Between Earth and Sky(80)

She turned from him toward the fire. Her fingers had regained some feeling, but her skin still stung with the cold. She removed the quilt from her shoulders and held it out in front of her, hoping the flames would dry it some before she had to venture back into the snow.

grew silent. She glanced back at him over her shoulder. The cheer had vanished from his face, but so, too, had the fury. With one long stride, he was beside her. He grabbed the quilt from her hands, flung it to the ground, and pulled her against his chest. When their lips met, she could feel his emotions spilling forth in their kiss—rage, sorrow, desire. Her heart bounded, at once urging her to flee and commanding her to stay. He slipped a hand between their bodies, grazing her breast on his way to the knot that fastened her housecoat. His other hand remained on the small of her back, pinning her against him. With each beat, her heart continued to battle—go, stay, go, stay. His lips moved from her mouth down her neck, wet and hot against her skin.

Go. Stay.

Within a minute, his deft fingers had pried apart the knot and both hands worked to disrobe her of her housecoat. He tugged the paisley ribbon from her braid and freed her dampened hair.

Go. Stay.

Her steadfast feet answered for her; her hands, moving to unbutton his shirt as he unfastened the top of her nightgown.

He pulled her to the ground atop the quilt and shrugged free of his coat and shirt. The fire continued to crackle and sputter beside them, casting a tawny glow on the wooden beams and dirt surrounding them. Outside, she could hear the wind howl. It ruffled the frayed window coverings and blew a few glimmering snowflakes beneath the door.

hands traveled up her legs, pushing back the hem of her nightgown. Her skin tingled with his touch. His weight pressed against her. She closed her eyes and held her breath. Her body clenched at the initial wave of pain, then slowly relaxed. Their first movements were awkward, hesitant. Where to brace her legs; where to rest his elbow. Then their bodies found a common rhythm, and she arched into his embrace. The smell of sawdust lingered on his skin. Her tongue tasted the saltiness of his sweat as they kissed. Everything she had felt that day—all her fear and anger—receded to his touch.

Afterward, they lay side by side staring at the swirl of smoke escaping through the chimney hole. Alma knew she should feel guilty. This was not what good women did. She pushed down the hem of her nightgown and fastened the collar, but her movements were half-hearted, her capacity for guilt besieged by bliss.

rolled toward her. He propped himself up on one elbow and traced her collarbone with his free hand. “In Menominee culture, long ago, before the white priests came with their religion, a girl’s aunt or grandmother looked of the other clans for a suitable boy for her.”

“Why?”

“It’s forbidden to marry within one’s own clan. If the old women saw a boy they liked, they would speak with his family and arrange the match. Then the boy’s family would take food and deerskins to the girl’s family.”

Alma’s stomach fluttered. “And then?”

shrugged and kissed her throat. “Then she returned with the boy’s family to her new home.”

“That’s it? No priest or elder? No formal ceremony?”

“No.” rolled onto his back, resting his head atop his interlaced fingers. He lay quiet for several moments, then broke into laughter. “What would your father do if I brought him deerskins and say I was taking you for my wife?”

“I don’t know, but Mother would kill you.”

His laughter ebbed to silence. “I’ll do it white man way, then.”

Both panic and delight sprang inside her. She sat up and studied him. His dark eyes held a smile, but the rest of his face was serious. “You shouldn’t joke about such things.”

“You don’t want to be wife of an Indian?”

“No, that’s not it. I—”

He pulled her against his chest and began to nibble her neck.

“Stop! Stop,” she said between giggles. “You’ll leave a mark.”

Rolling atop her and pinning her arms, he continued until water ran from her eyes.

Breathless and still laughing, she shouted out, “Of course I want to marry you!”

He stopped and leaned over her, hands on either side of her chest. His chin-length hair hung around his face, a thick black curtain obscuring his expression in shadow. She reached up and tucked the strands behind his ears. The glow of the firelight twinkled in his eyes. She no longer felt the cold of the storm, nor registered the cry of the wind, as if the world had shrunk to encircle only them.

“I’m saving every dollars I get. Some I send home. There’s never enough food in the winter. Much fighting with the agent over our timber. . .” His eyes narrowed, clouded by thoughts beyond their warm little world. She trailed her hand over his cheek and along the taut muscles of his neck. His necklace swayed in the air between them like the lazy pendulum of a clock in need of winding. She ran her fingers down the strand of smooth quill and shiny black stones. When she reached the beaded medallion at its end, she tugged slightly.

blinked and his eyes cleared. He bent down and kissed her. “In springtime, , I’ll have enough moneys to speak my intentions to your father. The way.”

A niggling unease lurked beside her joy. Her father would consent, but her mother? The drama she would make of it! Alma pushed the thought away and drew his face down to kiss her again.