"Why would anyone want to write a book about that?"
Addie grinned. "For future generations. So some girl can read it someday and understand how much better off she is than poor old Grandma at her age. "
"No man'll ever understand women enough to write a book about ' em. "
"You know, women have their own theories about men."
"Like… men are stronger, smarter, and make more sense-"
"No, those are men's theories about themselves. Erroneous, for the most part."
"Erro…?"
"Wrong. Men don't know the first thing about themselves. They always manage to hide the things that are the most attractive about themselves, by thinking they have to act like Don Juan or Valentino."
"Like Valen…?"
"But a woman doesn't want a man who's as slick as that. And she doesn't want someone who's going to treat her like she's a steer to be rounded up and roped and busted."
Jeff grinned at that. "How else you gonna treat a woman when she gets ornery?"
"With understanding," Addie said, and settled down on the ground, leaning on one elbow. "With tenderness. But most men aren't strong enough to be gentle. And they're not strong enough to love someone without breaking her spirit. A man likes to make his woman into a reflection of himself. Impossible here to find a man who would let his woman be a separate person as well as his wife."
"What's gotten into you?" Jeff looked at her with a puzzled frown. "You never used to make things so complicated before. Did you learn it at that school in Virginia? All this stuff about reflections and separate people. That has nothin' to do with a man and a woman. Man has a wife. She shares his bed, takes care of his house, has his children. That's all there is to think about."
"And what about a man's obligations to his wife?"
"Puts food on the table and a roof over her head. Protects his family, honors his promises."
Addie sighed, raising her eyes to his. "I wish things were that simple. I wish I didn't have to think about so many other things. It would be so much easier if I didn't. "
"Adeline, half the time I don't know what the hell you're talkin' about."
"I know you don't," she said wistfully. "I'm sorry."
She thought about that conversation when she went to bed that night, wide-awake and vaguely anxious until she heard the sweet sound of guitar strings. Ben, and that strange, yearning song he played so often. It was her favorite now, and she knew nothing of the words or the name. Who is he serenading with that music? she wondered, staring through the darkness. Ben's serenade… played for no one? For all of them? For a woman he had once longed for, someone he had wanted desperately?
What would it be like to be wanted by him? She pictured herself and Jeff as they had relaxed today at the edge of their clearing by the stream leaning against each other and sharing long, slow kisses. What would it have been like with Ben instead of Jeff? Instead of auburn locks, her fingers would have sifted through coal-black hair. Uncomfortably Addie rolled over onto her stomach, trying to shake the thoughts. She was appalled by the direction her wonderings had taken. But perhaps it was normal, even natural, to be curious about Ben.
Pulling her into his lap…
Addie squeezed her eyes tightly.
His warm breath on the inside rim of her ear as he whispered…
She let out a short, embarrassed groan and buried her face in the pillow. How could she let herself imagine such things? Go to sleep, she ordered herself, trying to block out the soft guitar music and head-spinning thoughts. Gradually she relaxed, her body going limp as she escaped into sleep. But Ben Hunter was in her dreams as well, more vivid than any dream figure had a right to be.
She was in a bedroom, draped across the mattress, naked underneath a cool sheet. Her eyes were fixed on the doorway, where a shadow shifted and moved into the room. It was the dark figure of a man. As he walked to the side of the bed, the muscled slope of his bare chest and shoulders gleamed in the moonlight. Sitting up with a start, she clutched the sheet to her breasts. He looked at her as if she belonged to him, his eyes tender and mocking, and she was frozen in place as she stared back at him. No, Ben, she wanted to whisper, but her lips wouldn't form the denial.
Something inside her body began to clamor, a hunger too sharp to bear. Wanting to flee, she made a move to the side, and Ben caught her wrists in his hands. He bent his head to kiss her, his mouth scalding and sweet. His hands stripped away the sheet, drifted over her naked body, wandered from her breasts to her stomach. The moonlight seemed to dim, leaving them in darkness, and his kisses left hot imprints on her skin, his hard flesh fitted to hers, his bare back flexed under her hands. She arched up to him, wanting him, aching, moaning his name-
Addie woke up with a gasp, her hair falling in a tangled swath across her face. Her heart was beating wildly. Her skin was feverishly hot. What was the matter with her? It was the dream she had experienced so many times before. But this time Ben, not a stranger, had been making love to her.
She jumped out of bed and went to the window, clutching the sill and breathing deeply of the night air. There was nothing but silence outside. Nothing stirred in the darkness.
What is happening to me? she asked herself, tears of bewilderment coming to her eyes. She was in Adeline Warner's bedroom, wearing Adeline's night-gown. I've taken her family, the man who loves her. I ride her horse, sit at her place at the table, use her hairbrush. But she wasn't Adeline Warner, she was Addie Peck, and she wanted to go home. She wanted to be in a place where everything was familiar. She didn't want to bear the strain of worrying about Russell's murder. She didn't want to ruin Ben Hunter. She wanted no part of it anymore. No escape. The thought would drive her mad.
Although Addie could find humor in the differences between the life she had once led and the one she was leading now, some things were hard to bear. She had never once wished she were a man, or envied a man's freedom, until now. Trying hard to copy May and Caroline's example, she struggled to curb her natural impulses. Since she'd been brought up in a household without men, she'd come to take the freedom of speaking her mind and making decisions for granted. As head of the tiny household, she had earned a living and paid the bills. But here there were so many things she couldn't do and say, so much she was prevented or forbidden from doing.
Women had to be unassuming. Women had to be quiet. Addie had to be careful to take up no more than a small percentage of mealtime conversations. The men didn't like a woman's interruption into their business discussions, even if she had something important to say.
Men could be outspoken about what they wanted. Women had to maneuver skillfully and indirectly. Whispered conversations, closing the doors discreetly, correcting or reproving with affection in her voice that was a woman's way. She could be straightforward when speaking to a child, servant, or another woman, but never with a man. With a man you had to hem and haw and simper. Addie found that even Russell was more approachable when she was coy and sweet to him, and he would send her away with a threat to lock her in her room if she didn't "stop actin' like she was wearin' breeches."
One thing she'd never expected was her own increasing hunger for male companionship. This world was sexually segregated, a fact which everyone-men and women alike-took for granted. But she had grown up in a different time, when men and women interacted constantly, as friends and partners, and sometimes as professional associates.
Not here. Not now. She was relegated to an existence inhabited mostly by women who filled their days with caring for their children, exchanging feminine secrets, and forming close female friendships. She was quickly tired of talks about childbirth, courting, children, and marriage. Men played minor roles here. They came in for dinner, patted the children, and answered the wives' questions in monosyllables.