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Oh, how it broke my heart. There was such shame and sadness in his words; so many years of hiding. I knew I couldn’t undo all that hurt, but I could show him that he’d never be treated that way with me.
I set down my basket of cheese and bread. And then, mustering all my courage, reached out my hand for his, and said, “I do want to see you, though. I like you exactly as you are.”
Chapter 5
Iris
My dreams that night were unexpectedly strange.
After spending the day just inches from Randal, and sometimes closer still, you might have expected me to dream of surrendering myself to him, of laying back against the wobbly kitchen table as he climbed on top and took me hard and fast.
Instead, somewhere in my mind I recalled the dream of the night before, of my father’s cruelty. Once again he loomed over me, my wrists already shackled. He threatened to leave me there, alone, never again to see the light of day.
And then the figure behind him drew closer, and I felt a sense of calm. Randal seized my father by the scruff of his neck and dragged him away from me. I thanked him. I told him I would do anything to repay his kindness.
“Oh, you’ll repay me.” His voice rumbled, and I felt my body tremble before such power. “Submit, Iris.”
“What? I don’t—”
“Submit to me. I will take it all, all the responsibilities, all the pain, all the decisions. Tell me you want me to do that.”
“Yes…” I muttered, my voice echoing in the bedroom and coming back to me in the dream. “Please, I am so tired.”
“Mind, body and soul, you must submit to me.”
“I submit.” My breathing was shallow, frightened, but exhilarated. “I submit to you, only to you.”
“Good girl.”
With his words, I felt a trickle of need run out between my legs, unsure if it was just inside the dream or also in the waking world.
The dream confused me, yet I felt a sense of calm in an unfamiliar way. I’d worked so hard, kept things together so long. The thought of giving up, being the vessel for Randal with his strength and oddly nurturing spirit felt like heaven to me.
I knew it was just a dream. Things like that don’t happen in real life. But oh, how I wished they would.
Over the next few days, Randal and I were hardly apart at all, except when he left each evening to get some sleep. He told me he rented a room in town; I ached to see it, ached to spend the night with him, but didn’t have the courage to ask. So, I settled for being with him each day. It was enough.
Almost.
Each day, he helped me with all the chores I would have taken care of on my own, and a great deal more.
He not only did the everyday things, like milking and mucking, but also took care of the things that I’d only ever dreamed of being able to get done on my own. He moved all the old rocks from the horse paddocks and leveled the footing, so it wasn’t so uneven and dangerous.
He mended the fences and sank new posts to replace the ones that had rotted through. He rebuilt the broken doors of the chicken coop, replaced a wobbly board on the floor of the hayloft, and fixed the irrigation ditch. I helped with whatever I could, but mostly he just seemed happy to be near me as he worked. And I was so very happy to be with him, too.
The farm had never looked better or cleaner, the cows had never been happier. Though I knew little of courtship, it was hard for me to imagine a situation in which a man and a woman could get to know each other better than they would working together on a farm, laboring away, solving problems, and enjoying the fruits of all that hard work.
At first, on the first day and the second, he maintained a respectful distance from me, except for any time he had a chance to carry me, which he did without even asking if he could lift me up. He said he disliked the idea of me walking through muddy paddocks and preferred to carry me through those, and when we walked down to the river together to fetch water, he said he didn’t care one bit for the unevenness of the path or how slippery the moss could be, and so carried me there as well.
I got very used to it, to being in his arms, and every time he set me down, I felt a little pang of sadness. Yet I knew I wasn’t exactly a bag of feathers; I couldn’t be easy to carry around everywhere. Even so, he seemed to take such pleasure in doing it that I didn’t object, not even once.
