Free A Lantern in the Window by Bobby Hutchinson

her
throat.
    "You will never"— his words were
measured and he spoke very low, almost in a whisper — “never again speak of Molly or of Jeremy.
Never, do you hear? They are not your business. They have nothing
whatsoever to do with you. You didn’t know them, and I will not
have you tarnishing their memory.”
    Her mouth fell open and she gaped at
him. “Me? Tarnish the memory of your first wife and child?
How can you say such a thing?" The unfairness of the accusation
overwhelmed her.
    “ And as for the unfortunate
child you carry,” he went on as if she hadn’t spoken, “I wish to
God it were otherwise. I wish it had never happened, but the blame
is mine as much as your own, and I will do my duty by him, just as
I have with you."
    Unfortunate child? Duty?
    In an instant, all Annie’s remorse
turned to outrage.
    "Your—your duty?” she sputtered.
“You—you pompous hypocrite, you. Is duty what you call what
goes on in this bed, then?” She thumped the bedcovers with both her
doubled-up fists and sprang to her feet so he couldn’t look down on
her.
    "It was more than duty that started
this baby, Noah, whatever you choose to believe." She spat the
words at him and met his eyes fearlessly now, her chin held high.
"You cling to the past as if your dead wife and child hold all the
love and happiness life will ever offer you, and I'm sorry for you,
because you can’t see what’s right under your nose. When I lie with
you, I feel much more than duty.”
    She struggled to keep her voice from
trembling and failed. "God help me, I feel love for you, Noah
Ferguson.”

Chapter Eight
     
    Annie could see some of Noah’s
righteous anger giving way to shocked disbelief.
    "And as for the child,” she went on,
“the only thing unfortunate about our baby is that his father
doesn’t want him. Well, I'll make up for that, never fear, because
already I love him with my whole heart and soul.” She’d made it
through without crying, and she was proud of that. But the turmoil
in her stomach made the victory short-lived. She gagged suddenly,
pressed a hand over her mouth, and ran as fast as she could for the
outhouse.
    Noah didn't move. Annie's words were
like blows from a heavy fist that stunned him and held him
immobile.
    She’d said that she loved
him.
    Pain wrenched at his gut. He didn’t
want her love, he told himself savagely. He didn’t want to love her
back, or care for the child he'd carelessly allowed to begin. He couldn’t give that kind of love again, didn’t she see
that?
    Sweat broke out on his forehead, and
he shut his eyes tight, willing himself to remember.
    For weeks now, he’d struggled to
recall the exact shape of Molly’s face, the precise sound of his
son’s baby voice calling him daddy. They were recollections Noah
had believed to be engraved on his very soul, impossible ever to
erase.
    But fight it as he would, Noah's
memories of them were fading. Now, in his dreams, it was more often
than not Annie’s husky voice he heard instead of Molly’s softer,
sweeter tones, and God knew that when he held Annie in his arms, in
this room, in this bed, the sweet passion he’d awakened in her and
the mad, bottomless hunger she stirred in him left no room for
memories or thoughts of another.
    Because, some traitorous part of him
whispered, with Molly there had never been the sexual intensity he
experienced with Annie. And he felt the foulest sort of traitor to
acknowledge that there were days—even weeks—now, when he didn’t
think of his first wife at all.
    The rest of June passed with excessive
politeness and long silences between them.
    July brought blistering heat and long
hours of backbreaking work for Noah, and for Annie as well. Days
started at four and ended only at full dark.
    The words they’d hurled at each other
remained between them.
    In bed, they lay rigidly back to back,
each achingly aware of the other's body, each longing for the
love-making that had been their only meeting place.