The Endless Forest
Page 117

He was her husband, but Martha had no intention of stripping down for him in the Allens’ kitchen. Once the bath was filled with steaming water she banished him, and then she eased down into it inch by inch, drawing in a hissing breath as the heat reached those places that were raw and sore and still, oddly enough, pleasantly aching. Her hair smelled of Daniel. There were other, more practical reasons not to wash it just now, and she listed those for herself. Better to wait until they got home.
Home, to Paradise. Martha rested her head against the edge of the tub, closed her eyes, and for the first time let herself think about what was to come.
Would they go directly to Uphill House? It seemed likely. Almost certainly his family would be waiting for them to do just that. His very large, very opinionated family who had done her so many good turns. Hannah, Ben, Luke, Jennet, Lily, Simon, Gabriel, Annie, and Birdie. Ethan, who had been her teacher. His brothers and sisters, his cousin, father, and mother—who had taught her how to read and write and work long division. His people, and now hers too.
And at some point, when she was ready, Jemima.
From the doorway Daniel called to her. “Do you need any help?”
She drew in a deep sigh. The temptation was great, but bigger still was the fear that Mrs. Allen would come home after all to find them—
“No,” she said. “I’m on my way upstairs now.”
It was the most self-indulgent, decadent thing imaginable, but Martha did it. Wrapped in towels she went back to bed in the middle of the day, climbed up the steps to burrow under sheets and coverlets, soft and fragrant.
Daniel sat beside her on the edge of the bed. He looked very serious, but that wasn’t what she was hoping for from him, not just now.
“Won’t you come—rest?” Her voice cracked, and that made him grin.
When they were lying side by side with the storm still howling all around them, Daniel took her hand and folded their fingers together. It was a comforting thing, and Martha found herself on the brink of tears, for no good reason at all.
Daniel said, “This is nice.”
It was. It was wonderful, in fact.
“Nobody knows where we are,” Martha said. “We might as well be on Mr. Defoe’s island, cast away.”
“You like the idea?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I like the idea of a few days of quiet and rest.”
“Just the two of us.”
“Yes.”
“A wedding trip. A honeymoon, is that what it’s called?”
“Oh, no,” Martha said. “A honeymoon is hard work, for the bride most especially.”
He barked a surprised laugh.
Martha pressed her mouth hard and said, “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“Fine,” Daniel said. “Tell me what you did mean.”
He would wait for her answer and so Martha began, a little grumpily. “In Manhattan when young people go off on a wedding trip, their time is hardly their own. They have to call on any and every relation within twenty miles all along the way, and sit in parlors and try not to look bored when all they want is—”
The corner of his mouth jerked.
“All they want is some quiet time together.”
“And how do you know this?”
She turned onto her side to look at him. “Girls talk to each other.”
“Of course you do. About kissing.”
Martha felt herself coloring but she was determined to hold on to her dignity. “Among other things.”
Now she had his interest.
“Such as?”
Her irritation was about to get the upper hand. She said, “You’re asking me to betray confidences.”
“I’m asking you to confide in me.”
She pushed herself up on one elbow. “Since we seem to have run aground on this topic, I should be able to ask you the same things.”
One brow arched. “What do you want to know?”
“Well,” Martha said slowly. She lay back down and concentrated on the canopy overhead. “Where did you learn all—that. The things you know. I can’t imagine you sitting around with Gabriel and Blue-Jay, talking about such things.”
“Oh, men talk,” Daniel said.
For some reason Martha was irritated by this. “You are saying that you know what you know—you learned what you know—from listening to other men talk about what they do with their wives?”
“Hell no,” Daniel said. “I don’t want to hear what Gabriel gets up to behind closed doors.”
“Well then, where—” she broke off. “Never mind. I don’t think I want to know.”
There was a long silence. A full minute, by Martha’s reckoning.
Daniel said, “You do want to know. Admit it.”
“Not every curiosity has to be satisfied.”
“Oh, but some do. Some curiosities beg to be satisfied.”
She put her face into the pillow and screamed.
When she came up for air he said, “I’ll tell you, you know. I don’t mind.”
Very calmly, with all the dignity she could muster, Martha said, “Your history is your business alone.”
“In great detail, if you care to hear.”
She glared at him and he raised one brow in response. It made him look disreputable, with his beard stubble and tousled hair. It made her want to slap him, or run away and hide, or laugh. She said, “There is something very unsettling about this side to your personality.”