Captive Bride, page 6
He held his hands up in surrender and retired upstairs to leave her to her work. He removed his boots and washed up at the basin in his room then couldn’t resist a peek into the spare room to see what Shu-Ann had made of it.
The white dress hung from one of the hooks on the wall. The bedroll was laid out below the window, the green wool blanket tucked in so tightly there wasn’t a single wrinkle. The rest of the room was bare except for the little table he’d left in the room. She’d placed it beside the bed and on its surface were the two decorative combs she’d taken from her hair.
Alan walked across the bare, clean-swept floor and picked up the ivory combs. The strings of shells tickled his hand as they brushed against it. He lifted the combs to his face and sniffed, trying to catch a whiff of her hair. A noise from below made him jump. He quickly set the combs back in place and retreated from the room to go sit in the parlor.
After lighting the lamp, he picked up the book on city planning he’d been reading the previous evening, but he could no more concentrate on the page than he’d been able to count screws earlier. The printed words swam in front of his unfocused eyes while he listened to the tiniest movement from the woman downstairs.
Finally, the stairs creaked as she came upstairs. His pulse quickened. Would she join him in the parlor? He wanted to try to communicate with her more.
But her soft footsteps headed toward her bedroom. Alan felt a stab of disappointment as the door shut behind her. He let his book fall shut too and stared at the yellow flame in the lamp. He couldn’t stop picturing Shu-Ann in the next room, so pretty and so unattainable. He’d never take advantage of a woman in her situation but couldn’t smother the flame of lust that rose in him. He’d wanted her before he ever knew her, and now to have her settling to sleep on the opposite side of the wall was killing him.
Alan imagined going to her room, knocking on the door and being invited inside. He could almost feel how soft her hair and her skin would be and how her lips would feel under his. He imagined her hands gliding over his chest, his belly, unfastening his trousers and reaching inside, the firm grip of her hand around his cock.
The parlor was too warm, the air too stale. Alan tossed his book aside and hurried from the room. He had to get outside into the fresh air and take a brisk walk. That was the only way to eradicate the unbidden fantasies tormenting him. He definitely had to get his body and his mind under control before he proved true all of Shu-Ann’s worst suspicions about men.
Chapter Five
Huiann moved the night table in front of the door as if the flimsy piece of furniture would stop the big man from bursting into the room if he chose to do so. Sitting on the thin sleeping mat on the floor, the blanket draped around her shoulders, she stared at the door as his heavy footsteps came down the hallway.
She leaped from the bed, bird wings fluttering madly in her chest as she pictured his hulking body filling the doorway. He could do whatever he wanted to her. If only she’d taken the sharp knife from the kitchen as she’d intended. But no, her foolish heart had told her it was safe to trust the white man’s welcoming smile. Now she had no weapon except her fingernails with which to fight him off.
But Alan Somma walked past her room without stopping and went downstairs. Moving close to the door, Huiann listened to the squeak of the hinges on the kitchen door as her benefactor left the building.
She breathed a sigh of relief and moved to the open window to catch a breath of fresh air. The wall of another building was only a few hand spans away. She craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the starry sky above. Below, footsteps caught her attention and she looked down to see the top of the giant’s head and his wide shoulders as he walked down the narrow alley toward the street. The pale streaks in his light brown hair caught the moonlight. She watched until he disappeared around the corner of the building.
Huiann pulled her head back in the window and removed the blouse and skirt her host had given her, glad to be rid of the unfamiliar garments. She wrapped the blanket around her and lay on the pallet, staring at the shapes of the shadows on the wall.
This day had ended far better than she could’ve hoped, but her good fortune in landing in what seemed to be a safe place didn’t stop melancholy from washing through her. She feared she would never be able to earn money to return home. What if she died in this country with no relatives to mourn or bury her properly? She would wander in this foreign land as a ghost—forever parted from her ancestors.
She worried about Xie Fuhua. Would he let her go so easily or send his men to look for her and question the shopkeepers in this area? Not only did he have a financial investment in her, but his pride would be injured that she’d dared to run away from him.
As if these thoughts weren’t enough to keep her awake, Huiann’s mind kept returning to Alan Somma, the friendly giant whose looks, speech and manner were utterly different from any man she’d ever met. Yet she felt certain he wouldn’t harm her. She’d felt safe at last.
Her first impression had been that he was ugly—huge and gangly with eerie transparent eyes. But when he’d smiled at her, lights danced across those blue eyes like sparkles on a river, and she’d seen beauty in his unfamiliar features. How could anyone with a smile that warm be evil or untrustworthy? After she got over her initial fear, she even found the man’s size appealing and powerfully masculine. Fireflies flitted and glowed in her stomach whenever their eyes met.
In the kitchen, when he wasn’t looking, she’d studied him. His hair was light brown with strands of gold and copper running through it. It reminded her of colorful autumn leaves and she wondered if it was as soft as fine silk. Would it feel cool or warm sifting between her fingers?
In the parlor, she’d had only a glimpse of him in the lamplight, reading a book, but she’d noticed his boots were off and one of his socks had a hole in the bottom. She would darn it for him. The idea of caring for his house, his clothing, his personal items, struck her as very intimate, almost wifely, and inappropriate for a single woman. But she must earn her keep, and part of her was happy to serve him, pleased to tend to a man who so clearly needed to be taken care of.
And even as she’d feared him coming to her room tonight and demanding sexual payment for his help, a small part of her had been disappointed when he walked past her door.
Such a shameless woman she’d become. She couldn’t rein in her galloping mind, which kept racing toward ideas Madam Teng had planted in it, ideas about what a man and woman did together in bed, astonishingly intimate acts performed with mouth and hands and sexual organs. What would Alan Somma’s large hands feel like touching her body? What would he look like without clothes on? Her insides turned to warm liquid at the thought.
Huiann gripped the blanket tighter and pushed her face into the flat pillow, the smell of cheap cotton filling her nostrils. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to erase the erotic images from her mind, but Madam Teng’s voice continued to instruct her even though the woman was far away.
Her whirling thoughts finally settled as exhaustion overtook her. At last, she fell into a light doze, but even in her sleep she listened for Alan Somma’s boots on the stairs and didn’t fall sound asleep until she heard him return to the house.
The next morning Huiann woke with a stiff back and a full bladder. The pink light of early morning shone through her window. She rose, relieved herself in the chamber pot, dressed in yesterday’s clothes and opened the door of the room. Her heart lifted at her ability to perform the simple act of turning the knob after days of captivity. No locks. No bars on the window. She was a free woman. Or as free as she could be in a foreign country with no money and no way to cross the ocean and return to her family.
She walked down the steps and halted at the foot of the staircase. Alan Somma stood at the kitchen sink, washing himself. He was shirtless, his back to her as he rinsed off the soap on his face and chest. She stared at the bumpy ridge of his spine, the muscles flowing in his shoulders and arms as he splashed himself with water. The pale canvas of his back was marked by a few constellations of small dark moles sprinkled across it. She wanted to connect the dots with her fingertip. His skin would feel warm beneath her hand.
Huiann inhaled. The small sound caught his attention and he turned to look toward her, his face and chest dripping with water, slick, sleek, glistening. Something ancient and primal awoke and stirred within her—fenghuang, the phoenix, her yin to his powerful yang embodied by a dragon. She swallowed and looked away from his nipples.
Alan Somma made a surprised sound and grabbed his shirt, which was draped over the back of one of the chairs. He slipped his arms into it, while she studied the wood grain in the planks of the floor. She’d hoped to rise early and have his breakfast ready before he began his day. She’d never expected to walk in on him half-naked.
“Pardon me, sir,” she apologized in Wu and started to retreat upstairs, but he called out a command that halted her.
He crossed the room to stand before her. The heat of his body and the smell of soap and damp flesh aroused an answering heat in her belly. He touched her arm, and her skin burned at the pressure of his hand even through her long-sleeved blouse.
Huiann was ashamed at the way her body responded to his nearness. Her sex tightened at the mere sound of his low voice. He led her to the stove, where he lifted a pot from the burner and poured dark brown liquid into the two mugs they’d drunk tea from yesterday. The rich aroma she’d smelled since she’d awakened came from the beverage. He offered her one of the steaming mugs.
She took it carefully and inhaled the scent of the brew, then blew across the surface before sipping. The bitter taste took her by surprise.
Alan Somma laughed at her expression of distaste. He took a tin of brown sugar from the cupboard and put a spoonful into her mug. Then he measured a portion of oatmeal into a pan of water which was also bubbling on the stove.
Huiann set the mug of black brew aside, picked up a wooden spoon and stirred the oatmeal. She would not have him cook for her. It was completely improper for their roles to be reversed in such a way. Even if she hadn’t been his housekeeper, as a woman it was her duty to cook and to serve him.
Alan Somma stood too close. His shirt was on but still unbuttoned and, from the corner of her eye, she could see a slice of his naked torso. Shadows on his pale skin delineated muscles in his chest and stomach. The phoenix inside her ruffled its feathers and stretched, tickling her insides.
As he fastened the shirt buttons, concealing this intriguing glimpse of his body, Huiann returned her attention to the boiling oatmeal. With any luck, he’d think her cheeks were pink from the rising steam.
Alan Somma sipped his bitter drink without adding any sugar, leaning against the counter and continuing to talk to her as if she understood him. When the cereal was thickened, she spooned some into a bowl and carried it to the table for him. But before she could withdraw to a respectable distance as she’d done the previous evening, he shook his head and pulled out the chair across from his, demanding she eat with him.
It was improper for her to share a meal with a man without a chaperone, especially a foreigner, but what did it matter if she completely broke convention? The life she’d known had been twisted beyond all recognition. What was this small impropriety compared to nearly being sold to a stranger for sex? She took the seat he offered, sitting up straight with her hands primly folded on her lap.
Alan Somma filled a second bowl with oatmeal and brought it to her. His act of service made her cheeks burn again. She waited for him to sit and begin to eat before she took tiny bites, keeping her face lowered, embarrassed to have him watch her chew and swallow.
His table manners were confusing. He did not behave in the way either a guest or the host would at her father’s table and seemed to have no ritual about his eating at all.
“The oatmeal is sticky. I apologize,” Huiann gave the obligatory apology for the quality of her cooking. But if Alan Somma responded with the customary assurance that it was the best food he’d ever eaten, she had no idea. And he didn’t tap his fingers on the table to signify that the food was to his liking. Either he hated it or Americans did not show their appreciation in the ways she was used to.
Her stomach rebelled against the lump of oatmeal she swallowed. She was simply too nervous to eat. But perhaps Alan Somma was also nervous, because he continued talking between bites of cereal.
Oddly, the fact that he might be uncomfortable put her more at ease. She wanted to relieve his awkwardness so she began to talk back to him. They carried on two solitary halves of a conversation that never met in the middle. And because this man could not understand her, Huiann felt free to say anything she wanted and speak in an open manner that would be considered improper even when addressing her close family members. It was like talking to herself—no constraints, no formality, only the truth she felt inside.
“It was wonderful to be able to walk out of my room this morning and not have the door locked. I wish I could go outside and run in a field somewhere, run until my legs and my chest ache and then fall down onto the grass and watch the clouds roll by in the heavens.
“Between the ship and Xie Fuhua’s house, I haven’t been free to roam in many weeks. At least I got fresh air on the deck of the steamer. The crossing was quite smooth and I was only seasick for a little while at the beginning.
“I wish I could tell you everything that happened to me, about the women I found in cages in the hold of the ship and about Xie Fuhua. And there are so many things I’d like to ask you about your life and your world. I’m going to learn English so we can really talk together.”
Alan Somma smiled and Huiann smiled back, feeling almost as comfortable with him as if he were one of her sisters or her brother, Bolin. She could tell him anything. He would not judge her or say she was too reckless, impulsive or imaginative.
Then it was his turn to relate some tale, punctuating the story with occasional laughter. It didn’t matter that she had no idea what he was saying. The sense of friendship between them felt easy and natural. Again she was reminded of Bolin, the only male she’d been allowed to talk with so informally.
Before she knew it, her bowl of cereal was empty. Huiann made another attempt to drink the brown liquid in her mug because she didn’t want to shame her host by refusing it, but even with the addition of sugar the dark beverage was too strong for her palate.
Alan Somma rose and took the cup from her, shaking his head and clearly letting her know it was all right not to finish. He helped her clear the table although she tried to get him to stop. And then, while Huiann washed the dishes, he went outdoors to refill the water pails.
Through the dirt-smeared window above the basin, Huiann watched him pump the handle until water gushed from the well and filled the pail. His movements were as fluid as the water itself. How had she thought him gangly or graceless?
An old man came from one of the other buildings across the courtyard, carrying his own pail to be filled. His shoulders were stooped and he walked slowly toward the communal pump. Alan Somma greeted him and they chatted for a few moments, then the younger man took the white-haired man’s pail and pumped water into it for him. When it was full and the old man reached for it, Alan Somma carried the bucket for him to his door and inside.
A man who is respectful and kind to his elders is generally trustworthy, Grandma Mei’s voice reminded her. Not that Huiann needed any convincing. She’d already decided that Alan Somma was a good person. If he’d meant her harm, she would have learned it by now.
While he was inside the old man’s house, a brown-haired woman wearing a shabby dress came out to use the pump. A man slammed open the door she’d come through and lumbered after her, bellowing like an angry ox. He looked like an ox too—big-shouldered and ugly-faced. Huiann wouldn’t have been surprised to see big, curved horns sprouting from his shaggy head. She cringed inside, fearing for the skinny woman who would bear the brunt of his fists. She knew such things happened between some married people, although her own parents’ marriage had been as tranquil as a garden of water lilies.
Marital harmony is based on two important things—listening to your wife and doing everything she “suggests,” Father had sometimes teased, but then he would add a serious adage. Quarreling is like cutting water with a sword.
When she was little, Huiann had puzzled over that expression, but as an adult she’d come to realize the pointless nature of an ongoing argument, when neither side would yield or even hear what the other was saying. Right now she witnessed that uselessness firsthand as the ox-man charged at his woman, grabbed her arm and shook her. She yelled back at him and he slapped her across the face.
Huiann dropped the pan she was washing into the sink, preparing to run outside and try to intervene. But before she could step away from the window, Alan Somma emerged from the old man’s house and hurried toward the fighting couple. He called out something and the ox-man looked at him.
Alan Somma approached him with his hands open, the way a person would confront an angry wild animal. He talked as he came closer and the big man’s grip on his wife’s arm relaxed a little.
The woman pulled away, stooping to pick up the bucket she’d dropped and going to the pump. Meanwhile, Alan Somma continued to gentle the angry beast. Huiann’s friendly giant was as tall as the ox-man and looked directly into his eyes while he talked.
After another moment, he put his hand on the man’s elbow and steered him toward home. From the way the man stumbled it was obvious he was drunk, had perhaps been drinking all night. He seemed to have forgotten his wife and his anger as he trudged inside the building.
Alan Somma went back to the well and talked to the skinny woman for a few seconds. She shook her head a couple of times then lifted her water pail and followed after her boorish husband like a pathetic shadow.
