Author's Note – This summer I was in a production of the musical "Footloose" that just wrapped last week. I played Vi Moore, and I was really fascinated by the dynamic between my character and her husband. I wrote this fic for my friend Tempus, who played Shaw. It's based on the character backstory he and I came up with for the show. A note— those of you who saw the show will notice I didn't model Shaw and Vi *physically* after Tempus and me; they look like what I see in my head, not like the two of us. :-D
PART I: On Any Sunday
It had been six months.
They hadn't had sex in six months.
Why this suddenly occurred to him, Shaw Moore couldn't say. Usually it remained something on which he preferred not to dwell, and kept as little thought of as any everyday thing, if one a little more unwelcome than most. But try as he might, this time Shaw was unable to dismiss the thought from his mind.
It hadn't always been that way. No, once they had been intimate to the point that it was as if they were two halves of one soul, a bond growing between them since the earliest days of their acquaintance.
He had been just eighteen years old then. He attended the small seminary school just on the edge of town, and was giving himself over heart and soul to his studies— for Shaw Moore was, to the core of him, a student of divinity. From an early age it was his dearest dream, the vocation to lead people in faith and love to salvation, to be messenger to them of hope, joy, and the love of Heaven. He planned to devote himself to this, the work and will of God, his calling, his true purpose, and above all else, his passion.
When first Vi came into his life, he was assigned to apprentice with the Reverend George Howell, and attended on the services the senior minister conducted. He met her, appropriately enough, through the church. From the deep commitment of his position, he came to know every attendant in the parish, especially those who volunteered a great deal of time of their own. Among those volunteers was a girl, sixteen years old, who with her charming disposition and her forthright dark eyes he could not help but notice. She contributed a great deal to the parish activities, helping to organize their events, participating in their charities, and when she sang with the choir, hers was the voice of an angel. Her name, he learned, was Miss Violet Rose Hunter, but everyone called her Vi.
In no time at all, he was fascinated by the girl. He was drawn immediately to her intelligence and open, engaging personality, and the cleric in him was charmed by her pure and honest devotion to her faith. But greater even than that, there was such tenderness in her, something soft and sweet and gentle that bespoke the selfless extension of a strong and loving heart. It was that, perhaps more than anything else, for which he loved her— for God help him, he soon had fallen in love.
He had been so sure that she would never look his way. No, back then she had looked to Elliot Criswell, the local young tough, who sang in the clubs and dressed in leather and kept a pack of cigarettes rolled up in his sleeve. Elliot Criswell, who was daring and dangerous and ruggedly handsome and everything Shaw Moore was not. He had heard there was something about bad boys that appealed to good girls, and he was troubled to see that even sweet, perfect Vi was not immune. He despaired of any hope of ever gaining her attention. How could Shaw compete with a boy that drove a cherry-red motorcycle and with just a toss of his dark, too-long hair could make the girls flutter and sigh? For several years, he could do nothing but love her from afar.
But in time it became clear that afar would not be enough. He was afraid to present himself to her, so much of him sure that he could never be enough. But all this was lost in the blinding light of the truth that he loved this young woman, loved her and wanted her as young men do, God help him, for all that he knew such things were to be saved only for the marriage bed. But still, he'd never felt so deeply for anyone, and that depth of feeling brought about a profound change.
There was always a fire beneath his mild exterior, heretofore inward and only for his work, but it was Vi that first brought it to light. Before then, the work of God and of saving souls had been his only passion, a deeply personal one that no one else could see. But for Vi, oh, for her, his spirit ignited into that firestorm of fervent intensity that made great everything it touched. His fascination with her, his love for her, and yes, even his plain desire for her drew out that intensity and showed it to the world.
And by some miracle, that fire seemed to draw her. It was enough to pull her eyes away from the maverick young troublemaker and toward the thoughtful, solemn-eyed boy with the call to be a man of God. There was something white-hot and passionate within that boy, and when she saw it burned for love of her, she found she could do nothing but return it.
It was at this point that Shaw Moore's life really began. With his impressive record at the seminary behind him, at twenty-one he was chosen to take over for the retiring Reverend Howell, and became the youngest minister ever to preach in Bomont. Before long he realized the time was right, time to take the next step forward, to settle down, to start a family with Vi and have her by his side forever.
He was only twenty-two, her just twenty, when he gathered his courage and asked her to become his wife. He planned the moment very carefully; after selecting an engagement ring, a simple but elegant gold band set with a small diamond-cut sapphire, he took her to walk down by the lily pond at dusk, and among ivory flowers and the fairy lights of the fireflies, he went down on one knee and took her hand.
"Violet Rose Hunter, will you marry me?"
To hear her answer was better even than he'd imagined. She threw herself into his arms and sighed, "Oh, Shaw, of course I will."
It was one of the happiest moments in all his memory. Over Elliot Criswell she had mooned and sighed, but Shaw Moore was the man with whom she chose to spend her life.
As the day of their wedding drew near, Shaw found himself struggling with anxieties with which he was not sure how to deal. He had no regrets, certainly; he felt nothing but excitement for the day itself— it was instead the wedding night that gave him pause. He was more than passingly familiar with the religious establishment's long-standing conflict about sex. In almost any event it was vilified and cautioned against, and for all that he was about to enter the one circumstance under which it was acceptable, it was difficult for him to make that mental shift after so long thinking it improper. It wasn't right that he should feel any dishonor for something that should be so sacred. He was left with deeper insecurities as well. Could he be good enough for her? Would he prove to be all she wanted? He hoped for nothing more than to be able to make her happy.
She was a vision in her gown that day, more achingly beautiful than he ever imagined. In an almost dreamlike state of wonder, he stood with her on the altar, exchanged the rings, and took the vows that would bind their souls forever. When night fell, and he brought her to their marriage bed where they would spend their first night together, he was still wracked with nervous doubt. But when he looked at her then, her dress not quite white but instead a creamy ivory showing in glorious contrast with her skin, he realized with a sudden shining clarity the power of his feeling for her. All the misgivings in the world could not deny the fact that he loved this woman, and he wanted her.
