Carrie

September 1856

 

 

 

William, my darling, in token of our love, I offer you this memory of our last night together written in a small sketchbook that I will give you when I rescue you from Henry Clark and his bloody band of murderers. In defiance of Henry Clark, I offer you us together in our bed. I offer you that single, perfect night when we made love and did not see into the future.

Do you remember it? August 29, 1856. We lay together in our cabin at Two Rivers, new curtains at the windows, candle lit, our boy asleep on his pallet. Do you remember Teddy’s face in the candlelight, the innocence and sweetness of him? You took such good care of him and loved him so well, and he loved you so much in return. Do you remember how soundly he slept that night? I don’t think he will ever sleep as soundly again.

It was hot. We lay on top of the quilt I had made from scraps of old dresses Nettie Wiggins gave me. I ripped those dresses to pieces when I found out she was having an affair with Deacon, but I kept some of the scraps. They were silk and beautiful and hard to part with. Perhaps I suspected someday I would need to make a quilt for our bed.

It was a light quilt, soft as a cloud. I was glad I had saved it from the fire that burned our home in Lawrence, and I can still remember the caress of it on my flesh mixed with the caress of your hands as you made love to me. When you touched me, I always came alive in a special way. Even before I lost the baby fat from giving birth to Teddy, you always made me feel like a beautiful, sleek wild animal.

That night, as we began, I closed my eyes and imagined the two of us together lying in a double hammock by the banks of the Rio Branco under trees laced with purple orchids. I felt the heat of the tropical sun on my skin and heard the jungle singing. Jungles sing, you know. They hum day and night, alive with frogs, and insects, and birds. That’s what I heard when we began to make love: that soft song beating against my ears. When I opened my eyes I realized it was the beating of your heart.

You always brought the jungle to me even in Kansas, even in the dead of winter. But on that last summer night before so many terrible things happened, the jungle was already waiting for me before we lay down. I often thought of you as a tiger turning me in great soft paws, rolling me over and over, loving me. But I thought of you as yourself, too, as a man. I loved the hardness of your arms, the hair on your chest, the soft brush of your beard against my face.

I loved the way you looked at me as we made love. You were sweet and passionate, fierce and gentle. You took me with a pleasure that sometimes seemed half-mad, yet at the same time you never once hurt me or forgot me or left me behind. We were always together, always equals the way we had been ever since we were children. Not many men can carry that off, but you could, and I loved you for it.

Do you remember our shadows on the walls? How they took on color in the candlelight? Do you remember putting your hand over my mouth so I would not wake our boy? Do you remember how I opened myself to you, threw my legs around you, loved you with all my strength and heart? How I bit you on the shoulder in passion and then apologized, and how you laughed and whispered, “Bite me again, my love; bite all you want.”

Do you remember how many times I relaxed and rested against you, only to find peace replaced by passion? Do you remember the sounds you made, how you had to bite your own lips to keep from crying out? Were two people ever better matched in desire? Did two people ever love each other more or love each other longer without their love fading or going stale?

Each time with you was like the first. No, each time was better than the first, better than the one before. Our love constantly grew stronger. That was our secret.

We were both blind that night. Blind and blessed. Henry Clark had already found us, but we did not know it. We did not know we would never again be able to look at our sleeping boy without feeling an urge to take him in our arms and defend him.

When we lay back satisfied from our lovemaking, when we curled up in each other’s arms, when we whispered our good-nights and kissed our last kiss, we did not suspect what the next day would bring.

I remember dreaming the most ordinary dreams. Butter un-churned. Dishes not washed. Teddy eating oatmeal. Long grass swaying. Sunflowers, cicadas, walls of green hemp.