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“It’s like the Queen’s car,” I replied. “But my, darling, two whole cars to ourselves?”
“Why yes,” he laughed. “It is our honeymoon after all. Even if we are traveling to Charleston on business, I wanted to ensure I had you all to myself.” I couldn’t help but smile at his light tone, taking his hand and leading him into the sleeping car.
“Here?” I asked, sitting myself down on the feather soft mattress. William smirked, undoing his navy coat, gently lowering himself over me until he was on top, eyes blazing green fire. My breath caught in my throat, and desire filled my core.
“Here,” he said, matter of fact. I began to undo the buttons of his linen shirt, reaching up to kiss his neck. His husky laugh vibrated through me, setting my skin ablaze. “Not now, though. Later.” He pulled away from me, buttoning himself up and closing his jacket.
“Maybe a nap is in order for you?” William suggested, kissing my forehead. I pouted, frustrated with his ability to pull away from me when I needed his touch after our distance last night and this morning. I was tired though, more now than ever.
“Alright.” I griped.
“Good. I am going to converse with the crew about our journey. I’ll be back shortly.” He shut the curtains of the bed and left me to my slumber. Sleep was easy, welcoming even and I dreamed.
I could see William behind my eyes, the way his body relaxed while he slept, his features softened and his breathing slow. I could hear the soft hum of music in the background, and just as I went to kiss William’s sleeping lips, he was on top of me, fangs exposed and growling with hunger. My blood turned to frozen slush, my limbs locking in terror. I could not run, could not fight him back as his fangs sank into my neck.
I shrieked for someone, anyone to help me. The noise of it startled me awake. My heart thumped in my chest, sweat pouring from my hair, I could not catch my breath as the whistle of the train screamed through the air, the car chugging forward with great force. William flung the curtain to the open, taking me into his arms.
“Rose, Rose, are you alright?” he asked, wiping my hair from my face. I buried myself into the crook of his neck, sobbing uncontrollably.
“You were going to hurt me!” I wailed in horror, the image of his fangs, the feeling of them in my neck haunting me.
“Rosemary, no, never, shhhhh, no, no, no, my love, I could never hurt you,” he cooed, rocking me gingerly. “I swear for as long as I live no one will have a chance to hurt you.”
I pulled back from him, looking into his grief filled eyes. But he’d already hurt me, hurt me in more ways than one. I softly brushed my fingertips over his lips, watching as they parted slightly.
“Where do your teeth go?” I wondered aloud. He stilled, astonishment overtaking every inch of his face.
“I’m sorry, my what?”
“Where do your pointed teeth go…?” I sniffled, sitting back to watch his face more intently.
“They… they’re retractable. When I am about to feed, they spring forth, as that is their purpose. When I am angry, or even overly excited, they will come out as a means of protection.” I was flabbergasted, excited that he was so honest with me in this moment. A small smile spread on my lips, he was finally letting me in. Though, my victory was quickly squandered by doubt as I remembered all the times I’d seen those teeth.
“And when we were in the room, when you hit me–”he flinched“–and I’d bled and you licked it… your teeth… those fangs, they…”
“Yes.”
“Why? For protection?” It seemed silly it would be for that, as ifIcould honestly hurthim.
“No,” he said flatly, letting me go. He climbed from the bed, making his way to the dining car. I followed closely, letting him set up a pot of tea. I needed to know what he meant then.
“If not for protection, then for what?” I demanded.
“Why can you not leave it be?” he asked angrily.
“Because I am not a fool, William!” My voice raised with the fire deep in my belly. I stomped my foot on the plush carpeting, my entire frame vibrating. “I am sotiredof these games. I demand to know what you are! What my child is going to be!” He didn’t move, pouring the hot tea into a cup, stirring in cream wholly unaffected.
“Look at me!” I yelled, vision blurring. “Look at me, dammit, William!” The tension between us was thick, tangible. It was suffocating, and yet he still would not look at me.
“I have no desire to quarrel with you, Rosemary. I simply ask for your patience and understanding. This is not an easy thing for me, either. I, too, worry about what we are creating. But for now, please trust in me and perhaps most importantly, trust in my love for you.” His voice was quiet, pained. Every word he said was a knife to my heart.
“When are you going to learn totrustin me?” I beseeched. “You say that you love me but you won’t even trust me with what you are. How can you expect us to make this work if you cannot share with me the most basic part of yourself?” I turned away from him, turned my back on the entire conversation. When I stepped into the sleeping car, I locked the door behind me, crawling into the bed. William did not bother to come after me.
We ate separately that night and slept in separate cars, William allowing me the bed. The rocking of the train was a lullaby and the feather mattress a gentle cradle to my weary soul. I pondered writing about our troubles to Mother, but would she understand? Could she empathize with me? She had always taught me the role of a good wife, putting God and husband before self and I was not sure if I could do that. If only because William did not share the basic respect of confidence in me. Could I do as I was so thoroughly trained, sitting beside William without a word, a thought, input? An idea I had not once ever questioned was impossible now.
The trip by train was relatively short, only but a few days’ time. We watched as the mountains turned into valleys, and eventually our heated silence settled into a chilled impasse. William attempted a truce, showering me in affection, soft kisses, and gentle caresses, but seldom did I return the gesture. I would no longer allow him to coax me into submission with intimacy.
Charleston rolled into view in the middle of the day almost a week after we’d departed Boston. It was warm, the sun shone brightly from the brilliant blue skies. Exotic trees swayed in the breeze from the ocean, and ladies were wearing thin, brightly colored dresses with wide brimmed hats in the warmth. Seeing this city bustling, full of life not even a decade after the war made me wonder just how grand it had been prior to it.
