Earth Angels Page 5

  “Hey, Doc, yer hoggin’ the show. Give one of us other fella’s a turn now.”

  Joseph blinked, nearsighted without his spectacles. The only face he could see clearly was Emma’s, her skin golden in the lamplight, her cheeks flaming as her startled gaze met his and then fluttered away.

  The rest of the evening passed in a rosy haze for Joseph, until one of the women yawned delicately and suggested it was time to leave. The other guests rose, but when he got to his feet to accompany them, Emma restrained him, her hand on his arm.

  “I haven’t opened your gift yet, Joseph. Please stay another moment, won’t you?”

  So with Oscar shooting murderous glances his way, Joseph sat back down on the sofa until the others were gone.

  “Phew.” Emma leaned back against the closed door, feigning exhaustion, the back of her hand pressed against her forehead.

  Joseph fantasized that is she were really his and alone with him at last, they would have the whole delicious night for loving.

  Emma retrieved his gift from the table by the door and sat down beside him. He watched her unfold the clumsily wrapped package. He was nervous all over again as she untied his crooked attempt at a bow. He was relieved beyond measure that the others were gone.

  He’d thought long and hard about what to give her, wondering what might be both meaningful and not readily available in her own store.

  “Oh Joseph, how lovely!” The wrappings had fallen away revealing the soft shawl, and he saw that her eyes were wide with delight and pleasure.

  Crocheted in fragile woolen yarn, the shawl was a huge triangle with elaborate fringed edges. The color had always pleased him, variegated shades of bronze and gold and a particularly rich chocolate that he now realized was the exact shade of Emma’s eyes.

  “It was my mother’s. She made it. I hope you don’t mind.”

  She clasped it to her chest, her eyes shining. “Oh no, indeed I don’t. I’m so honored, Joseph. That it belonged to your mother makes it very special to me. Thank you.”

  She shook it out and placed it around her shoulders, and when it caught on the back of the sofa he reached out to help her. As naturally as breathing, she was in his arms. This time, there was no clumsiness as he bent his head to kiss her.

  Her arms encircled his neck, and her head tilted up like a flower to the sun. His hands ached to cup her breasts, and desire raged through him as her lips parted beneath his, fully this time.

  He stripped off his spectacles when they got in the way, aware of the curve of her cheek, the length of her sooty lashes, the contrasting creaminess of her skin against the crimson satin of her gown. He groaned and kissed her, enveloped by heat and passion.

  His hands slid up to cup her half-exposed breasts, his thumbs gently rubbing her nipples. She gasped and then slowly pulled away, her breathing making the bodice of her dress rise and fall sharply. She looked mussed, her lips swollen, her brown eyes smoldering with the same desire that coursed through him.

  He leaned back, aware they were progressing too far, too fast. He held her hands, raising them, turning them so he could plant a lingering kiss in each palm.

  “I must go, Emma.” His voice was unsteady as he got to his feet, found his glasses and put them on his nose. He reached down and drew her up, succumbing to temptation one last time. His arms around her, he kissed her soundly, tasting the delicious echo of his own passion in the shy probing of her tongue with his. This kiss was meant as goodbye, but it felt like hello instead, and it went on until once again he could hardly tear himself away.

  With great reluctance he held her at arm’s length, his hands on her shoulders.

  “Thank you, Emma, for a wonderful evening. This is the best Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had.”

  She laughed softly. “I’ll bet you don’t usually even remember it. A man who forgets his birthday isn’t likely to remember Valentine’s Day.”

  He laughed with her, because she was right. It took all his self-control to resist the urge to hold her again and kiss her senseless. He opened the door instead, tugging on his coat.

  “Good night, Emma.”

  “Sweet dreams.” Her words floated out as he closed the door behind him.

  Outside, the frosty night sky was awash with distant stars. As he strolled, he whistled the lilting ballad Emma had sung with such poignancy.

  He felt an arm around his shoulders, and grinned like a fool at Nathaniel.

  “Pipe down, you’ll wake the entire town.”

  “I don’t care. I never knew I could feel this way again.”

  Nathaniel smiled and shook his head. “That’s because you haven’t allowed yourself to feel this way again, Joseph. It’s like opening a door. It’s simple once you locate the doorknob.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  During the weeks that followed, Emma was convinced that Granny was indeed part sorceress, because Joseph’s courting had begun on Valentine’s eve. The charm Granny had given her that evening contained a lock of Joseph’s baby hair and heaven alone knew what else. Granny had slipped the locket around Emma’s neck that night and it had worked.

  Joseph had sought her out almost every day since then, inviting her for a walk, a sleigh ride, a church supper.

  At first shy, often endearingly clumsy, sometimes nearly inarticulate, he was always attentive. He gradually relaxed with her, allowing her to discover how truly wonderful he was. He had a quirky, droll sense of humor, often making himself and his absentminded behavior the brunt of his funny stories. He was intelligent, and their conversations encompassed politics, literature and religion, as well as local social issues. But it wasn’t their discussions that made her heart hammer and her body burn for him. It was his kisses, his caresses.

  Emma had realized that first time his lips met hers in front of everyone in her parlor that Joseph’s kisses made her knees weak and her heart hammer. She’d longed to twine her arms around him and further explore the delicious sensations he created.

  So she’d done exactly that over the past weeks every time they were alone. Joseph participated eagerly and ardently. But now their kissing was no longer enough to satisfy the hunger he stirred in her. She wanted more and it irked her that Joseph continued to be a gallant gentleman, always stopping their love play before it reached the point where there was no turning back.

  Early in the March evenings, she sometimes accompanied him as he visited the patients in the country. It was on those visits that she came to know another side of him, and on one visit, a part of Joseph that puzzled and intrigued her.

  The Fishers had five grown sons who logged and farmed their hundred acres of land. The boys were all married, and parents, sons, wives and grandparents lived communally and happily in one huge house. Grandfather Elmer Fisher was eighty-six, much beloved, and Joseph was called because the old man was having trouble breathing. He was in a small bedroom on the main floor, and Emma could hear the old man’s labored, whistling breaths from where she sat in the kitchen, being served tea by the women.

  There was only a curtain closing off the bedroom. Joseph had gently but firmly ushered everyone out so he could examine Elmer. Over the soft murmur of the women’s voices, she could hear Joseph talking, and at first she thought he was addressing Elmer. But she soon realized Joseph was talking to himself, asking peculiar questions about Elmer’s lungs, about what course of treatment should be followed. He’d say something and then wait, as if he were listening for an answer. She’d never heard him do that before.

  His expression was somber when at last he came into the kitchen, where everyone waited expectantly. “Elmer has pneumonia,” Joseph explained. “He needs to be massaged to drain the lungs, with alcohol rubs to reduce the fever. I’ll bring eucalyptus oil for him to inhale to ease his breathing, along with other medication.”

  “But he’s gonna be alright, isn’t he, Doc?” Lars, one of Elmer’s grandsons, looked worriedly at Joseph. “He’s gonna get through this, isn’t he?”

  Joseph didn’t
reply directly. “We’ll make him as comfortable as possible,” he said. “I’ll be back in an hour with the medications.”

  When they were in the buggy, hurrying the horses towards town, Emma said, “You didn’t promise that Elmer was going to get better. Is he going to die?”

  “Yes,” Joseph said quietly, urging the horse to a gallop. “It’s Elmer’s time. All I can do is make his passing as gentle as I can.”

  “How do you know for sure? Don’t people sometimes rally even when they’re very ill?”

  “They do, but that won’t happen in this case.”

  “I heard you asking questions, I thought for a moment there was someone in that room besides you and Elmer.”

  Joseph turned and looked at her, and then quickly looked away. “Sometimes I pray out loud.”

  Emma didn’t pursue it, but what she’d heard didn’t sound at all like praying. It sounded like a one sided conversation. But who on earth was Joseph talking to?

  Elmer died two days later. Joseph had stayed with him until the end. And he’d been right about his prediction that Elmer wouldn’t survive.

  After that, Emma watched and listened closely when she was along on Joseph’s calls, fascinated by the change that came over him when he was with someone who was ill. Gone was the endearing clumsiness, the shyness that touched her. With his patients he was confident, gentle, wise and reassuring. He paid close attention to their complaints and at times seemed to be listening even after they finished speaking, nodding his head and murmuring in that peculiar, distracted fashion, asking questions as if someone was there to answer them.

  Emma finally decided it was simply a part of Joseph’s extraordinary healing ability. At times he acted peculiar and eccentric, but then, Joseph wasn’t at all like the other men she knew, which was exactly why she found him so intriguing.

  In spite of his differences, though, almost everyone liked and respected Joseph, but Emma noticed that it was the older folk in the community who absolutely adored him. He was unfailingly patient with them, listening to their long-winded stories and even enjoying them. In many cases, his elderly patients were painfully poor, living on the often-grudging charity of relatives or eking out a bare existence in dismal, cold cottages.

  Emma noticed that wherever and whenever he could, Joseph quietly supplied food, clothing and firewood, always in a way that allowed the recipients to retain their pride.

  She was with him when he delivered the sheets to old Mrs. Simpson, asking her if she would be kind enough to mend some shirts for him in exchange for the sheets, making it sound as if she would be doing him an immense favor. Emma marveled at his tact.

  She also soon took great delight in helping him. From the store, she packed up food that was a little past its peak, clothing that hadn’t sold but was serviceable, and lengths of fabric that were flawed in some small fashion. She quietly left them wherever they were most needed.

  They were heading home in Joseph’s open buggy one warm, cloudy evening in late March. They’d been to visit a very sick old man and taken him a basket crammed with food. Suddenly it began to rain, only a few drops at first, and then a downpour. Joseph urged the horse to a trot and then to a gallop, but by the time they arrived at Emma’s store a half-hour later, they were drenched to the skin and laughing uproariously.

  They raced through the deluge up the steps to her apartment and burst through the door. Emma lit a lamp and giggled even harder when she looked at Joseph. “Oh my goodness, you look like a drowned rat.”

  His hair was flat, splayed across his forehead and neck in dripping strands. Drops of water trickled down his chin. His rain-spattered spectacles were perched on the tip of his nose. He’d taken his suit jacket off and draped it around her shoulders to protect her, and his white cotton shirt clung to him. Water oozed from his shoes and pooled on the scatter rug.

  “A drowned rat, hmmmmm?” He reached out a lightning quick hand and tugged her into his arms. “Well, this drowned rat can’t see you unless you’re very close.” He held her tight, studying her with frowning intensity. “My, my, you look rather drowned yourself, Miss Walsh,” he growled. “Your hair is loose down your back, and it’s soaked—“ he took a thick handful of the curling strands, gently using it to tip her head back. His teasing, half rough kiss predictably set her on fire.

  And him as well. “Emma…….Oh my God, Emma, you are so beautiful.”

  He tore his glasses off, dropping them heedlessly on the nearby table and then slanted his head so his mouth fit hers at a more intimate angle. Their tongues danced, and need flared within her. Moving even closer to him, she twisted her arms around his neck, shivering.

  With a strangled groan, he shoved the wet coat from her shoulders and cupped her swelling breasts. Pressed against him, her soaked skirts and petticoats clinging to her legs, she could feel him grow hard. With innocent hunger, she rubbed against him.

  “Emma, my dearest Emma, we must stop.” His breath was hot in her ear, his tone urgent, but even as he spoke, his hands were stroking her breasts, his body even closer to hers. “You’re innocent, I mustn’t—“

  Her voice was thick with need. “I’m a grown woman, Joseph. I care for you, I want you.” Every inch of her body felt flushed.

  He grew still.

  “Please,” she mouthed against his ear, and exultation swept over her as she sensed his defenses crumble.

  Turning her around, he undid the buttons at the back of her dress, her petticoat ties, the small pearl fastenings of her soaked chemise. As she breathed a long sigh, he stripped off her pantaloons, garters and stockings in one efficient movement.

  Then his own wet clothing lay beside hers on the rug. In the flickering lamplight, her breath caught as she stared at the strong, clear-cut beauty of his body. Tall and muscular, he was everything she’d ever fantasized her lover might be.

  “Oh, Joseph.” She slid hesitant fingers through the silky hair on his chest. He was holding her close, skin to skin, and she could hardly breathe for the urgent sensations in her body.

  “I love you, Emma.”

  His quiet, earnest words wrapped around her heart and soul.

  He slid his hand under her thighs and swept her into his arms. Without his glasses he misjudged the doorway and she banged her head a little, but she hardly felt it.

  He put her down on the soft feather bed in her dark bedroom. She felt him lie down at her side, his weight on one elbow, his free hand gliding down her body as if he were memorizing, by touch alone, the shape and feel of her.

  She rested her hand on his chest and felt his wildly beating heart. Her own was pounding so hard she trembled. Everywhere his fingers stroked, her skin seemed to catch fire.

  “You are ravishing, Emma.” His voice was rough, raw-edged, filled with desire, and it thrilled her. “So very, very, lovely……”

  She could feel his rapid breathing in her skin, and then at last he kissed her, long, passionately, while his hands roamed ceaselessly across her breasts. He teased her aching nipples, then his hand moved with maddening slowness down her abdomen, gently easing her thighs apart, sliding his fingers inside her.

  She could feel his manhood, hot, throbbing, urgent, pressed against her thigh, and for a moment she stiffened, shy and frightened. She wasn’t certain exactly what came next.

  “You’re quite certain you want to do this, my darling?”

  She nodded, her hair imprisoned beneath his shoulder. The query was gentle, allowing her to reconfirm all she felt and wanted—or, if she desired, to change her mind.

  “I’m certain, Joseph.”

  He took her nipple in his mouth, his tongue and teeth making her cry out with pleasure and frustration. His fingers stroked her, causing her to move involuntarily, thrusting up against the delicious pressure of his hand. Desperate need built in her, seeking a fulfillment she hadn’t known existed.

  Then she arched and screamed his name, and groaning, he straddled her. With one long, sure movement they were joined. The sh
ock of his entry coming on the crest of such pleasure made her tense and cry out again, but the fierce pain lasted only a moment.

  Then her body opened, hungry for him. The ecstasy returned, and she learned his capacity for gentleness as well as the ferocity of his strength.

  When at last she lay, sated and limp, marveling at the power of this exquisite dance and how wonderfully talented he was at it, she realized that she could echo his own words back to him. “I love you too, Joseph.” Then she sighed, utterly content, as happy as she’d ever been in her entire life.

  Joseph smiled as he began to prepare his breakfast. He was eating much more frequently now and taking better care of himself. And he had wonderful, irresistible Emma to thank for that.

  He’d made love to other women, of course, before Emma. He was a young, virile man, and opportunities as an intern were always there. He’d just never made love to the same woman repeatedly. For him, lovemaking had been a matter of physical release, and it held no similarity at all to what he shared with Emma.

  She was like an opiate. The more time he spent with her, the more he longed to spend. In the enchanted days that had followed their first magical time together, all Joseph could thing of was the curve of her back, her delicate throat. He listened to patient’s symptoms and thought of Emma. Intoxicated with her, he couldn’t stop smiling at inappropriate moments. He whistled cheerfully as he lanced boils and stitched gaping wounds. He’d never noticed before how green the new spring leaves were, how sweetly the birds sang as they built nests.

  To his dismay, however, he also noticed how many men still seemed to hang around Emma’s store. The stove was unlit now that warmer weather was here, but in his opinion, the high backed chairs were all too often occupied by young men who ought to have better things to do than loiter idly.

  Surely there were fields to clear, crops to plant, stock to tend to? He’d said as much to Emma, his voice testy, and she’d just shrugged, holding her hands out in a helpless gesture, smiling at him with studied innocence. “The store’s a public place, Joseph. I’m certainly not their mother, to tell them what they ought to be doing.”