Darkest Hour (Cutler 5)

"No need," Bill said. "First, I'll show my new bride the room and then I'll come back and get some of our things."

"Oh, want me to help you with that?" Mr. Dobbs asked.

> "No need," Bill said. "I got plenty of energy tonight," he added. He took my hand and headed toward the stairway.

"Well now, sleep tight and don't let the bedbugs bite," Mr. Dobbs called after us.

"We ain't got no bedbugs, Horace Dobbs," his wife snapped. "And never have."

"Just kidding, Mother. Just kidding," he mumbled, and hurried away.

"Congratulations," Mrs. Dobbs called to us before following her husband. Bill nodded and continued to lead me up the stairs.

The room was pleasant. It had a brass bed with ornate designs on the poles and headboard, a wide mattress covered with a flowery pattern quilt and two enormous matching pillows. The windows were done in bright blue-and-white cotton curtains. The hard-wood floor looked as though it had been polished and polished to bring out its natural sheen. There was a soft-looking, cream wool rug under the bed. Both night tables had brass oil lamps.

"The scene of the seduction," Bill announced gleefully. "How do you like it?"

"It's very nice," I had to admit. Why take my unhappiness out on the Dobbses, I thought, or this cozy little house.

"I got an eye for these things," he bragged. "It's the hotel owner's blood at work. I was driving along, thinking about our first night and as soon as I set eyes on this place, I stepped down on the brakes and made the arrangements. I don't usually put myself out to please a woman, you know."

"According to the minister, I'm not just any woman to you anymore. He did mention the words husband and wife," I said dryly. Bill laughed and showed me where the bathroom was located in the hallway.

"I'll go down and bring up your bag and my own while you make yourself comfortable," he said, nodding toward the bed, "and ready." He ran the tip of his tongue from one side of his mouth to the other and then turned and rushed downstairs.

I sat down on the bed and folded my hands on my lap. My heart was beginning to thump in anticipation. In moments I would have to surrender myself to a man I hardly knew. He would learn the most intimate details of my body. I had been telling myself all along that I could get through this by closing my eyes and pretending Bill Cutler was Niles, but now that I was here and it was only moments before it would begin, I realized it would be impossible to shut out the reality and replace it with a dream. Bill Cutler was not the sort of man who would be denied.

I looked down and saw my fingers were trembling. My knees wanted to knock together; my eyes wanted to pour out their tears. The little girl in me wanted to plead for mercy, to cry for Mommy. What was I going to do? Should I beg my new husband to be gentle and kind and give me more time? Should I confess all the horrors of my life and seek his compassion?

Another part of me shouted No, loud and clear. Bill Cutler was not the sort of man who would understand and care; he was not a Southern gentleman in any sense of the words. Old Henry's words of wisdom came back to me: "A branch that doesn't bend with the wind breaks." I sucked in my breath and swallowed back my cries. Bill Cutler would see no fear in my face, no tears in my eyes. Yes, the wind blew me from one place to another, and there was seemingly nothing to do about it, but that didn't mean I had to wail and moan. I would move faster than the wind. I would bend harder. I would make the devilish wind look inadequate, and I would take charge of my own destiny.

By the time Bill returned to our honeymoon bedroom with our bags, I was undressed and under the blanket. He paused in the doorway, his eyes full of surprise. I knew he had been anticipating resistance, even hoping for it just so he could lord it over me.

"Well, now," he said, putting the bags aside. "Well, now." He prowled around me, a cat on the stalk, ready to spring. "Don't you look inviting?"

I wanted to say, let's get it over with, but I kept my lips sealed and followed him with my eyes. He pulled off his tie and literally attacked his clothes, impatient with buttons and zippers. I had to admit he was a fine-looking man, slim and muscular. The way I studied him took him aback and he paused before he lowered his shorts.

"You don't have the face of a virgin," he said. "You look a little too wise, too calm."

"I never said I was a virgin," I replied. His mouth fell open and his eyes widened.

"What?"

"You never said you were a virgin either, did you?" I asked pointedly.

"Now look here. Your daddy told me—"

"Told you what?" I asked, very interested.

"Told me . . . told me . . ." He stuttered. "That you never had any beaux, that you were . . . untouched. We made a deal. We . . ."

"Papa didn't know much about what went on at The Meadows. He was usually off gambling and carousing," I said. "Why? Do you want to bring me back now?"

"Huh?" He was dumbfounded for a moment.

"All of this excitement has made me a bit drowsy," I said. "I think I'll take a little nap." I turned over, my back to him.

"What?" he said. I smiled to myself and waited. "Just a cotton-picking minute here," he finally declared. "This here is our wedding night. I don't intend to pass it away sleeping."