Кристин Ханна - The Four Winds

I dreamed of you.

Meet me tonight.

Had she answered him? Or had she just stood there, mute? She couldn’t remember.

But here she was, standing all alone in front of an abandoned barn.

Fool that she was.

There would be hell to pay if she got caught.

She stepped forward, her brown oxford heels crunching on tiny stones on the road. The barn loomed up before her, the peak of the roof seeming to get caught on the fishhook moon. Slats were missing; fallen boards lay scattered.

Elsa hugged herself as if she were cold, but in truth she was uncomfortably warm.

How long did she stand there? Long enough to begin to feel sick to her stomach. She was about to give up when she heard a car engine. She turned, saw a pair of headlights coming down the road.

Elsa was so shocked she couldn’t move.

He was driving too fast, being reckless. Gravel spit out from the tires. His horn blared: ah ooh gah.

He must have jumped on the brake, because the truck fishtailed to a stop. Dust rose up around him.

Rafe jumped out of the car in a hurry. “Els,” he said, grinning, producing a bouquet of purple and pink flowers.

“Y-you brought me flowers?”

He reached into the cab and produced a bottle. “And some gin!”

Elsa had no idea how to respond to either.

He handed her the flowers. She looked into his eyes, and she thought, This . She would pay any price for it.

“I want you, Els,” he whispered.

She followed him into the back of the truck.

The quilts were already spread out. Elsa smoothed them a little and lay down. Only a thin thread of light came from the scythed moon.

Rafe lay down beside her.

She felt his body along hers, heard his breathing.

“Did you think about me?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Me, too. About you, I mean. About this.” He began unbuttoning her bodice.

Fire where he touched her. An unraveling. She couldn’t still herself, couldn’t hide it.

He pushed her dress up and pulled her bloomers down and she felt the night air on her skin. All of it aroused her, the air on her skin, her own nakedness, the way he was breathing.

She longed to touch him, taste him, tell him where she wanted—needed—to be touched, but fear of humiliation kept her silent. Anything she said was bound to be wrong, unladylike, and she wanted so much to make him happy.

Before she was ready, he was inside of her, thrusting hard, groaning. Seconds later, he collapsed on top of her, shuddering, breathing quickly.

He whispered something unintelligible into her ear. She hoped it was romantic.

Elsa touched the stubble of beard along his jaw. Her touch was so soft and tenuous that she didn’t think he felt it.

“I will miss you, Els,” he said.

Elsa brought her hand back quickly. “Where are you going?”

He opened the bottle of gin and took a long drink, then handed it to her. “My folks are making me go to college.” He rolled onto his side and rested his head on one hand and stared at her as she took a stinging, fiery drink and clamped a hand over her mouth.

He took another drink. “My mom wants me to graduate from college so I’ll be a real American. Or something like that.”

“College,” she said wistfully.

“Yeah. Stupid, huh? I don’t need book learning. I want to see Times Square and the Brooklyn Bridge and Hollywood. Learn by doing . See the world.” He took another drink. “What do you dream of, Els?”

She was so surprised to be asked, it took her a moment to answer. “Having a child, I guess. Maybe a home of my own.”

He grinned. “Heck, that don’t count. A woman wanting a baby is like a seed wanting to grow. What else?”

“You’ll laugh.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

“I want to be brave,” she said, almost too softly to be heard.

“What scares you?”

“Everything,” she said. “My grandfather was a Texas Ranger. He used to tell me to stand up and fight. But for what? I don’t know. It sounds silly when I say it out loud…”

She felt his gaze on her and hoped the night was kind to her face.

“You ain’t like any other girl I know,” he said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

“When do you leave?”

“August. That gives us some time. If you’ll meet me again.”

Elsa smiled. “Yes.”

She would take whatever she could get from Rafe and pay whatever price there was for it. Even going to hell. He’d made her feel more beautiful in one minute than the rest of the world had in twenty-five years.

FOUR

By mid-August, the flowers in the few hanging planters and window boxes in downtown Dalhart were scorched and leggy. Fewer merchants could find the energy to prune and water in this heat, and the flowers wouldn’t last much longer either way. Mr. Hurst waved listlessly as Elsa passed him on her way home from the library.

As Elsa opened the gate, the cloying, sickeningly sweet scent of the garden overpowered her. She clamped a hand over her mouth but there was no way to hold back her sickness. She vomited on her mother’s favorite American Beauty roses.

Elsa kept dry-heaving long after there was nothing left in her stomach. Finally, she wiped her mouth and straightened, feeling shaky.

She heard a rustling beside her.

Mama was kneeling in the garden, wearing a woven sun hat and an apron over her cotton day dress. She set down her clippers and got to her feet. The pockets of her gardening apron bulged with cuttings. How was it that the thorns didn’t bother her?

“Elsa,” Mama said, her voice surprisingly sharp. “Didn’t you get sick a few days ago?”

“I’m fine.”

Mama pulled off her gloves, one finger at a time, as she walked toward Elsa.

She laid the back of her hand against Elsa’s forehead. “You’re not fevered.”

“I’m fine. It’s just an upset stomach.”

Elsa waited for Mama to speak. It was obvious she was thinking something; her face was drawn into a frown, which was something she tried never to do. A lady doesn’t reveal emotions, was one of her favorite adages. Elsa had heard it every time she’d cried from loneliness or begged to be allowed to go to a dance.

Mama studied Elsa. “It couldn’t be.”

“What?”

“Have you dishonored us?”

“What?”

“Have you been with a man?”

Of course Mama could see Elsa’s secret. Every book Elsa had ever read romanticized the mother-daughter bond. Even if Mama didn’t always show her love (affection being another thing a lady should conceal), Elsa knew how bound they were.

She reached out for her mother’s hands, took them in her own, felt her mother’s instinctive flinch. “I’ve wanted to tell you. I have. I’ve been so alone with these feelings that confuse me. And he—”

Mama wrenched her hands back.

Elsa heard the gate creak open and snap shut in the quiet that had settled in between Elsa and her mother.

“Good Lord, women, why are you standing out in this vexing heat? Surely a glass of cold tea would be the ticket.”

“Your daughter is expecting,” Mama said.

“Charlotte? It’s about durn time. I thought—”

“No,” Mama snapped. “Elsinore.”

“Me?” Elsa said. Expecting?

It couldn’t be true. She and Rafe had only been together a few times. And each coupling had been so fast. Over almost before it began. Surely no child could come from that.

But what did she know of such things? A mother didn’t explain sex to her daughter until the wedding day, and Elsa had never had a wedding, so her mother had never spoken to her of passion or having children, it having been assumed Elsa would never experience any of it. All Elsa knew of sex and procreation came from novels. And, frankly, details were scarce.