Loading...Helen went out to feed the animals, as much to get out of the stifling cottage that backed up into the hillside as to perform any chore. The ground around was mostly bare dirt, and there was the smell of livestock and staleness.
She reached out to pet a goat that had come up to her. They had those strange eyes that unnerved her, but still, she hungered for some kind of contact with a warm living thing that would not rebuke her.
She began to think of her mother, in the cold ground these eighteen years, the woman she had never known. She wondered if she had been pretty, if her voice held any note of softness, of care.
“Are ye kilt, girl? Are ye turned to stone, then?” snarled her father in his grating voice, making her jump. “Feed them beasts before they starve and then we all do!” He went away shaking his head, perhaps trying to fathom why God in his great wisdom had given him this mostly useless stick of a girl to try his temper.
Even the goat had been uninterested in her caresses, moving just out of reach and staring, wanting food. As she went about her chores she wondered bleakly if this was all life could ever be, a filling of one’s gut, a numb round of joyless tasks that must be done.
Her father and brothers seemed to want nothing but their tankards of grog at the end of the day, and a silent woman to bring it to them.
She knew she had no right to ask for more. Her mother had died bringing her into the world, and no man would have her, for despite her fair face, she was often sick and not able to work her share. And her father never tired of pointing out to her that she was too thin, her hips too narrow to bear any man a son. “How will I ever get rid o’ ye?” he would snap at her, as if she were deliberately vexing him. “I’d trade ye for a sack o’ meal, but nowt is offered!”
That evening, her father bid her hear what he had to say. This was rare, indeed, and she wondered if she were to be punished for something, though she knew not what it might be. She sighed silently within herself and knew that surely she had failed again in some way, and her bad nature was about to be shown to her, and loudly.
Helen stood with her head down before her father, trying to take up as little space as she could. To her amazement, he said, “I’ve got something to tell ye, girl, and ye can thank God in His mercy for sending us all a boon. I’ve found a man as will take ye for a wife, though I can’t say if he’s soft in the head or what may be his reason.” He smiled and showed his brown teeth.
Her heart clenched. She knew of no man she would want to be with, bitter though her days in her father’s house might be. She found her voice, and asked softly, “Who may he be, Father?”
“Caleb McInnis.”
Helen’s heart sank like a shot bird. Caleb McInnis was a drunk and a braggart, and was the foulest smelling man in the county. His shrill wife had given him three dull-witted sons and then died.
“But Father, not Mr. McInnis, he–”
“He’ll have ye!” thundered the old man, banging his tankard down hard on the broad wooden table. “He’ll have ye, and I’ll be out from under the burden of ye! Do as he says, lest he send ye back here to plague me! That’s all, girl.”
The room blurred as Helen’s eyes filled and she tossed her head once as if struck an invisible blow, then left the cottage, hot tears rolling down her pale, beautiful face.
“Don’t work ye’self into one of your states!” cried the old man, as she closed the door behind her. The wind was whipping up and felt cool on her fine, wet cheeks. The sky was nearly dark, but she could see thunderheads rolling in.
Feeling set upon from every side, she began to walk away from the only home she had known, not caring what happened to her, not wanting to draw another breath in this world, but compelled to do so just the same. She walked mile upon mile, most of it in a downpour, the wind whipping her long straw-colored hair and making her dress snap about her. She lost her shoes, lost her way, lost her hope. She wondered if her mother were in Heaven with the Angels, and if she saw her child. And seeing, did she care?
She longed to be held, just once, to have someone brush the hair from her face and kiss her cheek, to have someone look upon her with love.
But there was only the night, and the storm, and the unfamiliar way. The poor girl sat down beneath a great oak, and sobbed into her own cold arms. “Mommy,” she whispered hopelessly, “if you hear your only girl-child, help me now, I pray. My heart is dying within me, and my body shall surely follow when it looks within and finds there is no spirit left there. Please help me.”
But there was only the night and the storm and no human hand or face.
After a time in this miserable state, the girl went unconcious, and stirred no more; not even when a great she-wolf came stealing out of the trees and stealthily crept up to her. The wolf nosed at her and even tore a bit of her dress with her teeth. The she-wolf cocked her head and whined, then sat back and howled that great mournful howl that breaks the hearts of all who hear it. Then she picked up the rag she had torn with her teeth, and went running back into the forest.
After hours–days, perhaps?–Helen was dimly aware of being moved. The world seemed to be shaking underneath her, but she no longer cared. Soon, all returned to black.
The next thing she was aware of was a light touch behind her left ear. Had a butterfly landed there as she slept? The girl struggled to open her eyes, but they would not obey her. Was she dead? The butterfly moved to her hairline, her lips, her cheek. Then there was coolness and water. Just before insensibility overtook her again, she had time to notice that she was no longer cold, no longer wet. Everything around her felt soft and indistinct. Surely she had passed into some sort of limbo.
She opened her eyes to a bright light. Then something moved between her and the light. She made out the silhouette of a woman. “Mama?” Helen whispered.
“No, child,” came a soothing female voice. Helen struggled to make sense of where she was. The woman before her had a thick mane of unruly black curls, and the kindest brown eyes she had ever looked into. This woman touched Helen’s face and there it was–the butterfly again. Helen could not look away from this woman. Her lovely face radiated serenity and peace. Her features were not delicate, but she was nonetheless beautiful.
“I am Sarah.” Her voice melted over Helen like spring water over parched stones, which then turned to fishes of all bright colors. “I’ll make you some tea.” The butterfly touch lingered under Helen’s delicate jawline for a moment, and then Sarah got up and went to the fireplace.
Helen looked around and saw all manner of herb and dried plant suspended from the ceiling, and in pots and jars arranged in an orderly and pretty manner all throughout the cottage. The light she had seen was simply the sunlight coming in the window. She became aware that the cottage had a sweet smell that seemed to be coming from a smoking stick next to her bed. There only seemed to be but the one bed.
She must, in her weakened state, have drifted off again, because when Sarah gathered her in her arms, it awakened her. Sarah was on the bed next to her, holding her in her soft, strong arms. She supported the girl as she brought a mug of delicious and exotic-smelling tea to her lips. Helen’s senses sang as she smelled and tasted the tea she was being given. She could almost feel some small measure of health returning to her body as she was warmed by it. But then she was suddenly dizzy, and she could not hold her head up. Sarah lay Helen’s face against her breast until the feeling passed. Helen could feel the woman’s tender breast rising and falling with her calm breathing. How often had she yearned to be held, just so?
Sarah kissed Helen’s fevered forehead, and her lips were soft and sensual. Helen shivered from head to toe, whether from fever or something else, she could not have said. Sarah had leaned over to kiss her forehead, and now she gathered the blonde young woman’s face between her full breasts. A sweet little cry escaped Helen’s lips as she nuzzled gratefully in that heavenly place.
Sarah set the tea down on a small bedside table, and began stroking Helen’s hair.
“You’re…so kind,” whispered Helen in amazement. Without thinking, purely on the instinct of her soul, Helen tenderly kissed Sarah’s breast. When the dark-haired woman simply kept on stroking Helen’s long hair, Helen kissed her there again, then once more. Soon, the feverish girl was maoning softly and nuzzling and kissing Sarah’s breasts with all the ardor she could manage.
“Yessss,” breathed Sarah gently. “You need me.” With that, Sarah reached for the bottom of her soft top and lifted it up so she could suckle the young woman in her arms. Helen’s eyes were soft with wonder as she took in the sight of Sarah’s bare breasts. Then she shyly kissed one precious globe, and then the other, as Sarah cradled her. Sarah’s nipples were dark and beautiful, and Helen’s very nature urged her to take one of them into her soft mouth. She groaned with ecstasy as her benefactress’s nipple filled her mouth, and she sucked deeply, her delicate cheeks hollowing as she nursed.
Then something warm pleased her tongue, honeying her senses. Helen drew back in wonder, a bit of white dribbling from her soft lips. She saw white drops coursing down the lovely curve of Sarah’s full breast, and she groaned and returned to the heaven she had found there. One woman nursed the other for a long time as they lay wrapped together on the warm bed.
Afterward, laying safe in Sarah’s arms, Helen looked up at her and said, “I have seen no signs of a babe…yet you nursed me. You have not lost a precious little one, have you?” It was a fact of life that many died young.
Sarah sighed warmly and kissed Helen’s hair. “No,” she said soothingly to the younger woman. “Nature will bend for those who listen with respect. The answers to all ills are to be found in the green of the forests and fields, or given by the animals and birds. But one must listen and be humble, and few have mastered these skills.”
Then she continued, “Your body is ill but will soon recover, and with love will grow strong. But it is the sick heart within you that most needs healing. Your spirit knows this, and that is why it moved you to take my breast so naturally and eagerly.”
With that, Helen smiled mischievously and kissed Sarah’s breasts again. “You are so beautiful,” she sighed as she went to sleep with Sarah’s nipple at her lips.
With each day, Helen grew stronger. Not only that, but her spirit soared. She would have died for Sarah. But Sarah only wanted her to live, and thrive.
Soon, Sarah had begun stroking between Helen’s slender thighs as she nursed. This only made it even more heavenly. Helen had never known this kind of closeness with a woman, or with anyone, but she learned eagerly, and became skilled at fondling Sarah while she herself was nursed and stroked. Both women would become excited and wet very quickly, but they learned each others’ rhythm and signs, and made it last, sometimes for hours.
Helen was healed physically after only a short time, but still she stayed at Sarah’s cottage, helping her benefactress with anything she could. She found joy in her work now, because there was passionate love in her heart. A smile from Sarah made her heart sing.
Early one evening, Sarah asked Helen to go out and gather some roots she needed. When she returned, her pretty wicker basket filled to brimming, the cottage was alight from dozens of beautiful scented candles. The little bed was strewn with rose petals.
Sarah took the basket from Helen and set it down. Then she grasped the girl’s slim waist and held her, gazing into her eyes with tender passion. They kissed. And as they kissed, Sarah began to slowly undo Helen’s dress. She kissed her collarbone, her shoulders, her upper arms, slowly, lingeringly. Helen’s breath quickened and she sighed urgently, “Ohhh Sarah…ahhhh.” Her eyelids fluttered, then closed as Sarah kissed her face, her hair, her neck. She finished undressing her and led Helen by her small, willing hand to their bed.
Still clothed, Sarah lay her lover down on the rose petal strewn bed and kissed her thighs. Slowly she moved up until she was kissing her womanhood. Helen grasped handfuls of bedding and arched her back and tossed her head from side to side, calling Sarah’s name out loud. Sarah licked the wetness between Helen’s legs and then entered the girl with her tongue. After a moment, she stopped.
“You are a maiden,” she said, looking into Helen’s desire-lit eyes.
“Yes,” panted the aroused young woman. Sarah got up and came back with a little earthen jar. She put two of her fingers into it and brought them out covered in a sweet-smelling thick cream. Then she came to Helen, between her parted legs, as before, and slipped the two fingers inside of her. Helen’s perfect face lit up in a beautiful smile as she closed her eyes to savor the feeling. There was no pain. None. Only a heightening of the pleasure she had been feeling before. But best of all was the feeling of being entered by her woman, by Sarah. Having her beloved inside of her body, welcoming her into her heart and soul. Sarah closed her lips near the top of Helsn’s opening while she moved her fingers deeply in, then part way out, then back.
Helen began thrashing on the bed, growling like a proud and beautiful female animal as Sarah made love to her. Just as she was about to climax, Sarah stopped her movements for a moment and looked up from between Helen’s legs. Her eyes shone with helpless, naked love. She said, “Helen, will you marry me?”
Helen’s answer was a gutteral cry and a joyous ragged scream of “Yes! Yes! Ohhhh yes I love you I love you I…aaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!”
Afterward, as they held each other, and the fire burned nicely, Helen looked up from Sarah’s breast and asked her, “How did I come to be here? With you, my precious Sarah?”
Sarah smiled and kissed her new wife. “A bird came tapping on my window that night, despite the storm. She could hardly stay at the window for the fierce wind, but she was determined to wake me, and succeeded. She fluttered at the window until she was sure I was fully awake and aware of her, and then she was gone.”
Helen listened to her partner, fascinated.
“I rose and used my strongest magick to summon the mighty she-wolf, ruler of the forest. She brought me a scrap of your dress, with the warmth of your body still on it. I listened and it told me where to find you. You were there under the oak, with the she-wolf standing protectively over you. She let me place you in my cart, and I brought you here. And, of course, I fell in love with you.”
Helen wrapped her arms tightly around Sarah. “And now I am your wife.”
Feather-soft, Sarah replied, “Yes.”
Helen’s pretty face creased. “I wish I could have your children, though. I would love to carry your child. But I guess that is too much to ask,” she sighed.
Sarah laughed warmly. “Remember that nature will bend for those who are humble and take the time to listen to Her.” She gazed lovingly at Helen as the younger woman’s face lit up with a beautiful understanding.
Helen kissed Sarah passionately and asked her, “Can we name her Maryanne?”
“Yes, my love. Yes.”
The lovers were too wrapped up in their great joy to notice the white dove which had landed at the window. It fluttered its wings once, and then seemed to shape-shift, into the shape of a woman’s face. A woman who looked very much like Helen, just a little older. She smiled lovingly at the happiness she saw before her, then shifted shape again and flew away into the warm starry night.