Roses in Autumn (9 page)

“The fact of the matter is that marriages die spiritually first, but this was just a history lesson, remember?”

…
Was Tom right? Did Monty really find me attractive?

Of course not, he was just being polite to a visitor, like all Canadians …

“Mrs. James?”

She jumped. “Sorry. Terrible habit. What did you say?”

“I asked if you like to read poetry.”

“I love it.”

“Good. I want you to read the Song of Solomon.”

“I’ve read it.”

“And your voice sounds like you disapprove of its being in the Bible.”

“Of course not. It’s just an allegory.” She stood stiffly. What a waste of time this had been.

“Well, take another look at it. We can discuss it when you come back.”

Laura turned and walked from the room without another word. What made him think she was coming back? Whenever she wanted more of his debauched philosophy she could get it in any X-rated movie for a lot less money. But then, she should have expected all this. After all, Kyle Larsen was a man. Her mother had warned her. They were all alike.

Tom was out when she got back to the room. Fine. That would give her a chance to get some writing done. Now that she was getting to know Gwendolyn better, she could do one of her character development exercises for her. Yes. Good idea.

Ten minutes later, as Laura stared at the still-blank sheet of paper in front of her, she decided that trying to write must have been a bad idea. Strange, her technique of listing everything she knew about a character, then everything she wanted to know, and then doing an imaginary talk show interview with her character never failed. But it had this time. It seemed it was taking so much energy to keep her anger at Kyle Larsen under control, she couldn’t concentrate on anything else.

She wandered listlessly around the room, trying not to wonder where Tom was. The ringing phone shattered the silence that her intense concentration always created. Tom? Calling to say he was on his way? She sprang to the phone. “Hello.” Silence. “Hello?”

No, not silence. Breathing. Someone was on the line, but not speaking to her.

She dropped the receiver back in the cradle with a shiver. It was as if the room had been invaded. Where was Tom? She looked around for something to do. She tried reading some of the books she had bought but couldn’t focus on Canadian history. Her mind kept wandering back to Kyle Larsen’s words. Slowly, amazement replaced her initial anger.

She had no idea there could be debatable theories—philosophy and theology—behind her feelings. She had been taught that things were black and white, good and evil. Now this man had said the correctness of such thoughts could be discussed. It gave a whole new approach to an issue that had been only emotion to her before.

All right, she would try his approach and see what happened. Reading the Bible couldn’t hurt anything, could it? She yanked open the drawer of her bedside table and took out the Gideon Bible. Song of Solomon, he said. All right, she’d show him. She would read the whole thing, then march back into his office and tell him exactly what she and God thought of his depraved ideas. No, she wasn’t going back. Well, she’d see about that.

Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine. Because of the savour of thy good ointments thy name is as ointment poured forth, therefore do the virgins love thee …

Tell me, O thou whom my soul loveth, where thou feedest, where thou makest thy flock to rest at noon … Behold, thou art fair, my beloved, yea, pleasant: also our bed is green.

Why, this was beautiful. This was the most beautiful poetry she had ever read. Why had she not seen that before? The richness of metaphor, the flow of language—Laura felt herself surrounded by warm, spiced oils, scented flowers, silken fabrics, rich foods, and the music of words carrying her on.

Who is this that cometh out of the wilderness like pillars of smoke, perfumed with myrrh and frankincense, with all powders of the merchant? Behold his bed …

Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold thou art fair; thou hast doves’ eyes within thy locks … Thou art all fair, my love; there is no spot in thee … Thou hast ravished my heart … How fair is thy love … A garden inclosed … a fountain of gardens … Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south; blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits.

It was several moments before the knocking at the door penetrated her consciousness. Oh, it must be Tom. Had he forgotten his key? She ran to the door and flung it open as a maiden opening her garden to her lover.

The startled man in a houseboy’s jacket blinked at her. “Oh, sorry to bother you. Housekeeping. Didn’t realize you were in.”

“But the room’s been made up.”

“OK. Just checking.” He began to back away.

Laura frowned. Strange; housekeeping staff was usually female. She turned back to her reading, but the spell was broken. The spices and flowers were gone. Thorns and bare streambeds remained. And the serpent. There. That was the answer. She had been so seduced by the beauty of the language; she hadn’t seen the serpent waiting for her. She would tell that Kyle Larsen a thing or two. Think he could deceive her, did he?

Chapter
8

“Yes, I read it just like you told me to.” Laura sat in the doctor’s office the next morning, her white linen blouse freshly pressed, her feet tucked carefully under her chair. “And I saw the truth you seem to have missed. Of course the garden was beautiful. But you ignored the forbidden fruit. Everyone knows the—er, the act was the forbidden fruit. That was what caused the Fall. You’re telling me to enjoy the very act that brought sin into the world.”

Kyle shook his head. “Theologically unsound. God commanded Adam and Even to be fruitful and multiply
before
the Fall.”

Laura shrugged. “That’s different. Even Augustine said having children was all right, remember?”

“Why is it different? Did God create all of the human body?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Well, then, did He create some parts good and some evil?”

Laura nibbled a fingernail. Maybe she shouldn’t have come after all. She wouldn’t have if she hadn’t been so sure she was right on philosophical grounds. And if the all-toofamiliar scenario of frustration and hostility hadn’t repeated itself with Tom last night.

“You’re telling me to unlearn things I’ve believed since I was an infant.” And even as she argued, part of Laura’s mind hoped he was right. How simple it would be if coming together with Tom could be in a spice-laden garden without the serpent. Simple and beautiful. And sinful.

As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons. I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.

Simple and beautiful. And sinful.

Oops. The doctor was talking. And she did want to hear him. But she’d always been like this—her mind absorbed poetry like a sponge, and it was likely to wring out at odd times.

“I’m not a priest. It’s not my place to tell you what to believe. But I do want you to think very carefully about some things that can make a great difference in your life. After all, it’s the job of the Holy Spirit to lead us into truth—not the role of some shrink with a framed piece of paper on his wall.”

He brought me to the banqueting house, and his banner over me was love.

“All right, Dr. Shrink. What do you want me to think about?” Obediently, the notebook opened to receive her lists.

“Consider the fact that God created male and female. Love—the act of love in marriage—is sacred. You and your husband were created for that relationship.”

He paused until she had finished writing. “Remember that Christ pronounced the married couple to be one flesh. Sexuality is one way for a married couple to celebrate life together.”

Laura drew back at the thought, but persisted, taking his words down as dictation. She numbered point three:

“The husband-wife relationship is even compared to the union between Christ and the Church. Marriage is honorable in all, and the bed undefiled.”

Laura, writing fast, flipped up another sheet, ruffling the paper. Kyle suddenly broke into laughter. “Whoa. And here I just said I wasn’t a priest. Sorry about dumping all that theory on you. Tear all that up if you want to. Let’s keep this simple. Write one sentence at the top of your page: Sex is a gift of God. Just that.”

Laura shrank into the corner of her chair, her pen not moving.

Kyle held up a hand soothingly. “Just write it down and think about it. Work on it in your mind. Try to get comfortable with the idea.”

“And what about Tom?”

“I was hoping you’d ask that. Your concern for your husband’s happiness is very refreshing. Most people come in here asking, how can
I
be happier? What can
I
do to get more fulfillment for
me?
Of course, it works together—in a marriage the more satisfied one partner is the more satisfied the other will be too.”

“Like what you were saying about one flesh?”

“Precisely. Try to go back to being friends with your husband before you attempt to be lovers.”

“Yes. That’s exactly how it used to be. Tom and I were best friends. That’s what I miss so much since—since all this trouble. I’ve lost my best friend.”

Kyle nodded. “You have to start all over on your relationship. You didn’t jump into bed on your first date. Don’t rush things now.”

“Oh!” Laura leaned back in her chair and threw her hands up, the internal pressure escaping as if from a balloon. “Oh, it’s like the first day of summer vacation.”

“Good, that’s just what we want. Nice and easy.” He opened his desk book. “Now, I’ll see you again in a week.”

“A week? Oh, didn’t I explain? We’re only here for another week and a half. Can’t I come back sooner?”

He scanned his appointments. “How about two days —Thursday morning?”

“That’s perfect. Thank you so much—for everything!” Laura could never have imagined that losing an argument could be so liberating.

In her let-out-of-school spirit she chose to run down the two flights of stairs from Dr. Larsen’s office rather than take the elevator. She had so much to think about. She had glimpsed a whole new world. A world ruled by a smiling, approving God. Not a thin, scowling old man holding her on a spider’s web over a smoking pit hoping the filament would break. This was a whole new God. A God who created sunshine and blue skies and fields of flowers for His children to play in.

“I always feel God is watching me,” she had said.

“Yes, He is,” Kyle replied. “He’s watching, and He approves.”

“Even in bed?” It had been so hard to ask that question, to refer to the forbidden fruit in the light of day.

But Kyle had smiled at her kindly. “Especially in bed, because you’re being obedient to His plan for you and your marriage.”

Laura knew Kyle was right in cautioning her to go slow. It would take a long time for her subconscious to accept what her brain was saying, and then longer for her body to respond. But she had started. She had taken a step toward building a whole new structure—not just clamping down another grip on the situation with determination and willpower and clenched teeth.

This was unclenching, a letting go and relaxing. If she could really accept that God wasn’t condemning her, she could quit condemning herself.

Oh, Tom, I can’t wait to tell you—to start our journey back to friendship!
To Laura’s ecstatic vision the many-globed Victorian streetlights began to glow like iridescent opal balloons, and the baskets of trailing blossoms hanging from each lamppost nodded to her with joy.

She rounded a corner and there, leaning against one of the flower-draped lamps, was Tom, waiting for her just where he said he’d be.
Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits.
She felt as if she were running to him through a flower-strewn meadow, although in reality she somehow managed to keep both feet on the sidewalk—except for one tiny skip to match her heartbeat.

Tom stepped forward with his hands held out to meet hers, their eyes and smiles locking as warmly as their fingers. They strolled down the flower-hung street, hardly noticing the appealing shop windows or other passersby. There was so much she wanted to tell Tom, but it seemed she didn’t need to. It was as if he read it all in her expression and found his own freedom in hers. Their steps hadn’t matched so perfectly since their courtship days.

Tom held a door open and they entered a cozy Victorian atmosphere of dark woods and forest green carpets with etched glass on the walls and stained glass overhead. They were seated in a snug, private room. From there Laura could see into the next, a glass-roofed, plant-grown conservatory with tea drinkers seated on white wicker garden chairs. In spite of the brightness and elegance of the scene around her, though, Laura had eyes only for her husband: his firm jawline and strong chin framing fine, straight features; his crisp, white shirt collar and precise cuffs offsetting his navy blue blazer. This man was hers—her Tom. The man God had given her to become one flesh with, to live as a helpmeet with, to be friends with. My husband, my friend. So nonthreatening, so freeing.

Waitresses stepping out of a Victorian parlor wearing black taffeta dresses with white lace aprons and hats rustled by carrying little wicker muffin baskets. Plates of scones with Devon cream and thick strawberry preserves appeared on the lace mats in front of them. Laura reached for the white Spode teapot and filled their cups with Queen Victoria tea. She added a dollop of milk to hers and started to sip, then stopped midmotion.

There was so much she wanted to say—to explain about the past—to tell about Kyle’s counseling—to promise for the future. But, almost choked with excitement, all she could get out was, “To a new beginning.”

Tom’s eyes, the blue-gray eyes that could be so stern, softened with the light of a smile as he reached for the handle of his yellow-flowered cup.

Laura took a bite of her flaky-yet-moist scone, then leaned back in her chair. “Mmm, afternoon tea is therapy. It nourishes the soul as well as the body. Maybe this is why Canadians are so polite.”