Harry on the Prairie

Chapter 12

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Sorry I was a slow-poke.  ILY.

*****

HARRY:

She's breathless, beautiful, and flustered, searching for something to say but coming up empty. Her loss for words seems to be upsetting her somewhat.

"Mhmm?" I look from her eyes to her lips, really not wanting this to be over even though I know it is.

"Mrs. Tomlinson would be ashamed of the both of us," she says, teary-eyed.

Despite my surprise, I realize she's probably right as Frankie gathers her skirt and flees up the steps to the loft.

*****
You're so pretty, look so sweet
Your love's sweepin' me off of my feet
You're the only one I'm dreamin' of
I can't believe that I'm falling in love
Who knows how love starts
I woke up with you in my heart
Timber I'm falling in love
              - Patty Loveless

FRANKIE:

I can't sleep.  I alternate between petting Duke and just staring off into the darkness, but mostly I feel terrible about my behavior with Harry.

I feel guilty on so many levels that it's ridiculous. I've sinned, I've lusted, and I need to confess. I also feel like Ms. Tomlinson trained me up to be a proper lady, and I am not behaving in a way that she'd be proud of.  Worst of all, I feel guilty because I enjoy his kisses so much and I want more of them. I'm tired of feeling guilty.

He makes me feel things I've never felt before in both mind and body. He is so comfortable and easy to be around.  The sound of his voice telling me silly things and complimenting my cooking relaxes me and makes me feel like I'm home, yet alive in a way I never imagined.

I just don't know if kisses mean the same thing to Harry as they mean to me. How do I know he hasn't kissed a hundred girls? To me, kissing Harry is special, but what do kisses mean to him?

My tossing and turning forces Duke out of the bed, and he pads downstairs and whines at the door to be let outside. After the second and third whine, I figure Harry must be sleeping pretty hard not to hear him, so I tip-toe downstairs and let Duke outside myself.

After closing the door, I peek around the corner into Harry's bedroom, squinting my eyes in the darkness.  His bed looks empty.  I light a candle real quick at the kitchen table and shuffle back to Harry's doorway.  Sure enough, the covers are thrown back and he's nowhere in sight.

Where would he be in the middle of the night? With his friend that lives on the mountain?  Or maybe he went looking for someone who wouldn't deny his kisses like I had done. 

My heart races as I fling open the door to the cabin and step out into the dark night looking this way and that for Harry. Is that a faint light in the barn?

I run toward the barn so fast my candle blows out in the breeze.  I call out his name as I approach and the barn door slides open quickly.  There he is.  Harry.

He looks confused as I practically knock him down leaping into his arms, but he recovers quickly and hugs me close to his chest.

"I woke up and you were gone. I was so worried, Harry. What are you doing out here in the middle of the night? I-"

"Shhh, Frankie." He shushes me, ending my stream of questions, his hands hold me to him as I bury my face in his shirt, his scent.

He rocks me in a soft sway, whispering "I'm right here, I'm here," into my ear several times before pulling back to look into my eyes.

"I didn't hear you leave. I couldn't sleep, and Duke wanted out, then I noticed you weren't there," I ramble on. "I'm so sorry about earlier, Harry."

"Frankie, you have nothing to be sorry about. I'm the one that's sorry," Harry pulls away from me and runs both his hands through his hair. "Hell.  I'm embarrassed, Frankie.  I shouldn't have... I just...I," he is at a loss for words.

I feel the need to explain, "I know I'm different than what you're used to-"

"What I'm used to?  What are you talking about?"

"The kind of girls you're used to.  You being 20 years old and all?" I look down at the dirt to avoid looking him in the eye.

Harry strides forward, takes my face in his palms and turns it upward so I can't avoid his gaze, which looks a tad angry.

"Now listen here, Frankie," he takes a deep breath. "There is no 'used to' as far as I'm concerned. I know those kids at the market somehow got you thinking I've got a line of girlfriends somewhere, but that couldn't be further from the truth."

Even though he held my face up, I cast my eyes downward.

"Look at me, Frankie," Harry spoke in a stern voice.  Only after my eyes dart up to meet his does he continue, "Once when I was about five, a girl from my neighborhood gave me a quick kiss and ran away afterward. And that right there covers all of my previous kissing experience except for what you've been directly involved in. That's probably not manly of me to admit, but it's the damned truth.  I apologize if my kisses were substandard as a result, but I meant them and I plan to prove to you that I meant them. There is no line of girlfriends, Frankie. There's only you."

I stand there speechless, breathing heavy and looking a fool. I throw my arms around him in a hug partly because I want to hide my face, and partly because I can't think of anything to say in return.  But then I do think of something to say, and I whisper it in his ear, "Harry, I hadn't kissed anyone before either."

Harry tries to pull back and look at me but I'm trying to hide my face in his shirt so it's an awkward little struggle. His smile is big enough to light up the night sky.  "Good. I like that," he continues to grin. "Only me."

"I wish I'd never said anything," I tease, shoving him away playfully and walking over to his work table.

I see tools and wood pieces scattered here and there across the table.  It looks like he's building a bench out of wooden slats.

"Be careful, Frankie.  There are nails and sharp tools everywhere," Harry points out, moving some things out of the way.

"What are you making? A bench?"

"A swing for the porch.  I thought it might be kinda nice?" Harry says.

I look closer and see some intricate carving along the back, some leaves and flowers chiseled into the wood. "Oh, this is beautiful work, Harry."

He gives a sheepish smile, "We should get back inside, you know," he says as I continue to examine his woodworking skills.

Then I notice to the left of the floral carving it says Harry.  To the right it's not finished yet, but it says F-R-A. 

"I'm not finished yet," Harry blushes and looks down at the ground, drawing a little pattern in the sawdust with his boot, and then he looks up at me through his long eyelashes.

When our eyes meet, the answer to what our kisses meant is so clear I can't believe I ever doubted it.