THE CAVERN OF DEEP HARMONY

PART FIFTY-NINE:

Parachute silk. That was it. She didn't know why it had never come to her before, but now as she lay still beneath him, the image, the feel of it was perfectly clear. When he took her up, lifting her till her nerves imploded and exploded all at once and then she lay as she was immediately
after, it was like lying on grass somewhere as a huge white parachute slowly settled over her. It settled in folds of wispy silk, in gentle layers brushing against the walls of her being, inside and out, a silent floating down so delicately light, so completely perfect in its contrast to the exquisite piercingness of mere seconds before. Then she lay completely enfolded in its lingering silky touch, somehow a part of both the grass and the silk, her being spreading out, becoming wider again in the release from long minutes of intense ingathering.

His face was buried where her neck curved into the line of her shoulder and, listening to his breathing, she knew he, too, was settling, was with her under the soft drape of the white canopy.  She felt utterly separated from anything else in the world but him. The togetherness with him was all there was and her hands curved up around his back as though to make the moment stretch its boundaries of time. He was no longer supporting himself on his arms and most of his weight was fully on her, yet not heavy in that way a woman's body has of shaping to hold her mate's without discomfort. She let her mind explore the fact of that,  wondering, appreciating that it should be so. She liked the feel of his weight atop her, liked the sense of covering it gave her. The parachute silk had faded now, leaving only him. Only him. How totally sufficient that 'only' was.

She felt his lips move on her neck and then he rolled mostly off her, and as he melded himself to her right side, he slid his bent right leg atop hers. Sighing happily, she turned more toward him and his right hand slipped up her ribcage then over and down her arm where he laced his fingers into hers.  He nuzzled his nose to her ear. "I really like it," he murmured.

"What?"

"Your outfit.'

"My wedding dress?"

"Oh, I'll like that, too, but I mean your current outfit."

"My birthday suit?"

"Mmmm hmmm, that. I really like that."

She laughed, turned a bit, and nipped at his nose. "No zippers, no buttons," she chuckled.

"One button," he corrected and before she could stop him, had moved and blown a big, loud raspberry in her navel.

She shrieked then clapped a hand over her mouth, looking toward the door. "Do you suppose they heard?"

"Heard what? That I love you?"

"Yeah, that."

"Probably," he replied helpfully.

Wadsworth had sat up at the sound of her shriek, his ears pricked sharply toward the bed. "He's staring at us," Eden announced.

"He never tells. It's ok."

"But he's...watching."

Marshall chuckled. "Wadsworth, lie down!" he ordered with mock firmness.

Wadsworth promptly turned his back on them and settled down, his chin on his front paws. "Good boy," Eden breathed.

"Me?" Marshall asked playfully.

"You, too, but you're definitely not as obedient as he is."

Marshall affected a wounded expression. "Ask me anything and I'll do it."

"Oooo," she grinned, "that could be...interesting. Let me think." 

A series of rather risqué thoughts popped immediately into her head, but, leaning on her elbow looking down at him beside her, she was again consumed with her need for him always to be all right. She bit her lip and in a barely audible voice whispered, "Don't die."

His expression changed instantly and, reaching for her, he pulled her down and wrapped his arms around her. "I will someday, darling," he said tenderly, kissing his way around her face, "but what I can promise you is that I'll do everything I can to make sure that's on some vaguely distant day, far, far in the future. But I'm here now, right here, and now is what we've got." He kept kissing her as he spoke. "And life is made up of all our nows stacked one atop the other.

It's up to us if each now is lived in happiness and love or in fear of possibilities. What I want for us, for you and me, Eden, is to make our stack a good one. I don't know how tall it will be but I do know I want it to, how was it Luke was talking about the Christmas tree...sparkle? That's it.

I want it to sparkle."

And he turned her so she was on her back, his hands moving over her, gathering her once more into that one intense point of uncontainable focus.

The parachute floated down again.
 

~~~~~~

"That's it," Eden said, her fingertips lightly touching the shoulder of the dress the slim, older woman was holding on the hanger. "That's definitely it."

"Don't you want to try it on first?" Connie suggested.

"Oh, I'll try it on," Eden nodded, "but I already know it's the one."

The six of them, Martha and Edith, Connie and Ryan, Eden and Marshall, were all tucked around in the small open area of the narrow shop in Bellefonte.  They'd driven out the morning of the next day in Martha's large station wagon on their dress-finding mission. Miss Amity, the proprietor of the Somewhere In Time vintage clothing shop, had suggested several dresses before bringing out this one from further back on a rack.  Marshall sat on a small wooden chair immediately behind where Eden was standing and she maintained contact with him by keeping the calf of her right leg pressed slightly against his shin.

"What's it like?" he asked.

"It is ivory, Dr. Sinclair," Amity began, but Eden lifted her hand and the shopkeeper stopped.

"It's ivory, yes," Eden smiled, "but that's not what matters." She took Marshall's hand and moved it to the dress.

"Silk?" he asked, his fingers gathering up a fold.

"Yes, silk. Soft, flowing, drapey silk...like...like...a parachute." She blushed and Connie shook her head, wondering why.

"It's from the 1930's," Amity offered, "made in the style one might have seen in the movies of the day."

Eden took the dress behind a thick curtain and quickly slipped it on.  "Oh, Eden!" Edith breathed as her niece stepped out so they could see. "It's lovely. You're lovely."

Eden smiled and came close to Marshall again, bending to whisper, "I know we can't do it properly here, but I want you to have some idea right away."  She guided his hand to her hip where he let it slide over the curve of that then move to her sleeve. The feel of the fabric under
his fingertips reminded him of Christmas morning in the parlor when he'd asked her to marry him.

"It's like your gown," he said softly. "It's wonderful."

"I'll model it just for you later, ok?" 

"Good," he said, blowing out a little breath, adjusting his position on the seat.

The dress was fitted through the bodice, waist, and hips, but was cut to flare out around one's lower legs with the slightest movement. The neckline was deeply draped and though it had long sleeves with tight, wide cuffs, the very full sleeves themselves were slit completely down their length so that her arms showed slim and bare in their silky surround. The material was gathered at the top of each shoulder and each had a row of five very small, covered buttons sewn there. She liked the texture that gave the dress, something specific for his fingers to wander through. She'd thought of lace for that purpose, and possibly embroidery, but the silk of this slid over her like a second skin and she, too, remembered Christmas morning. It was thin, almost weightless,
and she shivered right there in the store at the delightful thought of his hands on it.

"What about a veil?" Connie asked.

"No veil," Eden said firmly. "Maybe a flower." She turned to Marshall. "What sort of flower

for my hair, darling?"

"A gardenia," he replied immediately.

"There you have it!" she smiled at Connie. "I'll be needing a gardenia."

Martha laughed lightly. "No problem with the decision-making process here, is there?"

"No daffodils?" Connie couldn't help but interject.

"Daffs have their...uses," Eden grinned widely, "but I'm going for scent here." 

"Then your bouquet should be gardenias, too, probably," Connie continued.

"Do I need a bouquet?"

"Yes, you need a bouquet." Connie was firm.

"You're bossy," Eden said affectionately.

"I'm the matron of honor. It's my job." Then Connie rolled her eyes. "God, I hate the word 'matron'."

Ryan chuckled. "Well, you're not very matronly, Con. We could refer to you as the 'best woman.'"

"That might work. I'm definitely not a 'maid'.

Ryan's smile widened. "Definitely not."

Martha rolled her eyes. "Behave!" she hissed fondly at her son.

The gown was purchased and then Connie found a mid-calf dress from the 1940's she liked, made from a pale rust-colored jersey that would coordinate well with the rest of the bridal party.

"Do I get to feel it?" Ryan whispered.

"Sure," she replied, then handed him the dress on its hanger. "Here."

"That is not what I had in mind."

The dresses, in their long plastic bags, were laid carefully in the back of the station wagon then they headed for lunch at the mill. "I love this place," Eden said, glad to be back, reaching out

to touch the thin branches tied to the square posts.

Edith was enchanted. "It's like something out of a fairy story," she commented, delighted. "You almost expect the amber lights to come loose and fly around the room."

"Like fireflies," Eden added.

"Yes, just like that."

Ryan, walking close behind Connie, blew lightly on her neck. "Or like that," he whispered.

"Behave!" she grinned, half-turning.

"It's too late. Never learned how."

"Well, I can't teach you."

"I know," he laughed, sliding his arm through hers and unabashedly doing a little two-step past a table. "And isn't that grand?"

She tipped her head back, joining in his laughter. Eden, holding Marshall's hand, said, "Looks like some other folks have found how to make their nows sparkle, too." 

Edith, looking from one of her girls to the other, discovered she was feeling a definite sparkle herself.  Then her eyes found Martha, who was studying her son with appraising eyes, her lips curving into a smile. Silently she reached out and, taking Martha's hand, gave it a slight squeeze.

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