Rebuilding Faith Ch 08

The rising sun through the yellowed window shade cast a golden light over the bedroom. Bill sat quietly in the rocking chair, engrossed in the vision of peacefully sleeping Faith. She lay on her stomach with her face turned away, and arms hugging the pillow. The scene reminded him of a romantic antique postcard. Her tousled hair and naked shoulders invited loving hands and tender kisses. Resisting the temptation, he let her sleep undisturbed, remembering her exhaustion after the burst of emotion in the frenzied dark of the night before.

Bill thought, 'I shouldn't have said, I love you. It was too soon.' But the confession had slipped out and felt so right. He couldn't remember the last time he'd said those words to a woman or even thought about it.

Bill's eyes lost focus as he replayed the events in his mind, trying to determine if Faith was happy or sad after he'd declared his love.

'She woke me up.'

He remembered how the passion of her body had replaced the terrifying fire dream with a burning need of its own. Overwhelmed and consumed by the thrill of this amazing woman, he felt the need for a declaration of devotion, and said, 'I love you'.

Then her tears flowed -- sobbing, shuddering tears -- leaving him worried about the cause behind them. They'd clung to each other and fell asleep.

'Maybe my dream is a warning. It's telling me this fiery obsession is going to hurt Faith.' The idea knotted his stomach. 'I have to put some space between us and sort it out.'

"What'cha thinkin', Sweetie?" asked her dreamy voice from the bed.

The sleepy eyed woman, smiling up from the pillow, revived the warmth he felt. "I'm thinking about how much I care about you," he answered honestly, moving to sit on the bed and lean across her body to look down into her eyes.

Clutching the sheet across her mouth like a surgical mask, Faith warned, "Morning breath. Stay back."

Bending down, he kissed her cotton mouth, and said, "You can't scare me away that easily," while one hand affectionately squeezed her cottony arm.

No audible answer, just smiling, crossed eyes.

Laughing and drawing on inner strength, Bill pulled away from the craving to touch her, and said, "Faith, I'm going downstairs to make breakfast. What do you want?"

A surprised but happy look passed over the exposed half of her face. Sitting up and hugging her knees, the covers crumpled to her waist, giving him an intimate glimpse.

"Really?" she asked, resting her head on twin knee peaks. "Can you make pancakes? My jam is delicious on pancakes."

"I'll need your help finding the ingredients."

Throwing off the covers, Faith stretched her naked body shamelessly on the mattress, while groaning with the ritual's pleasure. She rolled off the bed and wandered toward the bathroom, saying, "Okay, Holder. I'll mix the batter but you cook and do the dishes. Deal?"

Taking a mental timeout to watch the skin parade, Bill was silent until Faith turned to eye him. "Oh! Okay, it's a deal," he said, winking, then turned and left the room.

Instead of heading downstairs, Bill went down the hall to pack his clothes, deciding the best thing for both of them would be for him to move back into the guest cottage. "After all, if this is going to be a long-term relationship, we need to keep some appearance of respectability," he muttered aloud, trying to convince himself.

Faith was busily stirring ingredients, when he finally lugged his bags into the kitchen and piled them by the backdoor. Hershey barked to come in and Bill opened the door. When he noticed the clinking of the spoon against the bowl had stopped, he glanced up to see Faith's shocked visage staring at the bags.

"What's going on, Bill?"

The distress in her voice was a balm to his anxiety about her feelings towards him.

"Well, Faith," he began slowly, making sure the words were right, "I've decided to move back into the guest cottage. I think the best thing to do would be to put some distance between us, so that I can get a grip on my emotions." In contradiction to his words, Bill walked over and put his arms around her, before he went on, "I'm planning to stay for a while, and I really think that we need to slow down and sort this out rationally," while thinking, 'Just standing near you drives me crazy.'

Lifting her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze, he said, "I'm in love with you. And I have to behave myself, for your sake." Releasing her, Bill began stirring the pancake batter, saying, "Sooner or later, I'll meet your family and, frankly, I don't want them to know I moved in with you the first day we met. They wouldn't think very well of me."

Circling around behind, Faith wrapped him in her arms and pressed her cheek against his back. "Okay, Mr. Holder-then-leave-her. If you need to act like a choirboy, I won't stop you." Letting him go, she pulled on his sleeve and Bill turned. "I'm falling in love with you too, in case you're interested."

Moving away, she casually began setting the table.

Bill's heart pounded and hands trembled, as he poured batter onto the griddle. He stole glimpses of her grinning face. Already he regretted the decision, but he hoped the dreams would at least stop.

"Were you a lost missionary baby, raised by wolves, Holder?" she asked. "Because you seem to waffle between being a saint and a predator." Her steps came up behind him, and her hand squeezed his butt. "And I find that combination very arousing."

"You don't know how close you are to the truth. But I've never been interested in what God expected from me, until recently."

Faith sat down at the table, and said, "Well, when you want to tell me, I'd love to hear about it."

The first batch of pancakes was done. Using them to change the subject, Bill carried over the plate and set them in front of her.

"You're an artist!" Faith gushed, staring down at the golden circles shaped into a teddy bear.

"My Grandma used to make them into shapes for me. I'm just carrying on the tradition," he said, pouring the next sizzling batch of shapely circles. "Go ahead and eat them while they're hot."

When the second batch was done, he sat down and let her inspect his originality, before spreading jam over the obviously bare breast shape. Smaller areola and nipple cakes were strategically positioned atop.

Giggling, Faith said, "See, this is just what I mean. You innocently set me up with a cute little teddy bear and now your wolfing down boobs right in front of me. I don't think this is what Grandma had in mind, Holder."

"Mmm," he moaned, relishing the first bite. "Scrumptious, but not as delicious as yours."

Faith flashed a devilish grin, before leaving the table to pour her own batter shape. He waited patiently, until she sat down with an erect penile pancake and began spreading red jam along its length.

"Hm, kinda looks like someone was menstruating during sex."

"Nah," Faith replied, "I was a virgin. I've never had a pancock before," and promptly cut off the berry-covered glans and popped it into her mouth. "Mm, mm, good. But not as sweet as yours," she said, making his heart skip a beat.

Laughing and teasing throughout breakfast, they cleaned up the dishes together. The playfulness continued to boil his thoughts into sexual steam. Standing together at the counter, Bill felt a bond with her like he'd never experienced with anyone before. 'If kindred spirits ever existed, we are living proof,' he thought.

"C'mon, let's take my stuff to the cabin, and then I can get started cutting up the tree while you drive to town and report the phone problem," Bill proposed, wanting to do something ordinary and physical.

Faith leaned over the sink to read the thermometer, outside on the window frame. "It's already 56 degrees. We won't need heavy coats at least."

The heat of the sun on their faces, as they carried Bill's belongings to the cabin promised a warm spring day. The snow had completely melted once again, except for a small mound where Frosty had stood, and as they passed by, neither made mention of his rapid disappearance.

Climbing the porch stairs, Faith put down the carryon bag, unlocked the front door and handed Bill the key, "Here ya go, Holder. Home sweet home," and smiled with an expression that said, 'I bet you won't stay away long.'

"This is really for the best," he said, unconvincingly.

Faith shrugged and answered, "If you say so." Sighing heavily, she sat on the porch rail and added, "I'll wait here. I don't want to go inside with you. You might get the wrong idea."

Grinning, Bill moved to her, bent and captured her unresisting lips, plying them apart with his tongue. They lingered, connected by a suction of mutual enjoyment, until he pulled away to carry his bags inside, hearing a groan of left behind disappointment.

'My God, she turns me on.'

Throwing his bags down onto the bed, Bill looked in the dresser mirror. Yes, the reflection still appeared to be him, but with more twinkle in the eye and laughter around the mouth than yesterday. Stepping back to the bed, he picked out some older clothes to work in, put them on, and then headed for the door. He spotted Faith still sitting on the railing, turned away with an upturned face catching the sun. Her legs swung back and forth between the balusters. Hershey lay on the grass beneath her feet.

He could hear Faith humming, and thought to himself, 'I'll remember this moment forever.'

"Are you ready to get to work?" he asked, stepping out to disturb her reverie.

"Yup. I'll show you where the tool shed is." Faith hopped down and, taking his arm, led him along.

"My father's workshop is... well... sort of a shrine to me," she said, giving him a serious look. "I think you'll find everything you need -- and then some. When my parents retired from teaching, they remodeled the old barn into a bunkhouse for local youth groups to meet in -- Boy Scouts and such. It was a beautiful old post and beam structure, and a terrible loss when it burned, irreplaceable. Dad was a meticulous craftsman and did most of the work himself. He spent hours in his shop tinkering -- much to my mother's aggravation." Faith smiled with the remembering. "When I was a kid, I'd just sit and watch. He didn't mind if I asked questions or wanted to help, but mostly I just wanted to watch him work."

They approached a large shed between the charred ruins of the old bunkhouse and the unfinished new one. The door appeared handmade from solid oak planks, stained dark and rich. The top of the door was rounded, like an old English cottage. One porthole window graced the center.

Faith was quiet as they drew near, and he felt a sense of reverence. The serious look on her face probably masked the emotional upheaval she felt bringing him there. Underneath the window, a carved symbol caught his eye. It looked like the letter "P", but stylized with swirls and vines wrapped around it.

"What does that figure on the door mean?"

"Oh, that's an old German rune. It's actually a spell, believed to prevent any evil from crossing the threshold."

"Uh-oh. I'd better stay outside."

She smiled, and said, "Just kidding. It's the letter "P". My maiden name was Pfiefer."

"Are you sure it's safe?" Bill stopped short when she opened the door and disappeared inside.

A hand reached out and grabbed his sleeve, pulling him in. "C'mon, don't be such a scaredy-cat. Besides, you're one of the good guys."

As soon as he was inside, Bill grabbed his chest, "I can't breath. The pain... the pain," and fell to his knees.

Faith rushed to kneel in front and held him up. "I have the antidote," she said, and pressed her lips to his, in a reviving kiss.

His strength renewed, Bill ran his hands up her back to cradle her head while the cure was administered long after the pain was forgotten.

When his knees began to hurt on the concrete floor, he helped Faith up, and said, "Ahhh, I feel much better. You must be a princess."

"It's a secret, so don't tell anyone. I just couldn't let you die. You're too much fun." She patted his butt.

"Wow!" Bill looked around, impressed.

Slowly spinning on his heels to take in the surroundings, tools of all description were neatly arranged on pegboards and on shelves, according to size and purpose. There were sections for plumbing, carpentry, automotive, and other miscellaneous endeavors, all neatly labeled. The room was immaculate and smelled wonderfully of old wood and varnish.

Various unfinished projects hung from ceiling hooks -- a bicycle without a wheel, an old spoke desk chair minus a leg. On a bulletin board over the bench there were old newspaper clippings and family pictures tacked in rows. There was one of an attractive dark-haired woman with a young girl that must have been Faith and her mother. Another was obviously Faith and Lou, each holding a twin. A sentimental twinge passed through Bill, and he suddenly felt out of place, like an intruder reading a diary.

"I think I would have liked your father," he said, looking for her.

Standing next to a coat rack, Faith lifted the edge of a denim work apron to her nose. "I can still smell him --English Leather. I used to give it to him for his birthday every year." When their eyes met, hers glistened a little more than before.

Leaving the past behind, she marched over to the lumberjack section, "Here's a couple of chainsaws, an axe, a hatchet and some assorted limb saws. Take your pick. I think everything works."

The saws looked to be in superb condition, although they were manufactured before safety features, like tip guards and chain brakes, were required.

Pulling the McCullough 24 inch from the shelf, he said, "This will do for a start." Pointing, he added, "Grab that pry bar from the corner and those safety glasses. Now all we need is gas and oil."

"Butch was using one of the saws. I think there's gas and oil left over, in the garage."

Silently, they walked back to the house and loaded the tools into the pickup. They found plenty of chain oil but the gas can was nearly empty.

"Let's go to town and report the downed wires and then we can come back and work on the tree, while we wait for the repair crew," Bill suggested.

"Okay, Paul Bunyan, let's go." She tossed him the keys, saying, "You drive."

Climbing in, he asked, "Well, if I'm Paul Bunyan then you must be Babe?"

She gave him a stern look, and said, "You can call me Babe, but if you call me a blue ox, that limb in your pants won't be getting pruned by me any time soon, if you get my drift."

He laughed and left it alone.

Cruising down Woodhaven's Main Street, Faith pointed, saying, "Drop me off over there, in front of the town hall. I can call the telephone company from inside, and I need to talk to Bob."

Wondering who Bob was, but not wanting to pry, Bill dropped Faith off, drove to the gas station, filled up the can with the required gas and oil mix, then waited across the street for her to come out. When Butch stepped outside and leaned against the wall to occasionally glance in his direction, Bill began to worry about Faith's safety. A few minutes later, visibly upset, she marched through the front door, past Butch, and straight to the truck. The grin on Butch's face as he eyed Faith from behind was something Bill wanted to erase with his fist.

'Maybe some other time,' he thought, as Faith climbed in and slammed the door.

"Is everything all right, Babe? You look a little blue."

She gave him a double take, and then smirked, unable to stay angry. "Yeah, Paul, everything's fine. Its just lately, people I know seem to be disappointing me when I least expect it."

Reaching out and stroking his arm, she added, "Present company excluded, of course." Then after a brief pause, "Let's go cut us some firewood." Sliding over and resting her chin on his shoulder, she whispered persuasively, "Do you think you could give Babe here some of your wood later? It'd sure make me feel better."

Shifting into drive and laughing, he answered, "Maybe, Baby."

They waved to a scowling Butch as they drove by.