going to be auctioned off in the town square.

Auctioned off? Someone's wife?

Pim looked up and thanked God for sending such a bold sign. He meant to have a look at this woman, and if she pleased him, buy her.

The next morning Jack was up and out the door before Johanna or any in the family had stirred. He saddled a horse and led it out of the pen. Then he heard a sound that made him look up and stop dead in his tracks: Rose was standing on the roof of the store, her hands stretched upward. He looked around the perimeter of the building but could see no ladder, barrel or box. The height was ten feet, maybe more.

"How'd you get up there?" he said.

"I flew."

"Then fly down. If you jump, I won't be here to catch you this time."

Jack climbed on his horse and barely cleared the yard before her laughter started. He dug his heels into the horse's ribs and bolted through the brush. So fierce was her laughter he could hear it half a mile away. Or maybe it was the earlier laughter still ringing in his ears.

"I'm glad she's not the one in love with me!" he said to his horse.

The river crossing was a mile and a half from George and Marie's, but the path to it was muddy and overgrown with thickets and scrub pines.

When Abby saw him she smiled.

Jack's face and neck had been sliced by foliage. His shoulders and sides ached from the pounding and thwacking of tree branches. He climbed off his horse feeling like he'd been in a bar fight, but a fight that he'd won.

With Abby Winter the prize.

"Each time I've come, you've been here waiting," he said.

"I always know when you're nearby," Abby said. "I can feel it."

They kissed. And kissed again and again, short, happy bursts that often missed the mark and made them laugh.

"Did you also know I was here?" she said.

"I hoped you would be, but had you not, I would have whistled."

"My father sleeps soundly, though my mother might have heard."

"It's best to keep our doings quiet," Jack said.

Abby put a finger to his lips. "No longer," she said.

"Excuse me?"

"Much has happened since last we met. And I have great good news!"

"You do?"

"Yes. I'm apt to burst from waiting to share it!"

"Then do so, please."

Abby took a deep breath. As she let it out her eyes danced. "We're getting married!"

Jack stood there, his smile frozen on his face.

"Who is?"

She looked at him like he had two heads. "Why, you and I, of course!"

Jack felt as though he'd been chucked in the head with a yardarm.

"What's wrong?" she said.

"Did you speak of marriage? You've caught me by surprise."

Abby smiled. "It's the perfect time. Nay, sir, it's the only time."

Jack cocked his head quizzically. "But how can this be the only time?"

"My mother's being sold today."

"She's… what?"

Abby sighed. "Being sold. Today."

"Sold? You don't mean sold. What's the word you're seeking?"

"The only word I'm seeking is the one I used. She's to be sold in the town square at noon today, and that's a fine fact."

"Do you mean to say you can actually sell your wife to another man in these Florida colonies?"

"Well of course you can! Where have you been?"

"And you don't need her permission?"

"Well of course you need her permission! How can you not know these things? Are you not related to Mayor Shrewsbury?"

Jack paused. "In a round about manner of speaking, yes."

"Well the connection wasn't so 'round about' the last time we met, was it?"

"The connection to Mayor Shrewsbury is a bit fuzzy, but there is one. In general."

"Then you should know about these things. How can you not?"

"These ideas regarding the selling of wives never came up."

"Perhaps they did and you forgot."

Jack doubted that.

"So," he said. "How much will she fetch?"

"What?" She slapped his face. "Why? Do you mean to marry me, plow me like a field and sell me to some degenerate scallywag?"

"Why, no!"

"Well then, we need to move this thing along. I've been waiting day and night for your return, with no means of contacting you to tell you my news."

"About your mother being sold?"

"No, you nit! About this!" She pulled her night shirt high enough to accommodate his hand, and helped him feel her belly. Before he could recoil in horror, she lifted his hand higher, and pressed it to her swollen breasts. What was it about these St. Alban's women? Last night Johanna, now Abby. To Jack it seemed to be raining titties! He'd never felt so many breasts in such a short period of time. Of course, while Abby Winter's breasts were only three years older than Johanna's, there was clearly a difference to the touch, and it was this difference that stirred something in Jack.

Which is how she got the swelling in the first place.

Abby looked radiant, and Jack's heat was all consuming. "Can we…"

She looked around. "Not here. Walk with me a bit."

"But I…"

"Walk with me. It's not far."

Jack forced his thoughts elsewhere as they walked toward the brush on the far side of the crossing.

"What about your father?" he said, searching for a way to extricate himself from the possibility of marriage. "Surely we'd need his blessing?"

"He's not my father, he's my step-father and he means to marry me the moment he's sold my Mum. Then I'll be slaving for this pig of a man even as he ruts and beats me half to death."