Chapter 7
Jasper
I waffle between the yellow and red wool before deciding on a hefty dose of the red. It’s such a nice shade.
I pay with my own coin before leaving the shop, the dyed yarn inside the haversack that has become a constant go-between for Abraham and me. It would make the most sense to return home and pass the wool off later, and yet I can’t quite resist the chance to see him now.
Knowing he’ll be at the stables, I walk in that direction. The day is sunny yet mild. Cooler weather will be upon us shortly, and, after that, snow. The thought has worry taking hold inside my chest. It will be far more difficult to meet with Abraham once winter hits.
Surely, we’ll manage. Somehow, some way.
The stables are busy today, a carriage setting off and another gentleman leaving on horseback. I slow near the entrance, watching as Victor walks away before glancing inside. My excitement ratchets when I see no one but Abraham .
I slink inside the wide doorway, walking quickly out of sight to the corner where Abraham stowed me the day we first met. Hopefully, Victor’s business will keep him for a minute.
“Abe,” I whisper.
He comes around the corner, head cocked, his eyes going wide when he sees me. He darts a look around. “Jasper? Are you well?”
“Yes, certainly. I have your mother’s wool.”
He lets out a breath, sounding both relieved and worried. “Jasper, you shouldn’t keep coming like this. We need to be more careful.”
I frown. “It hasn’t been a problem before.”
“No, but if you keep returning here without business, someone is bound to notice.”
He’s right. I know he is. But it’s difficult to stay away.
“Well, then, be quick,” I say, holding out the haversack. “Give me a kiss, and I’ll be off.”
Abraham’s expression is one of chastisement, but there’s a glint in his eye that assures me he’s not truly upset. He walks my way, backing me against a wooden stall, his presence all-encompassing, the brown of his eyes a comfort I never knew I was missing before I met him.
The kiss isn’t hurried, even as it’s short. Abraham stretches a single second into many, and I swear I can see it. The life we could have together.
If only things were different.
All too soon, his lips leave mine, and he steps back, loosing the haversack from my fingers. “A debt paid.”
I let out a quiet laugh, moving from the shadows as Abraham tosses the sack over his shoulder. “Until we meet again, my warrior. ”
This time, it’s Abraham chuckling, the soft sound accompanying me through the doors. I pass Victor not far from the stables, and I say a quiet prayer of thanks our paths didn’t cross sooner.
The walk home is pleasant enough, but the moment I step inside, I come to a halt. There are voices I don’t recognize.
Catherine must have heard me arrive because she appears quickly, ushering me down the hall to my bedchamber. “I’ve set out a basin for you,” she says, pushing me inside the room. “Wash up. Quick. You’ve company.”
“Who?” I ask, bewildered.
Catherine sets her jaw. “A young woman your mother and father wish for you to court.”
My chest falls away from me. “Catherine…”
“I know you’re not ready,” she says at a hush. “But you have no choice in this. Wash quickly and meet them in the parlor.”
I nod, and Catherine closes my door, leaving me alone. My hands shake as I loosen my waistcoat, setting it aside before removing my shirt. I feel chilled to the bone, my heart racing.
I wash my face and neck in the basin, the water cool. My reflection wavers on the surface, the Jasper I see looking at me with pity in his eyes.
After drying myself, I re-dress, check that my clothes are in fine shape, and exit the room. Voices drift lightly from the parlor as I walk closer, dread trying to weigh my feet to the floor. Despite every instinct screaming at me to stay away, to run , I step into the room.
“Jasper,” my mother says, spotting me and standing. “There you are at last. Come. Have a seat.”
I approach the empty chair beside my mother. My father watches on with a stern expression, the room deathly quiet apart from the soft scuff of my shoes on the rug. No one says a word until I’m seated, and then my father clears his throat.
“You may recognize the Bealls,” he says, indicating our guests sitting opposite us. “This is their daughter, Ellener.”
I incline my head stiffly. “Pleasure.”
“Our son, Jasper,” my father finishes.
“Good day to you,” Mrs. Beall says. She’s seated on one side of Ellener, Mr. Beall on the other.
I want to scream with all the power I carry in my lungs.
“Jasper,” Mr. Beall says in greeting. “We hear you have a promising position at the printer?”
“Yes, sir,” I say, my eyes briefly turning to Ellener.
She looks vaguely familiar, flaxen-haired and slight, someone I’ve likely crossed paths with in town, although we’ve never spoken.
I refocus my attention on Mr. Beall. “I’ve an apprenticeship with my father.
I appreciate greatly the opportunity to learn under his guidance. ”
The words taste ashen on my tongue, but Mr. Beall offers a pleased smile and a nod.
“If I may,” Catherine says, standing in the doorway. “Dinner is prepared.”
My mother pushes out of her seat, skirts swooshing, and waves a hand for our guests. “This way.”
The table is set with our finest dishware. I’m placed opposite Ellener, like a prop in a play. Laughter bubbles up in my throat, but I quickly swallow it down, my eyes burning.
I wish I were with Abraham a thousand miles from here.
The lamb Catherine prepared is delicious. I pick at it as pleasantries are discussed. Ellener sits as quietly as me, and I can’t help but wonder if she wants to be here.
How am I supposed to wed? How can I possibly make a home with someone soft and pretty like Ellener when all I want is Abraham, with his sturdy arms and deeply spoken words? Stars above . How will I ever bed a woman?
The mere thought makes me feel ill, and I have to forcibly quell my stomach, lest I lose Catherine’s lamb.
Will Abraham still want me? If I must court and marry and carry out my duties, will he still accept me into his arms?
That gravity I felt before—that inevitable, unstoppable pull—tears at me anew.
I’m forced to make polite conversation when we retreat back to the parlor. The afternoon sun streams into the room, the angle such that I imagine scampering under it and slipping away. If only I could.
The Bealls take their leave before long, not daring to overstay their welcome. Ellener gives me her hand at the door, and I hold it as she curtsies. If pressed at a later time to describe a single detail of her face, I wouldn’t be able to do it.
The hall is quiet once the door shuts, my mother turning my way. “Will you see her again?”
I don’t know how to answer her.
She speaks at my hesitation. “If not her, it will be someone else, Jasper. It is time.”
I give a short nod, and, blessedly, she lets me be. Heart in my throat, I make my way to my bedchamber. The door shuts with a quiet click, and I barely resist dropping to my knees.
It’s not even dark when I make my escape out the window.
I arrive at the creek before Abraham. As soon as I reach the water’s edge, I tear off my waistcoat, toss my shoes, and pull down my stockings.
One snags, and I breathe a quiet apology to Catherine as I throw it aside.
Raking my fingers through my hair, I walk along the side of the creek, pacing back and forth.
My pulse won’t settle. My mind won’t quiet.
I can do nothing but let out a scream as I drop to the earth .
“Jasper?”
I nearly collapse at the familiar, worried voice. Abraham is running my way, concern etched into every line of his face and body. He drops down beside me, hands cradling my face, callused thumbs swiping at my tears.
“My heart, what is wrong?”
I cry harder at the question, and Abraham pulls me onto his lap. I cling to him, my face tucked against his shoulder, his hands on my back like a shield.
“I don’t want to touch another,” I finally manage between breaths. “I cannot love another. Not as I love you. Why can’t they let me simply love you?”
Abraham’s chest hitches against me, his grip tightening on my back. “Oh, Jasper.”
“Will you leave me if I wed?” I ask, not wanting the answer, even as I need it. “Will you hate me?”
“No.” The word is quick. Soft. “Never could I hate you.”
“And the rest?” I ask, pulling back enough to see Abraham’s face.
“They would have to tear us apart.” His fingers brush through my hair as he holds my gaze, his touch so gentle it’s as if I’m glass he doesn’t wish to break. As if I’m a treasure.
“Would you take me, Abe?”
His breath is sudden and harsh. “Is that what you want?”
“More than anything,” I admit. “I want to be as close to you as possible. If I can feel you inside of me—” My throat catches, and I have to clear it before going on. “Then maybe they will never be able to take you away.”
Abraham kisses my cheek, one and then the other.
He stands with me in his arms, my finery lying on the grass as Abraham brings me to our small and crumbling sanctuary.
He sets me down on the blanket, the last of the sun affording me a view I haven’t oft witnessed as Abraham strips to the nude.
He holds my eye before turning, and I nearly lose my breath at the sight of his backside, his muscles flexing as he crouches to the ground.
He comes back with a small tin in hand.
“What is that?” I ask, recognizing the object as soon as the question leaves my mouth. “Leather oil?”
He nods as he kneels on the blanket in front of me. “I brought it here last time we came. Just in case.”
“In case of what?”
Abraham smiles, and my pulse hitches. “In case you might want me in this way.”
“Oh.”
He begins unbuttoning my breeches, and I have neither the wherewithal nor desire to stop him, even as my head spins. Abraham seems to sense my confusion, or perhaps he sees it plainly on my face, because he bends down, kissing me gently before meeting my eye.
“I do not wish to hurt you. And it may hurt some. This will help.”
“Will it keep me from cracking?” I ask, mostly in jest.
Abraham barks a laugh, his grin causing me to smile. “You will not crack like leather. But this will make it more pleasant for you. Trust me.”
“I absolutely do.”
His expression softens, and he tugs my breeches the rest of the way off.
His eyes turn molten as they trace over me, my prick stiff beneath the bottom of my shirt.
He lifts the fabric slowly, bending to lay a kiss upon my skin.
This time, it’s not my mouth he shows his affection to.
A sound escapes my lips, and Abraham kisses me again, licking over the top of my prick and rumbling his approval at my answering whine.
He moves upwards to tug off my shirt, and with the both of us bared before one another, Abraham lies over me and captures my mouth.
My hands shake as I hold him close, the rightness of this bringing me nearly to tears. This—him and me—isn’t wrong. I refuse to believe it.
His lips dance with mine, each swipe enticing me, each parry a lure designed to draw me in. He can have the whole of me. I’d gladly lay myself at his feet if it meant even a minute more with Abraham.
He kisses down my neck. Over my clavicle. His lips press to my chest and my stomach and my hip. Deft fingers guide my knees to bend, my feet pressed flat to either side of Abraham as he settles back on his haunches.
My heart beats swiftly as he grabs the oil. He doesn’t coat his prick as I expect him to. He rubs it over his fingers.
“Abe?” I question, his name a gasp as those fingers touch me lightly.
His voice comes smooth and gentle. “I must stretch you, Jasper. If I do not, this won’t be a pleasurable experience for you.”
“You’ve done it before?” I ask, the answer seeming obvious.
“Does that bother you?”
“No,” I say, even as my chest aches at thinking of Abraham with another. “I suppose I should be grateful for it if I’m to benefit.”
He lets out a quiet hum, lips pressing to my knee as his fingers rub over me. I try not to tense, but it’s entirely foreign, what he’s doing, and when he pushes, there’s no stopping my surprise .
Abraham’s voice is hoarse, his words distracting me away from the fingers pressing inside my body. “There won’t ever be another for me, Jasper. Not now that I’ve found you.”
“You mean that?” I ask, choking over the words.
“I do.”
“I can’t promise…”
“I know.” He leans down to feather kisses along my waning prick. “I won’t harbor upset over it, my love. I will not judge you by your birth.”
I nearly sob at the affirmation of the request I gave Abraham when we first met. By all accounts, we shouldn’t be here. We never should have become friends. Never should have become lovers. If not for Catherine falling ill, I wouldn’t know Abraham’s name. His eyes. His smile. The kiss of his lips.
I wouldn’t know him , and that is not a world I wish to live in.
“Please take me, Abraham. I cannot bear another second apart.”
His eyes meet mine, both tender and fierce.
I have no doubt Abraham Morris would grant me my heart’s every desire. If only he were able.