Wild Girl Running, page 15
Estelle, sighing heftily, watched Bonnie fill the tub. All the while, the wild girl dreamed of Ulysses. How he’d touched her! How nice it had felt, how warm. How good it was to be so close to him, held by him. Kissed by him! Kissed!
Despite herself, the girl giddily laughed and rested a hand upon her astonished cheek. With a kindly smile, Bonnie tested the water, then came over to get Estelle out of her clothes. “Did you have a nice time hunting today?”
‘Time.’ That was one of those words that was used frequently, and one that Estelle just couldn’t fully figure out. So far as she could tell, it referred to a chunk of experience, but even then she had the sense that she did not grasp its complete meaning. It might have helped if they had been able to provide her with a counter-example, much as she had figured out ‘alive’ and ‘dead’ with Ulysses’s helpful comparison. ‘Dead’ was when another animal killed you, or when an invisible spirit came to take you from your body. ‘Alive,’ it seemed, was everything else. It was the animal state: the moving, breathing, being state in which humans lived. How funny! All this time she had thought she was dead, but seeing the bear made her understand the difference at last. What would finally teach her about the meaning of time, she wondered?
“Nice hunting,” repeated Bonnie again, the question reduced to a few short words that the girl could focus on. At Estelle’s lame nod, Bonnie hid a frown and stooped to help her out of her stockings. “Everything go okay?”
“Uh-huh. Mark hunt duck, Estelle hunt deer. Tom hunt duck, showed Estelle gun.”
Looking surprised, Bonnie asked, “Tom—Tom Dulcamara was there? That’s a weird coincidence.” Then, seeing the girl’s blank blinks at this big word, she cleared her throat and self-corrected, “I mean, it’s strange. Lucky timing.”
Still not wholly understanding, Estelle glanced worriedly toward the door and permitted Bonnie to help her out of the rest of her underthings. “Tom nice. Ulysses very nice. Ulysses—Estelle love Ulysses, Bonnie.”
Her lips twisting into an almost sad sort of smile (how strange it was, the wild girl thought, to think of a smile as sad!), Bonnie took Estelle by the hand to help her into the tub. “I know you do, Estelle.”
“Ulysses sad?” Estelle gazed up, searching Bonnie’s face for some explanation of what had occurred in the back of the coach. Bonnie glanced sidelong, sighing faintly, wringing out the washrag and foaming up a bar of sweetly scented soap.
“Hm…how do I say this…Ulysses is smart. You and I are smart. Smart is hunting, building, listening. Understand?”
Strangely, she did. Estelle nodded, riveted to Bonnie’s explanation as she said simply, “Sometimes, smart is sad.”
“Why?”
“Because it sees,” was her only elaboration before she set about scrubbing behind the wild girl’s ears.
Maybe smart saw, but Estelle didn’t. It was good to see, so far as she was concerned. Being in the dark was scarier—you didn’t know what was there, and many things lived in it while looking for other animals to eat. But the light was sweet, and when it became especially warm in the spring and summer it made things grow, and during the day it frightened those things that most often liked to hunt wild girls.
Why seeing would make Ulysses sad, Estelle couldn’t imagine. Not until after her bath. Bonnie brought her, wrapped in a towel, to get dressed again in her bedroom.
There, Estelle studied mother wolf’s skull. The spark of mother wolf’s life had disappeared in the darkness, and Estelle had only realized it upon the rising of the light.
Yes—Estelle supposed that seeing was a very sad thing, or could be. Not always, though. After all…some things were nice to see. Some things made seeing worth all the pain of seeing of other things.
So far as Estelle was concerned, the nicest thing to see in the whole world was Ulysses. When she looked at him, everything else faded away. When she was young and mother wolf had just died, Estelle often wondered why something so nice could exist but leave such a sorrowful feeling—such an awful burr lodged in the center of her heart.
Now it seemed almost like the pain from death’s dagger was a low compared to a high: a great opposite by which Estelle could recognize the towering aperture of life to which this good man brought her simply by holding her in his arms. She wanted to rise upon those heights all the time: wanted always to feel like she had on the first morning she awoke beside him, sleeping in the forest together, the stars still faintly clinging over their heads and his warm body so close.
After dinner, when Ulysses had again excused himself to his quarters and Bonnie looked through a book quietly by the fire, Estelle went to see her finest friend in all the world. She cracked open the door and there he sat inside, his back to her while he looked over a piece of paper he’d filled with scratches of black ink. At the sudden intrusion, he glanced sharply up, then looked relieved.
“Estelle,” he said softly, reaching out to her, “shut the door, sit with me—”
After the latch clicked beneath her hand, the girl drew her nightgown around her ankles and dashed on bare feet across the cold wood floor. With a low sigh of joy to do so, she threw her arms around his neck and slid into his lap. Ulysses produced a sigh of his own, his hands fitting at once to her body and sending another wildfire raging through it.
Nothing in the world made her feel like Ulysses had in the coach. Estelle had never known she could feel like that—that someone could make her feel that, or that she could make herself feel that. She wanted it again and gazed up at him in absolute adoration, but dared not beg too much for as sad as he had been after the last time. Instead, she petted his cheek. “Ulysses smart,” she said, eliciting a small laugh of surprise.
“I don’t know about that…new word, eh? That’s because you’re smart, too…oh! My wild wolf girl—Estelle—”
A kind of pain struck his face, as if she had pinched or scratched him. Frowning, the girl asked, “Ulysses sad?”
“No—well—yes. But I’m happy. You make me very happy, Estelle. And that’s why I’m sad. I have no business being made so happy by you.”
Not understanding fully but hearing, amid all of that, that she made him happy, Estelle leaned her head against Ulysses’s shoulder. “Estelle happy. Love you, Ulysses.”
“I love you, oh, Estelle—sweet girl. But there’s so much you don’t know. Things you don’t understand. You’re very smart, but very—untaught. There are things you don’t know.”
“Can teach,” she suggested to him, her lips pursing against the side of his throat. Goosebumps trailed down the flesh of his neck and she smiled softly to see them, nuzzling more closely against the beating heart of his pulse. “Ulysses can teach Estelle.”
“I’d like to—I’d like to. I just don’t know how. And if others, Bonnie or Mark—I just don’t think it’s right.”
“Nice man,” she told him, her skin burning to think of his kindness, her arms tightening around his neck. “Bonnie and Mark nice. Bonnie and Mark—see Ulysses nice.”
“You’re so articulate with the few words you know,” he said, cheek pressing to the temple of her forehead, the precise meaning of each part of his sentence lost but the general emphasis more than clear to her. “But…it’s my job to see to you, Estelle. Mother wolf protected Estelle before; Ulysses protects Estelle now.”
“And Estelle protects Ulysses,” she said firmly, thinking of what a pleasure it was to take down a deer and then watch him enjoy it for dinner. “Estelle and Ulysses, um—ah—” She leaned back to try to gesture, moving her hands in a circle around them. “Estelle and Ulysses, like mother wolf and baby, mother and father and baby—”
“Family?”
“Yes! Yes. Family.” Estelle caught up his hand and, pressing his knuckles to her throbbing heart, gazed ardently into his face. “Estelle and Ulysses family. Like marriage.”
“Yes. Yes, like marriage.” Studying her very carefully, the tenderness in his face as clear as the trepidation, he asked after a moment, “Estelle—I’m sorry to have to ask this—do you understand where babies come from? Cubs, children?”
The girl bit her lip and shook her head. “Forest? Trees?”
“No”—he laughed slightly, his eye crinkling so beautifully with his mirth that she had to drop her gaze away for a second or else kiss him fiercely and silence him altogether—“no. A natural guess, though, I suppose. No, ah—well. Man and woman love each other, and kiss, and pet, and—the man, ah—oh, how do I put this?”
While Estelle stared blankly at him and waited for an answer, he at last suggested, “The wolves, for instance. Have you ever seen, ah, one wolf climb on top of another wolf? On top of mother wolf, maybe?”
“Oh! Yes, uh-huh, Estelle sees.”
“Ahem, yes, well—that is where cubs come from, you see. And…it’s much the same with humans who are in love. Some people call it making love, in fact. It is a mutual act. A gesture of partnership. It should be, anyway.”
Just the thought of being held so tight by Ulysses, completely covered by him—it reminded her of the dream she had when she’d first come to this strange place, and she smiled. “Love you, Ulysses. I love you.”
“Estelle! Oh—”
She feared she had made him sad again, or hurt him somehow owing to his tone; but he simply drew her down to his shoulder, his heart, then held her there with a hand gently resting upon her head. “I love you. How I love you. So bold and honest, brave and smart. And beautiful. You are so beautiful, Estelle. Beautiful to see. Beautiful to look at. I love to look at you, to listen to you. I want to listen to you forever. But—it’s not fair for me to make love to you. You couldn’t begin to know what to expect, could you? And—if you were left with child, and didn’t understand…giving birth isn’t easy, you know. Not even just carrying the child seems to be easy. If you were afraid, or hurt, I would feel terrible.”
“Estelle understands,” she said tersely, having garnered a mite more of his fretful words than he’d perhaps expected her to. “Estelle learns always. Lots and lots! Cubs from lovemaking—Ulysses and Estelle’s cubs.”
A giddy, almost shy explosion of giggles rose from her lips at the thought. How wonderful it would be! She had only liked being part of the pack so much. After all, being small as she was—and without natural claws or fangs, to boot—Estelle had been at the very bottom of the structure. But if she and Ulysses formed their own family, their own pack, why, wouldn’t that be nice? Then she would be in charge, like mother wolf.
Better still: Wouldn’t it be nice to love someone the way mother wolf loved her? To see him, Ulysses, loving those babies just as the tough male wolves became so gentle and kind when a pup came trundling along? It made Estelle’s heart flutter and she petted his chest.
“Nice Ulysses,” she whispered to him. “Estelle love nice Ulysses…want to make love. Want to have babies.”
“Oh—oh, Estelle—”
Sighing painedly, Ulysses kept her pressed to his heart, then at last (at last!) slid a hand beneath her rump. With her carefully slung in his arms, he rose from his chair and brought her to the bed. Still in his clothes as much as she still wore her nightgown, he lay her down, smoothed the hair back from her face, and thrilled her with an unasked kiss upon her sensitive lips. So sensitive! It seemed almost that his kiss tickled her, stung her. She moaned, her hands running over his face and up into his hair while he nuzzled against her amid the working of their lips.
“Let me hold you, Estelle,” he whispered, turning her over and folding his arms around her. “Let me hold you. Let me think.”
A pleasant sigh drifted from her lips as Ulysses, one hand upon her hip, carefully eased her upon her side. Then, body fitting to hers, he folded his arms around her.
Oh! The richness of her love seemed to overflow from her very body. She felt as though the air buzzed with it, that love, and sighed to be held by him in what seemed a prelude to the act of lovemaking.
Alas, the civilized world was not as simple as the natural one. Estelle sensed that if she and Ulysses were in the woods together—alone in any true way, really—they might have made love that very night, and thereafter been a happy little pack of two. But for some reason, even after having explained these things to Estelle, he seemed nearly afraid to proceed. Instead they dozed off in one another’s arms, the lights still on, her desire for him unsated.
What was a woman going to have to do to get a man to act naturally?
ANOTHER CAMBRIDGE LETTER. Did he think the subject would be ready to travel before winter? If not, Dr. Cochran might have to wait for the following year. And if he could be so kind as to prepare a separate copy of his journals for review and admission into their library, it would be most appreciated. They did not want, of course, to take the original.
No—just Estelle.
Perhaps Tom had made the researcher paranoid…but Ulysses did now have to ask himself how he ever expected anything else when it came to the Cambridge. They were too formal, too professional, to see the human in Estelle, and by that stretch they would think nothing of taking her away from him. Even once they met her, Ulysses couldn’t believe they would see her as anything more than an abstract set of traits that piqued their interest. Ulysses knew her as a person and saw her as a person.
And he loved her as a person, too.
Oh, what a crushing sense of guilt washed over him every time he thought of it! And to imagine that she loved him back was unfathomable. Surely it was only because he was the first person she ever saw; the first and most prominent man in her life, the one who taught her and loved her. Clearly she was just confusing feelings of closeness and safety with those of love.
Yet, well—she seemed to feel safe enough around Mark, and even interested in a friendly way as time passed and they both got comfortable. The Irishman was very quiet and tended to keep to himself, but after Estelle had spent a few weeks as a part of the household, Ulysses observed a subtle change in the valet.
Once Ulysses had taught her the basics of riding, Mark helped to perfect her skills, and on clear days would often invite her to take the horse out under his supervision. After, he would teach her things about the horse’s care, the brushing and the feeding of it. When Estelle would reappear up in the suite she would be bright-eyed and giggling with happy memories of the animal’s lips collecting a sugar cube from the palm of her hand. Mark, in his typical quiet fashion, would say nothing but that the girl had listened well before he went about with the rest of his duties.
Ulysses felt none of the jealousy here that he had felt with Dr. Dulcamara teaching her to shoot, but he just couldn’t put his finger on why that was until he observed a certain incident. One evening, Mark sat darning his socks by the fire; Bonnie was reading the evening paper and paying no more attention than was Ulysses, who was always aware of his darling Estelle in an unconscious way but at that moment occupied by returning a letter to Mrs. Halbrook. The housekeeper had responded with much enthusiasm to the idea of a lady joining them in the household. Ulysses, at a small writing desk pushed against the break wall between the suite’s living room and dining area, was just in the midst of a sentence inquiring if Halbrook knew offhand of any private passage back to England. A cry of surprise from the girl drew the researcher’s attention, and he turned to see that Mark had caught her wrist with a frown.
Evidently, Estelle had wandered over to investigate the valet’s sewing supplies and been pricked by a needle when she got too handsy. “Now, look at you,” said Mark, his tone tersely paternal as he clucked to examine the little red dot on her fingertip. “You’ve hurt yourself. I’ve told you before to stay away from these needles.”
“But Mark touch needles!”
“And Mark’s been touching needles since before you were born. He knows how to touch ‘em and doesn’t mind if he pricks himself, but he minds if you do it. Ah, poor mite.” At the girl’s trembling lip and instantly watering eyes, Mark sighed and patted the back of her hand. “Sensitive as my little sister. No harm done, lass, but you keep clear of those needles, now. I won’t see you hurting yourself.”
“Sorry, Mark,” she said, which was very interesting because it was the first time Ulysses had heard her apologize.
“Don’t worry about me,” said Mark, picking up the sock and resuming his work again. “Apologize to yourself. You’re the one who’s hurt. Let it be a lesson to you.”
Frowning down at her hand, Estelle murmured, “Sorry, Estelle,” at which point Bonnie took her off to have her finger washed.
No harm may have really been done, of course, but the incident stuck in the researcher’s mind because Mark’s behavior had rather reminded Ulysses of his own grandfather. The admixture of love and impatience, of protective instinct battling with the desire to foster independence—it was very familiar to him, and it had implications for the way Estelle felt about Mark in turn. That was to say, if there was a paternal figure in Estelle’s life, it was more likely to be the distant and somewhat gruff valet who taught her how to care for horses than it was to be the man with whom she held hands while walking through the park.
Ulysses tried, then, to feel a little less guilty. It weren’t as though he was corrupting Estelle, or instilling in her some perverse notion of what love truly was. She looked at him and felt what she felt, and there was nothing wrong with that. The true wrongness would come in if she was not equipped to understand what was arising between them…but, following the conversation in his bedroom and their innocent sleep together in his bed, Ulysses could not help but think that she did understand.
In fact…it seemed more and more that the only thing she didn’t understand was why they couldn’t behave in the ways that came naturally to lovers. He felt a pang of guilt every time they were in public and she looked at him with the obvious hope for a kiss, her head leaning against his shoulder and her eyes glued on his mouth. His heart twisted when she snuggled up against him while the suite was quiet and he then had to spring away from the intimacy because Bonnie had returned from her brother’s, or Mark had come back from some errand. If they could just be honest!
