THIRTEEN #3
“When I woke up on the field, pinned down underneath some shrapnel and you, I knew that if your identity was discovered, they’d confiscate anything on you…
I took your necklace. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you right away and that you had to be without it, all alone, when I was gone.
I knew how much it meant to you, and I just didn’t want to risk you never seeing it again…
” At her silence, Henry’s face fell. “Are you angry? I’m sorry, I should have given it to you back at the campsite, I—”
Maggie suddenly rose, cutting him off with a kiss.
“Thank you,” she said earnestly. She reached up to touch the necklace again. “You did exactly as I would’ve done.”
A look of relief swept over him. And he pulled her close, embracing her.
They stayed together, held in each other’s arms. His closeness quelled her anxiety, and she knew it was time.
She tilted her head up to kiss him once more. They hadn’t kissed after the trial. Partially to contain themselves, and partially due to the lack of privacy with the reverend around. This kiss was similar to their first—passionate.
Henry broke it off and looked down at her questioningly. He’d let it go earlier, but she knew he wouldn’t make a move until she consented. “If you want to wait, we can wait.”
“I don’t want to wait,” she gulped. “But, um, can we blow out the candle?”
She knew his eyes were searching her face, and she looked down, inadvertently giving herself away. It’d probably been in the back of his mind ever since the trial. There was no mistaking the look on Grant’s face, or the way Maggie carefully shielded herself from him.
He stepped back from her, holding her by the hand.
“Let me show you something.” He dropped her hand and removed his shirt.
It wasn’t the first time that she had seen him without it—she’d removed it herself after the bullet grazed his side.
But it was the first time seeing it as his wife.
She marveled at his masculine frame, lean and strong. He turned, facing the mirror.
“This,” he pointed at his side that she’d stitched up, “is when you saved my life. It’s also a time that God answered our prayers.
This,” moving his index finger over to his arm, “is when you crossed two hundred miles to find me. Also, many answered prayers.” He faced her.
“Scars are not ugly. They’re simply part of our story. ”
Before she could ponder this, he tilted her head back up and kissed her until all traces of consciousness left her.
Keeping his forehead on hers, his fingers lightly touched the buttons on her blouse as he undid them one by one.
He pushed the fabric from her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.
He moved his hands around her waist and untied her skirt until she stood before him in her shift.
She brought her hands up automatically to her chest, covering the violent mark.
Henry slowly reached up and gently pulled them away. Stepping back, his eyes traveled down. She shut her eyes, not wanting to see his face when he saw.
He was silent for a moment, and she felt tears prickle the backs of her eyes. But then he said softly, “Maggie, you are beautiful. The most gorgeous, perfect woman I have ever seen.” Emotion was thick in his voice, and she opened her eyes.
He was staring at her body and there was no trace of revulsion or pity. Only love. Her heart melted even more for him.
Oh God, thank you for this man.
Henry’s eyes locked on hers. “How do you not realize this?”
She flushed. “I imagine it looks ugly. Like a reminder of that day. A mutilation.”
He furrowed his brows. “You haven’t seen it?”
Maggie shook her head. Spinning her around, he turned her towards the mirror and stood behind her. “Henry, no.” The last thing she wanted was that horrific image burned into her mind.
“Look,” he commanded. “Trust me, please.”
Wary, she reluctantly lifted her lids and stared at her reflection.
Her hair was shiny and sleek, hanging down past her shoulders.
Her lips were rosy, slightly swollen from their kiss.
A feminine blush graced her cheeks. Her dark eyes wide, reflecting the candlelight.
Her mother’s necklace golden in that same light. And—
She inhaled. Her scar. A light pink, thin line ran from her upper chest, disappearing ever so slightly into her white shift. It wasn’t what she had imagined at all. Yes, it was still a mark. But Henry had done a beautiful job stitching it up.
He saw the change in her reaction and wrapped his arms around her, whispering in her ear, “You. Are. Beautiful.” Removing one arm, he barely touched the top of the scar, tracing his finger lightly down it until he reached her shift.
Butterflies filled her stomach. “When we met.” He moved his hand back up towards her neck.
“When I knew I loved a Carolina wren.” His hand slipped down to touch her left hand and lifted it.
Bringing her fingers to his lips, he kissed her ring gently and said huskily, “And when you became my wife.”
All trepidation melted away. She spun around and pulled his head down to hers until he kissed her. She yearned for him. Her husband. He lifted her in his arms and for the first time in her life, she saw herself as she was—beautiful.
The sparrow had flown away, making way for a gorgeous wren.