24 comments/  39644 views/  43 favorites

A Vow Unsaid

By: oxytoxin



Author's Note: This is my first story, feedback is always welcome. 

*

I can't remember a time in my life when he wasn't around. Patrick and I were born two days and two plantations apart. Our families were good friends and even better business partners. From the moment we were born, they dreamed of uniting their plantations just outside of Savannah, Georgia and producing another generation of devout Catholics. 1100 acres and 12 children total. Yes, it seemed Patrick and I were destined to be together. 

He is a constant force in my childhood memories. Quiet, so quiet that you might forget he was there if it wasn't for his lanky, towering frame. At 19, he stands 6'2, dwarfing me at 5'5. One of my favorite things about Patrick was that he learned to respect me. My parents were traditional; they had strong convictions on what it meant to be a lady. I was educated alongside my older sister Elizabeth, but my parents discouraged my interest in mathematics. Instead, they attempted to re-direct my attentions to reading, sewing or dancing. They allowed me to draw until they discovered my drafts of a steam propelled rocket when I was about twelve. So we compromised with music and I became very accomplished in piano. The patterns appealed to me in the same way that mathematics did. 

Patrick shook his head at my drafts at first, for he was my only audience. But when I fixed his model airplane, he was more accepting of my unladylike interests. And he loved to listen to me play piano and sing. It seems we spent countless hours like that, in the parlor. He would let his head fall back against the wingback chair and slowly close his eyes. Bach's concertos were his favorite. That was the only time I saw Patrick slump his shoulders, when he relaxed as I played piano.

As we grew older, these visits were restricted. In fact, Patrick and I were only allowed to spend time together when we were supervised by Elizabeth or his older sister Nora, who was Elizabeth's age. The four of us spent time together on occasion, but Elizabeth was very antisocial, she did not like to leave her room and was happiest when painting. She painted beautifully; her lines were clear and graceful, unlike my stark sketches. She painted portraits of Patrick every year for his birthday. I should think she would have been promised to him, had she not been deaf from birth. I believe she loved him but, being the noble soul she was, never gave the slightest indication of envy. 

It would have just as well to have to two of the betrothed, for as much as I loved Patrick, Nora excited me much more.

Nora was beautiful and fierce like a summer storm. She had Patrick's green eyes and jet black hair. She was willowy like Patrick with an occasional, unmistakably feminine curve. Oh, Nora was too much for anyone to handle. She was sweeter than cane sugar when she wanted to be, but she could twist your arm by pursing her lips. I never saw anger distort her perfect features but over the years I noticed the tight-lipped manner she used to convey a cold rage, one that could freeze a well under the hot Georgia sun. Nora both fascinated and terrified me and I did my best to stay out of her way.

I couldn't help but stare at her, however. I'm sure she noticed this and when she happened to catch me, she smiled knowingly and sometimes she even winked! Winked! I was scandalized, imagining my mother's face if she ever knew Nora Kennedy winked at me.

Nora was promised to her cousin, Brennan Connolly. I only met him once; he lived in Atlanta, quite a source of embarrassment to the Kennedys. He was rough fellow, about eight years older than Nora. The Connollys used to live on a plantation just 6 miles north of us but Brennan's father was rumored to have propositioned young Sister Keenan over at Holy Cross Cathedral in Savannah. Naturally, this was the subject of much gossip and the Connollys moved to Atlanta where they managed a pub. Brennan was an only child; his mother died giving birth to his younger sister Claire. Claire was quite sickly and did not live past infancy. Brennan and his father were often at odds and when his father died in a bar room brawl, it was whispered in parlors all over the South that Brennan shot him. Regardless, Brennan was a surly and foul-tempered man who Nora disdained. My only encounter with him was during the Christmas Cotillion in Savannah last year. I met him outside in the east garden. Patrick and I were walking and we stumbled upon the two of them sitting by the fountain. It appeared that they were arguing and I could smell the whiskey on Brennan's breath as we approached them. 

"I don't care if we are to be married, get your filthy hands off of me!" I shivered as Nora's cold rage made its way through my bones. Brennan laughed boisterously. I had known Patrick for all 19 years of my life and this was the only time I had seen him angry. He grabbed Brennan's arm and yanked him off of the fountain ledge, their footfalls unleashing echoes into the cold, stone courtyard. Patrick said through gritted teeth, "Let's go for a walk, shall we? Kaitlyn, could you please escort Nora inside?"

I internally snickered at the idea of anyone escorting Nora. I was certain she would have had no trouble deflecting Brennan's advances had Patrick and I not come upon them. But as we walked out of the East garden, she slipped her hand in mine. We came to a fork and she veered to the left, away from the ballroom and toward the harbor. "Enough dancing, let's walk awhile."

As much time as I had spent with Nora, I rarely received her full attention and certainly never on the bank of the moonlit Savannah river.

"Kaitlyn, do you love my brother?"

For some reason, this question brought a lump to my throat. I toyed with the pearls that fastened my gloves.

"I think so. I can't imagine loving anyone else."

Apparently this was a night for firsts, for Nora had nothing to say in response.

"Do you love Brennan?"

She laughed bitterly. "Absolutely not. But he's the only Connolly left."

"I'm sorry." I meant it, though I didn't know what else to say.

"Such is a woman's plight. I'll marry him on the first of April, love him or not."

I cringed, thinking of the night that would follow the first of April. Poor Nora, Brennan had leered at her all night, not even bothering to conceal his glances down her lacy white bodice. I watched him dance with her, his huge hands easily enveloping her slender waist. Brennan was enormous, as tall as Patrick yet much broader. He could break Nora in two and would probably try.

"Are you afraid?"

The cold rage returned her voice and she said "I'm terrified."

I had always thought Nora fearless but tonight, I turned to her and embraced her. My arms encircled her waist and she buried her face into my neck. I felt hot tears drip onto my collarbone and I felt her hands ball into fists, clutching the back of my dress. I reached up to stroke her beautiful jet black hair. She smelled like lavender and I shivered but not because I was cold. 

We stood that way for a timeless moment as the waves slapped against the pillars of the harbor and the constellations cycled on.

That was the first Christmas I bought Nora a gift. I had always gotten gifts for Patrick, leather riding boots, neck ties, straight razors and once, a pocket watch. My father often bought him gifts as well, this year he bought a pearl handled pistol and my mother got him a new sport coat. But Nora was not as favored by our family, though she was always given something. This year, my mother bought her a rosary and a cookbook. Patrick's presents were easy; I bought him a Meerschaum pipe and some tobacco from the Turkish Exchange in Savannah. Patrick did not often smoke but I knew he would enjoy the pipe when he did. I spent much time contemplating what to get for Nora, but I decided on a silver locket. Over the years, we had posed for many photographs and I chose one from this past summer. In the photograph, Elizabeth and I stood beside Patrick and Nora. Nora and I were beside one another and so I reasoned that, in order to make the photograph fit, I would crop Patrick and Elizabeth out. So, perhaps it looked a little odd, giving her a locket with our photograph in it, we weren't terribly close. But it was a lovely photograph, we were both smiling and I thought Nora looked genuinely happy. Still, I had some queer misgivings, especially cropping Patrick out. In hindsight, I suppose that was fair warning.

Christmas Eve brought an annual feast. Duck in plum sauce, honeyed pineapple ham, iced tea, spinach salad with pecans, strawberries, peaches and bleu cheese crumbles and raspberry vinaigrette. Scallop potatoes, lemon drenched asparagus, Brussels sprouts with ham and blackberry cobbler with vanilla iced cream, pears in warm white wine sauce, coffee and brandy. The Kennedys joined us and we exchanged our gifts. Patrick gave me diamond earrings and seemed very pleased with his pipe. He squeezed my hand as we stood on the front porch while he tried it out with my father and Mr. Kennedy. My father and Mr. Kennedy exchanged pocketbooks, as they do every year. My mother bought Mrs. Kennedy French soap and Mrs. Kennedy gave her a fruit basket from Florida. I could not find the courage to give Nora her gift; it was nestled in a tiny box in the inner pocket of my evening gown. I had resigned myself to giving it to her tonight and was on my way to the slave quarters with 3 baskets full of smuggled leftovers from dinner when she accosted me in the south field. 

"Where on earth are you going?"

I blushed and unable to think of an excuse for traipsing around the grounds at 9:00 PM, admitted, "Slaves quarters."

She noticed the baskets and her expression softened. "Let me take one of those for you." Her hand brushed mine and I suddenly lost my breath. "Thanks" I whispered. The only sound was the rustling of our skirts as we walked. Scattered stars illuminated the night sky, I could see fairly well.

There was a dim glow of a lantern in the largest shack; it appeared the slaves were having a Christmas dinner as well. Three families live on our plantation; each occupies a small shack in the south field. Although I wasn't fully conscious of it, the treatment of those families never sat well with me and I had been apprehended for socializing with the slaves since childhood. I heard laughter as I knocked on the knotted oak door. Poppy answered and seeing the baskets, flashed me a toothless grin. He was the oldest slave we owned, older than my father. 

"Thank ya so much miz Kerrigan. Have a merry Chrismiz!"

As we walked back across the south field, Nora stopped suddenly, a touched my arm. "Kaitlyn, you are so brave." 

To hear Nora Kennedy call me brave was absurd. I had to laugh.

She frowned. "What's so funny?"

I chuckled. "I'm not brave."

"Yes you are. It's beautiful. I couldn't ask for a more beautiful sister. Patrick is so lucky to have you."

"Oh Nora." My fingers curled around her slight wrist. I suddenly remembered her gift.

"I have something for you," I said as I rummaged through my pocket. I pulled out the tiny box and handed it to her.

Her eyes widened in surprise as she slowly opened it. She smiled, and touched the locket which gleamed in the moonlight. "It's wonderful," she said and began to open it. I stopped her, touching her hand. "Wait," I said, "you won't be able to see it out here. Open it when you are at home in your bedroom." Nora laughed, "alright" she said. But her voice faltered as she said "Kaitlyn, I have nothing for you."

"That's alright" I said. "We've never gotten each other gifts before."

"This," said Nora "is what I meant when I said that you are brave."

She kissed me on the cheek as we made our way across the south field and back to the house.

Nora and I continued to spend time together as April loomed overhead. Some days she was the fearless Nora from my childhood. On those days, her sharp wit cut through the cold winter air and her smile was bright enough to warm the hearth. Other days she was uncharacteristically quiet and when she did speak, her voice was so soft that it was barely audible. She grew thinner as February drew to a close. On March first, she received me in her parlor, barely holding back tears. I embraced her and stroked her jet black hair, reveling in her lavender scent. We sat like that for an hour before she spoke, in a hushed tone.

"Play piano for me."

I nodded and walked over to the piano. I began a nocturne, Chopin's C sharp minor. Suddenly, I felt her beside me, leaning her head on my shoulder as I played. She was crying.

I finished the piece and wrapped my arms around her. I felt a warm stirring within me and fought back an urge to tilt her chin toward me. I kissed the top of her head, wishing I could shield her from her fate. I felt her fingers tightening their grip on my upper arm. A wave of shock washed over me.

"Promise me something."

"Anything" I answered.

"Please, just be there with me, on my wedding day."

"Of course my love." The words slipped but they seemed to fit. She breathed a sigh of relief. She took my hand and we walked over to the settee where she drifted off to sleep with her head on my shoulder, her hand on my thigh and her voice in my heart.

It rained the morning of April first. By 9:00 AM, the sun had resurfaced and beat down on the wet earth, soliciting a thin sheet of mist that floated just above the ground. Light filtered through the moss-laden oaks, splashing patches of brightness throughout the shady courtyard. Nora's wedding was held at Holy Cross Cathedral in Savannah. Patrick, Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy, myself and one of Brennan's cousins, were the only ones in attendance. Brennan was clean shaven but reeked of cologne and tobacco. Better yet, I caught a whiff of whiskey as he brushed by me in the lobby of the church. Nora looked absolutely stunning in white and through her veil I could see her face. Her jaw was set and her eyes were hard and icy. She was more beautiful than ever, but almost frightening.

Mrs. Kennedy had a blue silk dress made for me. White lilies adorned the alter and candles burned on each side, occasionally dripping wax that solidified on the sides. Father Landon read from a battered bible. The entire ceremony was a bit of a blur. I watched Brennan fumbling with Nora's ring, a gold band with a large ruby. It was too large and I watched it slipping when she withdrew her hand. When it came time for Brennan to kiss Nora, she stood stock still, not making a move toward him. He simply smiled and closed the gap between them but Nora did not budge. He kissed her and I suddenly felt very ill and warm.

As they walked down the Cathedral steps, arm in arm, Brennan dug into his pocket and tossed out a handful of coins to some of the townspeople who had gathered outside the cathedral. We returned to the Kennedy's plantation for wedding breakfast. Brennan's cousin Brian and Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy shared a coach while Patrick and I rode in another. Brennan and Nora rode in a more lavish wedding carriage, with Brennan sneaking peeks up Nora's dress as he assisted her. On the ride out, Patrick wrapped his arm around me and I knew he was thinking of our wedding which would be at this time next year. I usually found Patrick's touch comforting as he was always the perfect gentleman but for some reason, I was particularly conscious of the heaviness of his arm on my shoulder. He smelled lovely, like leather and peppermint but I longed for Nora's lavender scent. I leaned into him, wishing he was Nora and a realization coursed through me, robbing me of my breath. 

I was in love with Nora Kennedy. Now Nora Connolly. 

What could it mean?

"Patrick," I murmured "are you worried about Nora?" For a moment, he didn't answer and I wondered if he'd heard me over the clattering of our coach.

"Terribly" he said "but I suppose that's natural enough. It's hard to imagine a man worthy of her." 

What he did not say was just how unworthy Brennan Connolly was.

Nora was packing her most precious belongings in a small trunk that would accompany her to Atlanta where she would live with her new husband. 

Mrs. Connolly. The name didn't suit her at all. Nora was not a "Mrs." She was so frail, she had grown thinner still in apprehension of her wedding day. Her beautiful features were harsher now and she had dark circles under her eyes. 

I sat helplessly on her bed as she moved listlessly about the room. She was going to be absolutely catatonic tonight, when Brennan would exercise his marital rights for the first time. 

"...and I hardly have room for my violin. How I will miss hearing you play!"

I ripped my mind from its horrid imaginations of Nora's wedding night as I realized she was speaking to me. "Oh Nora, Patrick and I will visit. He is going to miss you terribly."

She gave a weak, close-lipped smile. "What about you?" 

I stood and walked over to her, placing my hand on her breast, just over the locket I had given her. "I will miss you even more." Her lips were inches away, our foreheads were touching. Nora's breathing had become ragged and I felt her rise and fall beneath my hand. She leaned toward me and I parted my lips.

"Nora!" Brennan called from down the hall and was soon pounding on her door. "Hurry, won't you? It'll be dark within and few hours and we have got to reach Statesboro by nightfall."

Nora sighed and let her head fall onto my shoulder. I gripped her waist and fought back tears, threatening to betray the fury within me. She rose from my shoulder and cupped my cheek in one hand, leaning in to kiss me chastely on the lips. I felt as if I might faint. A pressure built within me, concentrating itself just below my stomach. Nora seemed to radiate heat, I felt very warm. 

I walked out to the front porch with her. She kissed her mother and father and Patrick good-bye. Patrick smiled as he said good-bye but he looked very sad. Brennan shook hands with Mr. Kennedy and Patrick and tipped his hat to Mrs. Kennedy and I. He grinned, brimming with insincerity and contempt. Nora turned, hugged me and kissed my cheek. "Good-bye Kaitlyn." Her voice broke.

I stood with Patrick as we watched their carriage disappear over the horizon.

That night, Nora appeared in my dreams. We were in her room again, but this time we were not interrupted. And again, she kissed me, but not so chastely. I felt my mouth go slack and open for her and she pressed herself against me, untying the strings of my bodice as she gently explored my mouth. She pushed me to her bed, never breaking our kiss. We slowly tugged, unbuttoned and lifted until all of our garments were removed. She was naked above me. And she was smiling, the first smile I had seen since I gave her the locket on Christmas. She began to move over me and I felt a tightening between my legs, her fingers were inside me. She was breathing heavily and kissing my neck. My hands were buried in her hair, clenching fistfuls of it as I arched my back. The tightening progressed and I felt something within me burst, something long buried that was just now breaking the surface. I cried out and writhed beneath her. She leaned in to kiss me again when I awoke, breast heaving and ensnared in my sweat-drenched sheets. 

Patrick tucked his pistol into the holster of his dark green slacks. He looked very handsome in uniform; he had even grown a mustache. We were waiting for our coach outside in the cool October night, in front of the Harbor Grand Ballroom where we had attended a costume party. Patrick was dressed as an officer and I as an officer's wife. Both of us had a bit of brandy and we were quite warm. Patrick offered his hand as I stepped into the coach. Inside he wrapped his arm around me and I snuggled closer to him, out of habit. I was nodding off to sleep when he kissed me.


A Vow Unsaid Ch. 02



This is the 2nd part of A Vow Unsaid. You may enjoy it more if you read the original work first. Thank you for the feedback, it is greatly appreciated. 

*

I stood at the altar of Holy Cross Cathedral, slowly suffocating. The church was filled with candles and despite the snow falling outside, I felt as if I were melting. I wore my mother's wedding dress and while photographs proved it to be was beautiful and elegant on her, I was crushed beneath its weight. Layers of lace over silk, long sleeves and a high collar that brushed my neck on occasion and summoned memories of a public hanging I witnessed when I was 13. My vision was blurring, my mouth was dry and my head was swimming. The candles flickered, weak in the black bellow of the church. The statues of reverent martyrs with their heads bowed in prayer that had once seemed comforting now filled me with a deep, aching hopelessness. A slow melody punctured the heavy silence as the organist played the final notes of the bridal chorus...though tonight it sounded more like a dirge.

I could see that Father Landon's lips were moving but his words were lost on me. I felt Patrick's hand on mine as he gingerly slid a ring onto my finger. I felt my face going numb and even as he kissed me, I did not feel a thing. 

I awoke screaming.

Nora shot up from beside me and hovered above me, her face white and stricken with panic. "Kaitlyn! What is it darling?!?!?" Someone was pounding on the door and desperately jiggling the handle. I heard Patrick's voice and thanked a God whose existence I so often doubted that the door was locked. I tried to speak but my voice caught and I fell back. I reached up and cupped Nora's cheek. Concern filled her beautiful green eyes. "I'm fine," I murmured hoarsely. "Tell him I'm fine."

"She's alright Patrick. Just a nightmare is all." I regained my voice and called out "I'll be downstairs in just a moment Patrick. I'm not dressed." Nora smirked and I couldn't help but smile. I heard Patrick's reply and listened as his footsteps faded.  

I looked at Nora, her hair was rumpled and her lips slightly parted. Her brow was furrowed in confusion. I let my eyes wander, down the soft slope of her neck to her delicate collarbone. The curve of her breasts, still heaving with alarm. Her nipples were a deep exquisite pink, just a few shades lighter than the petals of a rose. Returning my gaze to her face, I devoured her with my eyes, her skin was white and smooth. At that moment, she seemed eternal to me, a goddess chiseled from a block of marble by some divine hand.

I leaned in and kissed her, slowly and slid my hand along the back of her neck, lazily entwining my fingers in her hair. Last night's memories flooded my consciousness, Nora's mouth traversing my body in reverence, her hands welding unspeakable pleasure between my legs and her kiss branding my soul forever. I felt a raw, primal need to touch her as she had touched me and my fingers brushed the inside of her thigh. She sighed, almost imperceptibly, into my mouth and then suddenly, she was gone.

My eyes flew open and she was sitting at the opposite end of the bed, the sheet wrapped around her, shaking.

"Why did you scream?"

I was bewildered at the seismic emotional shift that had occurred so quickly. She was eyeing me with what appeared to be suspicion. I felt my throat swell up and I choked a bit as I said, "I...I had a nightmare. Just like you said."

"About what?" Her voice was different then, so alienated I could barely recognize it as she glared icily at me.

I swallowed with some difficulty. "Patrick," I whispered.

Her face fell for a moment, betraying her and she looked away.

"Nora, please. Please don't do this now."

"You're engaged to my brother. We shouldn't even be having this conversation."

"I told you Nora, I don't love him!"

"But he loves you!" she hissed and sprang from the bed. I watched her march, naked across the small room, thinking she must be so very cold. She yanked open the top drawer of her dresser and rummaged violently through its contents, grabbing a pair of hose. I watched, paralyzed with shock and still very naked.

She was now shimming into her navy blue morning dress, refusing to meet my gaze.

"Nora, look at me."

She ignored me, reaching for her boots.

I tore off the sheet and strode toward her, feeling the rising goose bumps summoned by the cool air and the beautiful woman before me. She was concentrating on buttoning her dress and I extended my hand, gingerly tilting her chin up, forcing her to make eye contact with me.

"Nora, I love you." Her eyes grew moist and I saw the muscles in her jaw clench. She shook her head.

"Tell me you don't love me," I whispered, as I leaned in, brushing my lips against hers as I spoke into her parted lips. "Tell me you don't love me, that there is nothing between us." I backed her up against the wall now. "Tell me you never want to touch me again and I will go. Tell me you regret making love to me...if you can speak those words, I will silence my longings and never breathe a word of this again."

She grabbed my upper arms in frustration and buried her face into my neck as she began to cry. I kissed the top of her head and wondered why I didn't feel guilty. "Ssshhh, love," I whispered rubbing her back as she sobbed in my arms.

I wanted to kiss her so desperately, to absolve her pain with my lips. I wanted to carry her back to bed and, with my mouth, mark her body as my own. But watching her weep, I knew I could do none of those things. She pulled away from me, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her dress. Abruptly, she placed her hands on my cheeks, pulling me in for a kiss. Before I could respond, I felt her trickle from my arms and I heard the door open and close.

I sighed and pulled my morning dress over my head.

I did marry Patrick, about four weeks later. I don't remember much of it, although I recall a piercing sense of deja vue standing on the altar. Nora was there, though I could not bear to look at her because I knew if I did, I would burst into tears. I did catch a glimpse of her as we were leaving the church. She stood by a boisterous, talkative Brennan, head down and wringing her handkerchief. 

Earlier in the week, Patrick had enlisted. Thanks to family ties and a respectable education, he was given a position as an officer. This meant I would accompany him to Charleston for training and where ever else fate led us.

Our coach clattered north on Route 17 as I allowed my head to fall back against the innermost wall. Patrick was smoking the pipe I bought him for Christmas and looking extremely content. My gaze drifted to the window and I watched sheets of snow plow into the earth, wondering if our driver could even see the road. I felt Patrick's arm loop around my shoulder and I immediately stiffened.

"I love you Kaitlyn."

I swallowed and felt as if my cheeks would crack as I offered a porcelain smile and replied mechanically.

"I love you too."

He beamed, apparently convinced and puffed on his pipe in self-satisfaction. I sighed, pitying him. He really had no idea.

And just like that, a wave of guilt washed over me, emptying my lungs and leaving me breathless. I inhaled sharply as memories possessed me. Patrick and I as children, chasing one another through the Kennedy's peach grove. Patrick teaching me how to shoot a marble and kissing my thumb when I winced in pain. Patrick's face when he asked me to dance at our first Cotillion.

And then I remembered writhing helplessly beneath his beautiful older sister. 

I was suddenly afraid I might cry and I pursed my lips, fighting back tears. Emotion roiled within me, I both longed for Nora once more but longed to take it all back. I turned to face the window, willing to distract myself, to ponder anything except Nora. But her face was conjured before my mind's eye...from the quiet but devastating beauty of the silently falling snow. 

I was quite familiar with Patrick's expectations as we checked into an inn just outside of Wentworth a few hours later. As he offered me his arm at the foot of the staircase, I longed, suddenly, for the cool touch of the keys of a piano. Furthermore, I longed to arrange the oscillating nocturne that had faded in and out of my consciousness all day. But as Patrick escorted me up the stairs, forever the perfect gentleman, I knew I had debts to pay.

I had never been distrustful of Patrick's intentions, but tonight, I felt as if all of his chivalry was a facade, in the name of anticipation.

As we ascended the staircase, I waged a war within myself. "Patrick loves you." I thought. "Isn't it only natural to want to consummate such love?" But I had never stiffened at Nora's touch.

By the time we had reached the second floor, I had committed to fulfilling my bridal duty. When Patrick unlocked the door with a soft click, I heard Nora's voice in my head.

Such is a woman's plight.

It was a century ago indeed and when Patrick took my hand and led me through the doorway, I heard the waves gently lapping the shores of the Savannah River. When he embraced me, I felt Nora bury her face into my neck, wetting it with hot tears. When he gently pushed me onto the bed, I saw Nora, pale and naked, rippling above me like a ghost. I watched from above, his lanky frame swaying over me and as he removed my clothes, I watched myself cower beneath him, shying away. I heard a muffled sob and suddenly I was underneath him again and his figure blotted out the light from the flickering candle in the windowsill. 

"Kaitlyn." His voice was gentle. "What's wrong?"

I was silent and continued to fight back tears. What could I say?

He studied me for a moment and terror pierced my heart. He must know.

"We don't have to do this." He said at last, and rolled off of me. But his hand remained on my thigh. His concern fractured my last fibers of stoicism and I burst into tears.

I felt his arms around my shoulders as he pulled me in for a hug. It was meant to be comforting but I was so agitated by my vigilance and fear that I jerked away. Patrick was looking at me now and I could not meet his gaze. He took a deep breath, turned from me and reached for my bag. He handed me a nightgown.

"Thank you." I whispered, in a voice so frail I scarcely recognized it as my own.

When I slipped it over my head, Patrick reached for my hand. I knew he was searching for a respectful way to question my fears of physical intimacy. But there wasn't one, because like all proper ladies and gentleman, we did not discuss such things.

I felt a stirring within me, a surge of courage. I had to tell him.

"Patrick, I..."

He squeezed my hand and leaned over to kiss my forehead. "We don't have to talk about darling. I understand if you aren't...ready."

He thought I wasn't ready. Of course.

I shook my head in disbelief and lie down with my back towards him.

Nora held my hand as we retraced our steps through the north field. We crossed over to my family's property and climbed the steps of our wide wrap around porch. I opened the front door. The house was completely empty. The clock stood still.

I sat down on the piano bench and began a warm-up scale. Strange, there was no sound. But I felt Nora behind me, kissing my neck and my fingers slowed to a standstill. Her breath was warm on my collarbone, slightly tickling me. I turned to her and kissed her on the lips. Then, I took her hand and let her to my room. 

"Watching you play piano, with those beautiful hands, I can't help myself." A smile played across her lips. 

I unbuttoned her blouse, slowly, pressing my lips against her bare shoulder. She moaned.

I slowly began to back her up, until I felt the reverberation as she stopped suddenly, her knees against the foot of my bed. I put my hands on her shoulders, guiding her on to her back. Her hair fanned out onto my pillow, long, black and silky. She closed her eyes as I continued kiss her shoulder, my fingers now sliding beneath her waist band. She parted her lips and gasped softly. She looked like an angel.

I watched her, encouraged by her obvious enjoyment. I tugged her skirt down past her ankles and it fell silently to the floor. She pulled my shirt over my head and rid me of my remaining clothes. My lips wandered down to her delicate collarbone and my hand continued its journey to her sex.

I touched her and she gripped my forearms tightly, jaw clenched at first, then relaxed as she threw her head back, calling my name. I pulled her upright, onto my lap and plunged my fingers deeper into her. I felt her clenching and I buried my face in her neck, kissing down to her breasts and circling her nipple with my tongue. Her hands were in my hair, grabbing, pulling and dragging nails down my back.

"Ohhhh Kaitlynnn."

And my hand was very warm, wet with her. She was breathing heavily. 

"I wish you could feel how I love you." She said breathlessly.

I cradled her, still in my lap and laid her down onto the bed. I kissed her navel and pushed her legs apart.

"Oh Kaitlyn, I can't again. Not just yet."

"I think you can." I smiled impishly.

"Oh, oh, ohhhhhhh..." Her hips jerked violently as my tongue found its mark. Her legs began to quiver beneath my hands. 

"Aaaaaaaaaaah..." And I tasted her, sweet on my tongue. She pulled me up and on top of her and I felt her nipples brush mine. She kissed me full, on the mouth, her hands cupping my face.

"My darling." She whispered. "My darling."

And I awoke, sun filtering through the curtains, just outside Wentworth. Patrick was sleeping soundly, his arm draped across me.

I wonder how many times Nora had dreamt of me, only to wake up in Brennan's lecherous grip.

Patrick and I continued to travel north, and it was on New Year's Eve that he received a letter in a thick, unmarked envelope. As he slit it open with his knife, I felt a strange premonition wash over me. He frowned as he read the smooth parchment and I noticed an elaborate insignia at the top. "Confederate States of America."

He glanced up to tell me what I already knew and then sighed when he saw my face. 

"It will be alright Kaitlyn. Don't fret."

As much as I dreaded Patrick's touch, I loved him dearly and feared for his life on the battlefield. I knew, logically, that he was in danger, but the blood red letterhead reminded me that the past week of my life, my marriage, failed bridal duties and the threat the my husband's life were indeed real.

"We should expect the official secession in January. Governor Pickens expects Georgia and Virginia will secede as well. I am to report to Camp Patton by April and to Manassas Junction by June. I shall meet Brennan in Asheville, he has received a similar letter."

"But what will become of Nora?!" I blurted out immediately.

"Well...I expect she will return home to stay with mother and father, as Brennan is not an officer and thus not permitted to bring her along."

"Will they be safe there?" Georgia was far enough south that I imagined she would be fine for a while but I wanted to be sure.

He laughed.

"She will be fine. They say the Yankees won't make it through Virginia."

I smiled, genuinely, for the first time since my wedding. Relief flooded through me.

"What do you say we stop for a bite at the tavern across the street? I could go for some ale."

I patted his hand before pulling my own away and said, "I think that'd be fine."

Patrick and I shared a bed for many nights without intimate contact and never did he question my impotency. But one morning in March, over breakfast in Richmond, he breached the subject of children.

"Father has written me."

"Oh? And what does he have to say?" I prayed for news, something, anything, from Nora.

"He has asked if you are yet carrying a child."

My heart sank. I should've known. With Patrick's life at risk, the least I could do, as a loving wife, was reassure him and his parents with word of a child on the way.

Patrick was staring at me intently. I said nothing.

"Don't you want children Kaitlyn? You will be such a wonderful mother."

I grimaced at the thought. Children wouldn't be so bad, it was the making of them I wished to avoid.

Patrick sighed and dropped the subject as he remarked on the morning paper. I watched him reading and thought him still very handsome. I always had. He had beautiful silky black hair, like Nora and the same green eyes. But he had never stirred me from within as she had. I watched him fold the paper, his nails were always clean and he smelled wonderful as usual, a comforting leather and peppermint mixture. As I peered into my tea, I wondered what our children might look like, if we had them. I couldn't imagine they would be fair-haired and gray-eyed like I was, not with the Kennedy's strong features to contend with. My sister Elizabeth had brown hair and blue eyes, unlike myself. But the Kennedys looked so alike, were Nora and Patrick not of different sexes, you might mistake them for one another.

And I felt guilty, refusing Patrick an explanation. I hadn't considered confessing my affair with his sister since the words died on my lips the night of our wedding. And it was clear Patrick loved me, more than his spousal obligations required. I had heard stories of husbands who forced their wives to submit to them, often violently. I knew Patrick must care for and respect me deeply, having exercised restraint for so long. I imagined he was completely bewildered by my lack of desire for him, or maybe he thought me coy.

"Come, let us inquire about tickets to see that ballet." He reached for my shawl and held open the door as we departed.

Camp Patton was, in a word, surreal.

Gunshots, drum rolls, whistling, yelling. Trumpets.

I had never cared for trumpets and now I thoroughly detested them.

It had been months since I had touched I piano. But I comforted myself in writing scores, I had amassed over 150 compositions since my wedding. I had not played since we left Richmond.

Patrick found bought an old violin off of one of the privates. 

"I know you'd prefer the piano but I thought you could occupy yourself with this until we are settled in with the grandest piano money can buy." He grinned and I hugged him.

"By the time we return to Savannah, I'll bet you can teach Nora a thing or two."

That was just ridiculous. Nora was the finest musician I knew. Not that I was biased. 

At the mention of her name, I felt tears brimming on my eyelids. I kissed Patrick's cheek and wiped them off.

"Thank you Patrick."

The violin is a difficult instrument to play, even when one receives instruction. But, I had enough experience reading music and had a good enough ear to figure it out. Within a few weeks, I could play the treble clef of my scores. I always thought of Nora as I played, remembering her beautiful lips pursed in concentration, her nimble fingers commanding the strings and the muscles in her forearm subtly flexing as she flourished the bow. I felt connected to her as I played, comforted by the thought that in Savannah, she might be doing the same thing.

Patrick and I ambled along the street just outside of the Asheville courthouse. Brennan was collecting some documents inside, along with a check that I imagined he would fill his flask with later. I loathed Brennan; his presence ignited a silent anger within me that I sought to keep a secret. The thought of him touching Nora pierced me, crippling my resolve. He was so pathetic, so unworthy of her.

How I longed for Nora in those days! Endless days spent with the violin, the papers and a book or two. But I would often aid in cooking and cleaning around the camp, to detract from some of my idleness. And my dreams proved to be no escape. They were filled with Nora, smiling as she offered me a daisy, playing the violin and singing softly, or throwing her head back in rapture as she called out for me. I wished to write her letters, and I often started to. But words seemed to fail me, I knew not what to say after all of this time. So my letters provided little release, save the grim satisfaction of watching the parchment burn among the coals of the camp fire.




A Vow Unsaid Ch. 02



As summer approached, we traveled to Manassas Junction.

I awoke the morning of July 21st to the scream of mortars. Patrick shot up beside me and reached for his boots with one hand, whipping out a pistol with the other. As he pulled on his coat, he leaned over in kissed me.

"I love you darling. Stay put, you are safe here." And like that, he was gone, the tent flapping in his wake.

I peered outside and watched dozens of men rush toward the bridge over Mitchell's Ford. They retained none of the shapes Patrick had so carefully studied in his campaign maps. I began to pray for the first time in years. I whispered a Hail Mary for Patrick, gripping my rosary.

Shots rang out until about 3:00 PM, when they began to fade into the distance. I had been relocated by Colonel Jacobs around noon and was now huddled in the Commissary Tent with Mrs. Jacobs and the other officer's wives. We were given the task of packing rations, but around 1:00 PM, we received orders to stop.

"They have driven the Yankees north of the creek" said Mrs. Jacobs. "Sergeant Todd has told me."

I didn't care where the Yankees were. I just wanted to know Patrick was safe. 

By 3:00 PM, the wounded were being carried over the ford on stretchers. 

"You ever dressed a wound before?" asked Mrs. Jacobs.

"No ma'am."

"'Bout time you learned. Follow me."

We arrived at the dressing station. "Dose them with some whiskey, they'll keep a little quieter that way. Clean the wound with this." She held up a brown bottle of iodide. "Stop the bleeding enough to stitch it up and then bandage it." Mrs. Jacobs walked over to the first row of stretchers, filled with dirty, bloody, stinking sedated soldiers. The stench of gore hung like a low fog. I followed her, hoping I would see Patrick but terrified I would find him in this corner of hell, on a dirty stretcher, desperately clinging to life.

It was around 8:00 PM that I finally found Patrick. I had just finished dressing a head wound on another nameless soldier who couldn't have been over 16, his face covered in the beginnings of peach fuzz. 

"Kaitlyn!"

I turned as he embraced me, covered in dirt, trousers torn and jacket missing. Under the stink of blood and sweat, I could still catch a whiff of peppermint and leather.

He kissed me fully on the lips.

"Oh Kaitlyn, I thought I may never see your face again."

I nodded, hugging him tighter.

He sighed and tilted my chin up, making eye contact.

"Kaitlyn, Brennan is dead."

Patrick was granted furlough and so we traveled home to bury Brennan's body in a small cemetery outside Savannah. 

Strange, I never imagined I would grieve Brennan's death. I hated him. But now that he was gone, I felt sadness for him, for the rough, fragmented life he had lead. But overwhelming was the sense of relief I carried for him, that he may finally be at rest.

And now, there was Nora.

Nora, who I hadn't seen in half a year. Nora, who was the breath of my dreams.

Who was now a widow.

What did it all mean?

We didn't reach Savannah until the first of September. Patrick had notified everyone of our expected arrival by post. So, Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy awaited us on their front porch.

But where was Nora?

Both of the Kennedys hugged me warmly. There was a heavy silence and I fought the impulse to inquire after Nora's absence.

Patrick asked after her.

"She's sleeping. Her heath has ailed since you two departed. She is quite...unresponsive. When I told her about Brennan, she said nothing, shed no tears as a widow ought to. Doctor Thomas has seen her twice, says she's in need of fresh air but she won't get out of bed. I figure she is just worried sick about Patrick and Brennan." Mrs. Kennedy was clearly concerned.

I never imagined it would be so difficult to maintain a neutral expression. I sighed.

"I thought you might surprise her Patrick."

Patrick appeared nervous at this idea. "I don't know if it would be right for me to see her in such a state."

"Well Kaitlyn, I suppose you are the next best thing." Mrs. Kennedy said with an indulgent smile. "Go on up to her room, I'll have supper ready in an hour or so."

My hands shook as I ascended the staircase. I don't think I had ever been so nervous in my entire life. I recalled the last time I was on this staircase.

Watch over her tonight, will you? The things she might do in a state like this...

I was afraid I might frighten her to death, that she might think me an apparition, appearing so suddenly.

I knocked on her door.

No answer.

I knocked again.

Nothing.

I pushed the door open slightly and peered into her room.

The shades were drawn. Other than that, her room seemed fairly ordinary. Neat as usual, violin at the foot of her bed. And then I saw her. She was lying on her side with her back to the door.

"Nora." I had to touch her, to assure myself she was real. My hand fluttered above her before resting on her shoulder over her thin nightgown. She was warm, alive.

She turned to me, eyes half closed for a moment. Then, her eyes widened and she sat up. 

"Kaitlyn? Wha...what are you doing here?"

"Patrick was granted furlough. We are here to bury Brennan."

She raised her eyebrows, surprised at the mention of her dead husband.

"Nora, I've missed you so! So many times I began to write to you, but...it is so lovely to see you now."

She stared at me for a moment, silent and I drank her in. Her hair was longer, she was still too thin, though not as thin as the days before her wedding. Her eyes seemed different somehow. I was suddenly afraid that I had been mistaken in assuming she would want the same things.

But as she pulled me to her and kissed my lips, my fears faded. I responded quickly, yielding to her as she pulled me into her lap. I straddled her and linked my arms around her neck, never breaking our kiss. She pulled away, gasping for breath.

"Oh Kaitlyn, I thought I should never see you again" she whispered, her voice husky with desire.

"I thought the same, though I knew I could never escape you in my dreams."

She kissed me again and I thought I might combust as her heat seeped through me. Yearning carved her initials into my heart.

I broke the kiss and nuzzled her neck, inhaling her scent. She sighed contentedly and wrapped her arms around me. I looked up at her.

"Please..." I didn't know how to ask for her permission, but I wanted it.

She nodded and I slid my hand under her nightgown, caressing the inside of her thigh. She gasped and I kissed her just below the ear. Then I released her and stood up.

"Perhaps I should lock the door."

"Please do."

The lock clicked, shutting us away from the world, reducing our universe to this moment. As I turned to face her, she grabbed my wrists and pulled me to the bed, yanking me on to her.

"Please Kaitlyn, make me yours."

I kissed her again, memorizing her lips, her scent, the taste of her. Her eyelashes fluttering as I kissed her neck and slid off her nightgown. Her rosy nipples and heaving breast, ebbing with want, rising and falling. For me.

I kissed her navel and dipped my head between her legs for the first time. And this was no dream. She clapped a hand over her mouth, muffling her moans, when I finally tasted her. Her hips undulated according to an silent rhythm and she buried her hands in my hair, fiercely whispering my name. Her legs shook as she gave in to the need and lost control, arching her back, covering her mouth with both hands as she tried to silence her screams.

When she sat up and pulled me in for a sweet, soft kiss, told me how she loved me, I melted in her arms. I felt happy, warm and safe as she caressed my bare back. I just hoped, someday, we would be able to make love without concerning ourselves with who might hear us.



A Vow Unsaid Ch. 03



We buried Brennan on a typical July afternoon, hot and restless. Heavy, dark clouds hung overhead and the smell of rain was sharp and sweet. Mr. Kennedy, Patrick and my father dug Brennan's grave beside his father, mother and younger sister, spilling dark soil across the verdant grass. Father Landon stood at the head of the grave and read from his ancient bible.

To everything, there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven...

I felt Nora's fingertips graze mine. I glanced over at her, in hopes of decrypting what she might feel, but her face was white and stony behind her mourning veil.

A time to be born and a time to die...

My heart ached for her, I longed to embrace her beneath the barren, greying sky. But her features left me no compass and I was a woman blinded, groping for her in the dark.

A time to cast away stones...

I had seen this ghost before, this blank look reminiscent of a porcelain doll. Nora wore the same expression the day of her wedding.

A time to love and a time to hate; a time of war and a time of peace.

A bitter wind rustled beneath my black petticoat and brought doubt to my heart. Did Nora regret loving me? I knew she loathed Brennan as her husband but surely she grieved the loss of his life and felt guilty for taking her sister to bed in spite of the hollow vows she had whispered at the altar. As I was consumed by this gnawing fear, Father Landon continued.

...May the Lord welcome Brennan Thomas Connolly into His loving arms. Indeed, now is a time of war, a time of the senseless skirmishes of men, while the Lord weeps and waits patiently for a time of peace. But the Lord looks kindly on his servants, may Brennan's sins be pardoned and may he be seated at the right hand of the Father. Amen.

Nora's jaw clenched as Brennan's casket was lowered into the ground. She dropped my hand as Father Landon approached and motioned for her to come speak with him.

I could not make out everything that was said but as they walked slowly toward the hickory groves I heard Father Landon's deep, gravelly voice.

"It's easy to lose sight of the Lord at a time like this."

Nora, who had been studying the ground, lifted her eyes to him and said.

"I lost sight of the Lord the night I married him."

I had forgotten how cold Nora's voice could be.

-----------------------------------------------------------

My mother questioned me as I took tea with Elizabeth in the parlor.

"Now Kaitlyn, have you and Patrick had any luck conceiving a child?"

I sighed, glancing toward Elizabeth. At this moment, I was grateful that she was deaf. Certainly the idea of Patrick touching me made her ill. She loved him, she always had.

"No, we have not."

My mother said nothing but her disapproval was palpable. A familiar shame crept over me, a childhood companion that always accompanied my mother's disappointment

She sipped her tea in silence and I rose to leave.

"Kaitlyn, is everything alright?"

My stomach churned. She knew.

"Yes." I hovered in the doorway, praying for a dismissive reply.

But my mother had other plans. She set her tea cup on the saucer and it clattered at a volume bordering on deafening.

"I hope that you and Patrick will soon be expecting a child. You might, at any time, become a widow. Think of Nora."

I did think of Nora, more often than I was prepared to admit. I nodded weakly.

When my mother reached for her needlepoint, I knew I was excused.

-------------------------

Patrick stood on the porch, smoking his pipe alongside my father. Neither spoke as I slipped outside to join them, shutting the door silently behind me. Patrick approached me, took my hand, and we began to walk toward the Kennedy's plantation.

"Did you enjoy your visit with your mother?" asked Patrick, in a noticeable attempt to lighten my spirits.

"Oh yes. Very much so."

"And Elizabeth?"

"Yes. She has started a new series of paintings. Of bridges. They are quite dark."

"Bridges..." He genuinely seemed interested and I was reminded of how cruel ironies and social constraints kept both my sister and I separated from those destined for us.

"How is Nora? Did she mention her conversation with Father Landon?"

"Nora hasn't mentioned anything to me in a long time Kaitlyn. We haven't spoken since the night she visited in November of last year."

"What about this morning?"

He shook his head. 

"My mother is worried sick over her, thinks she's gone queer over Brennan's death. There's talk of having her evaluated."

"What?! How ridiculous!" I realized, a moment too late, that my opinion on Nora's nervous state was at best irrelevant. I felt a blush creep up the back of my neck.

"I don't think so." His voice was stern. "You can't expect my mother to look after her. She's one foul mood away from madness."

For the first time, I was furious with Patrick. How could he talk about Nora as if she were a spoilt child? He knew nothing of the cruelty she bore during her short but torturous marriage. I recalled him that night, sitting in the Kennedy's parlor, drunk and jesting over Nora's terse and stoic letters. The night Nora snapped, radiating with anger, casting shadows that only highlighted her beautiful features, her voice a low, fierce hiss, storming up the Kennedy's staircase - a vision in the firelight. The night I touched her for the first time, as her fingers delved inside me, sculpting pleasure and scribing the meaning of her love.

And Nora had done nothing to suggest mental instability, save failing to grieve Brennan's death in a manner her mother deemed of as acceptable. But with Brennan's death, Nora was returned to the jurisdiction of her father. It was laughable; to have a woman as independent, as cunning and courageous as Nora under the feeble will of her father and therefore, ultimately, at the mercy of her neurotic mother.

"Patrick, let me stay with her."

He looked at me in disbelief. "Here?! In Georgia? Don't be ridiculous. Kaitlyn, we're doomed to lose this war. The Yanks have more ports, more steel and more men and what have we got? A lot of slaves, a lot of cotton and a hell of a lot of pride." 

I felt the pressure to counter him and suddenly remembered the generous dowry that accompanied my hand in marriage. "I know, I didn't mean here. Patrick, do you trust me?"

"Of course" he said and I felt a little sick but carried on.

"Then give me $8000 and I will take Nora and purchase a small lot for us to subsist on until after the war. I am not safe at the camps and she is not safe in Savannah."

"And where are you going to go?! No landlord will accept the old United States dollar."

"A landlord in Boston will."

"Boston?!?! Kaitlyn, have you lost your mind?!" he asked incredulously. "How will you get there? Who will you stay with?"

"I have a great-aunt who lives there." This was true, my grandfather often visited my great-uncle in Boston when he worked as a merchant but my Aunt Rowan was the only family left. My father said all of the Kerrigans started out in Boston because of its close-knit Irish community. But I had no idea how my great-aunt had fared since the war started. "And cousins" I added, aware he would inquire about the presence of male chaperones. I did have some cousins, but I had no means of contacting them. 

Patrick stared at me, blatantly assessing my sanity and probably questioning his long-standing regard for me as remarkably cautious and unmarred by impulse. I was a bit uncomfortable with it myself, but Nora had a way of teasing out my impulse.

Seeing his ambivalence, I said "wouldn't it be better for me to care for Nora with the aid of my great-aunt and cousins then to have her institutionalized in an asylum in Atlanta that could be demolished by the Yankees within a year?"

"You would have to travel west if you hope to avoid potential battlegrounds. But greater dangers lie there."

"Or by sea, it would be much quicker. And smugglers take human cargo for additional charge, substantial as it may be. They prefer the old US currency and $200 will certainly cover both mine and Nora's passage."

Patrick was running his hand through his hair, obviously conflicted. Fighting back guilt, I jumped at the chance.

"Patrick, darling, this isn't our war. I know you loathe this entire 'state's rights' façade as much as I do. You serve out of the brave nobility that graces your bloodline but you serve with a reluctance that undercuts these patriotic notions of loyalty and treason. You know as well as I do that 'honor' is just the Confederacy's way of silencing their men's consciences. This war threatens everything we love for the sake of everything we despise. Let me go Patrick, let me take Nora to Boston and then send for both of our parents as soon as we secure work and lodgings with my great-aunt. And after the war, you and I will buy a seaside cottage in Nantucket and forget all of this bloodshed ever occurred."

His eyes softened and a smile played across his lips. I had never felt so despicable in my life. But for all of his practicality and wit, I knew deep down, Patrick was a dreamer, a hopeless romantic and therefore a fool who would gamble his life when dealt the right card. 

But wasn't I the same way? I was risking my life and my husband's for the chance to be with Nora, even temporarily. Patrick would certainly be executed if he was implicated in a smuggling ring with Yankees.

I was disgusted with myself for my selfishness, my manipulation and my exploitation of a man who only loved and cherished me with unparalleled respect. Yet, I had never asked him to and it was that thought along with my memories of Nora's kiss that kept me ruining everything by dissolving into apologetic tears.

I gave Patrick a weak smile and he leaned in and kissed me saying, "I know of two privates who smuggle quinine from the Boston Harbor to Port Republic almost biweekly. Once I make this information known to them, I'm sure they will be happy to oblige us, free of charge." His arms wrapped around my waist "and I suppose if anyone can improve Nora's condition, it is you, the two of you being such dear friends" he murmured. Before I could stop myself, I rolled my eyes but he didn't notice as he leaned in and he whispered into my ear, his goatee tickling my cheek. "Kaitlyn, how I love you! You are so clever and thoughtful. I will be blessed with visions of our seaside cottage that will carry me through this dreadful war."

I tried not to cringe as we climbed the steps to the Kennedy's front porch.

-------------------------

Later, after supper, Nora and I took a stroll around the Kennedy's grounds. Dusk was settling in and the sky was bruised with purples and blues that were interrupted by the black silhouette of the trees in the neighboring Keaton forest. We walked in silence and I became increasingly nervous, having not spoken with Nora since the funeral.

"Nora, are you alright?" I wanted to ask what she thought after her conversation with Father Landon, but I was afraid to pry.

"I suppose, I'm sorry to be so...distant." She was looking at her feet, much like Patrick did when he was ashamed or uncomfortable.

"Please talk to me Nora." I stopped and grabbed her hand.

Her shoulders slumped and she let out a muffled sob. I pulled her close, pressing my lips against her temple and inhaling her lavender scent. She flooded my senses, drugging me. I whispered in her ear, words from a dream.

"My darling..."

She cried into my blouse for a bit before wiping her eyes with the handkerchief I offered her. "Kaitlyn, I am going to be institutionalized, do you know that? My mother says I am maddened by grief and she is afraid I will off myself if I am left alone! I can't convince her otherwise and maybe she is right...I am not at all sad about Brennan, perhaps I should be. On the contrary, I am... relieved, that I will never again feel his hands on me."

"You're not mad Nora, how could you grieve the death of a man who has only abused you?"

"If only my mother saw it that way...but I wish I could've just loved him, submitted to him, he wouldn't have been so hateful had I not fought him every time he tried to take me to bed. I wish I could've loved him for my mother, my father, for Patrick..."

I tried to listen to Nora but this was quite painful to hear. It was as if she did regret loving me.

But my face, as it always does with Nora, seemed to betray me. "Oh Kaitlyn!" she exclaimed, "Don't think I do not wish to love you. You are everything to me, you have been my will to live for the past three years! All I meant was that it would have been easier...if you weren't. I could never touch Brennan after the way I knew you in the months preceding my wedding. The way you comforted me, cradled me so sweetly, the way you looked into my eyes and read the words hidden in my soul, your gaze overflowing with a vow unsaid. The way you listened to my incessant prattling and consoled my doubts without expectations for something in return." Her voice broke, "You are an angel Kaitlyn, selfless, caring and beautiful to me in every way" she said hoarsely, her eyes pleading. Then, as I pulled her close, she relaxed, chuckling "Of course, my love for you made it very difficult to 'play house' with Brennan and now that he is dead, I have stopped hating him only long enough to feel guilty about it."

"I'm sorry Nora." It was all I could think of to say. "I'm sorry I love you."

She shook her head. "Don't ever apologize for that. Your love is the greatest gift I could ever receive." She kissed me, full on the lips. I shuddered as I felt her hands slip under my blouse and caress my bare back. I pulled away from her, gasping for breath and consumed by her heat, incensed with want for her. 

"I need to tell you something."

"Mmm, what is it Kaitlyn?" I smiled at her voice in the dark, draped in a dreamy husk.

"Patrick told me there was talk of you being sent to the asylum and I suggested you and I accompanied smugglers to the Boston Harbor instead. Once in Boston, I told him I would purchase property, find work with my great-aunt and that I would care for you until after the war." Her eyes were wide and I giggled. 

"And he agreed to that?" she was obviously shocked.

"Yes...under certain conditions."

Her eyes narrowed "And those were?"

I sighed. "It's shameful really...I led him to believe I was doing this to eventually smuggle both of our parents into Boston once we had secured lodgings for everyone. Conveniently, I left out the possibility of them refusing to leave the plantations, which I know my father would do and so I imagined your father would follow suit."

She nodded and I continued "I also expressed desire to purchase a cottage in Nantucket after the war."

Nora snorted with laughter and I felt relieved. "Yes I imagine that influenced his decision." I smiled halfheartedly, still feeling guilty about it. "You know Patrick too well...I hope you would never exercise such design on me, though I like to think I'm a bit sharper than him." I laughed, "Yes, I'm not sure I could ever fool you but Patrick is far less skilled in deciphering my true emotions and I am beginning to think of him as a bit dense." I was quiet for a moment before I added "I was afraid to even mention him to you...he told me the two of you are not speaking."

"No, we aren't." I had enough sense not to ask why, so I took her hand and we walked out of the forest and into the moonlight.

We ascended the Kennedy's staircase and I peered into Patrick's room as I followed Nora down the hall. I saw him, asleep in his nightclothes, a bottle of bourbon on his night stand. He had taken to drinking nightly since the start of the war and though I sometimes worried, I was mostly grateful because it left him impotent and drowsy, kissing me once or twice before falling into a deep slumber. I decided if he asked, I would tell him I had spent the night comforting Nora, which wouldn't be far from the truth.

Nora opened the door to her room and motioned for me to enter. "After you" she murmured and as I crossed the threshold she followed, shutting the door silently behind her before locking it with a quiet click. I met her gaze and she grabbed my forearms and whirled me around so that I was pinned against the wall, her grip steely and much stronger than I ever expected. I felt her body pressed against me and I gasped when she kissed my ear, her lips closing over the lobe in the most deliciously devilish way. She dropped down to my neck and I groaned, thrusting my hips forward. Nora grabbed my wrists and pressed them against the wall over my head. I was a little taken aback by her aggression and she loosened her grasp a bit, her face somber.

"I'm sorry Kaitlyn...you know I love you but right now...I just want to fuck you."

There was a raw, primitive need I had never before seen in her eyes and it excited me. I exhaled, "then fuck me, Nora. Fuck me with all you've got." Nora looked surprised for a moment, obviously not expecting such language from me or such willingness to be subjugated. I myself was surprised, never dreaming Nora would want this but thinking it may be an exorcism of her sufferings at the hands of Brennan.

I didn't have much time to further consider it as Nora grabbed the backs of my thighs and hoisted me up, my dress hiked up to my waist. I moaned and wrapped my legs around her instinctively as she tore my panties off. Cool air rushed around my sex and I felt so erotic and exposed as Nora fumbled with something beneath her skirt. Suddenly, her skirt dropped and I gasped. Strapped to her waist was a leather phallus!

I was both dumbfounded and increasingly aroused by the sight of the protrusion that hugged Nora's slim, feminine hips. Still supporting my weight, she pressed the stiff head to the entrance of my dripping sex. I could hear her labored breathing and she looked me in the eyes, waiting, the phallus still poised against my glistening vulva. "Oh Nora" I gasped "please fuck me."

She jerked her hips forward and I buried my face in her neck to muffle my cries. Pain seared through my body followed by a tingling, current of pleasure. Encouraged by my pleas, Nora quickened her pace, thrusting in and out of me, driving deeper inside of me with each stroke. The base of the phallus rubbed against my clitoris and I felt the familiar swelling between my legs that often accompanied my dreams of Nora. I was breathless and my vision was clouding, dark spots blotting out the sight of the moonlit room and Nora's pale figure before me. She pumped relentlessly and multiple waves of rapture tore through me, ravaging my shaking body. I clung to the roots of her long, glorious, black, silky hair and felt tears running down my cheeks; my heart seemed to burst, filling my breast with warmth as the woman I loved plunged deeper into my very essence until her knees buckled and we collapsed onto the cool wooden floor, the phallus still inside me as Nora lay atop of me, gasping for breath and trembling with bliss. She gleamed with a slight sheen of sweat and I pulled her lips to mine, whispering "I love you" into our kiss.

Nora pulled out of me and confusion filled her face as she saw the phallus covered in blood.

"You never...?"

I quickly shook my head.

"Oh Kaitlyn, I..." I silenced her with a soft, tender, reassuring kiss. I now knew where her desire to use the strap-on originated. But, what reminded a mystery was where on earth she got it.

Nora lifted me up but I noticed she had rid herself of the phallus. She carried me to her bed, gently laid me down and kissed my forehead with almost an imperceptible softness. She walked over to her washbasin and returned with a damp, cool cloth that she wiped the inside of my thighs with. It felt wonderful. I let out a sigh of ecstasy.





A Vow Unsaid Ch. 03



"I thought...Kaitlyn, I am so sorry." I placed a finger to her lips.

"Sshhh, it was absolutely wonderful. A bit savage yes and quite unexpected but it was fantastic to be...claimed by you. Don't apologize Nora, I very much enjoyed it." I was touched by her desire to mark me as her own and knew it was out of a jealously that betrayed her unbridled love for me.

She leaned in and kissed me and I began to slowly unbutton her blouse. Shedding the remainder of our clothes, we kissed slowly and softly and Nora caressed my face, tracing my jawline and eyebrows with her fingertips. "My darling" she whispered in the dark and her hands found the inside of my thighs, rubbing them softly as she kissed me. I felt my pulse quicken and kissed her more urgently, tilting my hips toward her. She pulled me closer and slipped her fingers into me, gently rubbing her thumb over my sensitive nub. I moaned and arched toward her, twitching slightly. She closed her mouth over my nipple and I almost screamed. Torrents of desire swept over me and I lost control of my body, my hips straining against her delicate, dexterous hand. I felt the swelling between my legs begin to build once more when her fingers left me and she dropped her head between my legs.

"Oh Noraaaaa."

Her tongue probed inside of me, canvassing my sex and eliciting desperate pleas as my hips jogged involuntarily. She looked up at me, her eyes smiling and then circled my clitoris with her tongue. I felt every muscle in my body tense as I convulsed, seizing at the sensation, babbling Nora's name as my spine curved and my hips shot toward the ceiling. Nora rose from between my legs and knelt above me, holding my delirious gaze until she came within an inch from my face. She closed her eyes, her long, dark lashes fluttering and leaned in to kiss me. Breathless, I must have fainted.

-------------------------

One year later:

I woke up just before dawn and blearily rubbed my eyes. I walked slowly into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee before washing up with a pail of water from our well outside. I heard the faint cry of gulls, creaking of ships, the lapping of the waves and the chime of buoy bells as the Boston Harbor awoke, stretching and yawning in the early morning. I slipped into a simple cotton dress which had become a staple of my small wardrobe. I had grown fond of my humbler lifestyle in Boston, having never felt comfortable in the extravagant fashions of the South. It was chilly though, and damp, so I grabbed my wool pea coat, a gift from my late Aunt Rowan who had died three months after Nora and I arrived in Boston, leaving us everything. She contracted pneumonia shortly after we arrived and Nora tended to her day and night, providing her with the companionship she had sorely missed since the death of my great-uncle and the departure of my cousins. They grew quite close and just before her death, my Aunt Rowan told Nora she was more of a daughter than any of my cousins and that she loved her dearly. We lived in her small cottage with her, grateful for her poor hearing when we reached for one another in the dark.

Meanwhile, I had struck up a rapport with the privates who smuggled us to Boston. Finding me of reasonable intelligence, trustworthy and, as a woman, inconspicuous, they employed me to gather quinine, gunpowder and other goods I convinced sailors to sell to me as their cargo arrived at the harbor. Since I was getting thrice the returns on these investments, I had invested a bit of money into stocks and bonds under my great-uncle's name. These funds along with the inheritance from Aunt Rowan left Nora and I with plenty to secure in a private account.

I had corresponded with my family, primarily Elizabeth, through letters. My father, as I expected, exhibited a staunch refusal to entertain the idea of moving north but he wished me well. My mother was less cordial, believing Patrick too permissive and maintaining that I should be with him, trying to conceive a child. Although cool on the arrangements and cooler towards Nora, she sent us a few smuggled care packages, wishing us both well. I believe they thought her burdensome, imagining me caring for her out of duty to Patrick alone. Nora rarely corresponded with her father and never with her mother.

I fastened my coat and pulled back my blonde hair, looking into the mirror. Gray eyes peered back at me. Our first day in Boston, Nora said her favorite thing about the city was the way the color of the sky so closely matched the color of my eyes. I enjoyed Boston as well, that first day was particularly wonderful. Nora and I walked along the wharf and down the cobblestoned boulevard, arms linked. I found the salty smell invigorating and was comforted by the stooping wharf houses that kept vigil over the harbor. One could drink coffee here as well; in the South, coffee was considered a poor man's drink by some, too plebian to be served in most upper-class homes. After I poured myself a cup, I returned to the bedroom and kissed a sleeping Nora goodbye. 

Sunrise on the harbor was undoubtedly my favorite time of the day. I thought back on all of the freedoms I had discovered in Boston. I bought my first piano here, (battered as it may be, it was mine) had complete control over my finances and could finally make love to Nora without concerning myself with who might hear us. This filled me with the most satisfaction and I smiled, watching the sailors unload their cargo on the wharf.

I found Simon, one of my suppliers, hauling the last few crates from a newly arrived freighter. He winked at me, asking when I was going to "have a night on the town with him." I smiled and shook my head, playing this game with all of my suppliers as I imagine it knocks down their prices a little bit. He handed me a covered basket in exchange for $50.

Having finished my work for the day, I bought a loaf of bread, two fish and a half dozen apples from the market and returned home. Smoke rose in thin wisps above the chimney, informing me that Nora was awake. She was frying eggs, her back to the door. Her thin night gown clung to her sensuously and her long black hair fell to her waist. She was humming, Vivaldi I would guess, she was becoming increasingly fond of his brighter concertos.

I hugged her from behind and she jumped in surprise before laughing and whirling around to kiss me. We sat down at our small table wedged against the bay window overlooking the harbor. Nora suggested we take a ferry ride to Langlee Island and I nodded reaching for her hand.

I didn't know what lay ahead for us but I knew I would never go back to the way it was before. Somehow I would tell Patrick and my family. I could never leave Nora after learning how wonderful it could be, the two of us sharing our peaceful life beside the sea. 



A Vow Unsaid



When I was younger, I had often wondered what Patrick's kiss would be like. To be honest, I hadn't thought about it in over 2 years. I felt a slight tickle of his mustache and he pulled away, stroking my hair. It was not unpleasant, but foreign and slightly alarming. I was wide awake now and rather nervous. I felt my shoulders stiffen. I snuck a glance at Patrick, his head was tipped back, eyes closed and he had a slight smile on his face. He looked as he often did when I was playing the piano. The night was so still, I could hear the call of a whippoorwill in the distance.

He kissed my hand as he held it when I exited the coach. "Good-night my dear Kaitlyn."

I just smiled absently and went inside. My mother greeted me with a kiss on the cheek. "Did you and Patrick have a nice time? Oh, post came just after you left this morning, I left it in your room." On my bedside table was a letter from Nora.

October 29th, 1860

Dearest Kaitlyn,

I have exercised much restraint by neglecting to write you, so much that I have consumed a bottle of wine in order to overcome it. You must know that I think of you with every passing day. How I miss you! Your warmth, your laughter like wind chimes, your brilliance. I long to see your face once more. Brennan and I will be in Savannah for Thanksgiving and we shall stay until the New Year. I do hope you will receive us. I trust that you are taking care of Patrick and more importantly, that he is taking care of you. Give my regards to Elizabeth and your parents.

Love,

Nora

Tears filled my eyes and warmth filled my heart. Nora was coming home! As I dressed for bed, I thought of the things we might do together. Once the initial excitement waned, a black cloud of guilt set in and I thought of Patrick's kiss.

The trees grew increasingly bare as November approached. Patrick and I took walks around the west fields which border Keaton Forest. On one afternoon, three days before Thanksgiving, Patrick suddenly grabbed my hand. I was startled, as we had been calmly discussing the political turmoil that was plaguing the capital, the issue of State's Rights. 

"Kaitlyn, do you know how I love you?"

I felt myself go numb.

"There is talk of war in the Atlanta. Brennan has planned to enlist."

I knew from listening to my father and Mr. Kennedy that there was a building tension between the North and the South, but the word "war" was not mentioned.

"If so, I will enlist as well. In preparation, I would like to marry you before the New Year." He withdrew a small box from the inside of his coat.

I said nothing but my heart sank. I suddenly remembered Nora's good-bye kiss.

"...and Father Landon will be happy to marry us December 27th." He opened the box to reveal a diamond ring on a delicate gold band, glittering in the weak, dusky autumn sun. My eyes met his and I felt my throat swell and my shoulders tense. I swallowed painfully and could only nod.

That was only 5 weeks away.

I could understand the decline in Nora's health before her wedding now that my own was five weeks away. True, I was comfortable with Patrick, I loved him. But I had admitted to myself that I did not want to marry him.

My mother gushed when she saw the ring and my father smiled. Elizabeth, bless her selfless soul, congratulated me warmly, drawing me into a hug.

I watched for Nora from the bay window of the Kennedy's foyer. At 3:00 PM I spotted her coach. I sprinted outside and up the path. Brennan hopped out and offered his hand to Nora. I saw her hand, arm and then locked eyes with her for the first time in six months.

My stomach dropped and I could swear, if I had opened my mouth, either butterflies would have flown out or I would have told Nora I loved her.

But I did neither of those things. I just stared at her, afraid to breathe. 

"Kaitlyn." Her voice was soft and shaky, like the few browning leaves still clinging to the trees.

I stepped towards her and enveloped her, my arms wrapped around her waist. I felt her head buried in my neck and the scent of lavender rise to my nose after 8 months. Repressed memories spilled into my consciousness and I fought back tears, wishing I could hold her in my arms like this forever.

I heard Patrick's voice and watched him shake Brennan's hand. He was smiling.

I wrenched myself away from Nora and looked into her beautiful eyes. I squeezed her hands. "Oh Nora, how I've missed you!" She smiled. Patrick placed his hand on her shoulder and she turned to embrace him. 

She slipped her hand into mine and we returned to the Kennedy's foyer. Mr. Kennedy hugged Nora and kissed the top of her head. When her father had released her, Mrs. Kennedy's chin quivered and she held out her arms. Nora graciously accepted her mother's affections, though I could see her discomfort. They did not get along and Patrick was often troubled by their rows, especially in the weeks leading up to Nora's wedding. He spoke about it only once, but the lack of sleep combined with his furrowed brow was always an indication of the previous night's altercations. These signs were frequent in his features last spring.

But, it was clear Nora's mother loved her and I knew Nora wished they were closer. Neither Nora nor Patrick discussed the subject of their arguments but I suspected they often involved Brennan.

Mr. Kennedy sent a slave to fetch Nora's luggage. Mrs. Kennedy invited me to stay for dinner. If I had any had any misgivings, Nora banished them immediately.

"Oh Kaitlyn, do stay!"

I hardly had time to accept Mrs. Kennedy and express my gratitude before Nora grabbed my hand and led me out to the north field.

We walked, arm in arm, the leaves crunching beneath our feet. The sun began its descent and the cotton fields were bathed in an orange glow. Everything was so still, it was quite eerie. The north field ran parallel to Route 17 and Nora stopped, draping her arm around my waist. With her other hand, she pointed to the road.

"If we were to walk up that road, it would eventually take us to Boston."

"Boston?!"

"Yes, isn't that grand? We could start here, headed north, and someday, we'd get to Boston."

I had never been farther north than Atlanta but I loved to listen to my father talk about the places he had been when he would accompany my grandfather on business ventures. My grandfather was a merchant and Elizabeth said he was where I'd acquired my head for numbers.

I was suddenly aware of Nora's breath on my neck. I turned to her and she caught sight of my ring.

Her beautiful features distorted and her face flushed white for a moment. Then the color returned to her face as she exhaled, visibly relaxing. It was gone as quickly as it had come.

"So he has already asked you."

"Yes." I whispered.

She turned away and I felt my heart breaking, the pieces severing every nerve in my body. I went numb.

"Come, or we shall be late for supper."

After a delicious dinner (I couldn't eat much after what occurred between Nora and I in the north field, but what I did was indeed delicious), we retired to the parlor and Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy bade us good night. Patrick poured brandy, tossed a log into the hearth and joined me on the settee. Nora, seated across the room, silently gazed into the fire. I watched her, the fire reflecting in her dark green eyes.

"How is Atlanta?" He was so oblivious and looked genuinely happy. Poor bastard.

She shook her head.

"Oh Nora, won't you tell me about it? I can't glean much from your letters!"

"There's not much to say." Her voice was so cold, it sent a chill through me, despite my proximity to the roaring fire.

I felt Patrick absently caressing my arm as he reached around my shoulder. I felt ill.

"Come on, tell us about the married life." Patrick was drunk and had evidently forgotten his sister's hatred for her husband.

I don't know if it was the brandy (she hadn't drank much), the weariness from her traveling or the fact that Patrick was obviously caressing me but Nora snapped.

Her voice became a whispered snarl. "Oh, where shall I start? Would you first like to hear of his drunken fits, his ghastly comrades or his filthy, insistent hands? Or how about the sewing I do from dawn until dusk to pay our landlord? And, there is always the charming tales of his bar room brawls that leave me selling my jewelry to keep him out of jail. Which tale would you prefer, Patrick?!"

He was silent, his eyes wide and Nora stormed up to her room.

"Patrick..." I touched his arm, sorrow heavy in my heart.

"Watch over her tonight, will you? The things she might do in a state like this..."

I felt the guilt set in, knowing very well the things she might do if I slept beside her tonight. But I did not tell him this and tried to resist, shaking my head.

"Please" was all he said. I sighed, telling myself he was trusting me with his dear sister, trusting me to take care of her. I steeled myself against the impending temptation.

I didn't stand a chance.

As I ascended the staircase, I watched him pour another glass of brandy.

I held my breath as I knocked on Nora's door. There was no answer, but I heard the haunting melody of a violin, a Brahms concerto, and I cracked the door, slipping silently into her room. Her back was to me, and I watched her silhouette as she finished the piece.

"Nora." I whispered. She turned to me, tears streaming down her face.

"I've asked you once before, what feels like a century ago. Do you love him?"

"Not as I love you." And I kissed her.

Her lips opened and I pulled her to me, my arms encircling her waist through her thin nightgown. She broke away, breathless.

"Kaitlyn, I..." I silenced her with another kiss, to which she responded eagerly. Her hand caressed my cheek and I gripped her tighter as I withdrew from her.

"I know too well the battle raging in your heart. I love your brother but it is you who weaves my dreams at night. I long for you and only you, as I always have. Please, forget the world outside this door, if only until morning."

She lifted her eyes to mine and I met her unwavering gaze. I was sure and I wanted her to know it. Nora took my hand and led me to her bed.

I could feel a pounding in my heart and a throbbing between my legs. When Nora kissed me again, it became deafening. I gasped as she slipped her hand into my blouse, nimbly unbuttoning it. I shrugged as she pulled it off. I faced her and felt her warm hands tumble down my back. She tugged at my skirt and it tumbled to the floor. I stood at the foot of her bed as she removed the remaining undergarments. The only sound was our labored breathing. I pulled her nightgown up and she lifted her arms, tossing it to the side. The locket I had given her a year ago gleamed and naked in the moonlight, we gazed into one another's eyes.

"Make love to me," I whispered.

She gently pushed me back, onto her bed and kissed me again. I felt her hands, hot on the inside of my thighs for a moment, then on my bottom and then tracing up and down my back. I gasped when her hand cupped my breast. If you had doused me in gasoline and lit a match, I wouldn't have been any hotter than I was now - as Nora mapped out my body with her hands.

And then her mouth. Oh, her mouth, closing over my breast as I cried, desperately turning my head into her pillow to muffle the noise. Then the nape of my neck, my earlobe and silencing me with another kiss. I was her puppet, her Marionette doll as she toyed with me, commanding my heartstrings. She possessed me and I felt myself thrust into her against my will. She kissed my navel and dipped her hand in between my legs for the first time.

I bit my lip, tasting blood, to keep from screaming. Her hand worked furiously inside me and she silenced me with another kiss. I tried to kiss her back at first but despite me valiant attempts, I was really just struggling for breath while my lips brushed hers. I was in a trance, unable to believe I was in Nora's bed, making love to her. For a moment, I could see the two of us from above. I watched Nora's rhythmic stroke as her pale body rippled over mine. Suddenly, my neck jerked back and my eyes snapped shut as my sex convulsed, tightening around Nora's fingers. Then, a hot release and the flash of fireworks dancing across my eyelids, a strained breath escaping my lungs. Nora's lips were on mine once more and I went limp, a sweet darkness consuming me.

When I came to, Nora was snuggled beside me, looking me in the eyes. I smiled.

"I love you Nora."

"I love you too Kaitlyn. I always have." She kissed me tenderly as dawn crept over the horizon.