Chapter Nine
Malika
The windows in Mavis’s kitchen were thrown open wide. The wood stove was stoked and the whole house very warm. Making pies out of the berries wasn’t as much fun as picking them had been, but Malika was determined to learn.
She could already imagine how impressed Jayce would be.
“I don’t understand why I have to help,” Tilly complained.
A blond curl, gone astray from the kerchief covering her hair, harassed her forehead. They were rolling out pie crusts, and she had flour from her apron to the tip of her nose.
“Someday you might change your mind and decide to marry and start a family, and when you do, it’s your duty to make your home happy.
Your family will expect to be fed, and food is the center of happiness,” Malika told her.
“Sex is the only thing other than food that makes a man happy. Except men aren’t interested in sex with an old woman, of course, which is why women need to know how to cook. For when they are old.”
Tilly’s expression reflected her awe. “Who told you that?”
“Mavis. She’s very wise.” Malika beamed at her.
“That’s not the message I was trying to send,” Mavis said.
Malika was certain she hadn’t misunderstood. “That’s what you said.”
“Yes, but…”
“If the man is smart, he’s going to want me to be happy too,” Tilly said darkly.
Malika began to despair. American women were woefully uninformed about the duties of marriage. Not much wonder the country’s divorce rates were so high. “Your husband is required to please you in the bedroom. The same way you must please him.”
Tilly and Mavis were both staring now. Tilly seemed by far the more confused. She was the one with the questions.
“How are you supposed to please each other in the bedroom if you haven’t met until after the marriage is already arranged?”
“My sisters provided my guidance for the wedding night.” A night she’d never see, although she intended to put their guidance to good use in other ways.
“They’ve given me numerous tips on how they please their husbands.
The man’s father and brothers, possibly his uncles, guide him too.
There are also women whose job it is to help with a young man’s education in such matters.
” Malika would become one of those women.
The internet made things so easy. “Naturally, it’s different for women.
We’re much more instinctual about intimacy than men are. ”
“Naturally.” Tilly leaned her hip against the narrow wooden table in the center of Mavis’s kitchen. “Do you mind sharing some of your sisters’ wisdom with us? We’d love to hear it.”
Malika warmed up to her subject. “First, you make yourself as appealing as possible. You dress well. Something sensual, but not overly wanton. He should believe you are innocent. You wear perfume. Not all men care for makeup, so it must be discreet. You think about the different things he might like you to do for him. Once you’ve prepared yourself, you then make yourself available to him.
You take off your clothes slowly, and you allow him to watch.
He’ll instruct you if you’re going too fast or slow. ”
Mavis and Tilly exchanged glances.
“Continue,” Mavis said.
“Next, you must touch him. But only after he invites you to do so. Many men prefer to watch while a woman touches herself first.” Jayce had certainly liked it, proving her sisters were right.
“And you mustn’t be alarmed if he asks you to do things to him with your mouth. It’s perfectly natural,” she added.
Tilly’s eyes had gone very wide. “I agree it’s natural, but I’m pretty sure it’s something a woman should decide for herself as to whether she likes the idea of it or not.”
“Why would a woman not like it?” Tilly’s lack of education was showing.
It sounded quite wonderful, the way her sisters described it.
Tilly frowned. “What if the woman doesn’t find her new husband attractive? You said men don’t like having sex with old women. Isn’t your fiancé much older than you?”
She liked Tilly and Mavis but didn’t know them well enough to say that she had no plans to marry Eli Chamas. Word might get back to Adeel.
“Two of my sisters are married to much older men. They assure me their husbands are excellent lovers, with a great deal of education regarding intimate relations, which makes my sisters very happy, as well.”
“Makes sense to me,” Mavis said. “I can see why an old man would want to keep a young woman happy in bed. What else did your sisters tell you?”
“Some men like to play games in the bedroom. They like to pretend to be something they’re not—much the way the men who come to your town like to pretend to be cowboys.”
“And your brother takes all of this into consideration when he chooses husbands for his sisters?” Tilly asked.
“Of course he does. The husbands of his sisters become part of his family. The husband’s reputation reflects on the rest of us too.”
Malika finished crimping the crust of her pie and examined her work with a critical eye.
Her pie didn’t look much like Mavis’s, which was an impressive work of art.
Malika’s crust was thicker, somewhat lopsided, and the crimped edges weren’t delicate and evenly spaced.
Hers was, however, much nicer than Tilly’s, who refused to put enthusiasm into her work.
“It’s a very good attempt for your first pie,” Mavis assured her. “The looks aren’t what is important. It’s how it tastes.”
“Like a marriage,” Malika exclaimed, delighted to discover an analogy to use, because she had a sneaking suspicion the two women didn’t fully appreciate the point she was trying to make.
“Look at Huck and Vanessa Hanson. Huck is not handsome, and yet his wife, who is beautiful, seems very happy with him.”
“Huck is rich,” Tilly said.
“Exactly. The man is responsible for providing the necessities a wife needs to make their home happy. The bedroom, on the other hand, is a responsibility shared between them.” Malika frowned. “Although if Huck is rich, I don’t understand why his wife has no servants.”
“Western women don’t need servants. We helped build this country. Everyone chips in and works on a ranch,” Mavis said.
Malika gazed mournfully at the flour-coated front of her gingham house dress, which was in a worse state than Tilly’s. “I’m glad I’m not a Western woman. It’s wonderful to have servants who take care of my clothes.”
“In Montana Territory, we’re all Western women. You included. If it’s sunny tomorrow, Tilly will teach you how to do laundry,” Mavis said, because she’d never had servants, so she didn’t understand how wonderful they were.
Tilly sighed. “Tomorrow’s going to be even more fun than today.”
They cleaned the kitchen. Malika wiped down the kitchen surfaces with handmade soap and a cloth that had been soaked in boiling water. She didn’t like to complain, but it seemed as if a Western woman’s work was never done.
When the pies came out of the oven, their crusts were golden and they smelled delicious. Mavis set them on the counter to cool.
Tilly took her pie with her when she departed. Malika asked if she could give her pie to Jayce.
“Why not? We can’t eat them both,” Mavis said. “Go ahead and take it to the bunkhouse. He and Adam will enjoy it.”
Malika wrapped the warm pie in a tea cloth.
“Hold on.” Mavis stopped her. “First, I want to remind you that you’re only here for a few months.
I know Jayce is attractive, and a whole lot more interesting than I am to a young woman your age, but his values are somewhat different than what your sisters have led you to expect from a man.
He’s not interested in learning how to please a woman from anyone other than the woman he intends to please for a lifetime.
So go ahead and give him a pie. Spend time with him.
Be friendly. Burning Scrub is a small place and we should all get along.
But if I find out you’re playing the type of games with him that might raise his expectations—and I will find out—then your adventure will end, and your brother will be called to take you home straightaway. ”
Malika had never been spoken to in such a bold, direct way. She was Adeel Jiorji’s sister. No one had dared.
But this was Burning Scrub, a small Western town, and she knew enough about the West to know that here, the steely-eyed Mavis’s word was the law, and she meant what she said. She would call Adeel, he would come for Malika, and Malika did not yet have a viable plan for escape.
Escaping should be her priority.
Not offering lessons to cowboys who didn’t appreciate them.
“My brother is running from assassins, and Jayce is the honorable cowboy whose duty it is to protect me until his return,” Malika said haughtily. “I will give him this pie as an expression of my gratitude to him. Then I’ll return here immediately.”
“Excellent idea,” Mavis said.
The distance from the older woman’s house on Jenson Street to the bunkhouse at the far end of Main Street was a fifteen-minute walk at the most. Malika dawdled enroute, partly because she was mindful of the fragile pastry she carried, but mostly because she enjoyed being outdoors.
She spoke to a few townspeople who were going about their everyday business, because Burning Scrub didn’t do its adventures halfway. Everything felt very real.
A stranger sat on the hitching post in front of the town bathhouse. He had not attended the wedding. Malika would have remembered.
He had sand-colored hair, and his skin was quite tanned.
Dark blond eyebrows arched in a way that gave him a perpetual smile.
Lean, toned in the manner of a man who worked with his hands, he appeared very pleasant and to have not a care in the world.
His smile broadened as she drew near, and his unabashed, appreciative stare gave her heart pitter-pats of excitement.
He rolled a peppermint stick along the rim of his lower lip, then removed it from his mouth.
He hopped from the rail, tossed the remains of his peppermint stick in the trash, and cut her off before she could pass.