Elizabeth 07: Before the Storm

"My, but that is enticing," Irene teased. "You could borrow a nightgown of mine, you know."

"What fun would that be?" I quipped, grinning up at her as she stood at her dresser. She was nude as well for the moment, and I admired her body shamelessly. "I hope you don't mind my saying so, Irene, but you do look beautiful just now."

"Oh, please! I feel like a cow!" She had yet to lose all the weight from her pregnancy, and her breasts were of course swollen for nursing. She looked down at her new curves and contours, but to my pleasant surprise she made no effort to cover up.

"You look...matronly," I said. "Comforting and inviting. Really, I mean that, Irene."

"Thank you." Then, to my delight, she turned off the light and joined me in bed. "I wish I could say I felt inviting just now, but it is nice of you to say I look it."

"You certainly feel it to me," I whispered, snuggling up close to her. Rejoicing in the sensation of my dear friend's tender skin against mine, I caressed her gently until I fell asleep in her arms.

Given the thrill of holding Irene again, I suppose I was expecting sexy dreams. In this I was not disappointed, for deep in the night I enjoyed a sense of the gentlest of caresses on my thighs and vulva. I had no idea to whom the fingers and lips that teased me might belong, for I could see nothing of his or her face in my dream; but identities troubled me little as I found myself pinned delightfully to a cloud or a featherbed or perhaps a thatch of heather and received the master's touch. Seeming to float in out of nowhere, the sensation grew from a mild tease to a tickle and then to a full-on massage of the loveliest pleasure. An idyllic garden suggested its presence around me; I could see only impressionistic outlines of the flowers and trees, but I found myself resting on the most divinely luxurious bed of something or other I had ever encountered in the wild and was wonderfully aware of the glorious natural beauty that enveloped me. My mysterious lover was lavishing my lower body with the expert touch of fingers and lips alike all about my thighs and vulva, and I found myself writhing about in joy. The joy was, however, blended with a certain exquisite frustration at the intense sensation, for I found my hands unable to move to guide my partner. The strokes and kisses were sometimes too good, as they often will be from an inexperienced lover, and I could but wiggle about on the heather and endure the recurrent overkill as best I could tolerate it.

A particularly rough brush of the tongue over my clitoris shook me to my core, and the out-of-focus garden faded to Irene's darkened bedroom as I sprung awake and sat up. My hands now functional at last, they found their way to Irene's head between my legs. Heavens, not again!

"Irene!" I whispered in a husky panic. "I thought we agreed none of this!"

She bobbed up to make eye contact with me, but left her two fingers nestled in my vagina; I could never deny that they felt most welcome there. "I suppose I have no willpower," she confessed. "Forgive me, dear, and consider it a credit to how beautiful you are inside and out."

"But you're a married woman! And you remember what became of you and Benjamin because of what we did!"

"I'm married to a man who doesn't respect me! As for Benjamin, I cannot unbreak his heart, so it makes no sense to deny ourselves this pleasure now. And Agnes, with you possibly going into harm's way, shouldn't we have a lovely memory to cling to?"

"Well, I..." My resolve was slipping. I knew it, and Irene knew it, which is surely why she chose that moment to begin wiggling her fingers gently inside me. Of course my objection melted into joyous inarticulate approval, and she once again buried her face in my pussy. The very real concern about my future should the war come to pass echoed in my mind, and easily overcame my moral objections to the glorious pleasure she was giving me for the first time in far too long.

Little wonder, then, that I came in scarcely another minute, or that my moans and screeches awoke little Frank. "I shall be right back!" Irene declared matter of factly, getting up to attend to him. The warm light from the corner lamp cast a delicious glow over Irene's body as she picked her son up, and all at once I lost all my desire to go overseas - for the moment, at least.

I knew not how long she was up and occupied, for I was once again asleep when at last she curled up beside me again. The loving press of her body against mine woke me up again, and I murmured an apology for not waiting up. "Quiet," she ordered. "Just hold me!" And so I did, until Frank woke us up again at dawn.

"Didn't you wear that dress yesterday?" Elizabeth asked me over lunch. Then, just as quickly, she caught herself. "Oh, heavens, I'm sorry!"

"Perhaps it's your husband to whom you ought to apologize," I quipped, nodding to Jonathan. "He managed not to notice all morning, after all."

"Oh, I noticed," he confessed. "I simply assumed you would prefer not to discuss the matter with little old me."

I laughed off my slight embarrassment. "It is not as though any of us have a great deal of secrecy from one another anymore," I reminded them both. "I suppose, Jonathan, that Elizabeth told you what we learned after the baths last night."

"Indeed," Jonathan said. "Which reminds me, congratulations are apparently in order!"

"Oh, I don't know about that," I said. "I simply feel the same calling you do, to do my share."

"I don't know that I'd call it a calling," Jonathan said. "More a responsibility, I suppose. If I had my way I'd stay right here. I admire you, Agnes, but I don't know that I understand why you're willing to go over there when no one would fault you if you didn't."

"No one who matters would fault you either, Jonathan," Elizabeth said with an uncharacteristic edge on her voice. "We've discussed that before, you know."

"Of course we have," Jonathan admitted. To me he added, "I assure you I'm not all set to run off to the recruiting office like Gregory is. I'm only being honest with myself about what might happen."

"Well, that's how I feel too," I explained. "I do hope you both understand."

"Yes and no," Jonathan said. "Honestly, Agnes, being a woman in this lifetime still has so many disadvantages, even after all the progress we've made. Why do you want to deny yourself one of the few advantages you have over us?"

"Because I don't consider it an advantage!" I said, a bit more sharply than I intended to.

"I do," Elizabeth said. I laughed in spite of myself but did not reply to her.

"Well," Jonathan said, "I'll tell you what I hope, Agnes. I hope our volunteer force will suffice. Then I will look forward to reading every last one of your war stories from the safety of our living room, with Elizabeth by my side, sharing in the love of our children."

"And in the milk of human kindness?" I said with a brash grin that I could only have shared with my very closest of friends.

Elizabeth burst into cathartic laughter, and Jonathan turned as red as a ripe strawberry; but he kept his composure. "I highly recommend that, as a matter of fact," he said with a grin. "You ought to try it with Irene."

"I deserved that, didn't I?" I confessed, joining in on the laugh. By now all three of us were making such a racket as to attract the attention of nearly everyone else in the café. The tension of a few minutes before was now utterly forgotten, and I knew we were sharing in another lovely memory that I would treasure if I did need to sail off into the eye of the storm. "Jonathan, Elizabeth," I said, reaching over to take each of them by the hand. "Let us all remember today if...if we are separated."

"I promise," Elizabeth said. "Now let us not have any further talk of that unless it is necessary."

We did in fact keep talk of the future to a minimum in the ensuing days and weeks, even though - or perhaps because - the news from overseas only went from bad to worse. And so it was that a beautiful midsummer's day found tension heavy in the air when Irene went to the train station on her own. Elizabeth and I had offered to accompany her, but we had both thought privately that it was best to allow her some privacy. Irene had agreed and had declined our offer. Perhaps it was for the same reason that she had resisted my every offer to follow up on our encounter; I had of course accepted that decision, and found myself following her lead when it came to fellows offering to take me home. Keeping our distance seemed the only sensible thing to do, with one exception in Irene's case.

Irene, having set aside her trademark tailored pants for her most flowery summer frock, was all but ill with reluctant anticipation when that exception at last stepped down from the train. A few years older but instantly recognizable as a once-true love always is, he had no more trouble than she did in finding one another through the crowd of disembarking passengers.

"Benjamin, darling!"

"You haven't changed at all," he exclaimed, enfolding her in a fond embrace that she sensed was years in the waiting.

"Oh for heaven's sake, Benjamin, of course I have and so have you! But it is kind of you to pretend nothing has changed."

"Is it really?" he wondered aloud, searching her still-familiar face as they shared their tender moment, oblivious to the other travellers milling around them.

"Yes, of course it is," Irene said. "I can't tell you how often I've wished things could be just as they were in our time together lately."

"Have you really? Why is that, then, when you've been so successful in moving on with your life? I bear you no ill will for that, Irene - the decision to move on was mine as much as yours - but I do wonder all the same."

If Benjamin was expecting Irene to melt into tears in his arms, he was disappointed; but I think I knew him well enough to know he expected no such thing. In the event, Irene kept her composure as she explained, "Benjamin, there have been some developments I haven't told you in my letters."

"If you would prefer not to discuss them..." he began.

"It is not that!" she reassured him. "Well, in part I suppose it is fear that no man would understand fully, particularly not one such as yourself who is choosing to join up and fight; but mostly it is that there was no time to write with you already on your way. Thinking of you now as an old friend rather than a romantic interest - and I am sorry, Benjamin, but that is what we are now, like it or not - I felt it more appropriate to discuss the matter in person in any event." Gracefully extricating herself from his still-fond embrace, she took him by the hand and led him down the platform. "Shall we have lunch at any of your old favourite places and I shall explain everything?"

"Lovely," Benjamin agreed. "But where's your little one? I've been dying to meet him! And Gregory? I assure you, Irene, I'm prepared to be a gentleman in his presence. Speaking of which," he added, letting go of her hand, "It hardly seems appropriate to be seen hand in hand with you now."

"I suppose you are correct about that," Irene conceded, keeping to herself the disappointment of losing that chaste but precious bond; it had still felt so right after all this time! "Agnes is taking care of little Frank; you should see them together! She's a natural mother, I think, more of one than I am, honestly."

"Why not Gregory?" asked Benjamin.

"I can hardly wait to see how Frank gets on with Elizabeth's girls when they're all a bit older," Irene continued, ignoring the query. "They're all so lovely just now, although the crying seems to be contagious when we're together. One starts, and all the others..." She laughed. "Someday I suppose we shall miss it, but it is all a bit tedious just now!"

"I do hope Gregory at least tries to be a decent father," Benjamin said. "But if you do not wish to talk about that with me..."

"It is not that!" Irene said. "I shall tell you all about that once we are settled for luncheon." They were approaching the entrance to the station by then, and a streetcar was due any moment now to ferry them downtown. "Now where would you like to eat? All your old haunts are still there; it hasn't been all that long, has it?" When Benjamin did not answer immediately, she turned and looked into his intimately familiar brown eyes. "It hasn't, really...right?"

Fifteen uncomfortably quiet minutes later, they were settled at a sidewalk café just off the high street. Normally Irene would have vetoed a choice so close to the baths, for they would be sure to be spotted; but today was much too pleasant a day for anyone to want to spend it indoors. And so she acquiesced in his choice and settled herself safely across the table from him.

"Now then," Benjamin said, "If you're ready to talk about whatever it is you've been avoiding?"

"Ready as I'm ever likely to be," Irene conceded. "Benjamin, I...I'm afraid Gregory and I are separated, at least for the moment."

Benjamin, to his eternal credit, looked shocked and a bit dismayed. "I'm terribly sorry, Irene."

"Are you really? I could hardly blame you if you were enjoying this moment immensely, Benjamin. Truly I couldn't."

"I'm not, not in the least. Losing what we had is something I shall always regret, Irene, but I still wish you all the best. I am - I was - glad to know you had made a comfortable life for yourself in the aftermath of our failure -"

"My failure, Benjamin. You were blameless; I was the one who allowed Agnes to talk me into bed, after all."

"Since you admit it, I can agree," Benjamin said with a sad smile. "In any event, I treasure the memory of us and I have never wished you anything save the best. I truly am sorry to hear you haven't got that now, and I do hope you and Gregory can reunite."

"Good Lord, Benjamin, you are not making this easy for me!" Irene said, burying her face in her hands in frustration. "I had managed to forget just how noble you can be when you care to!"

"Making what easy for you? And what on earth should I have said in response to this news? That I should try to come between you and your husband after all these years?!"

Irene took a deep breath and looked her lost love in the eye. "Well, actually, Benjamin...yes."

"You don't mean that, Irene! We parted for a reason, after all. Several reasons, actually. Surely you remember that!"

"Of course I do," Irene allowed. "But I also remember what did work for us as well as what did not. Gregory and I...well, he was a safe choice for me to make for settling down. Or so I believed. But what is safe is not always right. Surely you would agree with that!"

"Indeed I would," Benjamin admitted. "But Irene, we're likely to be at war by the end of the summer, and like it or not, I am as likely as not to be in the thick of it all. So is Gregory, if it comes to that. Surely you don't wish to be carrying on behind his back while he's fighting for us, to say nothing of your risk of losing both your loves?"

"Stop!" Irene snapped, wadding up her serviette in frustration. "Benjamin. Why do you suppose Gregory and I are separated in the first place?"

"Because he's planning to join up as well?" Benjamin guessed.

Irene replied with a curt, reluctant nod. "Well, it is not that so much as he was - is, I suppose - rather too enthusiastic about it all, like a boy half his age might be. That he could be leaving Frank and me alone for life does not appear to matter to him, at least not anywhere close to as much as it ought to! That, if you don't mind my saying so, is why I was so very hopeful about our little reunion. Heaven knows why when you are also planning to sign on, but for some reason I felt it would be different with you."

"It is different with me!" Benjamin replied just as angrily. "I have no wife to leave behind, after all."

Irene could not look him in the eye. "I suppose I deserve that," she murmured.

"Quite frankly, I believe you do," Benjamin said. "I had no intention of telling you this, Irene, but I quite honestly have never been the same. I've been fairly successful at my new job and my new life over there; but I have never been as truly happy as I was in our day. Not a single day, Irene. I chose to enlist because I see now that, from the day we parted, what I needed most of all was a completely different lease on life. This could be my last chance at that, and I do not intend to toss it aside in favour of attempting to relive the past. I still care about you a great deal, and I always will, but I do hope you understand, Irene!"

After a moment's stony silence, Irene nodded slowly and finally met his harsh gaze. "I do, Benjamin; I believe I do understand. And I'm sorry. But would you..."

"Would I what?" Benjamin sounded and looked a great deal more conciliatory in receipt of her apology.

"Would you consider a one-time reunion? An intimate one? Think of it as a good-luck gift or even a thank-you in advance for fighting for us." She bit her lip and then slipped into a girlish laugh as she awaited his reply.

Benjamin looked delighted, but he demurred. "I shouldn't. We both know that. You're married now."

"Married to a bloody fool who is no longer welcome in my bed," Irene reminded him.

"I shouldn't. But...heavens, Irene, the memory of your love, I treasure it more than you can imagine!"

"Just this once, it needn't be only a memory, Benjamin!"

"Do you know," Benjamin said, dodging her invitation, "There are still days when I imagine you and Agnes together. At long last I am no longer jealous, but I remain bloody curious."

"Curious of what, Benjamin? You were present for our retreat at the seaside!"

"Yes, and how can I ever forget you fingering Elizabeth and myself at the same time!" He laughed at the fond memory. "I still get tickled at the memory of how much you obviously enjoyed that! But you and Agnes, from what you confessed to me, it all sounds so much more...intimate, rather than simply sexual."

"It can - could - be, sometimes," Irene said. Then, sensing that she had not sold Benjamin on her proposal and was not likely to do so, she had an idea. "You know, I could bring things full-circle and invite her to join us."

Benjamin looked set to repeat his refusal initially. But as he opened his mouth to say no, Irene could see a change of heart in his eyes, followed by his lips curling into a grin of saucy anticipation.

He did retain enough resolve to send Irene home on her own that afternoon, with a promise that he would consider the offer while he settled himself at the boarding house and prepared to visit the recruiting office the next day. "I ought to be on my own tonight, and you ought to think about whether or not you truly want this," he advised her with a kiss on the cheek that Irene sensed to be a bit reluctant. "Regardless of that, though, can we assemble the gang for an outing to celebrate tomorrow?"

"There is nothing to celebrate if you are going to war, Benjamin," Irene insisted. "But I am sure the others will all want to see you."

In that she was correct, and the following evening found us all assembling at the café for dinner after work. "Benjamin and I had our first dance here," Irene mused to Elizabeth as they waited outside the already-crowded dining room for Jonathan and myself; we were on our way from the office at that moment.

"I remember it well," Elizabeth concurred. "What a wonderful evening that was."

"Which is exactly why I wish he had chosen somewhere else for the reunion," Irene said. "I could do without being reminded so vividly of what a beautiful thing I threw away!"

Elizabeth wanted to shake some sense into her friend, to remind her not to live in the past or to fool herself into thinking the good old days were always wonderful when it simply wasn't true. But she found that she could not blame Irene for feeling so sentimental given what she had been through of late and what they were all likely to go through shortly. And so she simply put a gentle arm around Irene's back and replied, "I would have chosen elsewhere as well."