~House in the Steeple~

by

Jane Hollingsworth

Sometime before dawn, the dream began. He was buried up to his neck in the grease pit, watching Doug Breckenridge shout at Bedie. The man's dark blue policeman uniform contrasted with the plain white cotton shift she wore. She looked like a martyr going to her doom. Her husband screamed at her until the cords stood out in his neck. His face was red with his rage, his eyes bulging from his head.

In the middle of the bellowing and uproar, Doug Breckenridge raised his hand. His wife shrank back against the brick wall of the basement and, as Tom, watched in horror, she began to bleed spontaneously from the palms of her hands. Her eyes dilated and went blank with fear, then she turned to Tom and stretched out the bloody palms imploringly.

Helpless in the pit, he was scrambling desperately to reach her. Bedie began walking blindly toward him and, as she did so, her husband crept up behind her back and raised both hands overhead, fists together, to hammer her to the floor. Tom gave one great shout of warning and woke up.

Sitting in the darkness, he pulled air into his lungs and fumbled, disoriented, for the light switch to the bedside lamp. The overhead light blazed on and he saw Bedie standing there in a yellow cotton nightgown. The fact that her face had the same look of blank dread it had worn in his dream, did nothing to make the nightmare fade. He spoke her name and her expression
changed from fear to despair.

"It's not gone, is it?" she said.

It took a minute for him to orient himself and understand that she was talking about McCullough, not Doug. "I had a nightmare, Bedie. Not too surprising considering the circumstances, I guess. But I didn't see any ghost. It's gone, all right." He looked at her.

Her hair was loose down her back and the sleeveless cotton nightgown clung lightly to her body. He had never seen her in yellow before; she was fresh and lovely and he wanted to put his arms around her more than he had wanted anything in a long time.

"Sorry I woke you. Did you get any sleep?"

She looked at the clock on his bedside table. "Some. It's almost five thirty. Do you want to tell me about your dream? My mother always said that you wouldn't dream it again once you told it to someone."

He smiled. "Sure." He moved over and patted the bed invitingly, knowing that she would never come and sit on it while he lay there with his bare chest showing above the covers.

Only she did.

Shutting the door behind her, she sat on the bed beside him. "Bedie," he said, "let me hold you."

She saw the naked longing in his eyes and shut her own against it, remembering the vow she had taken three years ago not to get involved with another man, the vow that had protected her all this time. Against her volition, her arms reached out and he caught her in an uncompromising grasp and pulled her down against him. Before she could protest, he tucked her
against his side and reached across her to turn out the light.

He held her lightly, fearing each moment that she would change her mind and leave. After a few minutes, he put a hand gently on her face. Her eyes were closed, but he could feel the trail of tears on her cheeks.

Tenderness welled over in his heart. "What is it, sweetheart?"

She shook her head and after a minute, put a hand on his chest. "Tom, if I kiss you, it doesn't mean anything."

"How am I supposed to answer a statement like that?" He smiled into the darkness. She could speak for herself.

"What I meant is, I'm not in love with you or anything. But I couldn't help loving you tonight. Not just you, all of you. Priya and Ty and you and June and Mr. Peyton. We were like a family down there. And I can't help wanting to feel close to you now."

Her hand moved up to his face; he took it in his own and pressed kisses into her palm. Her softness, the touch of her body against his was overwhelming. He stroked the inside of her wrist, wanting her so much that he felt weak. After a minute, she made a little sound in her throat; he took it as permission.

As he leaned over her, Bedie felt none of the tension sex with Doug had evoked. Instead, a sense of great peace enveloped her. She relaxed trustfully in his arms and gave herself up to him. At first, she felt nothing but the relief and comfort of being close to another person. His hands moved over her like a blessing.

After three years of austerity, nerve endings deadened by disuse awoke clamoring. She moved against his big body without self-consciousness or shame, hungry for him. The sounds she made, part sobs and part pleas, moved him to a place he had never been before.

"Bedie?" His voice shook as he spoke her name, but she knew what he was asking and let her silence answer him. He slipped her nightgown over her head in one definitive movement and lowered his strong body to hers.

When it was over and she lay in his arms, hearing his heartbeat against her cheek, she waited for the guilt and fear. They didn't come. Instead, the great peace washed over her again. Gratefully, she relaxed into it and slept. When she awoke in the dim room, it was because his hand was moving lazily over her body. With his touch, she could feel her body rejuvenating, the very cells of it growing younger and healthier as she gave herself to the pleasure. Bedie couldn't remember when she had felt so wonderful and, after a brief moment, she didn't try. She inclined her cheek to the caressing hand as if she were a cat.

When the shift came, she became only gradually aware of it. His hand tightened on her, pinching and twisting harder and harder until the pleasure became pain. She writhed to get away from the punishing hand on her hip, disoriented and confused at the transition from tender passion to aggression and dominance. Biting down on her back teeth, she struggled to hold onto the moment and orient herself, desperate not to panic and experience a flashback. It flashed through her mind that she would never be able to do this again. Maybe Tom was doing nothing wrong. Maybe it was her, maybe it would always feel like humiliation and submission. Then his teeth came almost together on her earlobe and she screamed in pain.

The bedroom door burst open and vibrated, as if it had been powerfully kicked. The overhead light came on, blinding her; she winced at this fresh assault. She blinked until her vision cleared. Tom was standing in the doorway, a tray with two steaming mugs of coffee in his hands.  He was staring at the thin scarlet stream trickling from her ear. His nightmare flashed on his inner vision, Bedie in pure martyr white with her palms streaming blood.

Swiftly, he set the tray on the dresser. He approached the bed with caution and touched her lobe. His fingers came away bright red. "It's impossible," he said, incredulously. "I never touched your ear."

She looked at him as if he were a stranger; he winced to see how far she had retreated from him in the space of a few heartbeats. "I know you didn't," she said.