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I cannot bear children.
The words spoken seconds ago floated on the air and drifted to the floor like feathers, allowing him time to follow them down to his feet and stare in quiet disbelief. Had he heard her correctly? He lifted his eyes to hers and his chest went tight. The agony in her sweet face brought his arms around her before he knew next what to do or what to say.
He cradled her against him, and there, as if in the safety of his embrace she could finally be free, she wept as if years of pain over the loss of something she wanted and could never have was suddenly brought from its grave, still fleshy and pink with life—not long since dead as it should have been.
His chest constricted and he held her tighter. So, she had no child from her first marriage because she could not have a child. He had only given a fleeting thought to the question of any children she may have had, as he understood there was much he didn’t know of her past. But here was the tormenting answer.
He stroked her hair, memorizing the soft curve of her head as he listened to her choppy breathing and muted cries. Her arms gripped his back and clung to him as if he could relieve the pain within. He cooed in her ear, continuing to sweep his hand over her head and back.
No children? His chest pricked. Never to have a child of his own? Never to hold a babe in his arms, to care for him—or her—to laugh with, love, and train up into maturity? He stopped his stroking and wound his arms around her slight shoulders. Marriage was divine. Though they would not have children, if they could truly love each other, and spend their lives in each other’s service then they would achieve in marriage what so many others never did. A life of love and joy. A life fuller than he’d ever imagined for himself.
She lowered her head and dotted her nose with her apron, then pulled away, keeping her head down. “I didn’t expect to make such a scene.” She sniffed and took another step back. “Forgive me.”
He reached for her cheek and moved his thumb against her skin, still wet from her tears. “There is nothing to forgive.”
Flecks of light brightened her pleading eyes. “You do not hate me for not telling you?”
“Hate you? I could not. Especially when such a thing is not of your doing. God is over all, is He not?” William neared, closing the growing distance between them. “I understood we both had much within—much that could not be spoken.” He trailed his vision around her face and down her neck, lingering on the throbbing pulse at her throat then down to where her neckline dammed her breast. His own pulse
jumped and he spoke to keep it from taking his mind to a place he wasn’t sure she—or he—was prepared to go. “I do not fault you.”
“You do not?” Her voice cracked, weakening his resolve to stay away.
Smoothing an arm around her waist, he closed the remaining gap between them, his body throbbing to fill the sudden void. Let me show you…
He lowered, dusting his lips atop hers, savoring the sound of her breath and the feel of her hands as they inched up his chest.
“I don’t know what to say,” she whispered, her mouth brushing his as she spoke.
He nuzzled her cheek and rested his lips against the tip of her ear when he answered. “Say nothing.”
A quick inhale made her chest rise and he could feel her skin prickle beneath his touch. Masculine pleasure surged and he continued on, leaving a trail of soft kisses along her neck and collarbone. She leaned her head back, imploring him to savor her more and he lost himself. Pulling her hard against him, he kissed her open mouth, consuming her with the sudden heat that roared between them. How long they stood there he knew not. How long before they moved upon the bed for their souls to finally and fully entwine, he cared not—only that they did. This moment, so intimate, so pure, so right, would live with him forever.
Anna’s dainty fingers cupped his face as she lay beside him beneath the quilt. She dotted a slow kiss on his mouth. “William…” Slowly, she stopped, her whispered words like a prayer. “I love you.”
’Twas then the reality crumbled like a rotted wall and the past loomed from his memory, ghostly and dark.
I love you, Henry. I’ll love you until the end of my days.
He clamped his eyes shut, but still the memory wailed. Father has died, Henry, and I have nothing. If I cannot pay the debts I shall be forced to leave for Germany by week’s end. Whatever shall we do? Help me, Henry, please.
“William?”
The quiet sound lifted him from the mire of the past, but his soul was left caked with it. He found her eyes and stared, searching for the same trust he’d seen in them before, seeking for the honest purity to which he’d been drawn. He stared, fighting the consuming battle that warred between his mind and spirit. This was Anna Fredericks, his wife, not the Anna Muhr of the past. This Anna was both gentle and strong as sunshine, resolute like a bud in spring. But what did he really know of her? This one painful secret she’d shared seemed so unfeigned, but how could he be sure she spoke true? Then again, how could he not and why should he doubt her?
Even if this one truth were founded, his mind argued, there was much he still did not know of her. And the years of experience, still fresh in the cracks of his heart, admonished him to be vigilant. She too could be a villain—’twas too early to tell. Opening his soul, giving himself fully to her could be his utter ruin. It could mean his death.
“William…are you well?” Anna’s sweet sound roused him back to the present. “Do you despise me after all?”
Blinking, he forced a smile on his lips. He moved away, his chest aching as he pulled back, unable to leave the sanctity of their embrace without leaving a kiss upon her head. He cleared his throat. “I…there is something I must attend to.”
Her expression paled and he looked away, pained that his sudden change caused her such hurt. For he knew it did—because he hurt just the same. But he couldn’t halt his soul from shredding at the memories. He couldn’t bring himself to hand his heart to one he knew had the potential to destroy the fragile pieces that remained.
He rolled from the bed, dressed, and left, pulling the door shut behind him. On the other side of the wood he shook his hands at his sides, helpless to forget the feel of her smooth skin and hair, or the way she’d whispered, “I love you.” The sun shined in from the window, kneading the knots in his shoulders. There is too much to lose. You do not know her. This chance at a new life was too precious to risk exposing himself. He could not let his guard down and confide in her simply for the sake of love.
Love.
He stopped cold and stared at the wall, allowing the word to drift in and out of his vision. Was such a word not equally dangerous, nay more so, than his work with the patriots? As if smuggling goods sixty miles to Boston was not foolhardy enough…
