Page 41 of Landing Love

“For now, it’s enough to kiss you and feel your heart beating against my chest. The rest can come when it comes.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed. For all her reluctance, a part of her wished he hadn’t stopped. For a moment her mind wandered to what it would have been like if he hadn’t, and something deep within her clenched with longing. The embarrassing truth was that she wanted him almost as much as he wanted her. Was it wrong for her to seek comfort with him after everything? He was her husband.

From a practical standpoint, it made sense too. The intimacy would ease the strangeness of their marriage. She didn’t want to wait and wonder when his patience might run out. If he was waiting for her heart to heal, then the right time might never come. She didn’t want to put things off so long he resented her. She needed him.

But he had stopped. Maybe he wasn’t ready either. After all, this had been so sudden. Did he even want to be married? It was too late to ask such questions, so she cleared her throat and stood up.

They busied themselves unloading the morning’s purchases from bags. Soon, she had her three new dresses hanging in the closet. After some agonizing, she had decided not to purchase black. After all, she now had a husband who was very much alive. But she selected dark colors and conservative cuts. She had one in dark green, one in navy blue, and one in a deep plum. They would serve her well once she started teaching.

Bill cleared two drawers in his dresser, where she put Junior’s clothes and diapers, as well as her own stockings, undergarments, and nightgowns. Mrs. O’Donnell had tried to talk her into buying at least one nightgown that was frilly and revealing, but she had held firm: one plain, short-sleeved cotton one for warm weather and a long-sleeved flannel one for when the weather turned. On top of the chest of drawers, she placed her wedding bouquet. She had to put it in a coffee tin for lack of a vase, but it beautified and freshened the space.

She explored the kitchenette. There was a little stovetop but no oven. His cupboards were full of canned foods, and his icebox had a bit of milk, some butter, some bacon, two pork chops, and some beer.

“What do you eat? There’s practically nothing here to make a meal with.”

“I eat at my parents’ a lot. And when I eat here, I usually open a can of something, heat it on the stove, and cook myself a piece of meat. I’m not much of a cook, I’m afraid.”

There was at least one area where she could pay him back for his extreme generosity. “From now on, you’ll be eating better.”

“Speaking of eating, we should get back to my parents’ house. It’s nearly dinnertime.”

She took Bill’s arm as they headed back to the O’Donnells’, appreciating the steady support he offered. When they arrived, she immediately took Junior into the bedroom to feed him.

Her breasts ached with milk, and Junior clawed frantically at her chest when she took him from Mrs. O’Donnell.

As she sat in the dim privacy of the O’Donnells’ bedroom, her mind wandered to the night ahead. There was no privacy in Bill’s apartment. She was going to have to get over her reticence to breastfeed in front of him quickly because Junior demanded a meal every four hours or so. There would be no avoiding it tonight.

But she wasn’t ready to think about that yet. She’d deal with it when the time came. Maybe he was a heavy sleeper and wouldn’t notice. She could only hope.

As soon as she was finished, she rejoined the chaos in the dining room. Adelaide and Connor were pretending to be pilots like Uncle Bill and were whizzing around the room at top speed. Mary was there with her husband, Floyd. Mrs. O’Donnell was busy with a thousand things in the kitchen, and Mr. O’Donnell was engaged in deep discussion about the war with Floyd.

Soon, Mrs. O’Donnell came bustling out with a large meatloaf, followed by a salmon loaf. There was a large bowl of mashed potatoes, another large bowl of green beans, a basket of fresh-baked rolls, and a small bowl of hollandaise. “Mm. Salmon loaf. My favorite,” said Bill. “Mum makes it even better than the East Williston Hotel.”

Ann made a mental note to ask Mrs. O’Donnell for her recipe. She’d rarely made salmon loaf in the past. Roger didn’t like fish much. But cooking for Bill was something she looked forward to. She prided herself on her skills in the kitchen and was eager to please. Besides, cooking calmed her. It was a distraction from the swirling thoughts that always threatened to drag her down.

Dinner passed in boisterous fashion. Mrs. O’Donnell had a thousand and one questions about her new teaching position, most of which she couldn’t answer because she hadn’t started yet. She asked Mrs. O’Donnell about recipes for Bill’s favorite meals, which Mrs. O’Donnell readily agreed to share. Bill entered into a spirited discussion of the upcoming county fair with Mary and Floyd. They had their hopes pinned on one of their jersey cows to take a prize.

By the time dinner was over, she was stuffed. She couldn’t remember when she’d last enjoyed a meal so much. The O’Donnells seemed to have adopted her fully as a daughter.

“Thank you so much for everything today, Mrs. O’Donnell.” Ann wiped away the last crumbs from her mouth with a cloth napkin.

“For heaven’s sake, call me Shannon. You’re family now. When are you going to come back and visit with that handsome grandson of mine?” Shannon wagged her fingers at Junior.

“Can I come back tomorrow to copy recipes?”

“That would be lovely, dear.”

“We should get Junior home,” said Bill. “It’s been a long day.”

They said their goodbyes and put Junior back in his carriage for the walk to Bill’s. No, the walk home, she corrected herself. It was her home now too, even if it hardly felt like that now. They left the baby carriage in an alcove in the entryway of his building and headed upstairs.

Closing the door behind them, she felt as if she was closing the door on the entirety of the life she had lived to date. She was no longer Ann Randall, nor was she Ann Prince. Now, she was officially Ann O’Donnell, completely and irrevocably. Well not quite completely. There was one last bridge to be crossed, and it was their wedding night, even if he had said they could wait.

“Your family is wonderful,” she said to dispel the awkwardness as she put Junior down in his new crib with a rattle. “It means a lot to me that they’ve welcomed me as family, especially since I’ve lost all of my own.” Shannon was completely unlike her mother, but she was such a warm and caring soul, Ann felt immediately at home with her.

“You’ve given her a daughter-in-law and a grandson in the same day. She’s over the moon.”