Page 48 of Sweet Savage Love

48

“W hat a lot you’ve learned!” Steve said reflectively. He leaned over Ginny’s prone body, propped up on one elbow; his free hand caressing her smooth flesh almost absentmindedly. “I’d always told myself what an apt pupil you were, but now I confess that your talents amaze even me.”

He bent his head to kiss the hollow at the base of her throat, feeling her pulsebeat under his lips. His exploring hand went lower and he heard her soft sigh. Her teeth caught in her lower lip as she stirred under his caresses.

He lifted his head suddenly and looked mockingly down into her half-closed eyes. “Yes—you certainly have changed my sweet. You’ve lost that delightfully intriguing modesty and shyness you once possessed! Now, when I tell you to open your legs you do so with no fuss. If I tell you, ‘turn over, we’re going to do it that way’—you oblige. Tell me, is there anything you haven’t tried yet?”

With her eyes closed, Ginny averted her face, turning her head sideways on the pillow.

“Steve—for God’s sake! I’ve told you everything—must you go on punishing me?”

“Perhaps I’m punishing myself as well—” he dropped his nude body over hers and caught a handful of her hair; rubbing his face in its softness. “You know—” he continued softly, “I’ve asked myself at least a thousand times why I didn’t kill you when you threw yourself at me so boldly. And why I continue to want you! Perhaps it’s because for a woman, you’re almost as depraved as I—and you make me curious.” His voice roughened. “Who taught you all your little whore’s tricks?”

Without any warning she felt his teeth sink savagely into the soft flesh of her shoulder and she shrieked; digging her nails into his back, only to find that just as suddenly he had begun to kiss, very tenderly and gently, the aching wound that he had just inflicted on her.

Why did he still have the power to do this to her? It’s because I love him, she thought hopelessly. It’s because I can’t stop loving him—in spite of the fact that he has never once told me that he loves me.

He had cupped her face between his palms as if he thought to mold and memorize its contours as he studied it through slitted blue eyes.

“You’ve grown more beautiful—your cheeks have developed the slightest hollow, and it serves to emphasize that wicked slant to your eyes. You look like a Hungarian gypsy! And your mouth—” he kissed it gently “—you have the most sensuous, promising mouth in all the world. I suppose I ought to consider myself lucky that I got you back—even if you are a trifle shopworn!”

He kissed her savagely, before she could do more than let out an angry gasp at the sudden brutality of his attack.

They spent three days together—alternately quarrelling or making love. Their quarrels had become duels of wits as well as words as they regarded each other cautiously, like adversaries.

In spite of the weakness in her that she admitted to herself, the hard lessons that Ginny had been forced to learn during the past months now stood her in good stead. She had learned how to erect a shell around herself and to withdraw sullenly behind it; allowing no trace of emotion to show on the surface. Sometimes, in sheer self-defense, she would throw up this same barrier between herself and Steve, particularly when he pushed her too far.

And it was this, above all things, that infuriated Steve Morgan most about his wife. She had changed, there was no doubt about it. And he had had no part in this change he resented so bitterly. He found himself wondering what kind of experiences had contributed to the strong, self-willed, independent woman she had become. She could use a knife with almost careless skill and swear like a man—and on the other hand she could cook better than most peasant women. She had changed in other ways too, as he was quick to point out to her. She had certainly learned all the techniques of a whore, along with a passionate abandon that was all her own. More particularly, she had learned how to resist—to withstand his cruellest taunts, his most calculated thrusts; retreating behind a shrug or a blank silence. She had become resilient, almost unreachable.

Ginny, his wife—during the short time they spent together he had learned that she was no longer the green girl he had first possessed. The very strength that she had gained from all the degrading experiences she had been subjected to, and the fact that she had somehow managed not only to rise above them but to win her own brand of independence against tremendous odds, annoyed him more than he could ever admit to her. She should have broken, and she had not. It was he who still bore the scars of his experiences and still held the canker of bitterness locked inside him. She appeared to have managed quite easily to forget everything unpleasant; he could sense that she had glossed or skipped over some of the worst parts of her story when she had told it to him. How could she remain so unaffected? What kind of a woman had she really become? He couldn’t forgive her for the things she had done of her own accord and even some of the things she had let herself be forced to do—and what made it worse was that she had never asked him to forgive her either!

Three days. Steve had told her grudgingly that it was all he could manage at the moment, and he had no idea when he might be back next. Alternately happy and miserable, Ginny had to be content with that.

At least she had found him again! She found herself wondering about the changes she noticed in him; studying this stranger who was her lover and her husband in almost the same covert way that she sensed he was studying her.

He wanted her. She could be sure of that much at least. She exulted in the blaze of desire she could always discern in his eyes when he looked at her, and yet—he never spoke of loving her, only of wanting her. Just once she had dared to ask him boldly if he loved her, and his derisive laugh pierced her more deeply than she let him see on the surface.

“Love! That’s a funny word to hear on your lips, baby. Is that what you called it when you gave yourself to a legion of lovers?”

“Oh God, Steve! You’re the only man I have ever loved. Why else do you think you have the power to hurt me?”

“I don’t think any man can really hurt you, sweetheart. You’re too strong, too resilient—you’ll always manage, somehow, to survive—won’t you?”

He was cruel, and yet he could be tender with her too. He wanted to know everything about her past—every sordid detail he could force her to admit to; and yet he would tell her very little of what had happened to him. Jealously, Ginny pressed for more details of his relationship with the Condesa de Valmes, and he raised an amused eyebrow.

“Soledad? She’s my godmother, you know. And still a very beautiful woman. You’ve met her, haven’t you?”

“Oh—I suppose so! I’d hardly remember.”

“I’m not surprised, as busy as you were while you were visiting Orizaba. But Soledad remembers you very well!”

“Oh, she does?” Ginny turned on him furiously, stung by his sarcastic tone of voice. “I’ve no doubt she was the one who gave you all the worst gossip she could pick up about me. I suppose she was jealous!”

“I hardly think so, sweetheart!” he said cuttingly, the meaning behind his pointed words so obvious that angry color stained her cheeks.

Whatever remarks she might have made to contradict his insinuations were blotted out, as usual, by the sudden pressure of his lips over hers. He could make her forget all his infidelities and all his cruelties with his kisses, or an occasional moment of tenderness.

To counteract her own treacherous vulnerability Ginny showed him a pride that matched his own—a temper that flamed up to meet his when he got angry. He began to show her almost a grudging respect at such times, although it annoyed him inwardly that she had learned to take such good care of herself. Only in his arms, with his lips on her lips or travelling all over her body, did she submit and become weak.

Steve Morgan saw her cry for the first time since they had found each other again on the morning he got ready to leave the hacienda. He covered his surprise at her unexpected tears by speaking to her roughly.

“For God’s sake! What’s the matter with you now? This sniveling doesn’t suit you—and it’s not going to move me into taking you along; I’ve already told you it’s out of the question. You must just do as you think best, sweet. Stay here if you want to, after all the hacienda is yours, as you’ve reminded me often enough. And if you get too bored, there’s always Vera Cruz—I’m sure you’ll run into lots of your friends there. Salvador can escort you, and I’ve left you with enough money to manage on until that ship Bishop booked your passage on is ready to leave.”

As usual, he seemed to pick on exactly the right words and phrases that would hurt most.

“Don’t you care? Doesn’t it make any difference to you at all whether I’m here when you return or not?”

When she glanced up at him through eyes that were blurred with tears she thought she noticed an almost imperceptible softening of the harsh tension lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth.

“I don’t know, Ginny,” he said slowly. “Dammit—I’m not used to being owned, and neither are you, it seems. We’ve both become used to doing without each other—sometimes it’s as if we were strangers; coming together only in bed. Are we really ready for ties, either of us?” He shrugged fatalistically and repeated, “Quien sabe?”

For two long, dragging weeks those words were all she had to go on.

Here, in the isolated world of the little Hacienda de la Nostalgia, even the war seemed too far away to be real, or to affect Ginny in any way. Where before she had been caught up in a whirl of pointless activities, always with some new item of gossip or news of the most recent battle to be discussed; here it always seemed as if time had been suspended.

Almost thankful that there was so much to be done both around the estancia and within it, Ginny tried to keep herself both busy and tired, so that she would fall into bed before nine o’clock each night—too exhausted to stay awake and think.

The house began to shine inside as Ginny had the old furniture repaired and polished, the windows washed; found bright scatter rugs for the floors. She had lots of help, for the peons sent their wives and daughters up to the house to assist la patrona, and even came themselves to help with bigger jobs like repairing roofs and walls.

They were all proud of their gringa patrona with the bright hair and eyes like the sea—a woman who was not too proud to set her hand to any task, no matter how menial. “Truly,” they would say, wagging heads knowingly, “ el patrón chose well when he chose this woman. She is of the people.” It was the greatest compliment they could give her, these simple Indian peasants, and they developed a fierce loyalty for her.

She visited their houses, carried and changed their babies, and could even sit down with the other women and pitch in unselfconsciously when they were grinding the meal for tortillas. She could cook over a little open-hearth cook fire, and get clothes clean on a flat rock by the river. And she could ride a horse bareback and astride, like a man.

Even old Salvador, who could remember Steve’s mother, gave Ginny his grudging stamp of approval. When she came into the kitchen to help him he no longer muttered his objections, but would sit down to gossip with her and give her the news he picked up on his infrequent visits to the nearest village.

It was from Salvador that Ginny learned that the armies of Juarista Generals Escobedo and Corona were closing, like an iron ring, around Queretaro.

“Soon, they will have the foreigner emperor trapped like a rat there—with no way to escape,” the old man said with a ring of triumph in his voice.

She learned of the daring raid that General Miramon had led on Zacatecas, where his cavalry had cut the garrison there to pieces and only narrowly missed capturing Don Benito Juarez himself. She had met General Miramon, she remembered. A tall and grizzled old creole officer, with a face like granite. A veteran of other wars. Ginny wondered if his exploit meant a turn in the waning fortunes of the Imperialists, until a week later Salvador brought her the news that General Escobedo had routed Miramon’s sadly outnumbered little army.

“To teach a lesson to these dogs El General Escobedo had a hundred Imperialist officers executed,” Salvador went on, “and one of them was the brother of Miramon himself!”

Ginny could not help feeling a pang of pity. She recalled Agnes du Salm’s bitter words to her one day that two wrongs did not make a right. Was it really necessary to be so brutal in order to teach the Imperialists a lesson? They were all fighting, after all, for whatever they believed in—although Ginny could not help remembering Miguel Lopez’s cynicism about the loyalty of Maximilian’s three top Generals.

At least Salvador had good news for her about Díaz. The army of Don Porfirio was still moving steadily towards the borders of the province of Puebla. They should be in the province itself within the week.

It meant, Ginny knew, that there was a good chance Steve might make the short detour to see her. If he had rejoined the army permanently, he would be so close! But had he rejoined the army, or was he still skulking in the mountains with the guerrilleros? She had to tell herself sternly that she must be patient—she mustn’t let herself hope too much.

Two weeks after Steve had left, Salvador came padding into the small room Ginny had appointed as her “study,” his face set in disapproving lines…

“There is a man who says he has come to see you, patrona. ” The corners of the old man’s lips dropped sourly. “He does not look like a good man, patrona. He looks like a bandido to me! Who else would come softly out of the shadows after dark? But he says the Senor sent him…”

Ginny jumped to her feet, her green eyes shining like lamps.

“Oh, Salvador! Why did you not say so before? Where is he? Have you offered him anything to eat?”

Without waiting for a reply, she had run past him to the kitchen, where the man who straightened up from his lounging stance against the wall as she entered was certainly one of the most villainous-looking characters she had ever seen. He had been eying the little maid that Ginny was training with a calculatedly evil leer that had her cowering up against the stove, but now he betrayed what was almost a startled surprise when he saw Ginny.

Indoors, she discarded the rebozo she normally wore to cover her head and shoulders from the sun, and her hair glowed as brightly as the richly polished copper pans on the wall. She was barefoot, for comfort, and wore a low-cut white blouse and brightly patterned skirt such as the local Indian women wore. Her lips, when she smiled rather questioningly, revealed small, pearly-white teeth. The man, whose name was Manolo, found himself regarding her almost with awe.

He dragged off his wide-brimmed sombrero to reveal a shock of long, badly-trimmed black hair as he shuffled his booted feet rather awkwardly, unable to take his eyes off Ginny.

“You have a message for me? From my husband?” Her voice was just as he had imagined it would be—low, and rather husky. He thought, Wait until I tell the others! Esteban will never lack for volunteers to take his wife messages in the future!

Grinning to cover the trend of his thoughts, Manolo produced a crumpled piece of paper from a pocket in his silver embroidered vest. The vest had been taken off the body of a dandyish young lieutenant in the Cazadores, who had had a weakness for a certain cantina when he was off duty, and Manolo was proud of it, although the crossed bandoliers he wore detracted from its beauty.

He kept grinning while the red-haired woman held the note in her hands almost as if she was afraid to open it. She was looking at him inquiringly.

“Have you eaten? You must be tired—Salvador here will be glad to give you a meal, and some tequila to wash it down with if you have time to rest for a while.”

The old man had followed her into the kitchen and now stood by the stove frowning darkly, but when Manolo admitted that he was indeed very hungry he turned to the stove and began clattering pans loudly, muttering under his breath.

Salvador looked even more disapproving when la patrona offered the “ bandido ” a chair and sat down across from him at the little kitchen table herself. The Senor keeps bad company, he was thinking as he dished out a meal. It’s too bad he could not have found someone better to send here! The patrona should not sit at the same table with such a bad one—nor talk to him in such a friendly fashion either! He sent Maria scurrying off to her home, having noticed the way the man had been eyeing her. At least he would not dare to act so disrespectfully to the patrona.

Ginny sipped at a glass of wine under Manolo’s admiring glances and tried to question him about Steve, but he either knew nothing or wasn’t prepared to say. He shrugged often as he said that he did not know when Esteban would be back here; and as he admitted rather proudly that they never stayed in the same place for too long.

“But when is he going back to join the army?” Ginny persisted and got another shrug from her taciturn visitor.

“ Quien sabe? Perhaps it will be soon. Soon we will all be joining the army on its march to Mexico City itself!”

He disappeared almost as quickly and as silently as he had appeared after he had eaten, and Ginny took her letter along with her to her bedroom to read in privacy.

The first letter that Steve had ever thought to send her. What an unpredictable man he was!

She unfolded the creased and crumpled piece of paper and found only a few scrawled words on it, with no salutation nor formal ending.

“We’ve been very busy—moving a lot—but at least things are looking up. I’ll see you soon, perhaps—if you’re still there.”

That was all. Even from a distance, she thought bitterly, he could still hurt her. The note could have been written to anyone at all—there was nothing personal in it, just for her, except that mocking half-promise—“perhaps I’ll see you soon.” What made him so afraid of committing himself?

Oh Steve—Steve, she thought despondently, why do I continue to love you? Why can’t I take you as lightly as you seem to take me?

There were no answers to be found in herself. She would just have to be patient—to wait.